The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1) (27 page)

Warmth.

It wrapped me, but the light of the sun hurt me, and the engine annoyed me. A voice cursed and chattered with speed, and tension. Someone is with me, so I listened to this voice, I’m incapable of doing anything more than that.

“Dad, head to the hospital this instant! She’s alive!”

The voice belongs to Jeremy. He really did come, but how did he find me? Now I see, I’m in his truck, I can hear it roaring as loud as mine. He must be driving fast.

“Dammit!” he shouted. “Yes—I called the ambulance, the helicopter couldn’t fly in because of a previous prank call. I’m not waiting for anyone. The ambulance is going to meet me half way. Dad, she doesn’t look too good, her placenta was out when I found her.”

I wonder what came through his mind when he saw the shattered windows in the cabin, and the dead crows in the yard. If Jeremy found me unharmed, then that means that monstrous Lenur really is gone. He finally returned to Osois.

“The baby?” he asked, his voice grew calm.

My heart almost stopped beating.

“I couldn’t find her baby, when I found Lola she was by herself. Yes, I searched, the cabin, the whole area—I retraced Lola’s steps! Dad I…I don’t think she knows yet.”

I do.

I do know.

What I don’t know, is what became of her.

I doubt there was anything Ebon could do, maybe he doesn’t exist, and I have grown insane. That’s right, I never met Avalon—this is all in my head! Now what did I get attacked by? What makes more sense? I know, I got attacked by a bear—not a raid of crows. Crows—how I hate them!

Jeremy’s hand constantly checked for my pulse. After hanging up with Dr. Graham, he kept silent throughout the drive. They will ask what happened, but I won’t be able to answer. I will remain a mute, yes—I’ll admit myself to a psychiatric ward.

There, I will yearn for her, but I don’t think I will ever be able to find her.

My story?

I gave birth and that’s it.

My baby vanished, with no heart to claim as her own.

T
he guards forgot to turn off the lights again. The buzzing green lamp is a toxic seeping into our dirty pores. Now we have to spend the night shifting and groaning from our wasted bodies. The only thought that pleases me is the idea of shoving my foot down the electrician’s throat, but an electrician doesn’t exist, and I know why. He was a prisoner himself! After he finished his job down here—they killed him. Now, I have to wait for my own death, yes—I already gave up the stupid idea of being free. There is no hope here.

A ray of light seeped through the cracked walls, where the rats used to crawl out from. To us, they are better than a juicy steak. All the diseases they carry doesn’t mean a thing to an empty gut. Anything beats the hard-rock bread, the rotten fruit, even the water that tastes like shit. I’ve been in this hell hole for three months, paying the sentence of a criminal. Even now, I’m not even aware of my crimes, or their motives. Why do they take pleasure in putting us in this infinite darkness? Darkness that is black, deep, and so alone.

Old western bars keep us captive, except the metal is cheap and rusting. The walls surrounding us are made of cheap cracked cement. Thirty prison cells circle this underground floor. The cell is 7ft high and 10ft wide, it’s as comfortable as a hallway closet. Wish it was constructed after the modern prisons in the city. There the boys and I could play basketball, lift weights, and tattoo each other. Hell—we would get free food, medical aid, and counseling. Instead, our prison is one story deep into Satan’s door.

I still don’t know how I’m still alive, but I’m rotting alright. This gruesome place is a constant nausea, everyone hurls when they least expect it. Strangely, my cell mate never pukes like the rest. He has a name, but everyone calls him Rat. Seeing we need a rat in this prison, he qualifies with his appearance, and personality. You’re not the normal type when you don’t vomit or complain about the injustice we receive. Hell—he might even rate this damned place five stars! Unlike the rest of us, Rat is adjusted to this place, seeing he’s been here longer than any of us. Maybe he meditated and reached nirvana, deciding that complaining will get him nowhere. One thing he doesn’t seem to shut up about, is the new prisoner everyone is so interested in. Newcomers don’t get much attention like the one we call Shadow.

I laid my head on the slimy floor, covered in bacteria I wish was big enough for me to kill, and eat. My eyes must be bloodshot by now, it’s been four days since we remained in this venomous green light. They take away our freedom and now they left the lights on with the intention to take away our sleep. What’s worse is that I’m a light sleeper—always have been. Every time I think I’m drifting into sleep, Rat starts talking. I got the rotten luck to have him as my cell mate. He’s always rustling in our cell, doing the same thing he does every day. His small compressed eyes looked through the bars, his flat lips mumble the same old nonsense. Does he even know he has dirt on that bony nose that wiggles whenever he speaks? Just listening to him is more irritating than the lack of toilet paper to wipe my ass. I’d be embarrassed to have his cracked wind pipe as voice. No one want’s to be 30 and sound like a little boy on puberty. I wonder if he got that high pitch voice from crying out his vocal box on his first day. I know I yelled.

“Matthews, the guards’ spoke of Shadow last night.” mumbled Rat.

He sat on his side of the corner and buried his lips under his arms. He often cuddles himself by the corner of the bars, hoping the gates will magically open. I hushed him because it wasn’t safe to speak yet. The guards can hear us without a problem, their post is on the opposite end of the exit door. I gave that damn door a title, it’s the—
you’re screwed door
. The only time you’ll be leaving that door is when you’ll never return.

Rat looked at me, eager to spark a conversation. I know what that Rat is excited to ram on about, and it’s Shadow. I decided to make my feelings about it clear to him. I whispered with murderous intent.

“I’m in no mood to fantasize about your lil’ hero—so shut your pie hole.”

“Don you worry—they’ll turn off the light soon, then we can all get some sleep!” assured Rat.

Wish he could see me roll my eyes but he was too busy staring at the exit door. Before this ‘Shadow’ guy came along, we talked about our family, lives, and our regrets. Now, all they gossip about is Shadow! Of all the intelligent scientist, PhD prisoners, I’m the smart one. Sure, I like the idea of Shadow, but he’s a prisoner we never met. The only source of his existence is through Colin the shit head, and Ethan the dumbass. They are the only guards stationed outside the exit door. It’s a boring job, and what else can they do but talk? Ethan hates entering the prison floor, but Colin is a regular, ready to abuse us in any way he desires.

In their shift, Colin and Ethan don’t delay to talk about our new prisoner. Shadow doesn’t necessarily have a name, the guards always refer to him as vermin or demon. We prefer Shadow because we don’t endorse name calling here. It’s a shame every prisoner considers him a celebrity, they fail realize that celebrities are just images. But Colin and Ethan are to blame, they have no clue we can hear everything they say, and they sure as hell don’t know when to shut up.

From where Rat and I are, we can’t hear anything, like the rest, we get our bowl of gossip through Ryan and Terrance, our communicators. They’re the closest prisoners to the exit, and often the ones to get bullied the most. According to Ryan and Terrance, Shadow can’t be imprisoned down here because he’s likely to organize an escape plan with us. According to the conversations from Colin and Ethan, the day Shadow was confined, he killed a guard and nearly escaped that same day. No one can verify if he really did attempt such a suicidal move, or how he did it. But hearing of his disobedience made him a hero to everyone down here.

Recently, Ryan and Terrace sourced out Shadow’s location. He’s apparently locked up in what the guards call ‘the nutshell’, a solitary confinement room where everything from the walls, ceiling, to the floor is surrounded by a thick clean sheet of steel.

The last guy to visit that place was Timothy, the strongest, outspoken prisoner of us all. When he returned, he described the shell as cold trap. He said you spend hours starring at a blurry reflection of yourself and grow sensitive to light, and the silver room turns into a painful headache. The day Timothy returned from the nutshell, he was normal, eager to tell us what he saw. As they day passed he became a mute until the day of his execution. The poor bastard, all he said was one word, a word that got sowed to the back of my mind ever since I heard it come out of his cracked lips. When they dragged him to the exit, he didn’t yell it out, he didn’t whisper it. The sound vibrated out of his breath crystal clear.

“God”
is what he said.

The death of Timothy stripped me of any hope to get out of here alive, and sane. The moment Shadow came along, everyone forgot about Timothy. They’re betrayal made me the pessimistic.

“I wonder what we’ll hear next!” exclaimed Rat.

“You guys are nuts—complete wackos for believing in fairy tales.” I told Rat. “The guards will do anything to give us hope and then shoot it down.”

This underground prison was constructed to hold 60 prisoners but only 45 are imprisoned. The youngest is 15 year old Michael. He was accused of raping one of the locals. He said he didn’t do it—said his step dad hated him, and accused him. Now he’s here with us—without proof, no questions asked. The oldest is Michael’s cell mate, Samuel, 49 senseless years. The guy is very sour—his ingredient to survival, I think. Anything older has no chance of surviving. After I became the 51st prisoner, we lost 6 in three months. They execute us in the beginning and end of every month.

No one has any clue for their behavior. Not even Colin or Ethan will talk about it. I tried creating a serious conversation, where we put our hypothesis together, to introduce an idea, but nobody wants to find out. All we know is that there is a leader. He visits us every now and then to give us a heavy speech about God and his wrath against us. Everyone above calls him the Abundant One and they worship him.

But I know the game the Abundant One is playing. His control over the community is not a new one. If they treat us like cattle it’s for some kind of ritual. As a professor of archeology in the state Utah. I have studied ancient people, their cultures, and even taught urban anthropology for years. This Abundant One is hiding something and using his followers to protect him. Funny turn out is that nobody is a criminal here. Nobody has broken the law, we are innocent—all of us.

T
hat same dream came to me again like a roller coaster with no conductor. I remember the pulsing heat of the sun, and the UV rays eyeing into my bonds. A group of strangers dragged me into a rural dessert. I was in a state of shock, watching my blood leave a doted trail. The further they pulled me, the less I could see my totaled SUV, flat on all fours. I was heading back home from an emergency trip to Arizona. My mother was growing ill, and we thought she wasn’t going to make it. Before I reached Utah, they attacked me in the desert, them bastards.

“You know why you’re here you filth.” 

The heavy set man walking beside me, groaned, I recognized his voice—it’s Trent. We met at the Diner, ate breakfast together, and talked for a whole hour. I enjoyed his company, but I found it strange that he was so interested in what I did for a living. After I left the Diner, I went back on the road. When I saw his vehicle on the review mirror, I thought nothing of it. I didn’t know I was a target until I saw Trent pull out a pistol and aim at my tire.

They dragged me by my foot, scraping my head on the sharp rocks like a garbage bag. Trent, the oversize abductor squeezed his thick fingers into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. The flies buzzing around the gash on my temple. They feasted on my delicious plasma. Trent finally pulled out my college I.D. and whispered my career to the strangers carrying me around their shoulders.

“Isn’t the internet a great thing? We search your name, face and it confirms everything we need to know about you. Archeology huh? Trying to figure out the mysteries of the world? You don’t have the permission of God!” 

Trent’s buddy slapped me across the face with his artillery. I’m unable to make out the model, but it felt like a 44 magnum. Then, like a day turned to night, my dream ended.

My eyes opened to the mountain of feces, the smell overtook my senses me. I gaged, and spit the lump of mucus on my throat. The lights are finally off, Colin and Ethan are actually doing their job. I made the mistake to fall asleep so early, I’m too alert by the scent of shit to return back to sleep. In the darkness, I think too much, I regret the day I was ever born, hell—I’ll even cry.

Just when I thought I would spent hours in blackness, the lights blinked on. The green musky light crackled, I squint a couple times to get my pupils adjusted. Everyone slowly woke up, whispers began to linger, and others yawned away their sleep. Ryan and Terrance passed on the message that Colin and Ethan’s footsteps are leaving. Their shift has ended. Based on that fact, we know it’s safe to speak.

Rat sat in the same corner by the bars, he pressed his ear towards the exit, eager to know what Ryan and Terrance are sharing among each other. Before they announce the news to us, they review it to make sure they both heard the same thing. It makes everyone impatient, if I were them, I’d make up things just to settle their agitated minds.

“What happened?” a cell mate called out.

“Tell us.” another added.

Like Rat, everyone wanted to know the latest update on Shadow. They’re a bunch of idiots if you ask me, but I’ll do anything to kill time. I leaned near the bars to give it a listen.

“I’m not lying!” shouted Ryan.

He moved away from Terrance, who shook his head. Whenever their ears pick up two views of the same information, Ryan will impatiently spread the news without double checking with Terrance. He waved his hand at us, and called out.

“Shadow has done it again! Last night he killed another guard. But it wasn’t because he wanted to, Shadow was getting ready to kiss this place goodbye!”

“Did he succeed?” said Terrance rubbing his temple.

“Well no, but he will next time!” exclaimed Ryan.

Ryan is your typical short tempered guy, anything he said you had to believe, unless you wanted a grown man to throw a tantrum. Rat giggled, resembling a 5 year old who took the first bite of a birthday cake that isn’t his. Rat’s laugh is annoying, but I’ve grown prejudiced of his attire. His dirty tank is supposed to be white, yet it looks like shit and piss to me. His khaki shorts look more like wrinkled mud. Rat turned towards me, the way he twist his neck looked painful.

“I knew it!” he quivered. “M-Mathews did ya’ hear?”

“I have ears, Rat”

Everyone is giving Shadow too much credit. It’s only been three weeks since his arrival, and now he’s worshipped just like the Abundant Once. So what if he almost escaped, and murdered them bastards as Ryan claims. None of that explains why they keep him alive.

“No one can do what Shadow had done!” Rat exclaimed.

I nodded at the idea of Shadow’s accomplishments, but I don’t consider his existence. Colin and Ethan talk about him so carelessly because they want to deceive us. But if he is real, then Shadow is the only man who stands a chance against these people. A dark, religious organization we call the
puritans.

On another painful day, the cell limited my desire to stretch properly. I can barely breathe with Rat hogging all the air. He sucked a huge amount when Terrance leaned his ear towards the exit door. Terrance is a slender black man, when he first arrived, he was fat and carnivorously delicious, now he’s a piece of bone. He hushed everyone that kept pushing him for information. To help Terrance, Ryan cursed every nosy prisoner to shut up. Unlike Ryan, Terrance is a humble man, yet the two work perfectly as a team. They stand as our only beacon to the outside world, outside this shithole. Now the beacon is focused on Shadow, and his abnormal activity. Terrance jerked his head back, like bars had electrocuted him. Ryan dragged himself near the steel plated door, and listened in.

“What can you hear?” urged Rat.

I slapped the back of his head. He yelped, and pulled back like a scolded child.

“You want to get us into trouble?”

Rat shook his head, sulking. I was prepared to scold him some more, but the door creaked. My heart jumped, I heard every cell mate pick themselves up to their feet. I followed the same movement and walked to the back wall, the corner where we release our bowels.

“They fucking heard us.” I whispered.

Rat’s loud mouth needs another slap, but my fear of the puritans controlled me.

“What’s going to happen?” whimpered Rat.

There’s hardly an oil on the door, it screeched so loud, my teeth are about to shatter. Nobody wants to stand in the same corner we release our bowels. Every prisoner left the ventilation in the bars and withdrew to the back wall. No one is allowed to be near the bars, and we learned that rule real quick. One rebellious prisoner stood near the bar to snarl at Colin and Ethan, he was shot in the head that second. Colin and Ethan know we smell like road kill, and they don’t want us near them

I assured Rat that if he stayed quiet, no harm will come to him. The door opened completely, Rat jumped, and scooted over to our waste. Even he was smart enough not to get near the bars. I held my breath from the stench our feces, the fowl aroma is shrinking my lungs to shriveled old raisins. Their footsteps caused a dark echo within the prison hall. Everyone kept their eyes on the floor, the worst thing you can do is draw their attention.

Across our circled prison, I saw Michael, and Samuel standing in their manure, just like us. They bowed their heads, and flatten their lips. No one wants to be on Colin’s hit list. Sure, the idea of dying is more welcoming than this place, but the puritan’s way of death is a torture that keeps us on our best behavior.

“We heard someone, who is it?” 

That voice. The universal sound of evil intent. We all know this one. Colin.

“These sinners need to be taught some lesson.” continued Colin. “Abundant One, can we execute the one who spoke?”

His name forced my primitive desire to dig my nails on the cement wall. The bastard who started of all of this is right here, the leader of this cult, the
Abundant One
. With obedience, I brought my eyes on the floor. Apart from Colin and Trent, I hate the Abundant One the most.

When we heard them walk across the cell, I peeked at him. His long white beard fell over his white robe. I saw him was a month ago, and yet he still wears the same priest-like garments that hang loosely off his sleeves. He always stands on a slanted posture, with one shoulder slightly hanging lower than the other. His spine resembles a dead plant, desperately bending forward for water. He’s creepy in every way possible. Even the sound of his voice gives me the chills. The Abundant One sounds like a century year old man, but his face is wrinkle free. How can a frail old man with a growing white beard resemble a young teenager? Nonetheless, this minister is evil.

“Technology.” said the Abundant One. “There is nothing wrong with technology, everything is composed of it.”

I can hear his light footsteps, it’s barely noticeable when compared to Colin and Ethan.

“Science, and Machinery.” he continued. “To detect, identify, relate, and investigate the matters of all life. There is nothing wrong with knowing.”

The Abundant One is strolling around the prison hall, unaffected by our stench. Colin and Ethan kept a safe distance.

“The mistake!” he hollered. “The mistake is that man cannot hold the power of knowledge as if it were a right. Just because you know how an animal feeds and mates, you think controlling their existence is a benefit? No! Neither can you do the same for technology, but this belief in
advancing
through machinery is a deadly sin. You cannot replicate the laws of a human cell into a machine. Mankind is the ambassador of flaws, and that is what you create. Pitiful, puny, flaws.”

His words brings my bones to shrink, I hope the ceiling would crush me right now. Every time I hear one of his speeches I’m agitated, like he robbed my soul through his charismatic tone. He once walked around the cell floor for an hour just to tell us how condemned we are. Sometimes, I believe him.

“Do you know why you are here? You are here to repent for your mistake. In order to atone, you must perish. When your blood falls on the soil, the earth will regain its right over you. It will suck you dry, and send you into the depth of the inferno.”

Rat has been mumbling to himself nonstop. Whenever the Abundant One visits to do his usual speech, Rat will fall on his knees to pray. Rat’s a slow thinker, that’s the best way we can describe him. But there are those rare times when he reverts into another person, perhaps the person he used to be. Rat let his knees remain in shit swiftly mumbling verses of the Bible.

“
Psalm 118:6.
‘The LORD is with me; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?’
Psalm 112:1
‘Praise the LORD. Blessed is the man who fears the LORD, who finds great delight in his commands.’
Deuteronomy 31:6
‘Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.’”

“Keep it together.” I whispered.

I respected Rat’s tendency to suddenly quote the Bible, especially in this situation. He didn’t hide his fear like I did. He shivered, and wept like a child openly crying out to his God. Being the oldest prisoner, Rat lost his marbles long ago. He’s been here so long, we believe he grew a double personality, the only clue of who he was comes from his unshaking faith.

Colin’s gaze locked into our cells with a smile. How I wish I could drive a vehicle over him and run him over—again and again. I often daydream about punching Colin’s distorted nostril back in place. He doesn’t fall short on being recognized as the son of the devil. The Abundant One didn’t need to lift a finger to corrupt his mind.

Colin tries to
behave
around company, but put him alone with us, and he’s a monster. The bastard once forced a cell mate consume his own shit, he once broke a prisoner’s arm just because he felt like it—he even used Ryan as a punching bag. When we think his wife isn’t giving him any, he’s hollering around, pointing his gun at everyone’s face. Colin is sick, he knows it, and he likes it.

Ethan is more focused on the cult and duty than torture. He hardly comes down to visit because his weak stomach can’t stand our odor. Ethan often runs out of the prison to throw up, but right now he’s manning up for the Abundant One.

“Abundant One, we mustn’t postpone our monthly ritual for that vermin.” observed Colin. “Otherwise these men will think we don’t want to kill them.”