Tunnel Vision
By Breanne Joseph
They were exhausted. Plain and simple; running non-stop for two days would do that to anyone. The element of having your life on the line just makes it worse. Any stumble, any trip, heavens forbid any fall could all mean capture.
A spark of light in their tunnel vision was finding a cave. An opening only the desperate could see along the mountain wall. They dove in, ignoring the metallic smell. Pale twigs and rocks littered the narrow path into the mountain, sending loud cracking down the path ahead. They came to an open space eventually; small torches on the walls gave off light. Rust colored striations stained the floor and wall, all pointing to another path on the opposite side of the cavern that led into the unknown.
“We can rest a few minutes, nothing more. Keep moving and maybe they’ll lose interest,” said Sherman in between gasps of air. He wasn’t a young man anymore, but he was never athletic in his youth either.
“We…can’t…keep…doing this.” Air, air, air—his lungs needed air. Hearing that broken phrase snatched away those few precious breaths he’d so painfully earned. Sherman looked at his wretched companion. I never thought such stupidity existed till now. His companion was leaning against the cave wall, heaving for air like Sherman. He stared at the ground, trying to force despair to create an escape route. Henry was now feeling the full weight of their situation. He was a young man in his early 30s, he was supposed to have his whole life ahead of him. That was gone now; all he could see was the cave floor, the darkness at the edges slowly closing in. Maybe it’s the lack of air. He’s not thinking straight. It’s over, it’s over for us. It’s over for me. They’ll find us. Run run run. And Sherman couldn’t understand why Henry couldn’t accept the gravity of what they’d done. They’d both made this choice.
Sherman had to bring their crushing reality back to Henry. “What do you mean? There is nothing left for us! Our only hope is to keep moving. If we are truly lucky maybe we can find a safe house. But we have to move. I can’t hunt out here, but you can. You can save me, save us, be a hero to the people. They deserve to know the truth about their gods, and you can shine a light on their ignorance. But think man! Running is our only option, Henry.” It’s a hard thing trying to plead with someone who isn’t listening. It’s even harder trying to plead with a man who can feel death on his back like a shirt and is vehemently denying its proximity.
Sherman walked slowly over to the scared animal of Henry, staring uncompromisingly into his curled form. “I’m not becoming a martyr just because you suddenly want to develop a conscience now.”
“No, no, it’s not the only option. We can give back the scrolls.” Desperation danced in his eyes. Henry was a soldier, he probably thought that the worst that would happen to them would be some heavy fines or being court martialed. But eventually they could be forgiven. Blame it on foolishness, fear, confusion, anything they could think of to get them out of this. That life could go back to how it was before. Things would be fine again eventually, they had to be. It was the panicked thoughts of a child scared to be caught taking a sweet they were told they couldn’t have, and hearing the displeased parental shout of their crime discovered. Sherman could almost pity this moment of lost innocence in Henry. Almost.
Ah you poor wretch, we will never be safe in this world anymore.
No.
No, that was never an option of punishment for what they had done. Already the Gods had let loose their bloody hounds; the hunt had begun. No one dares to take from the Gods and live. When the hounds found their prey, there would be no heart open to mercy, no ears waiting for an explanation, no mind willing to speak with reason. The blood-stained cave where they stood was a monument to what awaited them. Sherman rubbed his eyes in frustration; if it was up to him, he would leave Henry behind to beg for a mercy that would come in the form of a slashed throat. Their hunters couldn’t be far behind and they were wasting time here, this cave would be their tomb if they didn’t move. But he needed those scrolls. Or this was all for nothing.
Sherman grabbed the sides of Henry’s head, forcing him to look directly at Sherman. He could feel Henry shaking. Whether it was exhaustion or fear, Sherman didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care at this moment. “Henry, stop being ridiculous. This isn’t about what you want. You want to turn yourself in? Fine!” He let go of Henry’s face, throwing his hands up in the air in agitation and continued, pointing at the fearful soldier. “But you will get me to another safe house before you do. Or I swear to the Gods I will…”
“What, what will you do?!” Henry interrupted. Clarity had returned to his eyes along with a spark of anger; he had found someone to blame for his ruined life. “If it wasn’t for you and your stupid obsession with the Gods, I would still have my job, my life!” The spark in Henry’s eyes grew and grew, a raging fire. “And now I’m in a dank cave running from assassins just because an old man thought he knew better than the damn Gods! This is all your fault!” Tears streamed down his face and now poor naïve Henry was shouting. The silence stretched its neck to see the next move.
A scared animal backed into a corner will snap at anything that comes close, even if what comes is a helping hand. Sherman stared at him, violence dancing in his eyes.
But time had run out.
An echoing clatter from the path they had entered came to their ears. Such a small clatter that would not have been heard if tongues were still wagging. Both men turned, facing that dark path to inevitable death. Frozen with deer-like stillness. Behind them another path led deeper into the mountain, to life or death it was unknown. But the unknown looked kinder than what was making its way to the men.
“Give me the scrolls, Henry.” A soft, panicked whisper.
A head shake was all that answered him. Henry pressed himself to the wall, pinning the pack that held the scrolls and their dwindling rations.
It’s over. I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed.
Sherman stretched out his hand. Every finger stretched out to its limits, shaking with the effort. One last plea.
Henry turned away from Sherman, facing the tunnel towards death, and opened his mouth to say-
Sherman scrambled, grabbing a torch on the wall and ran to the tunnel deeper in the mountain. All he could hear then were his feet pounding on the cave floor, the warm musty smell of the cave welcoming him the further he went. Run, run, run. Keep running. They’ll catch me.
Soon he could hear the echoes of Henry shouting that he had surrendered. That the scrolls were here and unharmed. You foolish idiot. You brought this on yourself. You knew he was weak; he wasn’t ready.
Sherman kept running. Forcing himself not to trip, even when he started to hear Henry’s bloodcurdling screams. Forcing himself to ignore the stench of old blood on the indifferent cave floor. Better to be eaten by a beast than die at the hands of the Gods’ guard dogs.
Sherman kept running. And focused on controlling his breathing.