Lighter – A Season of Skulls Story

He was afraid to open his eyes. His mind clung to the welcoming darkness.

A sharp memory of ripping metal, fires, and screaming woke him, shocking his heart into furious motion. His lungs dragged for air like flint across rusty iron. He coughed. Tears ran down his face. He blinked. Everything was blurry and uncertain. Something clung to his skin. He swiped at it with a clumsy hand, leaving a warm smear across his cheek. His vision sharpened. Across from him, stabbing light shone through long, diagonal gashes. He was looking at what should be a floor but was now a wall. He realized the world was on its side.

The gray and black shapes near him were a tangle of broken furniture, boxes and twisted metal. Sparking wires and torn canvas straps hung as thick as vines. Something was close, pressing against him. He pushed. A crate fell back. His crate, he remembered. He brought his goods to a textile merchant in Fort Tarsis. The deal fell through; too many risks. At the back of his mind, his sister’s voice urged him to be careful. He turned the strider around back to Antium on the same day. That was yesterday.

He was a collection of aches and sharp pains. What happened? An accident. Where was everyone?

“H-hu…?” He tried to call out, but his throat was an old chimney. He coughed again, clearing the debris. “Hello? I need help.” His voice rasped and burned with each word.

Silence. No, not silence, the screech of a bird. An incessant buzz of insects. Muffled gibbering. Across from him, the slashes of white showed a steaming landscape of swaying green. The jungle. He had never been this exposed to it before. He spent most of his life with great, thick walls between him and the creatures that roamed in the wild. He imagined something was out there right now, sniffing around for him. He’d spent his life hiding.

He tried to stand. A sickening lance of pain. A scrap of metal stuck out of his right leg. Blood trickled down his torn pants in a thin stream. He froze, afraid to do more harm. Just sit here, he thought. That’s best. Someone is coming. A long, barking howl echoed in the distance. He closed his eyes. Someone has to be coming.

The minutes grew and stretched out behind him. Moving carefully, he fished out a cigarette and small metal lighter.

***

“Here, take this.” his sister whispered years and years ago. They were hiding under the overturned loader. The lighter was worn and scratched. “It’s good luck, okay?” Her gaze waited for a nod. He was too afraid to move. She shook him. He tried to nod. “Stay here. Be quiet. You’ll be safe.” Her smile was so big and bright. “I’ll just take a peek.”

With a quick glance both ways, she ran.

***

The metal room warmed and boiled under the afternoon heat of the jungle sun. Around him lay the white remains of his cigarettes. One after another. A ritual to calm him down. His shirt was now sticky with sweat. Each twitch of pain sent a new dribble of blood down his leg. The humidity and heat grew heavier on him despite the groggy pain. His mind began to float.

***

She was gone a long time. He was alone. Long claws reached for him. A bark.

***

He woke with a start and a jolt of pain shooting up his leg. Was something there? He squeezed his eyes shut and listened. Sounds of the wild. He let out a breath, his gaze refocusing. The sun was setting, and color was draining from everything. It was getting dark and no one had come.

In the distance, a long, low howl rumbled across the dark green. His heart thumped. He flexed his hands. Open and closed. You need to move. No, stay. Open and closed. An image of his sister’s last smile flared in his mind. He took one last, short puff on his cigarette and threw it down with the rest. The cockpit should be just up that hall, right? There had to be some kind of emergency thing? A signal of some kind. Okay, he nodded, okay, you’re gonna move. His leg protested. He clicked open the lighter to get a better look. It was bad. He clicked it shut. Murky darkness. He wiped his hands on his shirt. Bracing himself against a heavy box and the wall, he closed his eyes.

I can’t do this. I should stay here.

I’ll just take a peek, she’d said.

He pushed himself up and the metal tore open his leg. A hot dagger of pain plunged into his leg and light burst behind his eyes. His hand flailed out and grabbed a bent pipe. Leaning awkwardly against the wall, he blinked away the spots. Holding himself with quivering arms, he saw dark blood pooling around his shoes. He pressed a hand to the wound, blood leaking between his fingers. His stomach rolled. Casting around for anything to help, he spotted a torn strip of white cloth that hung from a broken crate. His crate. Yanking it free, he wrapped it around his leg. It was immediately flush with red. He ripped it with his teeth. He shook as he tucked the end of the cloth into itself. Okay. He shuddered. Move.

***

He hid under the loader all night, clutching the lighter in a small fist. He heard barks in the distance. He never saw her again.

***

Slowly and painfully, he hopped along a wall that now served as the floor, picking his way through the wreckage. He spotted a short set of stairs on the opposite wall. Worn yellow paint spelled out CREW ONLY. Distracted, he stepped forward into nothing.

He fell into soft tendrils tangling his arms and legs. He was caught, almost dragged under like quicksand. His hand found thin ropes. It was netting. Large sacks with FOR DELIVERY: FORTUO printed on them. He let out a breath. Fortuo, the colorful, loud, and beautiful city of trade on the coast. He always wanted to go there, do some real business, make something of himself. But it was too far away, too dangerous. He pushed himself up against the bloody parcels, righting himself on the netting. Shuffling a few more steps down the corridor, he felt a breeze on his face. Parting a curtain of loose wires, he squinted into a sudden strong wind. A tangle of broken branches had smashed through a large window, dragging the dark, wild jungle into the metal room. The cockpit. He made it.

It took a moment to sort out the sideways room in the dim light. The smashed window extended up into the shadows above him. He could barely make out a large panel of dials and switches to the right of the window. A silhouette of the driver’s seat was a few feet ahead of him, firmly bolted to what was now the right wall. He had to get to that panel. Clicking on his lighter, he stepped into the room.

A bloody hand hung just below the driver’s seat. The sight stopped his breath cold. He waited. Were they alive? “Hello,” he managed. His voice was barely a whisper. He limped forward a few steps, his hand holding out the lighter. “Hello, are you all right?” The hand remained still. He gripped the frame of the seat and pulled himself close. The dull sheen of blood was everywhere. Steeling himself, he looked over and saw the driver was slumped to one side, bloody branches everywhere. She was young. A few gleaming white teeth visible under the ruin. 

***

You’ll be safe, she said.

I’ll just take a peek.

***

He turned away, his legs buckling. The lighter went out and he was blind. He should have stayed where he was. The pounding in his chest froze him in place. He hung on to the back of the driver’s seat, his cheek pressed against the warm metal. He fought to keep his fear from overwhelming him. The driver was dead. Everyone was dead and no one was going to find him. You move, you die. He knew this. Panic brought back old questions he’d asked a thousand times.

Why didn’t she stay? She would have been safe.

But I’m not safe. The lighter flicked on. I have to keep going. He looked past the body, to the control panel. He ducked under the chair and hopped closer, trying to clear his head. He was here to get help. Some signal or switch. He moved it back and forth along the panel. Sweat dropped into his eyes and burned. The small circle of light found a red strip that ran across a steel handle. 

EMERGENCY BEACON

He gripped the handle and pushed it to the right with a metallic clang. That had to be it. He’d done it. The lighter clicked shut. Everything was black. He waited, not sure what to expect. No lights, no beeping, no signal flare. He clicked his lighter on again to take a closer look, but there was nothing more to look at. No power. His lighter sputtered, its fuel running low. Click. Darkness. He was tired. He cursed himself for leaving his hiding spot.

She was foolish to leave back then. I was so scared.

He stood in the darkness of the cockpit. The barking howls getting closer.

I couldn’t move.

Not even to save my life.

She had no choice. She left and led the monsters away.

His vision blurred with tears. He saw it now. The image of his sister shaking him. He couldn’t do anything. Her sudden smile to reassure him. Her big, bright life extinguished. No. It couldn’t end like this. His wounds burned.

Click. The sputtering light showed his bandage was unraveling. Click. Darkness. He had an idea, something big and bright. And brave.

He hopped up to the window and slid along the worst of the broken glass. As he pushed through, it sliced open his shirt and down his chest. With a final heave, he broke free of the window and fell the last few feet to the forest floor. The  cold mud was a shock after so long in the close heat of the strider. He took his first deep breath in the open air.

Pushing himself up, he weaved along the strider’s neck, one hand on the metal and one hand out in front of him. He found a soft canvas pack. Click. Nothing. Click. Sputtering light. A massive bundle, torn open. Cloth bolts had fallen into the mud, others formed trails of white. He held the failing lighter against the cloth. A half-moon of embers began to catch and run along the strands. He stepped back and the lighter fell away. The flames roared to life. A final cry for help that grew bigger and brighter in the darkness. There was no choice. His sister would have understood.

Special thanks to Cathleen Rootsaert, Mary Kirby, Karin Weekes, and Ryan Cormier