Echoes in the Dusk

• Science fiction

								
The sun casts downward, dipping behind the prismatic leaves of the surrounding woods. The two moons, Scylla and Charybdis, rising into the evening sky. There is something soothing about the sounds of crunching leaves. The smell of the dirt and colorful grasses dancing among the last rays of twilight. They are an invitation, a welcoming that I can only allow myself to enjoy on the walk home. 

I’m always surprised by how easy my steps feel walking among the wild parts of this place, despite it being well outside where most folks would consider it safe. No thick, metal walls or security drones keeping out the encroaching nature of the planet. 

But I can’t live so close to all that metal, it has never sat well with me. Even on the ship, before it came crashing down. I was the odd one, spending all my time in the botany lab and artificial grow farms. The outskirts have always been where I’ve felt most at home. 

*A memory bounds up to the forefront of my mind, taking me back a few weeks. Elara and I sitting, eating dinner by amber glowlight.*  

*“Mom, this is torture, you’re making me live like a…a…”*

*“Cave person?” I finish her sentence, smiling at the exasperated air that all teenagers seem to have mastery over.*

*“Yes! A cave person. We live too far from town, none of my friends want to come out here because they think they’re going to get eaten!”*

*I let out a low chuckle.* 

*“Eaten by us or…”
She glares at me, the fury of a charging Gniaptid perfectly captured in her sweet face and violet eyes.* 

*“That’s not funny, they already think I’m weird.”* 

*I see her face fall, shame behind the anger.*

*“Hey.”* 

*I push our plates aside, pulling her into my lap. Her head easily lands on my shoulder, a motion we’ve done a thousand times.* 

*She’s barely fits in the spot now.* 

*“There is nothing wrong with being weird. You are way cooler than any of those kids. Like that one, what’s his name? Jarse, Jaris…”* 

*She looks up. Her eyes wide with surprise.
”Jarnis? What’s wrong with him? He’s not so bad…I kind of think he’s cute.”* 

*I try to suppress a smirk, her words come out almost in a whisper as if she fears he might hear her.* 

*“Oh, well I know his father, maybe I could set up…”*

*Before I can finish the thought she shoots up out of my lap, rigid as an iron rod. The fury returns and the shame melts away.* 

*“Don’t. You. Dare.” She points a dangerous finger in my direction.* 

*Now I break, the laughter rolling out of me. The memory of her face…*

My foot lands on something solid, the unmistakable sound of metal being struck. The sensation jars me from my thoughts. My body stiffens in an instant, the practiced habits of a Strider take over. Eyes cast downward, ears perked as my hand reaches back to grasp the handle of the blade that hangs on my hip. 

It’s a perimeter post, partially buried among the thick grasses. I set these up around the hut to alert of potential dangers. They’re always breaking or getting lost, thankfully they’re easy to repair. The tension leaves me as I reach down and pick it up. 

My hands clasp the cylindrical shape of the base, lifting it up into view, my blood crashes down into my feet. Weakness hits me as my heart starts to pound echoing drums into my ears, pressure building in my temples. A thick knot forms in my throat, drying my mouth and catching my breath. 

My mind tries to slide into the calm, cool place I retreat to during my hunts. As my body twists into a tight chord of panic and fear, it analyses. 

The deep gashes in the metal feel smooth to the touch. They are clean and parallel. 

The patterned grooves pressed into the dirt mark tracks just beyond the path. 

The moons are full, casting silver light across the forest.

*Elara.*

Before any plan of action can form, my body abandons the freezing panic and begins to move without my say. In a few sharp breaths the hut comes into view. A sheltered home built of sturdy wood, tucked between two ancient trees that offer it natural camouflage. 

A few more panicked inhales push me to the door. Thick wood shattered into fragments and kindling. 

*A flash of memory hits me as I rush past the threshold. Elara, barely 8 years old, a bundle of dried grass tied tightly into a rough brush in her hand. She’s helping me paint.* 

The once familiar interior is now alien. My Strider instincts quickly survey the area for signs of my child. 

The table broken in half, leaning lazily against the far wall next to one it’s accompanying chairs. The floor is a mess of gashes, and splintered planks. The smell of sulfur and gunpowder burns my nose as I move past the tattered remains of a wall hanging. 

*She used the revolver.* 

I turn the back corner sharply, my feet slip on a piece of broken glass and I’m thrown towards the ground. My shoulder slams hard against the corner. Some part of my mind registers a snapping sensation in the joint. My eyes lock on the walls of the back room. 

*Her room.* 

*There’s blood on her walls.* 

The hut seems to shrink, the walls closing in, every splintered board a dagger to my heart. I’m there in an instant. My head snapping back and forth looking for the thing I desperately seek and viscously do not want to find. 

*She’s not here.* 

The realization crashes into me. I am a tree brought down by lightning. 

A creature howls out of my throat. The sound is unrecognizable in my muffled ears. The guttural screams of sorrow and loss rip out of me and rush into the quiet night. 

My mind is a raging storm as endless fragments of memory spiral within me. Each is a jagged shard of broken glass, cutting me as it briefly enters my attention.  

I'm on my knees, scrabbling at the floor, as if I could somehow find her hidden beneath the debris.

 

*It took her from me. This is my fault.* 

Fifteen years of memories pass me in a torrent as I’m forced to relieve them in painful detail. Elara's laughter, her small hand in mine, the warmth of her hug. This was our home and she trusted me to keep her safe.

*I couldn’t keep my child safe.*

The thought is a final blow. I collapse, a puppet with its strings cut. The taste of blood filling my mouth. My vision tunnels, the world fading to black.

Eventually, my eyes open again. The hut is a dim cave of shadows dancing against moonlight. 

I am a bundle of pain, a broken symphony of bone and sinew. The burning in my throat is matched only by the throbbing of my head. My hands and arms are a gruesome tapestry of cuts and scrapes. 

Some primal instinct, buried deep within, forces me to move. To revert to the habits that have kept me alive so many times before. My eyes scan the room, noting the lines of dried blood. Following their path out of the window.

My fingers find the edge of the dark stain, still clumpy and wet. My senses take in the room in a detached way, gathering information. Cataloged data flashes into the forefront of my mind. Pushing back the roaring chaos of emotions and allowing me to think. Six years of hunting experience crystalizing into action. 

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