Man behind the Mask

by Reticent Architect

Overwhelmed

He was right there.

Standing right there. Just standing. Twitching. Screaming. Running. He was there- Right there! -Then… poof!

I looked down. I looked up. I was so close. Four, maybe five feet, tops. I could have touched him. Could have grabbed him. Could have dragged him to safety. Why didn’t I? He was clearly hurting. He was clearly not alright. That… that wasn’t like Carlos at all. Carlos didn’t ask for money. Carlos didn’t twitch and jump like a meth addict. Carlos didn’t scream at people like an angry lion. He certainly didn’t throw hands at me. Ever.

That wasn’t Carlos. That was not my brother. That was Carlos twisted. Changed. Made wrong.

I knew there was something wrong from the moment he burst into the room. Or at least from when I noticed him. I freely admit that maybe I was a little too engrossed in the match for my own good. And honestly, could you blame me? My deck was destroying! My Jeskai deck was tearing through anyone without an optimized deck, with a chance to pop Ascendancy within the first 4 turns! A constant barrage of attacks almost instantaneously! It was just my style. Why risk missing with a single shot when you could flood the battlefield with explosions? There’s no kill quite like Overkill! It’s the same reason Carlos and I worked so well together. He prefered to play smart, I preferred to play hard. He was the light, I was the heat. It didn’t matter what it was. We just clicked!

I was having trouble with an Abzan player- desperately regretting my lack of controls- when I noticed the commotion. People were yelling at ‘some asshole’ at the edge of the tables. While not uncommon in a Magic tournament, it was always entertaining to watch who’d make an ass of themselves at these things. Besides, whatever gave me an excuse to think for another minute or two was always welcome.

I smiled when I noticed Carlos’ hood poking through the crowd. I knew he couldn’t stand this game, but he came to watch me anyway! That smile died when I saw him clearly.

He paid no attention to the people he shoved out of the way with an exaggerated sneer on his face. His robes were damp, with large sweat stains under his neck and pits. His hair hung limp with the stuff. Once light brown skin had faded to a stale yellow, and shone in the light.. If I didn’t know it was him, I’d have said that the man in front of me was suffering from at least several months’ worth of Jaundice. Deep bruises surrounded bloodshot eyes, and hung impossibly low on his cheeks. Combined with at least several days of stubble on his previously clean-shaven face, it looked like he hadn’t slept or bathed in weeks. ‘He’d never walk outside like that, ever.’

I dropped my cards. I think my opponent protested, but he didn’t exist to me anymore. All that mattered was the sorry state my buddy was in. When I left him, he looked fine. In an hour, he turned into… this.

It took me a few seconds to realize he was talking to me. I asked him if he was alright. He responded. It was only a few words in when he dropped the bomb on me.

“I need to borrow $50!” It sounded more like a command than a request.

My mouth opened and closed with no sound, like a fish out of water. Carlos… Carlos never asked for money. His family was big on never owing anyone anything. They worked for what they got. He certainly inherited that much from his folks. I dropped my deck. I don’t even remember picking it up. Dozens of scenarios raced through my brain, from the mundane to the ridiculous. From breaking expensive objects in one of the stalls to extortion. I ruled them all out. Even if he did break something, he’d never ask me to pay for his mistake. I couldn’t think of anything else that’d justify him asking to borrow money. As for extortion, Cons weren’t typically the atmosphere for that sort of thing. Even if they were, he was more than capable of handling himself. Even if he couldn’t, he had me.

I pulled out my chair, and he slammed it back under the table, which rattled and slid an inch or two. My opponent complained and picked up his cards. His words fell on deaf ears. Carlos didn’t want to sit and breathe. He didn’t want to relax. He begged me. My normally proud friend straight up begged me…

I went stupid for a short time. I couldn’t help it. In front of me was something that could not possibly be happening. It was like looking at someone else in a well made Carlos costume, reading his lines poorly. I thought for a moment that maybe the food we ate earlier was laced with something. The thought sent shivers down my spine.

I was brought out of my funk by a steel grip. I looked down. Carlos was hugging me across the chest. His forehead left a greasy smear on my shoulder.

“Thanks, Dude! You’re the best!” He yelled as he ran back out of the room.

I stared dumbly for a moment. I looked to where he used to be, then to the wallet in my hand.
“God damn it!” I took off after him. My opponent yelled out, pointing to my deck on the table. I kept running. The tourney organizer warned me of my impending forfeiture. I didn’t stop. They seemed so small to me then. So petty. Fuck the cards. Fuck my opponent. Fuck the tournament. My brother was in trouble.

After a few minutes, I severely hated the fact that Carlos was smaller and faster than me. I dare anyone to keep up half as well as I did. He dodged between stalls and through crowds. Several times I had to cut through another aisle to catch up. My lungs burned and my knees ached. This armor was heavy! I didn’t dare stop running, though.

We must have circled the Con twice before we stopped. Each time I caught a glimpse of his face, the metal ball in my gut grew. He was all wide eyes, twitching, and frantic panting. He was running scared, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. He slowed down, and finally stopped at a dark corner of the marketplace. I dropped to my hands and knees. I’d been running on fumes for a while. That dinky burger was barely enough to tide me over, let alone give me the energy to run a 5k in battle armor, fake though it was. I gave myself some time to let my hammering heart settle down. If I’d had the time, I’d have gotten a drink. Dry swallowing saliva could only help a dry throat so much.

I heard talking, but didn’t focus on the words. One voice, confused and nervous. Carlos’ was angry. I looked up. We were at some cheap shop I’d never seen before. Carlos was arguing with some kid. He couldn’t have been older than 17. A high-schooler. Granted we weren’t that far ahead of him, but still. Carlos growled at the kid, who stepped closer in response. He had a glazed, far-off look in his eyes. It sort of looked like he was running on autopilot. Like he just wasn’t aware of what was happening. Someone, neither of them, cleared their throats. I looked at the vendor behind the counter.

A slimy feeling slithered down my spine. The guy who ran the shop was a BIG dude. Very big. His grey shirt stretched over the muscles of someone who clearly lifted at the gym, and lifted often. The face stenciled on it was thin, distorted. His own face looked…. off. Like it was a mask stretched on too wide a head. He was shaved bald, and wore a green visor. He was tall, though not as tall as me. None of that scared me. I knew I could take him if I needed to. His eyes though…

Those eyes held no mercy. For anyone. They were hard and flinty, and sharp as a tack. Dark brown, almost black, and dead inside. Nothing escaped their gaze.They were the eyes of someone who’d sell their little sister for a profit. They were the eyes of someone who was used to leaning on people too stupid to stay away from him for a living. I’d seen them before, on the older dealers from the old neighborhood. Not the dime-a-dozen ones the sold from their houses, the ones who worked in the warehouses, who’d either been to prison before or dodged on some other poor bastard’s luck. I’d seen them on the bangers that hung on the corner, all tattoos and affected swagger. They were common on the older members, the ones who’d already paid their dues. I’d seen them on the guy that hung around the alley down the street with nothing but the rags on his back and a dirty knife, stinking of booze and desperation. On all of those people, the look was the same. Decisive. Confident. Capable. Dangerous.

But never like this. Never to the degree I saw right then.

Before I knew it, I was next to Carlos. The ‘vendor’ ignored me. Hot, stupid shame welled up at my relief. I looked down at Carlos’ empty wallet. I was too late. Whatever this guy was peddling, it was bad news. Before I could pull him away, though, he passed a small, blue bag to Carlos, who tore into it like it was a Christmas present. He just kept staring at it. I don’t think he blinked once. I waved my hand in front of him. Nothing. I called his name. Still, he ignored me.

His eyes widened even further, and a grin tore his face apart. He swung the bag on to his back and stared at his prize: a small, grey mask.

My stomach stopped doing flips and started boiling. ‘This? This is what it’s all been about?’ I felt my worry evaporate, and turn to anger. And I let him know.
“Carlos, what the fuck? What the actual fuck?! You think that was funny? Comin’ in all jacked up and shit? Making me chase your scrawny ass all over the place, for this piece of shit?!” I waited a beat. “Hello?! I’m fucking talking to you!” Carlos never answered me. He was slowly lifting the mask up, muttering under his breath. Occasionally, the word ‘Mine’ came out.

Instantly, my anxiety returned. Carlos wasn’t just being a greedy asshole. He wasn’t thinking. I looked around. My outburst had drawn a crowd. In the corner, one of the security guards fixated on us, and spoke into his walkie talkie. This was a bad scene. I had to get Carlos out of here. I turned and grabbed his arms. He resisted with more strength than I’d ever known he had.

I pulled. Hard. The mask fell with his arm, suddenly limp. His eyes darted back and forth, sliding over me as if I wasn’t there. Then:

“GEEEEAAAAHHHH! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!” He howled! I ducked under a vicious swing he threw my way. In a single moment, my anxiety coalesced into fear, then full blown panic. He kept swinging his head left to right, snarling and swinging at anyone who got close. A father pulled his child away. Several guys in Gears of War costumes pushed the rest of the crowd back. They threw their props down, and ambled forward, charged by the atmosphere. Ready to throw down. A couple people whipped out their phones. Some phones flashed, others just stared at the scene. A few teens stood and jeered, their insults punctuated with laughter. The security guard from earlier rushed forward, and tried to talk Carlos down. He kept his stance non-threatening, but seemed ready to use force if necessary. A real professional guy. Carlos threw a sloppy punch his way, and he stepped back easily. The GoW cosplayers from earlier braced him with promises of support.

I stepped forward slowly. Carlos seemed dazed. His animal snarl had died, and a new look took its place. He stared at the crowd, and backed into the corner. I could hear the crowd close in behind me, despite the guard’s warning to the contrary. When he hit the wall, Carlos shrunk down, hunched. He hid his face. I could barely hear him, whispering to himself. He sounded strange, like his voice was echoing in a large room. I spoke to him.

“Dude. Listen. It’s okay. Just come with me, and we can talk about this.” I kept my voice low, and as soothing as I could. His eyes bolted to me. It was as if he had just seen me for the first time. I looked back. More security guards had shown up. With them, the light brown uniform of a police officer could be seen.

“Jus-....ay! Le-...ve m-... one!” Carlos shouted! I winced. His voice sounded… off. Low pitched and shrieking, as though accompanied by a thousand fingernails against chalkboard. I could taste bile. My midsection rumbled with his voice. Around me, people in the crowd threw their hands on their ears. Some dropped their phones. The officer had paused, at first to cover her ears, and then to ready the gun-shaped taser strapped to her utility belt. I turned to my friend.

“Please, man! Just come with me!” I could hear my voice grow higher with a tinge of hysteria. Carlos grimaced, his face pained. He looked around- eyes sliding from face to face- but saw no one in the congregation. Blood fell from his nose, only a few drops at first, and then a steady stream. He looked down.

And then he stood.

Carlos straightened his posture, his head still facing downward. The police officer behind me froze and raised her weapon. She barked orders at Carlos, to surrender and to comply. Carlos acted as if she wasn’t even there. He raised the mask to his face. For some reason, I could feel only dread.

Then it hit me. His pale skin. His messed up personality. His obsession. The vendor. The mask. Carlos.

As soon as the mask touched his face, Carlos froze solid. The crowd was silenced immediately. He slowly raised his head, the visor of his new face focused squarely on me. I couldn’t even see his eyes behind it. Then…

He fell.

“CARLOS!!”

Right through the floor.

I knelt down and touched the floor where he stood. It pushed back, solid as it had ever been. I tried to push my hand through, as if it’d yield to sheer force of will. It stayed strong. Mocked me with its sturdiness. I played the scene over and over again in my head. It didn’t make sense. None of his behavior fit Carlos. Even if I could explain why he acted like a rehab escapee, there’s no way I could explain him just… falling. I turned to the officer behind me.

I felt my insides turn to water.

Everyone, every single person in the crowd, had frozen in place. Their eyes were wide, and pointed in my direction. Entirely too much white showed, some heads shook despite their still eyes, if only slightly. Their mouths hung wide open, with lips pulled back in a primal manner, and shut with a loud, unison clack! They opened again. Clack! And again, several times more. Frothy spittle hung from the corners of their mouths, as each person had been hyperventilating as wildly as possible. Their arms hung limply at their sides. Dozens of hands clenched into fists that trembled. Those with phones in their hands squeezed until they crushed the devices. Some cut their hands open doing so.

SNAP! Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick--! I jumped. Next to me, the cop stared vacantly at me, her jaw clacking with the rest of them. In her hand, her taser shook under white knuckles. The darts lay on the floor several feet away, bent and useless. They hummed and clicked incessantly. I backed up, unable to tear my eyes from the spectacle. The entire marketplace reverberated with the ivory chatter of teeth. Then, collectively, the crowd drew a breath.

And the spell was broken.

As one, the people surrounding me began to disperse. Some cried in dismay upon discovering their phones were destroyed. Other simply walked off as if nothing had happened. Gone were the worried and angry faces. Gone was the creepy staring and unanimous movement. Something touched my shoulder. I flinched. The cop looked down at me with concern in her eyes.

“I said, are you alright, sir?” She asked. I searched her for any sign of… whatever the hell that was just then. She stared into my eyes, and muttered something into her radio.

“Do you need medical assistance, sir?” I shook my head, and she relaxed. I let her help me to my feet. Her hand was rough, and warm. I looked around. No one seemed to be freaking out about what just happened. No one looked at me, yet I could feel that crawling sensation, the sense of being stared at. I felt like an extra in a horror movie.

On the floor, several phones laid abandoned by their previous owners. No one even looked at them. I rushed to the nearest one with a grin on my face. The pictures! They would certainly help me prove my case! I picked one up, an iPhone with a bright pink case. Luckily it wasn’t locked. A few seconds of navigation brought me to the camera.

“Umm, excuse me, sir. Is that yours?” I looked back at the cop, who eyed me warily. Her eyes darted from phone to phone before settling back on me. I went back to scrolling before I answered her.

“No,” I said, as I searched for the most recent photo or video. I heard her step closer.

“Then what are you doing with it, sir? Did you steal that phone?” She asked, a slight edge to her voice. I actually laughed.

“Does it look like I did?” I asked, gesturing to the other phones. “No, I’m just looking for something.”

“Looking for what? And where did these come from?”

“Proof. My friend’s gone missing. The people who had these phones were taking pictures. As for why they left these here,” I paused as I switched to the next phone. The data on this phone was corrupted, and wouldn’t play. “I don’t think they had a choice.”

Her voice took a professional tone. “Missing? Did you report it in?”

“No, it just happened.”

“Where did it happen? Can you tell me what you saw?” I stopped and gave her a long, hard look. She’d been relaying a series of numbers into her radio, presumably calling for help. Mom called it Copspeak.

“What do you mean?” I asked her. “You were there.”

She gave me a skeptical look. “I was where, sir?”

“You were there!” My voice raised a bit. “You watched it happen. He just disappeared!”

The cop backed up a bit, and held her free hand out in a calming gesture. “There’s no need to get upset. I’m just having trouble understanding what you mean. Why don’t you explain it, slowly. Hm?” Any other day, I’d have been grateful that she was being so rational. It was not one of those days.

“You saw him! He fell! Right there! Through the floor!” Her look turned worried. Her hand reached for her radio. “For God’s sake, you pointed your taser at him!” That got her to stop!

“Wait… What?” She looked down at her belt and held up her left hand, with the gun still clenched in it. Her eyes widened as she saw that she’d been dragging her spent cartridge this whole time.

“Oh shit! Shit, shit!” She rapidly pulled on the cord and wadded it up in her hands. She tried desperately to stuff the remains in her belt, and when that failed, she sped off into the marketplace.

“Wait! Wait, come back!” I yelled after her. She showed no signs of having heard me. Frustrated, I continued sifting through the phones at my feet. That frustration quickly turned to disbelief. This was the third phone in a row whose video data had been corrupted. Phone after phone, I found either corrupted data, or simply no data at all. I had more luck with the older phones. They at least displayed their photos. My triumph was short lived, however, as each photo was either of nothing at all, or was too blurry to truly see anything.

Finally, I found something: a grainy, chewed out photo. I could barely see Carlos’ face. The shot only captured half his body, but he was there. Definitely there. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and rubbed the goosebumps on the back of my neck. He was there. I was right. I was right! I looked around before stuffing the phone into my thigh pouch. No one was watching me anyway. The cop was nowhere to be found. Hell, none of the people who owned these phones even seemed to notice they were missing. A door slammed as I got to my feet. I looked over to where Carlos had stood and saw the sleazy vendor speed-walking away.

I was in motion before the words ever left my mouth.

“Hey! Stop!” I yelled. My fists clenched as he kept moving. He ignored me completely, and slid through the crowd like a phantom. I dove through the same gaps, and bumped nearly every person in the way. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw staring eyes. I heard clacking teeth. People showed up where they weren’t before. Each second I spent pushing them out of the way was another second’s distance I lost. I could barely see his shiny head over the throng now. Soon enough, I wasn’t just pushing past people, I was knocking them down as I ran. No matter how fast I went, he was always just out of reach. Ahead of me, I saw a guard at the end of his seizure. He stopped clacking and immediately turned to me. He was shorter than me by a head. I could barely see my quarry beyond his sandy, brown hair. A ‘Hi, my name is’ name tag was slapped over the name embroidered on his shirt, with ‘Steve’ written in big, blocky letters. He stepped in my path with a shout, ordering me to stop.

We collided, and to my surprise, he was much stronger than he looked. My shock was mirrored on his face, as -while not doing so easily- he was holding me back. He’d begun spouting off about causing trouble and public safety when I saw the shop owner’s shiny, bald head disappear around the corner. I pressed harder, to no avail. ‘I don’t have time for this!’

I threw my knee up. Hard.

Steve dropped like a sack of potatoes, curled up with his hands cradling his crotch. A steady stream of pained moans and mutes curses flowed from his mouth, but I had already jumped past him and sprinted away before I could tell what he was saying. ‘Sorry, Steve...’. I turned the corner and saw a heavy door swinging shut. Seconds later, I threw my whole weight at the push-bar. The door flung open and bashed against the wall, and I stumbled. The fluorescent lighting blinked faster than I could see. Every sound echoed in the dingy hallway, including the footsteps ahead of me.

‘There!’ Baldy was yanking open a door on right right side. His formerly huge arms were now sagging, and thin. He turned to look at me. The wrinkles did nothing to lessen the severity of his gaze. It burned with just as much vitality and malice as before, though, for the first time I matched its intensity. I stepped forward, fists clenched, ready for whatever he had to throw at me. To my surprise, an arm shot out from my right, and stopped my advance. The kid in the jedi robes scowled at me. Strangely, his bright green eyes shimmered, as though he was about to cry. I had no idea what he was doing there, but I had no time to waste on him, and pushed past him with barely a thought. Baldy stepped inside the door.

“Don’t you dare move a muscle, you son of a-Glrrkk!” Something yanked me back mercilessly, and before I knew what, I was thrown off my feet into several fold-up tables stacked against the wall. They crashed under my bulk, and the air was knocked out of my lungs. I struggled to inhale. I felt my spine throb with muted pain, and as I fought to breathe, booted feet came into view. A steel grip yanked me clean off the ground by the throat, and I stared into the eyes of my assailant.

The eyes of the kid.

They were slowly changing, from a green to a deep, deep brown. I could feel the gaze burning my skin - actually burning it!- with its intensity. It felt like I was being swarmed by fire ants. I clawed at his hand in a vain attempt to get loose. Pressure started to build as his hands blocked blood flow in my head. Out of desperation, I threw a hook as hard as I could into his stomach. It was like hitting a heavy bag; he ignored me completely. I fought as hard as I could for air, so much so that I was grateful when one of his hands dropped from my throat. He kept me pinned against the wall with one fist as he drew the other back.

WHAM!!

For the briefest moment, I was sure I’d been run over by an 18-wheeler! My meager lunch shot up my throat, stopped only by the pressure he was putting on it. Pain bloomed as he slowly ground his fist into my stomach. Those terrible eyes glinted with satisfaction, and he pulled back his fist again.

WHAM!!

All went black for a moment. My throat bulged with the contents of my stomach begging for release, preventing me from drawing any breath. Stars of every color and shape swam around the edges of my vision, and warmth trickled down my leg. I could feel my eyes bulge from the sheer pressure, and I feared that at any moment they could pop out.

WHAM-CRA-CRACK!!!

Something gave way in my chest, and a lightning bolt of pure agony shot up and down my body. Behind me, I could hear the crumbling of rock. Darkness slowly consumed everything in my sight and--

Suddenly, it was over. The vice-like grip around my throat disappeared and I dropped like a brick. My first instinct was to gasp for air. Bad idea. Powerful convulsions wracked my body, and I retched, hard. In my desperation, I aspirated bile, further tormenting my lacerated lungs. Every breath felt like I was inhaling a fine cloud of razor blades and barbed wire. A heavy weight had set on my chest. My heart raced and a million thoughts shot through my brain. My lungs worked furiously to get some air in me, and the next few minutes were a haze of coughing, painful wheezing and more vomiting. Each breathe only brought more anguish. I tried breathing, I tried not breathing. Nothing stopped the next wave of fresh hell from coming. Tears leaked from my eyes with each stabbing flare of pain. I tried to turn around, to sit up, but my arms had no strength left. I collapsed on my front, adding more force to the storm within.

‘This is it.’ I thought. For just the briefest moment, my thoughts stopped. My body continued to hyperventilate, but the pain didn’t reach me. I was miles away, looking down at myself. Everything was calm. Focused. Clear.

‘This is it. Jesus… I’m sorry, Mom. Dad. I’m sorry this happened.’ Two booted feet walked into my view. Without my direction, my eyes slid upwards. He looked bored. He looked bored! Like he was watching a cockroach flipped on its back, suffocating to death. Slowly, he lifted his foot.

‘I fucked up. God, I fucked up! I’m sorry I won’t be there anymore. That you have to see this, everyone.’

And he brought it down…

‘Carlos, buddy… I’ll never bring you home now...’

I waited.

And waited….

I looked up to see him walking away. Any acceptance I felt morphed into fury the likes of which I’d never felt before. I clawed the ground, hoping against hope that I could catch up to him. My fingers slipped, soaked in my own vomit and blood. I gained maybe half a foot.

I watched as he strolled through the door. The shop owner had been watching, the barest hint of interest in his eyes. Without another word, he stepped back. The door swung shut behind him. It slammed with the finality of a judge’s gavel. As the echo dissipated, a new sound broke the silence. A moaning, long and low. Filled with a brand of misery I’d only read about until then.

Soon, I felt the toll of the day weigh in on me, a powerful fatigue sapped my will away. I fell asleep to the sounds of my own sobbing.

It was a troubled slumber. I dreamed of people running into the hall. Of the police breaking down the door my enemies escaped through, only to find a dirty janitor’s closet. Of being surrounded by worried faces and strange instruments.

I dreamed of my mom crying over me. Of my dad reading to me while I slept. They looked so old. So tired.

I dreamed of the looks of devastation plastered on Carlos’ dad’s face. Of his aunt’s empty stare. Of his manic grin. Of my rage and impotence.

But most of all, I dreamed of the one who stole my brother from me.

“C’mon… C’moooon!” I begged the tiny pile of twigs and grass as I assaulted it with a stick. I rotated it in my hands as fast as I could, in hope that maybe -just maybe!- the universe would let me have a freebie on this one. I spun and spun, and while I hadn’t managed to make a spark, it was doing a marvelous job of keeping my hands warm. Which was more than I could say about the rest of me. I barely felt my hands as they moved, and couldn’t feel my toes. As it turned out, super breathable cloth does not make the best of winter gear. On top of that, I had no idea how I was supposed to keep warm out here. Fuck Florida. Why couldn’t I have lived in someplace that gets cold? Like Tennessee. Or Iceland?

I’d awakened over an hour ago, severely hating myself for not thinking ahead. All throughout the hillside, temperatures dropped as the storm raged on last night. My little cave was no exception. At first, I’d panicked when I realized I couldn’t see anything. The thought had crossed my mind that maybe I’d gone blind somehow. Thankfully, I didn’t lose my head in my panicked cursing. I brought out my phone to use as a flashlight.

I’d quickly discovered that the blizzard last night nearly buried me under a couple feet of snow. The bushes were the only reason I survived. They served as a barrier between the snow and my cave. I crawled out and stood up, surprised at exactly how much snow had fallen in the course of one night. I mean, I knew it got crazy in the north with snowfalls, but this was just plain nuts! I was just lucky I’d had my phone when-- ‘MY PHONE!!’

The widest of grins stretched my face as I realized I’d been holding my salvation. I tore off the mask, ignoring the biting cold, and unlocked it. With a scowl, I noticed the poor thing had 13% battery left. ‘Better make it count’. I climbed to the highest hill I could find and dialed 911. No connection. I held it out as far as I could, but couldn’t find a single bar!

Dial. Curse. Dial. Curse. Rinse and repeat.

“FUCK!” After my fifth try, I’d had enough. I wound up like a professional pitcher and tossed that fucker as far as I could! It sailed and disappeared past the treeline of my clearing. ‘HELL YEAH! What a throw!’

…

...

“...............SHIT!” With reckless abandon, I damn near sprinted down the hill. I almost slipped twice, but that didn’t slow me down. I had to pump my knees up as high as I could just to keep from sinking into the snow. Soon I was sweating and panting my way through the trees. At least I was warm.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I cried, hoping against hope that my little tantrum hadn’t destroyed my only means of communication with the outside world.

A few minutes of near vomit-inducing panic lead me to the place where my phone had landed. Some frantic digging rewarded me with my phone, which had imbedded itself at the base of a tree. With my heart in my throat, I pressed the button, and was rewarded with the home screen.
The relief was real. It was very, very real.

On the way back, I’d tried to scrape some of the ice and crap that had accumulated on the screen off, but found it was too difficult. The big, bulky gloves I wore just weren’t made for the corners. So with some difficulty, I slipped off my gloves and tried again. That’s when my problems began to multiply.

‘My hands…. Jesus. What happened to my hands?!’

I stared in shock as I flexed my hands, trying to view every angle I could. The digits were swollen and bright red. The parts that weren’t bulbous were pale. As I stretched them out, a disturbing thought occurred to me: I could barely feel them. I rubbed them on my robes, hoping to feel something. Anything! It was as if I was touching things through several layers of thick padding. If anything, the condition my skin was in should have hurt like hell. The sausage-like appendages should have been tender! Anyone who has ever used a hand after slamming it in something could tell you that. Yet the only thing I could feel was the barest hints of pins and needles, a tingling just under the surface of my skin that drove me insane.

As I hurried back to my cave, I realized something else. Something worse.

I couldn’t feel my toes.

‘I need fire. Now!’

Twenty minutes of frantic foraging later, and I was well on my way to survival! Some sticks and leaves and pieces of bark laid piled in my cave, and I brought the last of the wood inside, eager to turn this pile of junk into a life-saving fire.

I’d never gone camping before. For most of my life, I’d lived in the suburbs. Hell, going to the beach is the closest I had ever really gotten to roughing it. My folks were great that way. They didn’t have much growing up. I used to listen to them tell stories about what it was like growing up with so little. It helped me appreciate just how hard they worked to give me the life we had. To get us out of the barrio, and into the suburbs we lived in. It’s a humbling thought, to know that another human being busted their ass to bring you to a nice place to live.

All of this, of course, was to say that the closest thing I had to real world knowledge and experience in the outdoors was whatever I’d managed to pick up from the discovery channel. Shows like Man vs. Wild and Naked and Afraid. Still, I’d be lying if I had said that I wasn’t the smallest bit excited about getting to finally apply some of that knowledge. I wasn’t worried. I was already light-years ahead of where I could be. Humans have been making fire for hundreds of thousands of years! And I had way more knowledge than my ancestors did.

“Alright!” I shouted, with barely restrained enthusiasm. “Let’s do this!”

After all, it was firecraft, not rocket science. How hard could it be?

“Damn it DAMN IT DAMN IT!!” I threw the stick I had been spinning for the past two hours into the pile. It had snapped in half twice since I began. “Why is this SO HARD?!”

I dropped to my stomach and glared at the pile, searching for even the barest hints of an ember. “Light!” I shouted at the pile, as if I could make the fire start by sheer force of will. “Light!”

The pile remained, regrettably. It laid there, stubbornly refusing to spontaneously burst into flames. What a jerk.

I picked up another stick and tried again. I spun it in place over a large section of wood, hoping that sheer anger would accomplish what friction could not. “Why! Won’t! YOU! LIGHT?!’ I roared! Outside, I could hear birds flapping away in terror. I pressed down with all of my body weight and spun, only to snap the stick and fall forward. I looked at my hands. The pit of the glove where I held the stick looked worn, and covered in splinters. White hot fury boiled in my chest, as I stood up and kicked the pile as hard as I could, spraying the interior of the cave with debris. I screamed myself hoarse.

Finally, after a few minutes, I fell to my knees, and waited while my heart and breath rate slowly climbed back down. Hyperventilating in this sort of climate would do me no good.

I forced myself to breathe slowly. ‘I can’t keep losing control like this. I have to think, or I’m screwed!’

I pulled my cloak around me as I tried to keep myself from shivering. I knew then that if I couldn’t figure out a way to keep this space warm, I’d freeze to death before morning.

After a few more minutes, I’d calmed down enough to start searching my kits for anything useful. As I opened the brown kit, a feral growl sounded off around me! I stumbled backwards on my ass fell into a defensive crouch, ready to kick some furry ass! Only to discover that I was alone in the cave. I looked around in confusion as I heard the growl again, only to look down at my stomach.

‘Fuck me, I’m starving!’ It was only then that I’d realized that my last meal was over twenty four hours ago. I crawled over to the brown kit and fished out the bar I’d unwrapped the previous night. I tried not to drool on myself like a mental patient and took my mask off. Funnily enough, I’d almost forgotten I was wearing it. Needing to stay warm tended to put some things into perspective. Besides, it was actually kind of comfortable. Instantly, the air turned colder. I could see my breath again, but I didn’t care. It was Chow Time! I tore into my meal like a stoner at Taco Bell!

‘I… Oh god.’ I did everything in my power to not spit it up. That thing tasted like homeless people smelled! Each bite was like finding out there’s no Santa Claus again.

With herculean effort, I managed to swallow it, instantly wishing that I hadn’t. It’s like the manufacturer went out of their way to make something that tasted like regret and sewer water! With a grimace, I took another bite.

Whether I liked it or not, this was my only food for a while.

As I chewed (and tried in vain to keep my tongue away from that crap), I checked the kit. It seemed that in the darkness, I overestimated how much was in the case. I had maybe enough for a week. Two weeks if I rationed myself. I knew I could last without food for a while, though, so it was enough to make the search for food a lower priority than it would have been normally.

I finished my…. ‘meal’ and dug around some more, before finally taking out the plastic-wrapped foil from before. Hope sprung up as I unwrapped the object, and for the first time, the universe threw me a bone.

I’d seen this material before, on tv shows and survival manuals! Mylar! Sweet, beautiful mylar!

It wasn’t much. About 5 sheets of the stuff, enough for maybe a sleeping bag. My dreams of lining my cave in the stuff died quickly.

I struggled with my decision for a few minutes, before finally settling on lining the mouth of the cave with it. My thought process was this: Hang the mylar up to stop the wind from entering the cave, shiny side in to keep heat from escaping!

Unfortunately this was easier said than done. It took me forever to pile enough snow to build a wall sturdy enough for the mylar to rest against. and to figure out how to pin the mylar up with no tape or anything. I ended up pulling a little of it upwards and outside the cave and putting rocks on top to keep it from sliding down. The side with the bushes wasn’t as easy. I ended up tearing one sheet, and having to double up on that side. I filled the inside of some of the bushes with some snow to keep them from whipping around in the wind. It wasn’t the prettiest fix, but it worked. That left me one sheet to hang up when I want to close the cave, and one to use as a blanket!

I tested out my makeshift door, constructed of mylar, sticks from the failed fire, and some of the very sparse rope I had. The cave began to warm up noticeably. Not nearly enough to negate the need for fire, but it was something. Every little bit helps when you’re on your own.

I checked outside. I had a few hours of daylight left. Maybe. It was kind of hard to tell. Wherever the sun was, it was blocked by clouds and mountains. I crawled back and picked up my mask. Putting it on warmed me up enough for me to be somewhat more confident that I would survive the night. I was about to climb out, when I hesitated and went back to the kit. I pulled out the pistol I’d found the previous night. It was short, and squat, with an exaggerated bell for a barrel, like a tiny blunderbuss. The stubby gun packed away inside found a new home in one of my satchels. Though I had no idea how to use a firearm, and though this gun looked like nothing I’d ever seen before, I actually felt a little better having it on me.

I crawled back outside and picked a direction. With a rock, I scratched an arrow on a nearby tree trunk pointing back to my camp. 'Thanks, Bear Grylls!' I repeated this process as I explored the area around my cave. Further back from my camp, towards the mountains, I found a cliff face. I couldn’t climb too high, but I was able to get myself up a small ways, to a vantage point. It wasn’t easy. My leg, while still in pain, at least functioned enough for me to get that far. The real trouble was my arm. I couldn’t put too much pressure on it without pain lancing through my shoulder.

Needless to say, climbing was a bitch. But hey, at least I could still use it, somewhat. The area around my camp was tightly packed. I could barely see through the trees that obscured my surroundings, and couldn’t see the horizon, but got maybe a couple miles in most directions of unobstructed view.

‘....Whoa.’ It had never really occurred to me until that moment exactly how far out in the middle of nowhere I could be. Trees obscured most of my surroundings as far as the eye could see. I could see the mountains behind me stretching into the distance before disappearing under the forest. I could, of course, see my little cave, and further back, a grove of trees that was much thicker than the rest of the forest. I could see the river I’d nearly died at, the chunk of trees and ground that boar had torn up vastly at odds with the untouched nature around it. In the opposite direction from my little cliff face, I could see the hints of a ravine, opening up from the ground. I could see the fresh snows glinting in what little sunlight the overcast day provided, seemingly bathing the countryside in thousands of glittering jewels.

People often use the word awesome to describe, well, pretty much everything in their lives. Things like: ‘I found a parking spot in front of work today, it was awesome.’ Or ‘I managed to snag an extra soda from the vending machine today for free! Awesome!’, or ‘I found a twenty on the floor today! Isn’t that awesome?!’. Awesome job. Awesome shirt. Awesome car.

Awesome.

It’s used so much that it’s practically lost all meaning. Nowadays, awesome is used so frivolously it could be used to describe a dump someone took earlier in the day with no hint of sarcasm. People sort of forgot that something awesome was supposed to inspire awe!

What I saw, standing there on that ledge, looking out over untouched, pristine nature, the likes of which I’d never seen before...

That was awesome.

It was majestic. It was breathtaking! It was….

“No. Oh no no no…..”

Wrong. It was so very wrong.

“No. Please no. There’s gotta be something.” I mumbled, hoping in vain that what I was seeing wasn’t true. I knew that I was far. I knew that slimy bastard wouldn’t risk dropping me off too near civilization. Even out in the boonies, though, it wasn’t unusual to see signs of habitation. A road. A rusty shack. Maybe a radio tower. Hell, I’d take some garbage floating in the wind!

But nothing?

I checked the area again and again, each time hoping that I’d somehow missed something. Each time, my hope at a quick escape, or a rescue of some sort, crumbled and blew away with the wind. I’d figured that maybe I could’ve hiked my way to a road or track, follow it down to a town and call for help. Maybe sabotage a radio tower and wait for someone to come check. Or at the very least find something that would tell me where the hell I was. But...

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing nearby. It was hard to wrap my head around. There was no people nearby. None!

For a while, I just sort of sat there, taking it all in. I watched the clouds shift above me, and the sounds of birds chirping cheerfully in the distance, oblivious to the immense loneliness I was feeling. For the first time in my life, I was alone. Like, completely alone! It wasn’t like I’d just holed up in my house for a while. There was no one waiting in another room, or outside. I couldn’t walk down the street and just talk to someone. I couldn’t call the police for help. Hell, there weren’t any police out here, as far as I knew.

I couldn’t call my dad and ask his advice, and Marcus wouldn’t be bailing my ass out any time soon. I was alone. Truly alone, for the first time, ever.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hurting for a little bit. I was no stranger to being by myself, but I’d never truly been without any means of company before. Between my phone and the internet, someone was already there to talk to. Having no way to talk to anyone? It brought me down, big time. All the energy from the day was just knocked out from under me, and it was all I could do not to take an apathy nap right there on the ledge. Not only could I fall, but I probably couldn’t find my way back if I slept for too long, which would lead to me freezing to death.

I’d be lying if I said part of me wasn’t really considering doing just that.

As I watched the sky darken a little, I thought about all I’d left behind.

No…

All that was taken from me. I thought about simple mornings before work. About good breakfasts and talking to my friends. About visiting my dad in the afternoons, listening to him talk about his latest project around the house, or complain about boredom in retirement. How he’d always take a minute to listen to my problems, no matter what he was doing. How he’d put a tool in my hand and made me work out my frustrations on a leaky faucet, or a stubborn garbage disposal. I thought about Tía Yvette, and her amazing cooking. How she’d do her damnedest to make me gain 20 pounds every time I came to see her. The fact that every time we talked I learned something new. The times she used to help me with my homework when I was small, because my dad couldn’t wrap his brain around the fact that math had letters. That she basically stepped in to help raise me after my mom was gone.

I thought about Marcus. I thought about we met, and how we’d stuck to each other like glue, since elementary school. How he’d always had my back, and how I’d had his. Giving him shit over his nerdy interests, only to get sucked in right with him. How pissed I was when I stopped growing and he kept getting taller. All the times I talked him down when some pendejo was giving either of us a hard time. Cheating at tests back in school with him, then getting caught and serving some serious detention together. Graduating, then heading to college together. His absolutely shitty DJ phase (DJ StaTtikz… pfft!). All the little things that didn’t really matter, and yet meant the world to me.

Finally, I thought about the future. Finishing college with my best friend. Getting a good job. Meeting a girl, getting married, and having kids. Hopefully in that order. Watching them grow as I just got older and fatter, until the time I complained to my kids about how boring the days were without work. Y’know, the American Dream.

It wasn’t the most glamorous of lives. I’d never be put in the history books. I’d never create great things, or write a song that spans the ages. I’d never inspire people to follow me, or build a media empire, or win any wars. I’d never discover a planet or get my face on a dollar bill or anything. And when my kids are gone, and their kids, and maybe even their kids, my name would be forgotten.

It wasn’t the most glamorous of lives. But it was MY life. I wanted that life. Hell, I was owed that life, and no one could say otherwise. It was a simple, quiet story, that no one would ever want to hear. And what did that story severely lack? Me, dying in the woods because some asshole decided to be a huge prick!

I stood with a fire in my belly, one that I’d hadn’t felt in two days. As I climbed down from my perch, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds for the first time since I’d woken up in this hell hole. I took it as a sign.

‘I’m not giving up here. Not by a longshot’ I thought, ready to take advantage of the remainder of the day. I still had a few hours of daylight left, and I was going to use every last one of those hours looking for Marcus. He could still be out there somewhere, and I’d be damned if I let him freeze to death out here.

If I found him Once I had him, we could put our heads together and find a way out of this forest, back to civilization. We could find our way home, and tell the police all about that psychotic merchant and his ‘hobbies’.

I reached my camp and, after checking to make sure everything was still secure, head out in search of Marcus. I’d check the place I’d woken up first, if I could find it.

“Marcus!” I called out, listening to my voice echo among the trees. I didn’t even flinch when the mask amplified my voice this time. All it meant was an increased chance to find my friend. I had to concentrate. To stay focused on my mission:

I had to find Marcus, and escape this place. Then, if I was lucky enough, I’d find that slimy fuck and beat his ass to death.

… I always considered myself a lucky guy.