The Pilgrims

16

As time dragged on, Eric only wanted to stop and rest. But onwards, onwards, onwards they walked, till it all became a blur. The tunnels rose steadily, and Kiown said they were headed for the surface soon, always just a little further, just a bit more …

His head began to spin. I’m a valuable trinket to them, he thought, so maybe they can carry me. He stopped fighting the dizziness and let his legs collapse. Kiown rushed to stop his head striking the rock floor. ‘Get his legs,’ he told Sharfy.

Eric felt himself being lifted, and wondered whether the gun was secure enough not to fall out. Did it matter? Did anything matter apart from the chance to shut his eyes?

When they set him down he smelled the sweetness of fresh air. One eye opened. It was night, but there were no stars. They seemed high up on a hilltop. There were distant lights. There was the smell of campfire smoke.

I can’t believe I’m here, seeing this, living this. There really is another world, and I’ve found it. I can’t believe what I’ve seen … The thoughts should have left him awestruck, or terrified, but he was so tired his mind hurt like a strained muscle to think them. Reality jet lag, he thought.

‘Others aren’t far.’ Sharfy’s voice. Eric quickly shut his eyes, feigning sleep.

‘Is he ill?’ said Kiown.

‘Keep him here, let him rest. Anfen’ll want him.’

‘I’m going back to camp.’

‘Tell em not to bother us yet. I’ll mind him.’ Footsteps padded away. Eric lay on flat, smooth rock that seemed as comfortable as any bed he’d known. He thought of his comfortable, soft mattress back home, with its creaking springs, right now still unmade.

Sharfy draped a blanket over him and put something soft beneath his head. You can trust him, Kiown had said. He just doesn’t look like it.

Who cared either way? Sleep. Deep sleep, this time not troubled by wild dreams. Those, he supposed upon waking, were now for the daytime.