The Apocalypse Contract

CHAPTER 33 - SYDNEY

Sydney slowly woke to the sound of gentle snoring. A breeze chilled her back through the rips in her shirt, but she was otherwise warm. It dawned on her that it was largely because she was snuggled up against Roger's back with one arm draped over him.

She snapped fully awake.

Roger produced a final resonant snort, then his breathing quieted. Sydney gently removed her arm and rolled over, then sat up. A short time later, Roger rose as well.

He stretched, and several joints made audible sounds. "Not the most comfortable bed I've slept on, but not the worst either."

"You've slept on worse?" Sydney tried to imagine what could be worse than a lumpy slab of rock.

"During the war. The trenches would accumulate the most wretched layer of mud and foulness. Most nights I slept sitting up."

Sydney had been prepared to make a joking comment about the messy condition of her bedroom, but something in Roger's expression stopped her. "The war... that would be World War One?"

Roger's dark expression changed to a quizzical look. "I mean the Great War. The war to end all wars, of course."

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it didn't exactly work out that way."

"World War One, you say. How many have there been?"

"Just the two so far. And a few smaller ones. And things have been kind of a mess in the middle east lately."

Roger sighed. "I would have hoped that in all these years humanity might have outgrown the need for war, but as an anthropologist I am not surprised." His mood turned dark again.

They sat quietly while Sydney searched for the right thing to say. "I've read that it was pretty awful," she finally said, "trench warfare, that is."

"Yes. It was a profoundly unpleasant experience." His tone implied the words were inadequate.

"But you got out OK? No PTSD or anything like that?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A lot of veterans suffer from it. Depression, flashbacks, nightmares, stuff like that."

Roger was silent for a long moment. "My demons are my own to deal with. I would prefer we talk about something else."

"Sure. Sorry." Sydney stared at her shoes. "Like I said, I'm not very good at this. People, I mean. Sometimes I don't know when I'm being stupid."

"Miss Rossiter, you are quite frankly the most brilliant, interesting woman I have ever had the good fortune to spend time with, and I will hear no more talk of being stupid."

She smiled, but continued staring at her shoes. "Remember, I kidnapped you. That could just be the Stockholm Syndrome talking."

"I'm beginning to suspect you are making up these terms. Anyway, you didn't kidnap me, you rescued me. I'm quite convinced of that now."

"Well, that's something at least. Now we just need to figure out how to rescue ourselves from this mess." She dragged herself over to the edge of the boulder and looked down. "Old Crabby McCrab Face is still down there, though he's given up on trying to climb up. Now he's just standing there."

Roger stood and looked around. "Those stones over that way are closer to each other. If we can make it to those, perhaps we can stay on high ground and avoid the beast."

Sydney looked at where he was pointing. "That's probably the start of the actual maze. It's unlikely we can climb those. It wouldn't be much of a maze if you could climb over the walls."