Nature Rules - 2022 WATTY'S SHORTLIST

It's Time

The whole settlement is torn apart and not by the sandpour. While wind and sand can do a lot of damage, this havoc was made by real people, Motos. Blankets and clothing have been ripped out of homes and are heavy with grit. Smashed pottery from kitchens litter the ground. Valuable items like food have been destroyed and not by the storm. Potatoes were pulverized against the rocks. Nuts crushed by heavy boots. Teas flung to the wind. Goats burned at the stake.

Beyond the vicious mess, the land is quiet. Not a person is stirring.

Picking our way over the debris of ripped clothing, splintering rope and shards of pots, we don't see another soul. Everyone must be hiding and avoiding collecting their things. There aren't any scavengers or looters either trying to cash in on the destruction. The place is empty. I hope Dad (and Mom?) is at home but that hope is being squashed with each kernel of corn I see flattened into the ground.

I don't dare speak my thoughts out loud to Crinae, especially about the Motos and Goliath and what he could do to Elody. Crinae might have the same idea as she side-steps the devastation. We're both too afraid what we say might come true.

As we get closer to our cave, I recognize bits and pieces from our neighbours' homes. Precious pre-war photos of loved ones have been torn to shreds, delicate china figurines that had been rescued many years ago have been pounded against the boulders. Tools such as shovels and rakes are warped beyond repair.

Amid the shambles is our home, dealt the same blow as the other caves in the settlement. Our family life is splayed out on the rocks for everyone to see. My blue mug, Elody's yellow bowl, Mom's green and red striped plates are all in tiny fragments left in a sandy pile outside the door. I bet Goliath enjoyed breaking everything down to splinters.

Our metal door hangs by a hinge that I easily pull off the wall. I step over our kitchen table, which lies in the doorway, chopped into pieces. I move it out of the way to get into the cave where it's pitch black inside.

"Dad?" I call in the darkness.

My voice absorbs into the rock. Nothing answers except my own booming heart.

"Dad!" yells Crinae as she steps across the threshold. She roots around blindly in the destroyed kitchen; trying to find a candle or something to use as a light. She fumbles upon a lump of candle and then finds the flint in its usual spot, where the brazier used to be. She strikes a spark and we have light, a light that clearly shows us we're alone. All alone.

Dad isn't home. He is nowhere. Whether he was taken or he fled higher up the mountain, we don't know. Any clues have been obliterated by the Motos.

The cave is filled with orange beams and floating feathers. There is nothing left of our home. Nothing. Even our bedrooms have been cleared of anything usable. Sheets and blankets and duvets have been shredded into tiny pieces. There's even excrement in the corner of our sleeping chamber.

When I discover the insult, bile seeps up into my throat. I choke it back down with hate. The Motos will pay. One day.

"What is it?" asks Crinae, peering at the poop.

"Someone just showing us how much we mean to them," I growl.

I want to cry. I want to scream in frustration. But I can't in front of Crinae. I don't want her to know how terrified I am. I don't want her to know that, like last night, I don't know how to fix this.

"Where is Dad?" she asks me.

"Up the mountain, maybe," I say. (Maybe, right?)

We have never been truly alone before. Sure, I hiked up and down to get water almost every day but I always had my family to return to. I don't remember ever being without one of my parents and my sisters for longer than a day.

I fold my fingers under my thumb and squeeze until I feel my nails push into my skin. It's all I can do to not punch the wall and break down. Instead I kneel on the bedroom floor and start salvaging items, anything, that looks like our life from yesterday.

Something pinches my leg and I slap away the intrusion.

"Get away, ant," I say, slapping my leg again for good measure. The ant's not going away. It's not going away because... it's the brown rock I had put in my sock earlier. It's the amber I'm supposed to take to the city if anything happens to Dad. So, does this situation qualify as something happening to Dad? He said this day would never come...

"When do you think Dad is coming home?" asks Crinae. "Where's Mom? Where did the Motos take Elody?"

"Shhh," I snap. "Give me a second to think."

The amber is a small piece of promise that needs to get to Old Calgary. Dad had also told me I probably would never have to go to the city. That I probably wouldn't have to make the trek. He didn't give me any directions at all. I'm not prepared and we don't even have supplies. Or do we?

"We need to leave 33," I say. "Goliath and his Motos will be back here and who knows when?" (I'm not lying to Crinae. It's a strong possibility.)

"But where will we go? Mom and Dad can't find us or Elody if we leave."

"The Motos will find us if we stay."

Crinae's face crumples and the tears start rolling down her cheeks.

"I don't want to leave," she wails. "I'm scared."

Crinae always acts like she's tougher than me but deep down, she's the more sensitive one. I let her bubble for a few seconds before standing up and reaching out my hand to her. She takes it and we go into the main room.

I survey the mess. There's nothing salvageable. I kick at a big lump of fabric and foam on the floor. The torn cover of a pillow slides to one side... exposing the duffle bags we packed for our census trip.

"Crinae! Look!"

Somehow, the packs had been buried by debris. No one thought to rummage through the garbage pile for more goodies to sack.

We dig the bags out from the crap and take a peek inside. There are several cans of food, blankets and socks. (Socks?) There's enough of a stock to keep us comfortable for a few days. Even longer if we're careful with the food. Water won't be a problem.

I lift the large pack onto my back and it's bearable – for me at least. Crinae's struggling to put the bag on and walk to the front door.

"Where are we going?" she gasps.

I look at her. She's tiny and under the burden of all that gear, she is hunched over at a 90-degree angle from the weight. She's vulnerable and weak.

I'm going to have to tell her about my plan if we're going to do this together. I made a promise. But I made that promise when things were stable. When I was surrounded by family. When there was no threat of harm in the immediate future. It doesn't make sense to put me and Crinae out into the world without protection. Does it?

Give me a sign, please!

Perhaps the secret cubby holds a clue.

I go to where the box with the amber had been hiding. The small green box is there. Opening it, I see a small slip of paper.

"Go," is all that's written.

"Dad told me if anything happens to him, I'm supposed to go to Calgary," I blurt out.

As soon as the words left my mouth, a worm of doubt wiggles its way into my brain. Why should we go to Calgary? We should wait for Dad and possibly Mom right here in our home. That's logical. Right?

"Grab your bag, Crinae. We're going to Calgary."