Walking the Ruins

People, and Concrete on Rock

From where I hide, at the edge of the forest, I watch a group of people. They stand together, maybe a stone's throw away from me.

One of them gesticulates, saying something. It takes me a moment to recognize him. He's Steve, and he stands beside Jenny. I open my mouth to call their names, but then I hesitate. Let's wait and see what this is about.

The distance is too large to carry their words. A lanky man with long, brown hair moves his mouth, vaguely pointing one hand towards the mountains.

There are about ten people in the group, most of them men, a few women.

In the background, there's a village, an assembly of simple buildings. Some of them are patched ruins while others are shanties that seem to have been set up recently, obviously built from beams of wood and scavenged old boards of metal and plastic materials. Smoke rises from some chimneys and forms the column that I've been chasing in thoughts and deeds since last winter.

Three more people approach from the village in unrushed strides, joining the group around Steve and Jenny.

Just like the houses, the people, or rather their clothes, are shabby, most of them in shades of brown, maybe leather or wool. But it's not only the clothes and the houses that convey a feeling of desolation, I realize, it's also the people themselves. They all share a slow, slightly stooped gait, and their hair, even though some of the women have braided it, gleams with grease or is disheveled, even from this distance.

There's a movement in the group. The longhaired man points towards the mountains again and takes a few steps in that direction, motioning Steve and Jenny to join him. Steve turns to Jenny, and she places an arm over his shoulders. She must have hurt her leg or foot. Limping, she walks with Steve, surrounded by the villagers.

I hesitate. Should I make myself known? Something about these people is weird, and the scene in front of me looks unreal, like one of those strange old painting as they used to hang in museums. I shake my head and decide to stay hidden for now. Rather, I follow the group, staying inside the forest, keeping the shrubs between us.

Fortunately, there gait remains slow, and I have no problems following them even though my path is longer.

After a couple of minutes, they reach a sheer face of rock at the foot of the mountains, and they stop. They stand before a concrete structure, a broad facade partially built into the stone, like the entry to a bunker. Most of the construction is greenish gray, marred by the centuries. A garage-sized steel-gray double-winged door sits in its center. It is closed.

The longhaired man takes up a stone from the ground and knocks it against the door, three times, in a slow sequence. A hollow, metallic noise echoes through the valley, reminding me of a bell tolling the hour.

Steve talks to the man, who shakes his head in response.

After a while, one wing of the door opens, swinging outwards. Four men appear. They seem to wear military clothing, various types of uniforms, some of them in bleached camouflage colors, some of them gray. One of the men immediately strikes my eye. He might be in his forties, is remarkably tall, and wears his blond hair cut short. His uniform is richly adorned with insignia and metal trinkets, making him look like some kind of general. The others' uniforms are plain.

The 'general' addresses the villagers. Maybe he's asking them why they have knocked at his door, and he does not look pleased.

The longhaired villager answers, gesturing with hesitant motions at Steve and Jenny.

As I watch the villagers and the newcomers, I notice how different the two groups are. The villagers seem listless, nearly lifeless, their shoulders stooped, their heads turned down. They behave as if drugged, stoned. The people from inside the mountain, on the other hand, look slightly pale, like creatures born in a cave, which they may be, but they act normally. They stand erect and seem alert and alive.

Steve says something to the blond general, pointing at Jenny's right foot. The general answers, but his answer does not seem to satisfy Steve, who starts to gesticulate wildly. The general says something, but Steve does not cool down, apparently getting angry. The general addresses another one of his group, a small one with a beard, who draws some kind of club and unceremoniously hits Steve over the head with it. Steve collapses to the ground at the threshold of the door.

I cover my mouth with my hands, barely stifling a cry.

The general seems to give orders now. One of the others takes Jenny by her arm, forcefully pulling her through the door. They disappear inside. The two others lift Steve by his arms and legs, also carrying him inside.

The general casts a last look at the villagers and turns, heading for the door. The longhaired man from the village says something. The general faces him again, with a silent stare, and then gives him a shove. After this, he turns away and enters. Behind him, the door closes with a metallic clang.

The villagers move slowly away from the door and start an unhurried descent towards their dwellings.

I keep staring at the portal in the rock, feeling numb inside. What has happened here? I had no time to react. But what could I have done about it?

Nothing more happens. The door remains closed, a menacing jaw having swallowed my friends, now clamped shut.

What the hell is going on?

The portal refuses to answer.

I give it one last look then start following the villagers, staying hidden behind the forest's edge.