Mythos Prelude

  Episode Jackie

  Chapter 3.6 — Check, Part 6

  by Caide Fullerton

  Red eyes stared out at the fading colors of the wasteland as the sun set behind a mountain of trash. Its beams deflected off the rancid metal, painting either side of the mound with a beautiful orange gradient; an inky shadow was cast down the center, blanketing the unblinking child.

  Jackie was inside a surprisingly sturdy ruin, its stone walls bearing the faded colors of years long past. It was nestled along the edge of a mud road, one half of the structure tilting downwards as it sank into the ground under the weight of another trash mound which had spilled over it. Jackie sat behind one of the glassless windows along the front of the squarish building, sitting backwards in what seemed like it once a rather nice chair, its frame now barely held together after decades of wood rot.

  Their eyes peered out into the wasteland, unmoving until finally a hand was placed on their shoulder. The figure hesitated a moment before speaking,

  Alistair: “...Ya shouldn’t be so close to the window, kid. It’s dangerous.”

  Jackie did not look up at him. “...I know.”

  Alistair furrowed his brow. Don’t care, huh? Thinking so, he moved to their side and kneeled down, “Listen, I—“

  Jackie: “I’m watching to see if Mom and Dad come back.” They spoke again, this time exerting their will forcefully. They would not be moved from this spot; the child’s conviction twisted Alistair’s stomach in knots.

  He glanced out the window himself, searching for the right words. “Don’t worry, kid. I’m sure…” I’m sure they’ll come back soon, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to finish.

  Jackie was already far too mature for their age. Was there even a point in trying to comfort them with such a baseless idea? Would it only hurt them more when they discovered they’d been lied to—and by the only person they had left?

  At this point, was Alistair lying to them, or to himself?

  He knew Loid and Jacqueline were strong. He knew they could handle themselves. But against a threat like the Krimling, that wasn’t enough. He could tell himself a million times that they were fine, that they would show up any minute, safe and sound, but the rational half of his mind knew they were as good as dead as soon as they left. It told him that he shouldn’t have let Loid leave, that he should have ensured Jackie would have at least one parent left—one to care for them, on to grieve with.

  Why had he let him do something so foolish?

  The answer was simple, of course. Jacqueline was his daughter. He loved her, and he selfishly wanted to believe there was a chance of saving her.

  The old man suddenly reached his arms around Jackie and pulled them against his chest, just as much for his own comfort as for theirs.

  Alistair: “I’m sorry, kid. Someone your age shouldn’t have to think about these things.”

  Jackie gasped slightly as they were pulled to the side. They remained silent for several long moments, as if Alistair’s words did not reach them, until they jolted back to reality and shoved him away, the wooden legs of the chair screeching against the stone floor as they rocked back.

  Jackie: “So what!? Just… just because I’m little, I shouldn’t care that Mom and Dad are gone!?”

  Alistair stared back at them, aghast as he met their furious red eyes. His hands remained hanging in the air, clutching the space where Jackie had just been. Jackie turned away from him with a sharp inhale, glaring out at the sunset.

  Jackie: “I’m not dumb! I know what’s happening!” Their young voice twisted into a croak as they spoke, followed by a shaky sob. “I know they… probably aren’t coming back. I know. I’m not stupid, so…”

  Watching them from the side, Alistair grit his teeth, scolding himself for his foolish words. He’d made the wrong decision again. He slowly moved forward, and scooped Jackie up out of the chair, sitting on it sideways with the child in his lap. He held them tight in his shaking arms.

  Alistair: “I know, kid. I know. And I’m sorry.” He whispered to them, his voice shaking just as terribly as his arms. His thoughts screamed at him, telling him he needed to be strong for Jackie, but he cast them aside. Jackie was no regular child. Lies would do nothing to comfort them; they needed the truth.

  Right now, the truth was that Alistair was a foolish, heartbroken old man.

  Alistair: “I don’t know if they’re comin’ back, kid. I don’t know. But…” He took a deep breath and swallowed his saliva, “You gotta believe they’re alright. It’s all you can do.”

  At those words, Jackie finally turned, looking up at him with their face contorted with stress, their red eyes empty. Their mouth opened, but they did not speak; they did not need to.

  Alistair: “Anything could’ve happened. We don’t know. We can’t know. But what’ll it do for ya, if ya just assume the worst?” Another deep breath. “Say they are dead. Ya either lose hope now, or ya lose hope later. The end result’s the same… but if ya choose the latter, you’ll be happy that much longer. Maybe they’re out there. Maybe they escaped. Ya have to believe it.”

  Jackie: “...If they’re alive, why aren’t they here?”

  Alistair: “Maybe they’re lost, and can’t find their way back to us. Maybe they were forced to run the other way. Anything’s possible, kid.”

  They turned their gaze downward. “If they don’t come back, what’s the difference?”

  Alistair: “It’s totally different. If they’re out there, we might see them again one day. We just have to go out there and find ‘em—we just have to keep living, until we get the chance to meet them again.”

  Giving those words consideration, Jackie turned back to the window. The two watched the fading colors in silence for a time, until eventually,

  Jackie: “...Am I a bad kid?”

  Alistair blinked in shock, looking down at them. “What? Why?”

  Jackie: “Because I’m not crying.” Their red eyes remained affixed on the world outside as they spoke. “I’m sad, but I haven’t cried at all. Does that mean I don’t really care?”

  It took him a moment to register those words, and he squeezed Jackie tighter in his arms, gently pressing his forehead against the top of their head. “No. No, of course it doesn’t. Emotions—they’re a fickle thing, kid. It’s not possible to feel the wrong way.” He whispered, then quickly added, “You’re a good kid, Jackie. You’re a good kid.”

  Alistair choked down a sob, and the two fell into silence again, the old man shutting his eyes tight as Jackie stared blankly outside. The last of the sun dipped beneath the great mound across from them, a deep shadow overtaking the ruin as it sank; only the wastes to either side were bathed in a dim glow.

  Alistair could not help but wonder how many mistakes he had made leading up to this point. If he had stopped Loid from leaving, if he had begged Jacqueline to keep running with them, if he had noticed the Krimling sooner, if he had scouted further down the path, would things have turned out differently?

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  Just hours ago, he had acted with such conviction. “These monsters won’t take anyone else from me.” “I won’t let anyone die.” Such naive thoughts had driven him. Was it his own arrogance that caused this tragedy, or was it always inevitable that it would come to this?

  Whenever he made such a mistake, it was never his own life that reaped the repercussions.

  He could not allow it to happen a third time. Jackie was all that remained. They were still so young, yet already so bright—if Alistair were a slag of dying coals, they were a brilliant, guiding star.

  If nothing else, he would ensure that their life was preserved.

  It was as he held those thoughts close to his heart that Jackie abruptly jumped with a start, the sudden movement causing them both to topple to the ground. Alistair’s eyes shot open with a grunt as the chair cracked against the floor. Before he could even voice a question, Jackie scrambled to their feet and bolted for the ruin entrance, their little feet sliding across the stone.

  Alistair: “Jackie!?” His voice rose in alarm, and he shot up to his feet. With nary a response, the child sprinted outside, and Alistair charged after them in hot pursuit.

  Why? Why would they suddenly run out like this? What had they seen?

  What was trying to steal away the only thing he had left?

  His feet stamped through the mud, swiftly closing the distance between him and Jackie, but he faltered as the answer was revealed, illuminated by the fading amber glow of the sunset. A lanky, black-haired man staggered across the mud road, drenched in blood; slung over his shoulder, her feet dragging limply, was a plum-haired woman.

  ~ ? ~

  With a grunt, the two men carefully laid the limp, unconscious form of Jacqueline upon a hastily-prepared bedroll. Her breathing was quiet and shaky, her body covered in numerous cuts and bruises.

  Jackie stumbled to her side, kneeling down to look at her. “Mom… Mom, she’s—“

  Loid: “Alive. Barely.” His voice husky and exhausted, Loid barely managed more than a whisper. Wiping his brow in a pointless motion, he took a few steps back and made to sit on the stone floor, but his shaking legs gave out and he nearly collapsed instead. “Al, treat her. She’ll make it.”

  Alistair: “And you?” The old man was already dumping the contents of a rucksack onto the floor, scavenging every scrap of medical supplies they had on hand.

  Loid: “I don’t need treatment.” He watched unblinkingly as Alistair hurried to his daughter’s side, gently pushing Jackie aside as he began to examine her many wounds.

  Realizing they were in the way, Jackie crawled back with an almost dejected look on their face. Loid reached out to them, taking their hand in his and pulling it towards him. As Jackie turned to face him, he forced a soft smile.

  Loid: “Hey.”

  Jackie stared back at him, and their red eyes began to well up with tears. They practically leapt at him as they began to sob, nearly knocking him backwards. He held his hands up, briefly stunned by their rare show of emotion. Then he lowered his hands, gently stroking their plum-colored hair as he whispered,

  Loid: “It’s alright, Jackie. I’m sorry we made you worry. And…” He hesitated, unable to voice the next words. “I’m sorry.”

  They remained that way for a few moments, until Loid placed his hands on Jackie’s shoulders and gently pried them away from his chest. Confused, they blinked away their tears as they looked up at him.

  Loid: “Jackie… I love you. You’re the greatest thing that ever happened to me.” The color draining from his face, his mind raced to find all the words that needed to be said. “Can you promise me something?”

  Jackie: “Huh? But—“

  Loid: “Can you promise me?”

  Jackie blinked again, and they gave a faint nod.

  Loid: “Live a long, happy life for me, okay? No matter what, you have to be happy. That’s the most important thing.”

  Jackie: “Dad, what’re you—“

  Loid: “Promise me!” His voice rose, hoarse and shaky, and his hands tightened on Jackie’s shoulders. “Please. I’m sorry for yelling. Please, just promise me.”

  Their lip quivering, Jackie regarded Loid’s ghastly expression with a mix of fear and confusion. Even so, they nodded again. “I promise.”

  Loid: “Good. Thank you.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to their forehead. “I love you, so please, be happy. And… I’m sorry.”

  Sorry for what, they wanted to ask, but no words escaped when their mouth opened. They sat their, perfectly still, perfectly silent, Loid’s head resting against them. Only the sounds of Alistair treating Jacqueline’s wounds could be heard, a soft shuffling that only seemed to make the silence roar all the louder.

  Finally, when Jackie dared to move, they shifted their body slightly, and Loid fell. His body bent to the side, and as it limply fell to the floor, the accompanying soft thud was the loudest sound Jackie had ever heard.

  Staring down, they once again found themself unable to even cry.

  ? ? ?

  The heat of the sun bore down on the wasteland, the sheets of scrap metal and rusted debris which littered the area seeming to reverberate with a soft sizzle. That sound was drowned out by the scampering of clawed feet in the mud, and by a series of panicked, high-pitched shrieks and barks.

  Three creatures sprinted down one of the many muddy roads that wound through the wasteland, having abandoned their camp. The one in front barked orders at the two that followed, its voice shrill.

  The creatures were humanoid in shape, roughly three feet tall with wiry limbs and patchwork clothes. They bore the heads of rats, and long tails trailed behind them as they ran. Kritta, the creatures were called—one of the lowest rungs in the hierarchy of the wasteland.

  The source of their fear rounded the corner behind them, a tall man with graying hair, a sword in one hand. His elderly appearance masked his speed and dexterity, and he closed the gap between him and the first Kritta in seconds. With a single swipe of his blade, the first Kritta was felled.

  The second chattered furiously, stealing a glance behind it at the man. Steeling its nerves, it suddenly whirled around, its feet sliding across the mud. It whipped its long, barbed tail at the man, and it seemed to stretch as it lashed out. The man continued forward completely unperturbed, easily ducking past the whip and taking his sword in both hands for a horizontal swing. The Kritta staggered back, and its head rolled forward, toppling into the mud just as its body fell backwards.

  The final of the Kritta, the leader, stopped its retreat a ways away, gritting its chattering teeth. Perhaps realizing it had no hope of escape, it resolved to fight the Human head-on, to avenge its fallen comrades.

  It was then that it heard a soft shuffling sound behind it—a second figure had emerged from a roadside ruin. It swung back around to face them just as the figure lunged forward, a metal javelin raised over their head. It crashed down against the Kritta’s skull, sending it stumbling back with an audible crack.

  Its vision going red and blurry, the creature reached blindly for its hip, fumbling a few times before its claws closed around the hilt of a sword. It drew the blade and forced a step forward, but before it could advance further on the second figure, the first ended its life with a swift slash to its back.

  With the last of the Kritta dealt with, the shorter figure exhaled, retrieving a cloth from their pocket to swipe the blood off their javelin. The taller figure stepped over to them, sheathing his sword.

  Alistair: “Good work, Jackie. You hurt?”

  Jackie: “Clearly not. None of them even touched me.”

  Alistair: “Hey, just makin’ sure. Ya never know, maybe ya tripped or somethin’.”

  The old man shrugged with a light chuckle, and he knelt down to inspect the corpse of the Kritta leader, carefully prying its sword—to a Human, it was really more of a shortsword—from its hand and lifting it up by the hilt between two fingers.

  Alistair: “Good quality for such a small band. No better than what we’ve got, though.”

  Jackie: “Not like we need weapons. I just hope they really did have some decent food—we’re almost out of Jiyagi meat.” They replied, stepping past him to inspect the other two bodies, though they didn’t expect to find anything of worth.

  Alistair rose, placing his hands on his hips as he watched Jackie work. He couldn’t help but smile slightly. Of course, attentive as they were, they noticed with hardly a glance in his direction.

  Jackie: “Whatcha smiling at over there?”

  Alistair: “...Just thinkin’ about how much you’ve grown these past few years.” His smile widened as he stifled a chuckle, “Or rather, how little you’ve grown.”

  Jackie: “Very funny, Al.” They stood, only about a head and a half taller than the Kritta despite already being a teenager. “Let’s get to looting the camp before something else shows up.”

  Alistair: “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it, shorty.”

  The two walked side-by-side down the mud road, heading back to the camp they’d just chased the Kritta out of.

  Alistair: “Ya know, I’ve been sayin’ it for years, but ya really should call me “Grandpa”. Or at least “Gramps”, for short.”

  Jackie placed a hand on their chin. “Hmm… maybe if you stop treating me like a kid.”

  Alistair crossed his palms in an ‘X’. “Not possible.”

  Jackie: “Too bad, then, Al.”

  Completing a well-rehearsed routine, the two laughed in unison as they marched through the wasteland.