Oliver is a loud snorer, that's probably the most confronting piece of news within the past 24-hours, considering he's my tent buddy for the next week. Aside from the standard annoyance, it's exceptionally hard for someone with advanced hearing. Meaning no matter how hard I press my pillow into my ears, the irritating sound in his inhalation is ever-present.
I give up blocking it out upon noticing the sun's first light, gathering the few things I have into a backpack, deciding to prepare everything else later. Slipping on my untied boots, I pick up a toothbrush, beginning to brush my teeth whilst stepping out of the tent.
"Good morning, sunshine," Jackson sarcastically says, who is fuelling an ongoing fire. He then warms himself, ruining his tracksuit pants – a pyjama, I assume - by sitting on the withering log bark.
I swish the toothpaste out of my mouth with a bottle of water. Is he an idiot? That smoke will go into the air, it's like a drawn map for our location. Those rebels could ambush us, outnumber us, slaughter us.
Instinctively, I throw the rest unto the fire. Jackson's annoyance is hardly contained, he storms to me, anger as if I blew out his birthday candles. "What do you think you're doing? That's my fire." He asks, though isn't loud, he doesn't want to wake the others.
"Sure, when the rebels turn up and attempt to kill us all, I'll be sure to mention that it's 'your' fire." I say, shrugging my shoulders and turning to walk away.
Suddenly, his hands wrap around my shoulders and twist me around. He begins pushing me towards his former seat. "If you could save the lecture," He starts, leading me towards a box beside his spot. Eggs, bread, some brown containers, some pans, fruit and water. "I'm simply making breakfast, is that a problem?"
Seconds later, he whips me around to face him, as if about to yell at me. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out, brow furrowing as if he's confused. In silence, his blue eyes are glaring as if they wish he never met me.
In his moment of hesitation, my senses begin to go wild. Everything becomes on edge, as if my chest is full of fireworks. I hear his breath, I sense his frustrated grip on my shoulders, I can see every worried wrinkle frozen on his face.
My gut is hardwired to encourage a defence, that I'm too close to the enemy, that they have too much control. Out of nowhere, it seems a single move is all it would take to set me off.
Jackson is the first to look down, letting his tight grip off my shoulders.
"Where are we going today?" I prompt quietly, sulking into Jackson's former seat. He sits on the ground, closer to the fire. I'm tempted to ask about yesterday, though I feel more like an asshole.
"South, we are headed South today," Cassie's sweet voice articulates, stretching as she stands out of the tent. "Some people live by the dam there. It has a few dozen families, but the rebels want the water."
Eventually, everyone awakens and gobbles their full in the morning light. They poke fun at Oliver once he quietens the deep-slumber noises. We're packed up and headed on our hike by mid-morning.
I enjoyed the walk, I think Oliver did too. We don't get to see nature that much, if at all. The others couldn't stop complaining, especially when the noon heat attempted to cook us alive.
My mind is buzzing like the flies that hum around us. This isn't a mission I'm used to, where the target is easily located and eliminated. They wouldn't even know who's killing them, just take the evidence and go. This is so different, it's much longer. It's all about questions, mind games, trust, deceiving others, being aware. It's certainly not about staring at your victim as they could potentially kill you.
That's the only thing that could explain why I felt so on edge, being in the hands of the enemy would do that. It was still a weird feeling, like one I'd only get with Carla.
"We're here!" Scarlett exclaims, coming into a clearing that reveals the body of water. Like before, tree slouch over around the clearing, swirling in the light wind. There's more soil than grass, the water's edge is marked off with dirty looking sand. The water glitters in the mid-afternoon sun, sparkles dancing on the surface in a background of blue.
"Oh! It's a beautiful spot!" Melody says, bag slugging off her shoulder.
Jackson puts his backpack on the ground in a huff, soon after falling over in dramatic exhaustion. Placing hat over face, the man appears at peace.
Until Scarlett wacks her own backpack on him.
"Alight, alpha! You're our leader, we await your orders!" She jokes, her accent makes everything she says joyful. It's merely met with the unhappy groans of Jackson, whom rolls over and uses his own hiking bag for some form of shake.
"I hate walking. I order you all to have a sleep." He mutters.
Troy throws his own backpack on him. "Lazy bastard! There's things to do!" He laughs, making sure his luggage stays put. He turns to Oliver, "Oi Sean! Chuck me your bag, would you?"
I look to Oliver, who's grin cannot be contained. He takes off the bag, tossing it to Troy, whom dumps it on Jackson. Quickly, Melody, Cassie and Nick join in. Removing the tents, the others begin building our new base around the pile of bags.
It's not surprising that people stuck out in the bush for months would become a closely-knit group. Although there's also a thin line between being closely-knit and becoming annoyed with no one else to socialise with – as Nick hinted towards yesterday. So, how do they get along so well? They had training together, they do missions as a group, they go through the same day together, I assume they know everything about each other. What do they actually discuss during the day? Aside from missions?
There are groups in similar lines of work – medical, emergency, etc – that learn to be comfortable with silence. Which is certainly an option with this troop aswell, I guess they're a balance of both. Either way, no doubt that's why they're so interested in Oliver and I.
If Jackson is the only double agent in this - which is something I'm certain Carla would've checked more than once – there's no use in grudging against those befalling his trap. These people are innocent, or at least some of them, which is a comforting thought.
Eventually, with a rather embarrassing amount of struggle, a body crawls from the mound. "Eadlyin, Scarlett and Troy," Jackson calls, dusting himself off. "We're headed to see the town, let's go."
We're about a ten-minute walk from the great wall of the dam, which appears better maintained than I expected. Troy and Jackson walk a good 15 metres in front of Scarlett and I. Troy holds a map and compass, Jackson is cutting and moving any shrub that's on the developing path.
"Troy grew up outta town, so he's good at figuring out how to get from town to town." Scarlett queries, noticing my glances towards the boys. "It's better that they do the hard work, after all that walking I'd rather cut my feet off."
Relaxing a little, I laugh, having a similar feeling in my own feet. "Perhaps we could cut each other's feet off. Then reattach them in the morning."
"-the seals will protect them from everything. They'll be safe, I told them their safety is a priority." Troy's words sink into my ears before I could stop them. Finally, something worth ears-dropping on.
Then I hear a blood curdling, desperate scream.
Frozen, I check to see if I can hear it again. Though, the closer we are to rushing water of the dam, the less I can hear.
"Are you alright Lyn?" Scarlett's head pops into my vision, which is dazed into staring at the ground. She turns towards the boys, whom haven't noticed yet. "Jackson! I think she might be ill!"
Another screech begins, but is quickly cut off.
Snapping out of concentration, I practically run to the men. "Troy, how far is the dam from here?" I say, attentively looking around to see if my sight will let me see anyone beyond ourselves.
"About a two-minute walk East, why? We're headed to the people." He says, pointing South. His eyes widen when I take out my pistol, checking it has a round in it.
Giving up searching around, I strut towards the dam. Someone moves behind me, enclosing their fingers on my arm. "Where do you think you're going?" Jackson says, pulling me back.
"I heard screaming." I hiss, shaking his grip. Troy and Jackson exchange a concerned look, probably wondering how they didn't hear it. "You're either coming or not."
I take off into the bush, though this is easier said than done. Between the uneven ground, questionable bushes and billion trees, it's easy to hurt yourself. I know I'm close, the dam gets louder with each step I take.
Through the trees, I begin to see red fabric. Pointing the pistol, the world becomes a blur of bush, whilst focusing on the picture unfolding before me. Hearing the others aren't far behind me, I lower when coming into close to the clearing.
The damn is loud, exceptionally ear piercing. It's impossible to hear and enough tree line cover to never see anyone coming, it can't be an ambush. We've got the rebels by surprise. Two rebels hold a man with tape around his mouth, another tapping something to the victim's chest.
Beside them is rope hanging out of some bags, some sort of grey clothing, alongside disregarded guns. The dam flows behind them, a cliff begins to the left, where the water rushes down the man-made wall. In front of us is the opening where the bridge on top of the wall begins.
The victim looks panicked, eyes popping out of his skull and viciously trying to struggle. The third rebel finishes his tapping, stepping aside to reveal his work on the victim.
It's a bomb, strapped to his chest, saying half an hour.
"We need to get to the village before they do, Jackson's orders." Troy whispers from behind me, beginning to creep away. He expects me to follow him, but I don't take my eyes off the arrangement in the clearing.
I wait for a single sign, any sign of sympathy for the rebels. Any hesitation, any signs of being forced, any honourable treatment towards their hostage. Even the slightest hint of mercy would be enough to spare their life.
I watch them tie a noose around the man's neck, though they don't tighten it. I expect them to set off the bomb's timer, giving me time to cut it off him. Instead, they begin loading one of the guns.
"Eadlyin? Did you hear me? Jackson's orders." Troy repeats, sounding more urgent this time. Too focused to even digest his words, I begin to stalk forwards whilst crouching. I watch them force the man on his knees, he fights with everything in his system.
"Eadlyin!" Troy shouts, attempting to reach for me. I'm dazed by the struggle before me, the amount of strain the victim shows to in attempt to escape. Kicking up dirt, clawing at those holding him, shrieking under the tape blocking his voice box. He might be the prey, but the hunters are being hunted.
Each sense in my body begins to flare up, each foot predicted before I could even step it, moving faster and faster every second they load that gun.
Then it's pointed at his chest, carelessly shooting him dead.
The world becomes a haze of unrecognisable colours in that moment, yet my pistol is unnerved. I shoot the two rebels holding the deceased victim first, each getting their personalised bullet through their despicable skulls.
The third man watches me come into the clearing with impeccable timing, watching me fire a gun into his knee. The rebel drops his weapon, falling over as he clutches the injury. Within the few seconds of marching to him, my pistol is tucked away, but my knife is unsheathed.
Kicking his foetal position open, one boot presses into a wrist whilst a hand pressures the knife against his neck eagerly. "What are you doing here?!" I screech into his face, practically spitting on him.
He coughs words out, appearing mortified. "P-please! We were just told to shoot and hang them!" He stammers, I take the knife off his neck and stab it into his bullet wound. He cries out in pain.
"What are the bombs for?!" I yell, twisting the knife around when he hesitates. Blood lathers on my fingers, splattering unto my pants. "Tell me what the bombs are for!"
"They're for the d-dam!" He whimpers between howls of pain. "W-we're exploding the dam. N-no power, d-dead people."
"W-what!" I yell, my stomach beginning to churn in disgust.
"P-please!" He coughs between breaths, eyes appearing frantic. "P-please. I have family, have mercy."
For an instant, I take pity on his young, desperate appearance. I imagine a lovely wife, little children playing always in sight of their mother. Then his mother, sitting near her grandchildren, wondering where her son is.
"EADLYIN!" Troy yells, finally storming into the clearing.
When I glance away because of the noise, I see the victim from before. He lays face down, bomb still strapped to chest, lifeless.
I force the knife out of the rebel's knee, staring into his soul. "You had your chance for mercy." I utter, ending the sentence with my weapon striking his heart. I shove the knife deep, watching blood instantly pool around the gaps between metal and flesh. His gaze flickers to the sky, and doesn't blink again.
Hanging people, they're hanging people.
I stumble towards the left, heading towards the cliff side of the dam. Sobbing at the sight, I fall to my knees. It's horrifying, shocking, enough to make me vomit.
Several deceased people, hung off the dam wall, bombs strapped to their chests.
Each set to explode in 25 minutes.