A Whisper of Green

A narrative responding to an image by Keira Crombie

It was a loud crash that woke John that morning. He’d heard it all before. The clicking of their throats, the low grumbles, even just their shoes scraping on the floor.  Every single morning, he woke to one like clockwork.

He sat up as his eyes opened, the routine all too familiar.  Wake Damien.  Gather belongings. Leave no trace.  Stay.  Quiet.

John held in a sigh as the dance began. He surveyed the area as he helped the 5 year old stand up.  Everything that had been laid out the night before was swiftly packed into the two backpacks.  Every zip, every scrape of a pot on a plate echoed through the air, like someone had cracked a whip.

Damien’s shoulder in one hand, and a blunt knife in the other, John led his son to a new location.

It took almost an hour to find somewhere that appeared safe.  By the time that John had scouted the area and set up some rubble as makeshift barriers, the sun was already beating down.  The glare made John’s eyes water, and he was thankful that this time he had found a solid building to hide out in.

Tick.  Tick.  Tick.

The seconds that passed felt long and tedious, kept track of by an old watch John adorned on his left wrist.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

After 5 minutes, Damien tugged at his father’s sleeve.  Wordlessly, the little boy pleaded with his eyes to be followed.  John stood, brushing dust and dirt off his clothes and walked behind Damien.  

Past a wall and down an alley. Damien stopped. The little boy pointed to the old bricks and John’s eyes trailed upwards.  Red paint led his gaze, blossoming into words.

A gasp filled the air as John read “Find us”. The bright words looked fresh, the paint still glossy.  A large arrow jutted aggressively to the right, the paint running down the wall from the sloppy job.

Whoever wrote this was in a rush.

Damien puzzled over his father’s reaction, looking for answers. 

“Well-l-” John stumbled over his words, a smile playing at his lips.  Could this be it?  Could they be saved?

Hope brimmed to the surface, the light in the dark.  No more thinking could be done.  The time for logic was over.  It was time to take the risk.

Grabbing Damien’s hand, he almost rant back to their belongings.  ‘There’s no way this could be a trick!  The zombies can’t read, let alone write!’ His thoughts raced as his hands did.

Before long, he and Damien were back in the alley, taking a few deep breaths to prepare themselves.

John knelt in front of Damien, adjusting his bad straps as he spoke.  “We have no idea if this arrow actually leads anywhere.  So, you need to be brave for me, okay?”  Tears threatened to fill his eyes, but he fought them back.

A tiny nod from Damien almost broke the façade.

One tight hug and they were off.  John poked his head out of the alley before stopping into the sun. 

They were in luck.  Another large red arrow was displayed on a wall almost 50 metres to the left.  A quick jog.  This arrow pointed to a crumbling door, with yet another arrow.

20 arrows later and John was in shambles.  ‘Please, please, there has to be an end!  I can’t keep doing this on my own!’  Damien heard his father’s pleas and was filled with a need to keep going.

He walked over to John, who had collapsed on the rubble.  Sobs were boiling inside, but it wasn’t safe to let them out.  So John was grabbing at his hair and rocking back and forth.

“Keep going,”  Damien said, his little voice trembling.  John paused his rocking.  His head slowly lifted, eyes red and bloodshot.

“Keep going.” The boy’s voice was clearer this time.

John’s senses flooded back into him all at once.  He couldn’t risk thinking about anything other than the safety of his son.  He would find a solution no matter what.

Tears still falling, the man stood up and kept going.  The pair were only walking for another 5 minutes before finding it.  The last arrow.  “Good luck” were the words painted and a large boulder bore an ‘X’.

“So, this is it.” The whisper held judgement and uncertainty.  

Pushing.  Pulling.  Kicking.  Time ticked on as Damien watched his father try everything.  The rock didn’t budge.  Not a peep from the zombies either, as Damien listened out.

Logic had to resurface.  John climbed the boulder, examining for hinges as he went. And there they were.  Faded and rusty, the hinges felt like a godsend.  He followed a faint and almost clean crack down to the very bottom of the boulder, and ran his hands along the grainy gap between the rock and the ground.

A handle.  John could have screamed with joy as a click lifted a weight off his arm.  The smile on his face was creasing the dirt, left by months of struggle.

Stepping back, he grabbed Damien’s hand.  “The moment of truth.”

As the door lifted, so did their spirits. It was like when you open a fridge in the dark and the light illuminates all the food you can have to diminish your hunger. Beyond the boulder and past the dullness of the world they were in, there was green.  And not just a speck.  A full, lush, healthy patch of green.

The door led to a tunnel of leaves, so green they almost hurt John’s eyes.  The ground was carpeted with soft grass, trimmed and well kept.  Two pipes ran lengthways down the middle, small and hoselike.

“It must be a path for us!”  John grinned as he pulled his eyes off of the salvation to look at his son.  The wonder on the boy’s face was making John realise it was all worth it in the end.  All the pain of surviving.  Soon they would thrive.

The first step was like being transported into a new universe, and the next felt like home. With an end finally in sight, the pair left their old and broken world behind to start anew.