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Shovel. Dirt. Shovel. Dirt. Again and again, with only momentary glimpses of respite. Not even slumber is a reprieve from service, for those who do not work while asleep do not eat. And so, they toil, throwing loam and grime over their shoulders, minds numb, throbbing in mild delirium. It’s worst just before the dawn. Their bodies jerk and twitch inhumanly, akin to rusted robots only barely maintaining their disheveled form. And then, one by one, they stop. Its only for a few moments, and not all at once, but they each get their turn with the serine lull that glycine provides. But soon after, just as daybreak strikes the sky, all of them are shoveling again.
The heat begins to rise. Eventually the sky shimmers with waves of warmth, which pound against the rocky muscles of the workers. Most of them do not even notice. One does though. He is not used to the heat. He lived in the upper chambers of the mountain where it was cold and drafty. Back then he said he hated his bald head because all the heat left it like steam coming off of a boiling pot. Now he complains that his bald head is awful because it does not stop the sweat from trickling into his eyes. Speaking of which, as he plunges his shovel into the ground again, one bead of sweat expertly dodges his eyebrows and vindictively rushes into his eye.
Flare: Ah! Not again! You gotta be kiddin’ me! I mean seriously how many times can that happen! I promise you my sweat is turning against me!
Seethe slams his shovel into the dirt, sparing an instant to glare at Flare, before flicking the earth away.
Flare: Hey! Don’t look at me like that! My eye is red! Red! How would you like it if every time ya bend down ya get sweat in your eye! Huh?!
Ash: Maybe you should reconsider my suggestion to wear a hat then.
Flare: For the last time Ash, I am not wearing one of those beanies! It gets all hot and sweaty and boils my brain! Besides I wasn’t talkin’ to you!
Ash: I see, so you were speaking to your sweat then? Perhaps it is better that you do not wear one after all, seeing as your brain already seems to be suffering from‒
Flare: Shut your jaw, or I’ll shut it for you!
Smolder walks past Ash and lifts his shovel up, slowly moving it toward Flare’s neck. His face is expressionless, and it towers over Flare’s, making their difference in stature painfully clear. Flare drops his shovel and simmers down as he takes a glimpse at Smolder’s eyes. They hum and tremble in their sockets, glowing like heated embers eager to be ablaze again.
Spade: Move.
Spade, who stands in between the two of them, shows his shovel. It is packed with the latest mound of grime and has a centipede-like creature trying to squirm its way off. Smolder’s irises return to a dark and dull grey, like old soot from a rundown forge, and he steps to the side to let Spade through. Spade delicately sets the dirt on the pile, his focus never leaving the insect as he starts to heat his makeshift weapon. It lands on its back, and it wriggles to try and right itself. Before it can get far though, the blade of the shovel stops its desperate attempts in their tracks as the creature is expertly sliced in half. The creature curls in on itself as the cut begins to sizzle and smoke. Spade places the flat of the shovel on its carcass and the smell of charred carapace wafts into the trenches.
As Spade slips down and resumes working, Smolder resumes his relentless stare at Flare. Before any words are said, Ash reaches up and places his hand on Smolder to get his attention.
Ash: It is alright, dad. I am certain Flare did not mean anything by it.
Smolder sighs. A puff of smoke trails out of his mouth and drifts into the sky.
Smolder: If you say so.
He pulls Flare closer to him and then whispers,
Smolder: Don’t threaten him again.
Flare: Y-yeah. Sure.
The tension dissipates as Smolder goes back to his post beside Ash. Flare’s hands, which are clammy and shaking, snatch out to grasp his discarded tool. He tries to dig it into the ground, but the unsteady grasp makes the shovel fail to find purchase. Exhaling, he rubs his head and stretches.
They work in silence for some time. The only sounds that break the quiet are the rhythmic thudding of steel against earth and the occasional gust of scorching air against the trench. Then there is another unwelcome guest. This time the creature emerges from the wall, instead of being dug out. It is twice the size of the last one and it rushes toward Ash. Flare pushes him back and readies his shovel, but it has already leapt into the air, aiming for his head. Smolder releases a torrent of flame from his mouth. It hits the creature and hit it is flung against the wall where Spade is waiting for it with searing metal. This time the creature’s screeches are loud enough to be heard. It takes full advantage of that fact and blares a horrid cacophony of discordant howls. The only ones that do not cover their ears are Smolder and Spade, who instead focus on putting the pest out of its misery. As it starts to die its shrieks become gargles, and then just infrequent twitches.
As the excitement dies down, they get back to work, noticeably more on edge. After a while Flare breaks the silence again.
Flare: Nasty things. You think there is a nest nearby?
Ash: Without a doubt, we will have to be more careful from now on.
Flare: Oh come on! Why can’t we just leave!? I have enough problems with my sweat! I don’t want their acid in my eyes too! And their venom! Awh, gross! You know I saw this guy who got bit and stung by one of them and his calf was the size of my head! My head! Looked just like it too! Big and round and red! And that’s not even the worse part! He was moaning the whole time and‒
Seethe: Take your own advice and stow it Flare.
Flare: Why? Why would I do that? Why are we even doing this in the first place? Can’t we just get someone to make this with psionics? Like, for real, someone could finish this in less than an hour and be done! Instead we shuffle along day in and day out barely makin’ a dent!
Seethe: Oh okay, then why don’t you go ask someone from another country to help us out? I’m sure they’d love an annoying pest like you pleading and groveling at their feet. And after a couple years, maybe you’ll get one to turn coat and make the trenches that we would have already built by then!
Flare: Seriously Seethe? Did you never think about capturing someone and forcing them to do it? Ya know, have Spade poke em’ with a metal rod every now and then to make sure they keep carven’ and maybe have you insult them so they’re too demoralized to do anything other than what their told. You ever think of that? Huh?
Seethe: Oh sure! And I’m certain you know just the trick to stop them from making a crater under our feet and bearing us in it? Because, after all, they have the power to just make this whole thing in less than an hour! Honestly, I don’t know how you keep that big bald head of yours so pristine, between everyone wanting to bash your skull open and the massive ego pushing at it from the inside of your head. Maybe that’s why you don’t have any hair, there’s just not enough room.
Flare: I can show you how I keep it so ‘pristine,’ all it will take is‒
Ash: Are you guys going to keep fighting or are you going to come and get your rations?
Flare: What?
Ash takes a bite out of an apple sized fruit that looks like a grape and raises an eyebrow at the two of them.
Ash: The wagon will not be here for much longer. You know how punctual they are. If you want something, you better go get something now.
Seethe: See Flare! Look at what you did with all your whining. Now we look like idiots.
Flare: Well one of us actually is one.
Seethe: Glad we agree that you’re an idiot then.
Flare: I hate you.
Seethe: I hate you, too.
Flare: Come on, let’s go get food.
Seethe: Or what’s left of it.
The two of them climb out of the trench and see the wagon already beginning to move away. The rundown wooden spokes and rusty metal start to slow as Spade says something to the driver. The driver glares at them, motioning at his bell with indignation.
Driver: Didn’t hear the bell? Too busy dealing with a pest cell? Well then, just this time I will dwell. Next time you’re late, though, it won’t end well.
Flare: Wait, we di‒
Seethe: -d our best.
Driver: …I can tell.
They approach the wagon, whispering to each other.
Flare: You know we weren’t‒
Seethe: -yeah, but Spade said we did. Are you going to rat him out? I’m sure he’d really appreciate that as a thank you.
Flare: We shouldn’t lie.
Seethe: You’re not. Spade is. For your own good. Now I don’t know about you, but I am not going hungry today.
Seethe reaches into the wagon. It is almost halfway empty, so he has to lean in to grab anything. He pulls out a discolored mushy one and grimaces. Then he sniffs it, shrugs and walks away. Flare looks down and sniffs inquisitively.
Flare: Ugh! Smells like molasses! No way I am eating that!
He abruptly turns away and swallows his growing saliva as he rushes back to the trench. Spade watches him leave and then uses his shovel to deftly lift a fruit from the wagon. The driver lets a smile flash across his face before he returns it to a grumpy frown.
Driver: Sure, take his ration as well. I’m sure he’ll eat after being near that smell for long enough, it’ll work like a spell.
Spade nods.
Spade: Thank you.
He nods back as the wagon starts up again. The old spokes squeak as they pick up speed, fading in the distance as they move to the next part of the trench. Spade looks for a place to hide the fruit. After some time, he decides to place it under his shirt, cradling it like a baby. He carefully slides into the trench, getting into position in between Flare and Ash.
Seethe: You really didn’t get some food?
Flare: I told you I wasn’t hungry. Besides I can’t eat this sweet stuff. I like bitter stuff.
Seethe: No you don’t. And who do you think you’re fooling? You’re clearly drooling.
Flare: Am not!
Flare swallows again.
Flare: I’m just nervous is all.
Seethe: Nervous that everyone knows you’re a hypocrite. What kind of person doesn’t take food because they think lying is bad only to lie about not being hungry?
Flare: It was the bottom of the batch anyway. They were practically rotting.
Seethe: I personally like it when there a little over ripened. Gives it more flavor. It gets so juicy and when it bursts in your mouth, oh! Its nectar coats your tongue with sweet syrupy goodness so tasty it makes me almost forget the fact that your stomach just growled.
Flare: Don’t you like working? Why don’t you get on that?
Seethe: Here, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get to work if you promise not to whine all night about how hungry you are.
Flare: Deal.
The morning’s warmth gives way to the afternoon’s chill. Clouds begin to gather and churn in the sky and soon they stretch from horizon to horizon. Rain starts to fall, and ominous dark splotches follow as the clouds double back on themselves. Some begin to spiral into a dangerous, and all too familiar twisting shape. Smolder blows out a steady stream of smoke and observes its trajectory. A moment or two passes and then he closes his mouth. Lightning accents his face as he turns to the others, his face grim.
Ash: Tornado, dad?
Smolder: Yes, and it is heading our way. Get to cover all of you.
Flare: You don’t have to tell me twice. I hate workin’ in the rain!
Seethe: Bet you hate working on an empty stomach too.
Flare glares at Seethe as he seethes with rage. They all collectively hide underneath an awning of the completed section of the trench, as they watch the dirt turn to mud and threaten to bury all their hard work.
Smolder: Something’s not right. They should have came by and packed the dirt if there was a storm coming.
Flare: Maybe they just didn’t know a storm was coming.
Smolder: No, boy, they always know. Something’s not right.
Flare: If you say so…hey does anyone else still smell fruit.
Seethe cackles.
Seethe: Ha! Look at him! He’s so hungry he’s imagining there’s fruit!
Flare: No I’m not! I’m serious! I smell fruit!
Seethe: Of course you do. Maybe it’s my farts from the fruit that I ate a while ago! Did you know that that fruit tasted so good! My mouth’s watering about as much as the sky thinking about it. The‒
Spade takes the fruit out from under his shirt and hands it to Flare.
Seethe: Oh, well look at that. There was a fruit after all! Maybe you should eat it so I can stop telling you how stupid it was to go a day without food.
Flare: Yeah, yeah, okay.
Flare stares at it. Its round purplish skin was surprisingly intact compared to the one Seethe had taken.
Flare: You have a good eye, Spade.
A smile crosses Spades face as he steps away from the awning. He gets drenched the moment he steps out, but the fruit stains and scent are washed away just as quickly. Satisfied, he strides back inside and begins to heat up. Steam surrounds his body for a while until he is completely dry again.
Smolder: Ash and I are going to leave the moment this storm ebbs a little.
Seethe: You’re just going to abandon your post?
Smolder: No. I have lived long enough to know that this, this storm, ain’t right. Nor is the lack of preparation from our forces. Something’s coming this way, something we aren’t equipped to deal with. It’s better to tell the forces that they’re coming, rather than fight to the death here and now.
Seethe: If they always know when a storm is coming, like you said, wouldn’t they also know that we are going to be attacked because this wasn’t in the forecast?
Ash: Perhaps, but it is better to guarantee that our forces are informed rather than assume that they are.
Seethe: Yeah right. Sounds to me like you two are scared and turning tail.
Smolder: And if we are?
Seethe: If you are and I make it in this supposed battle we are about to have I’ll inform our superiors about your treachery.
Smolder: Well it’s a good thing I won’t have to worry about that, because if you stay and fight, you are as good as dead.
Seethe: We’ll see about that, coward.
The two men’s eyes flicker with wrath as they stare at each other from across the room. Flare clears his throat.
Flare: I close my mouth to eat for how long, and you guys are at each other’s throats? You see this is why I am annoying, so you too have a common enemy to fight against.
Seethe: If that’s the case then you don’t have to be irritating anymore. Our new ‘common enemy’ is approaching and these guys aren’t going to stick around for much longer anyway.
Smolder’s eyes soften.
Smolder: You really staying?
Seethe: Without question. I will serve our country to the end.
Smolder: If you are, stay in the bunker and plan an ambush. Catching your opponent off guard is your best chance. Do not try and play hero and wait on the open plain for them to come, they will slice your head off before you can even yell a battle cry.
Seethe glowers at the ground and moves around some dirt with his foot.
Seethe: Anything else?
Smolder: With three people it’s best to have two rush out first from opposite sides of the bunker and have another lie in wait. The third should only come out if the enemy is on top of the bunker to cross the trench. Have them try and get behind them and strike while their back is turned. If they already killed the two that rushed out, if they spot the third, they’re as good as dead, so be quiet about it.
Flare: Why not fortify the bunker?
Smolder: Because even in the best-case scenario, you will just end up freezing to death.
Flare glances up and down Smolder’s body, noting the countless scars and gashes riddled throughout it.
Flare: If we ever see you again, I’m sure we’ll have a matching set of wounds, thanks to your ever so helpful advice.
Seethe: Are you even helping us anyway? For all we know you could be trying to have us killed so you don’t get punished for fleeing combat.
Smolder: If both of you stop what’s to come, I’d gladly be punished. You know that.
Seethe: Yeah, I also know that you will do anything to protect your son.
Smolder: He knows the risks and so do I.
Ash: Trust me, if I thought you had any chance of pulling this off, I would stay with you. But what you are doing is just suicide, anything that can change the weather this fast is not comparable in skill to any of us.
Flare peeks out of the bunker and shivers.
Flare: Speaking of changing the weather you guys better leave now if you’re going to. The rain just changed to snow, so much for the tornado I guess.
Smolder and Ash race to the door of the bunker and look outside. Not waiting even a moment longer, they open the door and burst into the cold. The frigid wind envelopes them in its icy grasp causing Ash to huddle closer to his father. Smolder turns back one last time, takes both of their shovels, and tosses them on the ground of the bunker.
Smolder: You’ll need these more than us.
And then, just like that, they disappear, leaving just a pale empty blizzard in their wake. Time passes more slowly with them gone and each moment is hollower than the last. The cold does not help either, and it is only getting worse. They start to shiver, despite their desperate attempts to irradiate more heat.
Flare: S-s-so, w-whose going t-to s-stay in here? I’d-d love to!
Seethe: I think S-spade should s-stay. He’s-s the s-stronges-s-st after all-ll.
Flare: D-d-dam-mn. G-g-gues-s-ss I got-ta b-be-b-bait for ya, S-spade. C-consider this p-payment for t-the fruit.
Spade reluctantly nods. He then picks up Smolder’s shovel and moves Ash’s to the door. Moving to the opposite side of the room he practices bending light from a crack in the wooden boards with his shovel to hit Ash’s.
Flare: D-diversion. Nice!
Flare pauses for a second and then walks over to Spade and hugs him.
Flare: Y-you’re warm.
Seethe: L-like I s-said. He’s-s the s-s-stronges-st.
Flare: I’m claiming this side. You move over to the other door.
Seethe: Of course you ar-re you-! Y-you know what? W-whatever!
Seethe stomps over to the door, crossing his arms and huddling in a ball.
Flare: You better make it out of this Spade, you hear? You too Seethe. I, don’t know what I’d do without you guys.
Spade: Okay. You too.
Seethe: W-w-whatever…
They all smile at each other. Flare is about to say something, but he stops as resounding footsteps echo through the hills. Seethe motions with his head for Spade to move to the wall to hide. He does so, while Seethe and Flare grasp their respective doors, waiting. Flare’s hands begin to shake again. He tries to steady them, but to no avail. Tears well in his eyes and freeze before they have a chance to fall. Spade reaches out to go to him, but he puts a hand out to tell him to stop. Spade’s tears, unlike Flares, fall seamlessly only to steam away halfway down his cheek.
The steps are closer now. They sound cold and callous, almost empty, like hollow icicles smashing against a frozen pond. It is almost time. Now!
Flare and Seethe knock the doors to the side and leap over the trench to face their foe. A sharp piercing sound echoes into the bunker moments later. Their blood only trickles a third of the way down before it turns to ice. Spade grips the shovels in his hand as he grits his teeth in fury. The steps did not pause. Instead, they simply continue at their slow and methodical pace, like a predator toying with its prey. Spade watches as the shadow from above moves across the bunker…he watches…he waits…
With a flick of his wrist, he causes Ash’s shovel to glint in sharp contrast to the now vacant bunker. Ice shoots downwards and tears apart the shovel, sending splinters of the wooden handle and ceiling flying. But that is not the only thing that’s in the air, as Spade had poll vaulted upwards using Smolder’s shovel as leverage. He glares at his opponent as they turn to face him. She raises her hand and another sheet of ice rushes forward, but it is too late to stop Spade’s shovel from slicing her across her face. Spade does not have time to strike again though, as the ice eviscerates him a hair’s breadth later.
She stumbles backwards in shock. The gash sliced straight through her nose and dug into both of her cheeks. Her oily blood spills down, unobstructed by the cold. The slash starts to enflame, as tendrils of veiny strings stretch out and scatter across her unmarred skin like lightning burrowing inside her. She grasps her wound with her right hand, and the tendrils halt their merciless escapade. After some time, the wound’s blood slows, but does not stop. She scowls in indignation at Spade’s blood, which is still defiantly liquid. She turns and walks back from where she came from, however a dozen or so centipede-like creatures block her path. Infuriated by the cold, they dash towards her, mandibles blaring angry battle cries. With barely even a thought from her, they freeze up and curl into lifeless corpses.
And then the scene is quiet. There are simply shovels, dirt, and death.
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