Chapter 11

Ren Young

I'd told Cynthia we would be lost for hours; I had hoped I would be wrong. I wasn't—corner after corner, dead-end after dead-end. We finally emerged from the alley maze. Walking side by side, we exited onto the street. It was not where we entered. We had found a different exit than where we started. This would put us severely behind schedule. I couldn't waste too much time before getting Cynthia home. At this rate, others from up there would come looking for her. I'm sure I would have an equally unpleasant experience if that happened, most likely worse than the one I had when they found me up there.

Now we were on the street. I didn't even know which street. We'd spent enough time in the alley maze. People were out and about going about their daily business. It would be harder to navigate and have Cynthia following me.

I looked down the street. It was a vendor's street setup. Small shops lined each side, and people went from shop to shop. Shop was a bit of an overstatement. Each storefront was a little stand that could be assembled and disassembled quickly. They were positioned between doors and alleys to avoid disrupting the flow of people. Unlike the market I had taken her to yesterday, these sellers provided more niche items and couldn't afford to stay in one zone of town, as there wasn't enough demand. Typically, they would gather on the same street for a day before moving on. Cynthia tapped my arm and gleefully pointed to the shops. She wanted to see them. I should tell her we need to get her home, but at this point, I was in no rush. She would just do something to stall for time anyway.

We entered the market if you could call it that. Walking at a slow pace, we looked back and forth at each shop on the street. There was a variety today. A shop was selling makeup, I should consider buying more to replace what I had taken after I got Cynthia back. A shop was selling various odd, small cooking tools that seemed only to serve one purpose, to take up space. A shop was selling various shirts with splashes of bright colors or designs. We stopped at this one. Rather, Cynthia stopped when she saw something on one of the shirts.

"Ren, look, a kitty." She pointed to a shirt with an image of a cat. It appeared to have been deformed to appear cuter, the eyes were larger and more friendly than a typical cat, and the shape was made to appear softer. At least as far as I could tell, the only cats anyone ever seemed to see here were in old pictures.

"I see you have a good eye, miss." The man behind the counter was a balding middle-aged man. A black eye patch covered his left eye. He had a scraggly beard and wore what appeared to be one of his own shirts. It had the words "Life is what you make it" written on it. I doubt he knew what the shirt said. He smiled at the two of us. It was sort of a creepy, unnerving smile, not the kind from someone dangerous. It was the kind from someone who planned to make a sale. Cynthia was clearly an easy target.

She picked up the shirt and felt the cat on it. She frowned. I imagine she had never felt a shirt with a graphic printed on it and thought it would be soft like the rest of the shirt was. I felt one of the graphics on a random shirt. An image of a rat standing over a defeated cat. Cartoony but unrealistic. The graphic felt cheap. It would likely start to come apart after one or two washes. These shirts were most certainly a waste of money, and I could guess the seller had gotten the designs from somewhere else, considering the amount of text. Still, Cynthia seemed like she really liked the shirt with the cat on it. I sighed.

"How much for the shirt?" I had no idea why I was doing this. It wasn't like she would be able to use it when she got back home. Yet here I was, about to spend money. She seemed excited by my question and eagerly looked at the man selling the shirts. He rubbed his beard for a moment and responded.

"Five blue pieces." He might as well just be robbing me. This shirt was worth only five or six green at most. I didn't have that kind of money on me. I just had some scraps left in my pants pockets from some other time. I looked over at Cynthia, who was curiously looking back and forth at the two of us while holding the shirt. She had no idea what value our money had, and I had no idea how to explain it without a proper reference. I turned to look back at the seller.

"Four green, and I'll tell you what all the words say on your shirts." The man laughed at my proposal.

"That's an interesting proposal, my boy. What makes you think you can read all my shirts?"

"Heard of Andrew?" It was a dumb question. Everyone knew about Andrew in this town.

"That priest... don't tell me," The man started laughing, "You're that young-un who was taught by him, huh? Alright, boy, you got yourself a deal." Andrew's fame was able to get me somewhere. He probably wouldn't like me using it to haggle, though. I turned over the four green diamonds I had in my pocket. It was all I had on me, and I proceeded to read the shirts I could see while pointing to them.

"Don't take no for an answer. In the heart lies passion. Life is what you make it." The man listened closely and attentively as I rattled off the odd phrases he printed on some of his shirts. I imagine this was the first time he was finding out what they said. In the end, I paid him, he shook my hand, and we were on our way. Cynthia had slipped the cat shirt over the shirt she already wore and was now walking with a wide grin next to me.

We navigated through crowds as I tried to get a bearing of where we were. The day was in full swing now, and people were walking in every which direction. I had to be careful not to lose Cynthia in this crowd.

We reached an intersection of two streets that I recognized. York had taken me down this very street the day I went up to the city. We just had to go the same way, and I could get her home. Naturally, I didn't tell her we were close; I didn't want to repeat the alley incident from earlier today.

I led her down the street to the alley which led to the path I had taken up. We were close to the hole where she would be able to find her way back up. I took off my backpack as I walked and began to unzip it. I had put her clothes from her city in it for when she went back up. I guess I would just have to take the shirt I bought her when I took back the rest of the clothes. A nice keepsake for the last couple of weird days, I suppose.

"Ren, we are almost there, aren't we?" She feigned a little ignorance. She had gotten noticeably less happy as we got closer to the mountain, and I'm sure she knew we were getting closer. I didn't say anything and kept walking. What should I say in a situation like this?

We rounded the last corner. We could see where the buildings butted up against the mountain. Here at last. I walked up to the building that I had squeezed by before and looked down the path. My heart sunk. What appeared to be some kind of hardened epoxy oozed out of the hole. They had filled it. I turned away and leaned back against the smooth mountain. I slid down the wall until I was sitting. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. After I had gotten up there, I imagine they didn't want that happening again. But this revelation only meant I didn't know how to get her home.

Cynthia made no expression. She looked down the path then sat down next to me, looking at her feet. I imagine she was happy in some sense, now that she didn't have to go back just yet, but she realized that she was also trapped. We sat in silence for a moment.

"This is not where I came out," she said. She must be implying that there were multiple exits and entrances in the mountain. It wasn't surprising, but I'm sure it didn't matter.

"They probably flooded the whole mountain to seal every potential entrance." I didn't want to believe it, but it's what I would have done if a creature I viewed as a monster showed up in my town in the manner I had. We were stuck now. I had no idea what to do.

Footsteps down the alley caught my attention. A man walked around the corner. At least it looked like a man. He wore white clothing and was completely bald. A tattoo covered the right side of his face. I didn't get any more of a good look at him. I had jumped to my feet and pulled Cynthia up. Perhaps this was a good thing, he would take Cynthia back, and we would go our separate ways. I wish that were true. Everything about his posture told me he was ready and looking for a fight.

"Hello, AL.I.C.E-2968442, it's time to go home," he spoke in a tone that sounded off. It sounded agitated, but not in a way that was directed at myself or Cynthia. I don't know how to explain it. "Well, let us get going. I'm sure you are ready to go," he spoke again in the same tone. Perhaps this was how he always spoke.

I looked at Cynthia. She was looking down. Had she been the whole time? Did she even look to see who was speaking to her? She was lost in thought. The person who stood at the end of the pathway merely sneered and began walking toward us. Slowly. Aggressively.

I doubt I stood much of a chance if I took him head-on. I charged forward, pulling a surprised Cynthia along with me, and threw my bag at his face. He simply stopped and let it hit his face as we ran past. I think I saw a grin on his face before the bag hit him. He let us pass. He wanted to have to chase us down.

I pulled Cynthia along around a corner. She wasn't exactly resisting, but she wasn't running along with me. She was probably conflicted about what was going on. I heard footsteps running along behind me. Looking back, I could see his large form chasing after us. He kept about a meter behind us, just out of his reach. It was intentional. He was toying with us. We rounded a few more corners and exited onto the street. Surely, he wouldn't follow us into the crowd. He did.

The crowd suddenly started to break apart. People yelled profanities as I pushed them away. Screaming started from behind us when they saw what was chasing us. If he wanted a fight, I guess I would give him one. He was trouble, and I felt a need to sock him in the face anyway. I guess it was because he looked like the guys that beat me up before. Of course, he could very well not have been a part of that group, but I would punch him anyway.

I kept trying to push people away. I would need to get him to an area where I would have an advantage. He was larger and more robust than me, so I needed a room or place where his movement would be limited. There was an alley in the V zone where it was so narrow my shoulders brushed against the walls. He was too broad to fit in easily. I could get him there and have an easy time punching him.

I suddenly felt my footing give way. I had cleared the crowd but tripped over something. I wasn't sure what, but I plummeted to the ground. Cynthia, naturally, fell with me. So much for my plan. I rolled over to look at our pursuer. All I saw was his massive fist heading to my face.