The Belmont's Garden

The world around you bursts into light like a sudden camera flash. Your vision goes white. It’s been ages. It’s been… how long? How long were you there in that loop? You move to the left and fire a gun on instinct only to be greeted by the sound of silence as light robs you of clarity. The backpack sitting on your shoulders reminds you that you’re alive and that you re no longer stuck there. Your shoulders fucking hurt.

You reach into your bag and throw a rock to your left. The clang of metal tells you exactly what you want and you dash off. Not a moment of rest. You have to keep moving. You will die if you stop. The thing will get you if you don’t.

Your feet carry you. You can barely feel them. Electric signals firing through your mind as two feet that you can’t even see are mere tools in your arsenal. Finally your hands reach exactly what it is that you want. A door. Hands grip around the metal railing and you pull and you run and-

And you slam right into the railing, tumble head over heels, and land on your ass. Your hands scrape against… is that glass? Your eyes begin to adjust and the coppery scent of blood hits your nose. Glass. Your fleshy hand is now full of glass. The sensation feels almost foreign. Squishy Flesh? Blood? You stare at it for a few seconds, pain coursing through your body and wonder wracking your mind. Pain. Beautiful pain. Beautiful clarity inducing pain.

Blood drips down your sleeve and onto the rotted linoleum flooring that’s scattered between mushrooms

Okay well maybe not that much clarity. You do the rest yourself and start slowly pulling the glass out of your left hand. With a light scoot to a mushroom, you slip the bag off your shoulders and dig through it. Radio, makeshift sword, Beretta M9, 2 little boxes of ammo, and aha! There it is. Your first aid kit.

You set the first aid kit down to the side and the radio starts crackling at you. You fish it out of your bag and a flashback briefly assaults your vision with-

The scent of smoke haunts you. No. Stop thinking about that. A voice on the other side starts speaking. You set it down on what looks like a dilapidated gas station counter and begin plucking the glass out of your hand with tweezers.

Seems like you just tuned into a conversation.

??: -Kept turning. Like Fucking Hell, why did we think it would stop? Maybe it was the giant fuck-off lasers that kept decimating cities. Fat lot of good it did in the end. Who would have guessed that when the angels got driven off a giant monster plant creature would burst out of those craters and turned the entire world into every doomsday lovers wet dream.

You set the shards of glass on the counter and look at the place you’ve just found yourself in. Metal shelves lay in rubble on the ground. Faded chip bags and empty plastic bottles sit on top of what looks to be a bed of mushrooms that would look more home in… a fungal festival? Was there a fungal festival? You genuinely don’t remember but you think there was.

Another voice crackles through. You can’t seem to make it out. You cast your eyes over the area you’ve found yourself in. The gas station looks abandoned. It definitely is a gas station. Outside you can see pumps that look rusted and could crumple with but a stray wind.

The first voice continues. It seems familiar.

??: Well, yeah. Of course the economy died. I knew it was going to crash. Economies always crash. All that money I had set aside turned out to be just ones and zeroes in the end. You could blame billionaires but it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Well… yes and no. I’m sure all that money could have done something.

Another voice responds but you can’t make it out.

??: Oh I’m so sorry, I forgot to factor in inflation and the stock market.

His voice oozes with sarcasm. You can tell this guy really seems to know a lot about the economy and he seems to hate every bit of it.

You wince in pain as you spray your hand with antiseptic and then place a bandage on the center of your palm. The second voice crackles through the radio again, but still you can’t make out the words.

The first one responds.

??: Fair, it wasn’t even their fault in the end. Maybe random girls shouldn’t go about making random faustian bargains for their life with plants they grew out of the ground.

You set the gauze on the bandage and begin wrapping it. You hear a chirping outside that sounds like a bird.

Finally, the second voice comes in clearly. She sounds cheerful but with a gravely undertone.

??: Hooray! Some fucking girl no one ever met is responsible for the total collapse of civilization. Our focus group is pleased! We’ll be sure to meet our target demographic this time.

You set your backpack on your shoulders once more and hold the radio in your hands. The door you had tripped over suddenly begins to make more sense. A thin metal bar sits in the center of a glass door that seems to be missing all of its glass. The rest of the windows are empty as well.

The first one responds with an air of superiority:

??: Everyone still hates her. Though I guess some of the deaths were a bit poetic. Almost like She knew. A lot of private jets were ripped out of the sky by living amalgamations of seaweed and volcanic ash. Lot of planes fell that day.

You take a step through one of the broken windows and look out at the world around you. Lush plant life dominates the area with bright colorful blooms that look ten times their usual size.

The second voice buzzes in. Haughtiness oozing out of their tone.

??: Can you really say that they fell?

The first one chuckles:

??: They fell. From the sky. While in the Air

A grave tone. Anger is your read, but you could be wrong.

??: Do you too not think of the flies in the air around you as a minor nuisance?

The First one scoffs.

??: Billions of people died, Jacaran

Oh a name. There’s something to remember.

J:The planet is millions of years old. People die everyday for Her.

You get the feeling that Jacaran almost believes the devastation was necessary.

??: This isn’t anger anymore. Civilization is dead. Most of humanity is gone. The Towers of Heaven keep falling. Do you really think this devastation was necessary?

The first one seems desperate.

J: No, but I cannot really control the circumstances of my birth, only what I do after. I allied with the bloomwardens for this purpose. We cannot let the cycle of destruction continue.

??:What does she need then?

The signal you’re listening in on suddenly crackles. You smack the radio in frustration. Goddammit.

??: Hello?

You fiddle with some dials and check the batteries. The back panel refuses to budge. The quality remains shit. You hate to admit it but you’re kind of invested in these two weirdo’s conversation.

The first voice continues albeit with more desperation.

??: Goddammit batteries are dead. I’m gonna miss you pikcell.

You blink at your radio. You have no idea how you’re hearing them.

??: All right Wizard boy, remember to dispose of batteries in safe spaces, if you don’t the ground might erupt underneath you and you don’t want Colorado to be another Detroit now do you? Noooooo the ash still rains over there. Littering bad. Littering dangerous.

You take a glance over at the plastic wrappers that your tweezers used to be in. You run back into the gas station, grab it, and then shove them in your pocket.

??: Now, Cassanova, where are we going to find radio batteries today to stave off the inevitable loneliness? We could go to the residential district.

Another name. Again the familiarity strikes you. A memory of what feels like lifetimes ago dragged back into the forefront of your brain only to slip out of your fingers like butter. The sound of a roar echoes into your radio.

??: Never mind! Sounds like Linda’s active today. Goddamn tree monsters.

You stop questioning how Cassanova’s voice is getting to you on a dead radio and start looking at the eyes that are staring at you from deeper into the foliage.

??: Ugh. I don’t want to go downtown today. I’m pretty sure that Mandate is still active. Although, that would be a good food run. If I can find a roving settlement that means hot food. And that means metal. Maybe someone has potatoes too. If so that means I can get my clock working again!

Vines begin creeping out from the foliage and slowly towards your location.

Cassanova keeps talking. You’ll have to give him your thanks later.

??: Okay. Plan of attack. City first, with a focus on trying to find canned foods and potatoes. Please dear planet be nice, I promise I’m not trying to hurt you.

He pauses, and when he speaks again, it almost feels like he’s talking to you directly. Almost.

??: Oh god, I hope you can hear me.

It seems that you might not be alone in your location. You could run. Running is always an option. Or maybe you could stand and face what it is that you see. Maybe they’re not hostile.

What will you Do?

Well, that’s a bit too much agency. The choice seems to suddenly be made for you as the eyes emerge from the plants surrounding you.

You’re stunned for a moment as you find yourself thrown back to another memory when your eyes first met hers. She really is a site to behold, standing exactly nine feet tall with brilliant crimson eyes that glimmer like a ruby. She carries herself with an air of authority that makes you remember your posture. A set of wings at her back sends you into a panic state.
Reality crashes back in as what you’re really seeing meets your eyes.
Messy burgundy hair sits in curls around her face and ivy wrapped around her left arm makes you wonder if you’re still hallucinating. She’s dressed in what looks like leather with too many belts and a satchel sits at her side filled with medical supplies.
“Excuse me,” She says with a soft voice, “I thought I heard talking over here. Seems I was right. Your pack looks rather heavy. Are you traveling alone?”

Words fail to reach you, as though the speech centers of your brain aren’t working. Could you ever speak? Or were the words that you had in the past simply just something that people guessed at? You’re not sure how to respond and your mouth doesn’t seem to work.

Wait. Isn’t there a type of unspoken communication that humans use with each other? There’s a way you can say yes. If you can just remember what it is…

The woman stares back at you, waiting for a response. You can figure it out. You can remember! You can do this. You move your head up and then back down. That’s right! It’s a nod! Good job whoever you are.

She appears puzzled, it seems your lack of verbal response has her worried.
“Okay…” She takes a step closer, “Are you hurt?”

You point your bandaged palm in her direction.

She stops in her track and raises an eyebrow, “You sure are a strange little thing. Do you have a name?”

Name… Your name? You probably had one of those. You have no idea. You actually can’t seem to remember it. You feel like you had one of those once. You might have said it to someone in passing once when you could speak, but now? Here? You have no idea what it was.

There’s another non-verbal gesture you can use here. You slowly raise your left arm and then your right. She looks confused. You don’t think you got that one right. You try again. You try raising the right one first and then the left.

She blinks, “Can you speak?”

The wave, you idiot. You’re doing that dance move people call the wave. You shake your head at her and she comes a bit closer.

“Understood. We have a small roving caravan that we can get you medical attention for if you desire. Bloom knows the people out here need it,” She stops, looking you up and down, “Your clothes are extremely clean, no patches or a stain on them. Where did you find them?”
You look down at your outfit. A labcoat sits on your shoulders over a light blue dress that seems to glimmer with a swirling pattern that shifts like waves on an ocean. She’s staring at it. You stare at it too, it’s hypnotic and gorgeous.

You don’t know how to respond to her question. You genuinely don’t remember how you even got the dress. Probably one of those doors.

She catches the look on your face and takes another step. She’s only a few feet away. You can see the ivy better now. It snakes around her flesh, poking in and leaving a few splotchy green marks around her body. It looks… beautiful?

“Right, you can’t speak. Is the place you got it from nearby?”

You look back at the gas station and the surrounding area. The door you came in from is nowhere to be seen. You’re pretty sure the answer is no so you shake your head.

There’s that puzzled look again. No wait it’s not confusion. It’s concern. God your brain is scrambled. You’re not sure how many doors you went through but none of them ever had other… humanoids like the one you’re seeing here. Is she human? The ivy around her body is making you second guess yourself but she does look human. You haven’t seen one in forever so you could be wrong. When was the last time you saw one? When was the last time you were even remotely around people?

You probably look stupid. You probably look like you barely know where you are. Wait that last one is correct. You don’t have any idea where you are. There’s not a gesture you can think of that communicates that though.

“I see. Then come. Follow me. Let’s get you to our caravan.”

She extends a hand out to you. Her palm is rough and calloused and surprisingly the only thing that seems to be free of the ivy.

You hesitate. Is this just another door? Another puzzle for you to solve? Another situation that requires the correct set of inputs from your body?
No… Maybe you’re out. Maybe you’re free. Maybe this is something you have actual agency in. You could say no. You could walk away.

You could.

But you don’t.

You take her hand and for a brief moment, you feel a light warmth spread across your palm.

---

The caravan’s strange appearance is the first thing that hits you. Seven massive metal towers secured into the ground circle what that woman called a Caravan. They make your little radio crackle to life when you pass. Inside of the circle of towers lies four machines that you swear you’ve seen before. Four metal bodies covered with what appears to be either cloth, or some kind of rubber lining the outside. Ivy woman said it was meant to disperse the heat. Curved wooden bars lay to support a tightened strip of leather that sits on the top and covering precious cargo. They call them caravans, but you’re not sure what they’re pulled by.

The ground beneath you appears to be moist with water oozing out of every step. The boots on your feet begin to take a light brown tone whenever you pull them out. The ivy woman told you the soil here is best for extracting safe water.

You make out at least… twenty people? All human, except for the one who found you at the gas station and two others. Chatter radiates around a campfire as people converse over what looks like dinner. A stout man with jet black hair and muscles the size of your body toils over molten metal, pounding something into shape. Another small group tears apart a deer carcass with knives that send a shiver down your spine.
As you wander towards the fire, you see people grow quiet as they stare at you. They know you don’t belong here. They know you’re an outsider. You should probably run.
The woman with ivy wrapped around her left arm clears her throat and it seems to garner the attention of everyone around you.
“Excuse me, everyone. Can I have your attention please?”

You don’t know why she asked that. Seemed like she already had it.

“As you can see, I found someone out in the wilds. She was over by the gas station. She can’t seem to talk. Please welcome her in just as you all were before.” She speaks in a matter of fact tone, quick, straight to the point with no room for fluff or innuendo.

A voice breaks through from the crowd, “How do we know she’s not one of them zealots?”
A few voices echo their dissent.

She frowns and continues, “You know as well as I do that we are in the middle of the Bloom’s thrall. If she was a zealot, you would all be fertilizer by now.”

“What’s her name?” The one you think is a blacksmith echoes back through the crowd.

“She can’t speak, so she can’t tell me.”
A bit of laughter echoes from the crowd. She looks crestfallen. Wait. does that word mean what you think it means? you don’t have a dictionary or else you’d check.

“Can she hold her own? Or are we picking up any old stray that catches your eye?”

A growl escapes the ivy woman’s throat, The vines squeeze around her flesh, tensing as she does. It seems like she’s the one in charge here or maybe just the one that keeps everyone in check.

“And were you not one of these strays once Bernard?”
The blacksmith shuts up, his face running red.

“Anyways I expect you all to treat her with the utmost respect, show her some kindness. She seems to have been traveling alone for… a while.”

Silence falls across the caravan. The other two individuals that look like the ivy woman step forward. One has bright green leaves sprouting out of their shoulders and another has roses for eyes.

Rose eyes perks up, “Clearly you can see as well as I do that she carries the stench of her touch.”
The crowd begins to whisper.

“That may be true, but so do we. That doesn’t seem to stop us now, does it?”
Rose eyes doesn’t seem to have a response to that.

Ivy woman continues, “And furthermore, I can smell the touch of a lot more than just The Bloom on her. Please, I am begging you to lower your knives. Calm your suspicions. She is trustworthy. She did not attack me but her marksmanship is impeccable. I watched her fell the deer we salvaged ourselves in a single shot without even looking.”

This seems to quell the crowd. You’re not sure what this Bloom is that they’re talking about. Maybe it’s something that your radio friends would know about. Regardless, the crowd seems pacified and the one with roses for eyes comes to meet the ivy woman.

They talk in hushed whispers. About you. As though they think you can’t understand them.

“Spidata, are you sure of this one? The bloomwardens have enough on their plate as is. How can we guarantee this one won’t corrupt anyone else?”

Spidata… another name. You log it in your brain.

The one called Spidata responds with a grave tone, “Lantern, I know that you think we must question every seed that she sprouts but I am telling you, this one is trustworthy, even if there is something off. Don’t tell the others, but I saw her appear out of thin air, and then without even hesitating she fired a gun, and slammed into a metal bar. I don’t think she’s from here and honestly, I don’t think she’s fully present.”

The roses in Lantern’s eyes expanded, “You… you don’t think she’s one of those Travelers is she?”

Spidata shook her head and crossed her arms, “She has that special sparkle of it, but the colors are off. Her dress looks more like it’s painted rather than mimicking the night sky.”

You look back down at your dress. The painting seeps and swirls in on itself with dark blues, bright reds and twinkling bits of space. It is kind of pretty, but you don’t remember where you got it from. Regardless, you wish they would acknowledge you instead of just talking about you like you weren’t even there. Though it’s not like you could say anything.

You decide to stop being a passive piece of shit and you grab her arm and squeeze it.

The one called Lantern looks over at you, “Do you have a name, little sapling?”

You’re still not sure what that’s supposed to mean. You don’t really remember your name but maybe they’re testing you. Maybe this is another one of those weird puzzles where you have to do the right gesture. You think really hard for a moment, wrack your brain and… and…

It’s no use. You can’t remember it. You raise your left arm and then your right arm again. Wait shit, that’s the wave. You raise them both at the same time and hold your palms out flat. You think that’s how you shrug.

Lantern takes a look over to the right somewhere, “Wait I think she’s pointing at something.”

Spidata nods, “I think you may be right. She’s pointing at the fire?”

Wait no, you’re not doing that. You did not mean to point at the fire. You furiously shake your head and hold your hands out.

“Good eye, she’s pointing at the fire. Ash? Flame?”

You shake your head again.

Lantern perks up, “Is your Name Cinder? Coal?”

You smack your face with your palm and the wound tenses up in pain. You pull it back instinctively and rub it with your thumb.

“Ah. Burn. Yes, I suppose that will do, It’s a shame that we did not figure it out sooner.”

“Yes. What a shame.”

Your name isn’t Burn. But you can’t exactly let them not have something to call you so you let it slide. Might as well. The two seem happy with themselves and you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

There isn’t a door to be seen here, and you don’t think it’s one of those “kill everyone in the room” situations either. Where ever you are now, You get the feeling that you’re gonna be there for a while, and that maybe you should just let go for a moment. Maybe your feet can stop moving here. Maybe you can slow down a bit. Maybe the door days are over.

Or maybe a door will suddenly take you to another nightmare when you least expect it.

Maybe.

Or maybe you’ll just fall on the ground face first into the wet mud without realizing it.

Yeah.

That last one is the most likely.

You think… you’ll close your eyes here.