A fascinating fictional story about a risky mission and one man's survival

My presence there was definitely not by choice, but because I was the "lucky guy". My commander gave me a specific list of instructions, some so vague that they sounded like riddles. “The less you know about certain things, the better,” he said. “This is in your best interest and decreases the likelihood of you being compromised.” Whatever that meant. I barely had time to say goodbye to my family. I left within a few hours and was given three days to complete the mission. They stripped me of my weapons and any form of protection. To me, this was a death sentence. The only thing they specified was that I had to take possession of the black box in any way I could.

I arrived in Gavenport two days prior. That part of the city was old, with buildings made out of sandstone and lined with pieces of dark wood placed haphazardly in a sea of grass. A vast contrast to the buildings on the other side of the city which were made of concrete with huge glass windows and ceramic tile roof. Both sides were separated by a giant stone wall.

They told me about a guild of thieves and I had been studying their routine. They were known around town as the ‘Invaders’ known to break the limbs of anyone who got in their way and skin them while they were still alive. Everyone was afraid of them. They stole the black box from the museum on the other side with a list of other treasures. Apparently, they also had no clue what was inside. I noticed two of them trying to open it, but they failed. There was a dispute over whether or not they should retain it. Every night they went to a small pub and spent the entire evening drinking. I waited till they passed out and activated my plan.

My hand shook so violently that I needed my other hand as support while I slid it into the small satchel on the dusty floor, with my eyes centered on them. I held my breath and listened intently for any sounds. I could see my reflection in the blade of the knife. Once I found the box, I walked slowly to the door, heart pounding in my chest and began to run. They would not awake until noon and I needed that head start.

When I left, the sun was just beginning to rise. I heard the birds singing the lovely chorus of their bird song in contrast to the darkness that I had left inside. All I could think about was running as far away from the city as I could. I wanted to stop but I couldn’t at that moment. Not till I felt safe. The wind was doing its best to whisper, but I didn't understand any words. Only sounds. It propelled me forward while my lungs, slowly running low on oxygen, worked harder to bring air in, almost suffocating me. My sweaty skin shimmered in the blazing sun. My throat was so dry and sore the saliva became a thickened film and felt like sandpaper against my raw esophagus. I winced, hoping that I would come across a stream or anything else I might drink. My body longed for water, food and shelter.

I thanked my parents for those constant hours that they forced me to run. Run I told myself. I had to continue to run.

At first there was pain. But soon I could no longer feel my feet. The sun was about to set, casting an orange hue across the sky and before I knew it, it was dark. My legs were shaking, and with heavy eyelids, I collapsed on the bare ground in the middle of nowhere. I took one last look before my eyes closed. The blackness that filled the emptiness was beautiful and perfect.

Then a brisk, strong wind tugged at my skin, forcing me awake. My body was thrown into violent shakes, while my stomach continued to growl. I tried to get up. Everything around me was blurry and my head began to pound, forcing me back down on the ground. Something cold touched my skin and rolled down my arm. I wiped my fingers across it and then stuck them inside my mouth. Water. My throat and my body convulsed on sensing moisture. My eyes slowly opened again and images began to form. I saw the leaves and the dew and my immediate instinct was to lick every leaf. I needed to get as much fluid inside of me as I could.

My feet now ached so much that at times I saw stars. Not the ones in the sky but small ones forming right in front of my eyes. I knew I had to keep going but for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, I couldn't run. My body ached everywhere. I guessed it was angry at me for betraying it. I had pushed it way past its limit. Impatiently I waited for the sun to rise. I needed to see in detail where I was and think of my next move.

A sea of red, orange, and yellow hues amidst the gold took my mind straight to paradise. Then I saw them. The marigold flowers that my mom always talked about. Once my brain registered their presence, I was immediately hit by their strong musky and pungent scent. There were many meanings attached to marigold flowers but for my family, marigolds were always viewed as a sign of optimism and good luck. I knew then that I would be all right. My parents were still with me and guiding me. I saw the presence of these flowers as a sign. It meant that I could not stay here. My journey wasn’t over. Something told me that I needed to get moving. And it had to be now.

I got on my elbows and knees because my feet were no longer able to carry me. I tore up my shirt, which was already filled with holes, and tied the rags, along with leaves, against my knees. Then I made my way along, through the grass and the rough undergrowth, searching for somewhere I might hide, and hoping that I’d find something to eat. The ground was still damp and slippery beneath my knees as I dodged stems and branches. I knew deep down inside that if I followed the marigolds, they would guide me to safety.

It was not too long before I saw it in the distance. How did they know? Not even I had any idea where I was headed. I had no plan when I left. I just ran and my feet led the way. My mind gave in willingly to what my body was doing. Then I suddenly remembered something they had said. If I found the barn, I would find food and in there was the way home. I had no idea what that meant at that time.

For now, my stomach cramps reminded me it needed to be fed. My knees were now like my feet—bruised and extremely tender to the touch. I saw the doors to the barn first. They caught my attention. A sudden burst of energy and strength overtook me. I got up and ran towards the old wooden barn. Standing stoically in the distance, framed by weathered shiplap, with remnants of once mustard colored paint, it stood at the bottom of the hill in the middle of a grassy meadow.

I made it to the doors, pulled on the old iron bolt, and pushed the doors open. My nostrils were stung slightly by a wet musty smell that quickly faded. There was a ladder on the far east corner and on the other side was some hay.

I had been told there would be food, and my eyes soon found the metal flask and a basket with some bread and braised rabbit. I gulped down the water and devoured everything as though it was my very last meal. I forgot all about the bruises and pain.

In another small basket, centered on the top stack of hay were some square pieces of white gauze and a brown glass bottle. It was exactly as they had said it would be. They were right about so many things. I was the one who had been afraid, questioning them in great detail. All they asked was that I believe. I simply needed to rub the ointment over my bruises, and it would act quickly. My eyes widened as I watched the bleeding stop and the dried blood vanish. The edges of my wounds came together like magnets and left no scars.

My eyes refused to blink as my mind tried to process what I had seen. It happened so quickly that I am sure I missed many details.

Now that my body was restored, my stomach full, and my throat no longer parched, I let out a long sigh of relief. I had made it this far and I knew then that I was safe that night. All I needed to do was to find my way back home before they tracked me here.

The sun was high in the sky, but time was still on my side. I searched between the stacks of hay. I even searched outside, however, there was nothing that stood out. If only they had told me what to look for. Why had they spoken in so many riddles?

As I sat on the dirt floor trying to puzzle it all out, rain began to fall upon the tin roof. It seemed like music was being played from the heavens above. The barn became filled with the scent of marigolds—carried in by the rain and by the wind finding its way in through tiny openings.

I spent almost an entire day searching for something that might be out of place but to no avail. A good night’s rest that evening would do the trick I told myself. The hay made a perfect mattress and, covered with a thick plaid blanket, was surprisingly soft. I laid there scanning every inch of every wall, floor, and roof. I was not going to give up.

Brown shiplap, dirt floor, window, rustic marks on the roof; just some of the things placed on my mental list. I almost missed it, a small flicker. Standing, my feet pressed against the cool, uneven gritty mix of sand and clay. I went over to where old planks of wood had been neatly stacked across one wall. Pulling them aside, revealed the green light. At first faint, the light intensified and widened—eventually opening out into a portal that was so long and deep, it appeared almost black at the center.

‘’Marcus can you hear me?” asked my commander.

“Yes, sir. I can hear you.”

“Time to come home.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I felt for the tiny black box in the pocket of my pants. Our world needed whatever was inside to survive. Of course, they didn’t tell me what was in there; another mystery that they may never expand upon. With a firm grip, I held the black box close to me and stepped into the portal with the biggest smile on my face. I breathed a sigh of relief for I had survived. I was going home and I couldn’t wait to see my family again.