The Raven's Measure

Here is my first round story for the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge. We were divided into heats and given a genre, a character and an object. From that point, you have 8 days to write 2,500 words or less. My prompts were suspense, a motorcyclist, and fragile.

He doused the remnants of their fire and scanned the horizon in all directions. From the northwest he observed a small, red glow. He guessed it was another group of travelers, likely the three women they had driven past earlier that evening. To the far south, a bloom of red blazed on the dark horizon. A house? A church? He made a mental note to avoid the area tomorrow, even if it added to the already long journey. Such destruction was usually accompanied by trouble.

He took the head and heart of the rabbit that they had roasted for dinner and walked a hundred yards from the now smoldering fire. Placing it gingerly on a rock, he knelt down and prayed.

“I accept this fragile world which has been left to the few. May He who keeps us safe accept this offering to His loyal feathered servants. I give up to You the Raven’s Measure.”

Before he had walked ten paces, the birds descended and began to feast.

“Abe,” he heard Becca call, her voice urgent and weak.

He quickened his pace to where he had prepared their sleep sacks, hidden by what was the front corner of a house once ago in simpler times. It not only concealed them from any passerby, but it also protected them from the night wind.

He bent down and took Becca’s frail hand, which was sweaty despite the chill.

“I’m having contractions. It’s too early,” she groaned.

“It is fine,” he comforted her. “A lot of women think it is time when they still have a while to go. Just squeeze my hand when the next one comes.”

He pulled his sack closer to hers, hoping he wasn’t fooling himself. By his calculations they had another few weeks to get to where her people were before the baby came and a proper sacrifice could be found. She clamped down and moaned. He counted. Another squeeze 1,354 seconds later. He figured that to be just over 20 minutes. He counted to 1,822 and she clutched tightly for the last time before fading off to sleep.

***

He was walking along a small, tree-lined road. There were so many leaves that the brightness of it almost burned his eyes. He was so accustomed to the green of rot that he’d forgotten the shade of life. As he approached the largest of the trees, he could see something nailed to the trunk.

A black, feathered fowl, the nail through its chest, hung for all to see. Scrawled in blood below it read, “Another raven dead.”

From overhead, Abe heard the deep, throaty “kraa” of the feathered servant descending upon its prey. His sacrifices weren’t enough. The fragile balance had been broken. His time had come.

Abe startled awake.

Dawn’s first hint of light was beginning to invade the hazy darkness. The thick smell of smoke and death, two scents indistinguishable from one another, was always strongest upon waking. It was as if every day began with a reminder of the hell that their world had become.

He walked to the case attached to his motorcycle and grabbed water. He drank a little and ate just enough jerky. Rationing was intuitive. He gathered up his sleep sack and created a small nest in the sidecar. It was the only protection that he could offer Becca’s delicate, pregnant body as they traveled the unpredictable roads.

Nudging Becca awake, Abe brushed her thick, black hair from her forehead and checked for fever. Her clamminess from the night before had departed and he sighed, relieved. He handed her the water and double the jerky that he had eaten himself.

Becca ate slowly, savoring the food and watching Abe closely as he cleaned up the camp site. She had heard him again last night, yelling and screeching in his sleep. She was growing ever more leery of his sanity. It wasn’t so scary initially when he obsessively watched the birds that circled; not even too alarming when he started talking about them incessantly. When he began to pray and offer them sacrifices, though, Becca knew the strong, cunning mind that had kept them both alive had deteriorated to a much more vulnerable state.

The pair had become a living metaphor of the dying world around them; fragile and desperate.

“We need to get going. There may be trouble south of here and we’ll need to avoid it,” Abe told her, securing their supplies.

Becca climbed in the sidecar and Abe started the reluctant bike. Becca couldn’t be certain, but he appeared to nod to a raven perched on a dead tree a few yards away before pulling the motorcycle onto the road.

They drove for hours, passing two small communities. Becca had long ago given up asking Abe to stop and talk to other people. He seemed fine with the isolation. Hour after hour, day after day, on the bike, not even small talk between the two of them. She no longer missed coffee dates with her girlfriends - a luxury that was hard to believe had ever existed. What she wouldn’t give, though, to ask another woman questions about pregnancy or nursing. As soon as they made it to her family homestead, a stronghold which she was certain still stood, she would have everything she needed. The baby kicked hard inside of her enormous stomach, reminding her that advice or none, motherhood was close.

As the sun began to set, Abe pulled the motorcycle and sidecar up to a trading post, the first that they had seen in almost a week.

“You can get out and stretch, but stay close,” Abe ordered as he was collecting a couple of their small furs and some jerky with which to barter.

Gasoline was hard to come by and Becca hoped that he would be able to fill the tank with what little they had to offer. A small dog approached Becca cautiously as she leaned against a tree, watching the evening colors careen across the sky. She extended her hand and the brown and white mutt sniffed. As she was about to pet the dog, her stomach tightened and she yelped in surprise and pain.

Startled, the dog ran off.

“Damnit,” Abe yelled. “Why didn’t you grab him? You know we need something to offer as the Raven’s Measure when the baby comes.”

Becca, bent over in pain, looked up at Abe, anger and disgust burning in her hazel eyes. As the contraction released its grip, she lowered herself to the ground.

“I am sick of hearing about your precious ravens! They are nothing but lowlife scavengers,” Becca exclaimed. “You have lost your mind if you believe otherwise.”

Abe walked back to the bike and filled the tank with the gas that he had been able to haggle from the traders. He knew that he should be worried about the grunts and groans she was making, but he was too focused on her words. Didn’t she know that without the proper sacrifice it was all for naught? They were all three damned - him, her and the baby. The balance must not be broken.

He had walked this tightrope, negotiated their survival in a realm of ruins, for what seemed like ages, even if it were a mere several months. It wasn’t by mistake that they had made it as far as they had. If that were to continue to be the case in this ever-fragile world that was left, no misstep could be taken. Every decaying body they passed on their journey could have easily been them. They would be a grand feast for the ebony servants that circled the skies. Abe couldn’t understand why Becca didn’t see this.

Returning to the tree, Abe offered his hand and pulled Becca up from the ground. They walked back to the bike and he helped her get situated as comfortably as possible for a woman in her condition. Reaching into his bag, Abe drew out an apple, green with some spots of red and a few that had started brown. Becca drew in her breath. It was the first piece of fruit she had seen in two months.

“We will share it,” she told him, feeling guilty for her earlier outburst.

Abe shook his head. “No,” he said. “You need it. You and that baby.”

Becca bit into the fruit, its smooth skin against the roof of her dry mouth, and began to giggle. Although slightly bitter and mushy, Becca thought it must be the most delicious apple she had ever eaten. She turned towards Abe and extended the apple to him, trying again to share, but he simply shook his head and started the bike.

When she was done eating it, she threw the core behind her. A raven dined.

***

Becca stood alone in the middle of a long, dark tunnel.

She could see a dim light on either end. She heard a child - no, children - laughing and playing. It echoed so loudly that she was uncertain from which direction it came.

The laughter was interrupted by a flutter of wings.

“KRAAAAA!”

The children began to scream.

Becca wanted to run to them, but she was torn on which way to go. She had to save the children. How could she save the children?

A bolt of pain pulsed through her, pulling Becca from her sleep. She tried to sit up, but the pain kept her pinned down. She felt something wet running along her thighs. There was no more denying it. She was having this baby.

Turning to wake Abe, Becca discovered his spot empty. Gingerly pulling herself up, she began to walk into the darkness, listening for him. She spotted a small fire and headed toward it.

“Abe!” she called softly.

Just as another wave of pain overtook her, Becca saw him, arms spread to either side, a conspiracy of ravens on all sides. She gasped, partially in pain but mostly in shock at the sight. Abe turned in time to see her crumble to the ground.

The birds took flight.

Abe lifted her, slipping his arms under hers and gently dragged her closer to the fire. He ran back to where they had made camp and grabbed both sleep sacks. After getting her set up on the bags, he ran once again to the parked motorcycle and grabbed the limited supplies that they had.

When he got back to the fire, Becca was responsive, although he wondered how aware she was. He poured small sips of water into her mouth and murmured words of comfort as best he knew how. Although Abe was a caring man, expressing it was never his strong suit. Especially now. His whole focus was mere survival, on maintaining the balance.

Time passed slowly. Becca slipped in and out of consciousness. As the night dragged on, dehydration, hunger and pain held her awareness at bay. Abe kept lifting the blanket and checking between her legs, although other than a baby’s head, he didn’t know what to look for. Occasionally Becca would scream out in pain. Abe worried that these fits would attract unwanted attention, but it seemed as though no other people were around.

Abe stared out into the darkness, convinced that the ravens were there watching, waiting. He had tried to bond with them earlier, to prove to them he knew their power, that he understood the fragile balance of the new order. After dinner he had left his offering, the remnants of a squirrel. He feared the Raven’s Measure hadn’t been enough. Every day it became harder to find them proper reparations.

Now the baby was coming, and he had no offering. Surely this new life required payment, otherwise they were all three doomed to die. He weighed the options. He could offer up Becca in exchange for the baby. The baby would die, though, without its mother for food. He could offer himself, but Becca couldn’t drive the bike, and they wouldn’t have any way to finish the journey. He could offer the baby itself. But how could society ever rebuild if new life was not given a chance?

Becca screamed and Abe pulled the blanket down to check. The baby’s head had almost fully emerged. He grabbed a towel and gathered up the baby girl, wrapping her securely. He tied off the cord and laid her on Becca’s chest. Becca looked at her baby girl and smiled before slipping out of consciousness.

From behind him, Abe believed he heard the sound of dozens of ravens’ claws moving across the hard ground. Decisions needed to be made as the sun was beginning to rise.

“Ahhhhh,” Becca called out, her eyes flitting open momentarily, her body twisting in pain.

“Hush now,” Abe told her. “You did real good. That is a fine looking little girl. Just rest.”

Abe grabbed the wet rag laying nearby and reached down to clean Becca up, only to quit cold. Another small head was blooming from the womb. He removed his shirt and wrapped up the baby. A perfect little boy.

Becca didn’t stir as Abe cleaned up the site and loaded the bike. They had been on the road for close to an hour before she awoke, panicked.

“The baby! Is the baby ok?”

Abe motioned to her lap. “Your little girl is perfect. Everything is just fine.”

Becca brought the baby to her breast and began to nurse.

“Her name is Eve,” Becca said, smiling.

Far away, the Raven’s Measure had been paid.

The fragile balance was restored.

A baby boy wailed.

Birds feasted.