The Gap - Chapter 2

​Back cover description:
Zora lives her life in tenuous routine, using her unique gifts to guide refugees through the treacherous Gap in search of safety within the walled-off empire to the north. But her journey takes a turn, one day, as she uncovers dark secrets among the jungle's predators and bandits. Soon, survival becomes more than just reaching the other side, and it may come at the cost of everything she once held to be true.

Chapter 2

“The Equatorial Gap is sixty miles long. Anywhere else, that might take us four days to traverse at a good pace. Here, it will probably take two to three weeks. There are cliffs and rapids and a whole lot of fireweed. Predators much larger than you, and parasites that live in the very air you breathe. It’s the only patch of jungle that survived the Burn, the only safe haven for every creepy crawly, toothy, fangy creature on the whole continent, stretching from one ocean to the other. Not to mention the gangs, the booby traps, and the border guards that know the land a whole lot better than you do. Thankfully, though, you have me.”

I look at the small group of ten travelers before me, attentively watching me recite the same spiel I give at the beginning of every journey. When I first started out as a guide, I played it up a little, made it sound scarier, presenting myself as their only savior and guardian through the Gap. Now that I’ve had a few years’ experience, I realize I don’t play it up enough. It’s much deadlier than I describe.

“Now, the Continental Highway ends at the other side of town. From there, we’ll take the Tarxis river upstream until we reach the borders of Sudland, then we’ll head north on foot for another week or so until the highway picks back up. That’s where I leave you. From there, you can follow the highway all the way through Sudland until you reach the Freesian Empire. If you do not wish to make this journey, say so now. Because once we enter the Gap, it will be very dangerous if you change your mind. I need a verbal confirmation from each of you.”

I turn to each of them, and one by one they all voice their understanding.

Of course, I never mention Jericho. I’m sure they know about it, and it wouldn’t do me any good to discourage perfectly good business. Sudland isn’t such a bad place to be stuck in.

It’s not the Empire, but it’s better than anything you’d find on this side of the Gap. So, I don’t feel too guilty. Haven’t gotten anyone killed yet. I’ve had some close calls, but they were idiots—I’m surprised they hadn’t gotten themselves killed before reaching me.

“Okay, gather your things, grab some food, and then meet me down by the docks in one hour. It’s not a big boat, so don’t expect to bring your whole house with you.”

The passengers disperse as instructed, mingling among the other transients roaming the streets of Fort Sula. It’s the last city before the Gap, making it one of the most prosperous and popular cities in the southern continent. Bit of a trash heap in my opinion, not that my opinion matters much. I never stay here longer than a night—just enough to find clients and restock for the return journey northward through the Gap.

“I need a verbal confirmation from each of you,” a mock-grumpy voice grunts behind me. I smile and turn around.

“I don’t want a repeat of any incidents like the one in July!”

“I was the one that had to chase after him, not you!”

I bend my knees in an exaggerated curtsy. “And I thank you.”

Ollie, my partner from Sudland and one of my closest friends. My only one, I guess. More like family, at this point. We’ve made this journey about a hundred times together, and we never spend more than a few hours apart at a time.

“So, what do you think, Zo? Any of them look like runners this time?”

I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, considering the gaggle of migrants haggling with the vendors.

“Nah,” I say, pointing to them. “Look how little they’re arguing with Po Rio and Taqi. These guys aren’t used to confrontation. I bet they’re Bugharan. Respectful of authority down there.”

“And I suppose that makes you the authority, then?”

“Obviously.”

Ollie grins, then slaps my shoulder and begins walking towards the docks. “I’ll be loading up the boat if you need me, my liege.”

I laugh and turn back to the town. I still have a few more things to get myself before we push off; it won’t be long before the streets get congested and the waterways fill up with fishing boats and migrants.

I’m just about to head into one of the stores when I hear an angry voice and the sound of someone sobbing. It's coming from one of the vendors a few doors down, one that sells dried fruits and meats.

There's a woman leaning on the front counter with her head in her hands. Her body is visibly shaking, while the store owner looks on uncomfortably, wringing his hands raw as he throws anxious glances to his left and right.

I walk the short distance to the shop and place my travel bag on the counter beside the woman.

“Hey, hey, what’s up? What’s going on here, Kodya?”

The store owner’s cheeks turn red, and he folds his arms in a defensive posture.

“I’m not trying to cause a scene, Ms. Zo,” he mumbles. “She just don’t have the reputation for all these goods she’s meanin’ to buy.”

I look at the small pile of smoked pork and sun-dried strawberries. It’s enough to get by for a few days, maybe a week if you don't mind going hungry at nights.

“How much does she have?”

Kodya shrugs. “Little more than a couple hundred Tallies.”

I grimace. That’s hardly anything.

The woman lifts her head; her cheeks are damp with tears, marked by dirty streaks from her eyes to her prominent jawline. She probably hasn’t eaten in days. Now that I’m up close, I notice the braided platinum ring on her right index finger, set with small quartz crystals. It’s a Bugharan bonding ring—I was right. Which means she’s probably already been traveling for more than a month, on foot.

“Her people don’t barter on reputation where she’s from. Everything she has she probably earned on the road.”

“Still…”

I grab some packages of dried mangoes and peaches and throw them on the pile, along with a small sack of cured beef—a delicacy for most.

“Zo darlin’, I can’t just hand out my store to every sorry story tha’ passes—”

“I’m paying for it, Kodya, you lump,” I say, holding out my wrist.

He furrows his brow, but betrays a reluctant sideways smile and scans it. “I s’pose your reputation counts for sumthin’ round here.”

The woman stares at me, mouth agape. The whole lot is probably worth about half the price of her ticket for this journey. But I sense something hidden deep within this woman. Like a sinkhole that’s been superficially covered with branches and greens, waiting to collapse at the slightest disruption.

And I can’t help but notice she came alone, despite the bonding ring on her finger.

“Thanks, Kodya, love. I’ll see you next month.” I face the woman. “Better hurry and pack, we’re pushing off soon.”

~

Ollie thinks I'm too soft. He says I'm unnaturally drawn to lost puppy dog people. In reality, it's kind of hard not to run into those in our line of work.

And so what? I've got plenty of reputation built up over the years, enough to share where I can. I don't need much to survive; I mostly live off the jungle anyways. The whole concept of reputation seems abhorrent to me anyways.

People don’t do things to just be human anymore. They do it for the reputation. It used to be that you’d help someone stranded on the road because you’d been there before and knew how much it sucked to endure it alone. You used to let your neighbor borrow your tools because that’s what it meant to be a neighbor.

But now, the whole global economy is based on reputation and Tallies. Every little act of service, every feat of strength, every bit of positive performance adds just a little bit to your reputation. People fight each other, sometimes literally, just to look better than the person standing next to them. Whole countries commit vast national resources in pursuit of reputation—like the Freesians, sending soldiers to conduct World Health Events, like the one in my home village.

Before it was destroyed, that is.

No one really likes the system, but it’s the only one we have, and it’s the only way to get your daily bread. And when survival is at stake, nothing matters except getting to tomorrow. Worry about the way things should be, about economic revolutions and upturning the world order when you’ve got a full belly and security for your friends and family.

None of that exists around here.

Ollie looks up from packing the boat as I approach the docks, and he makes an elaborate gesture of throwing imaginary flower petals and bowing low before me.

“All hail! Madame Zora of the Rainforest returns, the one true authority of the Gap Convoy Company!”

I laugh and swirl my hand before me. “Carry on, carry on!”

“What took you so long?” he asks, sizing me up. “You did it again, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, tossing my ruck in the back of the boat.

Ollie shakes his head.

“How are we going to afford our pool house in the Empire if you keep spending our reputation?”

“Our reputation?” I snort. “We pooling resources now?”

Ollie just grunts and gets in the bowman’s seat.

“Well fine then,” he says with mock offense, “I’ll just keep these pineapple cakettes to myself.”

The other passengers trickle in, and I assign them spots in my rusty fifteen-seater. It’s not much, but it gets the job done. I’ve got a decent enough motor on the back to get us upstream in reasonable time. And besides, it's better than some of the buckets that the other guides have, if they have one at all.

Once everyone is in place, I pull the crank on the motor (a few times) and draw us away from the dock.

It's all muscle memory by now—same engine hiccups, same rapids upstream, same rainy weather midway through the day, just different faces in the boat.

Sometimes there are only four or five of them, sometimes I get the whole fifteen, but they're always headed the same direction. Always headed north.

It seems like a waste of time. I know what waits for them at the end of their journey. Jericho. One of them might get selected by the lottery. Maybe a few more will find a way to sneak under, over, around, or through.

But most of them won't. Some of them will die. Or get robbed of all their possessions. Not while they're with me, but later on up the road.

I almost feel bad taking payment for moving them. I'm tempted to feel like it's a disservice. But if it wasn't me, it would be someone else, someone who would take advantage of them. Or even worse, traffickers, or even attempting it alone.

Which is almost always fatal.

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Title image courtesy of David Riano - Pexels