Spike Zone

“RUN!” I screamed at Terry, grabbing his arm and pulling him along.

There were five of us fleeing for our lives this time. We were displaced from our colony by the giant floating boxes and transported to the Spike Zone; the Spike Zone from which few return. However, we are human and our spirit is strong; this will be the first time all the displaced return!

Our ancestors came from a place called Earth, which is full of beautiful sights and sounds. It has a blue sky and green plants, with a wide variety of plentiful food. Here in Tulga, it is constantly dark until the boxes come and take us to the Spike Zone. When the boxes descend from the dark sky, bright lights that hurt our eyes accompany them. Sometimes the boxes disperse a little hard dry food for us; other times they use moveable walls to herd some of us into the box. The box has holes in it, so you can hear your loved ones wailing and grieving below as the box ascends into the darkness.

Terry and I are the only ones who survived being transported by the box intact. The other three all broke limbs and have severe injuries from being jostled around during the trip across the dark sky. “I can’t run anymore Jamie,” Terry panted. He slowed down even more, causing me a moment of panic; do I leave him and save myself, or do I stay and help him?

If you can avoid being taken by the boxes until you are hairy or bumpy, then you are rarely taken. Once you are hairy or bumpy, you are able to produce young humans. Young humans are not displaced until they are able to walk by themselves. The humans old enough to produce young humans, do so as much as possible in the hope that at least some of their young will survive to produce their own young.

As I reached around to grab for Terry, I saw the giant silver spike descend from the sky and pierce one of the other three humans, Tracy. She screamed and flailed her limbs as she was dragged up into the dark.

Jethro is the oldest human in our Colony. He was returned from the Spike Zone a long time ago, but he is unable to walk or produce young. Some of the hairy bumpy people want to kill him as he eats food that would be better going to the young. Others refuse to let this happen, as he is a good source of knowledge. Personally, I hope they let him live; he makes me laugh. I don’t believe his story of bending the spike and making it bleed, and with each telling of the story Jethro enhances it a little more, but he provides much needed humour in our Colony. It seems that each time he tells his story another hair on his head turns white.

Tracy’s screams grew softer and softer, until I could no longer hear them. According to Jethro, the spike wouldn’t appear again for a while so I grabbed Terry’s arm and started pulling him along behind me. My goal was to get us to the dark area at the edge of the large round area of hard white ground.

It’s a curious thing in the Colony; the closer you are to becoming hairy or bumpy, the more parents you seem to have. It’s a status thing to have your young make it to the hairy or bumpy stage, and the older white-haired hairy bumpy people try to claim each one as their own. With the communal way the young are raised it’s often difficult to tell who the parents actually are, especially the hairy parent. Bumpy parents physically produce the young, but they are never certain which hairy parent planted the seed.

Terry and I reached an incline at the edge of the hard white ground. The incline led up into darkness, and presumably safety. Terry was in a bad way and I had to help him up onto the initial lip. The surface was smooth and slippery, making it difficult to work our way up the slope. We were no more than a few steps up the incline when three silver spikes descended quickly, striking the ground in front of us. Terry screamed and fell backwards, falling off the lip and onto the flat ground. I scurried down after him and picked him up. We started running in the opposite direction, away from the giant silver spikes blocking our escape.

There is no mistaking who my parents are; I have my hairy parent’s distinct nose and my bumpy parent’s distinctive eyes, although at this moment I’m sure my eyes are wide and filled with fear. A few of the other young have features from one or both or my parents, including Terry. Although there’s no way to judge who Terry’s hairy parent is, he has the same shaped face as my bumpy parent. One day when Terry is hairy and I am bumpy, I want to produce young with him and preserve the features of my bumpy parent into the next generation of young.

We avoided going near the remaining two young; with their injuries they were easy prey for the spike. Although they were alive and moving, they weren’t trying to run or escape. Their injuries from being transported in the box were too severe. As we scurried diagonally across the hard white surface, we saw two spikes descend from the darkness and pierce each of them. Neither of them made a sound nor struggled as they were plucked up into the sky.

My mind started to wander during our flight. I idly wondered if our parents would notice we had gone, and whether they would try to replace us. The population of our Colony remained fairly constant, with equal numbers of young being born that were taken by the boxes to the Spike Zone. When one of the humans died in the Colony we rejoiced; we would celebrate with singing and dancing, and a feast of food that was not hard and dry for a change.

Exhaustion set in, and Terry and I stopped to gasp for breath. I began to think that maybe we wouldn’t survive the Spike Zone and return to the Colony as heroes. Such doubts were counter-productive and I pushed them from my mind. I dragged Terry to the closest lip that led to the incline and darkness.

As we scurried up the lip, a silver spike struck down and pierced Terry in his leg. He screamed, I screamed, and he was lifted from the ground by the spike. I jumped and reached for him, but missed and fell to the ground. Realising there was nothing I could do for Terry, I jumped to my feet and fled as fast as I could. I should be able to climb the incline and escape before the spike returns.

Just as I reached the top and peered into the darkness, the spike descended swiftly and pierced my shoulder. Screaming with agony and frustration, I was lifted into the darkness of the Tulga sky.

* * *

“Tulga!” his Mother said sternly. “Don’t play with your food!”

Tulga looked at the wriggling morsel of food on his spike; he wanted to savour it, as it was the last one on his plate.

“And please use cutlery,” she continued. “You shouldn’t be putting your spikes in your mouth.”

Tulga liked to play games and try to have morsels of food on all five of his spikes, alive and wriggling at the same time. This time he failed, but sometimes he succeeded. He popped the last morsel of food in his digestive hole.

“Go wash your spikes and get ready for school,” his Mother said. Tulga jumped up to give his Mother a kiss and ran from the kitchen.

Copyright © Brett Kiellerop August 2009. All Rights Reserved.