Burn This Note

Burn. This. Note.  

  The thought races through my head as I pore through the open woods. I shouldn’t be here–I should leave–this note was not meant for me. But like gravity that pulls in the tide, something about this message makes me keep walking, keep looking, keep waiting.  

  Leaves and twigs crunch and crack under my feet, synchronizing with the song of the birds in the trees. Now and then I glance at the map scrawled on the back of the note. Lightly marked in pencil, lines and arrows point to the unknown destination, and there’s a small, hand-drawn compass in the corner of the paper. At the top of the page, there are the coordinates; upon investigating them yesterday, they led me to this very woods.  

  With every turn I take, I think back to that name…Atlas. Who was he, and why did I receive a message meant for him?  

  The note arrived on my doorstep yesterday. It was early evening, and I was returning home from school for the day. I thought it was odd that the mailman would leave something on my doormat, but I didn’t question it. However, when I read the message inside the aged paper, I knew I was dealing with something much more serious. Instantly, I felt that I should not have read it; I had stumbled upon something not meant for me to see. So, it was decided to destroy the evidence. But when it came time, when the paper was mere inches from the flames of the fire, another fire burned inside of me. Deadly curiosity.  

  I wanted to see where this trail led me.  

I have been searching the woods for hours, meticulously following the faded map in my hands. But there is no physical trail to guide me, and the only light I have is gradually decreasing. It gets cold out here in the evenings, so with only a light jacket to keep me warm, I know my time is limited. 

I stop walking for a moment to study the map again. If I've been following it correctly, I should be right around the corner from the location. There are little trees sketched on the paper and a wavy line running along the opposite side of them. I look up to the river running alongside me in the distance. This is the right place.

With the knowledge of how close I am to this place, doubts begin to chorus through my mind. The words of the note sing the loudest...

You know the consequences of disobedience.

  This is not an option, Atlas.

Every time I thought about those words, it sent a shiver down my spine. Whatever these messengers planned on doing to Atlas, they would likely do to me if I was found. I was getting myself into trouble, and I knew it. Perhaps I should turn around now, get out of here before I have no choice but to stay.

But then I see it. Up in the distance, there is a rocky structure like that of a cave. My body switches to autopilot and I hurry over to it. There are signs covering the entrance:

DO NOT ENTER.

TURN AROUND.

I glance down at the map for the final time and look at a dark figure with an 'X' over it. It sits at the end of the map. I'm here. Quietly, I fold the piece of paper and slip it in my pocket. 'This is a bad idea,' I tell myself, but I'm already walking inside.

I'm met with a dark and narrow hallway. I listen for evidence of other humans, but it's silent. I start to make my way down the corridor, winding around corners and squinting in the inky atmosphere, hoping to find light. After what felt like hours, there it is! Like a halo, the first sign of light is found, and in its midst is an open cavern filled with various items: two chairs in the middle of the room, lanterns hanging from hooks on the ceilings, and a large black box in the far left corner. All evidence of life, and yet, no humans in sight. I'm about to step inside when I hear the sound of boots coming from the cavern beyond. I'm too visible...I need to hide. I scan the hallway and run my hands over the rough walls. I find a dip in the wall just big enough for me to fit into, so I rush into it without hesitation.

In the room behind me, the footsteps draw closer before coming to an abrupt halt. Carefully, I peer out from my hiding place and look into the cavern. Two men stand there, each wearing a similar suit—camouflage. They bear a striking resemblance to the pallet beyond the cavern. The only difference between the two is the golden badge pinned to the older one's chest. He must be the one in charge. I breathe barely and try to make out the quiet voices from the suits. For a couple minutes, it is inaudible. Then, like the drop of a pin, I hear a familiar name:

  “Atlas.” Mumbles the younger man.

  “Is he here?” The boss asks.

  A long pause.

  “No, sir.”

  “Was the package delivered?” 

  “Yes, sir.” 

  “You’re positive it was sent to the correct address?” 

  Dead silence.

  “Answer me." Says the boss.

  “…It was sent to the address we were given, sir.” 

  I hear shuffling, then the man in charge replies: 

  “You know what will happen if you are proven wrong.”

  The subordinate clears his throat. “Yes, sir.”

  “If he isn’t here in the next ten minutes, you’re dead.” 

  I gasp and throw my hands over my mouth. My stomach twists at those final words. If I stay here, my fate will be the same as the other man’s. 

  I need to get out.

  After a long bout of silence passes, I crouch down to the ground and peek my head out from behind the rock wall. The man in charge is gone, likely having walked deeper into the cavern. The subordinate stands idly in the middle of the room and stares into the ground. His back is turned to me, but he would still hear it if I ran. So, I stay low to the ground and start backing out of the corner slowly, never once taking my eyes off him. The further down I go, the man still doesn’t see me, and I start to stand up. Finally, I round a corner of the hallway, and I’m out of sight. Turning to the exit, I look over my shoulder once, twice–then I run. I scrape my arms against the jagged rocks each time I advance down the hall. My heart pounds in my ears as I pick up the pace, and in my mind, I repeat: 

  I will make it out. 

  I will make it out.

  A sliver of light shines through the cave’s exit up ahead. I pump my legs harder with the prospect of freedom driving me forward. I’m almost there, I can do it. 

Like a shot, a shadowy figure blocks my path. In one motion, my body slams against the figure, and I fall to the ground. Before I know what’s happening, two pairs of hands grab me by my arms, lifting my limp frame from the dirt. They carry me back down the hall, and as I begin to process what occurred, I hear the same low, serious voice of the subordinate from the cavern. I try to free myself from my captor's grip, but the more I struggle, the tighter their hold on me becomes. 

  At the end of the dark hall, the bright light engulfs the cavern within. In an instant, the two captors drop me to the ground. I land on my back and gasp for air before realizing that the wind has been knocked out of my lungs. In my struggle, the two men pull me up by the arms and force me to stand. My head swings back and forth like a bobble from the impact of the rocky floor. While they keep a firm hold on me, one of the men kicks my leg and demands: 

  “Keep your head up.”

  Once I begin to breathe normally again, the sound of stomping boots echoes through the cavern. Soon, a tall man emerges from the darkness ahead of me. His face is aged like leather, and his dark eyes are commanding. He stops a good distance away, glaring daggers at me. Then, his lips curl into a sneer.

  “You made a mistake coming here.” He says. “But, I’m not one to turn away a guest. Won’t you have a seat?”

  Burn. This. Note.