The Tree of Knowledge
Chapter 30: The Crazy Cannibal People

Or at least I try to.

I wake to the feel of the warm sunlight on my face, curled in a ball at the top of the cliff, the gun pulled close to my chest like a deadly teddy bear. This was probably not a safe way to sleep.

Speaking of safe, I peak over the edge of the cliff. The crazy cannibal people are gone.

The glow of dawn reveals my surroundings. It seems that “cliff” is an over glorified title for the rock I’ve spent the night perched atop of. I’m only about two stories high. Last night, when I couldn’t see the top, it felt like I must have climbed up forever.

I’m on top of the entrance to Carlsbad Cavern.

Below me, on the other side of where I climbed up, wheel chair ramps zig zag into the mouth of the cave. Sun faded posters at the entrance advertise the many guided tours and the wonders held within.

Without, the desert stretches on for what seems to be endless miles. The landscape is dotted all over with green shrubs and cacti sporting bright orange flowers. Jagged rocks jut up here and there, no doubt containing more caverns. The black top road winds through, disappearing in a twist at the bases of the Guadelupe Mountain Ridge. It’s a cloudless and mercifully warm day, but I can still just make out a sprinkling of snow on the peaks.

I eye the entrance to Carlsbad Cavern. Would that be a good place to hide? There might even still be brochures down there. Park maps. If I’m lucky, maybe even vending machines.

I hear a noise emanate from inside the cavern. A man wanders out and takes a piss. He looks up at me.

“Good morning girlie? You sleep okay?”

I back away from the edge where he can’t see me.

No, Carlsbad Cavern is not a good place to hide. Carlsbad Cavern is where the crazy cannibal people live. And I’m stuck right on top of it.

I know there are other caverns. Off the beaten path caverns. Closed for bat conservation caverns. Any of them might be a good place to bunker down.

First I just have to get down from here without being eaten.

And then, bizarrely, I remember I’m hungry.

I woof down the now warm gas station turkey sandwich. I wash it down with a few, measured gulps of water out of my canteen, wishing for more. I’m going to need to replace more water soon.

After breakfast, I walk the perimeter of my roost. The good news is, there’s an easier point to climb down then where I climbed up last night, opposite of the cavern entrance. It’s still super steep, but I should be able to crawl down.

The bad news is, this means the crazy cannibal people can also crawl up.

Maybe there’s a way to distract them? Keep them occupied in or at the front of the cavern, while I slide down the back?

I don’t want to still be up here after dark again. I’m rather sure they’ll come for me after dark.

I’ve heard rumors that the people here were deranged, but those were always told with the air of a horror story. Or a morality tale. Don’t get yourselves banished boys and girls, or you’ll have to go live with the crazy mountain people who will murder you and make your head into a hat.

Head hats might still not be a thing, but competition for food is very real around here. Eating people makes sense.

Not saying I’ll take it up any time soon, but it does make sense.

And they hunt in packs too. That means food must be scarce, but not so scarce they start picking off each other.

Hours pass and I’m woofing down an MRE for lunch before I start to formulate a plan. I mull it over as I eat the, not half bad, chicken and dumplings with apple sauce and a tiny brownie.

I scoot to the edge again, on my belly this time. I position myself as far past the edge as I dare without falling, hanging over the lip and looking into the cavern upside down.

“Hey!” I yell. “Hey crazy cannibal people! I’m up here! Come and get me!”

One of them approaches the cave entrance, grinning at me stupidly through jagged, blackened teeth. I wait until he’s only about a foot away from me.

And I shoot him in the face.

The back of his head explodes in a shower of red and gray as he falls to the ground, landing on his back in the dirt with a thud. The recoil is stronger than I expected. My whole body rocks with it, nearly dislodging me from my careful position. This might be a good time to mention I’ve never shot a gun before. I haul myself back up over the edge as quick as I can, careful not to drop the gun grasped in my shaking hand.

There’s a lot of noise from inside the cave. I carefully peer over the edge to see what they do next. After a few minutes, two of them rush over, garb their fallen comrade, and drag him back inside.

I wait.

First, there’s the smoke. I only smell it initially, and then see it curling lazily out of a small, unnoticed hole near where I slept.

Next, comes the distinct aroma of roasting meat.

Only after I’m sure they’re tucking in do I make my escape, opting to slide down on my butt, my pack in my lap, rather than crawling. Crawling would be slower. Rocks and bramble bite into me as I half slide, half fall down from my perch.

I land on my feet and sprint away, slinging the backpack on as I run. This time, I stay way off the main road.

I want to be far, far away by nightfall.

As I pant from the exertion, breathing heavily, I’m reminded that I really need to replace water.

I know there’s water in Carlsbad Cavern. That means there have to be pools in the other caverns. I just need to replace them.

I hike northwest into the desert all afternoon. I try aiming for the big rocks, thinking there may be a cavern under them. Each one of these proves much further away than I had imagined. And each one proves to just be solid, disappointing rock. So I move on to the next one off in the distance.

Near sunset, I come up to an unfortunately solid boulder with some bushes around it. This is as good a place as any to set up camp. If I nestle my tent between the boulder and the bushes, I can cover up the other side with brush, and I’ll be just about shielded from view. Hidden away safely.

I unpack the tent and start setting up camp.

A screeching noise interrupts my progress.

At least five hundred bats streak across the orange tinted sky. A swarming mass of black specks contrasting starkly with the neon backdrop. It’s breathtaking. For the first time, I pause to consider how very beautiful this place is. I understand why the tourists were pissed. I’d have loved to come myself under better circumstances. I could have gone caving with Jace, and made out under the glow of the sunset.

I crawl into my tent, carefully piling the brush up behind me and zipping it shut.

It’s full dark now. I can’t be sure of the time exactly, but sunset has been coming sooner and sooner lately. I think it’s about 6:00pm.

No wonder I’m not even a little bit tired. It’s pitch black inside the tent. No light. I have a flashlight, but I should probably try to conserve the batteries. Besides, all my hard work to conceal my sleeping place doesn’t do a lot of good if the brush is glowing. Might as well be an “Open” sign on a diner. “Welcome! Fresh food served here! Still screaming!”

I’m alone in the dark with nothing to do.

This is the first chance I’ve had in the last, frantic thirty-two hours to really stop and think about what’s happened.

I think I’d rather still be running from the crazy cannibal people.

In the last two days, I committed adultery. Three times. I stole two cars and two wallets. I lied to an elder. I disobeyed my husband. I killed a man, in circumstances that couldn’t precisely be described as self-defense.

I’m going to Hell.

I don’t want to think about this.

Dinner! There’s always dinner! Food is distracting…Mmmmm…Meals Ready to Eat!

There’s chipped beef in gravy with green beans, cheese and crackers, and a sugar cookie. Nice and filling. These are the real deal, military grade thing, full of extra calories to see you through battles or fleeing crazy cannibals! Delicious!

And ultimately not that distracting.

I’m going to Hell.

And I’m afraid.

And maybe Jace was right. I could just ask God to forgive me. I’ll turn myself in for execution. Maybe I can even hold him one more time before they stone us.

And then I’m reminded that in order to ask forgiveness, I have to be sorry first.

I try. Huddled in the dark of my tent I really try to be sorry. To think that being with Jace was wrong. I try really hard to regret it.

You know what I regret? As long as I’m going to Hell, I regret not shooting Ryan in the face first.

I want him to take a bullet for every time he raped me. I want him to feel the terror and sickness I felt every time my door creaked open at night.

Go put the baby monitor in Rebecca’s room.

I know you want it.

I want to shove the gun into his mouth and make him suck on it. And I’ll tell him I know he wants it.

I suppose I should also try to be sorry for all those thoughts.

They’re going to execute Jace.

Executions happen the first Saturday of every month. And we just had one…two, no three, three days ago. Today’s….Tuesday, November the…fifth. I should remember that, so I can keep track of the days. I’ll keep a tally…somehow…Remember, remember the fifth of November. So the next execution will happen on…

I count off the days on my hand. November the thirtieth is a Saturday. That makes the first Saturday in December the seventh.

In thirty-two days, Jace will be dead.

But he’ll go to Heaven. He was sorry. Why can’t I be sorry? Maybe I love him more.

I should be mad at him. He told Ryan. Never mind the Judges and their rocks, he told Ryan. What did he think Ryan was going to do, politely drop me off at the police station? There’s no law that says people condemned to death have to wait out their remaining time in jail. With people so typically willing to turn themselves in, they usually just wait their turn to die at home. Set their affairs in order. Do a fuck ton of praying.

He told Ryan, and the next execution wasn’t for thirty-three days. I don’t even want to think about what Ryan would have done to me for those thirty-three days. I wouldn’t have been able to walk by the time execution day came. Jace knew exactly what waited for me at home, and he still told him.

Maybe I am mad at him.

But in thirty-two days he’ll be dead. My Jace. I’m never going to see him again.

And if I can’t manage to be sorry, I won’t see him in Heaven either.

I’m going to burn in Hell.

I have to keep trying. I’ll try for Jace.

Or should I not try for Jace? Isn’t that my whole problem?

I have to replace a way for God to forgive me for what we did. I have to.

I think Ryan should also take at least three bullets for what he did to Mara.

I am so going to Hell.