When Sofia and the Goose awoke, fog was everywhere. It was thick all around her. She couldn’t make out anything. It was as though she were in a fishbowl with filthy glass she could not see out of. The clouds had come down from the sky and settled in for a nap. They weren’t going to rise until noon.
The pair set off walking, nonetheless. But they had to walk slowly and be completely aware. The ground didn’t really appear until they set their feet down on it. She had to believe with each step that the road was there. They had no idea what was surrounding them. They could not even make out the trees.
When the fog was very thick like this, it was normal for people to put off going to work until it lifted. It made rational sense to do this, since the fog could be so disorienting and lead to terrible accidents. But there was the other reason too. You might encounter a creature made out of fog.
The fog was so odd and heavy in Elysia. Parts of it ripped off and formed little pockets that refused to dissipate. The fog would disguise itself as corporeal earthly forms. It could retain these forms for hours. Enough to terrify you. It would always be best to lock yourself inside.
Her grandmother had all sorts of stories about the fog getting into her house. She said she walked into the kitchen one morning. She saw a pale girl sitting at the kitchen table. She had only one arm. But then her hand reached out of nowhere. Picked up a glass of milk and lifted it to her lips.
Sofia took a scarf and wrapped it around her mouth and nose, and she fished a handkerchief out of her bag and wrapped it around the Goose’s face. They moved through the fog together. Like two very odd bandits.
“Whatever you do, don’t open your mouth and scream. That is how they get in. Don’t let them know you are afraid. Just ignore them. Let’s look straight ahead. We’ll keep marching forward and never slow our pace. I think noticing them gives them their power.”
The fog began to clear. Thankfully the road seemed to be empty up ahead. The fog was attaching itself to the trees, which knit it into various forms.
As Sofia and the Goose hurried on, all the trees had turned black. Their roots were feeding off the dead of the country. They had been drawn with India ink by a hand that suffered from shell shock. The thin trees against the sky looked like cracks in porcelain cups that had been repaired.
They seemed wicked and unkind. It was intolerable for Sofia to have to listen to their hostile ranting as she walked. She passed them as though she were passing a jail cell with dangerous men luring at her from behind the bars.
“Shut up. Prissy thing. So far from the Capital now. She’s afraid of us. She thinks we are going to eat her. Prejudices. Stupid thinking. If you’re going to treat us as though we’re dangerous, then we might as well be vicious.”
The fog made it hard to see anything. Sofia began relying on her other senses. There was the sound of a baby crying. She began to follow it. Perhaps it had crawled off by itself. There was a cradle on the side of the road. That was where the crying was coming from. Sofia spread her arms out in front of her. She so wanted to save something, someone. She so wanted to be a war hero.
She saw a form moving and twisting under a pink baby blanket that was trimmed with white lace. She grabbed the end of it and yanked it off to free the baby. But to her horror, underneath the blanket was a crow that opened its beak and squawked and fluttered its wings viciously, then burst up into the sky.
As it rose, the sky began to fill with other crows. They were flying up out of baby cradles all over that town. It quickly became night.
With the night, the fog finally dissipated. They found themselves standing near a rusted hull of a car several feet from the road. It had been there quite a while, as vines had climbed through holes in the bottom of the car and wrapped themselves around the steering wheel. Sofia and the Goose climbed into the back seat and curled up together. She turned off her brain like a light. She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. It was the type of nap one has in a coffin.
Sofia was awoken by the sound of gurgling water: a rumbling, mumbling noise that was approaching. As though she were in the husk of a ship that had slipped out to sea. As the noise grew louder and closer, she realized it was the sound not of water but of voices. Crowds of people were approaching. And every now and then a louder cry erupted from the assemblage of voices, and when it did, the voices all around quieted down temporarily. They slowly began to rise afterwards, like water filling up in a bathtub.
Sofia peeked up at the rear-view mirror to see a large group of citizens from her country being led by soldiers. They were a well-dressed group, relatively. They seemed to have been recently evacuated from their homes. Many were carrying luggage and expensive items that were worthless for survival. Sofia and the Goose remained frozen in each other’s arms, crouched beneath the seat.
Sofia and the Goose stayed in the car for several hours, until they were certain the group had long past. As they walked along the road, they continued to come across all sorts of articles that seemed to have been abandoned by the group. They stopped to look at a painting that had been left by the side of the road, leaning against a tree. Sofia and the Goose crouched down to look at it. It was of a very sophisticated girl with red hair and green eyes. She had a fierce, proud look in her eyes.
Sofia stared at the painting, waiting to see if the proud expression would change, whether the eyes would reveal any sadness or fear. Whether her mouth would appear to have a frown on it.
But there was no change. Sofia stood up and began to move on. The proud simply do not survive wartime, she thought.
She came across a long scarf hanging from a bush, and she quickly wrapped it around her own neck. She kept an eye open for something to eat, and finally came across a can of milk. She viciously stabbed the lid with her knife and suckled eagerly from the can. As though she were a famished baby. She offered some to the Goose, who shook his head in disgust.
Sofia and the Goose stood at a group of signs on the road. “Let’s go to Abeu Ivor,” she declared. She pointed to the words “Abeu Ivor” on one of the signs, thinking of a postcard she’d received before the Occupation.
“Why?”
“My friend Celeste is there.”
“Do you imagine this town has somehow managed to escape the war?”
“She might put us up. She’ll be happy to see me. If she didn’t want to see me, she would not have sent me a postcard from there.”
“The town will be swarming with soldiers. It’s too dangerous to go there.”
“Yes, but she is in love with one of them. She knows soldiers. She’ll tell them not to hurt us.”
“You are suggesting we put our fates in the hands of a traitor.”
“Well, yes. Why not?”
“How do you know this girl?”
“She was our maid.”