The Kolossi walk on as they have done for so long.
They dwarf the skyscrapers of the old world. Their long limbs sway with every step; thin arms clad in dust-caked, knobbly skin at the intersection of biology and technology that end in hands of two flat fingers and pointed thumb that could flatten buildings with ease.
Whatever they are made of is lost to history but even a cursory glance informs they must have been more than they are now. Such huge things could not possibly have always been so emaciated. Their shoulders are too wide, their heads too large and their chests, with the knobbled skin pulled tight across an inner orange glow, hint at something once greater.
The flock never stops its trudging across the barren world. The occasional glimmer of a long dead civilisation pokes out of the dunes or lies half buried on blasted salt flats. Once upon a time they passed what might have been a road.
One Kolossos is lost in thought. It has been pondering what it is doing for a while. It wonders if its brethren do the same. It would ask but its communication skills are rudimentary. A harsh prison for an active mind.
The Kolossos has been noting every sign of the past on its travels for a length of time it has no words for. It is trying to understand why the world it travels is in such a dire state. Or more accurately, it is trying to remember. The Kolossos knows it was there long, long ago when the people who made it still lived. It knows it had purpose. But then it didn’t and the people were gone. It wants to know where they went. It wants to know why there’s nothing everywhere.
The details of the past are the vaguest of dust motes dancing in its mind, but it remembers the fire of purpose with breathtaking clarity.
Its powerful eyes spot something in the distance, fast approaching with each long, loping step. The clear discs glowing with its inner light focus on what looks like the most civilisation it has seen in decades.
Concrete. Glass. Structure!
With a single step it deviates from the flock’s path. With another it is close enough to break the few glass windows still remaining in a toppled building resting atop a graveyard of smaller ones. Everything is rounded by untold years of erosion giving it a comforting sensation alien to the enormous being. But more importantly is the colour. It spies colour on a wall.
Lots of it.
Images and letters are splashed across a sandblasted concrete in an explosion of colour the Kolossos needs to see better. With utmost care in kneels. Buildings shake and shift, the sand ripples like water but eventually all is still. It looks at the myriad colours and smiles. For so long the palette of its world has been beige with occasional toxic green. But this wall has reds and yellows, purples and blues, darkest black and brightest white, and yes even greens but enjoyable greens. Cosy greens.
The largest image causes it confusion. Surrounded by a host of jagged “K”s is a shadow being that looks like itself but far bigger, far more powerful. There is an air around the imagery it does not like but cannot understand why. It leans closer.
Pressure pushes its shoulder forward against its will. Anger flares. It turns, ready to lash out. The slowest of them, having lost part of a circular foot giving it a limp that guarantees it is always at the back of the flock, stares down with pleading discs. It’s still outstretched hand curls over and over, beckoning. The Kolossos views its brethren in silence as its anger dissipates. It knows it must carry on. That is what they do after all.
Untold thousands of miles pass beneath the flock’s long strides. Mountains are scaled with ease and descended at speed. A vast expanse of poles the Kolossos remembers were called jungle or forest or something else is traversed in a day, flattened swathes left in their wake. Blasted plains give way to desert and back again. Acidic oceans are forded, the ancient biotech flesh sizzling against the onslaught whilst unamused faces above the surface set their jaws and get on with it.
The Kolossos knows it must keep moving. It doesn’t know why. Just that it must. But its thoughts are no longer vague, no longer ethereal pieces that whisp away before they can be grasped. In its mind’s eye it sees the colours on the wall. It wants to see more. Even the air of malice doesn’t deter its yearning. Whatever made those markings was alive, it was vibrant, it had passion and intent.
How long has it been since those qualities have existed?
The Kolossos begins to feel a vibrational ember at its core when it begins to recognise certain landmarks. There’s the boulder cracked in three, the miles long fissure it had enjoyed walking alongside before, the low fog that obscures its feet for a day and half. All of these lead to the concrete, glass and structure.
It would soon see the colours again.
When fallen buildings appeared on the horizon it quickened its pace for the first time in its memories. Each of its brethren it passed slowly turned their heads and viewed the speeding Kolossos with confusion.
As it drew near it slowed its pace and dropped to all fours no matter how difficult it was for such an ungainly body. It crept with care, a back the size of a lake slinking across the ruined wilderness. Behind, the others boomed their heavy footsteps at a pace kept since time immemorial.
They have become inconsequential. All that matters are the colours.
The Kolossos gets as close as its immense head can, neck straining to push closer, to get away from the rest of its bulk that now only serves as a hindrance. It studies the struck through “K”s, the formidable version of itself. It traces letters grouped together and begins to remember what words are. The meanings are lost but it can parse “trespassers”, “shot”, “out” and “sight”. Whatever is glowing inside it brightens, shining through the taut skin on its chest, beaming from its eyes, and creeping out of the corners of its mouth as they turn upwards. It knows these marks are fresh. There are others that are not and in contrast the ones it is looking at are practically glossy with newness.
Something huge pushes at its foot. It knows what. With each earnest nudge the Kolossos knows it must carry on. That is what they do after all. But much to its own surprise it turns its head, locks discs with its lame brethren and slowly shakes its head.
The Kolossi stare at each other for untold minutes or hours until in utter defeat the standing Kolossos lets out a deep, mournful moan of such volume buildings crumble throughout the fallen city. Its shoulders slump, loosing an avalanche of accumulated dust and ash. It looks from its crouching brethren to the horizon where the flock is beginning to disappear. It’s desperate to rejoin but fears leaving one of its own. It is torn, looking from one to the other over and over. Finally, desiring peace for its studies the crouching Kolossos shakes its head again and waves away its brethren.
It turns back to the colours knowing it will be alone soon enough. Part of it is sorry to upset one of its flock; they have been together for so long the separation feels violent. But necessary. There is meaning within the colours it is sure.
In the distance, between an uneven shuffle of thunderous steps, a final mournful cry fills the evening air.
The Kolossos has noticed more without the distraction of the others. There are flecks of colours next to the images. There are lines running down, thick and unintentional, disappearing into the compacted ground. There are lines in the dirt, not entirely obscured by the ever-moving sand, and scuffs on the wall in such delicate lines it doesn’t understand what could make them.
Day turns to night more than twice and the Kolossos doesn’t move. There is meaning to be gleaned it is sure.
One morning part of the wall moves, and its eyes widen in a way they never have. With a squeal of poorly maintained hydraulics a section of wall pops outward and swings on a hinge. A tiny thing pops its head out followed by a bigger but still minuscule thing. They look the Kolossos right in the eye and the colour of their skin lightens drastically. The smallest and dirtiest of the two screams even as it disappears into the darkness behind the wall. Before the Kolossos can take in all that is happening the door slams shut and it is staring at a wall again.
It doesn’t move save for the smile that grows and grows. The ones in the wall were dirty, they were gaunt, they were scared. But it recognised them. People. Somehow people still exist. It wanted to know them and with that realisation felt meaning pour into its body.
Although the Kolossos doesn’t move for over three months the people in the wall are very active. More than once a week they open the door as slightly as they dare to see if it is still there. And it always is. They flee back inside but it takes solace that the smallest one stops screaming after the second week.
Early one morning in the third month the door opens quietly. Just a crack. From the darkness the bigger of the two looks at the Kolossos, takes a deep breath and steps outside. The gargantuan being does all in its power to keeps its excitement in check. It knows deep down in some memory recess that these small creatures are fragile, that even its voice can kill them if it’s not careful.
It watches with bated breath as the person stares and trembles and breathes heavily. They are gaunt and grizzly and hairy and pale but there’s a fierce shine of intelligence in its eyes.
‘Do you understand me?’ the person says in a hoarse voice. The Kolossos slowly nods. The grizzly one runs a hand through its shaggy black hair, shakes its head and laughs. ‘No way.’
It turns to the darkness and stares for a while. When it turns back it has a smile on its face. ‘I’m Delmar. Most just call me Del.’
The Kolossos dares to let out the smallest of sounds, a grunt in its throat kept in check by a closed mouth. Delmar’s eyes widen; he takes a step back but then smiles again.
‘Are you,’ he says trying to understand on the fly. ‘Are you talking to me?’
The Kolossos grunts again, chancing a slight nod it’s unsure of so close to the fragile person.
Delmar starts pacing back and forth; hands on hips, head shaking, chuckling on the edge of hysteria. ‘Unbelievable. Unbelievable.’
The Kolossos studies the actions. It doesn’t know how to interpret much but it feels sure Delmar is happy. In some way. It glances at the colours, the struck through letter, the imposing shadow.
‘Exactly!’ Delmar is pointing at the colours as he walks over to them. ‘This. See this? This is how we’ve always known you.’ Delmar stops in his tracks as he realises he’s within touching distance. He takes a step back. And another. ‘But you seem, well, nice.’
‘Daddy?’ a tiny voice quavers in the darkness.
Delmar and Kolossos turn to the sound but before anything can be said the smaller wall person unleashes a scream so shrill the Kolossos wonders if all living things on the planet can kill with their voices.
‘Oh, hey lovely, no, it’s OK. No, no, no, don’t worry, it’s OK.’ Delmar rushes to the little one, scoops it up and holds it close. He makes lots of noises that make no sense to the Kolossos, but the little one seems to find them comforting. It takes time but eventually there is calm, a gentle quiet disrupted only by breeze and sniffles.
‘This is Twila.’ Delmar puts her on his shoulders and bobs her up and down.
The Kolossos smiles and hopes that’s good. Twila studies it for long seconds, sniffing her snotty nose and wiping her teary eyes.
‘You a friend?’ she says.
The Kolossos smiles again. It nods. It likes that word. It has hazy flashes of being called many things by long ago, but no one used that word.
‘You got a name?’
The Kolossos pauses. Its mind tries to grasp the word but there’s a block. Its brow furrows and Delmar begins shuffling back to the door.
Quickly now, put them at ease.
It shakes its head slowly, worrying at how much disruption the action might cause so close. Neither seems fazed but Twila scowls as she speaks. ‘That’s not OK. Everyone has a name.’
‘Oh honey, that, uh, well, they weren’t like that.’ Delmar looks puzzled in search of words choosing instead to reach up and pat the side of her leg.
‘Everyone has a name,’ Twila insists as she studies the face before her. The surety of youth embeds in her features. ‘Kolly.’
‘Kolly?’
‘Yeah.’ She giggles. ‘Kolly the Kolossos.’
Kolly smiles. Kolly nods. Kolly glows.
In no time at all Kolly becomes family. Every morning the door opens and out runs Twila, beaming from ear to ear. She trips over her words in her rush to speak with her newest, biggest friend who has taken up a cross-legged position outside her home.
She asks it questions that it tries to answer with simple gestures. How many Kolossi are there? Are they all the same height? Are there baby ones? Where are they walking? When she asks why, Kolly fixes her with a hollow stare and carefully shrugs its shoulders.
Young as she is Twila learns her new friend’s expressions far quicker than her father, deftly changing the subject when she perceives so much as whiff of sadness.
She talks about her life in the bunker, about how it’s dark even with the flickering lights but she never minded because it was safe. She talks about her father teaching her about the world as much as he knows it. When one day she talks about people who are no longer around her voice falters, trailing off into a hum as she stares into a sandstorm on the horizon.
Kolly does what it feels is a bad idea but the best idea. With surgical care it moves an enormous finger as close as it dares to its newest and smallest friend. Twila’s worries melt into the background as she stares in awe. With a quick glance to the empty doorway, she squeals with delight and clambers onto the finger, the bumpy hide perfect for hand and footholds. As she walks along the digit Kolly hears a restrained gasp from the darkness. It looks to see Del peering out of the bunker, his hand over his mouth trying not to shout.
Kolly doesn’t know what to do. Twila is in his palm, running in circles, hopping and skipping and dancing without a care in the blasted world. The Kolossos decides to push its luck, moving its discs from Del to hand and back again repeatedly. The gaunt man follows the movement of the eyes with a furrowed brow until he understands. Trepidation slows him but curiosity is a powerful beast and yanks him forward one hesitant step at a time.
‘Daddy!’ Twila squeals as he stands unsteadily in the centre of Kolly’s palm. ‘Can he lift us?’
Del peers over the rounded edges, already weary of the height he finds himself at from the thickness of the gargantuan hand. ‘I don’t know sweetie. I’m sure it doesn’t mean to hurt us but it’s a very dangerous idea.’
‘He will be careful, won’t you Kolly?’ Twila is not one to be argued with.
Del looks into the etched discs looming above, the Kolossos’ face taking up the entire sky. ‘I know it will. But I worry.’
Even as he speaks, he’s nodding to Kolly. The girl’s life was a bunker, now there’s a big, friendly giant that makes her excited to get up in the morning and Del wants nothing more than to keep that euphoric smile on her face.
‘We’re going up!’ Twila shouts at the top of her lungs. ‘We’re going up, up, up, we’re going up, I can’t believe it, we’re going up!’
With more care than it has taken with anything it all its years Kolly slowly brings its hand up to its chest. It watches Twila grinning and shaking tightly clenched fists in delight, and Del who now crouches and tries to find something to hold onto. Mischievousness flares in its mind. Planting its free hand firmly into the ground it pushes upwards and slowly, slowly, slowly gets to its feet.
Delmar falls to all fours and groans. Twila whoops and hoots, getting louder the higher they rise. Kolly feels the glow within burn brighter. Warmer. It shows its family the world they live in from a view no human has known in untold years. As it turns to show them the vast sea of structures Twila falls silent, Del finds his legs and the pair hold each other in solemn thought. Kolly is unsure what they are feeling but it knows it is important. It extends its arm to position them over the fallen buildings and watches with them.
Quiet hours pass. The pair in Kolly’s palm talk softly, sit, point, move around, at one point the Kolossos believes they cry but it doesn’t know why. As the sun begins to set in a grand display of oranges and red Del asks to be put down. Once on solid ground Twila bids her friend goodnight through a large yawn and trudges with tired steps into the bunker.
‘Thank you,’ Del says, his hand on Kolly’s finger. ‘That was more than I thought it would be. But it was good for us both.’
Del pats the finger, nods and disappears into the darkness.
Months march on and the family of three make the most of their lives. It is Delmar who asks Kolly if it would be so kind as to help them forage in the fallen buildings that he calls a city. He tells his biggest ever friend the idea struck him back when he was looking across the forgotten metropolis.
The first outing is purely exploratory. With Del and Twila sat on a shoulder that could fit scores more they watch as Kolly makes its way into the city. With utmost care and greatest ease, it clears a path through the centre of the urban sprawl, unlocking foraging grounds previously unattainable.
Once a week the trio make the journey in search of anything of interest. Of course, it’s been so long there is very little left of use, but the finding soon becomes secondary. All enjoy the day out together.
They learn if there’s anything worth finding it’s on the top floors of the buildings still standing, and occasionally deep in the ground behind tremendously thick doors. Kolly becomes adept at pulling those metal rooms out of the ground and peeling them open. Inside is usually the paper Del says was once important and various shiny things. Before long Twila has a grand collection of rings, necklaces, brooches, and bracelets that catch the light in hypnotic ways Kolly greatly approves of.
One evening after a particularly fruitful trip into town Del sits on the concrete slab above the bunker, his feet dangling over the edge and a ration stick gripped between his teeth. Resting on his lap is a sturdy box with a cracked screen and grimy keyboard devoid of letter marks.
‘I’ve been tinkering with this long before you showed up,’ he says after biting off another piece of his stick and chewing the nourishing, tasteless material. ‘But it’s pretty hard to navigate. One of our group understood these things much better. She was the last techie I knew.’ Del looks up, across the barren expanse. He sees nothing through unfocussed eyes as the breeze tugs at the strands of his lengthening hair. ‘Huh. Guess that makes me the last techie now.’
He feels enormous eyes upon him.
‘What?’ He looks up, doing his best to read the giant’s expression and wishing Twila was still awake. ‘Oh. Oh right. Yes. There used to be more of us. I guess we’ve never talked about that have we?’
Kolly is in its usual spot, leant forward to be close to one of its best friends. It shakes its head and waits earnestly for more information.
‘There was a bunch of us.’ Del returns to his laptop, prodding and peering as he talks. ‘We’d been travelling for years after the land around our old home finally gave up the ghost. I was a young man when we left for what the oldies kept calling Bastion. Supposedly some fantastical place far away where humanity is thriving anew. I never really believed it I don’t think and with each passing year got ever more jaded. But it was a nice fantasy to keep everyone going you know?’
He falls silent as he studies the screen. After another few taps and clicks he looks up at his grand friend.
‘They were meant to have directions, but the caravan seemed mightily surprised when we arrived at the shore of a vile, green ocean.’
Kolly feels his features pulling into a grimace.
‘You know it too huh?’ Del screws up his face as he nods. ‘Some of them tried to make a boat out of the sleds but they corroded to nothing within hours. Praise be no one was foolish enough to hop in and make a break for it.’
The laptop beeped and blooped, much to Del and Kolly’s surprise.
‘There weren’t a lot of us left by then.’ Del stares at the screen without seeing. ‘I managed to convince most of us to come back here. We found it on the way and were going to use it to stock up once the boat was ready.’ He stops to laugh harshly. ‘Ready my arse.’
He goes to speak more but pauses, looks over the edge of the slab and squints into the darkness of the bunker below.
‘Twila’s parents refused to give up.’ He keeps his eyes on the darkness. When he resumes his voice comes out in a croaking lament. ‘I fought them for her. She was just a babe, barely in the world and they were going to, to, to—I don’t even know. There was talk of another boat made of sturdier stuff, or to circumnavigate the ocean. Idiots never understood topography. So many thought you could walk anywhere so long as you just kept going.’
Del pulls himself away from the edge and returns to the computer.
‘Never heard from them again. Their bones are either so much scum on the ocean’s surface or bleaching in the sun on some far-off beach.’
Kolly takes its time to chew on the deluge on information. It is thankful for Del’s intelligence and fortitude without which it would have never met its new family. It hates the unknown people who tried to take previous Twila across the stinging waters but as it looks at the blasted sand swept wasteland it understands wanting to find a better place. A place to live above ground. Even after all this time Twila and Del still have the waxy paleness of bunker dwellers.
A distant thunder rolls through the air, one that both know all too well.
‘I need to go in,’ Del says in rush, slamming the lid shut and pulling out the attached handle.
Kolly risks a vocalisation, grunting a quizzical sound that stops Del in his tracks.
‘Hey, no, it’s OK.’ Del climbs down, landing gracefully in front of the bunker. ‘We love you, we know you’d never hurt us, but we don’t know them. I get they’re your people Kol but, well.’ Del’s eyes dart around as if trying to find the answer in the sand. The ground shakes as another boom fills the air. ‘You ended the world.’
For the first time in its existence as far as it knows Kolly gasps. The rush of air pulls at Del but with a hand wrapped around the door’s edge he keeps his balance. It glances at the colours, the struck through “K”s, the intimidating behemoth.
‘It was so long ago we don’t have words for it. More than centuries. You guys were even bigger then, they say. Made to fight an enemy but you just kept going until everything ‘cept your makers were dead.’ Del is standing behind the door, readying to pull it shut. ‘The world never recovered.’
More thunder fills the air. The door shuts and Kolly is alone.
Years pass and Kolly delights in watching Twila grow. She stretches upward at an almost alarming rate, drawing eye level with Del then surpassing him soon after. She becomes an expert at scaling Kolly, the ever-increasing speed of which matched only by the ever-increasing anxiety of her father.
Their foraging continues apace, going farther afield each year but beyond the city there is very little of interest to find. Although one time they came across a huge bowl-shaped building full of thousands of seats and only half filled with sand. All three spent some time pondering what it was once used for. Another time they found a vast tract of land covered in tall poles. Some had blades attached whilst others had them scattered about their base. Under Twila’s guidance Kolly made numerous rudimentary structures out of them, using its immense strength to pierce the blades into the ground.
Roughly the same time every year the air would again fill with thunder. After the second passing of the flock Twila asks Del if she can watch. He is understandably nervous at the prospect but after some gestures from Kolly indicating it will stand away from the bunker and ensure the flock doesn’t come too close he softens his stance.
The annual passing becomes a family event. Father and daughter watch the titanic creatures approach; clouds of dust, sand and ash billowing on the horizon, growing and growing until one by one the giants emerge. They make a little picnic of ration sticks, water and whatever special foodstuff they have found that year, the best of course being sugar. Over time they come to recognise members of the flock and give them their own names.
One of Leader’s eye discs glows brighter than the other, its shine usually the first thing the family spies through the clouds. Worry hunches slightly and keeps its hands near its chest. Sentinel moves with purpose, its legs thrust into the ground rather than the lope of the others, its head scanning from side to side unceasingly. And of course there’s Limp who is always lagging behind.
When they near Kolly stands guard, its arms crossed over its glowing chest. Every year one or more try to convince it to go with them, to rejoin the eternal march but Kolly shakes its head with no small hint of menace and waves them on.
One year, after the majority of the flock has come and gone, Limp approaches Kolly. It moves faster than normal, one of its hands stretching towards its wayward brethren with a desperate grasping. Every dragging step fills Del with a fear that refuses to be calmed by the trust in his biggest ever friend. When Kolly shifts its stance aggressively Delmar knows it isn’t overactive anxiety.
‘Inside. Now,’ he says, placing a hand on Twila’s back and rushing the lanky teen towards the bunker.
‘What’s going on?’ She knows to listen, knows not to fight back when that tone comes out but she cranes her neck to try and discern what her father already has. ‘Is he angry?’
‘I don’t know Twi, just, come on.’
Limp reaches out, closes strong hands over one of Kolly’s and begins to pull. Gently at first but harder with each tug.
‘It’s hurting him.’ Her upset slows them both. She strains against Delmar’s efforts.
‘Please don’t do this,’ her father whispers to himself before trying again to guide her inside.
‘But dad—’
‘What are we going to do?’ Delmar hates himself for snapping but snap he must.
He is readying to say more but the point hits home and Twila lengthens her stride. In his periphery he sees the unwelcome Kolossos claw at his friend’s chest but that is not what fills his limbs with paternal strength enough to lift Twila off her feet and run. It’s happening slowly, hesitantly, but Kolly is very clearly readying to strike.
Delmar can hear his daughter’s outburst, her surprise, her indignation, but he is of no mind to comprehend any of it. His entire world is a door set ajar. It nears and near and nears and oh god how he fears the hit will come but he’s at the door and throwing her in. She’s screaming and pounding the tarnished metal of the interior as he does the stupid thing and looks back to his set upon friend.
The strike lands.
The world crumbles.
The pressure wave hits Delmar with sickening force, launching him into the air and dashing him against the door, slamming it shut on the horrified face of Twila. The stricken Kolossos falls backwards but keeps its feet after numerous thumping steps. It holds its face, shock and hurt and all manner of feelings it doesn’t know what to do with scored into its features.
Kolly stands before it, fist clenched and daring it to try again. It remembers this feeling. The fire inside. It remembers hunting for it, lashing out at anything it believed it was allowed to break.
Then it hears a scream. High pitched and horrifying, freezing the fire in an instant.
Kolly turns to see Twila holding what remains of her father. Blood pours from her face, mixing with Delamar’s crimson streams. The Kolossos now knows fear. Now knows horror. Grief.
It takes a step towards its found family.
‘No!’ she screeches with throat-tearing ferocity. ‘No, you stay away, don’t you come near us, don’t you dare come near us.’ It can see the tears flowing into the blood and wants nothing more than to make them stop. ‘Everyone was right. We were right. You bring nothing but death.’
Those are the last words she says to Kolly.
It watches as she weeps over her dead father. It dares not move as she spends a day wrapping his body in what few spare materials remain in the bunker, fashions a headstone out of rubble, digs a grave and lowers Delmar in as gently as she is able. The Kolossos listens to the beautiful eulogy and imagines itself crying. Feels itself crying. When she is done with her ancient rituals she retreats to the bunker. With a final glare of reddened eyes, she slams it shut.
The Kolossos has nowhere to go. It looks to the horizon, the dust cloud of its kind moving ever onward. It scans the city where it roamed with its family. It focuses on the green line of caustic water it hates so much. It doesn’t want to leave her alone so chooses to stand guard; its eyes locked on the door.
Years pass without event. The Kolossos doesn’t move. Dust and sand and ash build up in every crease and crevice, but none rests on its etched discs. Every year its struck brethren looks its way but never again bothers it, instead letting out a mournful moan as it limps ever onward.
It is battered by storms of sand and rain, cutting into its knobbled skin. It is aware of all of this, but it is of no consequence. All that matters is her.
When one day the door groans and shudders, the Kolossos feels an alien fluttering in its chest. The door moves. Stops. More groans and shudders and squeals come forth until with a hiss of escaping air it opens.
A full-grown woman walks out of the bunker. Her face is scarred from the door’s impact all those years ago and her nose has a turn to it from being improperly set but she is still as stunning as the first time the Kolossos beheld her as a child and she screamed in its face. It dearly wishes it could talk; to tell her how much it has missed her.
‘So, you are still here.’ Her voice has changed so much. It’s deeper yes but flatter. ‘That’s good.’
The Kolossos feels lighter than air. It is wanted.
‘Delmar got a lot out of this.’ In her bony hands she holds the chunky laptop her father spent so long tinkering with. ‘He mapped a route to Bastion.’
It doesn’t like her tone. There is so much hardness to it now.
‘He chose not to go. For both of us. You want to know why?’
The Kolossos is sure it doesn’t.
‘Because he was worried the people there would attack you.’ Twila stares at the Kolossos, her dark eyes unforgiving. ‘Imagine that.’
The Kolossos lowers its head in a huge shower of particulate.
The woman who acts like they are strangers takes a step from the door. She looks at the faded blood stain on its exterior and swallows around a lump of grief.
‘You owe me,’ she whispers before turning to the Kolossos. ‘I want to go there. My supplies are running low; this shithole of a city has been picked clean.’ Twila clenches both her fists, shaking with fury. ‘You’re going to take me to Bastion. You owe me.’
She’s right it thinks. All it wants is for her to not be alone. Bastion sounds perfect. It is purpose and meaning for the Kolossos, one last time.
Days pass whilst the only friend it has left in the world prepares for the off. For its part, the Kolossos shakes and shimmies until it is as sure as it can be that no accumulated detritus remains. Once done it stares at the closed door and fears that perhaps it imagined her. Perhaps the door never opened. Perhaps it never will.
But when that familiar groan of old metal fills the air its heart flutters anew. When she appears, dressed in tough trousers covered in bulging pockets and a tactical vest that’s more pouches than vest it worries its glow will flutter so much it might extinguish.
The Kolossos that so dearly wishes to be called Kolly again watches as the hardened woman takes one last look at her home. It ponders the meaning of her propping the door open with a lump from the city. It stays as silent as it is able whilst she kneels over Delmar’s headstone.
‘I’ve done what you talked about,’ she says to the stone. ‘The laptop is on your desk. It’ll open to the map if anyone touches it. You were the best thing to ever happen to me. I love you dad.’
She turns away, wiping at her eyes. With a violent shrug of toned shoulders, she reseats her endlessly patched backpack and stares up and up and up.
‘Hand,’ she orders.
The Kolossos does at it’s told. There is an ancient familiarity to the concept but more than that it wants her to like it again. For that it will do anything.
Once it has lifted her to its shoulder she gives it a heading: the ocean. She knows how much it hates that water, so much so she feels the slightest of twinges in her gut. But it doesn’t matter. Bastion is on the other side.
Hours pass as the pair journey across the blasted land. Everywhere Twila looks there are signs of a world she will never know. Between Delmar’s knowledge and all that was held within the laptop she has learned much in her isolation. She has learned of things people think are fantasy were once commonplace like buildings full of food, instant communication across the planet, communities, schools, entertainment, and most precious of all: flight. Knowing all that is gone fills her with a rage only accessible since her father’s death. Every broken structure, every unnatural formation, every hint of the network of connected roadways that spread far and wide feeds her anger.
‘You did this didn’t you?’ she says with more venom than she has said anything. ‘All of you did this.’
A sound rises from within the Kolossos. A sound so mournful all others pale in comparison. It’s the loudest sound Twila has heard in many years but as it rumbles under her feet, she fights the urge to cover her ears. She feels the sadness in every fibre of her being. It wrenches her heart, brings tears to her eyes and in a wash of emotion-woven memories she remembers why she loved this immeasurably huge being.
But the anger doesn’t go away. It can’t. There is no memory that can cover the image of her father in the sand, his limbs shattered, his organs pulverised. Nothing can make her forget his remaining eye locking with hers as he breathed his last few breaths.
They arrive at the shoreline come evening. Twila stamps her foot twice to get the Kolossos’ attention then tells it she’s going to bed down for the night. The swinging of its head catches her by surprise, and she almost loses her footing. Almost.
The Kolossos points out at the ocean in all its fetid green, bubbling atrociousness.
‘No,’ Twila demands. ‘I don’t want to go over when it’s dark.’
Her ride lets out the smallest of sounds and sweeps an open palm across the shore. Twila knows to pay attention and for a moment she does. She watches water than can barely be described as such bubbling and fizzing. Lumps of things she has no want to identify float, break apart and sink. Then there’s a shadow. The Kolossos moves its hand over the water, blocking out the setting sun.
The bubbles lessen until they are none.
‘Huh.’ If Delmar could hear such a sound, he would admonish her, but for a moment she truly is lost for words. ‘It’s better at night?’
The massive head next to her nods ever so slightly.
She forgets that it can read her as well as she it. She could argue with it for a few minutes in some vain effort to remain in charge but they both know they are crossing the ocean tonight. Without further debate the Kolossos steels itself with clenched fists and walks into the water.
Twila finds the explosion of hisses overpowering, forcing her to her knees. The noise grates and drills, getting between her clamped tight fingers and stabbing her inner ears. She wants to cry out from the pain, but the fumes rob her of speech, and the smell is so putrid it takes all remaining willpower to keep her gorge from rising.
The Kolossos is aware of all this. It wishes it could help but the water is horrible for everyone. It feels it biting away at its flesh with every step, every movement. It knows if it can keep pace, it will make landfall by daybreak, but it fears its beloved friend might not make it.
‘I’m OK,’ she gasps. She takes a few shallow breaths and clears her throat. ‘I’m OK,’ she says more levelly.
With each stride comes more agitation of the water, more fumes, but the speed seems to be keeping the worst of it in their wake. The Kolossos feels a smile brew and lets it spread.
‘I get why you don’t like this,’ she says as she pats its neck.
Pats. Its. Neck.
The Kolossos who feels it can possibly one day be called Kolly again wonders if a smile can be wide enough to cleave a head in two.
Hours pass with naught but the hissing of the ocean, the woosh of displaced water and the muffled thumps of titanic feet. The Kolossos is acutely aware of the storm heading their way and is hoping it can be outpaced, but eventually it becomes clear luck is not with them.
The wind picks up and the vile ocean slopping at its chest turns to waves that reach higher and higher. Worryingly higher.
It lets out a fearful grumble, loud even against the backdrop of approaching thunder.
‘This is bad, isn’t it?’ Twila says.
The huge head above her moves gently in affirmation as the great being scrapes its brain for an idea.
A wave races towards them, almost high enough to splash over the Kolossos’ shoulder. It tries not to panic but death is near. Its brain sparks with an idea. Its titanic mouth opens wide, a yawning chasm with nothing within but its inner glow down below. It turns to Twila and hopes she understands.
‘Are you serious?’ she shouts. It doesn’t dare make a sound, the slightest ripple could destroy its only friend, but it desperately wants to scream at her to move. ‘Shit. Catch me.’
With the speed and grace of her teenage self, Twila races up the Kolossos’ neck, angles her body and leaps. Free of the fragile thing on its shoulder the Kolossos moves with speed it hasn’t possessed in millennia, snapping its head farther around and engulfing her in its mouth.
There is little to grasp onto but by extension little to avoid; no teeth nor tongue. As lips stronger that the hardest metal clamp down behind her Twila finds a pair of lumpy extrusions large enough to secure herself between.
She has never been more scared. From her first encounters with the Kolossos to the final moments with her dad, nothing has been more terrifying than riding inside a mouth as large as a cathedral filled with the furious hiss of acidic waters crashing against strange flesh. Part of her wishes it was too dark to see but the titanic being’s inner glow shines bright far beneath, a mesmerising pearlescent orange in constant motion. She fears every stride, every thumping footfall, could knock her loose and her life would be measured in seconds as she fell into that most alien of engines. She closes her eyes to no avail; the glow breaks through, its roiling nature playing out on the inside of her eyelids.
How long she holds onto the oddly dry lumps Twila doesn’t know. She concentrates on her breathing, only hoping to get to the next breath. But as the motions of the Kolossos become rote, she comes to live from minute to minute, then hour to hour.
Her grip never falters. Her fingers burn with the strain but the hypnotic effects of a constant pace and the inner glow lull Twila into an altered consciousness she can only compare to being near sleep without being tired. All thought has left her; there is only motion of body and motion of light. She has never felt so disconnected, so unwound, so free of anxiety.
It is only when the grand mouth opens that she returns to herself. Thoughts and feelings and worries and memories all come flooding in at once, an overwhelming cavalcade of humanity that under any other circumstance would have dire effects. But even with her eyes blurring against the light of day, she can see something not too far away.
Something huge. And manufactured.
The Kolossos who for hours has wanted nothing more than to groan with relief upon exiting the hated waters now fights to stop what it thinks is laughter. It can only describe the sensation of Twila crawling her way excitedly from its mouth as funny scratches.
It thought, once free of the ocean, it could let her out, but it knows this land like many others. It knows the shores are susceptible to truly monstrous storms and a faint memory flickers that one of its brethren was once hurt by such a thing in times far gone. Instead, it chose to carry on, to trudge across the dark mud and occasional green tuft until it was sure no storm would assault her. Every hour that passed it pondered should she be freed? But the answer was always not yet. But when it saw the beginnings of what she called Bastion spiking above the scrubland’s horizon the Kolossos knew it was time.
‘That’s got to be it.’ Twila has found her usual shoulder perch and is rummaging through her pack for something, but she can’t concentrate, her eyes constantly flicking back to the last city on earth. ‘There you are.’
With care she extricates Delmar’s prized binoculars. They are scuffed and chipped, the focusing wheel has been smoothed with untold centuries of use, and the lenses are cloudy, but they function all the same. Twila looks through and her breath is taken away. The Kolossos fears the worst. It can see better than any thinking thing ever has but the far-off settlement is hazy to its eyes. It worries the place is a story from long ago like so many things.
‘I see people!’ Twila slaps her free hand against lumpy, leathery flesh. ‘So many buildings, so many people, so much activity.’
She hurriedly stashes the binoculars amid frantic breaths. Her hands are shaking and her heart is galloping. But amidst the imaginings of community and meals, knowledge and connections another thought forces its way to the fore.
‘You have to put me down,’ she says before it’s fully formed.
The Kolossos feels a part of it die in the breadth of those six words. It continues to walk as it always does. It thinks about ignoring her but that would be a betrayal. It thinks about pleading with her, but it doesn’t know to what end. It cannot possibly live with the humans, and it cannot possibly allow its nearest and dearest friend to spend her days walking the world.
‘I’m sorry Kolly.’
The final plunge of the dagger. To hear its name once more with such soul-rending finality. Kolly doesn’t know what to do so does as it’s told. Kneeling down, sinking into the mud, it offers a hand then swoops Twila to the ground as gently as always. It watches in sorrow-dyed delight at the way her face lights up to know something other than sand, to see her dig her fingers into mud and caress blades of grass.
‘Thank you for bringing me here.’ Twila turns away, her hardened eyes quivering with unspent tears. ‘I wish things were different. I wish—’
THOOM!
Something of immense power slams into the chest of the Kolossos and detonates in a fiery explosion. Twila is thrown to the ground but rolls with the force of it and is upright soon enough. A moan of pain builds in the behemoth’s chest but with eyes locked on its departing friend it quickly grips both hands over its mouth. The moans become muffled, a woolly background of agony.
TH-THOOM!
Two more explosions push the Kolossos backwards. It spares a hand to steady itself as it attempts to crawl away, the remaining one digging deeply into the flesh around its mouth.
‘No!’ Twila screams. She runs to her friend because that’s what it is and her friend is in pain. ‘Kolly!’
She can hear something behind her, activity she has no reference for, but it is secondary. Bastion and its people can go hang. Kolly needs her. She races with every ounce of strength, thinking as fast as she moves. She believes—hopes—the people of Bastion won’t shoot if they see her too close. All she has to do is get into the blast radius.
With the speed and strength of years’ worth of training she scales Kolly’s shin, its thigh, its belly. As the scared Kolossos continues to drag itself away on an elbow she races across its chest, shouting at the top of her burning lungs how sorry she is, how wrong she was, how all she wants is for it—him—to be OK.
She leaps to his face and sees the fear in his eyes, not for him but fear it might hurt her as agonised groans are barely kept at bay. She cradles his immense features and cries. The world ceases to exist; all that matters is her and he. She wants to be rid of everyone who would do either of them harm.
‘Step away from the Kolossos.’
An amplified voice cuts across the plain. Twila turns to it in teary eyed uncertainty.
Vehicles she has seen in pictures hold a line some distance away, their long barrels trained on her and Kolly. More are pouring from Bastion every second, a seemingly endless onslaught of hate fuelled humanity. One vehicle, more transport than weapon, cautiously approaches. On the flat back of it stands a fearsome woman in uniform, a megaphone held to her face.
‘Step away from the Kolossos.’
‘Stay still Kolly,’ Twila says with a pat to his cheek and oh he could die happy in that moment. ‘I’ll deal with them. Somehow.’
‘Ma’am, please step away from the Kolossos.’
‘No!’ Twila shouts as she positions herself on Kolly’s chest. ‘You’ll hurt him.’
The fearsome woman turns to an equally fearsome man beside her and mutters something. Shakes her head. Shrugs. ‘We just want to talk.’
‘Then come here.’ Twila looks back to Kolly, and he sees the smile he thought he’d never see again. Confident and a little mischievous. But then it softens. ‘I’m not going anywhere without you Kol.’
His inner glow flares, singing with euphoria. He can’t believe he is so lucky. Doesn’t believe he deserves it but then Twila never does what he expects. He is wrapped up in so many emotions that take time to process the world moves on without him.
‘You can’t be serious?’ the fearsome woman says from near his waist. She is standing atop her vehicle still, but Twila has moved close enough to be able to communicate through raised voices.
‘Does it look like I’m making it up?’ his best friend in the world says, gesturing at his immense self.
‘Well of course not but. But it’s—’
‘He.’
Fearsome woman clears her throat in an effort to buy comprehension time. ‘Right. He is a Kolossos. Kolossi are not friendly.’
‘Well, he is,’ Twila snaps. She folds her arms across her chest and stares down the soldier. ‘I’m not abandoning him. Hell, he’s the only reasons I got here. You ever tried crossing that ocean?’
The woman on the vehicle shakes her head softly and laughs for lack of anything else to do. ‘It’s a hell of a tale I’ll give you that and far be it from me to separate you, but the simple fact is your friend is too dangerous to be allowed in Bastion. We are all that’s left of our species, save a few pockets such as yourself. We can’t allow its—his—sheer enormity anywhere near us.’
Kolly listens intently. He knows Twila has returned as his constant companion, but he has never wanted it less. She won’t be allowed to be amongst her own kind with him present and she won’t allow him to walk away alone. He ponders how he can help resolve it. He thinks about sitting where he is, kilometres away from Bastion where she can always visit him. He would happily do it but knows she would hate it. There had been a long period years ago where she couldn’t cope with his being outside the bunker at night and would sleep on him until the winter months rolled in.
Enormity.
The word rolled around his thoughts as the little people argued, posited, and stood agape at more and more revelations.
Enormity.
A laugh begin to build in his chest. He knew all of his abilities, even to this day after so much had been forgotten. One particular aspect of his creation swirling in his memories connected to the word “maintenance” had been of no use outside the bunker, but Bastion seemed to have space to spare. He gives Twila the look that says he’s going to move and by the time he’s propped up enough to get into a sitting position she is on the ground and eyeing him suspiciously.
His chest rises and falls with the constrained grunts of laughter. Every barrel from pistol to turret is trained on him, their operators quaking, confused and desperate to be able to react.
‘What are you doing there Kolly?’ Twila says from so far away.
Kolly locks eyes with her, and his etched discs seem to flare brighter than ever. His inner glow could be right behind them they’re so orange. Great hands reach up to grasp either side of its head and without looking away from his dear friend he pulls.
A moment of silence falls across the land as the people of Bastion who until today knew everything about the Kolossi watch enraptured as the immense head slowly detaches from the body. It is cradled in one hand, held against his chest so that he can point to Bastion with his free hand and hopes his message is clear.
Kolly the Kolossos lives his life as a head in a homestead. After convincing the fearsome soldier who prefers to be called Lynne to let him stay it isn’t long before he and Twila are given a plot of land within the grand walls of Bastion. He becomes a fixture of the home, the neighbourhood and the city. It is estimated that within four months of their arrival every inhabitant has met Kolly.
He couldn’t be happier.
Without the bulk of his body as a resonating chamber, it is discovered—carefully—that he can make more noises without hurting anyone. Over the years he develops an array of sounds to interact on a level he never thought possible.
Although at first it is only he and Twila eventually there is Nils, who makes her happy and gives her children. Kolly likes Nils because Twila likes Nils. Then there are children and Kolly delights in their laughter and squeals and wonder.
As time moves ever on there becomes a growing want for Kolly’s unique help. Once a year he is transported to his body that is sat where he left it. Twila scales him, races her husband who is as adept a climber as she but he never gets to Kolly’s shoulder first. Together the trio venture across the lands in search of anything; people, places, knowledge. With the speed of the Kolossos the people of Bastion learn more about their world in a single generation than has been pieced together in over a millennium.
Pockets of humanity hidden away on mountain ranges, over oceans, sheltered underground, and travelling in armoured caravans are discovered and enlightened. Many choose to join Bastion whilst others are content to know such a place exists.
As the years pass and the family grows Kolly comes to understand Twila is not eternal. At first, she stops climbing, asking to be lifted instead. Eventually she stops going on their expeditions entirely, leaving the job to her sons whilst she watches the grandchildren. On the day she hobbles across the yard to sit next to him at the focal point for the family’s five houses, Kolly knows her time is short.
‘One more trip old friend?’ she says weakly but her dark eyes glisten with that ever-present sharpness.
Although it is impossible to rejoin his body without the help of many tens of people no one is told the purpose of this most irregular outing. Nor do they ask. In the decades since their arrival Twila and Kolly have been instrumental in so many ways to the betterment of Bastion. If they want to go out for one last walk they shall and the volunteers will gladly await their return.
‘I don’t want to be buried Kol.’ Stood in his palm Twila looks out across the plains at the setting sun, the bursts of yellow, orange and red are gorgeous this time of year. ‘Seeing dad in the ground as I threw clumps of sand on him. Leaving him when we set off. It’s all so, I don’t know. Final.’ She pauses at the memory. Kolly feels his non-existent tears flow as his chest rumbles with the faintest of sounds. She pats his hand. ‘I know Kol. I miss him too.’
She looks away from the splendour, into the glowing eyes that have been with her longer than anyone else.
‘I don’t know how to ask you what I want to ask.’ The light of his inner glow dances in her eyes. ‘I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to be left.’
Kolly knows his nearest and dearest friend better than anyone. He has known what she wanted for years, subconscious hints dropped in a thousand conversations. As her breathes grow shallower he pulls at the flesh of his chest with the level of care he once watched a young teen wrap her lost father. Twila watches as strips are pulled away, left to dangle at the sides of the growing gap. With each strip gone the glow she has always found so comforting over the years becomes stronger until with final pull the roiling orange core is exposed.
‘It’s so beautiful. So quiet.’ She holds his gaze one last time. ‘I’m just going to sit down, OK? Have a little rest.’
Kolly watches her struggle to cross her legs. He watches her watch him, her eyes glued to the silent roar of what may as well be his heart. But he doesn’t see an old woman, he sees a little girl who screamed in his face. A little girl whose laughter filled him with the purest of joy. A little girl who gave his life meaning, then and forevermore.
Twila leaves this world with a contented sigh. Kolly smiles the saddest of smiles. He pulls her to his chest and they become inseparable.