of nurture’s wildness: a novella (book 3, ch. 4)

by Tom Stuckey

4

Back at home James regained some composure. He sat down and frantically thought about what had happened. The police would do nothing, they were concentrated in Zone A and were unlikely to follow up on the call he had made to Zone C. What had he meant when he had said ‘I know you?” James started to search the web for answers and finally came to the video that made that clear. It showed Lisa in the rainforest. She had become a sort of over-night sensation with the degenerates, particularly the one that was associated with the regime. Even Tate himself had commented on the video, “Welcome to my world, wifey.”

It did not take James long to realise who the man was referring too, when he had said, belong to him. The Golden Dawn was such a place where it was actively encouraged to take captured women for use by the regime. James suddenly became aware, too aware that he could not handle it, taking out a glass and pouring himself a large shot of vodka; he had not drunk in years. How had he been so switched off for so long? He knew things were bad, but he had found love, and some peace in that love, but it had clouded out everything else. Gloria was due back from the mountain for her weekly stay with James; he was going to have to explain all this to her and also see what they could do about it. Whilst he waited, he made tea but did not feel hungry. The feeling of never wanting to eat again was deep inside his stomach, and it had not been there since his decision to live.

 Gloria always brought with her a sense of hope. She only had to smile and give him a hug to make him feel as if he could continue on. She noticed straight away that he was going through something so asked, “What’s happened?”

James looked into her bright eyes and began to explain, “They have her. I think they have taken her to Zone A, to The Golden Dawn.”

Gloria had a look on her face that said it all, quickly going from one of optimism to a one of grief.

James knew that look, and it meant they may never see Lisa again. 

***

After a few days—each feeling like a year, like, like grief—James decided to return to the mountain. He couldn't understand why he had not decided sooner. Maybe it was habit; he was habitual just like everyone else, stuck in glue, crawling slowly toward the end.

It was a Sunday, and the sun was shining. James tossed his large, open suitcase onto the bed and began to throw clothes into it, flashes from the past—of him and Lisa playing their favourite game of hide-and-seek—ran through his mind. She was always better at hiding, but she sought with the best of them. Tears began to pool in his eyes and then tumbled down his cheeks with the full weight of humans failure. It was a sick world, sicker each day until the end. Only God could help her now.

This time James would drive himself to join Gloria. The drive seemed different now than during previous times. He concentrated on the surroundings: the green hill sides and the insects that hit his windshield. Rioting was a nightly occurrence these days, and after, the mornings were smoky, and the city looked to be permanently on fire. It was true. We were never able to stop our own self-annihilation. The world was dying but less brightly than a star.

Things were unblemished at the top of the mountain, and the air was like a nutritious meal after a long steep in the city’s smog. He had not seen the centre in the summer time, and it looked colourful. The rooftiles could be seen, like amber scales on a monolithic creature. A sense of acceptance and hope returned. He knew he may never see Lisa again, but at least he could be at peace here in the mountains.

At night, James and Gloria sat out on the terrace. They could just make out the city fires below that looked like the first fires of man. Cavemen now light fire at night, not to stay warm, but to burn it all down. It all seemed like a burning star from up here, hurtling into oblivion.

*Read Tom Stuckey’s next installment of Of Nurture’s Wildness (Book III) on October 7, 2025, at 6PM CST.

Photo of Tom Stuckey

BIO: Tom is a writer from Devon in England.  His work can be found at A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Bristol Noir, Nut House Press, and Pulp Magazine. He is the author of The Canary in the Dream is Dead and The Sun Marches upon Us All. Learn more about Tom Stuckey at www.tomstuckey.com.