Olivia sat on the steps of the crumbling bunkhouse and looked out over the overgrown yard that had once been the home of the thousands who had inhabited the Arkhara prison camp. She thought about the thirty plus years of human pain and suffering that had been concentrated into the dirt of the yard. She wondered if the plants that grew into the dirt now could feel some residual effect of all that misery. She looked at the leaves and the stems and the trunks of the larch that were taking root to see if she could detect any twisting or deformation that might be a result of the toxic legacy of the place. To her the trees all looked normal.
She stood up and twisted her body so that she could see past the yard and over into where the graveyard sat with its rows of graying wooden crosses marking the ends of so many lives. Lives that were wasted in the end because of the paranoia of one man. A man who wielded power over millions. Trees were beginning to retake the graveyard as well. The roots taking hold in the bones of dead. She hoped the trees would grow stronger and taller than those of the surrounding forest. That in time the old graveyard would become a special place marked by the beauty of the trees who took their nourishment from the remains of these mistreated souls. Then she noticed, for the first time, a large area at the far end of the graveyard nearest the wetlands that was totally devoid of vegetation. She’d never looked at the graveyard from this angle before and now it struck her that something wasn’t right. She picked up her pack, put her floppy hat back on and headed down the stairs.