I look into the darkness, "This was
your house wasn’t it?" I whisper.
"You guessed it kid. My husband had
this installed when we built the house. He worked for the CIA."
I feel her hand grip mine again and pull
me, "The ground is flat. We have to hurry."
I am stunned, no one knows about her
underground bunker. Not as stunned as I am that she is helping me.
"You could have sold me to
them."
I feel her grip my fingers. Her voice has
changed. "They have no right. No right to do what they're doing." I
feel her fingers on my shoulders biting into them. She shakes me, "You
must hurry. Don't come back here. The girls all get taken. The hunters are
dressed up as traders but they're not. Run. Feel your fingers along the wall
until you see light in the ceiling. Climb up there. It’s a latch. I have to get
back."
She is gone before I can even thank her.
I am alone in the dark.
The fear is crippling me. I reach a
trembling hand out into the darkness. Cold hard stone meets me somewhere in the
black. I run my fingers along it, running as best as I can.
I'm scared. I hate being scared. I decide
I need a rule about being scared and doing things that make me scared.
I see the ring of light up ahead. It
casts a dull beam in the shape of a circle on the floor. The morning sun is
rising. I've slept later than I thought I would have. I should have been
halfway home by the time the sun came up.
I feel like I'm stepping into a magical
light, like in the movies I watched with my granny. The dark of the bunker is
held at bay by the tiny ring of light. Dust sparkles inside of the ring.
I reach my trembling fingers through it,
making the dust dance in the light.
I look up at the ring of light. I put my
hand out at the small ladder I can just see. I climb until my head is at the
wooden hatch. I listen to the silence. Nothing makes a sound. I don’t want to
open the hatch. I want to hide in the dark of the bunker and never come out.
I hear a whisper on the wind. It's a
sound I would know anywhere. It isn’t close to my location, but it hurts me
just the same. It could be me.
I take a breath and put my hand on the
bottom of the hatch. I try to calm the shakes, but I can't. I push on the
hatch. Light floods the small space even though the crack is tiny. My eyes
adjust to the bright morning light. The sun hasn’t completely risen, just as
the moon hasn’t fully set. It is dawn.
I see greenery everywhere around the
hatch. Moss and brush surround me. I don’t see anything but the sounds of the
screams have filled up the air. The animals make no noises, as the people have
taken over the space with their screams again.
"Puuleeease. Please. Stop please. I
have money. I have riches."
Her voice scares me. The desperation
frightens me. I have never been that desperate but I know I have it in me.
"Please sir, please. Don't you have
a sister or a wife that you would want kept safe. Please. I'll let you do
whatever you want please just don’t take me. Don't take me back there. I will
die in there. Please."
I want to rock back and forth on the
ground. I wish they would just kill her so she will shut up.
I'm frozen. I don’t leave my bunker but I
don’t close the lid either. I don’t move.
I know I'm in danger. I take a deep
breath. I think about Leo and Jake. I think of poor Anna alone and taking care
of Jake. I feel bravery, or stupidity, for the smallest of seconds. I pull
myself out of the bunker and slide along the moss and brush. I make very little
noise but every movement or rustle feels as loud as a gunshot. I creep along
the ground on my hands and feet like Leo does. I move away from the town. I
don’t know where I am but I'm scared.
I get to a crowded bunch of trees and
bushes and decide I need to risk it and stand. I need my bearings. I take
another deep breath and slide my body up along side a tree. I try to blend in.
Hoards of people have gathered in the street in front of the town. I can see
the field and the cement road. I'm on the right side.
Women and girls are being loaded into
trucks. They sob and reach for their loved ones. One girl looks about thirteen.
I feel anger welling inside of me. There are the four guards from the gates and
five other men milling around the trucks. The tenth man is inside the cab of
the truck.
My brain is screaming at me to help the
girl. She's a kid. That won't stop them. The sweaty men who take turns. I close
my eyes. I shake my head, to rearrange my thoughts.
I turn my back on them. I run away, like
the coward I am. I run until I find the broken branches. I use them to lead
myself back to my weapon stash. I breathe easier when my bow is back in my
hands. I could kiss my knife. I tuck it into my boots and start the run back to
the house. I run faster than I did the day before. I run with new fear.
xxxx
I reach the house in the middle of the
night. I see Leo's eyes. He stalks to me. He sniffs me everywhere. He's
checking to make sure I'm okay. When I bend my knee to kiss him, I sob. He's
seen this before. He knows sometimes I just need to get it out.
"Em?"
I look up to see Anna pointing a gun at
me.
I smile and hold up the sack.
She lowers the gun, "You okay?"
I nod into the darkness, "No, but
it's not anything new. How is he?"
I can see her grim look in the moonlight.
My stomach sinks. I want to panic and cry out.
"He's fading fast. I was about to
cut his leg off when I heard you."
I sigh and break into a run. I burst
through the farm door, something I've never done before.
I'm pulling the needle out of the sack
with one of the vials, as I kneel before him. His dark hair is matted against
his sweaty face. I can see the moisture in the moonlight.
Anna pours the vodka we found in one of
the cupboards all over my hands and the needles and vial. The liquor is
splashing all over me. She holds the bottle up to my lips. It burns its ways
into my empty stomach. The bits of food I've eaten are long gone. Thank god.
She wipes his arm. I finish putting the vial together and stab him in the arm.
I push it in slowly like my dad showed me. He doesn’t stir. He doesn't register
that I'm pumping his arm full of antibiotics.
I pull the bandages off his wounds. The
red lines are everywhere. I swallow hard. Anna puts the vodka back to my lips.
I drink again. I pour the tea tree, she has next to the vodka, all over the
wound and the blade of my knife. I slice into swollen part the injury and milk
the puss from it. I pour the tea tree after I douse it in vodka. I am careful
not to rupture the blood vessels and make more infection. When it's clean again
and no more puss comes out. I smother it in the old tube of medical salve, the
farmhouse had in the bathroom. I cover it again with a gauze bandage and tape.
His fever is still high. He licks his
lips and looks down at me with blood shot eyes.
"You made it back."
I nod. His expression is breaking my
heart. He looks weak.
He reaches a hand to mine and squeezes,
"I was worried."
"I can take care of myself." I
don’t even let the bizarre day I've had cross my mind. It's not the moment to
stress him out.
"I don’t doubt that. You scare
me."
I laugh. I can't even help myself. He's
huge and no doubt strong, stronger than he knows. Stronger than me. I try not
to think about the young girls in the truck. I am a coward.
"I'm going back to watching."
Anna is gone suddenly and we are alone. I feel funny about it.
He pulls me up on the couch, "Come
lay with me."
It's the first human contact I've had in
a while. Watching TV with my granny is the closest thing to a snuggle I've ever
had. I don’t know what to do. I go limp. He laughs.
He pulls me alongside him on the couch.
His arm is burning hot. It feels amazing. He wraps his arm around me. I shiver
from the heat.
"Tell me a story Emma."
I pause, I don’t have any. I want to tell
him something fun about my childhood but it basically looks just like my life
now. Well with more showering.
"I went to the town once a long time
ago. The infection was newer then. I ran through the woods and broke the
branches to make a path for myself to find the farmhouse again. Just like my
dad taught me. I was excited when I saw the gates. I was so stupid. I thought
being with other survivors would be better for me. I went in and begged for
food from a lady. She laughed at me."
I feel my air getting trapped in my
throat. The shame filling me is my punishment. I deserve it.
"I went out her door and sat in the
narrow alley near the back of the houses. I was hidden by a bunch of old
buckets and garbage. The lady and her daughter were walking around the back
with bags of stuff. Some men came. They started tearing at them. They stripped
them and hurt them."
I choke slightly on my next sentence,
"I ran into the store and stole as much food as I could carry. I ran and
gorged myself in the back of her store. I could still hear her screaming and I
did nothing. I ate."
He squeezes me and kisses the top of my
forehead. I stare into his black t-shirt that’s soaked with sweat.
"You're kind of bad at story
telling. I sort of wanted to go to sleep. Now I think I'll never sleep
again."
I laugh. I laugh with him. It kills the
moment of suffering I deserve.
He kisses my forehead again, "Do you
have anything lighter? I don’t want that to be the last thing I think about
when I die."
I laugh again, but this time I want to
cry. He's dying. I know this. Instead of me leaving him, he's leaving me and it
hurts.
"I have one memory of my mother. She
was in the hospital bed. I was two years old. She looked like me, dark blonde
hair and green eyes but she was really pretty. Her lips always looked like she
was pushing them out."
"Duck lips."
I frown, "What?"
He laughs, "They were called duck
lips back then."
"Oh. Well she had those. She was in
the bed and she let me climb up with her. I sat on her lap and we watched TV.
It was a cartoon about dragons and some little Mexican kids."
"Dragon Tails. I loved that show.
LOVE IT." He speaks in a high pitch voice.
It makes me smile. He remembers things so
clearly.
He nudges me, "What happened
then?"
I shake my head, "Nothing. We just
sat in the sun on her bed. I remember how soft her nightie was and she let me
eat her pudding."
"Yeah okay that is another bad
example of story telling."
I want to defend myself, but I know it
will only make him feel sorry for me.
He smiles, "Once when I was six, me
and Will went and played down by the river behind our house. Our mom was really
strict about it and never let us go down there. We figured 'cause Will was old
enough to baby-sit we were good. We brought boats we made out of newspaper. We
went to the edge of the river and pushed the boats in. They floated perfectly
until mine flipped over. I reached for it before it got too far away and of
course fell in. Will grabbed me before I got pulled away. I would have drowned
for sure. We ran back to the house but we were too long getting home and mom
was there already. We snuck in the back yard. I thought we were dead, but Will
grabbed the hose from the side of the house and sprayed me. Mom came out the
back door at that moment. So she walks to the backyard to see Will hosing and
me screaming. He got grounded for a week for being a bully. He was the best
brother ever."
A weird feeling overtakes the other
feelings I have. I am jealous that I don’t have a single story like that one.
I look into his eyes and feel lost. I
feel like I'm part of them.
He smirks, "That is a story,
jackass."
I frown at him.
He lifts my chin and presses his warm
lips to mine.
I love it.
I love him.
His warmth rushes through me. His lips
part mine. His tongue caresses my lips softly.
He pulls back, but I want more. I watch
him pull away.
He smiles, "You're supposed to close
your eyes Emma."
I blush, "I liked that."
He laughs, "It was on my list of
things to do before I die."
His words sting.
I snarl at him, "You haven’t ever
kissed a girl before?"
He shakes his head, "Not a girl I
really like."
I blush harder, "Your fever is
making you crazy."
"Good." He pulls me back and
kisses me until I'm dizzy.
The sunlight coming in the window blinds
me, as I wake up disoriented. I shiver from the cold breeze that’s coming from
down the hall. I notice I am laying on Jake still. I smile thinking about the
night before, but stop when I notice his shirt is soaked in cold sweat. His
skin is clammy and cold.