Children of the Uprising (11 page)

In the last moments of Arnold's life, he wondered how he had ended up where he was. He wondered why he wasn't on the other side, fighting with the Child instead of chasing him through the darkness. He knew it wasn't because he believed in the War. He just believed in the Child even less. And Arnold was smart enough to know that when you don't believe in anything, all you can do is try to pick the winner.

A piece of the rock jutted out and the path grew thinner. Arnold wouldn't be able to walk normally here. He'd have to belly up to the stone and shimmy his feet, especially if he didn't want to drop his bow. The drop wasn't especially far, maybe thirty feet, but the bottom of the cliff was littered with jagged rocks. Arnold settled his feet. He strung an arrow in his bow. With one smooth motion, he shot the arrow like a missile into a tree opposite the cliff. He listened to see if he could hear any rustling. He thought that maybe the Child would see the arrow and run, but he heard nothing, so he stood up straight and began to shimmy around the jutting rock.

He was almost to the other side when he felt a hand hit his shoulder. He looked down. It wasn't a fist. A fist wasn't necessary. What Arnold felt was the heel of Christopher's palm. It didn't hurt, but Arnold still felt the force behind it. His shoulders flew away from the rock and he stared straight at Christopher, who had been patiently waiting around the other side of the jutting rock. He wondered what type of game Christopher was playing, why he hadn't hit him harder, why he hadn't taken him out when he had the chance. Then Arnold realized that his feet weren't on the ledge anymore. And he fell.

Christopher watched Arnold's body twist once in the air as he fell. Then he watched it smash on the jagged rocks. Arnold could have survived the fall had he landed better, but luck was not on Arnold's side. Not that night.

Arnold had managed to shout on his way down, to let out one last, dying wail. Christopher knew that his cry would alert the others. Christopher had already used up the one hiding place on the cliff and even that hid you from only one angle. He didn't suppose they would make the same mistake the dead guy did and follow him back on the rock. Instead, they would stand at the bottom of the cliff and shoot arrows at him until one hit its mark. So Christopher did the only thing he could think to do. He moved back in the direction that he'd come from. At least he knew that he could get off the cliff that way.

Jesse was waiting for Christopher when he made his way back off the cliff. She'd heard Arnold scream when he fell, but she didn't chase the sound. She was too disciplined for that. Her role was to cover this exit and make sure that Christopher didn't slip away, no matter what the cost. So she stayed, half hidden behind a tree, her bow in one hand and a titanium-tipped arrow in the other. She could string an arrow onto the bow, draw the bowstring back, and fire, all in one motion. The whole process took less than two seconds, and she could still hit a bull's-eye from more than two hundred feet away. The bow and arrow was a weapon particularly suited for this War—not in cities, but it was perfect for the woods. It was efficient and it was quiet. That was why they'd been sent—for their efficiency and their ability to be discreet. Jesse controlled her breathing, pressed her back against the cool bark of the tree, and waited.

At first all she saw was movement. Christopher was being careful. He was trying to stay hidden, moving only in short stretches before ducking back into the cracks in the cliff. Jesse was impressed. Watching him move along the giant rock was little more than watching a shadow dance across the cliff. If Jesse had been doing anything other than watching and waiting, she might not have seen Christopher at all. But she did see him. She caught a single glimpse of movement, and once she caught that glimpse, she could follow it. There would be no escaping now. Now it was all a question of when to shoot. They hadn't asked Jesse or her team to bring the Child back alive. They didn't even ask for his body, only proof that he was dead. Jesse took her arrow and placed its notch on the string of the bow. She pulled the bowstring back a single inch, just enough for her to feel the tension.

Christopher ran and waited, ran and waited. He'd expected them to come running after him once the man he'd pushed off the cliff screamed, but no one came. In the back of his mind, he wished they had. Then he would know what he was dealing with. Instead, he was running and hiding from shadows. Unless he could find Addy or Max, Christopher didn't even know where he was supposed to be running to.

Jesse waited until Christopher was off the cliff. She waited until he'd stepped back onto the solid, slanted earth of the steep hill. He was only about fifty feet from her when she stepped out from behind the tree, drew back the bowstring, and let the arrow fly.

The arrow whizzed by Christopher's head, missing him by inches, and slammed into a tree only a few feet behind him. He heard the arrow hit the tree. It was a thick thud, like the sound an ax makes when chopping wood. He tried not to think of what that arrow would have done to his skull if it had hit him. His instinct was to run, but he stopped himself. He stopped himself because he knew that whoever shot that arrow had missed him on purpose. He knew that if he ran, the next arrow would hit him in the back of the head. Christopher didn't want to die, and he was particularly certain that he didn't want to die this way. So he stopped and stared in the direction the arrow had come from.

Jesse had already strung another arrow onto her bowstring before the first arrow hit the tree. She stepped out from behind the tree and aimed the arrow at Christopher's chest. She would shoot the arrow. She had no doubt that she would shoot the arrow, but she wanted to see Christopher closer up first. She wanted to see the Child while he still had air in his lungs and was still standing on his own feet. He looked young and scared and, somehow, dangerous.

Christopher wanted to say something to this woman with the arrow pointed at his chest. He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to do this. He wanted to tell her that he wasn't worth it. He wanted to make her know that he wasn't what everyone made him out to be. He wasn't special. Despite the want, the words never came. Not from him anyway.

The voice came from above them, deep and resonant like the voice of God. “Put the bow down,” it commanded. Christopher waited for the woman's eyes to move toward the voice before he looked too. There was Max, standing on the hill above them, pointing his gun at Jesse.

Christopher only glanced at Max before looking back at the woman aiming the bow and arrow at his chest. He thought that she would do as she was ordered. He couldn't understand the insanity of not listening to a man who was pointing a gun at you. But Jesse didn't put her bow down. She didn't budge. Christopher wondered what it took to make someone that crazy, what made someone care more about killing a person she'd never met than saving their own life.
Please put the bow down,
he thought to himself, afraid to say the words out loud. “Put the bow down and I let you walk away,” Max said to the woman instead. He took one step closer to her without lowering his gun. Christopher knew that Max meant it. Christopher knew that Max didn't want to shoot her. Max wasn't like that. Christopher looked back at Jesse, trying to figure out how this was going to end. His only guess was badly.

Christopher stared into the woman's eyes. They were cold. He didn't see her twitch. He didn't even see her breathe before he heard the gunshot. He liked to think that Max saw something that he himself didn't. Christopher simply heard the gunshot and, before he saw anything, dove to the ground. The arrow missed him by less than an inch, but it did miss him and disappeared into the darkness of the forest behind him. Christopher got back to his feet. He wondered if the woman had let go of the arrow before or after Max shot her. He wondered but didn't want to know. Max was already standing over the woman. Christopher walked toward him.

“She's dead,” Max announced.

Christopher could see by what was left of the woman's head that Max was right. “I'm sorry,” he said to Max as they stood over the lifeless body.

“About what?” Max asked.

“I made you kill her.”

“Don't apologize for the things that people do for you,” Max said to Christopher. Then they both heard a sound, a twig snapping behind them. They turned, moving in almost choreographed unison, Max swinging his gun over Christopher's ducked head. Max fired another shot and another body fell to the ground. Christopher didn't even know how he'd had time to aim. Sonny fell backward with little fanfare. “Fuck,” Max whispered with frustration. Sonny's body lay still. Christopher and Max walked over to it. He wasn't breathing anymore either.

“Do you know where Addy is?” Max asked Christopher as they stared down at the second dead body.

“She went to find you,” Christopher told Max.

“I never saw her,” Max whispered again.

“How many more of them are there?”

“These two”—Max pointed with his gun at the two bodies—“and three more.”

“I killed one on the rocks,” Christopher told Max, trying not to sound proud.

“Okay, so there are two left. Do you want to go back for Addy?”

“Me?” Christopher asked, unsure of why Max was asking him.

“You,” Max told him. “You're the hero. You decide.”

“I'm not a hero.”

“I know that,” Max told Christopher, “but nobody believes me so you still have to decide.”

“Fine. Then let's go back and find Addy.”

Twenty-two steps. Christopher counted. That's how far they made it with Max running behind him before Christopher heard another whizzing sound zip past him through the air. He didn't see anything. He only heard the noise. Then he heard another sound, like the sound he'd already heard of the arrow striking a tree, but softer and wetter. Christopher turned toward the noise. The arrow was sticking out of Max's neck. Max's hand had reached up toward it and was already covered in blood. Even in the gray moonlight, Christopher could see how red Max's blood was. Christopher froze. He saw Max's mouth move as he tried to say something, but the hole in his neck made it impossible for a sound to come out. Instead, Max lifted his gun and aimed it toward Christopher. He pulled the trigger and Christopher saw the dirt fly up a few inches from his feet. That's when he realized what Max was trying to tell him.
Run
. So Christopher ran.

Christopher ran away from the arrows, back the way that they'd come. As Christopher ran past Max, a second arrow struck Max in the chest. Then Christopher ran faster. He heard the footsteps coming after him, chasing after him. He turned and the footsteps turned too. He could tell that two sets of footsteps were behind him. He could hear them as they parted and came back together, dodging trees. All he tried to do was run fast enough that neither of them would have the time to stop and shoot another arrow, but there was no endgame with that plan. There was no escape. Only running.

Carl and Bill stayed after Christopher, doing their best to chase him down like a pair of hunting dogs, waiting for him to slip so they could pounce. They knew that they were the only two left, the only chance left of the mission succeeding.

Christopher turned again, unsure of where he was going, unsure that he wasn't running in circles. All he concentrated on was not tripping. He flew through the darkness like he'd practiced in the forests near his home in Maine hour after hour. That was when he heard it—a third set of footsteps even though there were only supposed to be two of them left. At first he thought that Max had been wrong about how many of them were out there. Then he heard a crash and the sounds of bodies tearing through leaves and branches snapping off trees.

After that, Christopher could hear only one set of footsteps following him. He guessed at what to do next. He purposely ran in a long, large circle. The footsteps stayed behind him. It took him nearly five minutes to circle back to where he'd heard the crashing sound. He felt like his heart was going to explode. He didn't know how long he'd been running, but it felt like forever. He didn't have much left in him. Fortunately, he didn't need much.

Christopher saw her hair, her new hair, like a flame in the darkness. She leapt out from behind a tree as he ran past. She had something in her hands. Christopher turned and watched as Addy grasped an arrow that she had pulled from a random tree and impaled Carl on it, using his own force and speed against him. It was the same titanium-tipped arrow that she had used to slit Bill's throat after leaping on top of him from an elevated ridge. The arrow went all the way through Carl, entering below his chest and coming out his back. Christopher looked away, trying to regain his breath. It took a few minutes for Carl to die. Christopher and Addy waited. For some reason, Christopher didn't feel bad about making Addy do what she'd done the way he'd felt bad about making Max kill. Addy didn't feel bad about it either.

Once Carl died, Addy and Christopher went back and found Max's body. His body still had three arrows sticking out of it. Addy reached down and picked up Max's gun and dusted the dirt off it. Then she put it in her pocket.

“What now?” Christopher asked Addy as he stared down at the body of the second best friend he'd ever had.

“It's time to stop running,” Addy said to Christopher. Her words were strong, but her face was sad.

“What's the alternative?” Christopher asked, knowing that going home wasn't one.

Addy's face and shoulders were covered in specks of blood from the men she had slain. Her shoulders heaved with each breath she took. “Fighting,” she told Christopher.

“I didn't want any of this,” Christopher told Addy, unable to shake the image dancing in his head of Max standing in the woods, covered in blood, with an arrow jutting from his neck. “I didn't want anyone to die for me. I only want to live a normal life.”

“First, there is no normal life, so forget that,” Addy said. They were standing on the side of a road somewhere in the mountains of Washington State. Addy had her phone out. They'd been driving for some time, trying to find a spot where she could get good enough reception to check some Web site. She held her phone up in the air above her head and looked at it again, visibly frustrated. “Besides, nobody gets what they want, and the people who do decide they want something else as soon as they get it.” Addy slammed her phone into her free hand three times, as if she could jostle it into getting reception. “We've got to get closer to a city—or at least somewhere with a cell tower.”

“Is that what you were doing all those times when Max and I didn't know where you were? You were checking some Web site on your phone?”

“It's not just some Web site.”

“Then what is it?”

“It's the Web site of the Uprising.”

“I don't know what that means,” Christopher shouted at Addy.

“Some of us have gotten sick of running and sick of hiding. We know that the world's gotten too small for this War. Either that or the War's gotten too big. There's nowhere to hide anymore.”

“So what are you going to do? Fight to try to stop a War? That doesn't make any sense. And what does any of that have to do with me anyway?”

Addy looked at Christopher. He could tell that some of whatever it was that made Addy think he was so special was slowly wearing off. Max's dying had changed things. “We tried Max's way and it got him killed. Now we'll try the other way. And what does the Uprising have to do with you? The people in the Uprising, you're the reason that they have the courage to fight. You can't let them down.”

“You're all nuts,” Christopher said. “I'm not going to let anyone else die for me.”

Addy put her phone back in her pocket. She walked over to Christopher and pointed a finger in his face. “Let's get one thing straight,” she told him. “Max didn't die for you. He wasn't a martyr. He took chances for you, but he died because he was a little bit too slow and a little bit unlucky.” The tip of Addy's finger was only an inch from Christopher's nose. “People are going to fight and people are going to die whether you come with me or not. The only question is whether or not they get to fight and die with a little bit of hope.”

“I'm not the person that you think I am,” Christopher protested, wishing Max was still around to agree with him.

“Yes, you are,” Addy said, walking away from Christopher and back toward the car. “You just don't know it yet.”

“What are you going to do when you finally get on that Web site?” Christopher called after her.

Addy stepped toward the driver's-side door of the car. “I'm going to tell everyone in the Uprising that you're alive and that you're with me and that you're everything that every single one of them dreams about. Now get in the fucking car,” she ordered Christopher.