Circles in the Dust (13 page)

             
“We need you, David. The people of the Base, the Outliers, we all need you. We obviously can’t help ourselves; the Base is full of apathy and fear, and the Outliers are not the best negotiators, nor do they make a great impression on a vulnerable society. We all need you to save us, David,” she pleaded. She looked at him for a moment before adding, in a voice so low he could barely hear, “I need you.”

             
David nodded his head in acknowledgement, unable to get any words out past the growing lump in his throat. He tried, but managed only a whimpering squeak.

             
“There is no one like you at the Base,” she went on. “I think that someone who thinks and feels the way you do… that’s just what the Base needs right now.”

             
David could not doubt the sincerity of her words but they left him confused, something he feared he may have to get used to. He was sure that he had upset her with his aversion to what she had told him about the Base, but now she was praising him for it and being grateful that she had found someone like him. She needed him. They all needed him.

             
“I need you too, you know,” David managed to say after a minute, once the swelling in his throat had receded. “If you hadn’t found me there, next to the river… I wouldn’t be here right now. And I know you didn’t just help me so I could help you. You’re a good person, Elizabeth. Frankly, I was starting to dread meeting the people running the Base, but if there are any more people like you there, I would say they’ve been pretty successful.” He managed a small smirk, and she reciprocated, smiling through her tears. “You’re right. The last thing any of us survivors need to do right now is add to the death count. We’re just about extinct as is. I hope I can make everyone see that. I hope I can find a way to put a stop to this madness.”

             
He got up and walked around so that he was in front of her. He knelt and brushed the straggling tears away with his thumb, grasping her arm in what he hoped would be understood as a consolatory gesture. She looked up into his face, the smile he had planted there flourishing, as she choked out a few last sobs and grasped his arm in the same way. They looked into each other’s eyes. David wanted to tell her that she could count on him, that she could depend on him, that no one had depended on him for a long time and he missed it and wouldn’t let her down; he wanted to convey it all but the words eluded him.

             
“It’s going to be all right,” was all he could come up with.

             
Her smile brightened once more and vanished as she cleared her throat and tried to destroy the evidence that she had been crying, wiping her nose and taking deep breaths. David stood up and his eyes roved the ugly land, a muddle of dull browns and dark yellows thanks to the stifling light of the gray sky.

             
“Let’s keep moving,” he suggested. His anxiety was lessened now that he felt he had a friend.

Chapter 13

The sky looked on with its angry gray eyes as the boy trudged through the fresh snow. His footsteps were slow and labored. The snow behind had been flattened by the burden he dragged behind him. He fought for every step, forcing himself along, sucking in deep breaths that stung the back of his throat. The few whiskers that lined his upper lip were crusted with snot and tears, though he occasionally lifted a hand to wipe them away. More than anything he wanted to stop, to curl up on the ground and forget the whole thing. But he had to do this. So he blinked away the fresh tears that blurred his vision, cleared his throat and took another step.

             
He walked for what felt like hours, though the going was so slow that he could not have made it more than a few miles from camp. Underneath the trees it grew too dark to see and he began tripping over fallen trees and shrubs covered with snow. At first he would stop and carefully slide the bundle carefully over these obstacles, though before long he let it tumble over them just as he did.  There would be a long hiss followed by a dull thump as the sleeping bag was dragged over a log. David tried to ignore it.

             
When it had grown too dark to see further than ten feet through the gloom, David stopped and let the sleeping bag slump to the ground. He fell back into the snow, his muscles graciously accepting the rest, though neither his heart nor his mind felt any reprieve. He buried his face in his shaking hands, fighting back tears. Now was not the time for that. He couldn’t leave their camp unoccupied for more than a day.

             
My camp now, he thought.

             
He rose on unsteady legs and knelt by the side of the sleeping bag. The top was dusted with snow. He should have carried it by the top, he now realized. It was heavier, though, so he had opted for the bottom, where he had only to lift the legs off the ground. He loosened the top and looked inside. In the dark he could not see much, but he knew that face too well for even night to hide the wizened features of his best friend. He reached a gloved hand out and wiped some snow off his face. He was grateful for the barrier between his skin and that of the old man.

             
Unzipping the bag, he pulled the shovel out of its place on the old man’s chest. The open bag fell shut as David turned away and walked to the foot of the sleeping bag. He took a steadying breath of the cold air and sunk the blade deep into the snow. It was easy at first; the top layer of snow was soft, but before long he was chipping away at the hardened layer underneath, frozen and compacted by years of winter. He had to stop occasionally to catch his breath. He leaned on the shovel and stared at the ground. The grave was longer than he was tall, though he had only managed to get two or three feet into the snow. He thought of what the old man would say to him now.

             
“Oh, come on. You’ve got a young back. There’s no reason for you to give up now.”

             
The thought made him smile. So many times he had wanted to give up. He was still just a boy, barely sprouting a thin moustache. Without the old man to light a fire underneath him, he never would have lived this long. He would have starved or been killed by some other survivor in the woods. Not with Ernest around, though. He never let David rest when something needed to be done.

             
As he thought about how much his old friend had compelled him to do, a sense of utter loneliness took over him. All of a sudden the woods felt so empty. He felt so small. Whenever he wanted to know something or needed anything, the older man was there. He may have been weak when David found him, but he had known so much. Together they thrived. But now…

             
The shovel slipped from his hand. David fell to his knees next to the half-finished grave. He couldn’t do it any longer. The tears coursed down his face and he let himself sob. His breath slipped out in small clouds as he cried. He ran his hands roughly over his coat, searching for the zipper. He found it and tore the garment off. He threw it away and pounded the snow with both fists. His hands sunk into the snow as he beat a crater into the ground.

             
Ernest would never have stood for this. He would have yelled at David to get up. He would have said something about the power of positive outlook or the destructive cycle of depression. David didn’t care. He was gone. Never again would he be there to push David along when he just wanted to lounge around the tent or fire arrows into a log when there was game to hunt.

He was on his own now.

He brought his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He rocked back and forth as snow began to fall. He looked down into the pit where the shovel had fallen. It was hard to see under the snow dusting the top of it. In a minute it would be just another shadow in the dead of night. A few more and it would be gone. David dug his fingers into his eyes, rubbing them until it hurt and he saw spots when he pulled them away. He realized he was shivering. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt and picked up his coat. He shook the snow off it and folded it so that no more would fall on the inside.

Hopping down into the hole, he picked up the shovel and set to work clearing more of the snow. He dug until he hit the frozen earth. Even the steel point of the shovel was no match for the solid soil. He pulled himself out of the grave and planted the shovel’s blade into the snow. The sleeping bag with his old friend was covered by an inch of snow. He began to brush it off, and stopped. His hand found the zipper on the side. It stayed there, gripping the cold metal. He dropped it and moved behind the top of the sleeping bag. He found the thin shoulders of the body within and placed his hands on them, preparing to push.

“You gave me everything. You saved me,” he said. His voice sounded so loud, despite the fact that he whispered. There was no wind to carry his words away. No ears to hear. He shuddered. Digging his boots into the snow, he heaved the body forward. It slid across the snow and fell into the rough grave. David stood up and looked down. The bottom of the hole was not level and the body had ended up curled on its side, the head propped up above the rest. A sad smile broke out on David’s face. That was just the way the man would sleep. He took up more room in the tent lying that way, but David never minded.

He retrieved the shovel and set about filling in the grave. The sun was just lighting up the thick clouds when he finished.

He returned to camp at full daylight and set about making breakfast. Taking flour and water and yeast from the tent, he made some biscuits. As they cooked over the fire, he realized there were more there than he could eat. His chest tightened. He took two biscuits in one hand and scooped the others into the fire. He couldn’t force the food past the lump in his throat, especially when he passed through the tent door and saw his sleeping bag up against one wall and the opposite side empty.

He ate the biscuits that night as he walked away from the empty camp, dragging his sleeping bag through the snow, stuffed with every possession it would hold. He set out for the tallest tree, the one that had saved him. The only one he had left.

Chapter 14

They walked through the barren plain for the remainder of the day, though the silence was now punctuated intermittently with amiable conversation. She agreed that this was not the most attractive place, though it had proved useful; the Base resided in a corner of it, just where the plain ended and another forest began, where the earth had become fertile enough once more to support their agricultural endeavors. David smiled to himself when she told him that, and expressed his pleasure that it was the forest, the trees and bushes and flowers that he felt so much a part of, that had made it possible for them to make their way of life work. Not his trees directly, but perhaps their far-removed cousins, or old friends at the very least. There would be trees again, and that didn’t hurt David’s mood either.

              David did have to concede that trekking so long across such a wasteland meant there were few, if any, obstacles, as long as they didn’t collide with the odd tree every mile or so. They made good time and David could feel the miles stacking up behind them as they drew closer and closer to the Base. He was curious how he had never heard of the place if it had been so close, but realized now that walking across this plain was so much faster than through the forest so it must be farther away than the couple days’ journey had originally made it seem. He still didn’t care much for the scenery, or lack thereof, but maintained a pleasant mood despite the environment.

             
They didn’t stop again all day and by the time night fell, they had crossed a considerable part of the plain. Elizabeth told him they would be there by the next night; her sense of direction had been a little off and she had taken them on a bit of a detour. Once again, David couldn’t complain.

             
They made their camp at the edge of a little pond that was more of a puddle. The murky water was filled with algae and surrounded by flies. The water was no good and they had to make do with what they had brought with them from the stream. David had carted several bottles and canteens from his camping stash and they had plenty. They ate his can of corn, which he was not loathe to part with considering the weight that it added to his burden. They talked late into the night about the people they had known and those they missed; David told her about the mentor and the handful of friends he had as a child who had given him the tools he needed to survive on his own, and she told him of those at the Base who had helped raise her.

             
David kept some of the secrets of his past life to himself, leaving out the lessons on how to kill silently and how to trick someone into giving you what you needed without making an enemy; he was a new person, a new David, he didn’t think everything about old David was vital information. He told her about learning to fish and hunt (animals), how to make snares and nurture a plant, despite the futility of that particular lesson. The old man had taught him of the old world while throwing in a lesson here and there about camping and survival. David enjoyed talking about him, even if it meant shedding a tear or two.

             
She had been raised mostly by the women of the Base, those who had cared for the children and domestic matters while the men had gone to work gathering supplies from the deserted cities and towns and making the farmhouse and outbuildings that made the Base habitable for a village-worth of people. There had been a few who stood out to her, though she never seemed to be with any for very long. Her father seemed to be an important man on the Base, though David could not put his finger on what the man actually did.

             
They talked until David nodded off and Elizabeth noticed. She woke him from his light reverie with a light slap and chided him for not hiding his boredom at her story better. David settled into a more peaceful slumber that night than any he could remember.  His dreams were pleasant ones of his past, of his old friends, especially the trees.

             
He woke feeling refreshed and eager to be off, though he waited for Elizabeth to rise naturally rather than disturb her. He readied his things and pilfered one of her delicious biscuits, hoping she wouldn’t mind (or notice). He sat by the remains of the fire and chewed idly, taking the opportunity to try and formulate some semblance of a plan to propose when he reached the Base. Granted, he really needed to know what the Base had to offer, what they were really capable of, how many Outliers there were, etc. He wouldn’t be able to be much help to them before he had all the facts.

             
But there were some things he could determine on his own, from what Elizabeth had told him. The gathered Outliers seemed to need to realize that the Base can’t simply hand out food and that the most they will be able to get is a way to feed themselves. David thought maybe a gift of seeds and farming lessons might be just the thing, but there would need to be another plot of land for them to till, and enough seeds; more variables. Maybe they could be persuaded to move on, though David didn’t think that was a real option, especially since it meant almost certain death for them. The Base could employ some of them as travelers to look for other survivors, but who’s to say they wouldn’t just take the supplies given and never return?

             
They were enemies, and felt this way because they were separated into two distinct groups. Some kind of reconciliation was necessary, that much was for sure. They needed to work together rather than battle for supremacy. The Base needed to be willing to sacrifice for the others, just as the Outliers needed to respect the Base and not take what they felt entitled to. This was sure to be the greatest gift he could offer them, as he would hopefully be able to enter the Base without the knowledge of the Outliers, and then slip back into their ranks as just another traveler come to find this holy grail. Of course, he would have to be more than just another face; he would have to gain some recognition. Perhaps he could stage a rescue or some other heroic feat. All in due time. For now, his plan would be to see what the Base had and would be capable of doing for the Outliers, regardless of what they said. He would have to make his own judgment. And hope that they would cooperate. And that the Outliers would welcome him. And listen to him. And accept his plan. And not find out that he was there as a secret emissary. Simple.

             
Elizabeth snored away while he sat in the dim light of morning. He watched her belly inflate and deflate, and wondered if she would ever rise. His veins coursed with energy and a new determination to get to work on his task, her revelations of the previous day dispelling some of his more poignant fears and reservations. At least he could trust her. She had opened up to him and told him what she must have felt at the Base but couldn’t say openly for fear of losing any credibility or even her life, depending on how strict the people of the Base were; David still wasn’t too sure of that. Her face looked peaceful as she slept, her hair splayed out, reaching over her face into the dirt, wrapping its fingers around the unsuspecting tufts of prickly grass that sprouted out of the forsaken soil.

             
He got up and walked over to where she slept, considering the ramifications of dragging her from her dreams so they could continue. He contemplated whether or not he could nudge her and get away quickly enough that she wouldn’t know it was him, but she looked so serene there on the ground, wrapped up in her patched sleeping bag like an oversized caterpillar, he decided he didn’t have the heart. He  would find something else to entertain himself with.

             
He stepped over her and made his way over the little rise that made up part of the watershed responsible for their little pond, wondering what lay beyond. He topped it and was unsurprised by the view that greeted him: more deplorable nothingness. If there were a god, he was sure to be laughing at David now. He had been half-hoping that he would come to this vantage point and spot a plume of smoke that would signal the end of their quest, maybe he would even get lucky and find a friendly old pine, arms outstretched to greet him.

No such luck. More of the same old rolling plain and desolate, dirty grass carpet.

              He looked back, but his trees were out of view in the direction they had come, which must have been farther even than it had felt the day before. He turned to the side, desperate to find something interesting before he lost it and kicked Elizabeth to rouse her from whatever lingering dream she was caught up in. To the south he saw a dark shape that he might be imagining against the near-black sky, but perhaps it would be worth investigating, so he headed off in that direction, stealing a glance back at his drowsing companion. Still sawing those logs.

             
The ground crunched under his steps and his boots raised little puffs of dirt from the parched soil. He bent over slightly to let his fingers catch some of the taller strands of grass, enjoying their abrasion on his calloused hands. The sky was just beginning to lighten, but it was still dark yet and David enjoyed the brisk air of pre-dawn. It felt icy and invigorating against his throat and tingled his nose. He scratched his bearded complexion and ended up stroking it as he walked and took in the picture of isolation around him. There was nothing but grass, dirt, and a, potentially imagined, shape in the distance.

He kept himself oriented on a course toward his potential source of excitement for the morning and eventually stumbled upon a bare line he guessed may have been a path carved by frequent footfalls in days gone by. He stuck to this as it winded in the general direction of the shape, which was growing and becoming more distinct as he got closer. He could tell it was real now, the light increasing to reveal a skewed rectangular outline. His imagination took over; maybe it was a house, filled to the brim with food by someone who had stocked up and changed their strategy to flight. Maybe it was a safe house where survivors took refuge, a small family (in this new world, more likely a collection of people banded together than actual blood relatives) living peacefully in their little cottage.

As he approached it, he could tell that it was almost certainly some sort of ramshackle dwelling, constructed hastily by inexperienced hands. It resembled his own, actually. The roof was slanted to the right and one of the walls was shorter than the others, but David understood the concept of beggars not being too choosy. He made it to the little cabin in a few minutes, wondering hungrily what he would find inside. He came around the back and was struck by the question of why someone would build a cabin right here. Where had they even gotten the wood? It was pretty small, he had to admit, but it still seemed an odd place to settle down. Maybe isolation was what they sought?

He rounded the front and saw that what must have been the door lay a little way from the hut, rope hinges still attached. It looked like it had been ripped off, some of the pieces of wood around the frame of the door were splintered. He was nervous, afraid of what he might find inside, but he had come this far so he inched his way up to the front of the cabin. He peered in to the shady interior though he could barely see the dirt floor on the inside and realized he was holding his breath. He sucked in a deep gulp of air and nearly vomited. A vile, stomach-churning stench had assailed him, a smell he knew well but could never get used to. He covered his mouth with his sleeve and took a deep breath, then resorted to shallow hyperventilation as he stepped into the single room.

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but he knew what he would find before he saw it. There were two of them, a man and a woman, lying on the floor, their clothes blotted with dark stains and their faces contorted in anguish, frozen the way they had died. The air was thick with flies and the ground slithered with whatever else was feasting here. The man’s body was riddled with short slits but the woman’s death was a mystery, her tattered form too abused to offer much in way of explanation.

The small room was littered with the shattered remains of the life these people had made for themselves, a few large coolers sitting open or knocked over on the ground, empty of course. Whoever had been here had done what they had to, though by the looks of things they had gotten a little carried away. He understood that in this world, the world of ‘Outliers’ as Elizabeth would call them, it was survival of the fittest, but he had tried to avoid any pleasure in the necessary facets of this life, another reason he had ended up isolating himself from other people as much as possible. Some of them enjoyed it too much.

There was obviously nothing of any value left in the room, so he turned to leave. A small object caught his eye. A discarded wallet lay by his feet. There was little in it besides a picture he assumed was of the unrecognizable woman, a faded photograph with a few smeared drops of blood soiling the image. He picked it up and felt a stirring in his chest. He shoved the image in his pocket and made his way out of the mausoleum, breathing freely once he had come away. He brought the picture out once more, studying the smiling face whose edges were blurred with the deep crimson liquid.

Someone had found this place on their way to the Base, and they hadn’t been kind. They knew they were headed to an oasis and slaughtered these people anyway. The world had not been kind to those who still remained, but it pained him to see that unfair anger reflected in their actions. This must be part of his new self; the new David wouldn’t harm another if he could help it. A week ago he might not have felt this way.