SAFE (17 page)

In
an hour-long minute of horror, I screamed uncontrollably.

“My
family!” I cried. “Lucan.”

The
entire night I sobbed off and on as James drove. My body exhausted from crying,
I finally fell asleep.

The next morning, the sun rose from the horizon. A
horrible welcome to the life I still had when everyone I had known perished. I
sat up and rubbed my raw eyes. James’ face looked like death, eyes sunken in,
barely open. He needed rest. I told him to sit and let me take over. He didn’t
argue.

The
motor began spitting putt-putt sounds in between chokes, until it suddenly died.

“There’s
none left,” James said, pointing towards the gallons of gas that had been
stored at the front of the boat.

“What
do you mean?” I ran up and shook each container. Empty.

For hours the boat drifted with the current and the
sun beamed down on us. My pack was gone; we didn’t have any food or water. We
both assumed we would’ve reached the other Land by now, but we were wrong.
Terribly wrong.

The days passed with us in silence and the only comfort
we had was each other. My stomach ached with hunger and my lips dry, fleshy
prunes, from the sun’s bright rays. My fair skin was pink all over and it hurt
to lift my hands. Poor James didn’t even have a shirt, so he poured out one of
the bags into the boat and used it to shade us as much as possible.

“Do
you hear that?” James mumbled.

All
I heard was the emptiness of waves thrashing against one another.

He
stood up and used his hands as visors against the sun. “There it is. I see a
boat.” He pointed.

I
peered into the distance—on the horizon was a boat heading our direction. The
last of my adrenaline ran through my body. Thirty minutes passed as they got
closer. James stuffed all the knives back into the bag. Three individuals stood
aboard their ship staring at us. Two males and one female. One man was older
than the other, and the female looked the same age as the young man, only a
couple years older than me.

“What
are you doing all the way out here?” The older man hollered over to us with his
hands cupped around his mouth.

“We
ran out of gas,” James yelled back.

The
old man scratched his forehead and ran his hand down the center of his long, white
beard. He muttered something to the girl next to him and they talked back and
forth before acknowledging us again. Then he shook his head at the girl in
response to whatever they discussed. I asked James if he knew what they were
saying, but he shook his head.

“We
don’t have any gas to lend you. Though you’re welcome to board our ship,” the
girl said. Her hair was long and red, reminding me of Jessie from work. Tears
filled my eyes and I swallowed them back down. She had a thin frame and wore loose
khaki pants with pockets on the sides, and a roomy shirt that bubbled at the
arms and fit at the hips. A red bandanna was tied around her hair, pressing flat
against her forehead.

“What
do you think, James?”

He
shrugged his shoulders.

“Thank
you, that’s very kind,” I said, accepting their offer. They pulled the large
boat up next to ours, making our boat seem even smaller. They rolled down a
ladder over the side. James and I each grabbed one of our bags, and climbed the
rope.

As
soon as James cleared the side, the old man paused and looked James’ body up and
down. We paused in the same fashion and I knew James was probably the first person
they had ever seen with vines. A small pistol rested on a table near the old
man and I wondered if James was thinking about grabbing it first, buying us
time to explain. Explain where we were from. We weren’t going to hurt them. But
it didn’t matter—we were really weak. James’ strengths wouldn’t be of much help
right now.

“That
sure is a lot of tattoos boy,” the old man said before walking over and
grabbing a bite of sliced bread sitting on a plate beside the gun.

Tattoos?

The
younger man walked over, half his head was shaved and the other half combed
forward in one long, brown swoop, ending just above his right eye. He muttered
something in a language I’d never heard before—the words were beautiful in the
way they rolled off his tongue. The old man responded in the same language and
then the young man pulled up the ladder.

The
boat had a large, triangular bubble in the middle with a line of consecutive small,
empty frames where windows once stood. We were told to follow the old man
inside. I knew anything could happen, but I wasn’t afraid. They didn’t have to let
us board and yet they did. So we followed him as he showed us the interior. A
long, backless couch sat in the middle of the room and a bunch of buttons and
knobs were on the far end, like a dashboard of a car, but not as advanced. Old,
golden paper stripped in pieces, hanging down in all directions along the walls,
and strings of dingy yarn-like fabric drooped from the ancient ceiling. We
stepped down a couple of steps as the old man asked us to sit on the couch.

“How
long have you two been out here for?” His voice rough against my ears.

Again
I looked at James, wondering what the answer was.

“Four
days,” James replied. I hadn’t realized we were at sea for that many days and
was startled hearing the number.

The
old man cleared the spit from his throat and wiped his hand along his white
beard in an observing manner. The young woman walked over and brought us some
water and bread. “We should pull into the next port by tomorrow evening, and
then you both will be on your way,” she said. Her long hair swung around as she
turned and left the room.

I
held the glass with both hands, letting the lukewarm water linger against my
cracked lips. I took only sips after, doing my best not to heave the water up.

It had been almost ten months since the boat came
rescuing us from near starvation and sun exhaustion, now I was sitting around a
fire in the cold, eating breakfast with James.

273
Days Before:

Shortly after our rescue at sea, we docked beside an
old, rickety, pier floating on top of the ocean connected to a Land. When I
climbed out of the boat, I stood on warped wooden planks. A feeling of
gratitude swept over me as I scanned the area around. Our boat was the only one
in sight, and all three individuals held their automatic rifles close to their
sides, pointing them down the mouth of the pier. In return for our passage to
Oregon, apparently, we repaid them with gifting two of our guns, five ammo
boxes, and three knives and sheathes. Then James and I walked down the pier, our
fingers interlocked as we left the boat behind. The old man had mentioned
Oregon was only a middle resting point until their next destination—a state
which took a few days sailing time. Oregon wasn’t much of anything and they
would be leaving later that day. Even though the woman said we wouldn’t find anything
here, I was happy to have arrived. This was the first Land we boarded since leaving
our home. This meant maybe we’d be able to locate some useful information, hopefully
leading us to Madeline’s whereabouts. If there was another Land with her and
others on it, from our home, we needed to stay within close sailing distance to
where we originated from. Madeline was the only family I had left now. The
feeling of despair gripped my stomach tight and I needed to hurl the emotions
from my throat, but I couldn’t. I had to keep levelheaded and forced myself to
push on, afraid if I took a moment to sulk into my surroundings, I may not be
able to stop.
Oregon would be the place
, I thought. The place for us to
have a tiny bit of hope. Hope. Something which I was having a hard time finding
within all the lies I believed growing up. Who we all were. What we all were. The
truth behind why our Land really existed. James asked the group from the boat
if they knew of any such place existing, our Land, but they looked back at us
strangely and eagerly waited to be rid of us.

That
day when James and I reached the ground attached to the wooden pier, thin, tall
trees blocked every direction. I looked back. The pier was clearly the only
safe means into the ocean from this side. There was no beach or incline. Just a
clear drop off from the edge, unstable layers of dirt, on both sides of the
pier. I squeezed James’ hand and we took our first steps, heading straight into
the trees. Eventually we came to a path, an old street filled with potholes and
jagged cracks throughout. Roots had grown tall through the cracks and the edge
of the street was undefined. It must’ve been a street prior to the devastating
earthquakes. Yet, I was still surprised by how well the street appeared intact.

James
agreed staying on the path would be our best shot at coming across any other living
individuals. However, we weren’t sure what kind of people we might come across,
good or bad. Or if we would actually see anyone. The entire time we walked,
there was zero evidence anyone lived here, the entire edge of this state seemingly
deserted. That fact scared me, and I was hoping we hadn’t made a wrong decision
by docking on a land completely foreign to us. As well as separating from the
only boat we knew with means of leaving this place. I knew that group of people
didn’t want us on their boat any longer than we needed to be, but I’m sure we
could have bought our way on with the amount of weaponry we had. I debated with
the decision to keep moving forward or turn around while the boat was still an
option.

We
walked for miles on the one street. Other streets crossed our path. However, they
were entirely covered with foliage winding across, weeds taller than we were.
Nobody would be along those routes. Unconsciously, I let go of James’ hand and
my pace slowed. The only thought lingering in my mind was Madeline. And I
wasn’t giving up this easily. We weren’t turning around.

Eventually, after a month of living on and off the
main street, we passed a set of abandoned homes and used them for shelter. One
afternoon a large group of people crossed through the yard of our home. If you
could call it our home. Or our yard. Twenty-three men, women, and three small children
made up the group. These were the first group of individuals we came across.
And we chose to join them. They were hiking from one side of the state to the
other. We didn’t tell them much about ourselves, just that we had a boat which
died in the middle of the ocean, and that another boat brought us here. Two of
them questioned us about the boat and wanted to know what direction we left it.
We told them it didn’t matter because it was long gone. The larger guy with a short,
stubby beard glared at me and repeated the question to James. James assured him
there was no boat and whispered to me. He didn’t want to join the group and didn’t
have a good feeling about them. Truth be told, neither did I. But I insisted we
needed to join them, and maybe we’d come across other individuals along the
way. Plus, it was nice to have a group of company other than each other.
Reluctantly, James came along. I told him I’d leave him behind if he didn’t. He
knew that was a lie, but it got my point across.

We
hiked along an old street for weeks until it ended and then we marched through a
variety of tall grass. Old piles of trash and skeletons scattered about every
so often. Days after joining the group, we came across a bunch of vehicles.
Old. Rusty. Many burned to a crisp, still sitting behind one another. The road,
which was once beneath them, was no longer visible, covered up by the natural
terrain. I caught the stubbly man staring at me during a rest stop and days
after, I caught him looking at me occasionally. The glossy-eyed look wasn’t
welcoming, and I wondered what he was thinking. James and I decided if we
didn’t come across any other people within a few more days, then we’d leave the
group voluntarily and take our chances on our own. Those days turned into weeks.
We had removed ourselves to the outskirts of the group, stopped involving
ourselves in conversations. The only nice thing was sharing food—we each took
turns hunting. Everyone had their own ways of catching animals. Some of them used
guns, most used traps.

One
night after a large campfire, I awoke to James fighting two of the men. One of
them being the guy who wouldn’t stop staring at me—stubbly man. They were
trying to steal our bags and had a gun pointed at James. The stubbly guy walked
towards me with a knife in his hands. Fortunately for us, they didn’t know who
they were messing with.

James
hit the gun out of the guy’s hands before he could pull the trigger, and then threw
his body in the air. It came smashing down onto the ground in front of me. I
kicked the knife from stubbly guy and punched him in the groin. He dropped the
knife and winced, grabbing himself between the legs. We quickly grabbed our
bags and ran before the rest of the group arrived.

Seventeen
days later, we found another house. All the windows had been shattered and large
cracks spidered from the ceiling to the floors and across the room. The roof
was barely hanging on and the front porch had caved in. Days had passed since
James and I came across any animals. We were starving, and hoped the house might
have food inside. When we entered, human waste and trashed covered each corner
of the room. The smell was overwhelming, especially for James. We covered our noses
and kept searching the room—weak. Suddenly, the sound of a rifle cocked behind
us. We both were caught off guard, our minds solely focused on finding food, our
stomachs the only thing driving us forward—logic clearly not at the forefront
of our minds. We assumed nobody would be here, the place appeared abandoned.

A
rugged voice broke the silence.

“Turn
around slowly with your hands up. No sudden moves or I’ll blast your little
heads clean off,” the raspy voice ordered.

I
wanted to look over at James, yet didn’t want to be mistaken for making any sudden
moves. Two weeks ago, James would’ve had no problem taking the gun from this
person. Now, we were both malnourished—his strength and speediness was poor.

I
knew he was contemplating the options. Should he try to go for the gun or not?

I
slowly raised my hands in the air and noticed my bag no longer on my shoulder.
I dropped it when we started searching the place. I only needed a minute of
rest, not holding anything, nothing weighing me down. I never thought for a
second this would happen.

From
the corner of my eye, I saw James’ bag around his neck. At least we still had
our guns. If the person was smart, we’d be ordered to leave our supplies. I
wondered what would happen to us. James raised his hands and we both turned
around.

A
little old lady held a gun bigger than she, the weight of it leaning her
forward a bit, something I also didn’t expect. An old lady. The surety of her
voice didn’t match the exterior of the fragile lady with a long, silver braid
draped over the side of her shoulder. Her tiny eyes flickered back and forth under
the floppy hat that covered her ears. A belt holding rounds of shotgun bullets
wrapped around her waist and the gun was clearly aimed at James’ head.

“We’ll
leave. Just don’t shoot us,” his voice weak as he pointed towards the entrance,
of the house, we climbed through moments before.

The
old woman tilted the edge of the broad rimmed hat, allowing her to see us
better. “You’re just children,” she said. “But boys and girls a lot younger
than you have done a lot worse. You best be getting on your way.”

We
began walking sideways and her gun followed our every move. I bent down carefully,
grabbing the strap of my bag from the floor. When I did, she aimed the rifle
directly at me. I slowed my movements.

“Sorry,”
I said and followed James out the entrance, jumped through the non-existent
porch, and landed flat against the ground.

We
chose our path carefully, knowing the gun was still aimed at us from behind. We
walked twenty yards and neared the remnants of a white picket fence before
hearing…

“Blasted,”
the woman said. “I’m gonna get myself killed. Stop!” she yelled.

James
and I halted in mid-stride.

“Come
on back in now,” she coughed.

James
and I turned around. Not sure what to think.

“Well,
unlike the last group, she isn’t hard to read. And she could’ve easily shot us
back there and chose not to,” James whispered, hands still in the air. For some
reason, always banking on the fact that a person hasn’t killed us yet, is how
we decided who was good.

The
lady dropped her rifle to the side and walked back into the house. James and I
climbed through the large hole and followed her across the main room as she led
us to another room, a rotted piece of wood shielded a small hole cut in the
wall. The old lady moved the wood to the side and told us to put it back in
place once we were through. Then she bent down and crawled in. It was just big
enough for her and I had a hard time fitting through. But once inside, it
became larger, allowing more space to move around. James followed me, he got stuck
but forced himself through; I heard him scuffling with the wall and looked back
to see pieces falling to the ground as his back scraped against the top of the
hole. He turned around and slid the piece of wood back into place, shielding
the hole once more.

The
three of us crawled down a long tunnel until it ended, opening into a large, dark
room with skinny windows barely lighting the top. The windowpanes were smeared
with black paint, helping camouflage the room even more.

“This
used to be a basement,” the old lady said as she walked over and fiddled with a
lock hanging on a narrow door. When it opened, food, blankets, and other necessities
like soap neatly lined the shelves.

She
told us to sit down in the middle of the room on top of a blanket and then she
brought us two clay cups filled with a hazy liquid and two chipped plates. The
old lady plopped down pieces of tree bark and worms next to a nice, colorful array
of chopped vegetables.

“Eat
up.” She motioned towards the plates. She ate some as well. After we finished,
she insisted we stay the night and have breakfast in the morning.

The next morning, the food was a little more
appealing. I ate my first over-easy egg. Eggs weren’t something we were
accustomed to eating raw in the Colony, for fear of any diseases the birds
carried. A sour look spread across James’ face. He didn’t like them. However, I
thought they were a tad slimy, but good.

The
lady said her name was Janelle and told us to call her Jan. After breakfast, we
told Jan about my sister and why we were looking for her, mentioning briefly of
Colonel West. Her head perked up at the mention of his name. We went on to explain
his supposed experiment on the island. Upon talking about him, she told us a story
she overheard years before. Jan called them Lands as well, “…nothing broke perfectly
on state lines. Just one big jumbled mess of broken lands.” The one we were on
was just one small part of the entire state of Oregon.

When
the chain of earthquakes shattered the continents, her grandparents perished. Her
parents were kids at the time, not knowing one another. It took years to create
a life they considered normal, as close as it was prior to the devastation. Over
the years, people left, others died, and some took their own lives. Her best
friend, Urma, grew up next to her. When they were older, they decided to head
off on their own, see what was out there, and that’s when they found their way
to the current state of Oregon. “It wasn’t as bad as it is now,” she said. Eventually,
she and hundreds of other people started a small town together where a church
was established. One Sunday, the preacher of the church spoke about a place
that had been rumored to have food and shelter beyond what any of them could
imagine. He said where such things existed, the devil did too because
where
there was abundance like that, only evil could be responsible
. Only people
of hate would conduct such an alluring way of life without including the rest
of the damaged world. Everyone in the church wrote it off—a crazy notion of a
man who had experienced too much heartache from lost loved ones, and nobody but
Urma thought much about it.