Wanderers (5 page)

Yet there was work to do before they could take off. Sturdy vehicles had to be built that would still be light enough to be pulled by bicycle. Caleb volunteered for the job. He had a knack for making things, having once created a weapon that could fire multiple rocks in rapid succession. Now he wanted to use his talent for something positive: to get everyone away from Prin.

After he told the others what he needed, the townspeople spread throughout town and collected cloth, wire, and wood; nuts and screws and buckles; and tools like hammers and saws. Caleb also ordered that all intact bicycles be rounded up and others stripped for parts.

He put the townspeople to work constructing wagons, tall and wide enough to support four children, if necessary. They then attached a wheel on either side, threaded on a metal axle that could pivot and change direction. The carts were hooked to the backs of the bicycles with chains and aluminum shafts that provided both strength and flexibility.

Meanwhile, Caleb and Esther worked on a larger vehicle, one big enough to carry enough clean water for everyone. First, they hammered scrap lumber and two-by-fours into a sturdy base. Then, as Esther built the four sides as directed, Caleb created a crude chassis. Finally, he hooked two bicycles up front, which would provide enough power to pull the heavy load.

Within three days, Caleb and the people of Prin had created a bicycle caravan, all made from whatever they had managed to salvage. Although she was exhausted, Esther could not help looking at the vehicles with a mixture of awe and pride.

“They're beautiful,” was all she could say.

“You helped,” Caleb said; and Esther had to admit she had, though not as much as he pretended.

A sound now drew her attention. Asha had begged to take care of Kai while the construction went on, and Esther had been happy to oblige. But despite her good intentions, the girl with the child's mind was having trouble with the rambunctious boy, who was attempting to escape from her arms.

“I can take him,” Esther said. With reluctance, Asha handed Kai back.

Kai laughed and clapped when Esther placed him in a child's seat Caleb had attached to the back of his bike, one with a tiny canopy of its own.

“He looks ready to go,” Caleb said.

“Are you?” she said, taking his arm. Her tone was light, but her eyes were serious.

Caleb hesitated. All week, he had taken pains to remain positive, never once expressing anything but optimism and assurance. Now, talking in private to the one person he trusted, he looked uncertain for the first time.

“As ready as I'll ever be,” he said. “You?”

“As long as you're there.”

“Me, too.”

They were about to kiss but were interrupted by a voice across the street.

“We about ready to go?” Rafe called. Esther could feel Caleb wince at the word “we”; Rafe had barely lifted a finger over the past few days. Still, her partner managed to keep his tone steady.

“Just about!” he called back. Then he turned to Esther. “I got to help the others load their wagons. Where will you be?”

She thought for a moment. She still had to salvage what usable supplies and household goods she could find in what had been their home. “We need more water. But first, I'll make a last check of our place.”

It wasn't easy.

The building was unrecognizable. Esther had to rely on all of her senses as she picked her way across the precarious wreckage, trying to extract anything of value without bringing the rest of the structure crashing down. It was like a deadly version of the game she remembered from her childhood, the one in which you had to pick a thin plastic stick out of a pile without disturbing the others. You had to move very slowly, and above all you had to concentrate.

Even so, Esther paused every few minutes to glance up at the sky.

She had built a strong fire on the highest surface she could find, a towering pile of rubble down the street that had once been a looted clothing store. Once the flames were hot enough, she had fed them with damp newspaper and a wet log, which caused black smoke to rise high into the sky.

This was how she and Skar communicated—or at least, how they used to communicate when they still saw each other nearly every day. Esther needed to see her friend one last time, to tell her of their plans, and to say good-bye. As she balanced on the remains of their home, she repeatedly checked the sky, gazing with growing frustration toward the horizon where the variant camp lay.

So far, there was nothing, and Esther was forced to return to the task at hand.

As agile and light as she was, she very nearly killed herself when she tried to work free a fire bowl, and when she attempted to pull a stack of dusty rain ponchos from beneath a ceiling beam. The mountain she was standing on began to shift; she only managed to leap off, clutching the valuable raingear, before it collapsed with a roar and settled anew.

Her job was nearly done. Although it wasn't much, she had managed to extract a few essentials, white with plaster dust. Clothing. Cooking supplies. Food like flour and honey. A few knives. A precious firestarter, bright purple, small as a thumb, and halfway filled with fuel. For the first time, she took a moment to study the wreckage of the building that used to be called
STARBUCKS COFFEE
.

It was a disorienting sensation.

Much of it had been reduced by the earthquake to an alien landscape of broken beams, brick, glass, and mounds of plaster. Yet although the roof had collapsed, there were entire sections of their old apartment that had been left nearly intact and were now exposed, incongruously, to the open air.

It gave Esther an odd feeling to see pieces of her life on display like that, under the yellow winter sky. A part of the living room wall was still decorated with a colorful poster for something called SKYY vodka. The kitchen table was half crushed by a wooden beam; yet it was set with a flowered tablecloth, and a bowl and spoon, as if the user had just stepped away. The bookshelf, her late sister's prize possession, tipped backward against a pile of bricks. While covered with broken glass and a heavy dusting of dirt and plaster, most of its contents were in place.

It took Esther a moment to identify what she was feeling, and when she did, it surprised her.

She was homesick.

Prin was the only world she had ever known, and many of her memories were not happy ones. She had fought with Sarah for years, only reconciling when her sister was ill. She had been Shunned by the town and sent away to die. Yet the thought that she would never see Prin again—as ruined and messed up as it was—made Esther tremble. She saw herself running down its streets, hiding in its fields, playing in its hot sun. There probably wasn't an inch of town she hadn't walked in, smelled, touched.

Now she found herself gazing at the books.

Caleb had told the townspeople that there was no room for frivolities or anything but the barest of necessities; and certainly, a book seemed the very definition of useless. Furthermore, neither she nor Caleb read much and, in truth, could barely spell.

Even so, Esther found herself clambering over the wreckage one last time, this time to grab a book at random from a shelf. The title of the one she chose,
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,
meant nothing to her. Yet knowing it had once belonged to Sarah comforted her somehow and she slipped the slim volume into the back pocket of her jeans.

She turned to scramble her way onto the street. As she did, her heart leaped to see someone standing there, waiting.

It was Skar.

She sat motionless astride her black bicycle, still wearing the strange daubs of red clay on her neck and arms. Like all variants, she wore no sunglasses or head covering to protect her from the sun, so Esther could see her expression. Aloof, she was frowning with confusion.

“I came as soon as I was able,” she said. Then she abruptly gestured at the wreckage. “Is this all because of the earthquake? Are you and your people all right?”

Esther balanced on a pile of rubble and jumped off, landing by her friend.

“It messed up the town real bad,” she said. “So many were killed, maybe half. We're okay, though. How bad were you hit?”

Skar shrugged, as if the subject was of little interest. “Three of our people were lost. And several of our houses and much of our supplies. But it could have been much worse.”

Skar paused. Then her reserve faltered as she noticed the wagons parked along the main street.

Other townspeople were moving in and out of their destroyed homes, carrying supplies which they handed to others, who then loaded them in waiting wagons. As Skar took it all in, her expression changed to one of worry, and that made her appear oddly childlike.

“What's going on?” she asked. For the moment, she sounded like her old self again.

“We're leaving Prin today,” Esther said. Then she swallowed, hard. Saying the words made them real in a way they hadn't been before. “There's nothing left for us here.”

“But your signal. I thought you were only—”

“I know. I . . . I just wanted to say good-bye.”

There was silence. And then Skar, distant and cold for so many weeks, recoiled. For an instant, her face crumpled as tears, the first Esther could ever remember seeing her shed, filled her eyes.

Then with a brusque movement, she recovered, rubbing her face dry with a forearm.

“Thank you for letting me know,” she said. She spoke stiffly, although her voice caught.

Esther seized her by the elbow. “Come with us.” She had no idea where the words came from; yet as soon as she spoke them, Esther realized they were a mistake.

Skar jerked her arm back, as if offended.

“I'm sorry,” Esther stammered. “It's just . . . I'm really going to miss you. I can't believe I'm never going to see you again.”

Skar's expression softened. Then she extended her hand, placing it lightly over Esther's.

“Me, too,” she said.

Then she pushed aside the nylon pouch across her chest. Skar fiddled with something at the base of her neck. Then undoing it, she presented to her friend.

It was the braided-leather choker she always wore.

“I've had this since I was little,” she said. “And perhaps it will help you remember me.”

Esther took the necklace, still warm from Skar's touch, and closed her fingers around it. Then she slipped it into her pocket for safekeeping.

“Thank you,” she said.

If Esther could have had her way, she and Skar would have spent their final afternoon roaming through the fields and talking, the way they had for so many years. But now, there was no longer any time; there was too much work to do. Skar helped Esther secure belongings in the back of their wagon. They lashed everything down with elastic cords, stretchy pieces of rope that were covered with braided nylon and ended in sturdy hooks tipped with white rubber. They packed with care, piling the items close together and then compressing them even further.

When they were finished, there was a final task: collecting more of the town's most precious resource, water. An hour later, the two girls were at the spring located beneath Joseph's former home, a hotel on the far side of town.

Esther, with her sneakers off and jeans rolled up to her knees, stood in the achingly cold water, filling one plastic gallon jug after another and handing them to Skar, who replaced their caps. Working together, the two had already loaded one wagon, child-size and made of red metal, and were nearly finished with the second. Both were attached to the girls' bicycles, which stood side by side.

The afternoon sun was strong, and Esther took a moment to dip her hands into the icy spring and lift them to her lips to drink. Then, taking off her sunglasses, she undid her red hood and leaned forward, plunging her head under. The effect was exhilarating and when she emerged, water running down her face and neck, she let out a whoop of sheer pleasure. Then she shook her head like a dog, so the drops flew.

Skar laughed, too, and jokingly held up her hands to guard against the unexpected shower. Esther bent low and slapped her hand across the spring's surface, sending up an arc that splashed the variant girl.

“Hey!” shouted Skar.

Then she too waded into the water and began churning up a counterattack. Laughing and shouting at the cold, the two girls thrashed at the water, dousing each other and getting soaked in turn. It was an epic fight, one in which all of the day's weariness and tension, unspoken and unyielding, seemed to be swept away by the bracing water and their shared screams of laughter.

Finally, the two waded to dry land. Still panting, they sat together, attempting to wring water from their sodden clothes. It was no good. Esther yanked handfuls of dead, sun-bleached grass from the ground beside her and tried without much success to wipe herself dry. Laughing, she turned to her friend to offer her some, as well. But what she saw made the words die on her lips.

There were dozens of bruises and welts.

Multicolored and vivid, they stood out on Skar's flesh, where the concealing clay had been washed away. One radiated from her upper chest like a spider's web of broken capillaries and blood vessels. A large handprint, tinged purple and yellow, circled her soft throat, and others dappled her arms like bracelets, the mark of individual fingers dark and distinct. A bruise across her shoulder seemed recent: It was an angry red, and its swollen welt glistened with fresh blood.

Esther let out a cry.

Skar, unaware of what her friend had seen, turned to her with a quizzical expression. When she saw the open shock on Esther's face, she gave a start, as her hands flew to cover her throat and arms.

“Skar,” said Esther. She found she could barely speak. “What has he—”

“No,” interrupted Skar. She sounded panicked. “This isn't what you think. I'm too clumsy and fell when I was hunting.” But her face flushed at the obvious lie as she tried in vain to scrape up more mud with which to cover herself.