There was so little.
Speaking to the ghosts, I held up the makeshift satchel and asserted, "Hope will return here. When it does, I'll bring these back." Looking to the shadows behind the shutters, I added, "I promise to bring these and more."
I pushed the lump deep into my pocket.
Wrapping my arms around my waist, I turned to leave, though I didn't make it very far. They moved with such speed, their sounds were an afterthought. Three of the sick had sprung from behind a cabin close by, delirious and disoriented. A female and two males. Material hung from their bodies, ragged and soiled. However, the men wore ball caps that, just like Tish's coat, were glaringly clean and out of place here.
The woman laughed as one of the men took her hand. They began to dance. The Waltz, I believe it was. Limbs contorted and swayed in a grotesquely picturesque manner, not entirely unlike something from one of my old books. Her cackle filled the street with unease.
"I've been wait'n a long time to dance," she purred. "No one ever asked 'til now."
I crept past them, trying not to shatter her reverie. As I cleared their erratic spins and bold gestures, having thought how luck was on my side for once, I tripped over the third man, hitting the ground hard. Tiny pebbles nipped my palms.
The man bent down, hovering over me. His eyes were bloodshot, and his breath could kill any animal on the planet with one kiss. He was my age before the sickness stole his youth. They were too far gone to have recently contracted the sickness. No, they had stumbled upon the clanship, exposing everyone here.
"Where you goin'? They're listening. They see us. Can't leave yet."
"I'm not leaving," I lied. "Do you want some food? I can get it for you. I'll be right back."
There was no time to hop to my feet before he snatched my wrist into his cold hand. His voice broke free through split, purple lips. "We can't leave," he rattled. The cracking of his neck as he moved stiffly to wipe the puss building on his lips over the rank material that used to be a pretty decent shirt caused a shiver down my spine.
I tried not to shake under his grasp.
"Why can't we leave?" I dared ask.
He smelled like he had bathed in a heap of excrement. The sharp odor burned my lungs as he prophesized, "The world is too small for what's coming. We can't leave."
"Because there's nowhere to go." My voice broke as I tried to simultaneously hold my breath and speak.
The couple kept dancing circles around us. A clipped rhythm formed between their shuffling gaits. Their lackluster spins seemed to be gaining speed, leaving me to wonder if they might collapse overtop of me. Locking eyes with the woman, her joy slowly turned to confusion.
"Where's my baby? I can't hear her crying no more."
The man kept his hand firmly in the middle of her back, spinning her, unaware that the sounds she was making were words.
After a moment, I wrenched my arm away from the oozing man by my side and found my footing. The dancing man suddenly stopped. He looked directly at me for the first time.
"Do you see that chicken, Martha?"
Having regained her humor, the woman laughed blithely, asking, "Who's Martha?"
"Don't let it get away!" he screamed. "I'm starving!"
The two men lunged at me. The woman stood in the middle of the road, humming a song that awoke something in my soul. I had heard it before, but couldn't give it much notice at the moment as I was the chicken.
"Chick, chick, chick," the man with cracked lips called in a disturbingly mundane voice. "Come here, chicken." The puss had begun to drip from his bottom lip. Soon, the same thing would happen to his eyes, until they blistered and popped, rendering him blind. If he was still alive at that point. The sickness was spreading over them fast.
"Damn it, chicken!" the other man yelled. He scratched at his eye as if it were a fly, buzzing for hours on end. The disruption was enough to escape his grasp.
I ran, but the talker kept up. And kept talking.
"Chicken, don't run away! I won't eat'cha." He was so close his words were practically in my own head. "Come on, now!"
As I rounded the edge of the road, so close to the wood line, my shoes slid in the gravel, dragging us both down. Lunging on top of me, the sick man shook his head. It shook so violently, his eyes lost focus.
"I'm not a chicken," I spouted, grappling with him.
He laughed. "Of course a chicken would say that."
"Chickens don't talk. I promise."
"And I promised not to eat'cha, but I lied!" His teeth clamped around my wrist with the force of a dying man being dragged to Hell.
I wanted to scream in pain, but I was more afraid it would draw the attention of the other sick, who had already wandered off.
"I said. I'm not. A chicken!" Head-butting him, then kicking him square in the chest with both feet was almost as repulsive as the feel of bones popping in his chest, reverberating through my feet.
Running to the safety of the woods and beyond, I felt dizzy. I kept listening for any signs of being followed as I bullied my way through the brush and brambles.
No one.
When I was certain, I slowed my pace, inspecting the damage. Two bloody teeth impaled my flesh, the roots discolored and rank. Quickly, I pinched each one between my fingernails and flicked them to the ground. I held my bitten arm in the air, squeezing the wound with my other hand. I wasn't worried about blood loss. There wasn't much. It was the pain. I had felt this intense throbbing and stinging before. One thousand wasp stings under my skin would have been more inviting.
Having walked the better half of a mile, I slowed my pace. Ren would be close. I knelt by the water's edge, dipping the bite. Once I washed the dripping lip ooze from the lacerations, I covered it with my sleeve.
"What happened?" Ren's voice echoed as he broke cover from the woods behind me.
"Stop! Stay away!"
He slowed, not fully stopping.
"Stay back. I was exposed to the sickness."
That stopped him.
"There's a change of clothes in my bag. Also, alcohol, bandages, and soap. Pull them out. Set them on that rock."
Ren reached into the bag, pulling out an olive shirt and jeans. Then came the smaller items. He held each item up before setting them down.
"Now, go back to the woods. You have to stay away until I'm sure it's safe."
Hesitant, he actually listened. Was he scared of me now? I would be.
I didn't wait for him to reach the woods before I ripped off my clothes and tossed them into a pile. Picking up the crude square of soap made of lye and bear fat, I waded into the river. The frigid water sucked my breath away as blood rushed to my core, protecting all of my important organs. As quickly as I could, I washed my hair three times, then my body, making sure to scrub under each fingernail. Running my hands over my face, I felt the lump where my head had cracked the man's head. It hurt, but I didn't regret doing it.
Sure that I had washed away every germ, I struggled through the current to shore. It would have been a dream to have something to dry off with. As it were, I simply twisted my dark hair like a rope, watching the water splash to the ground. When sluggish droplets fell, I pulled on my clothes and poured alcohol over the bite. A new burning flared to life. I wrapped it, tucking it away under the sleeve of my shirt. The pain would subside soon enough.
I poured half of the remaining alcohol on my pile of exposed clothing and shoes from the clanship. Finding Ren leaning against a tree, keeping watch over the woodline, I asked for the matches in my pack.
"Stay here," I said, before padding barefoot back down to the water's edge. The match lit with one strike. It felt so warm before my fingers released it. I only remembered the seeds as I watched the match tumble onto the clothes, causing a huge flame.
"Damn it!"
Flipping the clothes, I grabbed the tiny parcel out of the pants pocket and dropped it a few feet away. On hands and knees, I sifted through the pouch of material, gathering each seed into
a separate pile. The rest of the material got tossed back into the flames.
I made sure to wash my hands again, placing the soap by the row of seeds.
The fire was dying as Ren called down, "Is it safe?"
"Yes."
He descended the incline, bringing with him my bag and jacket.
"Thank you."
Dropping it to the ground, I searched for a small jar. The contents were promptly dumped out and refilled with seeds. I gingerly placed everything back into my bag. Damn, my hands itched for a knife to pocket.
"You burned your shoes?"
Turning to the lump of burnt ashes and material, I grimaced. "I knew better. I shouldn't have worn them in."
I grabbed my jacket out of his hands and put it on, raising the hood over my wet hair. The warmth was immediate. I closed my eyes, basking in the tiny delight.
"Your lips are purple."
I remarked calmly, "It's a chilly day."
"For an October swim."
"The walk will warm me up. We're not even halfway through the day. Everything will dry." I smiled. "That's good luck."
His expression said otherwise.
"What happened to your wrist?" He pointed to the bandage poking out from the sleeve of my jacket.
"Scraped it," I lied.
We walked a ways before crossing the river in the shallows, then walked east for a long time before I tried to speak. Honestly, I was waiting for my teeth to stop chattering. Also, the pain was attacking my nerves in waves, though it was waning. Silence was Gaia's blessing until the bulk of the pain worked its way out of my system.
"We need the seeds from one of your seed banks," I finally revealed.
"Is that what I've been bleeding for?"
I nodded.
"Is that why you risked burning yourself back there for a handful of seeds?"
Again, I nodded.
Ren was at a loss for words.
I placed my hand in front of him, stopping his progress. "Get me inside the bank and I'll leave you there. Or, if you'd like, I'll take you back to the outpost. You can get the medical attention you need. You can go back to your life."
"You plan to carry an entire seed bank away," he scoffed, "by yourself?"
"We don't need that much."
"Why not take it all?"
I stopped walking. "Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should."
Shaking my words away like a bad dream, he continued, "And what makes you think I can get you inside?"
"When the world chose to die, when it chose to thrust this life upon us, the people knew it wasn't as easy as turning everything off. It was a way of life that everyone had to embrace. They knew it then, and we know it now. Not everything was turned off, was it?"
His silence was answer enough.
I grabbed his hand, turning his palm upward, and ran my thumb across his fingers. "You will use your fingerprints to open the door."
"What happens if I don't?"
"We voted to cut off your hand."
Chapter Five
Ren yanked his hand free. "Cut off my hand? The end of the world has driven your people to the end of their ropes."
His irritation spiked as we walked faster and faster through the forest. Sticks and thorns poked into the soft pads of my bare feet as Ren flexed his fingers, making sure each one was accounted for.
"Hunger and sickness have driven them to break the rules when they must."
"So it's okay to break the rules when it suits your cause?" He stomped up the incline.
"Sometimes, when people think there's no other way."
He released a frustrated grunt. "There is always another way. Anything is possible."
"I know," I agreed. "Notice, you still have both hands."
Ren watched me in his peripheral. "You really creep me out sometimes."
"Is that why you stick around?" I dropped my head to hide a thin smile under the mask of my hood.
Shrugging, he quipped, "That, and the knife fights."
"Obviously."
It felt good to forego the antagonism, at least for the time being. Anger wouldn't resolve anything. Ren was easily provoked. Though, just as quick to relax.
"If you were to lose your hand," he hypothesized, "what would your day be then, one to ten?"
Thinking for a moment, I asked, "Just one hand?"
"Mm-hm."
"Do I still have both of my feet?"
"Sure."
"A solid five."
He practically hopped out of his skin. "A five? For one whole hand? One point for each finger?" Ren raised my hand to his, pressing our corresponding fingers together. His fingertips were longer, resting on the tops of mine. "Really, five?"
His smile hugged the edges of his eyes as he teased me, looking boyish. The boy, I trusted. The man, not so much.
Rather than laugh, I returned his smile. While I wanted to keep touching his hand, instead, mine slunk away, back into my pocket. I was hoping not to call attention to it, but Ren noticed. He didn't say anything, but a look passed his face. One that reminded him that I'm not a typical girl in his world.
Clearing his throat, he began walking next to me again. "Can I ask a serious question?"
Was I allowed to say no? Everything in my life was serious, borderline deadly. Nothing was usually okay or, like now, kind of nice. It was either bad or it just was. That's why I looked to nature for the good things, the pretty reminders of 'better.'
"What?" I tried not to make it sound as foreboding as it felt.
"What happened in the clanship back there? Are they dead?"
Thinking for a while, I settled on the truth. "Some. The rest are hiding. Many of them will die, too."
"And the girls in the woods?"
"They weren't sick when we saw them. That's a good sign."
He pointed to my wrist. "How did you scrape your arm again?"
"I…forget. I left pretty fast once I saw the sick. Ness. Once I saw the sickness was there." I stumbled over my words, hiding the fact that the sick had touched me. Bitten me. Infected me.
He looked at me sideways, not believing a word.
"Back at the river, you said you scraped it."
"Yes," I replied.
"It's just an odd place to skin your arm. Your palm, elbow, even a forearm, maybe, but your wrist?"
"I scraped it on a tree, I think." Lying had never come to me naturally. Then again, I wasn't in the habit of lying very often. There was no need. No one to mislead.
"You must have a great poker face," he said sarcastically.
Not understanding his reference, I tried to distract him. "So you are going to help me get into the seed bank?"
Rubbing the side of the bandage resting against his collarbone, he quipped, "I get to keep both of my hands and go on a date? Of course."
"Not a date," I corrected too quickly. Under my breath, I reiterated, "Definitely not a date."
"I forgot, you like your desolation with a side of solitude."
The conversation died after that. We walked for miles as I wondered how we would disappoint one another, running the scenarios through my mind. Ren never asked how my raw feet were doing, and I never let on that they felt like wild animals had chewed them up and spit them out for the buzzards.
We stopped twice for jerky and water. I never sat down. If I had, my feet might not allow me to get back up. Pain was pain, but pain after a respite was torture.
Packing the jerky away at our last stop, I noticed Ren rubbing the back of his shoulder.
"How is it?"
"Tight, like I need to stretch but can't."
Walking over, I unceremoniously stuck my hand inside his shirt, feeling across the bandage and up his bare neck.
"Your skin is hot."
"Because we've been walking all day."
He was trying to shrug off the fact that he was feverish.
"We'll stop soon."
"No need." He stood up, causing me to look up into his eyes. "I can wa
lk all night."
"So can I," I bragged.
"On those dog bones?"
He had noticed the lag in my step.
Disagreeing, I pointed out, "Your wound is getting infected."
He crossed his arms, but didn't back down, leaving us much closer than I'd liked.
"Don't use me as an excuse to stop." His voice was even-keeled. A natural bluffer. "If you're tired, admit it." His smirk spoke volumes. Ren wasn't the type to run from pain. He would die twice before conceding, which we had already established. "Are you tired?" he asked.
Pursing my lips tightly, I shook my head.
"Neither am I."
But his words didn't change the fact that he was running a fever. He needed to rest whether he wanted to admit it or not. I walked to the edge of the trees, overlooking a large field. The old outpost wasn't far.
Looking back, I forced the words from my mouth. "If we stop at sundown, I'll… I'll answer one question. Any question."
Ren whirled in place. "Done."
"Yes?" I confirmed tentatively.
"Hell yes."
He handed me the bag and we started across the wide field. It was beautiful. The grass was high, some of it still green, some golden. I stretched my fingers across the tops of the blades, closing my eyes, allowing them to tickle my palms. The wind beating each blade against the next sounded like rain falling gently around us. I could have laid down right there for the rest of my life. I would have found a forever happiness wrapped in Nature's blanket.
Ren's voice should have startled me from my trance. It should have sounded garish in this Eden. Rather, it sounded inviting.
"My father used to take me hunting. That's what we told everyone." He walked slowly, observing the serenity of the field. "The truth? He never shot his gun. Not once. We would walk for miles, soaking in the quiet, sitting for hours as the sun rose and set above us. He took pride in being the worst hunter in the village."
I began collecting a handful of thin vines as the woods embraced us again.
"Sounds like your father should have been living out here, not behind stifling walls."
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