Upon Us

by Blakely Chorpenning

  "What do they want with me?"

  "I don't know." He looked distressed. "I swear. But it's better than dying out here, whatever it is."

  He crept forward as I slunk back.

  "How did they find us yesterday?"

  Lifting the bottom of his shirt, he twisted a belt loop to face me. There was something tiny and silver snapped around it. "A remote GPS. All I had to do was press it."

  "And you did." My words dripped with venom.

  He hung his head low, staring at the last blades of grass smashed underfoot before they transitioned to the gray stone. "I couldn't wait any longer."

  Stepping backward, I said, "Let me go."

  "No," he replied too quickly.

  "You can't fear the world that much. Let me go."

  "I can't." His feelings had clouded his judgment. He had been willing to lose me until he thought it might mean forever.

  Holding up my swollen wrist, I assured him, "I won't die from this. You asked me to trust you. Trust. Me."

  The men caught up, falling silent at his back. Ren waved them off without breaking eye contact with me.

  "You've had every opportunity to skew my trust," I reminded him.

  "Yes."

  The sunlight caught his face on its web and I could see the mark where I had hit him with the rock. It was raw and red, like my humility.

  "The time we shared was enough for me. Let that be enough for you."

  He shook his head emphatically. "It will never be enough," he resolved.

  Without another word, I snatched my hat in my hand and leapt into the water below. It was so frigid I yelped. The extreme cold gave the illusion of being boiled like a piece of meat in a stew. I bobbed to the surface, gasping. Not for air, but from the pain. Every nerve rattled and screeched. My brain had never worked so hard to shut the system down, to dismantle each warning. The river heaved my ragged body along with the current and a numb quiet soon washed over my skin, sinking deeper, settling into my organs.

  Silently, I thanked my body for listening, for embracing the shock.

  It was short-lived when I heard a gruff voice behind me, struggling to catch up.

  "Ren?"

  I tried to look back as I shoved my hat deep into a pocket inside my jacket. Water splashed my face, causing my eyes to shut. Before I could open them again, I felt Ren's powerful arms around me. We whirled against rocks, bobbing underwater. Every gasp reminded my body to swim. To fight Ren as well as the current. And I did for some time.

  We were locked in a losing battle. There would be no winner, no matter the outcome. All I could do was thrash and hope to survive.

  Suddenly, Ren's lips flushed in color and his cheeks turned brighter than wild apples.

  Between gasps for air, I screamed, "What's happening?" Shaking him, I demanded an answer.

  He had stopped struggling. His arms grew slack around me. Was he drowning?

  A new panic galloped through my heart, causing bolts of anxiety to shoot through my chest.

  "Come on," I said, trying to drag him to the water's edge. The weight of his body rolling over mine repeatedly pushed my head underwater. Taking deep breaths when I was able, I looped an arm around his. Once our feet could touch the sandy foundation of the river bottom, I was able to build enough traction to pull him to shore. He rolled onto his hands and knees, eyes closed, wheezing.

  My wracked knee felt even worse onshore. I could barely apply a pound of pressure without it giving way beneath my weight. Struggling to stand on my uninjured leg, I hovered above Ren. Violent tremors overwhelmed both our bodies, but something more than the early stages of hypothermia was wrong with him.

  I pushed him onto his back. His usually tan features were milky, ashen around his mouth, accented by sickly blue lips and sunken eyes. He couldn't stop coughing.

  "What's wrong?"

  Pushing the last of his voice out in an ailing rattle, he was able to whisper, "Asthma," before rolling to his side, coughing.

  Great Mother Gaia! No one with asthma survives in this world. Not outside the walls.

  Things were making sense now. Ren and his father longed to live in my world, but he would never survive. Not without medicine. A fresh sense of fury formed once I realized how many times I had placed him in harm's way in the last couple of days…

  And for what I must do next.

  He had allowed himself to be abducted. He deviated from whatever his original plan was because of a death wish. Because he sought pain if it meant a taste of life. If it meant freedom, even from life itself.

  Hobbling around his tense form, I cursed him for being someone who could be so selfish, and for being someone I couldn't let go.

  "Damn you!" I screamed. "Damn you!" My voice echoed. "Damn you, damn you, damn you!" I had never heard it so loud in all my life. Wiping away a tear streaking my cheek, I dropped agonizingly to my knees.

  The tiny silver button on his waistband was between my fingers. If I left now, Ren would die, his body reclaimed by the natural order of the world, as many had been before him. He would disappear forever. I peered down, his slack expression offering a glimpse into what he must have looked like as a boy, before he understood the cataclysm of two worlds living in a space meant for one. My shivering hand ran through his hair, brushing it away from his forehead.

  If I pressed the GPS, there would be no time to escape. Not on this leg. To be honest, I had an idea why they wanted me, and in my opinion, martyrs had nothing to gain.

  Could I surrender myself for Ren? The answer was given as I pressed the button before finishing the silent question in my mind.

  It was done.

  I pulled Ren into a sitting position, his back propped against my chest. The coughing had subsided to labored breaths. His head rested alongside my jaw. Pressing my hand to the middle of his chest, I could feel his heartbeat, shallow yet persistent. Fighting my collective panic, I pleaded, "Stay alive. They're coming." I'm not sure how long I stayed that way, though the daze was broken as soon as footsteps and yelling surged from the woods.

  "There they are!" someone directed.

  "I see them!" another chimed in.

  I tried to look at their faces, to suss out their intent. It proved hard as I only saw their guns. Nothing else was relevant.

  "Bring the 'copter around," one barked into the minuscule knob attached to a wire draped around his neck. "We've got a man down."

  Another man, much younger than the guy staring up at the sky, checked Ren's pulse. "Did you activate his GPS?" he asked, stealing a sideways glance in my direction before turning one hundred percent of his attention on Ren.

  I nodded.

  "Thanks." His relief stirred my curiosity. A friend, maybe? "You saved his life."

  "You can't save what someone doesn't want," I mumbled, though he understood just fine.

  The silence that befell us unmasked Ren's secret.

  The loudmouth approached us. "'Copter can't hold more than four. Medic's already onboard. Pilot makes two. You got any ailments?" He asked briskly.

  "My knee."

  His eyes fell to Ren. He grunted, "Best leave him here. He's done."

  "But it holds four," I reminded him.

  Nodding, he said, "Three," pointing to me, and, "Four," pointing to himself.

  "No," I corrected. Pointing at Ren, I said, "Three," sharply, before pointing to him and saying, "Four."

  Making sure I heard every ounce of skepticism in his voice, he pointed to my swollen knee. "You can walk on that ball of twisted meat?"

  "Absolutely," I lied.

  A helicopter appeared overhead, as if it had materialized right out of one of my old books. While it was rounder than I'd expected, the sound from the propellers forced my hands to my ears. The noise was overpowering. The whirlwind sucked the air, tugging at my clothing.

  That may have been the fastest my hair ever dried.

  Through a few hand gestures, the loudmouth ordered two men to hoist Ren off the ground. For a second, I s
aw his eyes flutter. When they strapped him onto a long, rectangular board repelled from the helicopter, his muscles tensed. A third man ran over to hold him still. Was he struggling? I shook my head, relieved once they had him completely secured. Loudmouth ascended with him, and the helicopter disappeared over the tree line like a ghost dancing into the sun. The sound followed, creating a hollowed crust around our awkward frames.

  "That boy would hop out of his coffin and fight someone for doing him a favor," Ren's friend quipped. Laughing under his breath, he turned to me. "He's gonna be fine." Soberly, he asked, "What about you? That was your ride. We both know you can't walk on that."

  "What's in that duffel bag?"

  He dropped it by my side. I unzipped the long bag to reveal medical supplies. Lots of bandages. Good.

  Putting him to work, I charged, "Find some sticks to make a brace and two long walking sticks."

  "For crutches?"

  "Exactly."

  It was refreshing to assign a task and have someone follow it without questioning or sassing me in return. Almost too easy. A ping in my heart drew my thoughts to Ren. If he were there, he would most definitely overcomplicate the matter. He would try to save me, all while I proved to him just how much control I had of the situation. But…it would be nice to have someone trying.

  I used a generous amount of gauze, swaddling my knee and the surrounding area tightly to the broken sticks. Once I was sure it wouldn't slip or unravel, Ren's friend offered a helping hand.

  Pausing, I took stock of him. His hair was all shades of brown, and wild, like it hadn't laid flat a day in his life. His nose was pointy, and his jaw sturdy. He seemed like a talker.

  His eyebrow raised.

  "I just want to help you up."

  Not breaking eye contact, I grabbed his hand in mine, using the other to burrow the end of one of the crutches hard into the earth as leverage. I catapulted to my feet, quickly bracing my weight with the walking stick. Toddling for a moment, I soon relaxed, leaning to my new crutch for balance.

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  Someone close to the woods said, "Pick it up, men. We've got a hike to the vehicle."

  Men bustled around us, picking up backpacks and weapons. We were moving.

  One of the men stopped long enough to size me up, hissing, "All this way just to fail. How does that shit feel?" before carrying on.

  Fail? I took what I needed. Was the opposite of gluttony failure?

  "Ignore him," Ren's friend rolled his eyes. "My name's Graham."

  "Okay."

  "Nice to meet you, too," he murmured.

  It felt odd not having a pack of my own. I had passed it along to the girls, and rightfully so. Still, the weight of a good day's worth of rations on your back did wonders for one's psyche.

  Without waiting for a directive, I began hobbling behind two of the four men. The fair-skinned redhead sauntered up to my left. The one who had made the nasty comment. He couldn't have hidden his discontent had it been a bee in a flower.

  "Are we gonna have to carry you or is it possible to pick up the pace?"

  "Touch me and I kill you before you hit the ground," I informed him calmly.

  The man's eyes darted to the others before he tightened his grip on the shiny rifle and dropped back, sacrificing his place beside me for a safer distance. Graham jumped between me and the redhead. Hesitant to take the man's previous position beside me, he walked behind, offering extra space.

  After quite some time of gawkily skulking in my shadow, I turned my head sideways, eyeing him in my peripheral vision. "You know Ren?"

  Accepting my question as an invitation, he hopped up beside me. He was taller than Ren. Lankier. His hair feathered his head like a king's mighty crown.

  "My whole life," he replied. "He was my brother's best friend."

  "Your brother," I echoed. "Your brother died from the sickness."

  Slightly shocked by my candor, he blurted, "He told you about David?"

  "A little bit. He murdered the people who murdered him." As his face flushed five shades of red, I shook my head. "I'm not blaming your brother. The sickness is ugly. So is human nature, at times."

  My knee stiffened, swelling larger with every step. The crutches were helpful, though taxing on my stamina.

  "You don't like people very much, do you?"

  "They keep asking me that." I tried to shrug as I swung my leg over a fallen log. "Humans can be unpredictable."

  He pondered my statement. "Humans can be beautiful," he said after a few minutes.

  Though I truly agreed with him, my bias got the better of me as I retorted, "It's easy to say that when you hide from them behind a wall."

  My comment unintentionally obliterated his smile. Graham cleared his throat. "Our walls hide their own horrors." Without another word he, too, receded, leaving me to my own vices.

  I longed for yesterday, when I only had one man openly judging me rather than a tribe.

  We trudged for hours. The tops of the crutches had begun digging into my armpits long before Graham wrapped them in thin strips of canvas. The pain in my leg had become a constant companion. It was a reminder not to extinguish my anger. When I spoke to Ren soon enough, it would be his turn to answer any question I asked.

  If he wasn't dead.

  After a trek even Gaia would protest, we came to a dirt road. I had never been so relieved in my life to see a dilapidated truck. Two men jumped into the cab and one popped the tailgate open. Motioning for me to climb into the back, I froze. Everything in my being told me to run. Getting into the truck meant true surrender.

  Graham walked up behind me, whispering, "You can't outrun them." After another moment of silently strategizing how to kill them with their own weapons, he shook his head. "If Ren took your place in the helicopter and you don't show up, they'll kill him."

  I turned to him then, incensed.

  "His own people?" I was disgusted.

  He shook his head again. "These ones aren't ours." Making sure the men were too busy packing to eavesdrop, he continued, "They showed up a few days ago."

  Damn, I had made it a long way so I could kill Ren myself. It would be a shame to let someone else do the job. Even as the thought sat crooked on my conscience, I knew I would never hurt Ren on purpose. He had done that enough to himself.

  "Can I help you into the truck?" Graham asked.

  Leaning back on the tailgate, he swung his legs up and then stood on the edge, reaching down for me. I tossed the crutches into the back and took his hands. They were warm and moist. The day had been temperate, causing us to break a sweat during our hike. However, that would soon change after the sun retired for the day.

  Graham helped me to the front of the truck bed. I slunk down, leaning against the glass of the cab, able to stretch my leg out, though not straight. He sat beside me. The redhead hopped into the back, closing the tailgate before sitting down next to it. He refused to move closer. Finally, something we agreed on.

  The rumble of the truck felt good to my worn bones. If everyone up and disappeared from the face of the planet, I wouldn't have had the energy to move one muscle. And my knee… It had relinquished all movement.

  The old blue truck started moving down the road. The wind licked at my face, promising to chill my soul as the sunlight withdrew over the horizon.

  "Tell me about Ren." I closed my eyes, ready to listen to anything to ignore the pain shrieking through my broken body.

  Resting the back of his head against the glass beside me, he sighed. "That's a loaded request." He extended his legs, arms crossed over his reedy chest. His voice was deep and low, blending with the rumble of the truck's engine sometimes. "If you need help, he's there. Need something? He can find it. Lost something? He can make you laugh and forget about it."

  I watched his profile grow hazy and discolored in the dying of the light as I bluntly reminded him, "You lost your brother."

  Agreeing, Graham closed his eyes. My words co
uld have been a physical punch. I should have apologized, but I held my tongue.

  "If it weren't for Ren, my brother's body would still be lying in a pile of bones somewhere."

  "What do you mean?" I quizzed. Ren's account had traced a path to his friend's grave.

  Graham turned his head, looking directly at me. "They had been set on fire. After eighteen days of searching, Ren found their charred remains. He identified each body -some by clothing and tools, some by what was left of their faces- and dug twelve graves. They were laid to rest by his hands alone."

  They had been set on fire. I felt a shift in my heart, as if a wild animal had kicked it from the inside out.

  "Why did it take so long to find them?"

  "They knew they were infected. They traveled as far away as possible-"

  "Until they couldn't anymore."

  "Exactly."

  "Who-"

  "We don't know who set them on fire. But they made a mess of it. They rushed, and only parts of the bodies burned." His eyes rested on the redhead. "It could have been these guys, for all we know."

  Contemplating his accusation, I couldn't help but feel frustrated with his answer. Who could put evil on a leash and flaunt it like charred bodies? The thought of never knowing was vile.

  "Ren gave me closure when I needed it most, pulling me out of a darkness which had swallowed me whole. He also gives a piece of my brother back every day when he cracks a joke David would have laughed at, or cuts firewood for my mom, stacking it the way David swore was best." He smiled. "In a million little ways, he keeps my brother alive."

  "How can someone be so good at taking care of other people yet be so horrible at caring for himself?"

  Graham looked perplexed. "Now you're asking questions no one can answer. He's always been different. He's always had his own little scrap of darkness that rears at anyone who crosses it. And it can be dangerous. He means well, but-"

  "But he'll get you killed before he can say 'oops'?"

  Sweeping my words under the cloak of night, he chuckled. "His intentions are always good."

  I griped, "Good intentions are a devil's playground."

  The night air replaced the warmth of the day. I tugged my jacket closed and pulled my hood up, thankful my clothes had dried before sunset. I had even managed not to lose the little grey hat Tish gave me. Tucking my hand inside my jacket, I squeezed it in my fist for comfort, even though it was still damp.