The End of the World and Beyond

by Avi

  “Which means we have to get there before Fitzhugh overtakes us. Tonight.”

  The rain was coming down with increasing force.

  “I’ll tell you true,” said Bara in a voice painfully hard for me to hear, “I’m not sure I want you to come with me. Not if you’re so dull. You either do as I say, or you can find your own way.”

  “No, please,” I pleaded. “I won’t be thoughtless again. I can’t run away without you.”

  Bara stared at me. “Do what you want,” he said. “I’m leaving.” He shoved me aside, burst out of the alley onto the bigger street, and began to run.

  I rushed out and caught up to him. “Forgive me,” I called out again. “Please. I’ll do what you say. Let me go with you.”

  Bara did not even deign to look at me. “To begin, put your sister out of your mind. No talk of finding her. We need to save ourselves. That’s the only thing that matters. If you can’t stay with me, I’ll go alone. Will you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, no chatter. Just move.”

  Bara, his back to me, ran as fast as he could beneath the sluicing rain. I, with less leg, struggled to keep up.

  We passed through town, whose streets had turned into rivers of mud. Then the rain eased and stopped as quickly as it had come. The moon returned and offered some light. When we drew near the Royal George, I whispered, “Can’t we take his horse?”

  “No,” Bara snapped. “He’s sleeping right by it. It might wake him. Besides, a horse is useless in the swamp. But there’s something we must have at the plantation.”

  It was hardly the time to ask what he meant. Instead, we went round the tavern with utmost caution, lest we somehow wake Fitzhugh. Then it wasn’t long before we were on the dirt track heading north, beyond Annapolis, going as fast as we could, me struggling to keep up with Bara.

  We were running north to save ourselves, to gain our freedom, but, I tell it true, we were going to a place—the swamp—that I truly dreaded. I tried not to think of that. With fear snapping at my heels, in the moment, my sole desire was to stay with Bara.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The Ever-shifting Dark.

  By my reckoning, it was the third time I had passed along that road, but those other times were during daylight. This time it was dark, though moonlight came and went, oft times hidden by streaks of swiftly moving clouds. The deserted way we followed was like an endless tunnel, forward and behind. Trees walled us in on either side, so that a looming vagueness prevailed, no matter where we looked. It meant while our desire was to go fast, the reality was otherwise. We had to find our way, until our eyes grew weary of always staring hard into nothing, always fearful of seeing something.

  Far away, lightning flashed followed by thunder, which echoed my thudding heart. The ever-changing light, when it came, kept altering the look of the road, so it was as if I had never traveled the route before. Though we did not talk, the slap, slap of our bare feet upon the muddy road was like handclaps in a vast and empty hall.

  My fear that we might be apprehended at any moment helped me ignore the ache in my side and the spikes of pain when my bare feet struck stones along the way. I just ran, full of a deep sense of fault, thinking what I might do to make amends to Bara.

  Looming over all else was our constant dread that we would be overtaken by Fitzhugh. To be sure, I wanted to believe the old man was far behind, sleeping off his drunken stupor. But he had instilled so deep a fear in me, I was equally willing to believe he had powers that allowed him to know we were fleeing, and where we were. Thus, as I peered into the shadows before us, I continually looked back over my shoulder into still more shadows.

  Then we reached the river.

  It was the same over which we had passed with ease by ferry. Now it lay before us, a broad, deep band of darkness. As much as we could see it, we heard it tumbling by. Even in the sodden gloom we could see rain had given it high volume. It flickered with white flecks of moonlight, as if stars had fallen, only to be swept away by the force of the water.

  To my eyes, the distance across appeared greater than I recalled. My heart squeezed; crossing to the other side seemed impossible. Once again came that phrase: “He who is born to be drowned will never be hanged.” But standing there, much alarmed, I reversed it: “He who was never hanged is born to be drowned.”

  I could just see the river’s far side, and the small house where the ferryman—that Mr. Eps—most likely lived. Presumably he was there since his flat-bottom boat rested on that side. Since no light came from his dwelling, hopefully he slept. But what if he woke? I recalled how big and powerful he was.

  As for the rope, which Mr. Eps used to haul his craft from one side to the other, it was in place, to my eyes, hardly thicker than a spider’s thread.

  Bara picked up a bit of branch and threw it into the river. The powerful flow whisked it away.

  “We need to get over,” Bara said. He was speaking the obvious, but I knew he was telling me I had no choice.

  While I remained unnerved, Bara walked straight into the river, where frothing white water curled about his legs. He wrapped his arms around himself, which told me it was cold, too.

  He took another step deeper and looked around. I had not moved. “Are you coming?”

  “I can’t swim.”

  Bara said nothing, only offering what I took to be an exasperated look.

  I called, “I’ll go upriver until it gets shallow.”

  “We can’t take the time.” He moved farther into the river, reminding me of the urgency. I could have no doubt: if I did not cross over he would leave me behind.

  I glanced up at the rope that stretched across the river. “I’ll use this,” I called. So he would know I was in earnest. I went to the pole where the rope was affixed.

  The rope was above my head, but not by so very much. I glanced at Bara. He had moved along so that the water was up to his waist. My choice was obvious: Remain on this side of the river and lose Bara as well as my life, or try to cross the river and perhaps lose my life. I chose perhaps.

  I leaped up, grasped the rope with my right hand, and then with my left—one hand behind the other—so that I was now dangling above the land, sideways to the river. I clenched the rope so forcefully my fingers hurt. My hanging weight made my arms ache as well. I shifted one hand from back to front—then the other—thereby drawing myself forward along the rope while dangling over the water.

  Meanwhile, Bara had plunged into the water and began to kick and waggle his arms and legs, rather like a horse or dog might do—his head up. I grasped that he was swimming—an action I’d rarely seen before by humans. It allowed him to make progress getting across.

  That goaded me. Working as fast as I could, I continued to move hand over hand, out over the river. The rope sagged with my weight so my toes were inches above the water.

  As I moved along, the rope swayed and bounced, which meant at times my feet went into the river. My fingers burned from the rope, and my arms, which held all my weight, gave increasing pain. Nonetheless, I inched along.

  At mid-river, I gave myself a pause and took a deep breath, telling myself I could go the rest of the way.

  I pressed on, shifting hands as before, one before the other, making slow but certain headway. I tried to keep my eyes from the water, but instead watched Bara, following him, since he remained in front of me, still swimming. He was already near the river’s other side.

  Going farther, my arms began to pain me more. Then my left arm and hand suddenly turned rigid with a cramp, unbearably painful, making it impossible to flex my fingers.

  To give myself some relief, I forced myself to release my left-hand grip, so that I was now dangling solely by my right hand while I tried to shake out that left-hand cramp.

  But that one hand could not hold. Instead, I fell.

  Chapter
Forty-Nine

  In the River.

  I plunged straight into the water, my head going under. Frantic, knowing I would drown, the best I could do was to thrash my arms, seeking to climb up and claim some air. Instead, I only swallowed a throatful of water.

  Gagging, I sank anew.

  My arms flailed, my legs kicked. Somehow I went up, only to go down, then up again, my head full of roaring sounds. But that time when I went under and deeper, my toe struck something firm. My chest squeezed.

  Desperate, I shoved my other foot down and found—to my vast relief—support. It was, I hoped, the river bottom or at least a rock. With urgent effort, I managed to stand, bursting upward so I was able to extend my head—stretching my neck up, head tilted back—until my chin barely crested above the river. It was enough.

  Coughing, choking, sputtering, I spat my mouth free of water, struggled for breath, and stood in place, shivering with cold and fright.

  It took some moments to clear my thoughts, my eyes, my lungs, and calm my pounding heart. When I was finally able to see through blurry eyes where I was, the opposite riverbank appeared not so far away. Dashing through the water toward me was Bara, hand extended.

  I lunged at his hand, grasped it, and though I could stand on my feet, more than anything, was dragged to the shore. Once there I collapsed on the land. With Bara standing over me, I pulled my knees into my chest, coughed repeatedly, and worked to regain my gasping breath.

  “I thought you were gone,” said Bara.

  I nodded. “I owe . . . you my life,” I managed to say.

  “No,” he said, “you owe me mine. We must keep going.” He reached down. I grasped his hand and he helped me regain my feet. He poked my shoulder. “You’ll be all right.” Then he added, “Will you?”

  Dripping wet, legs unsteady, I nodded.

  Side by side, with me still weak and shivering from the scare, the two of us went up to the slight embankment, slipped silently past the ferryman’s dark house, and regained the road.

  As we entered onto that shadowy path, I shuddered and glanced back at the river to see the danger I had just avoided. On the far bank, looking like a wrathful spirit in the moonlight, a horse and rider galloped down to the river’s edge.

  “Bara,” I whispered, and pulled him around.

  Bara looked. “Him,” he said. I didn’t need to be told whom he meant: Fitzhugh.

  Whether the old man saw us or not, we didn’t stay to learn. We turned and tore along the road, now and again pausing to peer back, listening so as to learn if he was still coming.

  It wasn’t long before we heard a gunshot. I looked to Bara.

  “He’s calling the ferryman to get him across.”

  We raced on.

  Not long after, Bara cried, “Into the trees!” He plunged into the thickets, where he threw himself down. I did the same.

  A horse came galloping by. It was as if the thunder had followed us. As hooves pounded past in the direction we were heading, we pressed our faces to the ground and dared not move until the sounds faded to nothing.

  We pushed ourselves up, crept back to the road, and peered where the horse had gone.

  There we were, hardly more than two scared boys, standing side by side in our scraggy clothing and bare feet, on that empty, moonlit, muddy road. The air was moist and sticky, the light just enough so that I could see the fear on Bara’s face, which I have no doubt must have been what was on mine. I listened but heard no sound save chirping crickets.

  Though I already knew the answer to the question, I said, my voice low but filled with fear, “Was that him?”

  “Think so.”

  “Was he going home?”

  “Probably.”

  “When he doesn’t find us there, will he come back along the road?”

  Bara did not reply, but stood, staring north. “He might,” he said. “He’s not a man who usually gallops. I can tell one thing for sure: He’s in a rage. Which means when he doesn’t find us there, he’ll get others to help catch us. We’re runaways now. If they take us, we won’t be going anywhere else. Ever.”

  Thinking of Clark, and recalling all too vividly the grave in which he lay, I waited for Bara to tell me what to do. When he remained silent, I considered: Should we go back to town, where Lunbog and Sandys might catch us? Or forward, where Fitzhugh would try to do the same? It appeared to make no difference. Neither seemed the right answer.

  I said, “I’m sorry I went to the wharf.”

  Bara didn’t even look at me. “It’s done. We’re here.”

  I said nothing.

  At last Bara spoke. “He’ll be thinking we’re going toward home.”

  “Why?”

  “Told you: The only way I know how to get free and away is through the swamp. He’d know that.”

  At that moment, I wasn’t about to share my fear of the swamp.

  He went on: “Just hope the rain didn’t go there. The swamp will fill. Make it harder to pass through.”

  That agitated me further, but I remained mute.

  Bara must have guessed my thoughts. “Oliver, it’s the only safe place. Trouble is, I’m not certain where it spreads. I just know two sure things. It starts up there and then goes west. I know the way in—first part anyway. We have to reach the maroons.” He stood still for a moment. Then he said, “We need a knife.”

  “Why?” I had to ask again.

  “No saying what we’ll meet up with as we go through. Bears. Cougars. Or Fitzhugh.”

  “Where you going to get a knife?”

  “Hog pen.”

  He said nothing more, a reminder of his earlier warnings about knowing nothing that Fitzhugh might beat out of me.

  “Right now,” he said, “we need to move as best we can. Keep listening. Watching. Be ready to bolt. You have better ideas?”

  I shook my head.

  “Another thing. You might not want to hear it.”

  “What?”

  “It’ll be a whole lot better if we go together. But I can’t keep taking care of you. You need to stop asking me if the sun is going to rise in the morning. We’re past that.”

  “I understand,” I said. Still, I felt the rebuke and judged him to be right.

  Then he added, “You need to know something else.”

  I waited.

  “I wouldn’t do this unless I thought you could.”

  “I will,” I said, grateful and strengthened by his words. “I will.”

  We started again. This time, however, instead of going away from Fitzhugh, we were running toward him.

  Chapter Fifty

  In Which We Travel Deeper into Darkness.

  From that time on, rather than running, we walked fast so as to reserve our strength. As much effort went into listening and watching. Any number of times, Bara called “Stop.” Then we’d both halt and strain our ears, our eyes. Though we never saw or heard anyone, fear populates darkness. Not for a moment did I feel safe.

  All that night we traveled along an empty road. Without moonlight, I don’t know what we would have done. Fortunate, too, that Bara had passed this way a goodly number of times. Thus, he led and I was content to follow, and we both refrained from speaking.

  We reached another river and to my silent disappointment, no rope was there. Though this river was not as big as the previous one, it was rain-swollen and flowing swiftly.

  As I hesitated on the shore, Bara waded right in. He did not even look back to see if I was following. Despite my unease, after a few steps, I was up to my waist. I pushed on and by mid-river water reached my chest.

  I had little choice but to press forward, determined to show Bara I could be strong. Heart thumping, I held my breath, clamped my mouth shut, and flung myself forward. No sooner did my feet come off the river bottom than I began to be swept away. Fearf
ul I’d sink like a stone, I imitated what Bara had done, his kind of swimming: thrashing my arms, kicking legs, which to my elation was sufficient to carry me through the few feet I was unable to walk.

  “Now I don’t have to teach you to swim,” said Bara as I stumbled upon the other shore, where he was waiting. It was as much a relief to have him praise me, and see him smile, as it was to reach land.

  We continued on. As we drew nearer to Fitzhugh’s land, I began to notice a change in Bara. I sensed his excitement and urgency and took strength from it, telling myself it wasn’t fright.

  “What do we do when we get to the farm?”

  “First thing: see if he’s there or not.”

  “Think he will be?”

  “Hope not.”

  “You glad we’re going to run away?”

  “It wasn’t my plan to go like this. It is now.”

  We passed over more small streams, which required me to swim again but, in my way, I had learned the art.

  A red dawn began to show to the east between trees. The light on the road turned gray.

  Bara halted. “We need to hide. It’ll be safer to get there at night.” He led the way among trees.

  We spent the whole day concealed, waiting for the darkness to return. The insects swarmed about us, on us. My stomach churned with hunger, as did Bara’s. We had not eaten for a whole day. Sometimes Bara slept, and I watched. Then I slept and found some relief while he watched.

  It was a long day. At one point, there was another heavy fall of rain, and we could only endure it. Happily, it did not last long, but I had visions of the swamp water rising ever higher. The more I tried not to think about that, the more I did.

  Now and again walkers, riders on horses, or wagons passed along the road. Some moved quickly as if in pursuit. Each time someone went by, we hugged the ground and dared not to look up. If they were looking for us—Fitzhugh might have even been among them—we could gain no intelligence.