by Amy Cross
“You're imagining it!”
She reaches out to open the door, but I grab her arm.
“It's too much of a risk,” I tell her.
“I'm going out to check,” she replies, and I can hear the fear in her voice. “She might just be scared. She might be all alone.” She glances at the keys in the truck's ignition.
“I won't go anywhere,” I reply, before taking the gun from the back seat. “I'll cover you.”
“Her legs don't look rotten at all,” she says.
“I'll cover you. Be quick, and be careful.”
She pauses, before opening the door and climbing out.
This is a really dumb idea, and I can't shake the feeling that we're right in the middle of some kind of trap. I look around again, still not seeing any sign of anyone watching us, and then I very cautiously climb out of the truck and step around, watching as Elizabeth edges closer to the little girl.
There are no flies buzzing in the air.
“Hey,” Elizabeth says, “are you okay there?”
I raise the gun, while looking back toward the parked cars.
“Hey. Little girl.” She pauses. “We're friendly. We can help you. Are you okay?”
My heart is racing, and I can't help thinking that someone is going to rush at us from the bushes, or that I'll suddenly see a load of figures sitting up in the cars. I watch for a moment longer, and then I turn to see that Elizabeth has gone around to the far side of the girl and is looking down toward her face.
“We need to hurry this up!” I call out.
“She looks like she's just asleep,” she replies, tilting her head slightly.
“She's dead,” I continue. “Come on, it's obvious!”
I wait, but Elizabeth doesn't move. And then, suddenly, she crouches down to get a closer look at the girl's face.
“I'll leave you here if anything happens!” I shout. “You're going to bring it all on yourself!”
I wait again, and I watch with growing incredulity as Elizabeth starts reaching down to touch the girl's shoulder. I swear, I can't imagine how she could have lasted a hundred days if she's so completely stupid.
“Elizabeth!” I say firmly. “Will you -”
Suddenly the little girl screams and lunges at Elizabeth, pushing her back against the grass before stumbling up and racing this way. I barely have time to react as the little girl slams into the front of the truck and then rushes toward me. I raise the gun and almost squeeze the trigger, but at the last moment I see that the girl looks completely healthy. It's this hesitation that allow the girl to reach me, and I'm shocked as she throws herself against my chest and knocks me to the ground.
Elizabeth
“Stop yelling!” I shout as I pull the girl away from Thomas and grip her firmly under the arms from behind. “We're here to help you!”
She tries to twist free, and then she lifts her legs off the ground and starts kicking wildly.
A few feet away, Thomas stumbles to his feet. He looks totally shocked, and it takes a moment before he remembers to once again raise his gun.
“We don't need that,” I tell him.
“She's feral!”
“She's scared!” I point out. “Look at her, she's not sick! She's not one of them! She's just a child!”
He keeps the gun aimed at the girl, and I can see from the look in his eyes that he's not quite sure what to make of her. I can tell that she's strong, and I have to really struggle in order to keep hold of her as she tries again and again to get free.
“I can do this all day,” I tell her, which is a lie. “Calm down and we'll talk.”
All I can really see right now is the back of her head, and the thick mess of slightly dirty blondish hair that's brushing against my face. I can hear occasional grunts, however, and I'm honestly starting to think that this kid seems like some kind of wild animal. Finally she stops struggling quite so much, but I don't dare let go of her just yet; she still jerks and pulls occasionally, as if she's simply trying another way to get free.
“My name's Elizabeth,” I tell her, hoping to get some dialogue going. “This is Thomas. Can you tell us your name?”
“She's crazy,” Thomas says. “I can see it in her eyes.”
“She's not crazy,” I reply, “she's scared. I can't see her face from here. How old is she?”
“I don't know,” he says, before pausing for a moment as he continues to watch her. “Ten, maybe. Eleven.”
“Are you alone out here?” I ask the girl, as she briefly tries once more to pull away. “Listen, if I let you go, do you promise not to attack us again? I'll do it as a sign of good faith but -”
“You can't let her go!” Thomas says firmly.
“What am I supposed to do, then?” I ask him. “Stand here holding her forever?”
I wait for a few seconds, trying to figure out exactly how to do this, and then I realize that I might as well just hope for the best. I take a deep breath, and then I release my grip on the girl and take a step back.
She immediately spins around and glares at me, and I'm shocked to see such anger in the face of someone who's clearly just a child. Thomas was right, she looks to be no more than ten years old.
“Elizabeth,” I say, holding my hands up in an attempt to show that I'm no threat. “Elizabeth Marter. I'm from Manhattan. Well, sort of. It's complicated.”
I wait, hoping that she might introduce herself, but after a moment she spins back around and stares at Thomas. He's still aiming the gun at her face.
“Maybe lower that thing,” I tell him.
He shakes his head.
“She's a little kid,” I point out, “what's she going to do?”
“I don't trust her,” he replies.
“Are you alone?” I ask, as the girl turns back to look at me again. “Where are your parents?”
I wait, but she says nothing. The anger seems to be fading from her features, though, and instead I'm starting to see a hint of fear. In fact, she looks to be on the verge of tears.
“My name's Elizabeth,” I say again, before slowly reaching a hand out toward her. “This is my friend Thomas. What's your name?”
She pauses, before looking down at my hand.
“We should get going,” Thomas says, looking both ways along the road and then turning to check the bushes nearby. “I don't like being out here. This whole thing could still be a trap.”
“We can't leave her here.”
“We can't take her with us! I barely had enough food and water to get to Boston! There's no way I can keep three people alive!”
“We'll find supplies when we reach Philadelphia,” I tell him. “Until then, she can have my stuff and I'll go hungry. It won't be for long, anyway.”
“And why should I let her into my truck?” he asks.
“Because she's skin and bones,” I point out. “She's a child. I don't know you very well, Tom, but I don't think you're the kind of person who'd leave a child in a place like this. Do you really think she can survive alone?”
He hesitates, as if he's about to argue with me, and then he sighs and heads back around to the driver's side of the truck.
“Fine,” he says bitterly, “but I'm driving. I'll get us to Philadelphia.” He climbs in and slams the door shut, before looking back out through the open window. “And it's Thomas, not Tom. I don't like Tom.”
“Noted,” I reply, and then I turn to the girl again. “So how about it? Do you want to come with us?”
***
The truck hits a bump in the road, causing the entire vehicle to shudder slightly. I almost hit my head on the window, and then I look ahead and see that there are plenty of potholes on this stretch.
“Sorry,” Thomas says darkly, keeping his eyes on the road. “I guess you're used to something a little more comfortable.”
“Not really,” I reply, resenting the insinuation that I'm not cut out for this journey. “You did the right thing, you know. We really couldn't have left her there.”
/> I wait, but he doesn't reply.
Hearing a faint tearing sound, I turn to look at the back-seat and I see that the girl is fiddling with something on her lap. It takes a moment before I realize that I recognize the envelope, and I reach over to take it from her.
“Hey, sorry, that's mine,” I explain. “It's a message I'm taking to some people.”
Ignoring me, she rips the top of the envelope and pulls the piece of paper out.
“Stop that!” I tell her. “It's top secret! It's not supposed to be opened until we get to Philadelphia.”
“Does it matter?” Thomas asks.
“Of course it does!” I reach over and grab the paper, but the girl holds it tight for a moment and I have to really pull to wriggle it free from her fingers. Once I've done that, she starts playing with the now-empty envelope, which I guess is okay. “My father wrote this message as a plea for help,” I tell Thomas as I turn back to look at the piece of paper that's now in my lap. “It contains important information about what's happening in Boston and about the capabilities of our team there.”
“It doesn't exactly sound top secret.”
“Well, it is,” I say as the folded sheet falls open slightly. “The only people who are supposed to look at this are -”
Suddenly I freeze as I see the first line of the message.
“Stop the truck,” I say firmly.
“Huh?”
“Stop the truck.”
“What are you -”
“Stop the truck!” I shout, and Thomas finally hits the brakes.
I immediately climb out and take a couple of steps away, toward the side of the road. My hands are trembling and I can feel a slow fear creeping up through my chest as I carefully unfold my father's supposedly top secret message. This has to be a mistake, but as I start reading the message for the first time I realize that I've been tricked.
“No,” I whisper. “Please, no...”
Thomas
“Elizabeth?” I ask, as she remains standing a little way from the truck with her back to us. “What's wrong, Elizabeth? Come on, you're the one who's in such a hurry to get to Philadelphia. What are you doing out there?”
I wait, but she doesn't reply. It's pretty clear that something's wrong, and then – a moment later – she steps off the side of the road and heads into the long grass, dropping the sheet of paper as she goes.
I watch as she crouches down, and then I see that her back is starting to shake, almost as if...
Almost as if she's crying.
I pause, before climbing out of the truck. As I slam the door shut, I reach back inside and take the keys from the ignition, and then I turn to the girl on the back seat.
“Just stay put,” I tell her. “I'm going to see what's going on.”
Making my way around to the other side of the truck, I realize I can hear Elizabeth crying now. The piece of paper is resting on the ground, so I reach down and pick it up, and then I read the handwritten message:
Dear Elizabeth,
By the time you read this, you should be in Philadelphia. I'm so sorry that I lied to you, that I told you this was a message for the people there. In truth, it's a message for you.
There's no way that help from Philadelphia will arrive in time. We're hopelessly out-numbered and out-gunned here in Boston. Council members will be evacuated, and I'll remain here to lead the fight. If we're successful, we'll slow the enemy for long enough to let the members escape. But that's really all we can hope for. I don't expect to survive this battle.
I know I'm a hypocrite for sending you away, but you have to understand. There's no way I could have allowed you to stay here and get killed. You're too precious to me, Elizabeth. We've already lost Henry. I want to know that you're out there somewhere in the world, and that you still have a chance. You're too important to me, for me to let you die here.
Always know that I love you. I made mistakes, and I'm sorry, but I always did what I thought was best for you. I know you'll be fine, I know you'll make it through this madness. I love you so much. When the battle is over, I'll be reunited with your mother and Henry in whatever follows this life. We'll all be watching over you, and we'll be in your heart, just as you are in our hearts.
God speed.
I feel a shudder pass through my shoulders as I read the letter again. Elizabeth said she was carrying important orders for the people in Philadelphia, but now it seems that was all a trick to get her to leave Boston. I never met her father, and it looks like I never will, but it's clear that he cared for her and that he was willing to do anything necessary in order to keep her safe.
Including lying to her.
Lowering the sheet of paper, I see that she's still sobbing on the ground with her back to me. I don't really know what to do in this kind of situation, but I figure I have to do something so I wander over and crouch next to her, and then I put a hand on her shoulder.
She immediately brushes my hand away, and she turns her head so that I won't be able to see her face.
I pause, before putting my hand back onto her shoulder, and this time she doesn't respond. I want to say something that'll make her feel better, but everything I can think of feels pretty lame and simple. I guess somebody else would be able to think of something deep, whereas I'm just a bit of an idiot when it comes to emotions.
“It seems like he really loved you,” I say finally. “I bet it was really hard for him to make that decision.”
I wait, but all I hear in response is a heavy sniff as she continues to cry.
“He might be okay,” I add. “I mean, honestly, maybe he just got captured. If we go to Boston, we might be able to see for ourselves. The people I was with, they were going there too and they weren't monsters. They wouldn't just kill everyone they found. There are rules about that sort of thing. I bet your father's actually fine. They won't hurt him or -”
“It's okay,” she blurts out suddenly, although she still doesn't look at me. “Can you just let me be here for a few minutes?”
“Sure,” I reply, realizing that she wants to be left alone.
I hesitate, and then I get to my feet. I still feel pretty useless, but I guess maybe I helped a little, so I turn and traipse back across the grass until I reach the truck. Looking through to the back seat, I see that the girl is sitting there and staring out at Elizabeth.
“It's complicated,” I explain. “She'll be fine.”
She turns and looks at me.
“If you don't tell us your name soon,” I continue, “I'm gonna have to make one up for you. It probably won't be very good, either, so you might as well come out with it.”
I wait.
Nothing.
“Last chance.”
Still nothing.
“Okay,” I say with a sigh, “then I'm going to name you...”
I try to think of something, but right now my mind feels completely blank.
“No-Name,” I say finally. I immediately regret that choice, but I'll look like an idiot if I back-track. “Your name's No-Name until you tell us what it really is.” I wait for her to cave and tell me the truth, but she simply looks straight at me. “I guess you've seen some stuff, huh?” I continue. “The past hundred days have been pretty rough for everyone. I don't know where your family went, No-Name, but don't give up hope.”
Even that doesn't work.
“You'll break eventually,” I mutter, before turning and seeing that Elizabeth is still crying with her back to us. “Everyone does.”
Elizabeth
“I love you,” Dad says, before climbing out of the car. “Now drive, Lizzie. There's a map in the pocket next to your seat, setting out the various routes you can take. Keep your lights off, at least for the first couple of hours, in case you attract attention. The city hasn't been encircled yet, so you should be fine, but you have to drive. All our lives depend on you!”
With that, he slams the door shut.
“I love you too!” I call out as he hurries away, but I don't k
now whether he heard. “Dad? I love you!”
***
So did he hear me?
As the truck continues to judder along the empty road, with Thomas at the wheel, I can't help staring out the window at the passing trees and replaying those final moments with Dad over and over again. I said some pretty mean things to him yesterday, but did he hear me at the end when I actually told him that I loved him? Looking back now, I realize he was effectively saying goodbye, even if he refused to admit that to me. No matter what Thomas says, I just can't find any hope in my heart, any belief that Dad survived the fight in Boston.
He'd have been right there on the front-line, urging everyone to keep going. He wouldn't have surrendered. Not ever. The enemy would have had to kill him.
The truck bumps over another pothole, stirring me from these thoughts.
Turning, I look over at Thomas and see that he's keeping his eyes on the road.
“Where are we going?” I ask after a moment.
“What do you mean?” he replies. “I thought you wanted to go to Philadelphia?”
“That was when...”
My voice trails off for a moment.
“There's no point now,” I tell him. “We can go wherever you want.”
As I say those words, I catch sight of the little girl's face in one of the mirrors. She's staring straight at me. I smile, hoping to make her smile too, but her face remains strangely blank. To be honest, I'm beginning to wonder whether anything's wrong with her. This blank countenance remind me of that Dawn girl I met back on the eighth or ninth day, although so far there's no sign of this girl having any kind of head injury.
I turn back to Thomas.
“We should go to Boston,” I tell him.
“I thought -”
“There's no point going to Philadelphia now,” I point out. “I don't even know what we'd find there. Maybe there's something, or maybe that's just another lie my father told me. You want to go to Boston, don't you?”