“Killing you would defeat the entire purpose.”
Mercy sighed deeply. “What exactly do you want?”
Ethan paused. He stepped away from the window slowly. “When the time comes, I'll tell you,” he said softly. The darkness obscured him more from her sight. Where he now stood, she felt she was in discourse with a ghost. It disturbed her some, but she did not let it show.
'When the time comes?' Meaning when it's too late for me to run away? She still had a choice, which she reminded herself. “What if I refuse?”
“You'll probably die out there on your own, just like your niece.” Tears began to swell up. His cold words stung more than the freezing air. Ethan added, “That would also make you a liar. I took a risk for those kids, because you asked, and now you owe me a risk. It's only fair.”
Mercy stepped up to the window, feeling Ethan's eyes on her. She finally saw what lay beyond. First were two bodies lying in the front of a house. They were on their backs, parallel to each other. Next, toward her right she saw movement. Four soldiers were walking, almost casually, down the sidewalk. Patrol? she wondered. They noticed the bodies then proceeded to take them away to a Jeep nearby. The Jeep was a civilian vehicle, not camouflaged at all. “Did... Did they kill those guys?”
“Unlikely,” replied Ethan. “Even if they had, remember there's still a war out there.”
“I thought it reached a stalemate.”
“Only the worst is over.”
She contemplated for a minute. “You won't tell me what you want from me?” Ethan tacitly remained silent about that, though he did reply, “At minimum, you owe me your trust. I've done my part. I took the risk.”
“Tell me this one thing... Will I regret this?”
Ethan answered, motionless apart from his lips, staring at her through the darkness: “Not in the end.”
She clenched her hands, lowering her head. She thought of Haley, then the rest of her family, trying to think of what they would tell her, until she realized she would not be in this position if she still had them. Though it seemed a foolish decision, it was the less foolish of her only two options. Reluctantly turning to face Ethan, she nodded.
“We leave early. I want to reach downtown before dawn.”
–––––––
For a third time, Mercy woke herself violently. After a moment to gather herself, letting the nightmares slip from her memory, she saw the room was dimly illuminated from the inside. Ethan had lit a candle and seemed to be awake again. Or he never slept. He lacks empathy, so why not assume he's not human at all? He certainly could be a creature that never sleeps. He was examining his injured right side and back, as much as he could reach the injuries. She recalled no memory of him being wounded. He cleaned it well, though. “What happened?”
“Paid a small price for the war I started back there. For your kids.”
Though she preferred he never make mention of them again, she ignored his words. “Did you get what you were looking for?”
“Yes.” He started stitching the wounds.
“Records, right? I don't see any papers with you.”
“I didn't take them.”
Mercy pondered his meaning. “You just needed to read something? That's all?” He nodded as he bandaged the last exposed area. “Looks good,” she said. “Do you have any medical training?”
“Basic.”
Mercy looked outside at the dark sky. “What time is it?”
“Almost time to leave. You woke up at the perfect time.”
Not completely, she thought.
“The troops are preoccupied with the school, and the resistance is still preoccupied with them. We don't have long.”
“I know. But... where are we going?”
“Downtown,” he said, rising. Ethan removed his sweater then his shirt, exposing his back that bore multiple long scars, each probably five inches long. “Once we cross the river, there's only one type of people we'll have to keep an eye out for.” He put on a different shirt; one that was slightly torn and in worse condition than the one he removed. Over that, he put on his black trench coat that Mercy recognized him by. Her mind was slightly distracted by the scars, as she pondered what had happened to inflict them.
She shook her head to regain attention. “Uh... Look out for what? The troops?”
“No. Downtown is the one place the army avoids. The west side has a higher concentration of rebels than here. Scarlet said it's nothing but chaos in downtown.”
“And that's why we're going there,” Mercy sarcastically stated.
Ethan tossed something at her. Her reflexes caught it, then she realized it was her own gun. “You should start getting ready. I'm almost out the door.”
“How can I get more ready than I am now? I don't have another set of clothes to wear.”
To appease him, she stood and straightened herself. She felt her hair, disgusted when feeling the dirt and grease in it. Her clothes were no better, nor her skin under them. The thought of 'getting ready' sounded like a piece of paradise, making her miss having access to a shower. Without another word, Ethan snuffed out the candle with a pinch then proceeded toward the door. She followed, until she remembered her gun and stepped back to pick it up.
When Ethan opened the front door, Mercy noticed the rain first. It did not seem to faze him; he began walking anyway, paying little attention to the surroundings. That confident in yourself? she imagined asking him.
Mercy looked behind. With no functioning street lights, she could hardly see any distance, so she listened more closely. To her relief, she heard nothing alarming, though she admitted, that doesn't mean there's nothing to fear at all.
To what extent would Ethan protect her? Would he protect her at all? She felt it was a bad time, though truly the best time, to remind herself that she knew virtually nothing about the man. Other thoughts flooded her mind. Why am I here? I didn't ask to be in this situation. Only one week ago she was with her niece, safely hidden in a basement, walled from the horrors of the outside world. While they still had food down there, they were in denial about the fact that one day they would have to face the chaos. One short week, and everything had changed. A filthy, mephitic basement sounded like heaven.
Being unable to see Ethan made her anxious. She feared he would lose his patience and strike her, among several other possibilities. Perhaps worst of all, he would leave her there in the cold and find someone else to fulfill his enigmatic favor. It seemed that friendly conversing, or any talking at all, was beneath Ethan. Both unaware what to expect of him and ignorant of what he intended, it would have eased her concern merely talking to him.
It overwhelmed her – the cold, the rain, the silence, the darkness...
“Ethan...” she gasped. She didn't know if he acknowledged her at all. “Please, I need to sit down.”
“It's not time to stop.”
Mercy was losing balance and breath. The heavy rain didn't help, and it was only getting heavier. Mercy dropped to her hands and knees. Ethan finally stopped walking, checking their surroundings first. He waited next to her. As she caught her breath, she mustered the strength to speak a little. “S-sorry,” she coughed. “I'll be up in a sec.”
In a little more than a minute, she was back on her feet. The pain in her head negligibly improved. Her stomach continued to ache. She longed for adequate rest more every minute, and even with Ethan in close proximity, she did not feel safe.
After composing herself again, a strong stench filled her nostrils. It had come before, but she hardly noticed until that moment. She lit her flashlight, aiming it at her sides, letting Ethan worry about what was ahead. Mere seconds later, its light revealed a cold corpse on a lawn. It was settled some into the dirt. Ethan did not seem to notice, his attention remained fixated on the path ahead.
Mercy's eyes had adjusted some more, enough to see the houses and beyond. The winter cold stiffened her limbs, despite her sufficient attire. The silence, the dark, the potential threats... it al
l reminded Mercy of being in the streets with Haley. Now, she was out in the open with little protection, not knowing where she was going. It was the same before. Maybe worse, she thought. Last time, there wasn't a beast dragging me around. She wondered which houses were occupied, fearing who might be watching them.
They crossed an intersection with more abandoned vehicles than anywhere they had passed by before. Three civilian cars and a military Jeep were there, several pockets of blown concrete everywhere in the vicinity. Mercy could not make out their location. Ethan diverted course momentarily to examine each of the vehicles, as if knowing he'd find something vital.
Approaching the first vehicle, he grabbed a clump of concrete and threw it through the driver's-side window, then reached inside to unlock the door. He scoured for no more than half a minute as Mercy patiently, anxiously waited for him to finish. With the same clump, he repeated the procedure with the other vehicles in the intersection. Among the miscellaneous items he pulled out, the item that stood out most was the blanket he extracted from the third car. “Want this?” he asked.
A surprisingly kind gesture. “Yeah,” said Mercy, taking the fabric with a smile. She wrapped it around her as Ethan seemed to pull out smaller, more random items. Some he tossed, some he pocketed. They resumed walking.
Mercy was lost in her thoughts for a great deal of time, and before she knew it, Ethan turned right. She looked up, seeing a sign that said Broadway St. They were walking west, parallel to the Willamette River. “I thought we were crossing the river?” she asked Ethan.
“We are.”
Then she remembered the Broadway Bridge, feeling stupid for forgetting. She noticed there were no soldiers in sight, nor was there any trace that they had ever been there. “Is there anywhere that the troops do have control of?”
She waited for a response.
“Ethan?”
“Northeast, southeast and most of Gresham, last I heard,” he finally answered. His tone implied he would not speak to her again after he appeased her that one time. “I heard the troops took back farmlands and small towns first; after the people submitted. Larger, denser populations of resistance were harder to take, particularly when all the troops were stretched so thin to begin with.”
Mercy felt comfortable enough with Ethan to finally ask him the question lingering in her mind for the past three months: “Do you know what caused this?” She stepped over a dead body, one of an old man whose skin was not withered but his ribs bulged from his chest. Is anything worth this?
“No one knows.”
“What do you think?”
“Corruption, wealth gap, disregard for the constitution... Everyone has their own theory.”
I asked for your opinion, not others'.
Mercy looked to her left and saw the outline of high-rise buildings in the distance. Daylight was returning to the city, though persistent cloud coverage for the past several weeks had kept daylight at a minimum. Rain was rarely absent.
Not far ahead Mercy saw a Safeway store. “Think we should get something from there?”
“Where?” said Ethan without any effort to see what Mercy may be speaking of.
“There's a place across the st–”
“It's empty,” interrupted Ethan.
Expecting that Ethan would know such information, Mercy ceased insisting. “What about these stores?” she asked, pointing to outlets on their side of the street.
“Most are empty.”
“But we could find other things we need. What were you looking for in the cars?”
“Anything you'd require,” said Ethan.
“...So that I don't slow you down, I'm guessing.”
To that, Ethan said nothing.
Far away, Mercy saw the tall buildings comprising downtown. Fear crept over her at their sight. Never before had doubt overwhelmed her more than at that moment. How can I know what to expect? Could the people there be worse? Civilian or military. Should I expect chaos and riots and raiding? Or silence like there is here?
Her lack of familiarity with Ethan doubled her nervousness. She had to bring herself to admit it was foolish to agree to come with him into the city. Remaining in the residential areas was an idea so tempting it nearly stopped her at that moment. She had forgotten her physical condition. Though her legs were sore, her stomach empty, and her body malnourished, she finally mastered ignoring the pain of her state.
They had walked for twenty minutes since reaching Broadway St., nearly a mile by the time Ethan led them to the forefront of the Broadway Bridge. Mercy halted for a moment. Ethan initially didn't notice, but when he did, he waited. Once Mercy gathered herself, she continued again, prepared to cross the river into the inner city.
They drifted to the right side of the bridge, away from the clutter of cars on the main road. Mercy saw Ethan peer over the vehicles. She cautiously followed, permitting herself no more than two feet of distance between them. Without warning, Ethan pulled her onto the main road, and then, with a swift raise of his arm, he stopped...
Mercy crouched quickly, while Ethan slowly lowered himself to his knees. “Is there something up ahead?” asked Mercy.
Ethan stared for nearly a whole minute through the window of the car they hid behind. “Wait here,” he said, removing his coat, shoving it onto Mercy.
“What is it? Are there people up there?”
Ethan walked low, proceeding further across the bridge. Once he was a few dozen feet from the hiding place, he rose to fully-erect posture. A few car-lengths ahead, two men sitting on opposite sides of the bridge, each armed with an assault rifle, quickly stood to approach him. Mercy disobeyed her orders, crawling on all fours closer to the scene.
“Hey!” she heard one of them call at Ethan. “Hey you!”
Ethan halted. From what Mercy could see, his hands started to shake, his body edgy. “Oh... Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”
“Put your hands up,” commanded the other, who was taller and had an indiscernible tattoo across his right cheek.
“Is there something I can help you with?” He raised his hands, keeping his head down.
The two men pointed their guns at his chest, pausing to examine him. The shorter one started to frisk him. He found nothing on Ethan other than clothes.
“What'chu doing out so early?” asked the tattooed one.
“Just doing what everyone else does these days, sir.”
“And what would that be, kid?”
Ethan looked at them. “Well, looking for people and food, of course.” He sounded confused.
“I see...” said the smaller man. They stared at him for a moment longer. Then the bigger one turned around, waving his arm high.
Mercy raised her head. She saw several people approach, all carrying guns of varying calibers. From behind Ethan she heard a lighter number of footsteps. Two more emerged; Ethan saw them as well. Mercy counted a total of nine.
“There's a toll to cross the bridge, you know,” said the bigger man, who Mercy now recognized was the oldest in the gang.
“I'm sorry... I don't have anything. You saw yourself, I'm completely broke.”
“Well, if you got nothing of value, you can't cross,” said one of the others. “You got anyone with you?”
Ethan shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Ha, does it look I do?”
The two behind him stepped up against his back. “You either pay or go back the way you came,” breathed one of them with his pistol pressed hard against Ethan's spine. Mercy feared for him, and more for herself. She contemplated escape, which would most likely entail being seen. They wouldn't shoot me, she thought. They'd chase me down...
With that man so close, Ethan wasted no time turning around, positioning his right arm in a way that deflected the aim of the pistol as he turned. In the same fluid motion, he gripped the pistol while stepping behind the man, breaking the man's knee with his left foot. The pain bought Ethan brief, yet enough, time to take possession of the pistol. He then lifted his vict
im up to his eye level, pointing his acquired weapon at the man's side. The others almost opened fire, but by then they saw Ethan already had one of them.
“Alright, now I'll need a toll from the rest of you,” said Ethan. “Put down your guns and kick them to me.”
Seeing them tremble in fear lessened her own. Mercy was impressed and could breathe easier now. All but one of them lowered their weapons immediately.
Before any kicked their guns toward Ethan, the older, tattooed man raised his, about to pull the trigger. Ethan fired two rounds into that man's chest. Then, once the man was down, he freed his arm more to fire one final round into the man's head, keeping control of his victim all the while. The others kicked their weapons toward Ethan from reflex.
Mercy crawled closer, no longer keeping discretion.
Ethan paused. “You're not afraid,” he whispered to his hostage. “Planning something for when I let you go?” Mercy couldn't believe her eyes. She pitied those men.
Ethan pushed his hostage forward and fired a round into his head. With his acquired pistol pointed at the other seven, he gestured for them to back up and line up against one of the bridge's metal beams. “Mercedes!” he called out.
The others looked more surprised. Shock engulfed them. Mercy reluctantly walked around the cars, trembling with Ethan's coat and her blanket wrapped in her arms. She paused before getting close to any of them.
“Throw the guns, then we can go,” Ethan instructed her, looking evermore ready to shoot the first person to twitch.
Mercy quickly grabbed the guns, a couple at a time, and clumsily threw them into the river. She trembled exceedingly. “Can we go now?”
Ethan lowered his pistol. He gestured for Mercy to walk first ahead of him. She returned his coat, but forgot the blanket. Gaining distance from the thieves was all that was on her mind. Then they left the living seven and two dead hostiles as they were, not looking back as they crossed the rest of the bridge, into the city.
Ethan averted his attention to a high rise with a glass-window exterior not far away. He walked to the right side of the road. “We'll stay in that one until evening,” he informed Mercy.
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