by Andrew Karre
“Well, they’re not all stupid,” Fix said. “Maybe by now the nomad kids have taken over Refuge and we’d just be going into more danger. This is the safest place we’ve found.” He felt like he was pleading with them.
“Maybe we should vote,” Cleo said. “All in favor of going to Refuge?” Cleo, Rob, and Todd all raised their hands. After a moment, Nic did too. Gus looked back and forth between everyone and burst into tears. Fix wished he could cry too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I
know it’s not what you want, Fix,” Cleo said, trying to sound gentle. “But we’ve always run things by vote. I hope we can still count on you.” After a long pause, Fix nodded his head. But he still wouldn’t look at her.
It took them almost a week to get ready to leave. The biggest problem was fuel for the truck. But Fix pitched in. Even Cleo was impressed when he managed to get the truck to start using some sludgy old frying oil he’d found next to a busted state-fair food cart in the barn. It took him days of tireless work, but soon Fix reported that he would have enough fuel to get them over a few miles of hills.
“It won’t be fast, but it’ll probably smell good,” he had said. It was as close to a joke as Fix ever offered.
Fix didn’t talk much to Cleo as the group worked, checking off lists. Cleo acted like she didn’t notice, like they were all just busy getting ready to go as soon as possible.
The first night after the vote, Cleo asked Todd instead of Fix to help her bury the bodies. She stayed out of Fix’s way, so it wouldn’t be so obvious to the others that he was mad at her. It helped that they were all keeping busy, gathering supplies and trying to figure out what they’d have to leave behind.
Cleo was more focused on the farm’s defenses than on preparing to leave. She had a bad feeling that more raiders could come while the group was busy with other stuff. Nic and the others could pack everything up. Cleo wanted to set up some traps and keep watch. But some nights, when she woke up and heard everyone breathing around her, she’d crawl over to Fix and sit next to him while he slept. She missed him. And she needed a way to be friends with him again—she wanted his help with the big traps.
Four days after she’d killed the intruders, Cleo hit on the right plan.
“Fix,” she said casually as they were all eating. “I think before we go we should work some more on reading. You were starting to get it before we left Minneapolis, so I know you can do it.” She tried to look unconcerned—like it would be no big deal.
“Too busy,” Fix grunted, shoving food in his mouth.
Nic looked from Cleo to Fix. Nic could read too. Not as well as Cleo, but better than Fix. Cleo could tell she knew what was up. She didn’t care.
“We’ll find time,” Cleo said. “It could be really important. We’ll need all the help we can get once we start traveling. I think we might be ready to leave pretty soon.” She stared at Fix, willing him to look at her. Slowly he did, losing the stony look on his face.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Cleo cornered him later that evening. She had the survival guide. “It’s still light enough to see,” she said briskly. “Let’s sit over here.”
They sat down in the grass together. Fix still looked unwilling. Together they watched as a bird skimmed overhead, flying home for the night.
“Nice out tonight, huh?” Cleo said, wanting a little friendliness. Fix looked around the farm as though he was seeing it for the first time.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, more to himself. For the first time, Cleo saw what the farm meant to him and felt bad. But she took a big breath and plowed on—she didn’t regret winning the vote.
“Okay, you know the letters and their sounds, right? So now let’s look at how they make words.” She flipped open the book and found some simple words. “See? B-I-G. Big.”
They kept going like that for a while. Fix was sounding out the words and sentences, but he seemed bored. Plus, Cleo thought he was just making lucky guesses in some places because he already knew a lot of stuff in the survival guide by instinct. Half the time Fix didn’t seem to be even looking at the words. They needed something better.
“Hey, Fix, you’re doing really well. I think you’re ready for something harder. I mean, better,” she said brightly. “Let me get my book.”
Fix tilted his head toward the sunset. “It’s getting dark.”
Cleo was already on her feet. “Just a little more. I’ll be right back.” She dashed into the bunker and dropped down next to him again a moment later. She was excited to share her book with Fix. She didn’t understand it herself, but she knew it was full of power.
“Here, this part is in the Hamlet section. It makes me think of my dad, or of you sometimes,” Cleo said without looking at Fix. “Try it.”
“What a . . . pies?” Fix started.
“Piece,” Cleo said. “See the e on the end?”
“What a piece of work is a man,” Fix read slowly. “How noble in rea, rea, rea-son, how in—this is too hard, Clee.”
“No, you’re doing great. Just break it down, like it’s a machine, Fix. Words have parts too. Once you know how to put them together, you can make anything.”
“In-fin . . . ite? What’s that?”
“Infinite. It means, like, forever, or it never ends. Here, that word is like, faculties, but I don’t know exactly what that means,” Cleo confessed. “It’s the next part I like.”
“In form and moving how ex-press and ad, admir . . . able.” Fix sighed in frustration.
Cleo leaned over his shoulder and read softly, “In action, how like an angel. In apprehension, how like a god. The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals!”
She stopped, and they were quiet for a moment.
“That made you think of me?” Fix asked.
Cleo nodded, looking down.
“Thanks,” Fix said and leaned into her a little. He was quiet for a while. “Clee.”
“Yeah?”
“What’s an angel?”
It was her turn to be quiet. “I’m not really sure, Fix.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
F
ix’s shoulder was healed enough that he was able to load the last of the heavy supply boxes onto the truck. Everything was pretty much ready. Cleo had suggested they leave that day. Fix hadn’t exactly agreed, but it looked now like they’d be heading out. He was standing in the truck bed, having just placed the last box, when he saw the gang of six coming down the hillside.
“Clee! They’re coming. Everybody get ready! Remember what Cleo showed you!”
Fix had to marvel at how well Cleo had drilled everyone. How tight her plan was and how carefully everyone followed it. It had seemed silly to Fix how she’d made everyone do drills two days ago. But now, seeing everyone moving quickly and calmly, it didn’t seem silly at all.
Cleo had pointed out that they’d be sitting ducks if they spent all their time packing supplies and fixing the truck. Once Fix had solved the fuel problem, Cleo had gathered everybody together and they’d planned for the next wave of nomads to show up. Now they’d see how well the plan worked. Fix wasn’t even as worried as he’d thought he’d be.
• • •
Nic, Gus, and Todd got into the truck. They had one shotgun and the two flare guns. The truck was parked so that once the raiders started for the well, Nic, Gus, and Todd could start firing and drive the raiders toward the only cover: the windmill control shed.
Fix took his position inside the control shed. After Cleo had talked to him about making traps, while he was combing through the shed in search of tools to take south, Fix realized that the mistake that had wrecked the generator linkage and messed up his shoulder was also the beginning of a decent trap.
He had stood in the yard for half an hour before Cleo came up to him and asked what he was daydreaming about. When he’d told her, her eyes had sparkled. Between the two of them, it had only taken another half hour to sketch out how the trap would
work.
As the gang of nomads approached, at least one thing was on Fix and Cleo’s side. The wind was blowing hard out of the north, and the windmill was turning beautifully.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
C
leo and Rob were hidden behind the oil barrels. The gang had just entered the yard.
Cleo looked into Rob’s eyes. “You’ve got to wait to shoot until you know you’ve got a kill. Understand? You’ve only got two rounds.” Cleo’s whole body felt like a drawn bow.
Rob nodded and clicked off the safety. Flares burst from the truck, and kids screamed. “I’m ready,” he said without emotion. “Let’s do this.”
The gun clicked as he pumped a cartridge into the chamber. They had to make sure the kids headed for the control shed and toward Fix’s trap.
Cleo stood up and started to scream, “Hey, you—” when a shotgun blast drowned her out. The shot was off its mark, but neither Rob nor Cleo needed another warning. They tore off toward the windmill, hoping Fix had everything ready.
They were ten yards from the windmill when the next shot echoed over their heads. Rob was first to bang through the doorway, yelling, “They’re coming,” with Cleo on his heels.
“Now or never, Fix!” Cleo screamed.
Fix pointed to the back door and to Rob and Cleo. “Get going,” he said. Then he snuffed the lantern. The room was dark except for the light pouring through the open front door.
Rob headed out the back door as Fix began pulling a huge lever he’d made from old black gas pipe. The gears ground and screamed as the nomad kids banged into the control house. All six were inside.
For a moment, Cleo could only hear the raiders’ breathing as they strained to see anything in the dark room. Then she heard Fix: “Come on!”
He was straining, she could see in the gloom, to pull the lever the final few inches. It was stuck. He caught Cleo’s eye and she knew in an instant.
Cleo stepped into the light, firing her last shot into the six kids. One fell. She took another step back inside and was nearly to Fix when the first of their shots hit. She twisted and screamed but made it to Fix’s post. He started to let go of the lever and reach for her. Another shot ricocheted over their heads as Fix felt Cleo add her weight to his own, and the lever fell the rest of the way forward.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
C
leo’s chest felt like it had sprung a leak. The sound of a chain winding filled the control shed, and the front door slammed closed. One of the kids fired another shot. And then another. And then Fix and Rob were lifting her up. And then they were through the door and into the light of day. Someone slammed the door behind her and barred it shut as the sounds of gears clashing and metal twisting echoed through the valley.
Moments later they were all in the truck. Rob and Fix were still beside Cleo, breathing hard. She saw the shadow of the windmill. And then the shadow moved and the metal noise grew unbearable and the shadow was gone. And then silence.
CHAPTER TWENTY
F
ix was barely aware of what he did or what he saw in those moments after leaving the control shed. There was so much blood. Cleo’s blood. And the sound of the windmill ripping itself apart.
The idea to bring down the windmill had come to Fix when he felt a twinge in his shoulder and remembered trying to fix the generator connection alone. He had remembered the power of that windmill. He, Rob, Todd, and Cleo had spent an afternoon connecting two hundred feet of steel cable to the windmill’s shaft, then weaving it through support beams inside the tower.
Fix couldn’t help himself. As the sound of crumpling aluminum echoed through the low hills, he looked over his shoulder. He stumbled, bringing down Rob and Cleo with him. They all watched as the windmill fell, the length of cable wrapping around the shaft, pulling the tower into itself—and everyone stuck inside.
Rob got back to his feet and dragged Cleo the last few steps to the truck. “Come on, Fix. Don’t let up. We’ve almost got her to the truck,” Rob said through gritted teeth.
The truck. That was the only thing now. They were really leaving. No turning back.
• • •
Todd gunned the engine, and the bed of the pickup vibrated as they rumbled down the gravel driveway. Cleo couldn’t see over the edge of the bed, but part of the bottom was rusted out and she could watch the road beneath them. They were moving, really moving.
Moving was great, and Cleo smiled. The smile didn’t last because breathing was getting harder. She turned to look up at Fix.
Fix was pressing a bundle of shirts and rags and whatever into her chest. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t breathe. If only Fix would stop pushing on my chest, she thought. Then she coughed. The taste of blood was unmistakable. Fix’s pushing wasn’t the problem. It also wouldn’t be the solution. The past ten minutes were coming back to her.
Fix was covered in blood, and his face was frantic. He seemed to Cleo to be whispering to himself. She tried to focus on his lips. Focus. Fix, why don’t you talk louder? There’s so much wind up where you are. She fought to catch his eyes. There.
She finally made out his whispering: “Come on, Cleo. Come on.” Or maybe he was screaming. “Stay with us, Cleo. Please.”
She raised her left hand near his face. The right arm didn’t seem to work. “Fix.” Her voice was faint. He didn’t hear. She managed to get her left hand to his mouth. Left arm didn’t seem much better. There. Nice lips. “Fix.”
Fix had been looking everywhere but Cleo’s eyes. He turned to face her. “Cleo. I’m trying everything. Just hold on. Please. I can—”
“Fix me?” she whispered. “Fix.” She shook her head and touched his face again. Nice cheek. “The book—the map. Ozymandias. Refuge, Fix. They’re real. I know they are. Get the others there. I know you can.”
“I’ll get us all there, Cleo. All of us. Just hold on. I can stop the bleeding. You’re going to—”
She coughed and gagged. More blood. “Read to me, Fix. Come down here with me, Fix. Out of the wind. It’s quiet, Fix. You can read to me.” She dislodged the book from the pocket of her too-big coat. “It’s Hamlet. I thought we could practice on the road. So important. So important now that you learn.”
Fix took the book from her. The page was familiar, and he was thankful. He began. “What—what a piece of—”
She touched his face again and he stopped. “Down here with me, Fix. So I can hear you. Hear you read.”
Fix stretched out next to Cleo, his mouth at the level of her ear. She stared up at the impossibly blue sky. She listened hard.
Fix took a deep breath, and read: “What a piece of work is—is a woman, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet. . . .”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
F
ix could tell his shoulder was healed because it didn’t hurt at all as he dug. Thoughts like that, stupid thoughts, floated through his head as he pushed the shovel deeper and deeper. He wished his shoulder did hurt. He wanted pain to drown out the stupid thoughts.
Todd and Rob were trying to help, but Fix wouldn’t give up the shovel. There wasn’t really enough room in the hole, either, for more than one person to dig at once. Fix made the dirt fly. He began to sweat, and he could feel some pain in his hands. Finally.
How deep? he wondered. And then he wished that he could just dig forever, infinite, as Cleo had taught him. He never wanted to stop and have to look up to see all of them, with her missing.
Cleo would have known how deep it should be.
Todd and Rob tried again to get him to stop. Fix just choked back a grim laugh and shook his head. He kept digging. They went away.
“Fix? Fix! Fix, stop, that’s enough. It’s plenty deep, Fix. Stop.” Nic’s voice broke on the last word. She crouched down so her face was level with Fix’s.
He paused, forced
to look at her. Her face was streaked with tears. He wondered if his was too.
“This is good, Fix. You did a good job. I have her ready. You know we can’t stop here, and it’s getting dark.” Nic held out her hand to Fix. He took it and climbed out of the grave.
Now the moment he dreaded. He saw Gus, his lips pressed together, clutching a handful of weeds and wildflowers. Todd and Rob standing next to Gus, looking at the body. The truck, dark against the sunset. And the sight Fix couldn’t avoid. Cleo, lying on the ground. No bloody holes—where had they gone? Her jacket and book were off to one side.
“I cleaned her up,” Nic said. “I don’t care about our water supply, I used some. I changed her shirt. I wanted her to look . . . right.”
Fix glanced at Nic and saw that she was shivering a little in the wind. She still had on her sweater, but she’d given Cleo the shirt she always wore underneath it.
Fix nodded, his jaw clenched. Nic turned to Todd and Rob. They moved forward to pick Cleo up.
“Wait,” Fix croaked. “What about her jacket? And book?”
“Those are for you, Fix,” said Nic gently. “I think she’d want you to have them.” Nic walked over and picked up the jacket and coverless book and handed them to Fix.
Cleo would be cold without the jacket. The dirt he had dug felt cold. But she’s dead, said a voice in his head. Take what you need. Things are for the living. It was Cleo’s voice, and Fix felt a crazy need to laugh again.
He felt Nic shiver a bit again next to him. “Here,” he said, thrusting the jacket at her. “You take it. You need it. Cleo liked things . . . things that were needed.” Nic put on the jacket. It had been large on Cleo and was even bigger on her.
Fix gripped the book tightly and nodded at Todd and Rob. They lifted Cleo with ease. It seemed to Fix she should be heavier. Cleo had always seemed so full of things. Plans, energy, words, and sometimes hate. Love, too. He knew that now.