Race the Night

by Kirsten Hubbard

  Eider cried out. “There are real fish!”

  “Obviously,” Finch said. “I mean, the dead ones are still rotting. That means they were alive not that long ago.”

  She hadn’t thought of that.

  They walked farther along the water. It was still windy, though not as blustery as when they’d first set out. Eider imagined Teacher’s papers blowing every which way, all across the desert ranch, maybe even Beyond, while Teacher and Nurse ran after them. Despite her nervousness, the image was silly enough to make her smile.

  Before long, the beach began to widen. The fish bones hardened into dirt. Eider noticed tire marks, though she couldn’t tell how old they were. She saw crunchy patches of grass. And trash everywhere, like the kind she’d found in the ravine. Bits of pipe. Broken wedges of plastic. Curls of wire.

  Finch pocketed a few items, then pointed. “Hey, isn’t that a table?”

  They hurried over. It looked as ancient as the spotty sea. An end-of-the-world table, with twin benches attached.

  “There’s another one over there,” Eider said. “And—what’s that?”

  Beside the second table stood a big metal cylinder, with the word TRASH painted on it in bright red. It didn’t look that ancient. Eider leaned over and peered inside, expecting nothing.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed.

  “What?” Finch said.

  Eider reached inside the metal cylinder and withdrew a crumpled, colorful paper bag. “Fast food,” she read. “What does that mean?”

  Finch shrugged. “What kinds of food are fast?”

  Eider uncrumpled the bag. Inside, she found a napkin and a yellow wrapper, greasy but empty. She could smell it, though: tart and strong. It made her mouth water.

  “Smells like pickles,” Finch said.

  The bag still had some weight to it. She overturned it. A few fat foil packets fell into her hand. “Tomato ketchup,” she read.

  “That doesn’t look like a tomato,” Finch said.

  Eider pinched off a corner of the foil packet. She sniffed, then brought the packet to her mouth and squeezed. The flavor pinched her tongue. “It doesn’t taste like a tomato, either,” she said, handing the packet to Finch.

  He squeezed the rest into his mouth. “It’s sour. And sweet. I think I like it.”

  She and Finch split the last two foil packets. Then they checked the other two trash cans. The stiff heel of bread they found tasted like the desert, but Eider didn’t need food to be delicious.

  They found a faucet, too. Or that’s what Finch said it was. When he swiveled the handle, she expected nothing—but it worked! They finished the water in their bottles, then filled them, then drank and filled them again.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  Eider gazed out at the sea. At its scummy-looking patches. Stink waves, she thought. She’d told Robin to head west. But west was across the sea. How could they get there? Was it even possible?

  “We need a boat,” she said.

  “Where are we going to get a boat?” Finch asked.

  She glanced at the table. “Make one?”

  “No way. How? We don’t even have any tools.”

  Eider knew he was right. “But what else can we do?”

  “Walk around it?”

  “Around the entire sea?” She laughed incredulously. “That’d take a million years, Finch. The sea is huge. You know that just as well as I do.”

  “I don’t think this is the sea.”

  She blinked at him. “Huh?”

  “Not the ocean, anyway. Look really carefully, straight across.” He pointed. “I think those are hills. Which means there’s another side.”

  Eider shielded her eyes from the sun. Her heart fluttered. It had been too hazy to see before, but now that the wind had settled a bit, way off in the distance, she could make out the shape of land across the water.

  It had been hazy when Teacher had brought her here, too, Eider remembered. Teacher had probably planned it that way.

  “Then what is this?” she asked. “Where are we?”

  “I don’t know,” Finch said. “But if we walk along the edge of this—of this sea—I bet we’ll find something. Maybe even the other side.”

  They continued along the sea-that-wasn’t. South, then southwest as the shoreline gradually began to curve around.

  Eider kept glancing back to make sure they weren’t being followed. She didn’t see anybody. But that didn’t mean they weren’t coming.

  They found an old cement dock, half crumbled into the water. A door with no house attached. An ancient pillar crusted with white. Each discovery made Eider feel more nervous. Like the end of the world—the nobody and the nothing—was larger and realer than she’d thought.

  But then, what had the ketchup been? The stiff but edible bread?

  “So what’s our destination, anyway?” Finch asked.

  “Destination?”

  “Where are we headed after this?”

  “Good question.” Eider felt shy, all of a sudden. She reached into her overalls pocket and pulled out the housing-development pamphlet. “I was thinking maybe this place,” she said, handing it over.

  “Huge front lawns,” Finch read. “What’s a gazebo?”

  “No clue.”

  “Where did you find this?”

  “A few weeks ago, when I was out exploring.” Eider turned over the pamphlet. “See, there’s a little map. The W is for west. Teacher said there’s a highway west of here—this long road might be it, right?” She traced the path with her finger. “After it crosses this other road, there’ll be a bridge….”

  Finch didn’t look convinced. “But we don’t know if we’re near the highway at all. Or how old this map is.”

  “It looks newer than my other papers.”

  “You had other papers?”

  “Well, yeah. I had lots.”

  “Why didn’t you ever show me?”

  Eider shrugged. “You were keeping stuff from me, too. All the plans and ideas in your notebooks.”

  “But I—” Finch paused. “Yeah. I guess we all kept stuff from each other.”

  They shared a can of bright yellow pineapple chunks, then continued southwest along the sea. Their shadows grew longer and longer.

  Part of Eider welcomed the night. The temperature would be cooler. And they could hide much more easily in the dark. But other things could hide more easily, too. Dangerous things, just waiting for them to fall asleep. Eider wished she could switch off her thoughts, but she couldn’t. She chewed and chewed her thumbnails.

  And then she burst out, “I’m scared about Robin. About finding her.” She paused. “I’m scared we won’t.”

  “It’s been years,” Finch said carefully.

  “I know. And it’s dangerous out here. Teacher said…” Eider wiped her eyes. “Teacher said there’s no way she could have survived.”

  “Well…nothing bad has happened to us.”

  “But we’ve only been out here a day. If the world still exists—all the bridges and buildings and pangolins and armadillos—doesn’t that mean dangerous things still exist, too?”

  “I guess.”

  “Maybe there are worse snakes than rattlesnakes. And worse creatures than snakes.”

  “Maybe,” Finch said.

  Eider peered at him. “Why don’t you seem nervous?”

  “I’m not really sure. I always was before. But now that we’re out here…” He shrugged, a grin tugging at his cheeks. “Wow. You know?”

  Because she couldn’t help it, Eider smiled too. “I guess it is kind of amazing.”

  “And we haven’t even gone that far!”

  It was true. They were still in the desert. With the same desert sounds, the same desert sameness—which, in a strange way, was comforting. Even the stink was comforting, because Eider knew it came from the sea. Or a sea. A dying sea that was most likely—probably—not the ocean.

  The ocean still existed. And so did they.

  And so did
Robin. Eider believed it, as strongly as she’d ever believed anything. She felt her. A warmth tightening Eider’s chest, as if they were connected heart to heart, no matter where her sister was.

  How far could a kid walk in three years?

  EIDER LAY WITH HER HEAD ON HER PACK, trying to sleep. Finch was keeping first watch. She could hear him tinkering with whatever junk he’d found.

  Suddenly, her eyes sprang open. “Do you hear that?”

  Finch inhaled sharply. “Oh no.”

  Eider sat up. Right away, she saw it: the van. Crunching over the ground, its big, knobby tires flattening sagebrush and whatever creatures lived inside. It had found them. Or maybe it had been following them this whole time. Like the predatory cats they’d read about in World Book C, waiting until they were tired.

  “Should we run?” Eider scrambled to put her boots back on. Why had she taken them off? Why had she felt secure, even for a second?

  “We’ll never make it,” Finch said fearfully. “We’re the worst runners.”

  “No, Linnet’s the worst runner.”

  “Now we definitely won’t make it.”

  Eider ran a few steps in her unlaced boots, then gave up as the van crunched to a stop a few yards away. For some reason, it looked crooked. Then she noticed one of the tires was much smaller, like the ones on the Handyman’s truck.

  “Jay must have slashed it,” Finch said. “No wonder it took them so long.”

  “Not long enough.”

  They both shut up as the van’s doors opened. Eider wondered if she should pick up a rock to defend them. But she wasn’t Jay, the strongest. Just like she wasn’t Avis, the most agile, or Finch, the smartest. She was only Eider: more scared than she’d ever felt.

  Nurse climbed out first, a sheen of sweat on his flat, bald head. “Oh, you silly, foolish kids,” he began, then stopped as Teacher slammed the door.

  “You made it pretty far this time,” she said. “No snakebites, I hope?”

  She sounded concerned—or rather, like she was trying to sound concerned. Crocodile concern, Eider thought. Like Robin’s crocodile tears. Because now, Eider knew Teacher’s anger was there, steaming just below the surface.

  Had it always been there? Was that why Teacher kept them away from the world? Not only them—but herself, too. Teacher had given up the world. For a second, Eider thought of the framed photo she’d seen in Teacher’s office. She had no idea what had happened to them—to Teacher’s family. But there were lots of ways for the world to end. Eider knew that firsthand.

  “Finch,” Teacher said. “I’m so disappointed in you.”

  Finch shuffled his feet.

  “And Eider. After all the chances I’ve given you. How could you?”

  How couldn’t I? Eider wanted to say. But she felt too defeated.

  “I know which one of you was behind this. It’s not the first time, after all. But it’s definitely going to be the last. We’ll have a talk back at the ranch.” Teacher paused. “A big one this time.”

  Eider couldn’t look at Teacher, so she glared at Nurse instead. He just stood there—obviously distraught, but not speaking up, either. Which was almost as bad.

  Teacher slid open the door of the van.

  Avis sat inside.

  Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks puffy. Like she’d been crying ever since she’d last seen Eider. Ever since she’d squeezed her hand good-bye. Ever since Eider had told her which direction they were headed.

  Eider’s mouth fell open. “You told them where we went.”

  “I’m sorry,” Avis whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “How could you, Avis?”

  “I didn’t have a choice! You know I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did,” Eider said furiously.

  Maybe Teacher hadn’t allowed them to make big decisions. But they made choices, every single day. Everyone did. You could choose to trust. You could choose to listen. You could choose to believe. There were options.

  Eider climbed into the back of the van, sitting as far from Avis as possible. Finch climbed in beside her, and Teacher slammed the door behind them. After a moment, the engine started. The cold air barely reached them through the metal grate dividing them from the front seats.

  She watched the desert sameness, or what she could see of it, pass through the dusty widows. As they headed back to the desert ranch, away from the possibilities of Beyond. Away from the reality of Robin.

  “Maybe if I’d been a real leader,” Eider said to Finch. “Maybe then we’d have made it.”

  “You are a real leader,” Finch said.

  “No, I’m not. I could have gotten us out of here if I was a real leader. I keep making the wrong decisions. And I’ve been scared the whole time.”

  “Who says real leaders aren’t scared? I bet they’re terrified. The good ones, I mean. If they aren’t, then maybe they’re just crazy.”

  Eider thought about that.

  “It will be okay, Eider,” Avis said. “We’ll get through this. All of us will.”

  No, Eider wouldn’t. And neither would Teacher—Eider was certain of that. Teacher would discipline her. Take everything she’d ever loved. Pinch and prod her brain like clay, until it became something else entirely. Find other ways to make her forget Robin had ever existed.

  Or maybe Teacher would make the other kids forget Eider had ever existed. If she’d done it once, she could do it again.

  Eider was scared. Eider was terrified.

  She was scared of making the wrong decision. But she was terrified of not making the right one.

  She unbuckled her seat belt and scrambled over Finch’s lap. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She slid open the van door. The desert sameness sped by. Fast, but not too fast. A jump would hurt, but maybe not too much. Not as much as not jumping. The hardest part was the first step. Only in this case, it was a very big step.

  “Don’t!” Avis cried.

  Eider leaped.

  She soared.

  IT ALL HAPPENED SO FAST. The jump. The slam of the earth, the pain of gravel in Eider’s hands and knees. She somersaulted and somehow found her feet. They started running as soon as she was vertical.

  “Eider!”

  She whirled around. Finch—or maybe it was Avis—had thrown Eider her pack. She dove for it, looping her arms through the straps. She head Teacher yell, but Nurse didn’t slow the van. Was he standing up to Teacher at last?

  It didn’t matter. Eider was off.

  All her training, all her days of exploration in the desert ranch’s outskirts had made her familiar with the desert terrain. She knew what kind of slope would send her skidding. Which earth was firm and which she’d punch through. She knew what brush she could step into and what she should step over, or avoid entirely. It was an Extrasensory all her own, a language she didn’t even have to think about.

  She spoke it in her bones.

  Eider had never run this long before. A few loops around the fence during Physical, a handful of tries at the obstacle course. Enough to know a pinch in her side, a burn in her throat, an ache in her calves. But just barely.

  Now she knew those sensations had just been beginnings. The twin pricks from a snakebite that kept biting, biting, biting, until white-hot pain was all she knew.

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad.

  But by the time she reached the first big outcrop of rock, it might have been the second-worst pain of her life. She skidded to a stop, then ducked into the shade. It wasn’t very much shade. She had to stoop. For a moment, she wondered if it was the same outcrop she and Robin had found. No, they hadn’t made it this far.

  Frantic for water, she opened her pack and reached inside. The first thing she touched was unfamiliar. She pulled it out.

  Finch’s radio.

  So that was what he’d been tinkering with earlier. And he must have tossed her his pack instead of hers. But the radio was broken, wasn’t it?

  She examined it. Surprisingly, it
seemed all right. She tapped the wires and swiveled the dial like Finch had. It turned on—but all she heard was the low crackle-hum. She switched it off. She drank half a bottle of water. As soon as she stood, the silence hit her like a huge, crashing wave.

  She was alone.

  For the first time in her entire life. She was alone.

  Eider had thought she’d been alone before. But she hadn’t been, not truly. Even if none of the other kids could match the bond she’d shared with Robin, they’d been friends—better friends than she’d realized. They’d been family.

  Now they were gone. And Eider had to be leader of herself.

  “Which way?” she asked.

  She stood with her hands on her hips, considering the sun. Like she had three years ago, with Robin at her side.

  The sun came from the east each morning. But that was where the night came from, too. The dark, and all that it entailed. Heading west meant walking with the sun.

  “West,” she replied. “Away from the night.”

  And maybe toward Robin.

  Eider hiked and hiked. She ate half a can of cold, squishy beans and hiked. The midday sun clawed at her shoulders. She tied her jacket over them like a cape and hiked.

  When she couldn’t bear another step, she took another. And then another. Until every single step became her last, then last, then last.

  It helped to think she was following Robin’s footsteps. Of course, Eider had no way of knowing if she was really tracking her sister’s path. Any actual footprints would have blown away years ago. But the idea of them was there, haunting the desert sameness.

  Except…the desert wasn’t really the same anymore.

  The change had come so gradually, Eider hadn’t noticed. There were more rocks, now. More color to the weeds, and more plants overall. Some were so big they were practically trees.

  She lifted her water to her lips and swallowed. From the rise before her, she heard a scuffle-clatter. She froze—then giggled.

  It was only a kit fox.

  Kit foxes had visited the desert ranch time to time, but the mean dog had always frightened them off. Or Nurse had, when they’d ransacked the garbage pail.

  Eider grinned at the fox, which stared back. It had a tiny, pointed snout, and its ears were comically huge in comparison. Goofy kit fox ears. Its large, dark eyes almost reminded her of Robin’s.