“But you didn’t tell me that,” I accused.
“No, I didn’t. And here we are now: I’m alive. And you no longer want me dead.”
“I didn’t say that. I said that I didn’t have it in me to kill you.”
“Because now you know me too well.”
I rolled my eyes up at the sky. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Telling you what?” he asked innocently.
“Why are you telling me about the infection?”
“Because I’ve wanted to tell you for a while. And now, finally, you’re done trying to kill me; it seemed like a good time.”
“But why does it even matter? You didn’t die from that infection; you let me unknowingly give you the medicine that saved you. It’s done. Nothing came of it. So why do you want me to know?”
“Because it’s an interesting twist of fate. If things had just happened a little bit differently, I would have died, and your revenge would have been fulfilled, and you would have been. . .”
“Alone.”
“Yes. Alone.” His eyes held mine.
I looked away.
“It’s just one of those things that makes you think,” he continued, “and I wanted to share it with you.”
But why had he wanted to share it with me? Nothing changed by him saying it. He was still him, and I was still me, and we still had some sort of understanding between us that kept us from leaving the other.
Something occurred to me.
“You’re not just letting me stay with you because you feel sorry for me, are you?” I asked him, meeting his eyes again; I had the strange feeling they had never left my face.
“That’s exactly what I was doing,” he told me.
I blinked.
“Before I needed you to keep me alive,” he added.
“And now?”
“Now I like you. There’s no reason for you not to be around. And you need me, in whatever capacity. So it makes sense for us to stay together for now.”
I hated him saying I needed him, as if he was stating that I was weak. But I couldn’t tell him he was wrong, especially after my reaction to his disappearance just a little while ago.
“Just so you know, just because I want to be around you doesn’t mean I like you,” I told him.
He raised both of his eyebrows. “Do you still dislike me?” he asked.
“No,” I admitted.
“Good,” he replied, still holding my gaze as he reached forward and tapped my nose; he pushed himself to his feet. “Then we’re making progress.”
Chapter 9
“How are you doing?” I asked, following behind Gideon at a careful pace.
“I’m doing just fine, darling,” he said over his shoulder, stepping carefully along the rocks. “I probably have another two or so miles in me.”
The stream traveled south, Gideon had informed me, and so we’d decided to follow along it for a while; it was a great source of fresh water, as well as very “aesthetically pleasing,” as Gideon termed it. The banks were rocky, but the lull of the water was very soothing.
“When we decide to stop for the day, I want some time to wash up,” I said.
“Okay.”
“In private,” I added.
“I understand.”
“’Kay. Good.”
He glanced at me again, and we kept walking. Forty-five minutes later he started looking around, eyeing the area a bit more.
“Looking for a good stopping spot?” I asked.
He nodded toward a point a little further ahead, on the other side of the stream from where we were walking. “That look good?”
The spot he indicated was directly beside the water: a wedge of treeless land, bits of grass speckling the dirt. It was still shaded by the trees, but had plenty of room so that we could camp by the stream and also manage glimpses of the stars where the stream separated the trees into a skylight.
“Very picturesque,” I commented. Though I noticed that the spot was a little smaller than the ones we usually chose. I wasn’t sure we’d be able to camp on opposite sides of the fire tonight; the fire would have to be directly by the water’s edge, with us sharing the space right behind it. Did Gideon notice this? I probably shouldn’t bring it up; he might think it was weird that I was considering the space issue at all.
“Just one thing,” I added. I pointed at the spot. “You aren’t going to be able to wait at our campsite while I’m in the stream. You know. Bathing.”
“I wasn’t going to. Aren’t you hungry?”
“Er, yes.”
“I was going to look around and see if there was anything to eat.”
“Aren’t you tired? I could do that part after I’m done, and you can just sit a little further in the forest while I’m out here.”
He shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I’m not too tired to have a look around at the pickings. You good here?” He stopped walking, and I did, too.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said.
“Alright, then. I’m off.” He lifted his hand a little, a small wave, before crossing the stream and disappearing into the trees.
I stood there, struck by my sudden aloneness, watching the point at which he’d disappeared.
What if he hadn’t really been wanting to look for food? What if he’d finally gotten tired of me?
I shook that off. One panic over that was enough for one day.
I dropped my backpack under a tree, studying my surroundings for signs of intruders. I set my gun down on my backpack. Then, very slowly, not trusting that I was really alone, I began to undress. I gazed into the stream, trying to find the deepest spot of water around the area I was in. When I recognized it as a pool about two feet deep, I waded in, clothes held in my arms, and settled down in the water. I cleaned each article of clothing as best I could, laying them out on the rocks beside the water as I finished. Then, I thoroughly washed myself, finishing by leaning forward to dunk my head under the water and using my fingers to roughly scrub my scalp; I rubbed at my hair with the palms of my hands, and then pulled my head back out of the water, sucking in a breath of air as my wet hair slapped my back.
That’s when I saw him.
A man. Not Gideon. He was leaning against a tree with crossed arms. And he was staring at me.
I immediately crossed my own arms over my chest, sinking as deep into the shallow water as possible in order to shield myself.
“Beautiful,” the man murmured, still looking at me. It sounded so odd, hearing someone else’s voice after almost a month of hearing no one but Gideon.
This man was ruddy and unkempt; his hair was speckled with dirt, and that same dirt caked his clothes. He had a thick beard across his chin, the growth of several days. His eyes were lined with red.
My gun was several feet away, still resting on top of my backpack.
“My, er. . .” I cleared my throat. “My boyfriend is nearby, looking for food. He’s the jealous type – kills anyone that looks at me funny.” I was pretty sure Gideon didn’t feel this way about me, but I did have the sense that he’d protect me if necessary, and I needed anything to get this man to leave me alone.
“See, I’m not convinced of that,” the man told me. “Why would your boyfriend leave such a pretty girl unattended? Very irresponsible. Someone might try and steal her.” He grinned at me, and I could see the food from his last meal, still trapped in his yellow teeth.
I took that moment to dive out of the water, right for my gun. My hand fumbled the handle, only getting a firm grip as the man reached my side. He grabbed my wrist, his nails scratching the skin as he achieved an iron-like grip. He squeezed, trying to force me to drop the gun, but I wasn’t letting go; even though the gun wasn’t trained on any part of his body, I pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed through the forest.
I dropped the gun.
With his hand still locked around my wrist, he twisted my arm behind my back and shoved me, face-down, to the ground. He used his upper b
ody weight to hold me there while his other hand fumbled with his jeans. I kicked at him with my legs, but with the leverage he already had, it didn’t do much good.
Another shot exploded in my ears, and the weight holding me down instantaneously disappeared; there was a thump.
“Candace, I’m not looking. Get your clothes on, will you?” It was Gideon’s voice.
I scrambled to my feet, rushing to follow his suggestion. I looked around for him as I stuck my legs through my pants; he stood with his back to me about seven yards away – on the other side of the stream and deep in the trees.
When I finished dressing, I shouldered my backpack and walked to his side.
“Can I look now?” he murmured, staring forcefully ahead with crossed arms.
“Yes,” I whispered, my own arms wrapped tightly around myself as if to stave off a cold wind.
His eyes immediately came to rest on me, and I couldn’t mistake the worried furrow of his brows.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” My voice was still a whisper. I couldn’t meet his eyes, so I looked off to the side. “Thank you.”
“I heard your gunshot. I could only think of two reasons why you might be firing: you had come across food, or you had an unwelcome guest. Either way, I wanted to be there.” His tone was wry, and he was still looking at me.
I wasn’t sure whether his gaze bothered me or not, but I didn’t want to be alone, either. It obviously wasn’t very safe for me to be alone.
“I know you still don’t care for me too much, but . . . you should let me know if you could use a hug.”
My eyes snapped back to him, checking to see whether he was still teasing. There was no hint of humor there. Moreover, there was something else. I couldn’t quite place it, but it might have been yearning.
I bit my lip, looking down at the ground. What would it mean, to hug him? He was the man who killed my parents and, not too long ago, I had wanted to kill him with every fiber of my being. How had we gotten to this point?
He turned and started walking for the stream. “Stay here for a sec. That guy didn’t have any pants on when I killed him, and no one deserves to unexpectedly have that sight meet their eyes.”
I obeyed, all the while thinking: What would it mean to hug Gideon?
After a few moments, Gideon called to me. “Alright, Candace.”
I followed his voice to the edge of the stream.
“I don’t think we should camp here anymore,” he told me, standing in front of the man’s body; I tried not to look at it. Gideon’s position in front of the body seemed to suggest he’d known I wouldn’t want to. “First of all, I don’t want you having nightmares. Second, we don’t know if this guy had any traveling companions. If he did, we don’t want to find out if they’re the kind who’ll hold a grudge for him.”
“Okay,” I nodded, crossing the stream to him. “But are you up for more walking?”
“I’ll manage just fine; safety is more important.” He nodded in the direction we’d been heading before: south. Then, he started walking, his limp pronounced.
“Gideon?”
He stopped, looking back at me with that crease still between his brows. “Yeah?”
“I . . . I think I could use a hug.” My heart pounded as I said the words, my arms still wrapped around myself, my hands balled into fists.
His lips parted as he stared at me. He wasn’t taken aback, but seemed surprised that I’d said what I had. Then, he started back to me. He stopped just a foot from me, looked down into my eyes, and consumed every detail of my face. Then, he reached his hands out, gently pulled my arms apart, and pulled me into him.
Warmth enveloped me. He was soft, but firm, and so warm. My cheek rested on his chest, and his arms encircled me, very carefully tightening around me – not too tight, but enough to hold me close to him.
“Is this okay?” he asked, voice low in my ear as he rested his chin on my head.
“Yes,” I managed to breathe.
“Tell me if it’s not, Candace. I’m never going to do anything you don’t want me to do.”
His heart beat a deep, uneven rhythm against my cheek; the sound and feel of it was very comforting. “Why is your heartbeat uneven?” I whispered.
He chuckled, the sound deep and reverberating through his chest; I could feel the sound through my entire body. “I just never thought you’d let me hug you.”
I stood there, letting him hug me. It made me feel less alone. Safe. Protected. Less vulnerable. But it also made me feel more vulnerable, in a completely different way than I had ever felt vulnerable before.
That hug was the best thing I had felt in so long. But it was also scarier than anything I might have ever felt before. The only thing that would have been scarier at that moment was facing the world without Gideon.
~ * ~
We walked. The daylight slowly vanished behind the trees, and the forest grew dark. Still, we walked.
“Isn’t this far enough?” I asked, peering at the shadow in front of me that was Gideon and noticing his limp; we were barely making any progress now, and I was sure he was in pain.
“Just a little further,” he murmured. “I want to make it a good three miles away.”
“Sorry,” I said, feeling guilty, like it was my fault he was in pain at that moment. Funny, since I used to wish for any sort of pain I could cause him. It was different now.
“This is absolutely not your fault, Candace. Don’t apologize.”
I bit my lip, then thought of something. “Can I carry your pack for you?”
Gideon paused; I almost ran into him. “If you don’t mind,” he mumbled, pulling it off his shoulders and turning to me. “I don’t think it’s too heavy for you, since we haven’t refilled our bottles yet.” He gestured for me to turn my back to him; I did, and he carefully placed his backpack over mine. “Feel okay?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Three miles will make today only a total of five miles. Your recovery time might have caused me to get out of shape, but I’m not that out of shape. I could easily handle another five miles with your backpack.”
“Good to hear it,” he said, facing forward and continuing to walk. “Just don’t shoot me with my own gun while my back is turned; I’d prefer to be looking at you when you kill me.” His tone was joking, but his words sent my heart straight to the pit of my stomach.
“I’m not going to kill you, Gideon,” I murmured quietly.
“I know,” he replied, serious.
We kept walking. About ten minutes later he stopped.
“I’m about to drop right where I’m standing,” he admitted to me, his voice echoing his exhaustion. “That spot there look okay to you?” he nodded to a crevice between two trees up ahead. There wasn’t much room, but it was more room than I’d seen between the trees for at least half a mile.
“Okay,” I murmured, worriedly watching as Gideon took those last few steps and eased himself down. He immediately laid back, closing his eyes.
I leaned over the stream, drinking the water. Then I took one of his empty bottles out of his pack and filled it to the brim; I carried it to his side and kneeled down.
“Here,” I said, holding it out.
He squinted up at me, then took the water. He raised his head and drank it down as quickly as possible, then laid back again. “Thanks,” he murmured.
“Yeah. I think we should take tomorrow off. You need a day for your healing to catch up with those extra miles we just put on your body. Anyone following us shouldn’t be able to track us since we walked along the water, so it should be perfectly safe to stay here an extra day.”
“I’m not going to argue with that just now,” he replied, eyes still closed.
I looked around us, still kneeling beside him. The forest was quiet, except for the wind exhaling through the trees. “Is it okay if we wait to get food till tomorrow?” I asked.
He opened his eyes again, looking at me. “Yes. I don’t think you should be wan
dering off on your own, after what happened.”
I scratched my neck. “It’s no big deal. That’s just what happens.”
“That is not no big deal, Candace. It’s not happening again, not while I’m around.”
“It still happened when I was with my parents. They protected me, but they couldn’t always be with me. You can’t always be with me, either.”
“Well, the only reason I’m ever leaving your side again is if you send me away.”
I laughed lightly.
“I’m serious.”
“You might be serious now, but you can’t always be with me. You’ll get irritated with me eventually, and need some air.”
“If I do, I want you to go straight up a tree and wait for me.”
“I can’t make any promises, Gideon. This is the world we live in, and that’s what happens sometimes. Look.” I fished around in my backpack and brought out a bottle. “See? I even have medicine for it. To prevent pregnancy. I take one every time.” I twisted my mouth. “Well, except this time, since nothing had happened yet before you got there.”
Gideon’s hand wrapped around the bottle, around my hand, as he squinted at the label in the darkness. “I guess it’s good you have that, but it makes me sad you need it.”
“Most girls don’t have it. Though I think most of them kill the baby after it comes anyway.” An image came to mind: a grandmother twisting the newborn’s head until the neck broke, still leaning over the new mother as she did so. The baby hadn’t even gotten to take its first breath. I shoved the memory away.
“Horrible,” Gideon muttered, looking away; he hadn’t let go of my hand, though.
I hurriedly transferred the bottle to the hand Gideon wasn’t holding, then stuffed it back in my bag. “Well, what did you think happens? It’s pretty obvious something does; there aren’t very many kids around, are there?”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t know; it’s that I try not to think about it. I used to be around that sort of thing often enough, and it’s one of the reasons I like to stick to myself now. I don’t want to see that sort of thing. I do see rape from time to time – always shoot the varmint right in the head – but mostly because men wait until they have a secluded victim.”
Humanity Page 9