Humanity

by J. D. Knutson

  ~ * ~

  That night, we had a fire burning again. Gideon rested a few feet away, the usual distance he set between us. Except. . .

  Except I’d been sleeping wrapped in his arms for over a week, and I could feel the tension coating the air between us. Why was he so far away?

  I peeked over at him and caught his eye; he quickly rolled away from me, facing his back to me.

  Why, why, why? I knew he was feeling the same thing I was feeling. It was the desire to be closer. Why had he rolled away from me? Why did I have to feel so conflicted? Why him?

  That was exactly the answer. He wasn’t going to push things unless I wanted him to, and there was no longer a physical need to be close at night; we had warm clothes, so that was done.

  He knew I felt conflicted. I didn’t know if he knew exactly how I felt, but he definitely understood a lot. He knew there was something sitting in front of me, a big something – two somethings, actually: my parents.

  I sighed, sitting up and crossing my legs as I stared into the fire. Then, after another moment, I pushed away all thoughts of my parents and crawled around to Gideon’s other side. His eyes were open, and they immediately met mine; they were full of longing.

  Heart beating hard, like it so often did when it came to Gideon, I pulled apart his crossed arms, and then arranged myself in them. His embrace was welcoming, and he tightened his hold on me as I settled in.

  “Comfortable?” he asked, exhaling against my scalp.

  “Yes, thank you,” I replied primly, closing my eyes. What I really wanted to say, though, was Did you really have to make our shirts quite this bulky? This is nothing like how you felt last night. I can’t feel anything! Can’t you just take that shirt off?

  It didn’t take too long, however, for me to fall deeply asleep.

  ~ * ~

  We kept walking. We were managing ten miles a day now, and had crossed the state line into California. The next day, snowflakes began to fall.

  “Does it snow in California?” I murmured, studying the flakes on my sleeve.

  “Yes, but not much. It’s abnormal for it to snow at all in November.” Gideon looked up at the sky, frowning. “But it probably won’t last.” He smiled at me. “Enjoy it while you can.” His thumb gently skated over my knuckles, and we kept walking.

  Two hours later, the snow began sticking as it came down in gusts.

  I shivered. “Not much,” I repeated.

  Gideon glanced down at me, looking worried, before studying the clouds some more. “I think we should take cover,” he finally said.

  “Sounds great to me,” I replied, attempting to keep my teeth from chattering. What had happened to the lightly cold air we’d experienced just this morning?

  Gideon took my other hand and rubbed his against mine, trying to create some warmth. It helped, but not nearly enough. He pulled us along in a southwest direction, a little off course.

  “Is there a road this way?” I asked.

  “Yes, and hopefully a shack of some sort.” He looked grim.

  “You’re not looking forward to it,” I noted.

  “No. In a storm like this any structure will be bound to attract everyone within a five-mile radius.”

  “What about a cave?”

  “I highly doubt there are any caves around here.” He nodded at the currently flat terrain. “And if there were, we’d find the same problem.”

  We kept walking. The snow grew heavier; I couldn’t feel my face, and Gideon’s lips were purple. We hit the road, but stuck to the ditches to avoid the icy surface. Then, finally, a small structure appeared.

  It looked to be the remains of a gas station, with pumps in the front; the majority of it was white, though red accented the edges. Mercifully, the glass hadn’t been broken through yet.

  The building was dark inside, but that didn’t mean anything; no one would be eager to collect firewood at that moment, so therefore no one would have bothered to light a fire if they were inside. Gideon let go of my hands, and we each took out our guns, pointing them with both hands at the doors.

  When we reached the entrance, Gideon kicked the door forward so that it swung on its hinges, then anchored it with his shoulder, gun at the ready. I could tell from his expression that the station already had occupants, and they were probably just as on edge as Gideon and I were.

  After a few seconds, he nodded me in.

  Gun still ready, I walked in and let my eyes adjust. Three other people, each huddled alone in separate corners, had their guns raised as well. Two were men of different statures, though both wore grizzly beards and gaunt expressions. The other was a woman with her hair shorn short, her eyes hard.

  I walked forward, then slowly backed into the last remaining corner, my eyes traveling to each individual in turn, a circuit to make sure no one decided to attack.

  Gideon let go of the door, allowing it to swing closed. He joined me, then pulled both of us to the floor, wrapping his arms tightly around me so we could preserve body heat; I ducked my head into his chest, letting my own warm breath wash over me.

  “Snow’s abnormal?” I whispered. I stuck my gun back in my pocket, letting Gideon do the pointing; no one was letting their guard down, not yet. He rested his elbow against my back, ready for anything.

  “Yes,” he replied. “This shouldn’t last long.”

  “That’s what you said hours ago.”

  “Even if this is more than should have happened at any point in California, it’s still not going to last. We’ll be out of here soon.” He seemed to be reassuring himself more than me, though I hardly wanted to be so on edge either, with others around.

  “Does it ever snow where we’re going?”

  “No. We’ll go as far south as we can, until we meet Mexico. It won’t snow there.”

  “I really hope not.”

  “You’ve gotten caught in snow before, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, and I don’t like it. My parents always made sure we had a place to stay once it got this cold, though.”

  “Why didn’t they ever decide to take you south, like we’re doing?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they saw it as too much bother. I should have asked, but it never occurred to me that there was another option.” I left the other part of my thought unsaid, though I’m sure he could sense the idea: now, I would never be able to ask them why we stayed in Oregon, why we never went south.

  I peeked through Gideon’s arms, looking around at the others; they were becoming disinterested by us now, and were staring at the ceiling, or watching the windows.

  “They look so unhappy,” I murmured.

  “It’s hard, being alone.”

  “But that’s not how you felt when you were alone, was it?”

  “No, because I knew what it could be like not to be alone. Being alone was a haven to me, after all that. Because of that, I knew how to enjoy the little parts about being alone, rather than focusing on the root of it.”

  “Which is?”

  He gave me a small smile. “Being alone is lonely.”

  As I drowned in his deep brown eyes, I was struck again by that desire – the desire to be close to him. This time, however, I was already physically close to him. The desire was still there, though, like a thread innately pulling me to him.

  The station door flew open again, and I ducked under Gideon’s arm to protect my face from the gust of cold air and snow that hit us. I waited as the new arrival stood in the doorway, allowing the cold in and studying the five individuals already occupying space. Finally, mercifully, the door swung closed.

  I raised my head, blinking my eyes into focus so I could see the newcomer.

  It was Alice.

  Chapter 14

  Her eyes met mine, staring with lips slightly parted before she continued to look around at the others, gun pointed, a familiar brown backpack slung across her shoulders. Finally, she chose the far wall and slid down. Her eyes were definitely staring at us more than our f
air share.

  My gut squirmed as I saw what she saw: me, wrapped protectively in the arms of my parents’ killer. The one I’d meant to eradicate, just like she’d done to the person who’d killed her own parents.

  Gideon sensed my discomfort. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “Nothing. It’s just that . . . I know her. She was the other girl you let live when you. . .”

  “When I took the doe,” he finished for me.

  “Yes. She knows I was going to kill you.”

  “You told her.”

  “She was my friend. Or, at least, as close to a friend as possible when you temporarily live and hunt together. I always thought she was attracted to my family because she’d once had one.”

  “So she’d empathize with your goal to kill me.”

  “Yes. Actually, she offered for the two of us to team up once you were dead. Neither of us realized it would take so long. And then, of course. . .”

  “I didn’t die.”

  “Yes. And I stayed with you.”

  “She isn’t going to open fire on us, correct?”

  “I think she already would have if she was thinking in that direction.”

  “Will she want to talk to you?”

  I bit my lip. “Maybe. I don’t know. We didn’t know each other that well.”

  “I guess we’ll just see.”

  We waited. The wind blew and the snow still fell. I drifted off at some point, warm in Gideon’s arms, and when I awoke it was quiet. The snow had stopped.

  I still couldn’t tell whether Gideon’s deep breathing meant he was asleep or not. It was dark outside, and he really did need his rest. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he couldn’t let his guard down for long enough, though.

  “Gideon?” I whispered.

  No response.

  I looked around the room; once my eyes adjusted, I could see everyone else was asleep, too.

  Everyone but Alice.

  “He’s asleep,” she noted.

  I tilted my head in acknowledgement, trying not to move too much so I wouldn’t wake him up.

  “Is he holding you against your will?” she asked.

  I immediately shook my head. “No.”

  “Then why are you with him? Why isn’t he dead?”

  “It’s complicated.” I squirmed.

  “What’s complicated? He killed your parents, and you were going to kill him.”

  “I ran out of ammo, and he let me live.”

  She let out a quiet bark of laughter. “So you forgave him?”

  “No. It’s just . . . he’s different than I thought.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, great. That’s a wonderful reason to be so affectionate with your parents’ murderer.”

  “Alice, he was starving. He had no other choice.”

  “He should have starved. What’s so great about him that you decided not to kill him? And, not only that, travel with him? And be affectionate towards him?”

  A flame of anger licked at my throat. “Look, you don’t know him, okay?”

  “I know that, whatever you do, you shouldn’t be with him. Why did you let him live?”

  “It just got to the point that . . . It took a long time to get a gun, and, once I did . . . I realized I couldn’t live without him.”

  “Ha. How romantic.”

  Now I really was angry. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Gideon would do anything for me.”

  “You really believe that?” She sounded more than skeptical; she sounded ironic.

  But there was no doubt in my mind, no doubt in my heart, that what I’d said was true. “Yes. I really believe that.”

  “Ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?”

  I sighed, and suddenly all my anger left me as two things became perfectly clear in my mind. One, I had no more desire to talk to Alice. Two, whatever Gideon had done in our past, it couldn’t reverse the fact that I had fallen in love with him.

  I could still feel the guilt as this truth washed over me. I could imagine my father looking away from me. I could imagine my mother’s heartbroken expression. But the saddest part was that I almost didn’t care anymore.

  I was in love with Gideon.

  And I didn’t need to answer any more of Alice’s questions.

  ~ * ~

  “Come on. Let’s go.” I whispered this in his ear as sunlight began to touch the windows. His breaths had become shorter, signaling that he was waking up, even despite my inability to be certain that he was asleep.

  “Has the snow stopped?” he asked, his voice croaky from slumber.

  “Yes. Now, let’s get out of here while everyone’s still asleep.” Alice had drifted off soon after our conversation.

  “Your friend?”

  “Already taken care of. I don’t know if I’d classify her as a friend, exactly.”

  Gideon was silent at my words; he stood and helped me up, then we snuck through the door, opening it as little as possible so we wouldn’t wake anyone with a cold draft.

  Warm sunlight bore down on our skin as the door soundlessly closed behind us. Green met my eyes.

  “What? Where’d the snow go?” I asked, taking in the non-white forestry.

  “I told you it wouldn’t last,” Gideon replied, playfully nudging me with his elbow. “Let’s get back on course.” He headed away from the road, right into the trees, and I followed.

  We walked for a few hours before either of us spoke again.

  “What happened with your friend?” Gideon asked.

  “She wanted to know what was going on between us, of course.”

  “What did you say?” he asked, showing his rare curiosity.

  “I tried to explain it to her, but she wasn’t convinced. And then. . .”

  “And then?”

  “And then I decided it didn’t matter what she thought.”

  “Huh. Interesting.”

  “What’s interesting?”

  “Well, what do you think about us, if what she thinks doesn’t matter?”

  “I think . . .” I took a breath. “I feel guilty about it, but I . . .” I couldn’t say it! I had only just come to the conclusion myself, and it was more than a little skewed that I couldn’t find it in me to forgive him, and yet had decided I was in love with him anyway. I met his eyes, then quickly looked away again, watching my feet as I walked.

  But he stopped walking.

  “Candace?”

  I stopped, too, turning toward him while keeping my eyes lowered. But then he stepped in front of me, coming close, our feet toe to toe; his hand snaked under my chin, raising my eyes to his.

  “Do you still hate me?” he asked. His warm breath caressed my face as his eyes searched mine.

  “No,” I murmured, heart pounding at his proximity.

  Eyes still on mine, he leaned in closer. He traced his nose across my cheek, the end of it cold as his breath continued to wash over me; one of his hands wrapped around my elbow. Then, suddenly, he pulled me even closer, his body pressing against every inch of mine. His nose met my ear, then his lips.

  “Is this okay?” he whispered. Oh, his breath was so warm, and the moisture of it clung to my ear.

  My entire body tingled; I felt shaky, and my heart was about to burst. I closed my eyes.

  “Yes,” I finally managed, the word short and full of nerves.

  His lips left my ear, beginning a trail along my jaw and leaving heat in their wake. He kissed me. His kiss was soft at first, hesitant. When I didn’t protest, the kiss deepened, as if he were using it to taste my soul. He kissed me with so much emotion, so much meaning, that my heart exploded, and then I was kissing him, too.

  I had never kissed anyone like this before. This was completely new, and so welcome. He was familiar and exotic at the same time. And safe. He was so safe.

  He pressed me to a tree and kept kissing me. He kissed me as if he could never get enough; he kissed me like he would never stop.

  Finally, though, his mouth returned to my e
ar. “I love you,” he whispered.

  I sucked in a shaky breath, then let it out. How could I feel nervous and relieved at the same time? I was in the snow, and I was on the surface of the sun. I was in the air, and I was on the ground. I was flying, and Gideon was right there with me.

  “I love you, too.” I told him.

  He pulled back just far enough for me to see the heartbreakingly large, exquisite smile on his face, and the happy gleam in his eyes. Then he kissed me some more.

  ~ * ~

  “Do you forgive me?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “But you love me.”

  “Yes.”

  He played with my fingers as we walked.

  We’d done a lot of walking that day, but we’d done a lot of kissing, too. A lot of kissing. We’d been taking kissing breaks about every three minutes, in fact.

  “What’s the biggest reason you haven’t forgiven me?”

  “Guilt.”

  “Because I’m guilty?”

  “No. I am. I’m guilty of falling in love with my parents’ killer. What does that say about me?”

  “The same thing that not killing me said about you; you’re looking past my faults and understanding my true character.”

  “Yeah. . . But what would my parents think?”

  “I don’t know, but I think they’d want you to be happy.”

  “Or they’d think I was weak.”

  “Would they really?”

  “Probably not. But I feel weak.”

  “Weakened by love. But what if you’re actually stronger for it? You’re an entirely different person than before you met me, because now you’re part of an ‘us.’ You’re part of a team. And, yes, that team can be weakened by their reliance on each other, but they can also be stronger for not being alone.”

  “Like our families.”

  “Like us.” I caught his eye as he said this, and then he was kissing me again. After a few minutes he pulled away to whisper. “We’re a family.”

  My gut tingled at these words, but I didn’t reply. We started walking again.

  “Why do you love me?” I finally asked.

  “Expand on that question.”

  “How could you love someone who tried so hard to kill you?”

  “How could you love someone who killed your parents?”