by Daryl Banner
My tale is punctuated with the sounds of Megan filing her knives, the scraping metal noise flitting through the trees as we walk. The twins are asking the Humans all about Jasmine, curious to catch up themselves. Robin, especially. She asks what life in Trenton was like. The Humans are remarkably patient; even Gill, though I catch his eyes rolling several times.
John stays at my side all the while. Twice, I catch him looking at me through the side of his face. I can’t say for sure what he’s thinking or why he keeps glancing at me, but I already can’t wait for the next nightfall. I miss the tight, nightlong embrace.
Just thinking about it, excitement lances through me. It’s almost painful, how good it feels. I can’t stop glowing.
Halfway across a desolate waste of grey sands and beige, indistinct boulders, my storytelling is concluded, and there’s little else to say. The whole group has drawn quiet. The sun passes over us, according to the Humans, while Jasmine and I peer up into the silver nothingness.
We stop once more an hour past the massive stretch of nothing to give the Humans a chance to regain their strength. Shelter is found by a spread of rocks and fallen-over trees. From a glance, I could almost convince myself that the trees might still have life in them. I might also be kidding myself, like a man lost in the desert, constantly convincing his agonized thirst that an oasis awaits him on the other side of the dune. It’s quite possible nothing awaits us, that what we chase is just another Dead girl’s daydream. Like a life with John. Like children.
I ignore the impatient glances from the Chief. It’s in these moments that I’m thankful to be dead; I can easily hide the doubt that I know where I’m going, or that we’ll even reach our destination at all. I have to be confident and not let these Humans lose hope. Sometimes, I’m practically convinced it’s hope that keeps them alive, even more so than food or the very blood in their veins.
Keep the hope alive, and it’ll keep the Humans alive.
Hours pass. Hours more, and the sun has set. We reach a heavily shaded area, the branches of the half-dead trees reaching one another high above us, as if shaking hands. The ground is soft. The air is thick and breezy. Wind hisses through the trees, bending their branches and creating a song of earth that rattles lightly all around us.
John curls up into me and I stare into the labyrinth of webbing trees and gnarled branches. John’s heavy arm lays limp over my lap and he’s already snoring lightly. Megan and Jasmine share another tree, and the rest of the Humans are huddled over a campfire, quietly discussing a plan for tomorrow. Rations are running thin. We haven’t crossed a single source of food, save a bush of nuts here and there. The man, Nelson, even started gathering leaves from any bush or tree he could find, thinking he’d chew on them in a desperate measure. “To save myself from eating one of you,” he had jested, though no one seemed to find the joke funny.
The Chief eyes me again. I resist the urge to glare back.
The calm night soon swallows the day. The fire is put out when the Living drift to sleep, and I am secretly thankful for that. With Grim occupying so many Undead eyes, I feel like he can even watch me through campfire flames. Isn’t that terrible? I don’t even trust fire anymore.
I feel the heartbeat of my favorite Human vibrating through me, his breath tickling my arms. Yes, John, they tickle, and I wish there was a way to have that tickle of your life, of your body, of your being with me forever and always. And for once, I’m the one that squeezes him, bringing John in for a tight, crushing hug. He squeezes back sleepily, his head nuzzling into my neck, and in the dark, which for me isn’t dark at all, he searches for my lips and meets them with his own.
I know nothing of what happens for a solid hour, lost in the confines of John’s soft lips, of John’s strong arms, of John’s breath and his tickling and the words he whispers in my ear: “Don’t ever leave me.” I know we’d both like to do a lot more than this, even in the dark where it’s possible no one might witness us, but lips are certainly exciting enough, at least for now, and the memory of our special night in Trenton will have to suffice for us both.
When he drifts back to a warm, snuggly sleep, I watch Jasmine’s backside as she holds Megan in the night like a granddaughter. I’m touched for a while, unable to think much of anything.
I wish I could live within this peace forever.
Maybe it’s the silence of the night after a long, trying day of travel, but the enormity of our situation begins to sit heavily in me, and I have to confess the truth to myself:
We are not safe.
Alone now, I let myself process the true consequence of Jasmine having encountered us. Before Megan broke Grim’s control, even before any of us knew that Jasmine was under his control, I told her where we were heading.
That means he knows, too.
C H A P T E R – S E V E N T E E N
S O M E O N E E L S E ’ S H O M E
Before the others are awake, Jasmine has freed herself from Megan’s clutch and I’ve slipped out of John’s arms. The only other one who’s up is Gunner, who’s taken to scouting the area ahead. Only Jasmine and I can see him, our ghostly eyes proving once again useful when looking afar, and utterly useless when looking up.
The silver untelling sky twisting above, Jasmine asks, “So, Grim knows?”
“Yeah, I imagine he does.” I fold my arms. “It’s not your fault. He’s … manipulative. I used to love him. Our story’s a complicated one. He saved me from a cliff, then sent the Deathless to a tavern to abduct me. That’s where I met John.” Jasmine smiles warmly; I’d told her that story before, long ago. “Grim saved me again at the Necropolis. I saved him in return at Trenton. That’s all it’s been, really. Just a long series of us saving one another. Now he thinks he’ll save the whole damn world by ending it …”
“Sometimes, trouble is a drug,” says Jasmine. “People are drawn to it. People are born by it. Grimsky is a man who’s never had his Waking Dream. We can’t know what really troubles another’s mind. It’s not for us to know.”
“We’ll never know what troubles his,” I point out. “He told me the price of becoming Deathless—it’s to give up one’s First Life. He’ll never have the Dream, Jazz. He’ll never know.”
I understand a lot about troubled minds and secrets. All those months spent with a less-than-kind John taught me as much as I figure I ought to know.
“That’s a most unfortunate tragedy,” Jasmine agrees.
“Yes.” I look back at the group. A few of the women have stirred, one of them picking through the satchel of food rations. The satchels are growing lighter. The lighter they get, the heavier my heart gets. “I don’t want them to starve. What if … What if we never find Garden?”
“It was certainly a risk to journey so far from Trenton. But I say, a far better thing to have risked taking such a journey and die reaching for that dream … than to not have taken one at all.”
Our conversation draws to a close as the Humans wake and begin nibbling on their rations, which have all been portioned even smaller than before. John is among them, offering some of his rations to a quite-fatigued Megan. None of the Humans thought they’d be in this position again; starved, tired, surviving on scraps and barely hanging on each day in a harsh, spent world. I watch them from a distance, amazed at how cooperative everyone’s being. Even Gill with his suspicious, pain-ridden eyes. I still remember his wife in that last moment, her breathy final words that I never heard, her hand reaching for me.
What a horrible thing, to be given someone’s final words and not to have heard them.
“Chief,” calls out Gunner, returning from his scouting just as the other Humans finish gathering up their things. “There’s a river not more than ten minutes ahead of us, fifteen at most. Water. Real water.”
He’d filled a canister, which is quickly passed around to the most in-need. The Chief slings a backpack over his shoulders, eyes us all with his hardened stare. “Onward, then. Let’s make to the river.”
A
real river. Water. That must mean life, right?
When our party of fourteen crosses through the mess of deadwood and dust, we happen upon the river. Its water is still and gentle, almost like a lake, and green and brown fronds and bristles of grass and weeds grow in sad, modest lumps. After the endless dead lowlands we’ve crossed, I’ll happily accept sad, modest lumps.
And so do the Humans. Rushing to the river, the sisters plunge in their hands, bringing the water to their faces and letting it run down their hair. Ash and Tina share a joke between them as they fill bottles. The twins and Megan explore the river a bit further down, Gunner following somewhat to keep an eye on them.
“Not the cleanest,” remarks the Chief. “Murky waters, these are.” He nods warningly at his people. “I wouldn’t trust to drink it so freely. The water’s stagnant.”
“The water’s stagnant and we’re starved and thirsty,” John says back, caring not to sound too defiant to the more-irritable-than-ever Chief. “Can’t blame a Living for taking every opportunity.” He smiles, turns his eyes to me—which inspires a warm sensation through my whole body, from face to fingertip—then crouches by the riverbank to fill his own.
“Flower!” the voice of Megan calls out from farther down the river.
Music to my ears.
When I rush to her, she’s bent over a flower similar to the one Shee had shown me. Its petals are the purple of plums, each of them the breadth of an outstretched hand.
I glance across the river. It isn’t a very wide river, to be reasonable; about thirty feet across or so, just by eyeing it. On the other side, the thorny trees and bramble grow thick. Even with their dried, dead appearance, I’m convinced there is still life in them, somehow. The trees are too dense, intertwined to create a canopy of nettles and veiny limbs above. At a glance, you can’t even tell where one tree ends and another begins.
The rest of the Humans have caught up, tripping over themselves to observe Megan’s find. When the Chief draws near, less impressed, he mutters: “Which way?”
Trust me, Chief, I’m just as impatient as you are to get to this place. “The river curves around,” I point out. “We head further this way, following the river.”
After Megan spends another moment playing her tiny fingers over the lush, purple blossom and watching it gently respond, we progress further down the riverbank. The rest of it is much of the same, though we encounter no more flowers; only orphaned tufts of grass and spindly weeds. Eager murmurs and whispers are traded among the Humans. Yes, they’re as excited and anxious as I am. I pray we’re moving along the river in the right direction.
“Where the water goes,” Jasmine murmurs in my ear, “the life will follow.”
Nearly two hours pass before the excitement has worn off completely. We might as well be traveling through another dusty waste, for as melancholic as the group has once again turned.
“Another flower!” Megan cries out, rushing to it.
Hope is stirred amongst the others once again, until the Chief raises a hand, stopping them. “No,” he grunts, then points accusingly at the ground. “Footsteps. Our footsteps.” Approaching, he leans over the flower, then glares back at us. “Same flower as before.”
“No, it isn’t,” Megan argues, but when she examines it closer, the doubt registers in her face.
“We’ve gone in a circle,” says Ash, despairing. Tina moans in agreement, putting a hand to her cherry cheek.
“How is that possible?” argues Nelson.
“It’s very possible we don’t know where the hell we’re going,” states the Chief, his eyes dark as a storm. “Taking us in circles, by the look of it.”
“No,” grunts Nelson back. “It isn’t possible. Rivers don’t run in circles. Where the hell is it running to?”
As the Humans begin to debate and argue over what’s happened and what’s possible and not possible, I find myself at the riverbank. There has to be an explanation for this. Crouched right by the water, I slowly reach my hand toward it. The still, stagnant water gently pulls away. I move my hand closer. It pulls away even more. Soon, it’s pulled as far as it can possibly pull, repelled by the presence of my Undead hand, until finally my fingers, in fact, break the surface of the murky water.
Submerged, nothing happens at first. Then it begins to sting … a creeping, cold sensation. The subtle sting turns into pain, and then I thrust my hand out, unable to take it.
“Winter?”
Everyone’s paused their bickering quite suddenly to pay attention. It’s John who spoke my name. How the water pulled away, it reminds me of the other lake, the one by which the old Human camp had settled.
This water, this river, it doesn’t flow at all. Like a lake.
I look across it once more, studying the thick bramble and the webbed trees on the other side. Those knobby, earthen fingers that seem to grasp one another, like a ring of old friends … as if to guard something.
“Guys,” I mutter quietly, realizing. “This isn’t a river.” I turn back to look at them. “It’s a moat.”
Comprehension spreads across all their faces—or at least most of them, the ones who know what the hell a moat even is.
My eyes jumping between John and the Chief, I go on. “You’ll need to cross it alone. I think the purpose of this river …” I peer into the water, studying my reflection, “is to ward away the Dead.”
Gunner has come up to my side, squinting across the way. Soon, the Chief’s there too. He peers down at me, his expression quizzical. “What you’re telling me is, you think Garden’s in there?”
I nod.
Gunner and the Chief exchange a look. John comes to my side, then says, “There’s no reason we can’t bring you with us. You and Jasmine.” He’s met by several defiant stares, which he appears to ignore, pressing on. “They’ve carried us from harm. Why can’t we return the favor?”
A few of the Humans still look confused, so Gunner, who’s kept rather quiet around the Chief, speaks up: “The Dead can’t touch the water. It hurts them. What John’s suggesting is that we carry them over the water.”
“What?” shouts Gill. “Are you serious?”
Of course it’d be that one with the problem.
Gunner glances at the Chief, who nods approvingly, and then says, “Yes. I’m serious.”
“How??”
“Over our heads,” finishes John. He nods at the kids. “Get the young across first. The girls and the boy and the babe,” he says. “Then us older will carry our Undead. Sooner we’re across …”
Gill seems to have another complaint or two on his tongue, but he lets them die there.
Soon, the young ones are aided across. Megan and Rake go with ease, but Robin needs help, as we discover she cannot swim well and panics when the water touches her chin. Gunner jumps in, brings her over on his shoulders. She carries the baby with her while a very anxious, unblinking Gill watches from the other bank.
“Your turn,” says John to me.
I nod. The men—Gunner, Chief, John and Nelson—carry me over their heads. The way is slow, but it is a cautious slow, as they each are careful not to lose their footing below and drop me into the water. I’m holding my hair so it doesn’t get wet, though I’m not sure I’d feel any pain; again, we’re taking all the precautions, even unnecessary ones. When I reach a toe out and step foot on the opposite bank, I sigh with relief. So does John. The women make their way, the Chief and Nelson minding to help Tina in particular, who is short and unable to keep afloat easily; she keeps fighting their efforts, though, even insisting she can swim despite constantly dunking her head too far beneath the water—at one point, only her lips are visible, gasping for air.
When Jasmine is lifted up, it’s only Nelson, John and Gill who take the weight, as the Chief and Gunner are investigating a way through the bramble and Jasmine is smaller than me. The women tend to a whining baby and the twins are discussing something lightly with Megan as the others slowly bring Jasmine across the water, stepping wi
th the same caution.
“What do you think?” asks Megan.
I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation, as I watch John cross with Jasmine hoisted up. “Of what?” I ask, still keeping my eyes on the men in the river.
“Garden. Do you think they’ll let us in? Do you think they’ll fight us? I’m ready to fight if they do.”
“I don’t know, Megan.” I guess I’m trying not to think about it, considering I don’t even know if anything rests beyond those twisted brambles and trees.
Nelson almost misses a step, their unit jerking to the left slightly, then they resume after regaining balance.
“What if they aren’t our friends?” Megan goes on, and I care for the girl dearly, but her paranoia is getting on my nerves. Considering I have great misgivings of my own, I’d really rather someone tell me something comforting than to constantly flood me with worry. I have plenty of worry enough. “What if they’re our enemies?”
“Sometimes friends can be enemies,” I mutter.
And then Jasmine drops into the water.
“UP, QUICKLY!” shouts John, reaching for Jasmine, who’s violently flinging her arms in every direction. With the help of the other men, they manage to bring her out of the water. More quickly now—and above Jasmine’s screams—they finally deposit her onto the bank.
“What was that?!” John yells, rounding on Gill the instant they set her down.
Jasmine is still screaming. I rush to her side to see if she’s okay. Megan and a pair of the women join me.
“I didn’t do nothing! It was him!” Gill shouts, pointing a finger at Nelson.
“The hell it was!” Nelson shouts back, swatting the finger away. “I watched my every step, you oaf!”
Jasmine’s screaming can’t hope to drown out John’s booming voice. “You dropped her deliberately! I felt you let go of her!”
“That’s a lie.”
“Who’s next then? You going to try and harm Winter now? You lay one finger on her and I’ll kill you myself.”