by Jamie Canosa
“The gate was unlocked. I—I just wanted to tell you. I wasn’t going to go anywhere. I wasn’t going to go.” Emphasis on the last word, she glances briefly in our direction.
Go? She seriously expects us to just leave her there? Everyone’s shouting, the guards have all produced weapons, we can’t just leave her. My mind is racing, but before it can reach any sort of coherent destination, I’m pulled out of my crouch and away from the fence. Connor refuses to relinquish his grip on my arm even as I struggle against him. He drags me towards the forest. With all the noise and tension at the gate, no one hears our footsteps as we move right past them away from the fence, away from the camp, away from Lori, our friend who sacrificed her freedom for ours.
***
I don’t know how long we’ve been running, or how far we’ve gone. Far enough for my brain to finish computing everything that has just happened, but that can take a while sometimes. When it finally does, I come to a skidding halt.
“We have to go back.”
“What?” Connor asks breathlessly, coming to a stop beside me.
“We can’t just leave her there. We have to do something.”
“Girlie, she did that so we could get away. We wouldn’t be doing her any favors by just going right back.”
“What if they kill her?”
“I don’t think they’re going to kill her.” He is far too calm about all of this for my taste, and I’m finding myself wanting to smack him again.
“Did you see those guns?!” Shouting may not be wise right now, but at the moment, I have bigger concerns, like the possibility of my friend standing at the wrong end of a firing range right about now.
“You mean the ones they were not shooting her with?”
Okay, I can give him that. I don’t know much about guns, but I’m guessing if one was actually fired, we would have heard it. Still, who’s to say they’re going to buy her story, and even if they do, then what? We’ve only left her behind for a life in the mines instead of death. I’m honestly not sure which is worse. I give up my battle with gravity, and drop onto the cold, hard ground.
“She’ll be all right, Girlie.” Connor takes a seat beside me, still panting with the effort we’ve both just exerted.
“I can’t believe we’re going to just leave her there.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s what she wanted us to do. You heard her, the same as me.” Too bad that doesn’t make it any easier. “What we need to do now is figure out where we are, and where we’re headed.”
“We’re headed for colony D.”
“Why D?”
“Firstly, because it’s the closest colony. If Lori was right, then we need to head east about a hundred miles.”
“And, secondly?”
“I have a friend there, Peter. If anyone can help us, he can.” Peter told me that if anything happened, I should get back to him. This all started because I didn’t listen to him in the first place. I won’t be making that mistake twice.
***
Traveling covertly though the woods under the cover of darkness would be the ideal choice, but the further we get from the camp, the thicker the forest floor grows around us. There are just too many obstacles. If we’re going to make it all the way to colony D without one of us—probably me—breaking our necks, then traveling by night is definitely out. Instead, we find a spot to hunker down until morning.
The first thing I notice about the woods, besides how impossible they are to navigate, is how noisy they are. For an abandoned space, they are obscenely loud. The insects chirp and buzz, bats and other winged nocturnal animals flap through the branches, and all manner of small creatures scurry about the forest floor. That’s . . . comforting.
Connor and I agree to sleep in shifts. I have no idea what other kinds of beasts might be roaming the woods, but I’d rather not wake up in the middle of the night to find out. It would really suck to escape the camps just to end up something’s meal out here. Connor offers to take first shift, but with all the ruckus, it’s nearly impossible to get any sleep anyway.
In the morning, things only get worse. I’ve always known that birds rise with the dawn, but I’ve never been surrounded by so many of them before. What a racket! Between all of the screeching, squawking, and tweeting going on, it’s difficult to hear myself think. And I thought my cat clock was bad.
Since we’re both certainly awake now, and there’s nothing else to be done, we set out again. I tilt my head back as we walk, watching the rays of light dance through the canopy of leaves above us. It’s almost hypnotizing to the point that I come very close to walking into a tree face first. I don’t care enough to be embarrassed. How long has it been since I’ve seen the sun? The air smells fresh and warm, and I breathe it deep into my lungs. We push on for another day and then another.
Every night we continue to rest in shifts, even though the scariest thing we’ve seen is a pack of chipmunks. There are other dangers though, quieter ones. One’s you don’t hear or see coming until it’s too late. In the pale early morning light, I can just make out Connor’s figure ahead of me trying to blaze a trail through the brush. That’s how I know something’s wrong when he suddenly falls to the ground.
Chapter 10
At first I think he tripped—it wouldn’t be the first time—but when he doesn’t get back up, laughing about his two left feet, I rush over. Branches slash my legs as I push through them to where Connor is feebly trying to push himself upright.
“What’s wrong?” I tuck my hand under his shoulder, and help him into a sitting position.
He collapses back against a nearby tree trunk shaking his head, unable or unwilling to voice his complaints. It doesn’t matter. I already know what the problem is. It’s been over forty-eight hours since either of us has had anything to eat, or worse, to drink. The hunger sort of passed after a while as I got used to the empty hollow feeling in my stomach, but the thirst has been getting worse and worse. My throat has been itchy and dry since yesterday, and I woke up with my tongue feeling like sandpaper this morning. I haven’t even been able to moisten my lips, which are now cracking, and Connor is moving a lot more weight through these woods than I am. There’s not a chance we’re going to be able to make it all the way to colony D without any water. Change of plans.
“All right. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” I stand, but he grabs my arm.
“Wait. You can’t go out there alone.”
“Oh sure, because you’d be so much help right now.”
Connor only breathes a laugh, and releases me. He knows as well as I do that, no matter what he says, he’s not going to get very far without some water.
Thankfully, the sun is just breaking over the horizon, so at least I have some light to work with. The entire forest looks exactly the same, and my sense of directions is . . . un-evolved at best, but as long as I keep the rising sun directly in front of me, I should be able to find my way back to Connor later. I hope.
I walk forever, or at least it feels that way. How can there be this much green in a place without any water? I contemplate the likelihood that I’ve been walking alongside a stream this whole time without ever intersecting it, and knowing my luck, it’s probably pretty good. I veer off track a ways just to be sure, but still find nothing. Great, now I’m doubtlessly lost on top of everything else.
The only sounds as I trek through the woods are my feet shuffling through the brush. All of the background noises seem to have faded away. The quiet only serves to amplify my thoughts as they chase each other endlessly through my fatigued mind.
What if I can’t find water in time? I can’t lose Connor. We need to make it back to colony D, back to Peter. He’ll know what to do, he always has. When I lost my parents he never tried to tell me everything would be ‘okay’ like all of those other idiots. He never tried to pretend things weren’t what they were: crappy. He was just there. I could always count on him to be there, and I’m still counting on him to be there now.
We just need to make it there.
While my mind whirls on out of control, my feet continue to do what Connor told them to, moving one in front of the other until one of them lands in a small creek. Perfect, now my sock and shoe are all wet, things just keep getting better and . . . wait . . . My sluggish brain finally catches up with me, and it’s almost too good to believe. I drop to my knees and plunge my hands into the frigid water, bringing handful after handful of the thirst quenching liquid to my mouth. It cools my throat, and soothes my parched tongue. I run a wet finger over my lips, carefully prodding the dry, bleeding cracks. All I want to do is lie in the creek and let my body absorb the water through my pores, but Connor needs it more than I do, and I’m still a long way from where I left him.
That brings me to my next problem because, inevitably, there’s always another one. How am I supposed to get the water back to him? I glance around like I’m going to find the answers I’m seeking etched into a tree somewhere nearby. Shockingly, I don’t, but what I do find is just as unlikely. Less than fifty yards away stands a house. I can just make it out through the dense foliage, but even from this distance, I can see that it’s in bad shape. The front porch is collapsed, and it looks like every window has been smashed. A bit further away, a neighboring house doesn’t seem to have fared much better. Vines grow up the front of the structure and disappear through yet another broken window. I knew places like this existed, pre-war towns and cities. I read all about of them in school, even saw a few pictures—everything they had and lost—but it’s staggering to actually see it with my own two eyes.
The government is supposed to be deconstructing all of them little by little, recycling the resources and opening up space for future growth of the colonies. If there’s anywhere I would be likely to run across a soldier, it would be there. At the moment though, that’s not my biggest concern. Getting water to Connor is, and if I’m going to find something to carry it back to him in, my best bet is inside one of those houses. Besides, I can’t deny my curiosity. I know, I know. Curiosity killed the cat. Good thing there isn’t a drop of feline blood in me.
Every step I take is carefully monitored. I avoid twigs and leaves—as much as you can avoid twigs and leaves in a forest anyway—as I inch my way toward the closer of the two structures. At the edge of the tree line, I notice more houses. A whole row of them. I take another cautious step forward and freeze. The ground is suddenly harder under my feet, more solid. At first, it’s hard to see with so many cracks and weeds growing through it, but beneath all of the plant life trying to mirror the forest floor, is a road.
All of my senses are on high alert as I creep toward the house. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. The birds flit between branches high above my head, unperturbed by my presence. The breeze rustles the needles of the surrounding trees. Not too far off, some small creature rustles through the underbrush. There’s no sign that anything dangerous is waiting for me.
White paint is peeling from the exterior, and one blue shutter has come loose on a first floor window. It’s hanging precariously by a single hinge, and slamming at regular intervals into the side of the house, setting a rhythm similar to that of my pounding heart. The front steps are rotted through, half collapsed, so I need to use all of the upper body strength I have left, which isn’t much, to hoist myself up onto the porch. The wooden boards making up the flooring are warped and bent, and have rotted through in some places here, as well. I have to choose my footing carefully as I cross to the front door, which is hanging lopsided in the frame. At least I won’t have to worry about breaking in.
The door swings inward with a high pitched squeal that puts every last one of my nerves on edge. I freeze. Even my lungs have ceased any and all movement. I wait for a siren, for shouting voices, any sign that I’ve drawn unwanted attention. When only the silence remains, I’m able to resume respirations, exhaling a deeply relieved breath.
Covering my nose and mouth with my hand, and breathing as little as humanly possible, I push through to the kitchen. A large bay window overlooking the backyard is also smashed, but the surfaces appear more mold resistant in this part of the house. The dust is still everywhere though, evidence of decades of neglect. Pieces of linoleum tiling are peeling or missing entirely from the floor. A yellowed stove with a rusted oven door hanging open is situated in one corner, and a fridge, which I wouldn’t open for the last sip of water on the planet, is positioned against the far wall beside a cracked granite counter. In actuality, the structure seems to be in pretty good condition, all things considered. I’m surprised it’s still standing at all, to be honest. I’m surprised but grateful, as I root through the kitchen cabinets and find them stocked with all kinds of dishes. There’s an entire shelf of cups, several of them cracked or damaged, but a few that are still solid. Not ideal for carrying water through the woods, but better than my hands, that’s for sure.
Ever mindful of the likelihood of some small, fuzzy, razor-toothed animal jumping out and biting my face off, I yank open a few of the lower cabinets. Luckily, no such wildlife seems to be residing in the cabinetry. In the second to last cabinet, however, I do find a couple of faded plastic bottles with screw on lids. The images and letters that once decorated them have long worn off, but they look solid enough to hold water. Score! I take one last look around. There are a few cans of food lining the shelves, but they’re all outdated, like seriously outdated, so I figure it’s probably best to leave them alone. Collecting the two bottles, I head back outside where I take a welcome breath of fresh air. I was starting to get lightheaded in there, and I’m not sure if it was from the smell or the tiny amount of oxygen I was actually allowing myself to breath, but I’m grateful to be back outside.
I retreat back into the woods where I rinse the bottles several times before filling them both to the brim, and securing the lids. The sun is beginning to set, so once again, I follow its lead, to the west this time. As I stumble my way through the quickly encroaching dusk, nothing looks familiar, or maybe everything does because every tree looks like the one next to it and the one next to that.
I pick up my pace, twigs and roots clawing at my feet and calves as I rush through them. It’s become a race against the sun. If I can’t find Connor before dark, I may not be able to find him until morning, and I’m not sure he can last that long. As night falls, the forest quiets down. The squawking calls of birds are replaced with the soft hum of insects, and even the wind seems to come in hushed breezes through the leaves. It’s a good thing too, otherwise I may not have heard Connor calling weakly to me from somewhere north of where I am. Switching directions, I follow the sound of his voice back to where he is sitting propped against the same tree I left him by earlier.
“There you are.” His voice is so faint it scares me. “Where have you been? I was worried.”
“I was getting you this.” I drop to my knees beside him, and shove the first bottle into his hand. “Now shut up and drink it.” It’s not easy to ignore the way his arm is shaking as I help him lift it to his lips. “Come on, all of it.”
“You have some.”
“I’ve had plenty. Besides, I have my own.” I flash the other bottle in front of him to forestall any more arguments.
He drains the bottle dry, but still looks awful. “I’m really tired,” he mumbles almost incoherently, his eyes already sliding shut. “Would you mind if I took the first rest?”
The idea of him closing his eyes frightens me. What if he doesn’t open them again? But what else can we do? “Of course not, go ahead.”
I’m pretty sure he’s already asleep before the words ever even leave my mouth. I wait, and I wait, and I wait. The night passes slowly. As the temperature drops, I huddle closer to Connor’s side, and wait some more. I don’t wake him. I know he needs the rest, but by the time the sun starts to peek over the horizon again, I’m growing anxious for him to rouse. I nudge his shoulder lightly a few times, but get no response, and that concerns me. I’m just considering poking him harder wh
en he shifts and rolls his neck. A moment later, his eyes open and he stares down at me, confusion clearly written on his face. Then he blinks it away, stretching out his back muscles.
“The sun’s up.” Well, at least his eyes are working. “How long was I out?”
“Just for the night.”
“You didn’t wake me.” Brain function normal, besides the apparent need to state the obvious. “You must be exhausted.”
“I’m fine. Here.” I shove the remaining, half-full water bottle into his hand.
“This is yours.”
“You need it more than I do, and we can refill them once we get moving. There’s a stream not that far east of here.”
“You have to rest, Girlie.”
“I’ll rest back at the stream. We can refill the bottles, rest a bit, and then head out again later.”
He doesn’t look thrilled with the idea, but he can’t argue that it’s the best plan we’ve got. Connor’s still stumbling here and there, but at least he’s upright and moving again. The tension that had me so wound up all night begins to ease, and exhaustion starts to claw its way in. I can barely keep my eyes open as we make our way back through the forest yet again, shuffling one foot in front of the other and trying to keep up with Connor’s rejuvenated pace.
Once more, we follow the path of the rising sun. I don’t know if it was the panic, or the dehydration, but I must have been moving very slowly yesterday, because today it doesn’t take long at all to reach the creek. Just a few hours, but by the time we arrive, I’m dead on my feet.
Connor drops down on the bank, and starts gulping handfuls of water. It looks good, but I just don’t have the energy anymore. I collapse beneath a nearby tree. Just as I’m slipping into blissful sleep, I’m roused by a rough shake.
“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not sleeping until you drink first.” Connor forces a full bottle into my hand, and watches while I drink it down, not letting me rest until every last drop is gone. “All right, now get some rest. I’ll be right here. And, Kaleigh . . .” Kaleigh? Look at that. He does know my name. I glance up at him curiously. “Thanks.”