by Morgan Rice
Others in the cave wake. Bree wakes and hurries over, and I brace myself. She leans over and looks down at Rose’s face. And then suddenly, her face crumples into tears. She starts hysterically crying.
“ ROSE!” she wails. She wraps her arms around her, holding her tight. She sobs and sobs.
Ben and Logan sit up and look over, grave expressions on their faces. I see Logan wipe away a tear then turn, not wanting me to see.
Ben, though, lets the tears fall freely from his face. I feel the wet on my cheeks, and realize I’m still crying, too. But, strangely, I also feel a sense of peace. My dream had been so real, so vivid-I feel like it really happened, that Rose was actually with me. I feel that she really said goodbye, and that she’s in a peaceful place now.
“ I dreamt of her,” I say to Bree, trying to console her. “I saw her. She was happy. And smiling. She’s in a good place now. She’s happy.”
“ How do you know?” Bree asks.
“ She told me. She’s happy. She loves you.”
This seems to make Bree feel better. Her crying slows, and she gently pulls back.
I look outside, and realize we’ll never be able to bury Rose in this weather. Even with this warmer day, the ground, I’m sure, will be frozen solid. It will have to be a river burial.
I figure that the sooner we do it the better. We have to move on. We need to move on.
“ Do you want to help carry her?” I ask Bree, wanting to involve her.
I stand, grab Rose’s arms, and let Bree take her legs. Together, we walk her out of the cave. Ben and Logan and Penelope follow.
We walk out into the soft snow, up to my calves, into the shining light, and I am momentarily blinded. It is like a summer day. Birds are chirping, it is probably twenty degrees warmer, and much of the snow has melted. The storm has passed. It is as if it never was.
Penelope gets lost in the thick snow, and Logan reaches down and lifts her.
“ Where are we bringing her?” Bree asks.
“ We can’t bury her,” I say. “The ground is frozen, and we don’t have any shovels. We’ll have to bury her in the river. I’m sorry.”
“ But I don’t want to put her in the water,” Bree says, her face crumpling up as she begins to cry again. “I don’t want her to be eaten by fish. I want to bury her here, on this island.”
Logan, Ben and I all exchange a worried look. I don’t know what to say. I understand how she feels. And I don’t want to make things even worse for her. Then again, it’s just not practical. But knowing Bree, she won’t give in. I need to find an alternate solution.
I look out at the river, and am struck with an idea.
“ What about the ice?”
Bree turns and looks out at the river.
“ See those huge floating chunks of ice? What if we place Rose on one of those? Let it carry her downriver? She will float away, carried on the ice. Like an angel, floating away. Eventually the ice will melt, and the river will take her. But not yet.”
I brace myself, hoping Bree will agree.
To my great relief, slowly, she nods back in agreement.
We all walk down to the water’s edge, and as we get close, I watch and wait for one of the occasional large blocks of ice to float down river. They are far and few between, but occasionally, they do come. One floats by, but it is a good fifteen feet out in the water-there’s no way I can reach it.
We wait and wait, and finally, one huge block of ice, about six feet long, breaks off from the others and drifts our way, as if being led by a magical current. It is a couple of feet out in the water, and just as I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to wade out and get it while holding Rose, suddenly Ben and Logan take action. They hurry past me, wading out into the water, each grabbing one end of it. Their boots get soaked and I’m sure the river is freezing, but they bear it stoically. It is nice to see them working together for a change.
They pull the ice close to shore, and together, we all set Rose down on it. She looks like an angel lying on top.
While we hold the ice, Bree stands over her, looking down.
“ I love you, Rose,” she says.
Penelope barks.
Finally, after several minutes of silence, Bree steps back. The four of us gently push the huge block out into the river.
We all stand on shore and watch as the block of ice catches in the current and begins to float away, down river, Rose’s tiny body spread out on it. I was right: she does look like an angel, floating there amidst all that white. I hope that wherever she’s going, she’s going to a place of peace.
Logan is already eyeing our boat. He goes over to it, and starts scooping the snow out, preparing.
“ We should go now,” he says, getting the snow out with both hands, wasting no time.
“ I want to leave, too,” Bree says. “I hate this place. I never want to come back here.”
“ Go where exactly?” Ben asks. I’m surprised. It’s the first time he’s asked about any of our plans, or shown any concern.
“ What do you care?” Logan snaps. “You haven’t said anything before.”
“ Well, I’m saying something now,” Ben says. I can feel the tension between them.
“ We’re heading north,” Logan answers. “Like we always have. To Canada.”
“ There are four of us here,” Ben says. “And I don’t want to go to Canada.”
Logan looks at him, dumbfounded. I am shocked, too.
“ Like you said, there are four of us,” Logan says. “That means majority rules. I want to leave, and so does Bree. That’s two of us. Brooke?” he asks, looking at me.
Actually, now that he asks me, I’m not so sure. A part of me feels that we have a good thing going on this little island. It’s hard to get to, hard to be ambushed. We have a cave, shelter from the wind and elements. A part of me wonders if we can live here. It would be boring, but safe, protected. When we run out of food, we could take the boat to shore and hunt. Capture food, bring it back here. And maybe we could farm something here in the summer. And fish.
I take a deep breath, not wanting to cause a rift.
“ I don’t know what’s out there,” I say. “It might be safer to continue north. But it might be more dangerous. Personally, I think it might be safest to just stay here. I don’t see why we should be in such a rush to leave. I don’t see how the slaverunners can find us here. If you’re worried about their spotting the boat, we can drag it ashore, hide it in the trees. I think it can get a lot worse for us out there. I vote we stay put.”
Logan looks blindsided.
“ That’s ridiculous,” he says. “We’ll be out of food in days. Maybe we can find more, maybe survive here a few weeks. Then what? The slaverunners are still after us. And this is just a measly strip of land. What if there’s a city out there? A real city, that has everything we need to live forever?”
“ We have everything we need right here,” I say. “Food. Shelter. Safety. What more do we need?”
Logan shakes his head. “Like I said, majority rules. I vote to leave. So does Bree. You vote to stay. Ben?”
“ I vote to leave, too,” Ben says.
I’m surprised by this.
Logan smiles. “There you have it,” Logan says. “We’re leaving.”
“ But I vote to head south,” Ben adds.
“ South?” Logan asks. “You crazy?”
“ I want to go back to my old house,” Ben says. “In the mountains. I want to wait there for my little brother. He might come back.”
My heart falls to hear this. Poor Ben, clinging to his fantasy.
“ There’s no way we’re going back there,” Logan says. “You had your chance. You should’ve said something before.”
“ Do what you want,” Ben says. “I’m going back home.”
The four us stand there, at a standstill. There is no majority vote here. All of us are torn, all wanting something else, none giving an inch.
Suddenly, a cracking noise pier
ces the air. A tree branch falls right near us, and it takes me a moment to figure it out. The noise comes again, and another branch falls, and that’s when I realize: it was a gunshot. We are being fired upon.
T E N
Another shot, and a bullet flies right past me and hits the ground, only a few feet from where I stand.
“ Take cover!” Logan screams.
We all run back to the cave, as another shot rings out, chipping a branch a foot above my head.
We make it back to cave and stand huddle inside, looking at each other, shocked.
“ What the hell is it?” I ask.
“ A sniper,” Logan says. “Somewhere on shore. It’s not coming from the island-the angle is too steep. He must’ve been waiting for us.” Logan turns and looks at me. “You still want to stay here?”
He has a point. But I don’t care about who was right or wrong now; I just want to get us all out of here, quickly and safely.
“ So now what?” I ask.
“ I only have a few shots left in my pistol,” Logan says. “There’s no way I’d hit him. He’s too far. That’s a long-distance rifle. He’s got us pinned here.”
Ben crosses the cave, grabs the bow and arrows. He wears a new expression-tough, fearless-one I haven’t seen before.
“ Where are you going?” I ask.
But he just struts out of the cave without hesitating, into the open.
“ Ben!” I yell. “Don’t! You’ll get killed!”
But Ben keeps walking, and as he does, another gunshot rings out, missing him by a few inches.
Ben keeps walking, doesn’t even flinch. It is unbelievable. He struts with his chin up, determined, walking right out through the trees, towards the direction of the gunfire. It is as if he is suicidal.
And then it occurs to me: maybe he is suicidal. Maybe he feels so overwhelmed with guilt about his brother, that a part of him wants to die.
I hurry to the mouth of the cave, as we all do, and stand there, watching.
“ He’s going to get himself killed,” I say.
“ That’s his choice,” Logan says.
Ben walks through the trees, gunfire hailing down all around him, barely missing him in the tree cover. He reaches the shore, and stands there, out in the open. Gun fire hits the sand near him, just missing.
As if he has all the time in the world, Ben slowly removes the bow from his shoulder, takes out an arrow, and studies the far shoreline. On the horizon, on the other side of the Hudson, high up on a cliff, there is a lone gunman, aiming down with his rifle. The stock of his rifle glistens in the sunlight.
More shots ring out, but Ben doesn’t flinch. He stands there, boldly. I wonder if this is courage, or suicide. Or both.
Ben places a single arrow on the bow, pulls it back, and takes aim. He holds it there for several seconds, waiting, aiming. Another gunshot rings out, missing him, but he doesn’t flinch.
And then, finally, he lets go the arrow.
I see the arrow sail through the air, high across the Hudson, a good hundred yards. It is a thing of beauty. I’m amazed.
I’m even more amazed to watch as it finds its target: it lodges right into the chest of the lone gunman. After a moment, he falls face down, dead.
I look over at Ben in shock.
Ben walks back to us. He stands at the mouth of the cave, holding his bow and arrow, and we stand there, staring back at him. No more gunshots hail down. It wasn’t the slaverunners. It must’ve been a lone, crazed gunman. A survivor.
Ben stares back at us wordlessly, and for the first time I can see the warrior in his eyes, a whole different Ben than I’ve seen before. I can also sense that a part of him had indeed wanted to die, had wanted the gunman to kill him, had wanted to join his brother. But he didn’t get his wish.
At the same time, it seems like the episode was cathartic, like it exorcised something within him. Some sort of guilt about his brother or Rose. As if he faced death, and now he’s ready to live again.
“ I’m ready to leave,” he says. “Let’s go north.”
The four of us sit silently in the boat, each lost in our own world, as our boat continues up the Hudson. Logan is steering, and we have been driving for hours, winding our way slowly upriver, avoiding chunks of separating ice. We all keep our eyes peeled forward; none of us dare look back.
We all left behind too much back there. Since the shooting, Ben doesn’t talk about going home. I have nothing more to say, either. Obviously, it wasn’t safe to stay there, after all. That shooter may have been a stray-or there may be more where he came from.
The mood now is much more somber. We all feel the absence of Rose. Penelope sits in Bree’s lap, shaking, and I feel like we’re all in mourning for a lost comrade. I think her passing also reminds us all of how close we came. It could’ve been any one of us-by pure happenstance it just happened to be her.
I don’t think any of us really believe we will live for long. Each day is like looking our own mortality in the face. It’s not a matter of if we will all die. But when.
A part of me has given up caring. I just look ahead, focus on the far north, on the distant goal of Canada. I hold it in my mind, and try not to let it go. Whether it’s real or not, it doesn’t really matter anymore. It’s something. A destination. It beats our aimlessly wandering, heading God knows where, for God knows what. It’s comforting to think that we’re heading some place that might one day be home.
Ben surprised me back there-he surprised all of us. I was sure that he was going to get killed. Whatever his motive, his actions were brave, and he took out the sniper and saved us all. I think Logan has a new respect for him. I certainly do. And I think Ben, sitting a little taller, has a new respect for himself. It’s like, finally, he’s a member of our team.
Bree, on the other hand, has withdrawn into herself, ever since Rose’s passing. Her eyes seem sunk, hollow, and she seems more out of it than I’ve ever seen her. It is as if a part of her died with Rose. She clutches Penelope as if she’s holding a piece of Rose, and looks off into the water as if she’s bearing the sorrows of the world. I can’t stand to see her like this. But I don’t know what else to say.
Logan, beside me, is quiet, and I can see the concern in his face. He stands over the wheel, checking the gas gauge every few seconds. We are now officially in the red. He keeps scanning the shoreline, as do I, for any signs of a town, a station-anything. But there is nothing. We’ll be out of gas soon. And we’ll be stranded. What I would give now for just a gallon of gas. I don’t know what we’ll do without this boat, if we have to leave it.
Suddenly, I spot something coming towards us in the river. At first I wonder if I’m seeing things, but then I see it’s real. I grab my gun, even though there’s no ammo left, and brace myself.
“ Get down!” I scream to Bree.
She and Ben jump down, looking out over the rail. Logan looks over at me, not understanding, then he looks out and sees it, too. He squats down, and reaches over and grabs his gun.
Coming right at us is another boat. It is a huge, rusted metal boat, maybe a hundred feet long and half as wide-it looks like a mini barge. It floats towards us, between the chunks of ice, crookedly, on an angle. That is when I realize that something looks wrong with it.
As it comes into better view, I see what it is. And I relax.
It is a ghost ship. Its entire hull is hollowed out, and I can see right through it. It is incredible: a huge, empty, rusted shell, floating down the river. It creaks and groans as it bounces in the river, sandwiched between large chunks of ice, leaning. It drifts our way and Logan turns us away, to keep us a good distance from it.
We float right past it and I look up, amazed by its size, as it blocks the sun. It is eerie. It is like looking at an old pirate ship. I wonder who piloted it, wonder how many months it’s been floating down this river. It is other-worldly, this strange relic, this vestige of a world that once was. It makes me wonder if there is anything left in the world anymo
re.
None of us say anything as it passes. I relax my guard, realizing there is no danger.
But I hear a noise and I look down, as our boat starts to slow. At first I wonder if we ran out of gas. But that’s not what it is. We suddenly stop moving, our boat groaning. We are stuck.
I look down, trying to figure out what happened.
“ Did we hit a rock?” I ask. “Aren’t we too far from shore?”
Logan shakes his head, looking down grimly.
“ Ice,” he answers.
I lean over the boat, and see it. There, all around us, are huge chunks of ice, boxing us in. So much of it has gathered around us that we can no longer move. I can’t believe it.
“ Now what?” Ben asks, also leaning over.
“ We need to break out,” Logan says.
“ We need some kind of tool,” Logan says. “Like a saw. Or a hammer.”
I remember the hammer I salvaged from my dad’s house, and rummage through my sack and pull it out. I lean over the edge and hammer at the ice.
But it hardly does a thing. The ice is too thick, and my hammer is too small.
I lean back, exhausted.
“ Nice try,” Logan says.
I look all around the river, and realize we are sitting ducks out here. This is bad. It could take hours for the ice to thaw. And the current is now bringing us back downriver.
Logan, Ben and I all exchange a nervous glance; clearly, none of us have any ideas.
“ What about the anchor?” Bree asks.
We all turn and look at her. She stands there, pointing. I follow her finger to the back of the boat, to the small anchor on an iron chain. Bree’s right. It’s a brilliant idea.
Logan hurries over and hoists it. I am impressed by his strength: it must weigh thirty pounds, solid iron.
“ Stand back,” he says.
He leans over the edge, winds up the chain and anchor, and brings it down hard on the ice. It hits with a cracking noise, and I watch as the ice cracks and splits in several parts. Logan does it again and again, and soon, the huge chunks of ice break free.