by Morgan Rice
I look over at Logan, and he looks delirious. He sleeps, wincing in pain, and his leg looks stiff, frozen solid. I don’t know how we’ll be able to drag him tomorrow.
I lay with one arm over Bree’s shoulder, rubbing her as she leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. I take some solace in the fact that, if we all die, at least we will die on our terms. Not as slaves, or prisoners. But together. Free.
Well, at least we had a nice run. I think of how far we came, how much we accomplished-escaping from the slaverunners, getting as far as we did. It is something, at least.
At least we have survived. And that is what I’ve learned. Every day of survival is a victory. That in itself is what we live for. And my hundreds of days of survival have been hundreds of small victories.
“ Can you read me a story?” Bree asks.
I try to think, try once again to remember the words to The Giving Tree. This time, to my surprise, the words come back to me.
“ Once, there was a tree, and she loved a little boy. And every day the boy would come, and he would gather her leaves, and make them into crowns and play king of the forest,” I say.
I feel Bree relax in my arms as I continue to recite the book from memory. Amazingly, it all comes back to me, line after line, and I recite the whole thing to her. I reach the ending:
“‘ Well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.’ And the boy did. And the tree was happy.”
I feel Bree fast asleep in my arms. It is a gift, falling asleep in this weather. I hope that she dreams of things, other worlds, other places, other times.
I look over at Logan, and see he, too, is asleep, in a fitful, painful sleep. Then I look over at Ben. He is awake, his eyes open wide, staring into the flames. I wonder what he is thinking of. His brother? What he could have done differently?
I cannot help but think back to that moment, in Penn Station, before we parted ways. When he leaned in and kissed me. Why had he done it? Had he really meant it? I’m no longer sure how he feels.
“ Ben?” I ask softly, my teeth chattering.
He turns and looks at me. His eyes are sunken, as if they’ve just been through a war.
A part of me thinks we might not all make it through this night. If we don’t, I want to know how he really feels about me.
Now that he’s looking at me, I don’t know how to ask. I am nervous. But I force myself. After all, I have little left to lose.
“ When you kissed me, back in the city,” I say. “Why did you do that?”
I look at him, searching into his eyes, waiting for his reaction. I don’t know why, but for some reason, now, here, of all places, it is suddenly important to me.
He opens his mouth and closes it several times. He looks flustered, as if he doesn’t know how to respond.
“ I… I…um…” He looks down, then up again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”
His words hurt me.
“ So you’re saying you didn’t mean to?” I ask.
My heart is sinking. He looks down, then back up at me.
“ That’s not what I’m saying,” he says. “I did mean to do it. I meant to do it. I wanted to.”
“ So then why are you sorry?” I ask.
He looks at me, confused.
“ Aren’t you upset that I kissed you?” he asks.
I think about that. I was surprised at the time. But not…upset. And now, as I think about…no, I’m not upset.
In fact, I want him to do it again.
But I’m nervous, and my words are starting to fail me. So instead, I shake my head.
Slowly, he gets up, snow crunching beneath him, and takes a few steps over to me.
He sits in the empty spot beside me, against the same tree, and looks into my eyes. He reaches up with one hand and places it on my cheek.
My heart is pounding.
And then slowly, Ben leans in and kisses me.
At first, I hesitate.
But then, I meet his kiss, kissing him back. My heart is pounding in my chest, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m no longer aware of my surroundings, of the cold, the hunger, of the million things that are wrong in the universe.
I think only of Ben. And of my wonder that he can transport me from this place, this time, with just a single, magical kiss.
T H I R T E E N
I awaken at dawn, slowly peeling open my eyes, colder than I’ve ever been. The cold is unfathomable. I feel as if someone has thrown me into a meat locker and slammed shut the door, and not let me out for a week.
The fire is long-extinguished, now ashes, covered in ice. I look up and see that the entire ground is covered in ice-and that all the trees are covered in ice, too. Everything, down to the smallest branch, hangs with ice. I can’t believe it. An ice storm.
The world is as beautiful as it is cold, everything frozen, shining in the early morning light. I feel as if I’ve wakened in Superman’s palace.
I try to move, and feel my body covered in ice, stuck to the tree. I raise my arms and shoulders, and I break off small particles of ice. Ben has fallen asleep beside me, leaning against the same tree, and Bree is asleep on my other side. Two feet away is Logan, lying exactly as I left him, against his own tree. Everyone is asleep but me. They all look frozen. In fact, they all look dead, and for a moment, I wonder if they have all frozen to death.
My heart beats wildly as I sit up. I shake Bree. Penelope wakes, looking up at me, her eyes sleepy, then, finally, Bree opens her eyes, too. I flood with relief. We’re not dead, yet.
I reach over and shake Ben, then get up and shake Logan. Thankfully, they each wake, although they all look frozen, half dead. I know we can’t lay here anymore.
“ We have to get up,” I say. “We have to keep moving. If we don’t, we’ll freeze to death. Let’s go. On your feet,” I say, summoning my toughest voice, needing to mobilize them.
I help pull them up, and slowly, each of them begins to rise, the sound of ice cracking as they gain their feet. Logan tries several times, but can’t seem to get up on his bad leg, which is covered in ice. I’m hoping the ice helped reduce the inflammation, at least. I bend down and drape one of his arms over my shoulder, and Ben takes the other. Together, we hoist him onto his feet. My back reels as I do so: he feels like he weighs a thousand pounds.
Logan groans as he gets to his feet, and he wobbles, unsteady.
“ I can’t stand,” he says.
“ We’ll walk you,” I say.
I look at Ben, he nods back, and together, we begin to walk Logan, he leaning heavily on us, limping on one leg. Bree hurries up beside us, holding Penelope. I take one last look back at our little campsite, at the frozen fire, at the sparkling woods all around us. I’m glad to leave this place.
We hobble through the woods, the four of us, walking into the breaking day, each stiff and exhausted. We reach an open clearing, and find the train tracks and continue alongside them, our feet crunching with every step on the ice. It must be ten degrees. I’ve never been this cold in my life. It is a mind-numbing cold, one that prevents me from thinking clearly.
“ Where are we going?” Bree asks, finally shattering the silence.
I’m wondering the same thing myself. All I know is that we are heading north, to some remote town in Canada that probably doesn’t even exist. With each step, I feel more and more the futility, the impossibility, of our mission. We are slowing down with each step, too, and I’m seriously doubting if we will even survive to nightfall.
“ I don’t know,” I answer Bree, truthfully.
I look for shelter as we go, but see none. Nothing but endless trees and train tracks, and the frozen river to our side. No sign of any towns at this point, no boats, no old houses-nothing. We are in the midst of a vast stretch of wilderness, and we walk and walk. With every minute, it’s getting colder, harder, and my legs ache even more.
“ Stop,” Logan says.
<
br /> Ben and I stop and turn and look at him. He is groaning in pain, his face drawn, too pale. He looks like a walking corpse.
“ I can’t go on anymore,” he says. “Leave me here. You’ll be faster without me. I’m not going to make it anyway.”
“ We’re not going to leave you,” I say.
Logan pulls his arms off of our shoulders, and suddenly collapses down to the ground. He lies there, not moving.
“ I can’t go on,” he says, lying there.
We all exchange a worried look.
“ Leave me,” he says. “I’m serious.”
I don’t know what to do. I know that I can’t leave him. But if he refuses to walk, I can’t force him to.
I realize he’s right: we’re not getting anywhere. He is slowing us down. But at the same time, I don’t care. I think back, remember when he helped me. He wouldn’t let me die, for any reason. And I’m not about to let him die. Especially since he hurt himself saving Bree’s life.
“ We can stand here all day if you want,” I say down to him. “We’re not leaving you. If you can’t walk, we’ll make camp here.”
Logan weakly shakes his head, too tired to argue back.
As I stand there, listening to the wind howl, feeling colder than I ever have, trying to figure out what to do, suddenly, I hear a noise.
Ben and Bree must hear it, too, because at the same time, we all turn and look at the horizon.
I stand there and watch the horizon, and wonder if my ears are playing tricks on me. First, there is a low rumbling, like the sound of an engine. At first I wonder if it’s a slaverunner boat, racing up the Hudson somehow, despite the ice, coming to get us. But then I realize the engine sounds different. Like some kind of vehicle. Maybe a truck.
I look all around, and see no signs of a road. Yet somehow, the sound is getting stronger, closer. I even begin to feel the ground tremor beneath me.
“ A train!” Bree yells, excited.
The second she says it, I realize she’s right. I can’t believe it. I have no idea how it’s possible. A train? Running? I haven’t seen a running train in years. But then again, I’ve never been on this side of the river.
But a train to where? From where? Operated by whom? It doesn’t seem possible.
Sure enough, as I continue to look, there, on the horizon, there begins to appear a large, rusted, freight train, moving right towards us, on the tracks. It chugs along, moving slowly, kicking up huge clouds of exhaust.
I realize this could be what we need. It could be a godsend. If we can get on that train somehow, maybe it will be heated-or if not heated, maybe at least protected from the elements. Whatever it is, it has to be warmer than being out here. And we could get on it, and rest, and wherever it’s going, it is, at least, heading north. And who knows? Maybe it’s actually going some place civilized?
We have no choice. Here we’ll freeze to death.
“ Logan, you have to get up!” I yell at him. “There’s a train coming! We have to catch it!”
“ No,” he moans.
Ben jumps into action: he reaches down, and with all his might, he picks Logan up. He grabs him by his shoulders and drags him to his feet, Logan moaning. I come over and help, and we manage to get him up.
Logan opens his eyes and looks at me.
“ Logan, please,” I say. “You saved me once. Let me save you. Let us save you. Please. Survive. We don’t want to be without you.”
Logan’s eyes open for a moment, then he nods, relenting.
We stand to the side, as the train comes towards us. Luckily, it’s going slow, probably about five miles an hour. My guess is that they’re conserving gas.
But it’s perfect for our purposes. It will give us a chance to actually jump on it, and to get Logan on board.
We wait as it passes, watching, and I see that it is about twenty cars long. The cares are made of an old, weathered wood, and some of the doors are open, revealing empty cars. I wonder again what its purpose is.
We get into position, and I drag Logan close to the tracks.
“ Logan, you have to help us,” I say. “When we get close, Ben will jump up and open the door. He’ll pull you up and I’ll push. Bree, when Ben jumps up, you jump up with him and get inside. Everybody ready?”
We all turn, as the next car comes.
“Now!” I scream.
Ben jumps up into the car, turns and reaches out a hand. Beside me, Bree jumps up with Penelope, easily getting into the car. I shove and push Logan with all I have, and Logan does his best to make one last effort, as he grabs Ben’s hand and pulls himself. Ben, to his credit, yanks Logan with all that he has. I gave him one final shove, and he goes head first into the car. His legs are sticking out, but he’s in.
The car has gone past me, so I race to catch up. My legs are moving slowly, stiffer than I thought, and I slip. The train is getting farther away.
“ Brooke!” Bree screams out.
I regain my footing, and force myself to run faster, the cold air cutting my lungs.
My dad’s voice rings in my head.
Come on soldier. Come on!
I run through the pain bursting through my frozen limbs, breathing hard. I run faster than the train, catch up to the car, then reach out and grab Ben’s hand. I step up on the iron latch, and he yanks me in. I go tumbling into the train car.
I sit up, look around, and can hardly believe it. We are in. We made. All four of us. Penelope barks.
I burst into laughter, victorious laughter. It is contagious, and we all sit there, laughing. We have made it. We are out of the cold, and we are moving.
It is much warmer in here, compared to the bitter cold outside. This is the break we needed, what we needed to de-thaw. To rest. Even better, it gives us a vantage point from which to view the countryside as we go, allowing us to look out for any towns-or anything-as we pass.
“ We made it,” I say.
I look down and see Logan smiling, lying on the floor. Bree and Ben sit close by.
“ The question is, to where?” Ben asks. “Where is this train going?”
It is the same question I’m wondering myself.
“ Wherever it is,” Ben says, “it can’t be good. I’m guessing that the only people organized enough to run a train must be slaverunners.”
“ It could be some sort of government or military unit,” I say. “Maybe even that town in Canada Logan was talking about.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s unlikely. I know that Ben is probably right.
“ And what if it’s not?” he asks.
“ The way I see it, it gets us out of the cold and gives us a vantage point to scout the countryside. If we pass any towns, any shelters, any structures, any boats-anything good-we can always just jump. Being stranded in the wilderness wasn’t exactly helping us.”
Ben shrugs, unconvinced.
“ It’s risky,” he says. “We don’t know who’s running this. Or what’s waiting for us.”
A part of me knows he’s right; but at the same time, I don’t see what choice we have. We just have to ride this train out, see where it takes us.
And hope and pray for the best.
I open my eyes, immediately alert. Something is wrong. I look around and see Bree, Logan, Ben and Penelope, all lying asleep in front of me. Muted afternoon light comes in through the slats in the wood. Everything seems peaceful enough. But I know something is wrong. I can feel it.
And then I realize: we are not moving. The train has stopped.
I try to get my bearings, to remember. I’m sitting exactly where I put myself when I came in, right along the slats of the train door, so I could look out. I remember sitting here and watching the countryside pass, for hours. I looked out on one side, and Ben on the other. We promised to let each other know if we saw anything worth jumping for. But I watched for hours, and saw nothing. There was nothing but wilderness, and desolation. Snow and ice as far as the eye could see. It was a barren wasteland: like crossin
g the face of the moon.
And then, at some point, I must’ve fallen asleep. So stupid of me. I should’ve stayed awake, on guard. But as I look around, I see the others have all fallen asleep, too. We were just so tired.
And now, we are stopped. I don’t know why. Or where. I look out and see nothing but wilderness.
My heart is pounding, as I wonder what the destination could be. Should I wake everyone? Should we jump out now?
Before I can decide, I hear a noise. At first, it is faint, then it grows more distinct. Approaching us are footsteps in the snow and ice. The crunching gets louder, as several sets of steps approach. I brace myself, wondering who it can be. I have a feeling that whoever it is, it can’t be good.
I look around at the others, my first instinct to protect them. I reach down to my waist, feel my knife, and place my hand on it, ready to use it if I have to.
“ Ben,” I hiss.
He doesn’t respond, asleep.
“ Ben,” I hiss again.
Finally, he opens his eyes, blinking several times, disoriented.
“ We’ve got company.”
Ben sits up, alert. Logan, now awake, too, slides his pistol over to Ben, who takes it.
Suddenly, the train door slides open, light flooding into the car. The light is blinding, and for a moment, I can’t see what’s happening. I kneel to the side, out of sight; luckily, Ben, Logan and Bree are off to the side, too. We all hide in the dark corners, and there is no way that anyone could spot us without looking carefully. My heart is pounding in my chest, as I wonder who it could be.
I hear the muffled cries and groans of several people, and moments later, bodies are hurled across the threshold, into the car. One after the other, bodies land on the floor with a thud, in the car with us. They are bound and gagged, hands tied tightly behind their backs, their feet tied together, and they hit the floor hard, squirming. I realize that someone must be throwing them in.