by Morgan Rice
Chapter Eleven
We walk down the snow-lined rubble, right down the center of Main Street, and I look at the apocalyptic town spread out before us. It is the largest town I've seen in years, stretching for dozens of blocks, as far as I can see. On either side of us are crumbling, burnt out buildings. The devastation is tremendous. It reminds me of some of those photos I saw of cities bombed out after World War II.
The snow, while melting, is still up to our shins, and various objects stick out, like neglected toys. I see the hull of a burned out car, its wheels covered in snow, its top rusted right through. Beyond it, I see a broken wheelbarrow.
We are all tense, on guard, as we continue deeper into this town that once was. I hope and pray we can find fuel. All we need is one house, one store, one room - just one thing left uncovered. Who knows? Maybe we can even find more than fuel? Maybe food, weapons, ammo.
We come to the first store that looks like it might hold anything, and I stick my head through the open frame where there was once a window. I look inside, and see nothing but ruin.
I am about to move on, but Bree suddenly enters. She must spot something, because she steps across the threshold and into the store, and kneels down and reaches into the rubble. She pulls up something, gleaming in the light. I'm amazed she spotted it. She holds it out before us, and we all examine it. It's an old, rusted tin. It looks like it was once a candy tin. She opens it, and I'm amazed: inside are several red sucking candies.
We each reach in and grab one. I pop one in my mouth and am overwhelmed by the sweet, sugary taste, which rushes through my blood. It tastes like cherry, and is sweet and sour at the same time. It is incredible.
"Nice find," I say to Bree.
"Can I give one to Penelope?" she asks, who squirms in Bree's arms.
"Better not to," I say. "She might choke. "
We continue on, each now more invested in scanning the rubble carefully. But despite Bree's initial find, we come up empty. We enter store after store, block after block, and I am beginning to feel hopeless.
"I don't see how anything could be left that wasn't already picked over," Ben says. "We're wasting time. "
"We have no choice," Logan says. "We need to find gas. "
"Well we can't make gas appear just by willing it to," Ben says. "If there's no gas, there's no gas. "
"There must be an old gas station somewhere," Logan says. "Maybe an old body shop. "
"Don't you think scavengers would've raided it?" Ben asks, annoyed.
I can't help feeling Ben's right. Maybe we are wasting time.
Logan stops and stares Ben down, equally annoyed.
"You have any better ideas?" Logan asks.
Ben hesitates. Clearly, he's stumped, too.
"Maybe we should split up," he says. "Cover more ground. "
"Fine," Logan says without hesitating. "You go that way and I'll go this way. "
They both turn and look at me, as if wondering who I will go with.
I feel torn, like a child divided between parents. I don't want to offend either one. But as I look at them, I can't help but feel that Ben needs my help more, and that Logan is more able to take care of himself. So I turn and head off with Ben.
"Let's all meet back here in an hour," I say to Logan. "Holler if you find anything. "
I notice a hurt look on Logan's face, as he turns and heads off in his own direction, and I can't help feeling as if I betrayed him. But before I can say anything, he's walking away. Ben's right, anyway. We will cover more ground this way.
Bree sticks with me, and the three of us head off down a side street. As we go, I turn side to side, looking at all the different stores. I look everywhere for any sign of an auto shop, of a garage. I don't find any.
But as we turn down another street, I look over and can't believe my luck: I see a faded sign which reads: "Guns. " The windows are a shell, and I am sure that this was the first store that was raided when the war broke out. But I enter anyway.
I rummage through the rubble, looking for anything we can salvage. Of course, all the glass display cases have been shattered, and all the guns are missing. On the floor, I see a few stray bullets. I lean down and pick one up and begin to examine it, when suddenly, I hear a distant noise, like a cry.
I immediately turn, and my heart stops to see that Bree is not in here. It's just me and Ben. I am shocked: I could have sworn she followed me in.
"Bree?" I ask, frantic. "Where is she?"
Ben stares back at me, wide-eyed, and before he can respond, I take off, bursting out the store.
Back in the street, I look all around, and see, in the snow, Bree's footsteps. I also see Penelope's paw prints, and I realize what happened: Bree must have put Penelope down, who must have ran off. Bree must have chased her.
I hear another cry, and I'm sure it's Bree.
I sprint down the street, following the trail. I am flooding with panic as I imagine the worst possible scenarios.
"BREE!?" I scream, frantic.
I turn the corner, and stop short at the site. There, at the far end of the street, is Bree, Penelope beside her. She stands frozen in shock, daring not to move. Because standing opposite her, towering over her, is a huge, vicious, emaciated bear.
The bear roars as it stands over Bree. It looks like it hasn't had a meal in years.
I watch in horror. There is little I can do: Bree, at the other end of the block, is too far for me. There is no way I'll be able to reach her in time.
Ben runs up beside me.
"Where's the bow!?" I scream to him. "Shoot it!"
"I didn't bring it!" he says back, frantic.
"BREE!" I scream. "Step back slowly!"
But Bree doesn't listen. She must be too frozen in fear.
I break into a sprint. The bear closes in, and there is nothing I can do. It will be too late. I am going to have to watch my little sister get killed before my eyes.
"BREE!" I scream.
The bear approaches her, and as it does, suddenly, I see motion.
Behind the bear, Logan turns the corner, comes running out, an old crowbar in hand. He charges, putting himself between Bree and the bear, winds up, and hits the bear just in time, just as its claws are coming down. Somehow, he also manages to push Bree out of the way at the last second.
Bree goes flying, tumbling in the snow, and the bear's claws slash Logan's thigh instead. Logan screams out in pain, as his blood squirts everywhere, darkening the snow red.
Logan switches hands with the crowbar, wheels around, and cracks the bear across its jaw. The bear yelps, turns, and flees down the side street.
"Logan!" I yell, as I run for him.
He sinks to his knees, collapsing, grabbing his thigh with two hands. My heart breaks as I can already see how badly injured he is.
I run to him, kneel down and grab him, draping one arm around his shoulder. Ben, to his credit, kneels down and props up Logan with his arm. The two of us pick him up, holding him. He is heavy, much heavier than I thought.
Ben reaches down, tears a strip off his shirt, and ties it around Logan's wound, tight. The bleeding slows, but drenches the rag quickly.
"We have to get back to the boat," I say. "Can you walk?"
Logan looks dazed, confused.
"I don't know," he says.
We prop him up, and he walks with us. He's hobbling badly, and I can feel his weight on me. I look at the injury and see how deep the claws punctured, nearly all the way to the bone. Logan's blood trails us on the snow.
Bree, right beside us, is crying.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. "
"You didn't do anything wrong," I say back to her.
As we hurry back down the streets, I wonder what our next move should be. I have no idea. I know we have to get back to the boat, provide Logan some comfort. This town was a waste of time. And I feel that being out in t
he open is just too dangerous. Once we get back to the boat, somehow I'll know what to do.
As we turn the corner and the river comes into view, suddenly, I freeze. I can't believe what I see.
My mouth goes dry and heart drops into my throat. I'm too numb to move. To speak. I feel the world spinning out beneath me.
Because there, in the distance, on the water, I watch our boat being taken away. It is being tugged from shore by a large speedboat, all-black. They are not slaverunners - they look like some sort of pirates. They cut our anchor, and tied our boat to the back of theirs, and now they tug it away, at high speed. It is already halfway across the river, going God knows where. Our boat is gone.
We are stranded.