by Astor Penn
“What’s your deal? You probably never touched a knife before in your life until four months ago. How’d you learn to throw like that?”
I pause. “You coming or what?”
No use in making friends if she’s heading the other way. She stands there long enough that I begin walking again, and when I hear the crunch of footsteps behind me, I smile but don’t turn. Maybe if I don’t watch her, she’ll be more comfortable. Then again, maybe if I don’t watch her she’ll attack me.
“I was in New York when it started. They kept tabs on most of the news sources pretty well, surprisingly. Not that there weren’t all kind of conspiracy theories—there were—but while we knew there was awful contamination in the east, we didn’t know how bad it was until it was too late. I went out for a walk one day, in full garb, protective glasses and mouthpiece on, but without anything else. No money or ID or safe-pass. Ended up being my saving grace.”
“No knife?” she asks.
“No weapons of any kind. That comes later. You see, all of a sudden there was panic—just masses of people trying to get in their cars and drive, but there were too many of them to move, and the rest of the people pouring into the subways, but the trains had stopped running a long time before. That’s what they flooded first.
“Because I had no car, I ran uptown to the tunnel. People were climbing over the cars and running it. I was one of the last people out, I think. They flooded it too, a way to stop the spread of infection, I guess, but they didn’t even slow it down. I saw the water coming right as I was about to exit in Jersey. Even though I was pretty much clear of the tunnel, I nearly drowned in the massive waves gushing out of it. People all around me did.
“When it was over, bodies floated past me, and when it was shallow enough I could wade through it, I began pulling items off people like a perverse shopping cruise. Food, medical supplies—”
“The knife,” she says.
“The knife. Found that one on a tourist from the backwoods of Kentucky, probably. Big guy in a camo shirt who had a bag of hunting supplies on him for whatever reason. Took the bag, but the only thing that lasted is the knife. Gun’s no good when the ammo runs out.”
“That’s the beauty of a knife,” she says, quietly drawing closer to my footsteps. “It’s all skill. Even when it rusts and dulls over, it can still kill with enough pressure and skill.”
There’s an edge to her voice, more dangerous than any knife. Closer and closer she stalks; then for a moment I hear no steps. She’s smaller than me, but quicker—she springs forward with something in her hand that I only notice peripherally until she’s got me spun around with my back against her chest. Her hands are close to my ears, and there’s something digging into my neck.
It’s not just digging into my neck, I realize—it feels like it’s going to pop my head clean off. I choke and gasp, trying to find a good footing to knock her off balance. My knife is somewhere near my feet, dropped in the shock of her quick approach. Stupid, I think, even in the midst of black-out panic.
I crash my head backward, hoping to connect with her face, but her shorter stature saves her from a hard blow. She yells a bit and loosens her hold on my neck enough that I can twist around and get my fingers under whatever it is she has—and as it cuts into my hands, I realize exactly what it is. Wire.
Once I have it safely away from my neck, I sweep my foot out and manage to finally knock her down, the wire cutting deeper into my hand as she keeps her grip. I let it go and stand over her, panting. A wire: it’s ingenious, really. Small enough to conceal almost anywhere and yet deadly when given enough pressure to any vital area.
The girl doesn’t seem startled or angry; instead, she smiles. “Not bad.” She stands and eyes me as I massage my throat. At the time it had been hard to tell, but now I realize she was probably putting hardly any pressure at all on my neck; assaults like that don’t last long. If she’d wanted to hurt me, she easily could have.
“If that ever happens again, you get your fingers under that wire no matter how painful it is. Better it slicing through your fingers than your neck, all right?”
Gulping, I trace a line of faint burning around my neck with a fingertip. I wonder if it’ll bruise into a perfectly thin line. History is written in scar tissue. When she stands she idly brushes the dirt off her pants. Still faintly in shock, I’m watching in apprehension of what might follow. She, however, is looking at me in a far different way, something between fondness and awe. I frown.
“So? You want to join me for the time being or just make empty threats?” I ask.
Something shifts between us; she’s still wild, uncontrollable and unpredictable, but I’m no longer afraid of anything she might do to me. What she might do to others, anyone who crosses her, sure, but not to me. She won’t threaten me again.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
She barely hesitates this time. “Raven.”
I smile. “Really?” It sounds like something made up, fabricated when there’s no one left to reveal you. Raven to go with her dark hair, dark skin. No matter how long I stare her down, she offers up nothing else.
“I’m Brie.”
“Brianne or Brianna?”
“Brianna.”
Nodding, she steps forward to my side, as if this is what makes the difference in whether to trust me or not. It’s as good as any reason, I suppose.
“I won’t stay with them,” she says.
“But you might stay with me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow in jest. I stop teasing when she gives me another once-over, scrutinizing me for weakness.
“I wouldn’t count on it. I’ve been on my own too long now to play well with others.”
We walk back quietly to the campsite while I try and think of an explanation for our absence without confessing the truth. Necessary bathroom trip should mute the others even if they don’t believe it. Bryant doesn’t seem the type to turn us away even if he suspects our plotting.
“You’ve got moves, though.” Raven speaks, uninitiated by me, for the first time. She half smiles at me. It’s terrifying. “You’d be an all right ally. You know, for a stuck-up boarding school snob.”
“I didn’t think you were awake for that conversation.” She wasn’t. No way.
“Please, you don’t have to tell me you come from money and an education. It’s written all over you, even under the seven layers of dirt and sweat and filth.”
“Even after all this time spent in hell,” I finish for her. We’ve all been cut down and stripped down to nothing, to square one, no lofty career or money to save us now, but I guess we can’t hide who we were. Even when we most want to.
Just the same way she can guess and judge me, I look at Raven and see a lost girl. One who left home too young, probably never had a good relationship with any of her family, few friends, few connections in her life. She is the best equipped now for it. She had nothing to lose, so when everyone else lost everything, she hardly cared.
It’s easy.
Before we break through the last bit of trees dense enough to cover the campsite, Raven’s hand shoots out of the dark. She stops me with a firm grasp on my wrist.
“Listen.” She takes an earnest breath. “We should leave. Now. Together. Maybe not together for long, but we’ll stick together until we can find enough supplies to split apart. I don’t trust them.”
“Why not? You have no reason to trust me, even.”
When she chews her bottom lip, it’s alarming. At first, because I think of it as a sign of weakness. Second, because it’s cute, and I can’t think anything about this girl is cute or I risk growing attached. She will eat my heart.
“There are men.”
I shut my mouth before I can ask why this matters, because while I haven’t seen it happen personally, I can imagine it all too easily. Young girl traveling alone, and she doesn’t have anything. Getting lured into a group, or maybe into traveling with just one other person and suddenly there’s a group. Too many hardened men and not enough wom
en.
It’s easy. It’s too easy to imagine the worst and too hard to ask the questions.
“Only two of them. We’re even in numbers.” I try not to tremble under the steady pressure of her fingers. “Besides, Bryant isn’t the type. I don’t know if I trust Aaron, but I trust he’ll stay in line so long as Bryant’s around.”
It’s because no one has touched me, or even talked to me, in months. It’s nothing. It’s not the way she refuses to let go or the intensity in her dark eyes or the way her eyelashes look obscenely thick despite the days of cosmetics having long passed. It’s not because she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s just not. My heart speeds up on its own, and I swallow down the nerves.
“We’ll leave in the morning,” I promise, gently peeling my arm away. “Just the two of us.”
“And if they try and stop us? Or follow us?”
“We’ll stop them.” I shrug. At first I feel nothing—not even as I threaten the lives of people so far innocent. Then a chill settles into my stomach at the realization that I am numbed to death, or the idea of killing.
“Kill anyone before, Barbie?”
My lack of response is more than enough of an answer.
“Well, I have.” She sounds as if she feels nothing. “And it’s never as easy as it seems.”
Perhaps I should ask how many people she’s killed, but already my decision seems to be made. I’ll leave with her regardless, which is why when we break into the campsite and Bryant mutely watches us settle back against the trunk of a great tree together, side by side, I’m the most comfortable I’ve felt in a long time. I’m not alone, Raven’s warmth seeping into my side even though we’re not quite touching, and the idea that I’m part of some conspiracy plan with someone makes me feel hopeful, even youthful in a way again.
Before I feel myself dozing off, stubbornly trying to cling to my hyperaware and comfortable consciousness, I feel the shift. Either Raven moves to lean into me, or I into her. Either way, it’s alarming, and I fall asleep regardless.
Chapter 5
THE NEXT morning I’m the last to wake. When voices break through the lingering tangential threads of my dream, I roll over, searching for my pillow to stuff over my head and block out the noise. Something cuts my ear, cuts into the side of my face. There is no pillow, and my blanket is tangled in my feet. Sighing, I accept my fate and sit up, rubbing my eyes.
There’s a little fire and something cooking in a pot directly on it. Whatever it is smokes terribly, all dark and ashy. I’m lying on my back next to a tree, and my blanket is less of a blanket and more of a coat.
“Thanks,” I mumble, handing it back to Bryant without looking at him. He stuffs it into his bag, because we won’t need any heavy protection for the next few hours, not when the sun is already getting high in the sky.
“Breakfast is served.” He shrugs in the direction of the pot. Inside, some concoction of beans is mixed together with heavy sauce. It’s hot and fairly plentiful. It’s more than good enough for me.
“Is there meat in this?” I ask, accepting our communal spoon from Poppy. She grins.
“Kind of. My daddy always said beef jerky was a poor excuse for meat.” She stirs the pot with what might have been salad tongs, but they’re charred black now.
“I used to be a vegetarian.” That didn’t last a day outside the city. I ate what I found and had no qualms about it, but my stomach’s backlash immobilized me for a good couple of days.
Behind us someone, no doubt Aaron, snorts, but I don’t bother to acknowledge it. Instead I ask, “Where’s Raven?”
“Is that your girlfriend’s name?” Aaron laughs. “Raven? Really?”
I’m thankful he can’t see my face; blood rushes faster than my breath, and the spoon bends slightly in my tight grip. He must be joking, but it doesn’t matter. I will find another van and lead him to it if he says another word.
He does. “You’re the only one she speaks to, yeah? Certainly wouldn’t tell us her name this morning when we found her rooting around in our stuff.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand. She’s gone. She left without me. There’s nothing I can do, and I am alone again.
“Pipe down, Aaron,” Poppy bosses him. Maybe it’s not Bryant who keeps him in line.
“Where is she? What did you do to her?” I snap, ignoring the hurt look on Poppy’s face. She takes a step backward toward Aaron.
“Relax, Brie.” It’s Bryant to the rescue, always. “She’s down by the little creek over there washing up. She’s not going anywhere.”
That’s what they think. She’s probably already gone. When I throw my spoon and serving can down, I feel great remorse. Maybe I can just run away with their serving dish and only utensil?
No. Give them no reason to follow us. I swing my backpack on and stalk toward the creek.
“You can finish your breakfast. She’s really not going anywhere!” Aaron yells behind me.
The sound of running water isn’t something I miss anymore; even if I didn’t know the precise location they spoke of, I can hear the soft trickle soon enough, can feel the way my duct-taped boots sink heavier into the ground to indicate I’m close to water.
She’s sitting, back to me, right in front of the creek. Not moving. Still as can be, as if she’s been propped up unconscious there, and I’m still too, for fear of moving when she does not.
“Raven?” I hold my breath until she moves. And she does. Just barely, but when she tilts her ear toward me, the light morning breeze catches her hair to expose her neck. It’s tiny, slender, and looks far too easy to break.
“Are you all right? They made it sound as if—” They hurt you or threatened you. But I don’t say that, because I shouldn’t care, and I have no right to think of anyone who’s lasted this long as frail.
“Fine,” she says with little emotion. “Thought I’d come for a wash, is all.”
“Won’t do you any good now,” I say. “If any of us were carrying, you’d have it as well by now.”
The sight of people used to make me itch. Not even the sight of—I’d go for so long without seeing anyone, then I’d find just a recent foot trail or the remains of a camp and feel dirty. I’d run to the nearest water source and scrub until more harm was done than good. My skin stripped, I had no natural barrier to the elements.
Raven, for whatever reason, finds this amusing. She glances up at me, now standing by her shoulder, grinning. “Well, you did have your hands all over me last night.”
My heart flutters at the insinuation, but I squash it down. No time for emotions. We should get moving, and besides, I’m sure she doesn’t mean anything by it.
“Next time you put your hands on me, it’ll be for a better reason, I hope.” She winks at me, and without having any way to judge how much fun she’s having at my expense, I look away to hide my blush.
“Have you got your things on you?” She stands, not bothering to brush the thick layer of dirt off her skin or clothing. Hers are far more ragged than mine. “We should cast off.”
She sees my backpack with me, because it’s my second skin, but I say, “I don’t have everything. My blanket and water bottle are still with them.”
It’s stupid that I didn’t grab them, and when she glances at me, I expect scorn. Instead she just looks cautious.
“Can we do without? I don’t trust them.”
“No. We can’t.” Every item I carry with me now is one that I’ve fought for, that has earned its place and been duly tested. There’s not any room for anything less.
She understands. She makes no further protest when we walk back after my shambling attempt to wash up as a cover. No one will notice or even care. No doubt Aaron is counting the seconds until we’re no longer with them, a constant threat to their group.
“They think we’re a target because of our age,” I tell Raven. “Our youth is the source of vitality and all that. Do you think there’s anything to it?”
“Maybe. I don’t pr
etend to understand how things work anymore. I keep to myself, don’t ask questions, and live a day at a time.” She turns to me, watching, as if to weigh how long she’ll allow me to shadow her. “It’s served me well so far.”
She doesn’t see me as an asset, but she’s wrong. I survived the collapse of the greatest city the world has ever seen and the greatest cover-up possibly of all time. I’m the one who should decide whether or not she’s worth my time.
Thing is, I’ve already decided, and I hate myself for it. I push my head down and forward and march in front of her.
It’s a short hike back to camp; we don’t make it.
“Other way,” Aaron hisses. They come seemingly from nowhere, flying through the woods and grabbing us as they go. I’m not quite alarmed until I notice Poppy’s face: bright red and wet and so frightened.
“What’s happening?” I ask, sinking my feet into the mud even as Aaron pulls at me to move. With his hand on my arm, my skin crawls. I want to rip his hand clean off.
“Hazmats?” Raven hisses, voice low and gravelly. Poppy and Bryant look almost frightened of her; even Aaron nervously eyes her.
“No. Not that.” Poppy sounds so low and defeated that for a moment, that fierce protectiveness is back, the one that prompts me into wanting to know the girl, stay with her, fight for her. But I can’t and won’t.
“Where are your things?” I finally notice they’re all standing empty-handed. There’s a pause of silence, then Aaron jerks me forward again. We walk, then lope into a steady jog.
“Scavengers.”
“What? Someone took everything?” I ask.
“And left you alive?” Raven finishes.
“They snuck up on us, and there were too many to hold our ground.”
“And you couldn’t have grabbed a bag and run?”
“They would have followed us,” Bryant says, keeping a firm grip on Poppy. They would have killed us for our supplies is what he’s saying, and Poppy knows that. Not verbally saying it does no good for her.
“They may still.” Aaron’s commentary, on the other hand, is never needed.