The Arab helped Dante get back into the saddle (though it seemed more like Dante was doing the helping), and then the group of riders started moving again. Dante watched all this with detachment, as if it were a play and he was really sitting in the balcony, and only later did he remember what he had been trying to remember all this time, the important thing, the fixation of that back-of-the-head scientist. The words of Walker came back to him, colored now by a fuller understanding:
“I know all about you, Dante Gervasio.”
That was part of it, yes, but there was something more. Something Walker had said after that part.
“I know your habits, your accomplishments, your vices. I know—”
Vices, Dante thought, and the chilling discovery broke through the buzz. The scientist at the back of his head began to scream.
Chapter 15: A Fork in the Road
She was alone. She knew it within moments of waking. Her ears, more keen than the previous day, noted the sounds she should have heard in the room but did not: the ping of the stove as the metal expanded, the sizzling of meat left in the pan, the soft breathing of the man who had chosen to help her.
Where had Victor gone?
She pushed herself to her feet, still wrapped in the blanket. The heat seemed to have leaked from the room during the night. She lifted the bandage from her forehead and turned in a slow circle, searching for the glow of light to tell her whether it was morning. She saw nothing. The only sound was the steady drip of rain from the eaves.
“Victor?” she whispered.
A sudden, clawing fear overcame her. It was like being smothered beneath a pillow. She let the blanket fall to the ground and staggered across the room, touching everything she could reach so that her hands might paint a picture across the blank canvas of her mind. Anything would be better than the vast emptiness that surrounded her.
As she moved across the room, she thought she sensed a touch of red across the grayness of her vision. She moved toward it. Her foot caught a small object (it might have been a matchbox car—she could not be sure) and sent it rattling across the floor. She managed to keep her balance, however, and reached her hands out toward that red and felt…
Boards, with nails bent over from careless hammering. Her fingers traced the dimples in the wood made by the head of the hammer, then the cracks at the ends of the boards. And between two of these boards, where the gray turned red, she felt cool air, outside air, and she nearly laughed at the irony.
There might as well be boards across my eyes, too, she thought, and felt an involuntary urge to scratch at her eyes. She managed to check the urge—for now. Her headaches had subsided during the night, but she did not wish to do anything that might bring them back. After all, wasn’t it possible her sight would return? Maybe with time and proper medical treatment, there might be a way…
She let the thought go. She did not have the energy to devote to such a silly dream. You have to grow up, she told herself. You have to stop being stupid. Victor had left her—as she had known he would. He had taken the information he needed, and then, when she could say nothing to prick his conscience (if he had one), he had slipped away like a thief in the night.
Now what happens? she thought.
She leaned toward the crack in the boards and felt the cool air on her face. She had to stop thinking like a child, stop looking for someone to rescue her. She was blind, sure, but that did not mean she had to be helpless. Allen had been teaching her about wild edibles in the forest. She could still recognize them by touch or smell, couldn’t she? And maybe she would live in some cave, or the shelter of an uprooted tree, and she would drink from a brook and eat what plants she could find.
Tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I hate you, Victor,” she whispered, because he had condemned her to the worst fate of all—a slow, suffocating death, like being buried alive one shovelful at a time. How many days would she go on before she died of hunger, thirst, exposure, or the attack of a wild animal? Or, worst of all, she might be found by a group of strangers who could do whatever they pleased with her, without having to fear any retribution because nobody would miss her once she was taken.
No, it was foolish to think she might just stumble across a group of friendly survivors happy to trouble themselves with a blind girl. If she could not contribute (and that was a question seriously in doubt), she would not be able to eat.
Focus, she told herself. She took a deep breath and tried to go cold. It was more difficult than ever before, but she managed to push her paralyzing fears off to a safe distance, creating just enough space so she could think rationally again. Allen had believed in meditation, sitting on the porch just before dawn and pondering the outline of the trees or the changing color of the sky, silently preparing himself for the day. He would watch the dew gather on the grass, listen to the voice of an owl, smell the leaves decaying beneath the trees, and a few hours later when Jenny woke and they began their morning chores, he would be as calm as a lion on a hot afternoon—not lazy, but restful, preparing himself for the next problem that would require his full attention.
I have a problem that requires my full attention, she thought. She imagined herself on the stage of a game show with words emblazoned above her head like a neon sign: How to Stay Alive when Everyone in Your Life Abandons You, Starring Jenny Renfrew.
She could smell the meat in the pan, a strong scent that suggested Victor had left something for her, so she moved carefully toward the stove. She had no appetite for the meat, which was now beaded with drops of fat, but she forced herself to eat anyway. She would need her strength.
Next she moved on hands and knees until she found the discarded blanket, which she folded and draped around her shoulders. She tied her sandals back on her feet, and now she was ready.
Alright, Jenny, she thought, taking a deep breath as she followed the wall to the front door. Time to see the world.
_____
The morning felt like autumn and winter had met for a tryst. The rain still drummed on the roof, but the storm was moving along south now and taking the lightning with it.
Victor found his bicycle (Allen’s bicycle, he thought, but that did not matter) and began continuing down the road, pushing the bicycle beside him instead of riding. The zip tie made a steady clicking sound beside him, and he stopped and drew his knife. He slipped the blade beneath the zip tie and paused.
Looking back, he could still see the country store, a dark shape in the gray morning. She might still be asleep. He could return, and even if she was awake and asked him why he had left, he would make some excuse. She was a child, after all. How hard could it be to lie to her? And then, once she was ready to go…
“Damn it all,” he whispered, still holding the knife, because he was at the same place as before. He could not take her and hope to catch the horsemen. It just could not be done.
He cut the zip tie and watched it fall to the ground, a broken piece of plastic that had outlived its usefulness. He climbed onto the bicycle and began pedaling down the road, letting the wind brush his face, blowing his thoughts far behind him.
He was not a quarter of a mile down the road when he stopped. The road branched, one way turning right and cutting through the hills, while the other pressed straight on. Just yesterday Victor had felt certain he was going in the right direction, but now, in the gray light of morning, he could not be sure. Jenny had said the horsemen came from Rayburn, and that was to the east. Victor knew how to get there. But if he were to abandon the trail of the horsemen only to discover the girl had been wrong, any chance of finding them would have been squandered.
Victor rested the bicycle by a speed limit sign marked with graffiti, and stood holding the straps of the backpack.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…
The asphalt showed no dirt thrown by the hooves of the horses, no telltale manure. As far as he could see down either way (which was not far, given that the sun had only just begun to crest the horizon), there was no
sign anyone had walked either road in a hundred years. Perhaps, if he was fortunate, he would discover a track in a clump of dead leaves or a recent cigarette butt, some sign to tell him where to go.
But first he would have to choose.
While he was still comparing the merits of the two roads, something to his left caught his eye. It could have been a bird, a squirrel, even a bear. A tattered greenhouse stretched along the road, ribbons of plastic flapping in the wind. Victor watched—and there it was again, loping between the greenhouse and the road, a second one close behind. Just a few predators out for an early hunt.
Victor raised his hand to tip an imaginary hat in their direction, one hunter to another, then froze. The day was still gray, but it was gaining color every moment. It was gaining depth, too, as the sunlight pierced the gloom, and he could see there were not just one or two animals but six or seven, a whole pack of them running together, and they were running in the direction Victor had come from.
He told himself Jenny would be safe inside the country store. He told himself that even if those animals caught the scent of meat, they would not be able to get inside. That was the kind of thing that only happened in the movies. In reality, few predators cared to get anywhere near humans - even blind little girls - if they could help it.
But something nagged at him as he watched the animals trot by. Maybe it was the realization that he would never forgive himself if something happened to the girl. Then again, how would he ever know? It was not as if he would hear about her death on the nine o’clock news.
With a deep breath, Victor climbed back on his bicycle.
_____
It was the great emptiness that frightened her, how she could walk a dozen steps in any direction and her hands would meet nothing, not even a long blade of grass or a tree trunk. She imagined she was walking on a flat, empty plain, like a countertop or a table, and if she wandered too far in any one direction she would fall off the edge into a great blackness.
The only guide she found was the road. She walked with one foot in the dirt and one on the asphalt, shuffling her steps so she would not run into a guardrail, vehicle, or other obstacle. The blanket was still draped across her shoulders, but she might have traded it for a cane just then.
She did not know where she was going. She only knew she was going to keep on walking so long as she had the strength. This had been her plan when she was left outside Fairfield, before Victor found her, and it occurred to her she was hardly any better (or worse) off now than she had been then. For the second time in as many days, she had been abandoned by those who professed to have her best interests in mind. If she still had her eyesight, they would have found a use for her at Fairfield. Even Victor might have kept her, so long as she could keep up with him. But a girl without her sight? Well, she just had no place in the new world.
She listened to things she had not noticed before: the whine of plastic flapping in the wind, the sigh of the trees, the movements of a mole pushing through the grass. She stooped down and cocked her head, listening for the mole to move again. It intrigued her to think that this animal was nearly as blind as she was, and yet it survived, creating its own network of tunnels beneath the ground. If only she could dig a tunnel to hide away from the wind, the cold, the unseen eyes she sensed following her every step.
The mole moved again, and Jenny reached toward the grass. Her fingers brushed the animal’s fur as it hurried away.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she murmured as she listened, ready to pounce once more. The creature was shifty, she’d give it that much. But her ears were growing keen, and she could hear the movement of every tiny blade of grass the creature brushed aside. Besides, what else did she have to do with her time?
She tensed, leaning forward like a cat ready to spring. As the mole began to move once more, she jumped forward and cupped her hands at the place she expected to find the mole. Her hands found enough of the animal for her to keep it from wriggling away. As she lifted the animal in the air, smiling at her success, her ears caught a sound she knew too well, a sound that haunted her nightmares, a sound that was far too close for her liking.
Something was growling at her, and it was very close.
Chapter 16: Stay Close
By the time he arrived, it was nearly too late.
On the side of the road was a white station wagon with a brown stripe of wood paneling. The wolves had surrounded the vehicle, and now they were jumping on the hood, flashing their teeth at the glass, clawing at the metal that separated them from their prey. Victor could not not see inside the vehicle from where he stood, but he could see the telltale cloud of fog on the windshield.
The wolves were not the lank cross-breeds commonly called coyotes in that part of New England. No, these were a true breed that had worked its way down from the north, spreading their territory in the throes of human civilization. Victor had always believed it was a rare occurrence for wolves to hunt a human, more a product of Hollywood than true accounts, but he knew it could happen. Especially if the human was alone and vulnerable, and the wolves were hungry.
One of the wolves had discovered the back window of the station wagon was broken, and the animal now stood on its front paws and stuck its head through the opening. Victor heard a muted scream. There was no way the animal could reach Jenny, not if she was in the front seat, but she wouldn’t know how close the wolf was.
Victor raised the Winchester, which he now carried in place of the lost AK-47, and fired a round into the air. The wolves lost all interest in the vehicle and turned toward Victor. He fired once more, and the animals turned and fled down the street, moving as silently as they had come.
“You can come out now,” Victor said, shouldering the rifle. He walked to the side of the car and tried to open the door. It was locked.
“Open the door,” he said.
Jenny sat upright and faced him. She was wrapped tightly in the blanket she had worn the night before, as if going to back to bed might force the day-terrors to disappear.
If I had only stayed with her, he thought, but stopped himself there. He would have time to lay blame later.
“You left me,” she accused, her voice muted through the glass.
“The wolves are gone now. Come on out.” He didn’t want to have this discussion because he already knew how it would go. She would demand an explanation, and after going back and forth for ten or fifteen minutes, they would both realize there was no explanation. Yes, he had left her, and he was not sure he would do things differently a second time, but for now the important thing was to stop wasting daylight.
Jenny unlocked the door and pushed it hard, scraping Victor’s leg. She climbed onto the ground and rushed toward him, arms failing as she searched for him. When he reached out and took her hand to let her know where he was, she began swinging her free hand at his face, trying to slap his cheeks. He leaned away and held her at arm’s reach.
“You promised to help me!” she shouted. “How could you leave me? How could you do that? I trusted you!” There were tears in her eyes now, almost as if she would have preferred he left her to face the wolves alone. He tried to imagine what it must have been like for her, sitting alone in the car, hearing the dogs scratching the glass and clicking their teeth. People lost their sanity over smaller things.
Victor grabbed her arms and pulled her toward himself, subduing her struggle until she relaxed and cried into his shoulder. He knew he should have felt something—pity, sympathy, maybe even relief that he had not left her to die. But he also knew that if he had not seen the wolves loping alongside the road, if he had not hesitated when the road forked, he would have gone on without her. Besides, his cold mind reasoned, this only meant he was a little farther behind his brother. What would happen when he circled back to the same realization as before: that Jenny would just slow him down?
A few minutes passed while she sobbed, wetting the front of his shirt. He kept his head up so he could observe their surroundings.
The sun was fully above the horizon now, and things looked different than they had in the gray morning. He did not like how still this part of the country appeared. He would rather have seen people and avoided them than going on wondering whether they were truly alone.
“I thought you were gone,” Jenny whispered. For the first time, it almost sounded like she was happy to see him. “When I woke…” She did not seem to know how to finish.
“Maybe your God was looking out for you,” Victor said. “If I hadn’t stopped when I did, if I hadn’t seen the wolves going by…” There was no irony in his voice. Enough had happened in the past few days to test his worldview that he legitimately wondered if there might be some divine being out there. Maybe she was being watched over by the Patron Saint of Blind Children.
Brothers (The Last Colony Book 1) Page 11