by Masha Leyfer
The ends of Nathan’s mouth crease into a light smile.
“You were worried about me?” He asks.
“Yes.”
I can tell by the way he smiles that my statement produced its desired effect.
“Oh.”
We follow the usual routine, Nathan crossing the stream first and helping me over it, both of us jumping down the hill alone. We sit under the oak tree, facing each other.
“You don’t mind if I drink, do you?”
“No, no, of course not.” I look down at my feet. I hear Nathan pop out the cork from the bottle and take a long swig of the contents.
“Why don’t you drink, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I, uh, I used to work in a bar. And I guess it just...I don’t know.”
“Oh.”
“I might as well have worked in a morgue,” I mutter.
“Molly, hey. That life is over now.” He puts his hand on my shoulder.
“I know. Thank you.” I cover his hand with mine and look away into the night.
“Are you happy here, Molly?” Nathan asks.
“Yes, of course.”
“You seem so sure.”
“Well, I am. I was so miserable in Hopetown, and this is just so...Everything fits together right.”
“Like a puzzle.”
“Right. A puzzle.” Nathan takes another swig of tequila. “What about you? Are you happy here?”
“I wish the Blast hadn’t happened,” is all he says.
“Oh, well. Yeah, I guess me too.” We sit and look at the night sky. “I’m very happy that I’m here with you.”
“Me too. I’d rather be here with you than I would anywhere else. One hundred times over.”
I blush.
“That’s not true, but…I’m happy you thinks so.” Nathan only smiles and puts his arm around me. He drinks and I look at the stars in the sky.
“Have you ever tried counting the stars, Nathan?”
“No.”
“I did. I used to do it every night until I fell asleep as a child.”
“I always knew that they were infinite. So I never bothered.”
“I think I knew too. But I thought, maybe, if I counted long enough, I’d reach a number.”
“But you can’t count infinity, no matter how hard you try.”
“I guess not.”
“We need a toast,” he decides. “To infinity,” he raises his bottle and takes a swig. “May every one be greater than the last.”
“Indeed.” I mime raising a glass
“There are so many infinities, so many spaces to fill, so many things to do. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?
“And terrifying.”
“You can’t have one without the other.”
Neither of us says anything after that, and I try to count the stars again, like I used to. Natha drains three quarters of the bottle. I wonder what alcohol is like. I’ve always avoided it because I’ve seen what it can do to people, but seeing Nathan drink it so carelessly and so lightheartedly makes me wonder if there are alternative uses to it than only drowning out the pain.
Suddenly, Nathan laughs.
“What?”
“I meant this for the two of us,” he explains, taking another swig, “but this will have to do.”
I smile guiltily. Nathan stands and pulls me to my feet.
“I propose a dance,” he says.
“A dance? Why?”
“Do you hear the music?”
“No.”
“Listen carefully.” I do, but the Earth is silent. I listen to it spinning, with all of the forests and mountains and river on it, and for a second, I think I know what Nathan means.
“Maybe I do hear it.
“Maybe we should dance,”
“I don’t know how to dance.”
“It’s okay. Neither do I.”
“Well, alright then.” I put my hand on Nathan’s shoulder. He puts his arm around my waist, and begins twirling me around as if he really can hear music. I laugh as we spin in circles, our feet messily finding placement on the sprouting ground. We trip over our own feet perhaps more than could be considered decent, and the fact that neither of us knows how to dance is blatantly obvious. But all that matters is that somehow, we both move to the same rhythm. Both of us laugh. I am dizzy from moving in circles and my head spins. I wonder if this is what it’s like to be drunk. I can feel the Earth spinning beneath my feet and the stars jumping over my head, but that only makes the dancing more vivid.
Slowly, I allow myself to forget everything I’ve ever wanted to forget. Everything I was ever worried about, any pain I ever felt, all the fears I ever had cease to exist. In these moments, they never did exist and never will exist. I stare into Nathan’s eyes and laugh because I have never felt so free.
It is impossible to count an eternity, but it is possible to fill one.
We dance for what must be eternity. It is the most wonderful eternity of my life. It is an eternity of happiness and dancing and silent music that, completely inexplicably, and equally as wonderfully, both of us are able to hear.
CHAPTER 10
We continue tracing wobbly steps around the oak tree until one of us - I’m not sure who - trips, and we end up on the ground. I laugh.
“That was a lot of fun,” I say, helping Nathan up from the ground. “Thank you for that.”
“Of course,” Nathan says. “I think this deserves one last toast.” He goes to pick up the tequila, but the bottle is lying empty on its side. We must have knocked it over while we were dancing.
“Well, we’ll just have to use our imaginations. This toast is to tonight.”
“To tonight,” I agree. “And to you always coming back.”
“I always will.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. Let’s go back to camp?”
“Okay.”
We head back in the direction we came from.
“Do you really think that we can’t count infinities?” Nathan asks.
“Not yet.”
“You mean eventually we’ll be able to?”
“I don’t know, Nathan. Who knows? The human race is so strange and infinity is so strange. Why wouldn’t things change enough for us to be compatible?”
“Things don’t change.”
“Come on. That’s not true.”
“Change is an illusion, just like everything else. We’re just vehicles for some greater plan. None of the choices we make are our own. I would say to pretend that they are, but that implies free will. None of that is real. Free will, change, maybe even reality. All of it is an illusion.”
“Woah,” I say. “Where did that come from?”
“I think it might be the alcohol,” Nathan says glumly.
“If you think that change is an illusion, then what are you fighting for?”
“For the illusion, Molly. What else is there to fight for?”
__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __
I wake up to a breeze carrying in unfamiliar scents. The usually woody smell of camp has been replaced with a strange mixture of smoke, the sweet, intoxicating smell of something unfamiliar, the sickening scent of liquor, and quiet tinges of sweat. I hear the occasional hungover groan that is much too familiar, but aside from that, it is quiet. I pull on my boots and walk outside. Only Big Sal is out, at her customary spot near the fire. She’s sipping something steaming from a thermos.
“Ah, good morning, dear,” she says cheerfully when she notices us. “How are you?”
“Good.”
“Good? What did you do yesterday?”
“Um…”
“Did you not get drunk?”
“I don’t drink.”
“And right you are to do so.
“Where is everyone?”
“Hungover.”
“Do you not drink either?”
“Me?” She laughs heartily. “What are you talking about? I’ve been getting drunk since before the blast, and b
ack then, it wasn’t even legal.”
“Then why are you not hungover?”
“Oh, I’m just as hungover as the rest of them. I’m just better at hiding it. Somebody in this camp has to pretend to be sober. You know. Just in case we do have a rebellion to run,” she grins.
“Right,” I chuckle.
“Anyway, you probably won’t be doing much today. Mike’s out cold, and Emily isn’t doing anything after a night like this.”
“That’s okay. It’s my shift at the lookout post anyway.”
“Well, then, enjoy watching over this lousy bunch of losers.”
I smile and roll my eyes.
“I will. See you later.”
I head off into the woods. Most of the snow has melted, with only the occasional stubborn patch still lying around the trunk of a tree. Most of it is running in streams away from the camp. The Earth is moist and fertile and smells of new beginnings. I start to walk into the woods. After several seconds, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and Mike falls into step beside me.
“Hello,” he says, lighting a cigarette.
“Mike? Hi.”
“You seem surprised to see me.”
“Oh, no, no, just, um…”
“What? Did someone tell you I was passed out drunk?” The shadow of a smile touches his lips.
“Um...Maybe.”
“I was. But this is important.”
“What? Okay.”
“You have been training well recently.”
“Um...thanks?” I say doubtfully. I can’t really see where this conversation is going and Mike’s facial expression is unreadable. He isn’t one to dish out compliments, although perhaps alcohol could weed that out of even him.
“I believe that you are ready to go on a raid.”
All of the fear and disbelief that I felt when this first became a possibility rushes back to me. It is even worse this time, and I can’t find the words to respond. I just look up at Mike with wide eyes. I don’t even try to appear indifferent. This matters. This matters enough that I don’t want to lie about it.
“I...what?” I stammer after a moment. The sharp smell of cigarette smoke clouds up the air around us.
“You heard me. You and I will go on a raid in five days time. It will be a small one. First level sabotage, like we did yesterday. No danger, but it will be your first field work. I’ll talk to you about the specifics tomorrow.”
“What? Wait a second, I…” I begin to protest, but Mike has already disappeared back into camp.
CHAPTER 11
I’m not ready.
I have no idea how Mike came to the conclusion that I was. How could anyone think that I am anywhere near ready? I walk through the forest with only one thought jumping around in my mind: I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I’m not ready…
I don’t want to go on a raid. Maybe it was stupid of me for not knowing what I was dedicating myself to, but wouldn’t anybody else stuck in Hopetown leave if they were given the chance?
I walk up to the outpost and put the thoughts out of mind for a moment.
“Kristina? It’s Molly.” I call out. The ladder drops down and in several seconds, Anna deftly swings down to the ground.
“Anna? I thought it was Kristina’s shift.”
Anna shrugs.
“Kristina was drunk.”
“Oh.” I say, and then add curiously, “You don’t get drunk,”
“No.”
“But you can drink more than anyone in the Rebellion.” I don’t know that for a fact, but it seems like it would be true.
“Yes,” Anna confirms.
“Why?”
She shrugs again, and a light, enigmatic smile touches the corners of her lips.
“We all have pasts,” she says.
She doesn’t elaborate, so I only say, “Oh.” She nods and begins to leave.
“Anna?”
“Yes?”
“Mike said that he thinks I’m ready to go on a raid.”
“Congratulations.”
“But I’m not ready.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I...I don’t know….It’s just that I…I don’t think I’m ready to take up that level of...I don’t know.”
“Whatever you say, I think you’re ready.”
“Really?”
“Mhhm. I think you always were.”
“Oh. But I…”
“But what?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t imagine myself doing anything like that. It seems too surreal to be true.”
“But that’s the point, isn’t it? Now is the time to turn dreams into reality.”
“Sometimes, I think that dreams and reality are meant to stay separate.”
“I think that you’re just afraid of following your dreams.”
I pause.
“Maybe you’re right. I'll think about it. Thank you.”
“Of course. Good luck,”
She disappears into the trees. I’m flattered at her kind words, even though I don’t fully believe them, and I wonder if what she said about following my dreams might be true. But why would I be afraid of achieving goals? That doesn’t make any sense.
Does it?
I climb up the ladder and settle against the trunk. The forest is silent and cold. I curl up my fingers and pull my sleeves over my fists.
What am I supposed to do? I can’t say no. Joining the Rebellion was making a promise that I can’t break. Not only to Mike, the rest of the Rebellion, and the entire world, but to myself. To the dying me. I can see the disappointment in her—my—eyes if I refuse this.
But I can’t do it. I don’t believe Mike. I don’t care that he has never been wrong. I don’t care if everyone thinks that I can do it. What if I fail? It won’t be only me who suffers. I don’t think that I can function with that much responsibility.
I look out at the mist settling near the bottoms of the trees. It creates the illusion of standing above the clouds. The lookout post seems a lot higher than it actually is. I remember how I was nervous of heights during my first lookout shift. Even now that I’m not nervous above the clouds, my first reaction of fear doesn’t seem foolish at all.
I think about what Anna said, about why I’m so certain that I’ll fail. I really can’t come up with a specific reason, but I just can’t imagine myself succeeding. I’ve spent almost my entire life in a battle against the world. For thirteen years, I was trapped in a town in which the only way out was death. The only skill I have is serving drinks and listening in on wistful conversations about the past.
But this is something serious.
This is the first mark I’m going to make on the world.
What if I mark wrong?
There it is again.
What if?
Maybe Anna was right. Maybe I really am afraid. This is so different from the life I have known, and no matter how much I hate my old habits, I can’t help but gravitate towards the familiar. Maybe that’s what Mike meant by face yourself. I’m moving into a different world, a new state of being, a time after the past. I can’t let the person I was weigh down the person I am becoming.
I look around the forest. Shadows move back and forth across the fog over the ground. The wind plays quietly through the pine needles. The sky is overcast with only occasional rays of sunlight battling their way through, all the way to the mottled world of spring below.
From the bottom outpost, I can’t see the camp and today, I can’t see the ground, either. The solitude traps me in a bubble with my own thought where I can’t ignore my worries any longer.
The silence coats the forest in a type of unrealism. It’s so tranquil and so distant. Everything seems so inconsequential. I can do whatever I want. Who would care? Nobody would even know. I could scream, I could cry.
I could jump.
I look over the edge, my vocal chords tingling. I could do it, if I wanted. But I don’t. Any of it. Instead, I just step back and laugh. I laugh a cold, humorl
ess laugh, mocking myself and the world and everything that’s wrong with it. The wind takes my laugh and spins it around until it doesn’t sound like a human-made sound at all.
I settle against the tree trunk and cross my arms in front of my chest. I try to think of something pleasant, but the upcoming raid continues to find it back onto my mind.
I still don’t believe I can do it. I most certainly am not ready, as Anna and Nathan assured me. All I feel is a sense of impending doom. Something—or, more specifically, a deep intuition—makes me certain that I will screw it up. Logic says the same thing. Sure, I can shoot a crossbow, I’m not even that bad in hand-to-hand and weapons combat, and I understand the theory of a raid. But that’s not enough. I do not have the emotional composition for a raid. Surely Mike can see that?
Maybe this is just a cruel joke, I fantasize in vain. Maybe it’s another one of Mike’s strange tests. Maybe, he’ll say that I don’t actually have to go do anything and burst into a speech about some component of our lives that’s somehow applicable to my training.
But I know that that isn’t true.
I don’t know how to battle my fear. It seems the only way is to be thrown straight into the ocean of doom. I could learn to swim. But what if I drown? Is the possibility of drowning reason enough to never go into the water? Part of declares, no. How can I let fear stop me from creating a better world?
But I can’t throw myself at every shadow in the hopes that things will magically be better. Because if I am not cautious, I am bound to drown. And once you drown, you can’t ever come back up again.
I remember the speech that Mike made when he let me win. Those concepts seem really important now. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so quick to roll my eyes at Mike’s rants.
Your greatest enemy is yourself. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I really am ready for this raid. Maybe my worries are the biggest problem in this entire ordeal.
That’s not true...part of me whispers.
Shut up.
I have to go through with this. I’ve come too far from the person I used to be. There is too much to fight for, too much to lose.
I think of everything that has happened in the last thirteen years. I think of the blast, how long we searched for a home and how we had no food for most of that time because everything was poisoned. I remember the starvation and thirst and fear. I remember how the world was turned upside down and how I had to watch everything burn until all that remained of my old life was ashes and a stuffed purple bunny. I remember how we finally found Hopetown and how at first it seemed like a blessing, but over time, I grew to hate even that.