Defender

by G X Todd

  ‘I don’t think the walkie-talkie will work unless we’re close to them. All the transmissions quit after we got out of town.’ The radio sat by her side, switched off for now to conserve its battery. She had rushed back outside after they’d checked on Rink, dropping to her knees beside the dead man and shoving at his shoulder, rolling him far enough to unclip the hand-held radio from his belt. It had been undamaged in the dead man’s fall, which was uncharacteristically lucky. Their luck hadn’t amounted to much so far.

  Unable to abide the pressure any more, Pilgrim pushed the scarf up off his brow and removed it. His neck felt like a twig trying to hold up a boulder.

  ‘You need to rest,’ Lacey said.

  It was becoming hard to focus. Sitting beyond the fire, Lacey was a reddish blur in his failing sight, flames spitting and sparking all around her. It scared him to see her like that, burning, sitting in silence while she was steadily consumed.

  He shifted to lie down and must have made a noise because, the next thing he knew, Lacey was beside him, her arm encircling his shoulders, supporting his weight as he lowered himself to his side. She had found a blanket from somewhere, and he felt it settle over him, warm and oddly protective, like armour. Or perhaps it was the girl. For the first time in a great many moons, he didn’t worry about going to sleep unguarded.

  He heard her whisper to him as he closed his eyes, her words sinking into his head like blocks of carved wood, lodging behind his throbbing eyes and in the base of his skull, engraving themselves into the bone back there.

  ‘You remember what you said to me, at the motel that first night?’ she whispered. ‘Right after you saved me. You said those people were a bad sort, but not everyone I meet would be like them. That I should try to remember there are good people in the world. Do you remember saying that?’

  He murmured something, maybe an affirmative to her question, maybe just a meaningless sound; it didn’t matter. The girl continued her whispering.

  ‘It’s like, for Alex, all she’s ever had are the bad sort. People hurting her, taking away the ones she loves, treating her like she’s nothing. But she’s not nothing to me. Just like you’re not. She’s as much my family as my sister and my niece. Do you understand?’

  Her lips were almost touching the shell of his ear, the words burning gently now, a warm, scarring brand.

  ‘Do you understand?’ she whispered again. ‘She’s my family, and I’m not ever going to forget her.’

  CHAPTER 3

  Lacey didn’t sleep. She sat next to the Boy Scout, one hand resting on his booted foot, and stared into the fire. Occasionally, she added wood to the dying flames. Her eyes were dry as tinder, as if every last tear had been wrung out of her and all that was left were hard gristle and dry resolve.

  She looked at him every now and then while he slept. He looked peaceful, the strong line of his body relaxed. It was only when he was awake and in his movements that she saw how he hurt, how he held his body in a stiff, precise way, saw how his left eye squinted slightly when he regarded her, its sclera stained almost entirely red. It made his eye look alien, the iris a dark island surrounded by a sea of blood. She had noticed the trembling in his left hand as he tried to open the peaches but now, as he rested, the trembling ceased. Asleep, he looked whole again.

  Maybe he is magic, she thought.

  Maybe we all are, Voice said.

  ‘Most people would be dead if they got shot in the head,’ she said.

  I suspect the bullet ricocheted off his skull. It’s a dense one.

  ‘You know him.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘You called him Pilgrim.’

  It’d be best if you didn’t call him that.

  ‘Why not?’

  Because he wouldn’t like how you’d come to know it.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  But Voice didn’t answer. His words, like a song, had reached their end, the needle on the record sailing over a sea of crackling silence. Lacey knew the needle would reset itself and start anew at some point, but not until Voice was ready.

  She wanted to get up and check on Rink, wanted to go collect the book she had left on the other side of the fire, but she didn’t want to break her connection to the Boy Scout. Her hand on his boot. His boot under her hand. He had found her, she didn’t know how, and deliberately hadn’t asked, and now she felt that, if she let go, something terrible would happen. She realised she was being ridiculous, but that didn’t change how she felt. In the end, she compromised. Thirty seconds. That was how long she’d give herself. Thirty seconds to get up, get the book, check Rink and come back again. That was a safe amount of time.

  Still, she hesitated.

  ‘Quit being stupid,’ she told herself.

  She released the Boy Scout’s boot, stood up and started the count – one thousand, two thousand, three thousand – and went to Rink first, bent over him and felt for a pulse. Couldn’t find one and had to press her fingers all along the side of his throat, searching it out. Ten thousand, eleven thousand, twelve, got to eighteen, starting to panic and think maybe he was actually dead before she felt the slow throb. She rolled back his eyelid. He didn’t move. She slapped his cheek, said his name. Nothing. Twenty-two thousand. She jumped up and dashed to the book, scooping it up and promptly dropping it in her haste – twenty-six thousand – snatched it up again and turned to leap over the fire, stumbling on landing. Twenty-nine. She dropped on to her butt and stuck out her hand.

  ‘Thirty,’ she said, breathless, and gently patted the Boy Scout’s foot.

  She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she woke up to find the Boy Scout gone, the blanket she had placed around him now covering her. Beside her head, the paperback lay face down and fanned open to the page she had read up to before closing her eyes. The morning – a harsher light compared to dusk – gilded the barn in long, slanting beams.

  She could smell gasoline. A curl of panic flowered in her gut, and she sat up, the blanket falling off. Rink was still laid out on his side – if he had moved during the night, it hadn’t been by much.

  A clanging slam made her flinch, and she reached for the shotgun beside her. The Boy Scout came out from between the two vehicles, wiping his hands on the seat of his pants. He stopped when he saw her with the gun and put his hands up in mock-submission.

  She lowered the gun and pushed the rest of the blanket aside. ‘What’re you doing?’ She said it accusingly, making an inelegant struggle out of getting up. ‘You scared me half to death.’

  ‘We’re about ready to go,’ he said, unapologetic.

  She kicked the blanket aside and stood watching him as he collected the rifle that was leaning up against the side of the pickup and brought it to her.

  He took the shotgun out of her hands and handed her the rifle in its place. ‘You’re better with a rifle.’

  He walked off without another word and went to Rink. He bent over him, reaching down to his own boot and sliding out a knife.

  Lacey’s stomach gave a funny lurch. ‘Wait!’

  But all the Boy Scout did was cut the man’s ankles free. He sent her a look as if to reprimand her for even considering that he would slice an unarmed man’s throat while he lay unconscious.

  ‘We’ll take him with us. Help me lift him.’

  Lacey saw the truck’s rear panel already lowered and ready. As she walked past, she glanced into it. The motorcycle was there, lying on its side, and another body – smaller and slight – had been tucked up against the back of the cab under the rear window. Lacey’s red scarf had been laid over the face and tied in place.

  Lacey crouched down and picked up Rink’s boots while the Boy Scout grabbed him under the arms. They heaved him up and awkwardly shuffled their way to the truck. Lacey hiked up the man’s legs when he began to slip, clamping his boots to each hip. He was heavy.

  ‘We’re taking Red, too?’ she asked, huffing for breath.

  ‘Red?’ The Boy Scout had a grimace of pain on his face. Sweat beaded on his foreh
ead.

  ‘The girl.’

  Reaching the back panel, Lacey held on to Rink’s legs as the Boy Scout hauled him bodily into the bed. He landed with a muffled thump. Lacey winced, thankful that the man was already out cold. The Boy Scout helped her swing Rink’s legs in after him and then lifted up the panel and locked it into place. He leaned against the back of the truck, wiping the back of his wrist across his brow.

  ‘Her name’s Red?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. Like the colour.’

  ‘Like ruby.’

  ‘I guess so, sure.’

  Almost too low for her to hear, he murmured, ‘Always the colours.’ He straightened and walked around her, heading for the driver’s side. Over his shoulder, he said, ‘Get anything else you want to take. Five minutes and we’re gone.’

  In her head, Voice whispered: Red-Ruby, Ruby-Red.

  A half-mile up the road, a flock of black birds wheeled in the sky. The Boy Scout didn’t remark on them, but Lacey wound down her window and leaned out to watch. There weren’t many – less than a dozen in total – but they were big and looked almost prehistoric the way they spread their wings wide, using the thermals to glide in lazy, graceful circles. Every few seconds, one or two would break rank and drop low, flapping among the brush, their low squawks coming in over the engine noise as they fought over whatever was down there. The sounds were unnerving, especially the desperate flapping of their wings, beating against each other.

  ‘Turkey vultures,’ the Boy Scout said.

  She nodded. They were another survivor of this world, clinging to life. Humans, rats, coyotes, vultures. It said a lot. She wondered why they were still here, when so many of her own kind weren’t.

  They’re sometimes called carrion crows, too, Voice said.

  ‘Carrion?’ she said.

  The Boy Scout nodded. ‘They can always find dead things to eat.’

  Dead things. Like bodies. Lacey looked away from the birds and cranked her window up.

  She dozed for a while, her head nodding with the gentle rolls and undulations of the road. She didn’t think of anything, and she didn’t dream of anything: she was just a girl dozing in a car on her way to somewhere that wasn’t here. The sun was a warm presence in the cab with her. It was a blanket that cradled her in every crease of her body, comforting and real. She had left the window open a crack, and a gentle breeze blew in to ruffle the hair at the nape of her neck, a whisper of fingers caressing her. In her half-awake, half-asleep mind, she wished they could drive like this for ever on an endless highway with the sun constantly shining and a warmth that welcomed you no matter who you were or where you’d been.

  Inevitably, something changed. The engine noise droned to a lower pitch, and Lacey frowned, her eyes closed. When the car pulled to a stop she reluctantly raised her head, her neck stiff, and forced her heavy eyelids to lift. She looked all around, but the road was empty in both directions. She turned to the Boy Scout and found him looking at her. His left, blood-red eye was hard to meet, although it wasn’t his fault it freaked her out. She half expected a nictitating membrane to flick over it, a translucent film there and gone again in a reptilian blink.

  ‘You know how to drive?’ he asked.

  She glanced down at the steering wheel, down further into the footwell at the pedals, and back to the controls. She shrugged. ‘You just point it and go, right? It doesn’t look like rocket science.’

  ‘It’s not, but we’ll see. Slide over behind the wheel.’

  He got out of the truck, and Lacey slid over the seat into the warm spot he’d vacated and placed her hands on the wheel. It felt very large, like it belonged on a ship rather than in a truck. She reached for the rear-view mirror and began adjusting it. The Boy Scout came into view. He had stopped at the back of the truck and was undoing the rear panel, folding it down. The truck rocked as he leaned in to check on Rink, and Lacey moved on to the side mirror, rolling down the window to fiddle with that, too, nudging it back and forth into place. She had both hands wrapped around it when she saw a reflected Boy Scout jump down from the back. The van rocked some more as he pulled Rink out of the truck, the man’s body landing heavily on the ground with a sickening, boneless thud that made Lacey’s breath stop. The Boy Scout dragged him a few feet away from the road and paused there, bent over. He glanced up, and their eyes met in the mirror. It must not have lasted long, that look, but time seemed to stretch out around it.

  Lacey was the first to look away.

  She sat facing forward, her hands in her lap, and didn’t move when the Boy Scout climbed into the passenger seat a few moments later and closed the door.

  They didn’t speak. The bright sun still shone through the windshield, and the cab was still cosy hot, but Lacey wasn’t warmed by it any more.

  ‘Let’s start off with the gear shift,’ the Boy Scout said.

  He leaned over and showed her how to move the steering-column-mounted shifter to D for Drive and R for Reverse. The positions showed up on the dashboard panel right under the speedo as she ran through the different gears. He explained that, out of both foot pedals, the most important one was the larger one on the left. They had to shift the seat forward for her to reach, but, once she was settled, he had her hold the brake pedal down and start the engine. Her hand tightened on the steering wheel when it roared to life.

  The Boy Scout told her to release the parking brake.

  She’d forgotten which one that was.

  The higher pedal, Voice said, up on the left. That’s it.

  ‘You’re in Drive?’ the Boy Scout asked.

  The D, Voice told her.

  She glanced down at the indicator. P was highlighted, so she pulled the lever towards her and moved it down until D was marked. She nodded, nerves tingling through her middle.

  ‘OK, let the brake pedal out. You’ll feel her start to go. Move your foot over to the gas and press on it gently.’

  Geeently.

  A thrill of excitement shot through her when the truck rolled forward, and she forgot all about her nerves as she skimmed her right foot off the brake pedal and on to the gas, pressing it down. The truck lurched forward, and she lifted her foot immediately. The truck lurched again, slowing down.

  ‘It’s fine. Try again. No jerky movements. Press down lightly on the gas.’

  There’s nothing to hit out here. Don’t worry.

  She controlled her foot better this time, pressing it down in small increments. The truck built up speed. She flicked her eyes down very fast to the speedometer.

  ‘I’m doing twenty!’

  Woo! We’re flying!

  The Boy Scout said, ‘OK, let’s go a little faster.’

  By the time she hit forty, she was giggling and had all but forgotten about the dead man they had left in their wake.

  CHAPTER 4

  At first, Pilgrim didn’t know if he were dreaming or awake. He heard voices, or rather one voice. A one-sided conversation.

  ‘I wish you would just give me a straight answer . . . No . . . Because you told me not to . . . Yes, I realise that, but it’s not like—’ The girl exhaled, a frustrated sound. ‘OK,’ she muttered. ‘Never mind.’

  Pilgrim kept his head down, his chin resting on his chest, his arms folded. The truck’s tyres hummed underneath him, a constant droning that wanted to lull him back to sleep. He resisted the temptation.

  ‘Man, you’re as bossy as Grammy . . . She was, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t bossy—’ She made a soft huff of laughter. ‘You didn’t know her . . . Doesn’t matter, they’re my memories, not yours. You weren’t even there . . . Ha! No.’

  ‘Who’re you talking to?’ Pilgrim said. He hadn’t lifted his head, but he’d opened his eyes in time to see the girl stiffen when he spoke.

  ‘W–what?’

  He yawned as he sat up, rolling out his shoulders and twisting his neck until it cracked. ‘I said, who’re you talking to?’

  ‘No one.’ She stared through the windshield, perched close
to the wheel, her hands set at the ten-to-two position.

  ‘Sounded like you were talking to someone,’ he said.

  She gave another soft laugh, but it didn’t sound quite as natural as the one before it. ‘There’s no one but you and me in here, compadre.’

  Pilgrim narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Compadre’. She had never called him that before. ‘That’s right. There isn’t.’

  Lacey glanced over at him, met his eyes and quickly returned her attention to the road. ‘I was just talking to myself. I do that sometimes. You know, working stuff out in my head. It helps.’

  She’s lying, that new voice whispered.

  Maybe she was, and maybe she wasn’t. Still, his damn curiosity, so active in recent days, had been piqued again.

  ‘I talk to myself, too, sometimes,’ he said, watching her.

  She made another noise, less like laughter and more like a breathy snort. ‘No you don’t. You barely talk. It’s like trying to get words out of a rock.’

  He frowned. Scratched his jaw. ‘I speak plenty.’

  She smirked. ‘Sure you do.’

  ‘I’m just not used to—’ He made a grasping motion with his hand, as if trying to pluck the word out of the air.

  People?

  ‘People?’ Lacey said.

  He lowered his hand and nodded. ‘Yes. People.’

  ‘You like to be on your own.’

  He thought about this and, although it wasn’t altogether true, he said, ‘Yes. It’s easier.’ He began to wonder how and when he had lost control of this conversation.

  ‘But it’s lonely, too. Being by yourself.’

  Pilgrim didn’t answer – technically, she hadn’t posed a question. The mention of loneliness made him think of the boy he had left behind. Pilgrim had looked for Hari at the spot at the side of the road, but there was no sign of him, as if the boy had been a figment of his damaged mind, now vanished over a cliff edge and fallen into nothingness. Whatever Hari’s provenance, the boy had found another way to continue his journey, one that Pilgrim had no power over.