Anywhere But Here (The Starborn Ascension)

by Morrow, Jason D.

I lean forward and look at the map. There are certain areas that are circled with red ink. I look north and find Foley, thankful that it is not circled. “It might mean something else,” I say. “Could be the places he controls. His territories.”

  Gilbert shrugs and sits back in his seat. “Maybe. I bet it’s the places he’s finished with though.”

  “Where were we yesterday?” Ethan asks.

  “Cadiz,” Gilbert answers. “It’s circled.”

  “Then it probably wouldn’t be a place his group has looted, nor would it be his territory,” Ethan says. “Look.” He points far north of Foley. “Crestwood is circled too.”

  “His targets then?” I suggest.

  “Who knows what these psychos do,” Gilbert says, frustrated. “It doesn’t matter, let’s just get to Foley.”

  Despite how tired I feel as we drive, I keep my eyes open. The towns we pass are empty and the landscapes are bleak. Occasionally we’ll pass a greyskin or two, but nothing worth worrying about. I try not to think about yesterday. I try not to think at all. The very act of trying not to think about something is, in its own way, dwelling on it. The more I try not to think, the more I see the image of Lucas falling to the ground, a fresh bullet wound in his head. I see the crooked, yellow grin of Scarecrow when he knows that he has us. I see the greyskins piling on top of us. I see how I might have been able to stop it all. Fate had provided a way for me to save Lucas, but my body was paralyzed in unbelief.

  We drive for about forty-five minutes before Gilbert announces that we are almost there. He gives me one of the handguns and asks if I know how to use it. I don’t answer as I pull out the magazine and check the chamber for ammunition.

  “I guess that means yes,” Gilbert says, an eyebrow raised.

  I’m not used to traveling with a gun. Lucas had refused to do it because of the attention it could draw, but I see the use in them occasionally. A gun is far better than nothing at all.

  When we come across the sign that welcomes us to Foley, Ethan begins to slow the SUV down. We drive for about five more minutes until we come to a gas station. Everything seems empty. There are no greyskins roaming the streets but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t around. I know what my job is here. As we get out, Ethan goes to the pumps to see if any of them will work while I stand behind the SUV, watching for any trace of movement.

  I hear Gilbert and Ethan talking behind me. Gilbert lets out a curse when he sees that the pumps don’t work.

  “What did you expect?” Ethan says. “They’ve probably been dry for a couple of years now.”

  “Then we need to look in the station to see if there’s any tubing and a gas can,” Gilbert answers. “There are plenty of cars around that could probably be siphoned.”

  “I’ll stay back with Waverly,” Ethan says.

  Gilbert walks into the station with his handgun ready while Ethan comes up beside me. “I hope these cars have something in them,” he says.

  “I doubt it,” I say. “Gas is just about the first thing to go, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Perseverance. Keep trying until we find some.”

  The side of my mouth curls up and it’s the first time I’ve smiled in a long time. Ethan’s talk of perseverance last night got me thinking. It’s all we can do in this world. The moment you start to think you aren’t going to make it is the moment the enemy starts to win.

  And if the enemy starts to win, I think, then all could be lost.

  I look behind me and I no longer see Gilbert. He’s probably shuffling around in the station, being as quiet as possible. “Can he be trusted?” I ask.

  Ethan shrugs. “He hasn’t done anything to make me think otherwise. Just his attitude, really. He’s a survivor. One to look out for.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I think if it came down to saving his own skin or risking his life for another, he’d save himself every time.”

  “Wouldn’t most people?” I ask.

  Ethan shrugs. “I suppose so. I’d like to think that there’s someone out there that would stick his or her neck out for me. I’d like to think that there’s someone I’d risk my neck for.” His eyes linger on me for a moment before he looks away.

  “Problem with those people,” I say, “is that when they do stick their neck out for you, they die.”

  “Like Lucas,” Ethan says below his breath.

  “Yeah,” I say. But there have been others. And I’m sure that Ethan has lost plenty of people too.

  A hint of movement, a shadow maybe, passes by a wall down an alley like a whisper. “Look,” I say. “Did you see that? Across the street.”

  “What was it?” Ethan asks.

  “I thought I saw something move.”

  Ethan grips his baseball bat tightly, his eyes fixed on the buildings across from us. I hold the handgun in front of me and I switch the safety off. I don’t have an extra magazine, and it’s been a while since I’ve practiced. As I’ve said, Lucas didn’t like to travel with guns, but on occasion we would find ourselves with one. I take a few steps forward and Ethan follows behind.

  “If it’s a lone greyskin…” Ethan begins.

  “I’ll let you take it out,” I interrupt. I know the procedure of fighting greyskins. Use a gun as a last resort - a quiet kill is a quiet escape.

  As we scan the street in front of us, I see nothing and I start to wonder if my mind was playing tricks on me. But if I did see something then it wouldn’t have been a greyskin, because a greyskin never hides. They are too dumb to hide. I take a couple of more steps forward when I hear a clicking noise to my left. I point my gun toward the noise and what I see makes my stomach drop.

  Two men stand in front of us, rifles pointed at our heads.

  “Put it down,” one of them says.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” I say. “We’re just looking for some fuel.”

  “There’s no fuel here,” the other says.

  “You raiders?” Ethan asks.

  The two men are silent.

  That’s when I hear more movement to my right where I first thought I saw a shadow. There are three more people standing with guns pointed at us. For a brief second I think that these people are the same raiders from yesterday, but they aren’t. And there’s no Scarecrow.

  “There was a third,” one of them says.

  “He’s looking for a tube to siphon gas,” I say. My hands are shaking, leaving me little confidence for a clear shot at any of them.

  “Just set the gun on the ground. And you, the bat.”

  I hear the bat fall to the asphalt behind me and I know Ethan has given up. “Just do it,” Ethan whispers to me.

  “They’re going to kill us,” I say.

  “Not if you drop your gun,” one of the men says.

  I bend down and set the gun on the ground, my hands still shaking. “What do you want with us?” I ask.

  “Foley is our territory,” says one of the men to my right. He has white, pale skin and red hair and he seems about as nervous as I do.

  “We are travelers,” Ethan says. “We’re trying to get to a town far north of here but we’re almost out of gas.”

  “We’ve got all the gas,” the redhead says. “Best you just move on.” His eyes instantly light up as he sees Gilbert behind us. I turn just in time to see him take cover behind the SUV, his rifle trained on the redhead.

  “Put your weapons down!” Gilbert yells out. “I swear I’m not afraid to go down fighting.”

  “There is no need for bloodshed,” the redhead says. “Just put down your gun and drive away from here.”

  They clearly aren’t raiders. If they were, they would have already tried to kill us to see what supplies we might have. If they were looking for food, they would be out of luck. But if they were looking for…weapons! Everyone wants weapons.

  “We’re willing to make a trade!” I blurt out.

  “We aren’t doing anything until your friend here puts down his gun,” the redhea
d says.

  I turn and glare at Gilbert. His jaw is clenched and he looks back at me like I’m one of the enemies, but he knows we will all die if he doesn’t give up. He stands from his crouch and tosses the rifle to the ground, glaring at me the whole time.

  But I ignore him and turn back to the redhead. “Now will you be willing to talk?”

  “I don’t know what you might have to offer,” he answers, gun still pointed at Gilbert. “We are a fairly small group with few resources.”

  “But you have fuel,” I say. “And we have weapons.”

  He swallows and looks at me, but he says nothing.

  “We need the weapons far less than we need fuel,” I say.

  “What are you doing?” Gilbert says through grinding teeth.

  “We have rifles, handguns, and plenty of ammunition,” I continue. “All we ask is for a full tank of gas and a bit of food for the road.”

  I am met with a long silence. Redhead and a few of his men whisper at each other so we can’t hear them.

  “We need those weapons,” Gilbert says to me.

  I turn my head to see Gilbert's face twisted into a mix of anger and fear. “Not more than we need to get to Crestwood. You said it yourself, we could get there by the end of the day if we had a full tank. We won’t need the weapons there.”

  The redhead calls out to me. “Is your group in full agreement?” he asks.

  My eyes are fixed on Gilbert but doesn’t look at me so I turn to the redhead. “Yes.”

  “We want to see the weapons.”

  “How do we know you won’t just shoot us and take them?” Gilbert asks.

  “Because we aren’t animals,” the redhead says. “We aren’t raiders. We’re just trying to protect our people here.”

  Gilbert grits his teeth a couple of more times then walks to the back of the SUV and opens the back hatch. He steps away from it, his eyes angry as if he’s almost about to burst. “Take a look for yourself.”

  The redhead motions for a couple of his men to follow while the others keep their guns pointed on us. They rummage through the back of the SUV, talking excitedly about the prospect.

  “You would trade all this for a tank of gas?” the redhead asks, walking away from the SUV.

  “And some food,” I say.

  The redhead stands there for a moment. The others around us shift from side-to-side, and, for the moment, all is quiet until he finally looks up and nods. “I want you three to stay close together and keep your hands where we can see them. Leave the keys in the SUV.”

  We stand in the middle of the street, twenty feet away from a school with three men pointing a gun at each of us. The redhead, whose name we learned is Walter, left us behind to go into the school to talk to someone about us.

  “This is just great,” Gilbert mutters. “We came in for gas, and now we’re held hostage, forced to give up our weapons. We should have never let you and your boyfriend join us.”

  “Shut up,” Ethan says. “We might not have gotten any fuel without Waverly.” He looks my way and I give him the slightest, thankful smile.

  Gilbert doesn’t say anything else as we wait a few more minutes for Walter to return with a couple of new faces beside him. The man on his left has dark hair and a gaunt face, and he’s looking at us with suspicious eyes. The man on Walter’s right is fat and bald, but for the chops along the sides of his face, forming into a thick mat of hair at his chin. Walter introduces the man on the left as Barry, and the man on the right as Hank.

  Walter tells his men to stop pointing their guns at us and smiles apologetically. “Barry’s going to put fuel in your vehicle while Hank here will take you to get some food for your journey,” he says. “I will call for you as soon as everything is in order.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “It’s a business transaction,” Walter says.

  “Shady business,” Gilbert says. “We’re getting ripped off.”

  “Oh I don’t know about that,” Hank belts out with a laugh. “I’ve got some mighty fine food in my storeroom. You all follow me.”

  Walter nods at us and Hank leads us up the steps and through the front of the school. As we walk through the hallways, we see lockers lining the walls with classrooms in between. Occasionally we will see people look up at us as we walk by, some of them more concerned than others. All the while, Hank carries on about their location.

  “This school was the best thing that could have happened to any of us,” Hanks says as he leads us down another hallway. “The gymnasium we use for assemblies if we need to, and the classrooms have been converted into apartments. It’s like a little town within these walls.”

  “And you only have the doors to protect you?” Ethan asks. “Do you have barricades or anything?”

  “Ah,” Hank says, “that’s a good question, and the answer is no. We don’t need them.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll show you when we get to Chemistry class,” he says with a cackle.

  We take a set of stairs to the second floor and finally reach Hank’s storeroom. The sign above the door says Room 203 - Chemistry. I expect the room to be your average science classroom with desks neatly sitting in a row and tables littered with lab equipment, but when we enter, I find nothing of the sort. To the left is a dusty old chalkboard, wiped clean of homework assignments or classroom rules. There are no desks; instead there are shelves and boxes full of canned goods and other nonperishable foods. There is a short wall dividing the room in the middle where I assume labs used to take place. This is where the tables and chairs are, but there are few pieces of lab equipment. Instead, there is a long counter with a sink and a pile of pots, pans, and dishes next to it. Along the counter there are burners, and at the very end, a large refrigerator.

  Hank walks to the refrigerator and pulls out a bag of something. “I was instructed to get you a few items of food to take with you, but I don’t think you would turn away a hot meal right now, would you?”

  “Of course not,” I say.

  “Why don’t you store the food in the cafeteria?” Gabe asks.

  Hank smiles at him. “We do. But this is more of an immediate access for those of us that live on the second and third floor of the school.”

  He motions for us to sit at one of the tables as he pulls out frozen vegetables and spaghetti noodles. “I hope you don’t mind the cheap store-bought sauce,” Hank says. “I usually like to make my own, but ever since the dead started walking, tomatoes have been scarce.”

  I look at Ethan and he smiles at me.

  “Uh, weren’t you going to tell us why you don’t need walls?” Ethan says.

  “Oh, I forgot,” Hank says. He stops what he’s doing and points to the other end of the room. “You see that box over the door?”

  My eyes go to where he’s pointing and I see it. It’s a clear plexiglas box with a red lightbulb inside it.

  “All of the rooms in the school have them installed,” Hank says. “I helped make it myself.” He stares at the box with a smile on his face. “It’s pretty incredible really. We have sensors all across Foley, making an invisible perimeter around the school. Anytime someone or something crosses the perimeter, that red light blinks silently, alerting everyone in the school to the presence. About twenty minutes ago, it started blinking red, so the guards on duty went and found you guys.”

  “Do you ever get a false alarm?” Ethan asks. “Like the wind blowing something around?”

  Hank laughs at this as he begins frying the vegetables in a skillet over one of the burners. “All the time. When we first had it installed, everyone was in a panic just about every time a bird or a squirrel moved in front of the sensors, but we’ve all gotten used to it by now.”

  The smell of the vegetables cooking makes my stomach rumble with hunger. Hank hums to himself as he sets a pot full of water on a second burner. It has been years since I have seen someone this cheerful. It’s refreshing.

  “You know that’s still going to get y
ou eaten one day,” Gilbert says, killing the mood. “Having no wall means you’re exposed.”

  “The point is having enough warning so that the greyskins have no reason to try to get into the school,” Hank says, keeping his smile.

  “Yeah, but one mistake, one baby crying out, one sneeze could get your entire compound destroyed,” Gilbert presses. I wish I knew him well enough to kick his foot or to just tell him to can it, but it would only make him angry.

  “Every breath we take is a risk,” Hank says. He smiles even wider now. “Every risk we take is a reminder that we are still alive.”

  “Every wall you don’t put up is a path for a greyskin to take,” Gilbert says grimly, but Hank just shrugs and breaks the noodles into the pot of water.

  A voice from somewhere unseen calls out for Hank. He jumps a little and laughs at his own reaction, then reaches at the back of his belt and pulls out a small radio. “I’m here,” Hank says.

  “Our new friends are fueled up and ready to go,” Walter says from the other end. “Are you through with them?”

  “I’m feeding them,” Hank says. “No reason they shouldn’t get a hot meal. They look like they haven’t eaten in a week!” Hank looks at us and winks. There is a long pause from the other end until finally, Walter decides to talk again.

  “Just hurry so we can get them out,” he says.

  Hank shakes his head and snickers when he clips the radio back to his belt. “These guys are so uptight. Here I am trying to bring back a little civilization to the world and they just want you out of here.”

  “I suppose I can understand,” I say. “There are a lot of bad people out there. Raiders, you know.”

  “Oh, I know all about that,” Hank says. “People get selfish. They get to a point where only their own survival matters. I don’t see it that way. I think it’s important that we all try to survive. That we all try to help others survive. For example, I would love to ask you three to stay with us indefinitely, but the others here wouldn’t have it. They would say that supplies are low enough as it is. I, however, look at it differently. I would say that three recruits like you would heighten our chances of finding more supplies. It would be a mutual benefit.”