The Last Legend

by Ernie Lindsey

  “Did you hear me? I’m ordering you.”

  Crockett says, “You want us to listen to you? You don’t even have enough sense to keep your feet dry,” and then, taking advantage of my distraction, she lunges at James, arm held tight in a straight line, the knife protruding from her hand like a spear’s point.

  Before I can blink, I’m between them. I don’t know how it happened so quickly, but I make it in time to grab her arm, wrench it sideways, and sling her to the ground before she can harm James.

  He reacts by driving his blade down toward her chest, and I reach out, shoving him, sending this man with a chest like a tree trunk flying across the open circle. He lands, rolls, and sits up, stunned.

  The speed, the strength—where is it coming from?

  I take a breath and try to overlook what just happened. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to these little moments of superhuman abilities that show up without warning. I lower my voice and scold them. “I said stop, and I meant it.”

  Crockett pushes herself up and wipes the mud from her shirtsleeves, her pants, and then pushes her filthy hair out of her face. She tucks her knife away and stares at me. “Whatever’s in you, little girl, you better be glad it’s there. He better be glad it’s there,” she says, and then stomps off. She shouts for the crowd to move, and they part, giving her a wide path to sulk away.

  James stands as well, and, without a word, he shoves through the crowd in the opposite direction. He’s mad. Let him stay that way. It serves him right.

  He seems like he’s always mad about something, so what’s another thing to add to his growing list?

  I’ve avoided another catastrophe, for the time being, and although I probably could’ve handled it better, I’m proud of myself.

  At least until I see all the faces around me. They’re afraid, retreating slowly. They all saw what I did, somehow covering the distance to protect James in time, hurling Crockett to the ground, shoving a man three times my size twenty feet away.

  I don’t want them to be afraid. I want to be a good, kind leader.

  But I can’t blame them. I’d be worried about what I saw, too.

  Then I realize, I’m also slightly afraid of what’s happening.

  Grandfather told me once that a great president—who was in charge long before the world ended and died way too young—said, “There’s nothing to fear but fear itself.” I understand what it means, like we should stay strong and only be afraid of being afraid, as if fear was a real thing, but what happens if you’re the fear you should be afraid of?

  I wish I knew what’s happening to me, where this change in my body is coming from.

  She gave it to you for a reason.

  Grandfather’s words. My dream last night, drinking blood from Ellery’s finger, what she said. I have given you the greatest gift. On the morning of your fifteenth year, you will become…

  I will become… what?

  The next thought that crosses my mind is so ridiculous that I begin to laugh out loud, and I must be a sight to the citizens and Republicons who are backing away from me, warily, wondering what they’ve just witnessed. My laughter causes them to shuffle faster, and eventually I’m left alone, standing in the rain.

  Laughing, laughing.

  The morning of my fifteenth year. My birthday is only a few days away. Grandfather and I were going to celebrate with a spoonful of sugar apiece. Elder Wickam brought it home from his trip after he’d visited his kinfolk way, way down south and had shared it with the rest of our encampment. I left the sugar behind, and if the DAV soldiers haven’t burned our hovels to the ground, it’s sitting in a small box on the shelves by the door. In a way, I hope they torched our shack and didn’t get to enjoy the treat we were going to share.

  The speed, the strength. I was given something. I saw into the past.

  It’s almost as if I’m becoming a Kinder.

  I refuse to believe it. How? By drinking Ellery’s blood? Is that even possible? I don’t know enough about them and their history to know whether it is or it isn’t.

  Why me?

  A Kinder?

  I refuse to believe it, and I can’t believe it.

  The things that I’ve done—slinging the soldier, throwing Crockett and James, moving so fast that I was between them before I even knew it—they have to be some sort of fluke. Good leverage, catching them off balance… something like that.

  I laugh so hard that I have to wipe the tears from my cheeks, and when I see Finn cautiously approaching, I yell, “Boo!” just to watch him jump. He does, and it makes me laugh even harder.

  He reaches for me, and I let him touch my arm. “Okay,” he says, “once was weird—with Crockett back in the woods—but twice, that’s too much to ignore. How’d you do that?”

  “Do what?” I ask, playing coy.

  “You moved so fast, you were almost a blur, and then you threw James like he was no bigger than Squirrel. It was—it was amazing, Caroline. Can you teach me?”

  I finally get my laughter under control. “No,” I say. “Whatever this is, I don’t think it’s something I can teach.”

  I don’t want to tell him what I suspect because I don’t believe it myself. If I tell him I think I’m becoming a Kinder, that Ellery made me a Kinder, he wouldn’t believe me. He’d think I was crazy, and he’d tell everyone else that I was crazy. I could see it in their eyes—they’re already afraid of me, and now, if they think I’m crazy too, I’ll completely lose what little control I have, if I ever had it to start with.

  Taking that chance isn’t worth being able to share my secret, no matter how badly I’d like to tell him. At least not until I figure out whether it’s the truth.

  And how would I even be able to tell? There’s no badge, no official acknowledgement from the government, nothing and no one to say, “Hey, Caroline, congratulations! You’re now part of a super race that we created a hundred years ago!”

  I’m already changing, and I haven’t made it to my fifteenth birthday yet.

  Will I feel different? If—and it’s a very big if—I’m becoming a Kinder, will I somehow just know? Will I wake up that morning and simply think, “Oh, wonderful, I’m a Kinder now,” or will I look different if I ever happen to see myself in another mirror?

  Again, I have to wonder, Why me? Grandfather said she gave it to me for a reason. What’s the reason? If my dream was really a vision into my past, Mother and Father were there, they saw what Ellery did.

  Is that the reason they left?

  So many questions, and the only people capable of giving me the answers are either gone or dead.

  Finn smiles. “It was amazing, whatever it was.”

  “Amazing. Yeah.” And scary.

  “Want some good news?”

  “Please.”

  “Marla’s back.”

  Oddly enough, I get excited and relaxed at the same time. “Did she see them?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to ask. She’s exhausted and went to find some water.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Back there,” Finn says, pointing. “Over by those two maples.”

  “Good. Are you coming?”

  “Why don’t you just throw me over there and save me the walk?”

  I grin and pat him on the back. “Don’t tempt me.”

  Marla’s exhausted. She’s lying on her back, underneath the canopy of a maple tree, holding a water pouch up to her mouth and sucking down heaping gulps.

  “Marla?”

  “Hey, boss,” she says, sitting up.

  “Where are they? Did you see any of the runners?”

  “Yeah, but there are fewer now. I got close enough to hear them talking about all the people they’d sent back already.”

  “How many and how far?”

  “I’d say they’re down to about fifteen, but they look winded. Worse than me. We probably have a good day’s lead on them.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I hate to say it, boss, but we�
�ll never make it to safety before they catch up. Not with all these slow people. It wouldn’t surprise me if they caught up tomorrow.”

  “We’ll speed up and try to make it.”

  “What if we don’t?” Finn asks. He looks worried.

  “Then we’ll fight.”

  16

  Marla was right. We had a day’s lead on the DAV runners.

  They catch us midway through the fifth day of our retreat. Our horde is too big, too slow, and moves at the pace of a pregnant sow in deep mud. We’ve been bumbling and meandering along, and no matter how much I shout and coax and encourage, my group of frightened citizens has turned into a gaggle of fatigued laggards, too physically wasted to care about saving themselves.

  I’m near the back, urging a young family up a steep incline, when I hear the first scream, followed by the echo of a gunshot arriving from a great distance. I turn and notice a man named Elbert lying on the ground, clutching the back of his thigh. His daughter, Lala, is crouching at his side, screaming, “Daddy, no!” and desperately ripping her shirt. She gets a strip loose and tries to tie it around his thigh. As her fingers work furiously, she’s thrown to the side, and a second later, another report echoes through the woods.

  It has to be a DAV sniper among their runners because Lala pitches and falls before I hear the shot.

  “Down! Down!” I scream. “Get behind a tree! Find cover!”

  Across the herd, I see James and Marla ordering the people on their side to do the same, and amid the shouts of terror, I can make out Finn’s voice somewhere near the front, telling everyone to hide.

  I’ve lost the ability to think clearly. I should be hiding as well. Who knows how far away the sniper is, or how clean his line of sight may be. He can pick me off as easily as a deer running through an open field, but I don’t care. Two of my people are wounded. They need my help.

  I run. I launch myself over fallen logs and stumps, hurdling bushes like they’re no higher than a pair of boots on the ground. It feels effortless. I move like wind through the trees. Branches and limbs rustle in my wake, and I’m upon Lala and Elbert before I realize I’m there. I nearly dart past them before I notice how much distance I’ve covered.

  I drop to the bed of damp forest leaves just as an oak trunk splinters next to my head, which is then followed by the shot echoing throughout the valley. That was too close, and I can only assume he’s lining up to correct his aim. How much time do I have? Ten seconds? Less?

  I pray that the rain affects his vision, that the wind is making it difficult to judge the proper angle and flight path of the bullet.

  Glancing down, I see that there will be no saving Lala. There’s a hole in her throat. The skin is slick with blood and she’s gagging, choking on her own life force as the last of her heartbeat rapidly pumps it through her veins. I hear the whistling of another bullet skipping off a rock at my feet. It misses me by inches, and I’m almost certain that the next one won’t.

  Elbert screams, “Lala! No!” He rolls and tries to stand, wailing, crying, and his mouth twists in agony as he lunges for her using one leg.

  I sense something coming. Time slows. Elbert is dropping, dropping, reaching for her as if he’s swimming through pinesap. I push myself up from the ground in what feels like real time as he continues. I move to the side, taking one step over Lala’s body. That overpowering sensation of an impending arrival hisses in my ear, and I understand now that it’s another bullet speeding through the air.

  I snap my hand forward and close my fingers around something hot as if I’ve grabbed a piece of fiery coal from mid-air.

  Normal time resumes. Elbert falls at Lala’s side, sobbing, stroking her hair.

  I open my palm, feeling the heat on my skin as I stare at the bullet that I’ve snatched from its course. Next comes the gunshot’s echo. The speed, the agility, the fact that this small hunk of metal didn’t rip through my flesh and bones… it’s maddening. It’s incomprehensible. I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to this.

  “She’s gone, Elbert. It’s too late.” I bend to grab his shoulder, intending to pull him to safety.

  “Get away from me,” he says through clenched teeth. “This is my daugh—”

  A dull thunk emanates from his chest and he flails backward. Red seeps into his gray shirt, spreading around the hole in his sternum.

  I scream at the sky and turn toward the north, where the sniper and the rest of his DAV crew must be hiding. To my sides, my people are hidden as well as they can be, behind trees, behind boulders, out of sight among clustered rhododendrons, and some have even climbed into the thick branches of the pines.

  “Stay where you are,” I shout at them. “James! Crockett! Finn! Keep them safe.”

  A bullet smashes into the tree trunk near my head. I’m standing, my arms wide open, with everything exposed. I know the sniper could’ve taken me down with that shot. He’s toying with me. I imagine him sitting in his nest, comfortably situated among the limbs, giggling to himself as he slides the rifle bolt back and loads another shell.

  James is closer than I expected. From behind a nearby birch tree, he whistles to catch my attention and says, “What’re you doing?”

  “Saving us.” I step over the fallen bodies of father and daughter, heading into the oncoming fire. I hear the zing of another bullet off a boulder to my right.

  James says, “Are you insane? Get back here. They’ll kill you.”

  I turn to face him. A cool breeze pushes my hair into my face, along with droplets of rain against my cheeks. “Hold this for me.” I toss him the bullet.

  He catches it, examines it in his hand, then shakes his head. “Go. Hurry.”

  I nod. He’s beginning to understand.

  The brown, orange, and red leaves at my feet zip past in a mottled blur of color. I don’t know how any of this works—these abilities—but it’s strange how they manifest. One moment I’m practically stopping time, and the next, I’m bounding through the forest like a white-tailed deer. I have no control over any of it. It happens without warning. I glide between the trees effortlessly, and when I’m roughly a half mile from where I left the horde hidden, I spot a massive pine tree that will provide excellent cover. I duck to the right, drop behind the trunk, and pause to catch my breath. It’s such a natural reaction after running that I’m surprised when my lungs feel normal.

  Nice.

  I spin around and crouch, making myself as small of a target as possible. If I can catch the sniper’s bullet in mid-flight, will one harm me if I take a direct hit? I’d rather not find out.

  Standing up, I flatten my body against the trunk, belly first. The limbs block most of my view, but I can listen well from here. The gunshots have quieted the natural sounds of the forest. The birds are silent. No squirrels scamper from treetop to treetop. It seems as if even the wind has stopped blowing. Everything in the woods cowers in fear of the invading entities.

  I cock an ear. Listening. Holding my breath, trying to pick up on the hushed noises, any sound that will betray his position.

  Also, I’m focusing intently on making these… powers… come to life. If I can do any of this stuff at will, I need it to be now. I need to hear him.

  I pause, inhale, and hold my breath, counting to five slowly. I exhale on the count of five, then repeat the process again to calm myself. I remember something I heard once, a story that Grandfather told around the campfires long ago, about how Kinders could become one with the world. Back then, I thought it meant nothing, just some mystical nonsense that he had made up to entertain the children. What did that even mean, become one with the world?

  I close my eyes. In my mind, I can see him saying it, telling us the tale as Ellery sits on the opposite side of the flames. She’s nodding, almost imperceptibly, but the motion is there.

  Become one with the world.

  Still with no idea what this might mean, I place my ear against the pine’s massive trunk, feeling the rough bark digging into my skin. For a m
oment, I think I can hear its pulse thumping in rhythm with my own—then I realize it’s my heart. My palms go against the tree as well and I embrace the moment. I try to feel what the pine tree is feeling.

  Then it happens. Something happens around me that I can only describe as a swirling clamor, like a breeze whipping dead leaves into miniature circles, yet I don’t actually hear it, I feel it. I open my eyes and everything in my vision shimmers like ripples in a lake-surface reflection.

  I’m warm.

  I am everything.

  One hundred yards to the northwest, I make out the subtle whistle of air through nostrils. It’s a concentrated push and pull sound, like whoever it belongs to is attempting to carefully control it. I don’t know how I know this, but I do, and by now I accept it.

  I’m moving before I can convince myself otherwise. No plan of attack, no careful consideration of the terrain, no fear of a sniper’s aim settling on my beating heart.

  I traverse the hillside, loping from one tree to the next, moving briskly and staying covered, unafraid, but smart. My ridiculous speed is gone, but my jumps are easy and fluid, moving me ten feet in any direction I want to go as if I’m casually hopping over a stream on my way home from a day of successful scouting. I wish I could control all of this at once. Maybe, like Ellery said, on the morning of my fifteenth birthday, it will all come together, and all will be explained. Maybe it’ll be written in the stars, and I’ll be able to read them like words on a page.

  Maybe.

  Maybe.

  I’m close enough to the sniper that when the rifle’s report sounds again, the dogwood tree to my right splinters at the exact same instant. I stop, drop to my knees, and risk a peek, zeroing in on the direction from which it came. Thirty yards ahead, due north in a straight line, and halfway up an oak tree, I see a hunting nest built into the branches. My vision is sharper than normal, and I can see that it’s a rough structure, covered in limbs and leaves, held together by caked mud and twine.

  Most likely, whichever band of Republicons controls this area used it as a hunting blind in the past. Up the hill I spot a game trail. It would’ve been the perfect place to wait on a herd of whitetail to come by. Now the sniper is hunting my people and me.