The Last Legend

by Ernie Lindsey

  “That explains your teeth,” I say. Teresa covers her mouth, blushing. I add, “Don’t be ashamed. They’re beautiful.”

  “I can fix yours,” she says, excitedly. “I know how.”

  I scoff and point to the hundreds of people around us. “Do you see what’s happening? Do you think I’m worried about that right now?”

  “I only meant—”

  I make no effort to hide the disdain in my voice. “You have ten thousand men marching on us. Let me get back to you next week if I’m still alive.”

  She’s only trying to be nice, and I understand that, but the concept of having a smile like hers is ridiculous in the midst of all this hurt and suffering. There are people crying all around us because they’re leaving a loved one behind, buried on that hillside, in shallow graves, miles behind us.

  Or they’re in pain. Or they’re exhausted and can’t go any further.

  “Caroline?”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to keep saying that. It’s war. People die. And sometimes they’re not the right ones.”

  “Does that mean me?”

  “No.” I’m thinking about Hawkins again, the bastard traitor, and how far gone we could be by now if he’d warned us before Captain Tanner and his men showed up and murdered everyone in my village. “You never finished telling me why you joined.”

  “I didn’t want to be a dentist. I wanted to do something different with my life. My father’s a dentist, my grandfather was, and his father before him. Ever since the world ended, that’s all my family has ever done. We look in mouths. I hate it.”

  “So you became a blackcoat to kill people instead?”

  “Not at all. I never thought this would happen. I wanted to be a part of the Honor Guard. They’re the ones that keep watch over the White Home and walk beside President Crake when he’s touring the streets. I wasn’t even out of Recruit Training before my commander saw how well I could shoot. I’d never even picked up a gun before, but, somehow, it came naturally to me, and here I am. I had no choice.”

  It’s strange, talking to this eager girl who is, or used to be, the enemy—as if she’s a friend. It was the same with Finn, too.

  Are we all the same underneath different banners?

  It’s a concept that never really occurred to me before. For moons, years, decades, we’ve been taught that the citizens of the DAV are a higher-class people, further up the chain of evolution, or society, or they’re favored in the eyes of the Creator, and that they are the enemy. They are untouchable and evil, and we shouldn’t want anything to do with them.

  Then Finn comes into my life. He’s normal. He’s from the DAV, but he could be from the hut next door to mine. He eats the same way I do. He breathes no differently. His laugh comes from his chest, just like mine.

  And now Teresa. I don’t necessarily trust her yet, and I wonder if I ever will completely, but in body and soul, she’s no different either. She is just like me, one foot goes in front of the other. Air fills her lungs. Tears fall from her eyes like mine do.

  So what’s different? Beliefs?

  We can’t be born with those, right? Does a baby know the difference in worldviews, regardless of whether it’s a DAV or PRV citizen? It doesn’t know. It can’t, right? Someone has to teach it those things. When babies are born, their minds are like a fresh blanket of snow: undisturbed, pristine, until something leaves tracks behind.

  That’s what I’m beginning to see.

  But I’m not sure that matters at the moment. The adults from the north are invading to steal able bodies from the south, and to me, that doesn’t seem like a belief system. That’s want. That’s greed.

  It doesn’t matter that our blood pumps through the same organs, and we’re all alike under different flags. No. The invasion is about strength and power over those who appear to be weaker.

  That’s the truth, and I’m not sure there’s anything we can do to stop it.

  Teresa looks over her shoulder. “Do you think… um… do you think that man, the big one with the beard—”

  “James?”

  “Yes. Do you think he’ll tell any of your people who I am? Because if they find out…”

  She has a point. I hadn’t considered the possibility, and I’m worried that I’ve put her life in danger. I could’ve kept it to myself. Maybe I should’ve. With hundreds of people to watch over, James may not have noticed someone new clinging to my side. We’ve come miles already, however, and if he said something, she would probably be dead already.

  Or perhaps he—or they—are waiting until the tribe stops to make camp this evening. Maybe he’s the one that’ll slit her throat.

  How am I supposed to lead and protect so many people when I can’t make decisions that are wise enough to ensure the safety of one? I’m doing the best I can, but I must, must, start thinking my choices through.

  I put a hand on her back, and she flinches. “I’ll talk to him,” I say, “but it’s probably best that you don’t go to sleep until everyone else does.”

  Teresa takes a deep breath and then looks past me into the crowd. I assume she’s searching for James. She nods, says, “Okay,” and moves a step closer to me.

  We reach the river by nightfall, and rather than trying to cross in the dim light of dusk, I make the decision to camp on the northern side of the rushing water. To me, it seems smarter to wait until sunrise. It’ll be easier to monitor everyone if we can see them. I’ve sent Marla and one of the faster village boys to the east and west to look for a shallower spot, but some of the citizens we’ve picked up recently inform me that they likely won’t be successful.

  Teresa is with Finn. I didn’t tell him who she was, other than the fact that she was no longer with her family, and that she could use some company. He eyes the black pants of her DAV uniform, and, considering the fact that he was an enlisted scout, I’m sure he knows. But he’s also aware that none of the group knows he’s a former DAV citizen as well, so I trust that he’ll keep her secret. Perhaps they can bond over being so far away from home if they’re willing to share secrets and trust each other.

  James doesn’t agree with my decision to wait. We’re standing on the riverbank, shoulders touching, staring at the water as it pushes and shoves around boulders and downed tree trunks.

  He says, “Think about it, Caroline. If we’re attacked in the middle of the night and we’re bedded down here on this side of the river, there’ll be no escape, and if people try to run across in the dark, who knows how many we’ll lose.”

  I can’t say that I disagree with him, but they’ve been marching all day, and they’re exhausted. If we try to cross now, they could fall and be swept away. I explain this to James, and he crosses his arms, snorting his disapproval.

  “I understand your point,” he says, “but consider mine. Will we lose more if we try to cross while they’re tired, in poor light, or if we’re attacked and they try to rush across in a panic, in complete darkness?”

  I hate making these decisions as a leader. It’s never easy. It’s almost impossible to feel like I’ve made the right one, no matter what I decide. There’s a large part of me that wants to tell James that I’m done, that he can take charge, but I know he’ll laugh and refuse. They’re not his people. He’s not responsible for any life but his own, and maybe the Republicons that are with him, if even them, because they’re an independent bunch and, frankly, I’m surprised that they’ve trusted James long enough to stay with us.

  Despite the reward, James maintains that he’s doing this to help me, to keep his word, and he’s only trying to offer sensible guidance. I can see that, yet we’re always at odds. It’s getting tiresome and draining what energy I have left.

  “We’ll stay on this side tonight. Teresa says the full vanguard is two days away and they don’t have another group of forward runners coming. We can rest. We need it. I’ll send guards out to keep watch.”

  “You still think you can
trust her?” He says it quietly and without venom. He’s curious, not challenging.

  “She’s young, and she’s scared. She’s younger than me, and I can remember what it was like at that age.”

  James laughs. “And when was that? Last week?”

  I can’t help it—I chuckle too. “Two years ago. It was when I first became an official scout. We had ceremonies and everything, and I remember feeling scared to death that I was going to do something wrong. I would’ve done—well, I did—whatever Hawkins told me to because he was my superior. She was following orders, you know? She’s used to people telling her what to do, like her parents, her commanders… She’s so eager to please somebody that if I tell her to climb up in a tree and put a bullet in the first blackcoat she sees, she’ll do it.”

  “Okay.” James toes a rock loose from the riverbank and kicks it into the water. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  19

  Unbelievably, the night passes without incident, and we all wake feeling refreshed and ready to get on the move.

  Even Crockett and her men appear to be in good spirits, but they’re flush with the spoils of pillaging the dead DAV runners, so I can see why they’re happily singing and telling stories over a breakfast of trout from the river and wild green apples.

  The rain is picking up into a downpour and drenching the items we left exposed, but we’re packing up our things and getting ready for another day’s march. I even see a few smiles scattered throughout the grubby, stained faces. Moods are high. We have fresh water from the river. Fish and squirrels cook over campfires. The smell of searing meat sends my stomach into uncontrollable growling, but I leave the best nourishing food for those who need it the most.

  I make my breakfast of nuts and berries, watching everyone. There are so many of these people I’ve never met, belonging to the same movement, and I’m at once proud of myself for getting them this far and amazed at the fact, too. It’s a miracle we haven’t lost more than we have. I’m surprised they’re still with me.

  I get up and walk through the crowd, stopping beside a teenage boy and his mother. He’s struggling to get a sleep sack into a shoulder bag, and I ask if I can help.

  When he turns to see who asked, he straightens his back, puffs out his chest, and salutes me. To do so, his bag falls in the slurry at our feet. “Ma’am,” he says.

  I help him get the sleep sack secured in its place and then return his salute. I smile and say, “Carry on, soldier.”

  When I walk away I can hear the excitement in his voice. “Do you know who that was, Mama? That was Caroline!”

  Maybe it is possible to lead these people as a normal person. None of my special abilities have appeared since I was racing through the forest, attempting to reach Teresa in her perch, and I’m thankful for it. I don’t want, or need, to feel confused and distracted about the changes happening to my body. All I want to do is focus and get this long march over with. I want to get my citizens into the hands of someone who’s really in charge.

  We’re only two days away from Warrenville. The end is close, and the overnight lookouts report no movement at our backs, save a couple of deer that spooked one of James’s men around dawn.

  I give everyone another half hour to pack up and prepare. It’s too much time, truly, because every second ticking by is another second wasted, but they need it. They’ve been harried to their tired bones for days, and a good leader knows when to appease her people.

  I walk to the river’s edge and study the currents. Marla and the village boy reported back the night before, and there’s no better spot to cross within miles.

  We’re good where we are. We’ll go straight across in thigh-deep water. We can’t get any wetter than we already are.

  When everyone is packed and standing in clusters—cliques have formed of villagers and families sticking together—awaiting orders and looking expectant, I climb up the tallest boulder I can find. It’s slick with rain and moss, and I struggle to keep my balance at first. I know some of them are already questioning my judgment from the whispers I’ve overheard, and the last thing I need is to fall and look like an incompetent fool.

  I hold my arms out for balance, secretly hoping that it looks like I’m addressing my people. It’s the first time I’ve spoken to them directly like this, all at once, as if I’m the leader they think I am.

  I pause to gather my thoughts because I don’t know what to say. They’re looking to me for guidance, and, after all this time, I still don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because I’m wearing the official government uniform of a PRV scout. Maybe it’s because someone has to be a light in the dark. Whatever the case, I have to choose my words carefully.

  We’ve made it this far, yet retreating to the capital doesn’t mean we’ll be safe. Not in the slightest. Not with ten thousand men marching south who are well-armed. They have tanks and guns. They’re trained for this sort of thing.

  I don’t want to tell everyone that we’re doing nothing more than delaying the eventual outcome because I can see something in their faces that hasn’t been there during this whole retreat: hope.

  It’s there in the way they’re looking up at me with upturned mouths instead of judging scowls. Rain pours, never-ending, but the mood feels lighter. I can tell that some of them have washed their faces in the river—their once dirt-browned skin is now white and pale again. Taking the time to clean themselves is a sign of having something to look forward to, and I’m not about to take that away from anyone—no matter how futile it may be.

  “I am Caroline Mathers,” I finally say, lifting my voice so that everyone can hear me. “With the help of my friends, we have brought you this far.” Murmurs of approval ripple through the crowd. “It hasn’t been easy, and we’ve had trouble along the way. For those of you who have been injured, for those of you who have lost loved ones, you have my regrets, and I’m sorry. But I only have one thing to say about that: war is coming. We have made it this far because of our strength and our determination. We are two days away from safety behind high walls, and I promise you, we will make it. This river is our last barrier to safety. We’ll cross it, we’ll go together, and then we’ll run. I know you’re exhausted. I know you’re hungry, and you’re weak, but you have nothing left to lose except your freedom, and I swear on my heart: that won’t happen, not as long as I’m leading you.”

  Cheers erupt, followed by clapping and fists pumping in the air.

  I look down to my right. James has his head tilted back, staring up at me. He’s smiling. To my left, Finn and Teresa are doing the same.

  This approval lifts my spirits, and for the first time since we left my encampment, I can almost feel what they’re feeling: that we have a chance.

  I scream, “We will make it. We will survive. We will fight back, and we will win!”

  More cheers. More joy. More praise.

  I’m lying, but they don’t need to know that. Not now. Haven’t we all heard them before? The false promises?

  I lift both of my arms into the air, fingers closed tightly into fists, and then I watch as their faces go from elation to surprise. Shouting mouths meld into gaping confusion as they go silent. I wonder what happened. Did I say something wrong?

  Is something behind me?

  They’re looking at my feet. Why?

  I peek down. I’m floating a foot above the rock.

  Whispers travel from ear to ear throughout the crowd, and I can make out a single word.

  “Kinder.”

  Traversing the river isn’t that bad, and only a fraction of the group’s numbers have a hard time. They fall, they trip, they slip on the rocks in the riverbed, but mostly, everyone is fine.

  Marla, Crockett, and some of the other Republicons form a barrier downstream to prevent anyone from washing away if they fall. I had to promise Crockett and her men extra rations, but they’re helping, and that’s better than nothing.

  I can imagine a time, before the rains came, when this river was nothing
more than a stream trickling through the valley. With the runoff, it’s thigh-deep in most spots and up to their waists in others.

  I watch from a distance and out of sight. After my flying exhibition, or whatever that was, I dropped to the rock, climbed down, and walked away from everyone. The slack jaws and wide eyes revealed their confusion and uneasiness. More than likely, these people have all heard the same stories we were told as children. And, like us, we assumed there were none left, except for Ellery, and even then it was something we whispered about around campfires.

  It occurred to me as I was walking away that maybe my little display had benefitted me. I don’t want them to be afraid, but it would also be nice to have them revere me. It makes having them obey orders much simpler.

  However, as I crouch up here on the hillside, watching them hold their children and backpacks high above their heads, it’s evident that something has changed.

  During my speech, they had hope. Now they’re in awe. I can tell by how animated everyone is. They’re talking rapidly, holding their hands apart at just the right distance to show how far my feet were off the rock.

  I left James in charge, and I can see him on the far side of the river, waving people across, grabbing hands and helping the feeble ones up the embankment.

  Of all the times for something insane to happen, I had to fly while I was standing in front of hundreds of people.

  I shake my head at how ridiculous the idea is. I flew. I was floating. There were twelve inches of empty space between the soles of my boots and the rock.

  And I didn’t even know it. That’s the scary part. What if something like that happens when I least expect it? What if these uncontrollable occurrences happen while I’m walking across a bridge, and I fall hundreds of feet? Would I bounce, then get up and act like nothing happened? What if I lift up, float away, and can’t get myself back down?

  I wish there was someone who could answer these questions for me.