The Light of Hope

by Ernie Lindsey

  “That’d be the sensible thing to do, though I’m not so sure we’re sensible-minded people, Blotter.”

  I turn to face them both.

  “What’re you thinking?” Blotter asks.

  The grin stretches his partner’s mouth wide to reveal yellow tarnished teeth and for a fleeting moment, I picture them as fangs. Chalmers says, “Two weary soldiers on a long journey. Job well done. I figured we might have earned the right to a little bit of a treat, wouldn’t you say?”

  Blotter squints at him, studying his fellow blackcoat. “How so?”

  “A little taste of the candy, so to speak.”

  “Not sure I’m getting what you’re saying, soldier.” I may be reading into things, but it’s said with a tone that suggests he knows exactly what Chalmers is saying.

  Me, however… I’m clueless.

  Chalmers chuckles. “C’mon, now. Long days on the march, no wives or sweethearts around? You can’t sit there and tell me you ain’t thought about it.”

  I softly ask, “Thought about what?” because the fog is clearing in my mind. It’s not a full panic yet. It’s a tingling that’s creeping up the base of my spine.

  If he’s talking about what I think he’s talking about…

  Blotter shakes his head and nudges Daisy around so that he can look at Chalmers straight on. He says exactly what I’m thinking. “Chalmers, if you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about…then we’re gonna have a problem.”

  Chalmers winks at me and licks his lips.

  “Chalmers!”

  Chalmers goes rigid, straightens his back. “That’ll be enough, soldier. You will not shout at a superior officer in that manner.”

  “Superior officer? You enlisted two days before I did.”

  “Which proves my point. I done been in this uniform longer than you, scum.”

  “That’s not what superior means.”

  As I listen to these two idiots bicker, I’m slightly relieved by the fact that Blotter seems to be sticking up for me. Or, at least in a way that suggests he’s not going along with Chalmers’s ideas, whatever they might consist of. I try to work my hands loose from the twine digging into my skin.

  If I can just get them free, maybe I can hide in the city. Head for that building over there, run for cover.

  Don’t be a fool. They have horses.

  You have to try.

  I’m so focused on my hands that I don’t notice how heated their argument has become, at least not until I hear Blotter shouting, “You will not lay a hand on her.”

  Chalmers answers with his own bellowing voice, “You try an’ stop me. I earned this. I earned it, damn you.” He beats his chest with his fist. “She’s mine.” He slings his left leg over Buttercup’s neck, drops to the ground, and charges for me.

  I whimper and turn my shoulder to face him as my only defense.

  “Not another step, Chalmers!” howls Blotter.

  Chalmers ignores him. He reaches for me, reaches closer, and I stare at his hands almost as if they’re in slow motion. It’s like my ability to bend time as a Kinder—outside of superhuman abilities, I discover that fear sends time into a crawl as well.

  I’m able to stare at his dirty fingers, fat sausages hanging from ham-hocks. I notice that the third finger on his left hand is nothing but a stub, lost at some point during his miserable life and sewn over, left to look like a Republicon territory marker.

  Blotter screams, “Stop!”

  Chalmers lunges. Lust, desire, and hunger swirl in his eyes.

  Boom!

  The gunshot sends time back to where it should be as Chalmers pitches to his right, blood gushing from his neck. I don’t have a chance to consider this or what Blotter has done for me, because in the next instant, Daisy panics at the thunderous report of the rifle and throws herself to the side, trying to escape. The twine around my wrists is still tethered to Blotter’s saddle horn and this realization hits as I’m sailing through the air, being dragged like a child’s kite.

  The pain in my arms is mind-numbing and I hear Blotter’s voice trying to calm her. Daisy rears again while I’m airborne, whipping me around faster, my momentum carrying me ten feet above ground, unable to do anything. I’m at the mercy of this terrified horse.

  I hear, “Easy, Daisy!” one last time before I slam into the hard, black road. I feel a forearm snap and then the back of my head hits like a stone dropped from a great height.

  My ears ring, and the darkness swallows me.

  How many more times can I wake up in a new, unfamiliar place, unsure of how I got there, wounded and in pain? I suppose this is a symptom of fighting a war, whether or not you’re in battle at the time, but it’s getting old.

  My eyes adjust to the bright light overhead, the bulbs searing into my eyeballs. I squint and notice that they look like the bulbs that were in Hale’s warehouse, back in Warrenville.

  I’m inside. Am I? Am I inside?

  There’s white everywhere. White walls, white chairs, white tables. It smells clean in here, but not naturally; manmade, like the orange liquid Grandfather and I found in an abandoned town years ago. It was sharp and seared the inside of my nose, smelling as if someone had set apples on fire.

  In front of me, a large window overlooks rolling mountains with cars puttering along like ants on a carved path.

  My dream… It was real. Crazy. So if this one is real, does that mean my dream with all the spirits was too? I guess that means Mosley is dead. And ouch, why does my head hurt so much? A daisy? What about a daisy? The flower? Noooo. Something about a horse.

  I’m able to lift my head, but only slightly, before the swimming begins in my vision. My stomach swirls, and I lie back, my head pounding so much that it almost hurts to touch it against the soft pillow. A number of white cords and wires are attached to me at various places on my body, leading up toward my head and then out of sight.

  Something chirps above me and if I recall from my dream, there’ll be a large white box up there with white wires attached to it.

  On the front is a piece of glass and then a little green line that pops up and down every time my heart beats. Of course I have no idea what it is or what it’s for, but at least in my dream about this place, I remember thinking that it’s nice to be able to see that my heart works.

  I lie here for what feels like hours, but the ticking clock on the wall informs me that it’s only been fifteen minutes. I’m afraid to move my head, fearing the pain that will come. I stay as motionless as a hillside stone until I feel an oncoming sneeze tickling my nose.

  Please, God, no. Don’t do this—

  The sneeze explodes from my face. White light explodes in my vision.

  Pain, ungodly pain, crackles throughout my entire body, and I claw at the mattress because I don’t know what else to do. My right hand settles on a small tube. A wire runs from the bottom of it along the side of my bed and then dips downward and underneath the blanket. On the top of the tube is a red button. I pray that pushing it will call the nice woman—Nurse in my dreams—into the room so I can ask her how to make it stop.

  I push it, and I hope.

  Seconds pass and no Nurse; instead, I get a soft sensation, one of loosening pressure, like unbuttoning your pants after the one full meal we have—or had—each year at Thanksgiving. The pain in my head fades bit by bit until I’m warm all over. It feels as if I’m relaxing in a hot bath, and how rare those were. I’m surprised that I can recall the sensation. It’s been so long.

  I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. Were there footsteps in my dream? I don’t think so. Nurse came in and stuck the needle of blue liquid into my arm. She was softly there, almost floating, when she took my arm with fingers supple like rose petals.

  The footsteps halt just outside my door, and I listen to a heavy sigh, almost like someone is steeling himself to enter and face me. I wait and I wonder if it’s Finn. Is he finally feeling guilty for his betrayal? Is the mere thought of looking at my face t
oo much for him to bear?

  I want it to be him, and I don’t. I spent many, many hours hiking through the woods, following my people here, trying to figure out what I would do or say to him if I ever got the chance to see his traitorous face again.

  I can’t do much because I’m mortal, and he’s a Kinder.

  And if it’s Finn outside my door, disappointment sets in because I can’t remember a single word of the multiple speeches I had prepared along the way. I thought so hard and so long about this moment that I must have jumbled the words together and swept them all out of my brain like my old hut on Sunday afternoons, Grandfather’s weekly cleaning day with the broom.

  I don’t know why I’m not afraid. I should be. Maybe he’s finally here to finish the job. A very tiny part of me, about the size of a snowflake, wishes that he would’ve done it back that night on the battlefield—I wish he would’ve gotten it over with and I wouldn’t be lying here helpless, having this stupid, pointless conversation with myself.

  More than likely, it’s a doctor stopping to check in, and he’s standing outside the door, thinking about everything that’s wrong with me.

  I’m in a hospital. That’s logical.

  What’s not logical is the only remaining Kinder out in the hallway, going over his plan to kill me in my sleep. Why bother waiting?

  Just do it now, Finn. Put me out of my misery.

  Stop it, Caroline. Don’t do this to yourself.

  When the man clears his throat one more time, knocks on the door and enters, I’m so surprised that I jerk and send another ripple of pain through my skull. Though not as powerful as before, and masked by whatever dulls my body when I push the red button, the pain is there, letting me know that I’m alive.

  It’s a good thing, really, because I grasp that I’ll have one fewer bad memory to hold onto, all thanks to this man.

  16

  Blotter approaches cautiously, holding his hat between fingers that can’t figure out what to do with themselves. One minute they’re shaky, the next they’re twisting the bill of his army-issued cap, then they’re picking at hangnails.

  His hair is dirty blonde, mixed with real dirt, and his full beard matches the same color. Sky blue eyes shine under the clean light of the overhead bulbs—pretty eyes I hadn’t noticed before because I was certain he was looking for an opportunity to put a bullet between mine.

  He may have saved my life or prevented something terrible from happening to me, but it doesn’t change the fact that plenty of his bullets passed within inches of my head and Merrin’s, too. For a second I wonder how—and where—she is.

  I don’t know whether to thank him or spit in his face.

  Instead, I do the only thing I can think of to break the silence—I ask him about military things. “What’s that symbol on your shoulder?” It’s the outline of a soldier, standing at attention, with two bars meeting and crossing over the center of his chest.

  “Specialist. Sharpshooting,” Blotter answers sheepishly, as if admitting the fact will stir the air into something neither of us wants to remember. He keeps glancing back at the door.

  “Someone coming?”

  “Probably. Yeah. I mean, they should be because I’m not supposed to be in here.”

  “Then why are you?” It’s hard to hide the distaste in my tone. I don’t necessarily hate him, though, and I want to shove the words “thank you” out of my mouth, but they won’t budge.

  “I came”—he takes another hurried peek—“to apologize. We were never supposed to, you know, to kill you. That was never a part of the plan. We were under orders to capture you, and then Chalmers, he got it in his head that dead was as good as alive. After certain…things.”

  I’d like to sit up higher, but I’m scared my head will rip open from the pain. I’m dull from whatever medicine is leaking into my arm, yet I feel exposed and submissive, lying here on my back. Although, as shaky as he is, it seems that Blotter is the one feeling vulnerable. “And you went along with him? At least for that first part? Do you know how many times you almost killed Merrin and me?”

  “She’s the girl?”

  “Yes. And the answer is dozens. We had wood chips in our hair you were so close.”

  He can’t hide an embarrassed grin. He taps the patch sewn into the shoulder of his jacket. “Mathers, if I’d wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  That’s a fair point, I guess. “Then why did you keep us under fire for so long? Why not just capture us and be done with it?”

  Blotter motions toward the bed, silently asking if he can come closer. I grant him access with a short nod. He puts his hand on the metal railing and says, “We didn’t know what kind of weapons you had. Could be you had a rifle, too. Snipers like Chalmers and me, we can wait for days out in the woods. No big deal. Figured as long as we could get you out in the open, we’d have a better chance.”

  “Well, here I am. You got me.”

  “And that’s why I’m here, like I said, to say sorry for that jackass and all of his, uh…you know. His nonsense. Dead and gone now. My report says you got him in the woods, so I’d appreciate it if the story stayed that way. Which is, uh, which is why—well, that’s the other reason I’m here.”

  I don’t even know what to say to this, so, I don’t say anything. I cautiously turn my head away and stare out the window.

  “Mathers?”

  “I’ll keep your secret, Blotter.”

  “Thank you. But that’s not… Pretty view from up here.”

  “What happens now?”

  Blotter clears his throat, says, “That’s my thing, yeah? Got somebody that wants to see you when you’re able.”

  “You mean Finn?”

  “Who? Oh, you mean that Kinder kid?”

  This catches my attention. I thought for sure that the entire time he and Chalmers had been referring to a “he” that they had meant Finn. Who else could it be? I roll my head around to look at Blotter again, and a shot of pain sparkles underneath the haze of the medicine. “It’s not Finn?”

  “Nah, we don’t run with the same kind. Not enough stars or bars on my uniform. That smug little shit is probably sitting up on President Crake’s front porch, sipping cocoa.”

  “Then who?”

  He says, “An old friend of yours,” like it’s a secret that we should be sharing, but I have no clue who he could mean. All my friends are dead, missing, or wrapped up in the chains of slavery.

  “Blotter, look, I don’t feel like playing games with you right now. I’m in so much pain, I can’t think straight. Every bone and muscle in my body hurts and I’ve already lost the war. There wasn’t even a war. Your people came and took what they wanted. That was the end of it, and I assume as soon as I’m better, I’ll be swinging a pickaxe in some coal mine. That’s my future. That’s what I’ve got. Thank you for protecting me from Chalmers. You deserve that. You deserve thanks, but seriously, that’s all you’re getting. So, you either tell me what’s going on, or I’ll scream for the doctors.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get your—just give me a chance here.” He uses an unsteady hand to pat the air. “I didn’t mean anything by it. We were working for Captain Tanner.”

  “He’s alive?” The name causes me to bolt upright in my bed. The white hot flash of pain sends me back to the pillow, moaning, holding both hands up to my head as I massage my temples. The cast on my arm is clunky and makes it difficult on one side.

  The man who destroyed my village, the man who murdered Ellery right in front of me, the man who led the forward march on my people, the man who I thought had been escorted to prison, and maybe even death, the night we made it to Warrenville, is apparently alive.

  In addition to the pain in my head, my stomach swells with nausea.

  Ages ago, the Elders in my encampment used to talk about seeing red when they were angry. While there’s no color to my vision, I feel like my entire being is flaming red with rage.

  “How’d he get free?�
� I ask between gritted teeth.

  “He’ll have to tell you himself. He’s got—he’s got all your answers. I only wanted to say I’m sor—”

  “What’s going on in here?” A voice interrupts him from the doorway and a tall man with glasses, two days of unshaven beard growth, and wearing a white jacket enters my room. Half of his shirt has come untucked and his hair looks as if he climbed out of bed seconds ago. He glares at Blotter from underneath droopy eyelids and says, “Specialist, I’m sure you’re aware that visiting hours have long since passed for this patient.”

  Blotter nods, puts his cap on, and retreats toward the open door. “Sorry, sir. My mistake.”

  “Leave now or I’ll have your rank pulled.”

  “Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. If I could just—”

  “Now, son!”

  Blotter holds both hands up in an apology, then says to me, “He’ll be by tomorrow, Mathers. Listen to what he has to say.”

  “Out,” howls the doctor as Blotter disappears around the corner. When he’s sure that Blotter has really left me alone, the doctor says, “Miss Mathers, I apologize if that nincompoop disrupted your rest. He was specifically told downstairs that you were to have no more visitors.”

  “I’ve had others?”

  “Oh, yes, so many that we had to turn them back.”

  “Like who?”

  “Mostly military gentlemen.”

  “Why?”

  “From what I gather, they’re under strict orders from President Crake and former PRV president Larson to debrief you as soon as you’re able. I’ve told them it’ll be a while yet because according to that chowderhead that was just in here, you took quite an unfortunate ride when that horse panicked. Shame he had to put it down.”

  “Daisy?”

  “If that was her name, yes. If he hadn’t shot the horse, we’d be tying on a toe tag down in the morgue.”

  I don’t know what a morgue is, but I’m guessing he means a place where they keep dead bodies. Back home, we called that a graveyard, but I’m sure I’d feel silly asking him what the difference is. Plus, as it stands, Blotter saved me twice. Once from Chalmers and once from an out-of-control horse. Maybe I should’ve been a little nicer to him.