by Cross, Amy
“But...”
My voice trails off.
“And I mean that with all my heart,” he continues. “If I send someone else, all I'll be able to do is hope that they succeed. If I send you, I know you'll get there, and that reinforcements won't be too far away. This is what you're good at. Philadelphia's about three hundred miles as the crow flies, so you're going to need to drive fast through the night, but you can absolutely do this. If it all goes according to plan, we can have reinforcements here within twenty-four hours. I think we can just about hold on until then.”
He slides the bag toward me across the dashboard.
“This note explains everything to the people in Philadelphia. Some of the information in there is beyond top secret, Lizzie, and it can't fall into the hands of the enemy. It gives away some of our weaknesses. Just get it to Philadelphia is fast as you can, okay?”
“I...”
“You're the only one, Lizzie,” he continues, with a hint of desperation in his voice. “I believe in you.”
I swallow hard.
“I'm not a coward,” I tell him, with tears in my eyes. “I swear, I can fight.”
“I know,” he replies, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handgun, which he sets on my lap. “Hopefully you won't need that, but it's loaded so at least you have it in case anything goes wrong. As for cowardice, don't even say that word. You're about to drive out into the night, hopefully dodging any enemy traps or scout parties, and then you're going to have to go at full speed across an inhospitable landscape that could be filled with pretty much anything. Frankly, that sound terrifying to me.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “How many times do I need to say this, Lizzie?” he adds. “I know you can do this. I know you can save us all.”
“Why don't you come too?” I ask. “Two of us would stand a better chance than one.”
“I'm needed here.”
“But -”
“We don't really have any proper military commanders left,” he explains. “Hell, I trained in medicine initially, Lizzie. You know that. I never expected to be in charge of defending a city, but here I am and it seems that I have a knack for it. The other members of the Council are generally deferring to my judgment. Every time I ask them for their opinions, they just ask me what I want to do. Can you imagine how that feels? I've basically got the weight of the city on my back, and right now it's looking like everything's going to come crashing down. That's why I need you to do this for me. As crazy as it sounds, Lizzie, you're currently our last, best hope.”
“Shouldn't someone come with me, though?” I ask, struggling to hold back tears. “What if I screw up?”
“You won't.”
“But what if I do?”
“You won't, because you're my daughter and I trust you. You're Elizabeth Marter and I trust you more than I trust anyone else in this city.”
“But shouldn't someone come with me?”
“You have to do it alone.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I'm sorry, sweetie, but you do. Everyone has a job right now, and most of them are having to do their jobs alone. That's just the way things are. And you have to get going right now, because there isn't much time. I know it's scary. In some ways, it's scarier than picking up a gun, but I'm begging you to do this for me. For all of us. For the future.”
With that, he leans back and turns to get out of the car, although after a moment he stops and glances back at me. As he does so, I'm suddenly struck by the fear that this might be the last time I ever see him, and that thought terrifies me to my core.
“I'm sorry about some of the things I said earlier,” he continues. “I didn't mean to make you feel bad. And I'm sorry about some of the things you found out about me, and about the lies.” He pauses. “The truth is, Lizzie, I'm not a good man.”
“Of course you are,” I reply with tears in my eyes. “Dad, you're -”
“And I never have been,” he says, interrupting me. “I don't know why, but my instinct has always been to cheat and lie. To do what's best for me. To be cruel, sometimes. I have horrible, evil thoughts, and left unchecked I would do the worst things imaginable. When I met your mother, for the first time I wanted to be better. I still had all those thoughts, but your mother inspired me to try to be a good person. And then when you and your brother were born, the same thing happened all over again.” He pauses again for a moment. “Then all of this madness started. I lost your mother, and Henry too, and I thought I'd lost you for a while too. I was alone, and my worst instincts started to come back to the surface. I'd known Diane for a while as a colleague, but I swear nothing happened between us while I was with your mother. Nothing much, anyway. I had a few slips. I'm just the kind of man who needs someone to keep him on the right path. Someone to inspire him to be good. You do that for me, Lizzie. You shouldn't have to, but you do.”
I open my mouth to reply, but I'm honestly not sure what I'm supposed to say.
“I love you,” he adds, before climbing out of the car. “Now drive, Lizzie. There's a map in the pocket next to your seat, setting out the various routes you can take. Keep your lights off, at least for the first couple of hours, in case you attract attention. The city hasn't been encircled yet, so you should be fine, but you have to drive. All our lives depend on you!”
With that, he slams the door shut.
“I love you too!” I call out as he hurries away, but I don't know whether he heard. “Dad? I love you!”
I want to go after him, but he's already vanished into the darkness as for a moment I sit all alone in the cold car and I listen to the sound of rain drumming against the roof. For a moment, the idea of starting this car and driving away feels impossible, like an act of supreme cowardice. Then I look at the letter in the bag on the dashboard and I realize with a sense of horror that Dad might actually have meant every word that he said. We really are outnumbered here in Boston, and we really haven't got any help coming this way, and he really does need somebody to go out on a desperate mission to warn the people in Philadelphia and to get them to send reinforcements.
And out of all the people here in Boston, out of all the four hundred or so, I'm the one he trusts the most to get the job done.
I take a deep breath, before setting the letter on the seat next to me and then placing the gun on top to hold it down, and then I turn the key in the ignition and bring the engine to life. Then I reach into the pocket on the inside of the door and I take out what turns out to be a set of hastily-drawn instructions, along with some crude maps. For a few minutes I look at all the maps, trying to figure them out, and finally I'm able to see the route that Dad thinks I should take. I don't know Boston well, especially not beyond the central section that we've been using as our base, but the route seems pretty straightforward so I take a moment to make sure it's in my head and then I set it aside.
I turn the light off, and then I fumble to find the right pedals in the foot-well. I'm not exactly the world's most experienced driver. In fact, calling me a bad driver would be an insult to bad drivers everywhere, but after a moment even I'm able to get this car rolling forward, and I start slowly and carefully driving along the street.
Dad told me to keep the lights off, so I switch on the windshield wipers to get rid of the rain and then I lean forward and peer out. I'm just about able to see the way, and I know roughly which direction I need to go, so I increase the speed a little and continue to drive away. At least the streets are empty, since everyone's manning the lookout positions and getting ready to fight. There's still a part of me that feels bad, as if I'm being a coward by accepting this task, but I keep reminding myself that the whole city is waiting for these reinforcements. If I don't do this, or if I fail, Boston will fall.
So I drive.
I make my way through the dark, deserted streets. I cross the city and leave through the industrial suburbs, and I don't encounter another soul along the way. I guess Dad was right when he said the enemy hadn't yet managed to surround the city, which means that hopefully I have a clea
r road for the next few hundred miles.
And then, glancing at the rear-view mirror, I see that there's a faint orange glow on the horizon behind me.
Bringing the car to stop, I turn and look back toward the city. Rain is still pouring down, but I watch as the orange glow flickers and flares before dying down and then flaring again. There's only one possible explanation, which is that the battle for Boston has well and truly begun, and for a moment I can't help but imagine what it's like. In my mind's eye I see Natalie letting off shot after shot, and I see Violet and Michael and Rick and all the others doing their best to keep the city protected. I also see Dad directing operations from the Council's main chamber, probably with people like Diane and Charles trying to help as well. But it's Dad who'll be in charge, even though he started out as a doctor in this mess, because Dad's always the one with a plan. And right now, his plan is to hold the city while I go and fetch help.
“You don't actually think you've got a hope for pulling this off, do you?” a familiar voice asks suddenly.
I look straight ahead and grip the wheel.
It's not Bob.
I can't hallucinate Bob again, not right now.
When I glance in the mirror, however, I'm just about able to make out his face leering at me from the car's back seat.
“One stupid little girl driving out across the country?” he continues. “Is that the plan? All those people back there are going to get slaughtered, Lizzie. You're never going to be able to help them.”
“I'm not crazy,” I reply, staring straight ahead. “I'm sane. I can do this.”
“Give up, Lizzie. All you're doing is giving those poor bastards some false hope. That's cruel.”
“I'm not crazy,” I say again. “I just had a really bad day, that's all, and I slipped a little bit.”
“You're going to fail.”
“My name is Elizabeth Marter,” I say firmly, trying to keep myself focused, “and I am not insane. I just had one hell of a day, that's all.”
I take a deep breath, and out of the corner of my eye I see that Bob's no longer visible in the mirror.
After looking one more time at the glow on the horizon, I gently hit the gas pedal and start driving once more along the road.
“Good luck,” I whisper, thinking once more of all the others back in Boston. “You'll be fine. And I'll bring help.”
“Whatever,” Bob's voice says, as he reappears in the mirror. “You're hardly -”
“I'm not insane!” I blurt out, realizing that I have to stay focused in order to keep him away. “I just had a bad day. I had a hell of a bad day. My name is Elizabeth Marter. I'm sane. I just had a bad day.”
And he's gone again.
As long as I keep saying those words, as I keep reminding myself that I just had a bad day, I can do this. I can stay on the road and I can keep Bob out of my head and I can do the job that I was given. I can help save everyone in Boston, just so long as I keep the car's lights off to avoid attracting attention, and I keep driving, and I focus on making sure that not even a scintilla of Bob drifts back into my mind.
“It's going to be fine,” I whisper to myself through gritted teeth, as I grip the wheel and push the pedal to the floor. “My name is Elizabeth Marter and I've had one hell of a day.”
11pm
Thomas
There's a glow ahead, on the horizon.
The truck's windshield wipers are just about managing to do their job, and I can make out the lights of the other vehicles in our convoy. In the distance, however, there's now a faint orange glow burning on the horizon, and I feel a shiver pass through my chest as I realize that the battle must have begun. We're headed that way, although clearly we're going to be pretty late to the fight. The other groups must have arrived before us, and I guess they're trying to fight their way into Boston. We're just a little late, that's all.
I still don't understand how Carter was able to rally these people to her cause. I've been replaying her little speech over and over in my mind, trying to work out what appealed to the crowd, and I still don't know. Are they just latching on to anyone who can even pretend to be a leader? Or is there something about her, something I don't see, that makes other people react?
A bump in the road causes the truck to judder heavily, knocking me around in my seat, but I keep hold of the wheel. I don't know if I imagined it, but I think the rain just got even worse, and the pounding on the roof is incessant. Glancing over at the far corner of the windshield, I see drips of water starting to break through the damaged section that Joe was always planning to fix. I honestly don't know whether it'd honor his memory more to fix the damn thing, or to just let it carry on leaking until the truck is nothing more than a rusting hulk somewhere.
Suddenly there's a loud popping sound, and the rear left of the truck starts grinding against the road. I feel the vehicle slowing down, and several other cars and trucks move past.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, hoping against hope that this isn't too serious. “Don't fail me now.”
I can hear metal grinding against the asphalt, however, and deep down I already know that something must be wrong with the rear left wheel. More and more vehicles overtake us, until we're left at the very rear of the convoy and I have no choice but to steer the truck to the side of the road and bring it to a halt. I cut the engine, and immediately the rain sounds so much louder on the roof above. I can see the lights of the convoy's last vehicles already disappearing ahead into the rainy night, and I know that with each passing second I'm getting left further and further behind.
For a moment, I actually think about turning around. I could fix the wheel and then get out of here. Then again, I know that sticking with Sarah Carter, Patterson, Toad and the others is my only real option, other than heading out alone into the unknown. And that didn't work out so well the last time.
After opening the door, I grab the flashlight from the dashboard and then I step out into the rain. Within seconds I'm soaked to the bone, and I have to wipe rain out of my eyes as I switch the flashlight on and aim the beam at the truck's damaged wheel. To my relief, I see that there doesn't seem to be any damage other than a flat tire. That's something I can change without too much trouble. Any real damage would be a much more serious problem.
I head around to the truck's rear and grab my last spare tire, slipping it free from the ropes and then hauling it down. I picked this thing up at the town, in exchange for some of my rations, and now I'm glad I did. At the time, I figured I was just being over-cautious, but now it looks like this spare tire might damn near save my life. I grab the jack as well and then I head around to the side of the truck, and I kneel down in the rain to get started on the job of changing the tire. This isn't going to be easy, but Joe taught me how to fix pretty much anything on a truck so I guess I'll get it done eventually. And then I'll catch up to the convoy, hopefully before it's too late. I don't want to turn up after the fighting is over. I don't want to seem like a coward.
I work for a long time in the rain, struggling every step of the way. I don't know exactly how long it takes to get the tire changed, but it must be at least forty minutes, maybe fifty. I must be getting out of shape, because my arms are aching by the time I pull the jack away, but at least I've managed to get the job finished. I drag the old, ruined tire around to the rear of the truck and stow it away safely, just in case I later find something I can use it for, and then I put the jack back into place.
Glancing past the truck, I realize I can still see that faint glow in the distance, which means that the fighting' raging. If anything, the glow is a little brighter than before. I can't imagine what it's like in Boston right now, but I just hope that it ends before too many people get hurt. I finish fixing up the rear of the truck, and then I turn to head back around to the front.
Suddenly I hear a loud thudding sound somewhere near the driver's door, and I freeze. Whatever that was, it was loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain, and a moment later I hear so
mething slamming repeatedly into the metal. I stay completely still, trying to figure out what I'm hearing, but now there's only the sound of rain.
I almost call out, before thinking better of that idea.
Stepping around to the corner of the truck, I look along toward the driver's door and raise my flashlight, but there's no sign of anyone. I cast the beam around, checking that nobody is anywhere nearby, and then I make my way cautiously toward the door. I try to tell myself that I'm just getting jumpy, that it's natural for me to be imagining things, but deep down I know that the thudding noise was too distinct, too clear even against the backdrop of all this rain, for it to have been anything other than what it sounded like.
Something hit the side of my truck, and it happened several times.
A moment later, as if to confirm that fact, I hear another thud, this time coming from the truck's other side. I look around to see if I can spot anything, but all I see is rain dashing the windshield. I hesitate for a few seconds, and then I crouch down and shine the flashlight under the truck.
I flinch as soon as I see a pair of boots on the other side, around by the passenger-side door. The boots are big and black and bulky, and for some reason I feel like I've seen them somewhere before.
Getting back up, I peer through the truck's window and spot something moving out on the other side. There's definitely somebody there, although I can't imagine who'd be out here on the road so close to midnight. Then, seeing something written on the side of the figure's upper arm, I squint and peer more closely, and then I realize that I know exactly who I've found.
“McGuinness?” I whisper, barely able to believe the truth. “What the hell?”
For a moment I'm too shocked to know what to do, but then a sudden burst of relief hits me as I realize that she's alright after all. I race around the front of the truck, and then I stop as I see that she has her back to me. I pause for a few seconds, as my relief starts to sour a little and I realize that McGuinness seems to be leaning a little to one side, as if she's sick. Somehow, deep down, I've got this really strong got feeling that something is really wrong here.
