by Ann Christy
It’s what I would have said if I could have thought clearly, if I wasn’t so rattled that I descended into calling someone a name. I twine my fist into the back of his shirt, hoping he understands that it means that I love him and that I thank him. His arm squeezes me around the waist in response, so I think he must.
There’s silence for a moment. No one says a word. I wipe my eyes on Charlie’s shirt and look up, partly embarrassed, partly angry, and entirely resolved.
Tom nods at me, but I’m not sure what that nod means. Does it mean he understands and takes back his demand or does it mean that he is going to find a way around me?
Maybe it means he’s going to try another tactic to get me to agree, because he says, “Veronica, how much control does Emily have over Luke?”
This is a trap and I know it. He knows the answer as well as I do. In the past few days, as Luke has improved in condition, it’s become clear that even if he is human again, he’s not entirely human. Emily can control him like a puppet or an extension of herself. She hums her little tune or makes eye contact, or does something else none of us can register, and Luke does something in response.
He doesn’t even understand why he does it. We’ve asked him and he can’t put it into words. His enhanced sense of smell remains, and some of the others think it might be some sort of chemical communication.
Whatever it is, Luke is entirely tame. Entirely. Gloria has confirmed that he was an active…and brutal…participant in what happened to her. He’s the one who used the heated tin can against her tongue wound. If he was like that then, he’s certainly not now.
Even she was amazed at him. It’s like he’s been lobotomized or something. He seems to have very little volition of his own when Emily is nearby. He recognized Gloria when she came down, but seemed entirely unaffected by her presence. He even knows he used to be an in-betweener and that doesn’t seem to bother him at all. The whole thing is weird.
But if Luke has no ambition, Emily has enough for both of them and even I think it’s getting dangerous. We caught him trying to reach for the keys to Emily’s cage using strips of laminate he tore off the desktops in his cage. We had to strap him back down after that, not knowing what else he might do if he remained chained, but mobile. It was only then that he struggled against us and it wasn’t until Charlie asked Emily to make him stop that he did.
So yes, I know she has control over him. She might have that kind of control over the in-betweeners still inside the cage for all we know. They simply can’t do anything, strapped down as they are.
Still.
When I look back up at Tom, he continues speaking. “If she can control in-betweeners, then we have a potential army at our disposal. And with that army, we might be able to do something. In-betweeners don’t make plans and don’t try to protect themselves, but if they had a leader, we might have a shot against those military people and their guns.”
Again Charlie squeezes me around the waist, but instead of just comforting me, he looks down at me and says, “We should try. If we give her the cure now, we have no way of knowing if that control will go away.”
I know I’m losing. I’m losing not because I’m giving up, but because they’re right. We have a tool that no one else has. It’s just my bad luck—and Emily’s bad luck—that it turns out to be the person I love most in this world.
“Fine,” I say, looking only at Charlie. I couldn’t bear to see victory in anyone else right now. This feels like a betrayal and there’s no getting around it. “But we try it with our in-betweeners first.”
*****
Emily gets the two in-betweeners and Luke into the back of the truck with hardly a hitch. Other than the two uncured losing focus for a moment and sniffing the air like dogs left too long without sunshine and grass, they clamber up into the truck and squat there exactly as we asked Emily to make them do.
When it’s her turn, she climbs up and tosses the end of her chain toward Luke. He does just as he did for the other two, securing the padlocks so that none of the in-betweeners can jump down. He doesn’t have the key, but he’ll be given it when it comes time to set them loose and run the test of her control.
Emily watches him lock her in, then turns in her chains to look down at me, meeting my gaze in a way that reminds me a lot of her old self. Does she feel betrayed? Does she understand? Or does she think this is just an outing and have no concept of the danger we’re putting her in?
I can’t tell. She nods at me, sniffs the air a moment, then wrinkles her brow. Standing in the back of the truck as she is, she’s much taller than I, so she squats and sniffs at me again. After another long moment of looking at me, while the others stand well away from the truck with their weapons aimed in our direction, she says, “Don bai zad, Fronica.”
Don’t be sad, Veronica.
It’s almost enough to start me crying again. Maybe that’s what she can smell on me, all the tears I’ve shed over the last couple of days since we came to this decision.
I back away from the truck bed and stand to the side, so that Tom can see me in the side mirror. I wave that he can go and the two people at the gate swing it open as he lurches into gear. The last thing I see as the truck rolls out of sight is Emily’s shining head of black hair above the side-walls of the truck, facing forward. She never looks back.
Five Weeks Ago – Hunt and Gather
The military trucks have been gone for a full week, their former camp now a disaster area of litter, latrine trenches, and tire-churned earth. When the latest patrol returned this morning, confirming no further sightings and no fires, it seemed like someone lit a fire under our group.
Maybe we’re all just a little stir-crazy from so much inactivity and hiding inside while the summer cooks us slowly, but I feel it as much as I see it in the others. Tom, who is very quickly becoming our leader, directs that nervous and anxious energy in productive ways.
I’m outside the fence-line with Charlie and Savannah. She’s acting as guard, while Charlie and I gather what we can from all the plants we transplanted out here. Onions and most potatoes aren’t quite big enough to dig for yet, but the tops will soon die back, so we poke brightly colored markers into the ground near the plants so we’ll be able to find them later.
Most of the other transplants didn’t make it and it saddens me to see the rotted green tomatoes on their limp vines. But, we also planted loads of squash of all kinds out here, simply poking the seeds into the dirt of the field and letting them go as they will. Within minutes, I’ve got four big baskets full of all kinds of squash. The dehydrating stations, if we dare to use them, will be going constantly. There certainly won’t be any power left over for charging music players. The fans on those machines will need every bit of power we can suck from the sky.
“Holy mackerel,” Charlie says from the edge of the field near the trees. “Come and look.”
“Shh,” Savannah hisses back, looking around us to be sure that nothing more dangerous than a beetle heard him.
I drop my basket with a groan, stretch my back, and look to Savannah for permission. She shakes her head in annoyance, but waves me on all the same. I jog over to where Charlie stands, his head leaned back as he looks up into a tree.
“Wow,” I say when I see what he’s looking at.
“That’s squash!” he exclaims, then looks back at Savannah. More quietly, he says, “It’s all through the trees. See those yellow squashes up there?”
He’s right. It’s crawled everywhere, twining up over the fallen trees and limbs until the vines have reached all the way up into the lower branches. And everywhere, there are huge, yellow squashes peeking out from the rampant greenery. I know that Kudzu is going to be a real problem for us here in the south now that we aren’t trying to fight it, but I never once considered that squash might try to take over the world.
“Good thing we both like it, eh?” Charlie asks, putting his arm around my shoulder.
It’s strange. We’re doing all this stuff, try
ing to win whatever it is we’re trying to win, trying to overcome every obstacle and scratch out some tiny spot of safety for ourselves in this world. Yet right here is nature, coming back with a vengeance and completely oblivious to our struggles. Nature is creating a garden only for itself.
“Yeah, good thing,” I say, hugging him.
*****
“Dinner!” Savannah calls.
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m exhausted from hauling about a billion pounds of squash from the fields, but I’m even hungrier than I am tired.
When I jog up to the table in the courtyard, ready to fill my plate, Charlie turns around and says, “I bet you’ll never guess what we’re having.” Then he holds up his plate, which is filled with squash.
“Shocking,” I say and laugh.
“Boiled, sautéed, fried up in spices—by the way, I’d skip that since I think Savannah just dumped random stuff in there—and raw for the salad. It’s all squash,” he says. Then he takes his very yellow plate of food off to find a spot for us where everyone will gather.
He’s right. There’s nothing that isn’t squash or mostly squash on the table. I take his advice and avoid the fried squash that looks suspiciously brownish-red—I’m guessing paprika again—but load up on everything else. I don’t even make it to the circle before digging in, not bothering with my fork.
I’m almost the last one to join the group. Even Gloria and the kids are in their spots and tucked in for a good feed, and they’re usually last because the kids dawdle so. I squeeze in between Charlie and Matt, licking the squash off my fingers as I do.
They’re already talking, but I’m going to follow the five-minute rule here, and not just because I’m eating my weight in vegetables either.
“Do you think you can get in and out?” Gregory asks Tom, who seems to be really enjoying his meal, if the huge bite he takes is any indication.
Tom nods, but looks to Roger to answer while he chews.
“We can do it, but we’ll need noise at the fence to draw them over and that’s risky. Our group is actually pretty good at it. We had to do something similar the whole way down here to find you or else we wouldn’t have eaten. So, yeah, I think we can get a quick in-and-out, but taking the time to harvest inside the fence? No, not unless we kill off the in-betweeners inside and that would take a lot of time and a lot of ammo.”
Tom finally swallows his mouthful and says, “Thanks, Roger. And yes, that’s what I was going to say. It’s worth it to check their houses for food, but not to try to harvest anything that survived. That’s too exposed and it would take too much time. And, considering how all those in-betweeners were wandering around inside the fence, it’s probably useless to try. They’ve no doubt trampled most of it.”
“And if not,” Charlie asks.
“If not, we’ll just have to see what we see. There’s no rule that says we can’t go back. Plus, that corn outside their fence is the kind you can dry. It used to be what people grew for animal feed, but it’s just fine for us to eat. So, we’ll get that even without whatever might be left of the gardens inside,” Roger says.
I figure my five minutes are up, so I say, “I’d like to go on this run. I’m quick and quiet.”
Tom nods my direction and says, “And we’d be glad to have you.”
“Who else is going? Is there room for me?” Charlie asks. He’s so sweet I want to kiss him. I know he’s asking to go because of me.
Savannah pipes up, of course. “It’s a better question to ask who is staying. We’ve got kids here and if anything happens, like those military trucks showing up, I want to be sure we have cover.”
Tom looks down, his smiles gone. Roger pats him on the back until he clears his throat and says, “We’ve lost a few of our own, and we’ve got two on patrol, but if we wait till they come back and don’t send out another patrol, we can get by with our old group plus one. And we’d need someone light on their feet, so Veronica would be a good fit.”
Before Charlie can make any arguments, I say, “Perfect! Charlie’s a much better shot than I am, so he should stay anyway.”
He knows what I’m doing, but he’s letting me get away with it. He leans close to me and whispers, “Be careful.”
“Yeah, I will. I need to do something other than watch in-betweeners right now. I’ve been here for too long while everyone else goes on runs. I need to get out and pull my weight some.”
I dig back into my food in order to avoid looking at Charlie. His expression is making me feel guilty for wanting to go. But I definitely do want to go. I’ll do almost anything to take my mind off the endless wait for word from the hospital.
*****
I’m not so eager now that I see the place. We park the truck well back from the fence so that the in-betweeners inside won’t hear us approach. We only have two barrels of fuel—what was left inside the bed of the truck when it was abandoned—but I’m grateful for the ability to actually get somewhere without it being on a bike or by foot. It’s amazing, really. I can’t believe how much I took for granted before it all went away.
We creep up on the fence from the cover of the houses outside the fence line. The yards that have grown high with the grain these poor people planted before they were killed covers us in between porches and overhangs. Everyone is so tense I can feel it. I’m so tightly wound that I feel like my tendons should be making thwanging noises whenever I bend my legs to take another step.
I can see through the fence and they weren’t exaggerating. There are dozens of in-betweeners inside scattered all over the place. Some are lying down in haphazard fashion, while others are at the fence. A few of them have tried the fence and are entwined in the tangles of barbed and razor wire there. Wide red stains mar the metal supports where they are, but even so, they’re still alive. Given the sluggish and repetitive way they’re moving, I’m guessing they’re descending into deaderhood. Without blood, that happens faster, and every new cut would shed more of it.
Tom holds up a hand for us to halt and we do, squeezing under the overhang of someone’s abandoned back porch. “Now we wait,” he says, eyes steady on the space beyond the fence.
Jeremy is standing next to me, his hands bouncing a little at his sides as if he’s getting ready to run at the fence. He’s so antsy, I’m glad he’s not my partner. Instead of him, I have Karen. She’s steady, surprisingly fast, and one of the best of the scavengers. I’m hoping I won’t disappoint her.
I tighten the straps on my backpack and check my load. Crossbows are too slow for this, so we’ve all got handguns, lots of them. I’m wearing four of them with enough extra clips to shoot for a good while if the need arises. We’ve also got pokers, in my case a broomstick with the sharpened blade taken from a hedge-trimmer attached to it.
I actually give a start when Tom speaks again. “All the gardens I can see from here are trashed. Don’t stop at any of those. Go straight for the houses.”
We all nod and then the silence is broken by the sound of thrash-metal blaring out from the other side of their fenced enclave. Tom looks at us over his shoulder and says, “That garbage would make anyone crazy. Let’s hope it works for in-betweeners.”
Jeremy snorts and mutters, “I like it. That’s my music.”
I almost laugh, but I realize it’s a nervous laugh, so I suck it back down and take a few deep breaths, pushing them out through pursed lips to calm down. Karen gives me a little smile of encouragement and mouths, “You’re ready.”
Tom almost echoes her words when he says, “We’re almost there. Get ready.”
I peer around Tom’s huge shoulders to see that the in-betweeners are making a rushed beeline for the other side of the enclave. I see nothing but backs, but their strange in-betweener screams are clear enough. The music is incredibly loud, but even over that, the screams are ear-piercing. A few doors bang and more in-betweeners come out of some of the houses, joining their fellows in the rush toward the noise.
A grunt escapes Tom and he
says, “Bonus. But be careful of the houses. You all know the drill.”
After a few more endless minutes waiting, Tom holds up his hand again, signaling us that it’s almost time. We have our assignments, so I know where to go on paper, but in real life, it all looks very different. Instead of squares on paper, these are real houses that block the views from one house to the next, and the windows have curtains that will prevent me from seeing if there’s anyone inside.
It’s much more terrifying in real life than when discussing it over a scratched out diagram.
“Go!” Tom hisses.
The three with the ladders rush for a spot on the fence that can’t be seen from the other side of the little enclave. Within seconds, they have the first tall ladder against the fence. The first one up carries a couple of moving blankets that he tosses over the tangles of razor and barbed wire, then he hoists up a second ladder and lays it across the gap in the two fences now covered in blankets. Then he scrambles across the gap, while another person climbs up with another ladder. Then, they prop the third ladder against the other side of the fence. It will still be a tricky business getting up and over, but we’ll be able to do it.
Jeremy and his partner are first over, then Karen and I take our turn. The way the ladder wobbles against the chain link makes my stomach churn, and getting over to the other ladder is terrifying, but Tom did a good job planning this and it works. Going across the ladder braced over top of the double wall of fences is the scariest part.
Once my feet hit the ground, Karen pokes my back and we’re off. Both of us have our pokers up and ready. There’s likely to be shooting if anyone enters a home with more than a single in-betweener inside, but if at all possible, we want to take care of stragglers with our pokers or hammers. If we start firing, the music might not be enough.
