by R. K. Weir
"I can try," he says. One look at the man and I can tell there's nothing to be done. He's long dead. Still, she moves away from his body so that Logan can crouch over him. The first thing he does is check for a pulse. When he finds none, he moves down to inspect the man's hands that sit lifeless on either side of him. Logan wrenches open the stiff fingers and from them an empty pill bottle rolls out. Logan glances at the bottle and then looks up at the girl.
"He swallowed all these?" he asks. Or she shoved them down his throat, I think.
She begins nodding. "He said they would make him happy."
"How long ago did he take them?" Logan asks softly.
"Three days ago, he always has been fond of sleeping in," she replies. "This time I can't seem to wake him up, though."
Her face is bleached with the dream-like expression that only madness can paint. It hasn't left since we found her and I think it most likely holds a permanent position on her pretty features. Eyes the color of dust scour Logan's face for answers but he only looks back at me with a frown.
"I'm sorry . . ." he tells her, hesitation snagging his voice. "But he isn't sleeping."
Pink lips trembling, she sucks in a breath and looks down at the dead man. Dark hair and gray eyes, the resemblance between them is striking. Siblings. Twins, possibly. If I weren't so on edge I might actually feel sorry for her. But instead I only feel apprehension, waiting for those cloudy eyes to turn into a storm. Will she pounce without warning? Does she have a weapon? Or is this whole thing a trap? She's clearly not right in the head and that makes her unpredictable.
The storm doesn't come though, only rain. She throws herself over the man's body, her arms wrapping around his neck like a vice as sobs shake her small frame. I glance around to make sure there's no one sneaking up on us – in case this is just a staged act – and settle once I find the diner empty. Logan stands up and distances himself from the two of them. I take the opportunity to grab onto his arm and begin tugging him away while she's distracted.
"What are you doing?" he hisses, rooting himself to the spot after I've only managed to move him a few steps.
"She's nuts!" I hiss back, "let's get out of here!"
"She's grieving, and it looks like she's all alone." He twists to look back at her.
"No," I say, "she's insane! Just look at her!"
"You didn't look much different when I found you in the hotel." He pulls his arm out of my grasp and I can already tell what he's thinking.
"She isn't coming with us," I say quickly. He glances back at me and I have to grab his arm again to get his full attention. "No, Logan!"
"She needs our help!"
My thoughts are frantic now, trying to think of what will convince him. I can argue that she'll just be another mouth to feed, a liability, someone else to worry about. But none of that will matter to him. So what else can I say if he doesn't believe she's insane?
"She'll be fine," I offer weakly. Logan begins to scowl at this.
"Seriously, Stella? How can you still be this selfish?" he growls.
For a reason I can't explain, this upsets me more than it should and I find myself becoming furious at him. Maybe because I know it's the truth.
"How can you still be this guilty?" I bite back. "Just because your daughter is dead you think it's your mission to save every young girl you come across?" I know I've crossed a line before I've even finished speaking, and I quickly wish that I could stuff the words back into my mouth. Pain flashes in his eyes and I can't look into them so I turn my gaze to the floor.
"Besides, we're supposed to be finding gas, not people," I add hastily, a poor attempt to jump topics. I don't dare look up at him. Instead I look to the girl whose head has popped up and swiveled around to stare at us like that of an owl.
With wide eyes and a sniffle, she says, "I know where you can find gas."
CHAPTER NINE
Logan
Searing hot anger floods my veins, overwhelms everything else, and then bubbles into confusion. The words ransack my mind and put me into such a haze that I don't even know how to react or feel. They just replay themselves over and over.
Just because your daughter is dead you think it's your mission to save every young girl you come across?
Is that what I'm doing? Would I want to help this girl – would I have helped Stella – if my daughter were alive? Would I even be helping Stella now? It's a question I have to think about for a good measure of time, and even then I'm uncertain of the answer. All those times I didn't help people, I felt immeasurable guilt for days after. So is that really my only motivator? Guilt? I'd like to think I'm helping people for a better reason than that, because I want to help them, because it's the right thing to do.
I'm so enveloped in my thoughts that I'm only vaguely aware the grieving girl has said something. I just manage to pull myself back in time to catch Stella's reply.
"You know where we can find gas?" she asks cautiously. This captures my attention fully, and in an instant my head has snapped around so that I'm looking at the girl. Wide-set eyes stare back at me, curious but hesitant to proceed.
"Do you?" I prod lightly. If she does, that would be a massive weight lifted from my shoulders. She begins to nod slowly, eyes flickering between Stella and I. She looks terrified. The sound of a pin drop might be enough to scare her away.
"What's your name?" I ask. It's a simple question, or at least I thought it would be, but it somehow manages to puzzle her.
"My name?" she mutters, standing up from the body. "My name . . ." she repeats, this time more as a question to herself. She has to think about it for a moment, and then with a quiet voice she says, "like a mouse." Her eyes widen at this revelation. "Yes!" she exclaims with a nod, "just like a mouse! Much like a mouse!"
The more she talks, the more I'm inclined to agree with Stella's judgement. Maybe grief isn't the only thing dictating this girl's mind. But if she knows where to find gas, then it's something I'm willing to overlook. Besides, she doesn't look like the dangerous type.
"Maisie?" she says uncertainly, and then nods, "Maisie."
I introduce myself and Stella and then ask, "Can you tell us where the gas is, Maisie?" She begins to shake her head, dark hair flying about her pale face as she does so.
"Nonsense!" she spits, "to tell you is nonsense! I'll take you there! Taking you there is real!" Her voice is so light that I'm convinced this is as loud as she can shout, as if someone is asleep on her tongue and she's afraid of waking them. "I just need to get my dog and then we'll be off!" She spins around, skips over the body on the floor and disappears into the backroom.
I'm more concerned now than I was before. Her sudden indifference towards the dead boy has me wondering if her tears earlier were genuine. And her insistence to take us to the gas instead of telling us where it is . . . it could be a trap. Or it could just be the rambling actions of a mad girl. I'm more inclined to believe that she's harmless, but following her is the only way to find out for sure.
"Logan," Stella says, and I don't need to analyze the tone of her voice to know what she thinks.
"She's gonna help us find gas, and then, we'll see. . ." I don't like the idea of abandoning her, alone and the way she is. But I can't imagine taking her with us either.
"To her, gas is probably a rock on the other side of the road," Stella says.
"Well it's all we've got!" I snap. I'm bitter about her comment from earlier because a part of me believes what she said. But I don't want to think about that right now, I just want to focus on finding fuel and getting out of this goddamn city. And if the only way to achieve that is to follow the rants of a lunatic, then it's something I'm more than willing to do.
"What about the dog then?" Stella asks, "it'll be loud and another mouth to feed."
"Try to be a little positive, would you? It can alert us to danger and might make good company." At this point a dog would be a welcome companion. At least it wouldn't talk back. But when Maisie returns, it isn't a dog th
at she's carrying. It's a lamp.
"His name is Spot," she says, and then holds it out to me. "Would you like to pet him?"
From behind me, I hear Stella snicker. Her assessment of the situation just proves more accurate by the minute, and suddenly I'm rethinking if following this girl really is the best course of action. I decide to test the waters more before disregarding her completely though.
"Maisie, are you sure you know where we can find gas?" I ask. Her eyes bounce between me and the 'dog' and I realize she's waiting for me to pet it. Reaching my hand out, I run my fingers along its dark, wooden body. Satisfied, she begins nodding again.
"Of course! It's all with the Gas Man, he's gone around drinking all the cars."
"The Gas Man?" I wonder aloud. She nods again.
"He loves meeting new people, but he's not very good at making friends. They never seem to stick around for long. That's why he buys them," she says.
"He buys them?" I echo, unsure of exactly what she means. She only nods and turns her attention to petting the lamp.
"Maybe she means he trades gas in exchange for trust? Like buying out someone so they'll be on your side?" Stella says. I think about this for a moment before deciding that she's probably right. At least it makes sense. And it explains why all the cars are empty.
"That's right," Maisie nods, smiling at Stella. "he wants friends."
Uncertainty stills tug at me, but her story has redeemed her credibility somewhat, and I'm back to believing again that she is our best chance of finding gas.
"Alright, let's meet back up with Rocket and Gale at the Jeep and then we'll all go together," I say.
"More friends?" Maisie chirps, "how lovely."
I nod before remembering the boy on the floor. "Do you want a minute to say goodbye to your friend?"
She glances back at the body. "Oh, him?" she says. "That's my brother, it looks like he's sleeping right now. He always has liked sleeping in. I don't think he'll wake up before we get back, it should be fine."
For a brief moment I think she might be joking, or so entrenched in grief that she's repressing the fact that he's dead. Looking into her eyes offers no indication of what she's really thinking, because despite staring directly at me, they look like they're seeing something else entirely. But it doesn't matter what she's thinking, it's more than clear that madness has bent her mind out of shape, and if she wants to believe that her brother is only sleeping, then I'm not inclined to tell her the truth a second time.
So I offer a nod instead and lead the three of us out of the diner and onto the street. I give a final glance to the body before closing the door behind me. Blank, lifeless eyes watch us leave, and I can't help but wonder if he was as mad as his sister, or sane and trying to keep her safe. Somehow I think it must have been the latter. I can't imagine how they would have survived this long without one of them knowing the difference between a dog and a lamp.
I don't understand how Maisie can think he's sleeping when his eyes are wide open. I wish they were shut, but instead he stares directly at me, and watches as I take his sister away from him. It compels me to make him a promise, that I'll keep her safe. It doesn't escape me that my motivation stems purely from guilt, but just as Stella's words begin to ring in my ears again, I shut the door and force them out. As we walk down the street I try not to think of the promise I just made, because I don't think it's one I'll be able to keep.
Just like Stella's words, I choose to force that thought out as well.
The walk back to the Jeep takes a lot longer than I expected. It actually makes me glad to have found Maisie. Counting the number of cars I checked, I doubt now that I ever would have found one with anything left in it. This Gas Man really must have taken it all. Despite how much it's inconvenienced us, I can't deny that it's a smart move. As the only supplier he'd be able to ask for anything in exchange for a single drop. Thinking about this worries me, because there's nothing we own that he could possibly want. In fact, I can count the things we own on one hand, and besides the gun, none of those things are worth much.
We get back to the Jeep before Rocket and Gale, but it's not long before we spot them up the road. Even from a distance I can see that their hands are empty – just one more thing to worry about.
"This car is very yellow," Maisie says, reaching a hand out and resting it on the hood. I spare her a glance but quickly shift my focus back to Rocket and Gale.
"No luck?" I call out to them. Their hands are empty but I'm holding on to the hope that maybe their pockets are full. Rocket shakes her head.
"We didn't exactly get very far," she says, shooting a glare in Gale's direction. He flinches and casts his eyes to the ground. "I see you found something though," she nods at Maisie. Before I even have a chance to get a word in, Stella bounces to Rocket's side.
"She's completely insane!" If she meant to whisper, she failed. I cast a nervous glance over to where Maisie stands, only a few feet away on the other side of the car. She's looking at her reflection in the side-view mirror. If she's heard – which I'm sure she has – she makes no indication that she cares. Rocket's brow arches in question, but before I answer it I glare at Stella.
"Why is she carrying a lamp?" Rocket asks, eyeing Maisie curiously.
"She thinks it's a dog," Stella tells her. When Rocket sees that she isn't joking, she turns to me.
"Logan?" she demands.
"She knows where to get gas," I say. It's the only defense I have, the only acceptable reason as to why I would bring back a mentally ill girl when I was supposed to be finding fuel.
"Or so she says," Stella adds. I decide to ignore her this time and instead focus on explaining to Rocket and Gale the situation. Her story of the 'Gas Man' and how he's taken all the fuel so he can operate as the main trading hub in the city.
"And you believe her?" Rocket asks.
"It makes sense doesn't it? Why all the cars are empty," I say. She thinks about this for a minute, but the three of them still look unconvinced. It makes me wonder why I've so easily accepted the story as truth. But I decide there's no use arguing about it and I tell them as much. The only way to find out for sure is to follow her and see for ourselves.
So instead of debating further, I introduce Maisie to them, gritting my teeth through the process and hoping she doesn't say anything to instill further doubt. Besides pointing out that Rocket's head is on fire, she manages to act somewhat normal, offering a polite "Hello" and little else. She almost seems shy. When she moves on to scrutinizing Gale's glasses though, I decide to jump in before she has a chance to say anything else.
"So how far away are we from the Gas Man?" I ask.
"About ten minutes if we're flying," she says. I try not to notice the look Stella and Rocket give each other.
"And if we're not?"
"Then about two days," she nods.
I frown at this. Two days is more time than we'd need to walk from one edge of the city to the other. Maybe she doesn't quite understand how time works? I decide to interpret her answer as saying it will be awhile before we get there. Something I'm not overly enthusiastic about. There's no stringent schedule that we need to keep to, but still, the longer things take the more chances there are for things to go wrong.
Only now, with every pair of eyes settling on me, awaiting my response, do I realize that I've taken on the role of leader. And with that realization, the overbearing pressure that comes with it drops on me all at once, as if I'm carrying the moon on my back and gravity is doing everything it can to crush me. What happens if during this trip, one of us dies? The moon only grows in size at the thought. How guilty will I feel then?
Then there's the fact that we don't have any food or water. Will we find some along the way or will we have to ask the Gas Man for more than just fuel? All the variables and possible scenarios begin to play out in my head and I have very little control over any of them.
"Well, should we get going then?" Rocket asks. I must have kept them waiting for longer
than I thought. Hesitating a moment, I give a nod and turn to Maisie.
"Lead the way, then," I say. Our best chance, I've decided, lies with the Gas Man. I pray he's generous, but a snag in the back of my mind tells me that he won't be. Funneling all the fuel from every car, forcing desperate people to seek him out. These are not the actions of a generous man.
Like a small bird, Maisie skips ahead, bouncing down the street on her tiptoes, I almost expect her to take flight and go fluttering up into the air. But she remains grounded and slows down at the end of the road so that we can catch up with her.
"It's almost like the Wizard of Oz, isn't it?" Rocket comments after a while.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
She smiles and points at Maisie. "She's the yellow brick road leading us to the wizard."
"And Gale's the Cowardly Lion," I add, seeing the correlation now and glancing back to make sure he hasn't heard me. Him and Stella are walking silently a few feet behind us.
"And you can be the Scarecrow," she chuckles. I smile back at her.
"If I'm the Scarecrow, then you can be Toto."
She scoffs, "Stella can be Toto, I'm Dorothy!"
"No, Stella's the Tin Man," I say, a sharp edge to my words.
"Because she doesn't have a heart? That's a bit cold." Rocket frowns at me but I avoid her gaze and choose to keep an eye on Maisie instead. It may have been cold, and I may have only said it because of Stella's earlier remark, but that doesn't make the comparison any less fitting.
Our conversation dies then, and like Stella and Gale, we walk in silence. Maisie leads us down streets that I'm familiar with, having come here almost every weekend back when things were normal. It's strange seeing everything empty. Places I've frequented are almost unrecognizable without the mass crowds, pushing in every direction. I feel lost in my own city.
After a few hours of walking the sky begins to bruise. I have no intention of walking in the dark, but it feels like night has come too quickly and we've barely made any progress. Whenever I ask Maisie for an update she just says "Far" or "Closer". I begin to doubt if she actually knows or is only guessing. When the sky becomes more purple than orange, I decide to stop her before the full force of night falls upon us.
