The Legion

by Melissa Delport

  I turn back to Tim, who has gone frighteningly still in my arms, and I push everything else from my mind. It feels as though I am watching what is happening through a veil, as though I’m not really there.

  “Hush,” I murmur, as he whimpers in pain and fear. I stroke his forehead, whispering soft words of comfort as he slowly slips away. I hold him until long after he is gone, rocking back and forth on my knees, humming softly under my breath. Reed leans forward, runs his hand down Tim’s face to close his eyes, and then he stands and goes to join the others, giving me all the time that I need.

  Eventually I rise to my feet, bending and lifting the lifeless body over my shoulder.

  “Bex?” Reed asks, stepping forward.

  “We bury him,” I answer his question, walking past the others. We still have a long way to go to reach the cars, and the others fall into step behind me, silently.

  “I can help,” Reed offers, a few miles later.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I decline, smiling sadly at him. I welcome the physical hardship. Carrying the heavy, precious burden is my penance for failing him. I am responsible for the Legion, for Tim, and I failed. I don’t blame myself. What happened was a tragedy, and deep down I know that there was nothing I could have done to prevent it, but every step I take is like a tribute to the fearless, feckless soldier who gave his life trying to save others.

  “We can do it here,” Reed murmurs a short while later.

  “No,” I shake my head. “Not in this godforsaken, awful place.”

  Chapter 26

  We pass by one of the nuclear craters and I stop for a minute, staring down at the insignificant looking hollow, one of many that caused such massive loss of human life. What were we thinking? How did we let this happen? Feeling the tears falling freely, I continue on, the others keeping their distance, allowing me my time to grieve. When we reach the place where the cars are parked, I leave the Ordinary to deal with their own loss, and I set off with my Legion soldiers to bury our fallen hero. It is no remarkable site that we choose as his final resting place, just a simple, shallow grave in the middle of nowhere, but at least it is far enough out of the city that a few green shoots have made their way through the dry cracked earth. I sink to my knees by the mound of sand that marks his grave, placing a hand on the warm soil. There are no words to encompass what I want to say, so I settle for a simple “thank you”. One by one, the others drop to their knees and do the same, and then it is over. We stand and walk away, without looking back.

  I notice immediately that something is up when we return to the group. No one will meet my eye except Adam, who looks like he has something on his mind. Studiously avoiding the small mound of fresh earth that marks Diesel’s grave, I walk straight up to him, expectantly.

  “Rebecca,” he begins hesitantly, “this may not be the best time, but I think we should continue our search of the West Coast.” I am stunned into silence and he continues more confidently. “I’d like to travel north, as far as San Francisco. We can search the smaller towns in between, on the way.”

  “Are you insane?” I round on him angrily. “What’s the point? In case you haven’t noticed we lost two people back there.” Reed appears at my side, sensing my distress.

  “And we saved two,” Adam answers calmly.

  “Okay, I know my maths isn’t the best, but I’d say that’s a pretty big waste of time. No offence,” I add, glancing at Henry and Sofia, who are resting nearby. The entire group has gone deathly quiet, eavesdropping on our conversation.

  “Rebecca,” Adam continues placatingly, “this is all new to you, and the Los Angeles trip was a tragic start. But it’s not always like that. We save a lot more lives than we lose; our entire community is made up of rescued souls.” I clench my jaw angrily to keep from biting out a scathing retort.

  “I’d like to come along,” Henry pipes up, and Adam swivels around to face him. “I’m a doctor, after all. I think I could be of some use.” Everyone’s a hero, I think irritably.

  “Sofia is weak,” I point out and Henry looks torn. I know he will not leave the young woman.

  “I will be fine!” The answer is the last thing I expect, and I turn to see Sofia glaring at me, her jaw set stubbornly. She is certainly looking a lot better than when we first found her, and I see a glimpse of a rare, wild Hispanic beauty beneath her frail exterior.

  “I’m going to send a few of my men back to rendezvous with the others. Big Boy, Little Chef, Aidan and Crackerjack. We don’t need them here and . . .”

  “Aidan is not going anywhere without me,” I interrupt Adam sharply and I sense Reed stiffen beside me. “It’s not that,” I hasten to add, trying not to look at Aidan to see his reaction to my words. “It’s not that,” I repeat, shaking my head at Reed. Turning back to Adam I try to explain. “Alex is back there. My son. He thinks his father is dead, there is no way Aidan is waltzing back into his life without me being there to explain. Aidan has no memory, do you have any idea what that is going to do to Alex? He’s only five years old.” I can’t resist any longer and I glance quickly at Aidan. I am satisfied to see that he is looking suitably concerned. Reed’s face is devoid of any emotion and, as usual, Adam looks pensive. Everyone else is intentionally looking anywhere but at me.

  “You’re right,” Adam concedes, eventually. “I’m sorry Rebecca, I hadn’t thought of Alex. Aidan will accompany us. If you don’t mind, the others can take the Jeep back to your base in Vegas.”

  “We’re out of supplies,” I point out.

  “Loader and Archer will return to Kingman, Peter will give them the food supplies we need.”

  “I thought we weren’t taking more from Peter than necessary,” I say scathingly, guilt fuelling my sarcasm but, typically, Adam doesn’t react.

  “Peter knows I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. He’ll provide.”

  I consider this for a moment.

  “Okay, fine, Loader and Archer will fetch the supplies from Kingman. Morgan and David will take the Humvee and accompany Crackerjack, Big Boy and Little Chef home. The rest of us better get packed, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.

  “Rebecca, I think we should stay,” David urges when he hears that I am sending him and Morgan back.

  “No.” I smile at him fondly. “You need to protect them and direct them to headquarters. It’s been too long since we left home, they’re going to be worried.” It has been more than seven weeks since we left and although children have little concept of time, and I had not specifically told Alex how long I would be gone, I need him to know that I am safe and will be home soon. I am also desperate to know that everything is okay back at base. I have not forgotten the convoy of NUSA soldiers on the loose in the Rebeldom, and I would prefer to have feedback.

  “Take the Humvee,” I tell David, “and as many supplies as you can, we won’t be needing it, and we’re dangerously low on fuel anyway. Morgan can travel with them in the Jeep. Stay close to them. If anything happens or if you sense any trouble you get word to me.” He nods briskly. I reach into the Discovery and pull out two of the action figures I had reserved. “Give these to Alex, okay?” I press them into David’s warm hands and I feel a lump forming in my throat. “Tell him I’ll be home soon.”

  “I’ll tell him,” David assures me, squeezing my hand. “We’ll see you soon.” He walks away.

  Morgan puts up no argument to stay and I am hardly surprised. I know that she is desperate to see her brother again.

  “Tell Michael we say ‘hi’.” I smile at her but, typically, her answering smile does not reach her eyes.

  “Good luck,” she says as she climbs into the back of the Jeep. A part of me is relieved to see Morgan go. Her animosity and angry disposition are exhausting. Even so, I watch David get into Tim’s beloved Humvee with a heavy heart. A moment later he is off, heading west, and I find myself wishing that I was going with him. The
Jeep follows a moment later, the three Ordinary waving as they speed off.

  I turn back to Reed as the others suddenly busy themselves with unnecessary activities, trying to smooth over the awkward situation. I look at his face, his lips set in a grim line, and I sigh.

  “It’s not what you think,” I reiterate. “It’s Alex, I’m only concerned about Alex.”

  This is the truth. Alex is only a little boy who has lost so much. My leadership of the Legion already takes so much from him; my time, my focus. It’s the price I pay for the position that I’m in. My son may well grow up without a mother; I risk my life constantly, but if I can protect him, I will, and he idolised his father. It is not going to be easy for Alex to accept this stranger who doesn’t know us. I need to be there, to comfort him and ease his pain. Reed regards me steadily for a long moment and then he drops his eyes.

  “I wish I could believe that’s all there is to it, Tiny,” he begins. “I want to believe it. But I just can’t.”

  Archer and Loader set off for Kingman in one of the Humvees to replenish our food supplies. They will drive right through and meet up with us as soon as they can. Loath to witness the budding relationship between Aidan and Sofia, I indicate that Adam and Hope should ride with me in the Discovery. To my intense relief, Adam instructs Sofia and Henry to ride in Jethro’s Humvee and signals that Aidan should follow in the truck. Reed stands alone, considering the three vehicles. Eventually, avoiding my questioning look, he turns and saunters towards the truck, pulling himself up into the passenger side and slamming the door behind him.

  It is only 382 miles to San Francisco, a journey we could make in less than a day, but the route that Adam has selected will take us through many smaller towns on the way, including Bakersfield and Fresno. We are meeting Archer and Loader in Bakersfield, their short detour will not take much time, and they should catch us up shortly. Bakersfield is far enough from LA that it did not suffer any direct hits in the war, and the familiar barren landscape is a welcoming sight after the horror of Los Angeles.

  “How long do you think we’ll be gone?” I ask Adam. Hope is sleeping, sprawled across the back seat. I am trying desperately not to think what Aidan and Reed could possibly be talking about in the truck behind us.

  “A month, maybe more,” Adam echoes the same answer he gave me when we departed for California.

  Astonishingly, Bakersfield shows signs of life immediately. We pass washing flapping on a line and in the muted light as dusk falls I see the flickering of candlelight in more than one window.

  “What do we do?” I murmur, keeping a keen eye out for trouble.

  “We introduce ourselves,” Adam replies, signalling that I should pull over onto the shoulder of the road and switch off the engine. The others pull up behind us. We get out of the cars and climb the porch steps of an old tumbledown house. Adam knocks three times, the sound echoing down the deserted street. I glance over my shoulder at the others, giving Reed the ghost of a smile, when the door is suddenly swung wide from the inside, and the long, metal barrel of an old shotgun is rammed between Adam’s cloudy eyes.

  “Hey!” I am about to intervene and snatch the gun away from its wielder, but Adam holds up his hand to stop me.

  “We mean you no harm, sir,” he states calmly, and I hear Reed chuckle behind me.

  “You seriously need to get some new material, Vincent,” he drawls.

  “We’ve got nothing for you here!” the gun-wielding man roars, and as I peer around the screen I see that he is about fifty years old, grey-haired but strong as an ox, if the size of his biceps is anything to go by. His face is tanned and leathery, and his strong build is testimony to a life of manual labour. His hands are huge, but they are covered in cuts and grazes, and two blackened fingernails are further proof of his hardship.

  “We are not here in search of supplies,” Adam assures him calmly. As it did with us, Adam’s hypnotic, tranquil voice relaxes the older man. He lowers the gun slightly. I am hardly surprised; Adam’s gift is God-given, he was born with the most intense charisma I have ever seen in anyone. He inspires others to listen and evokes an almost reverent loyalty from those who follow him.

  The stranger casts his gaze over each of us in turn. He narrows his eyes at me, and even more so at Reed, who is regarding him insolently.

  “What do you want?” he barks at Adam.

  “We are searching for survivors,” Adam replies amiably. “We seek those who need our help and offer them a place in our community.”

  “Huh. Well, thank you, but our community is pretty well established. We have no need of your help.”

  Adam nods. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Hold your horses!” the man barks and then, spying our cluster of vehicles, he raises his eyebrows. “That’s some nice wheels you folks have,” he remarks thoughtfully.

  “Unfortunately none are for sale,” Adam makes it clear that we will not be trading. Frowning and casting another wary look at Reed, the man opens the door as wide as it can go and steps back into the house, inviting us in. The eight of us follow our host into a cosy sitting room. A fire is blazing in the fireplace and, to my surprise, a large yellow dog is asleep on a faded brown rug. It is seldom that you see domesticated animals in the barren lands, a pet is just one more mouth to feed. The flames flickering in the dimly lit room are pleasing to the eye, but the unnecessary heat makes the room cloyingly claustrophobic. The dog opens one doleful eye as we enter, but doesn’t rise. Its muzzle is greying and one of its eyes is white, shining even in the low light.

  “Easy, Bear,” the man soothes unnecessarily. The dog is already snoring again. “My name is Jim,” he says, extending his hand to each of us in turn. “Please, take a seat.” We make our introductions and Jim smiles, “Forgive me if I don’t remember all of your names.” He doesn’t offer us anything to eat or drink, and I can perfectly understand why; resources in the barren lands are finite, feeding eight random strangers is not something I would expect from anyone.

  “How many are there in your community?” Adam begins and Jim scratches his head before replying.

  “About twenty,” he finally answers.

  “And you have everything you need?” Adam persists.

  “Pretty much. So, where are you from?”

  “Nowhere in particular,” Adam answers. “We travel across the country; we don’t really have a fixed home-base.” I remain silent, as do the others. No one is inclined to correct Adam and hand over the secret location of our headquarters to a man we have only just met. Trust has to be earned. Besides, it doesn’t seem as though Jim is remotely interested in life outside Bakersfield.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “San Francisco. We’re just waiting on two of our friends,” Adam answers again. Jim nods, surveying the rest of us with mild curiosity. His eyes finally come to rest on Sofia.

  “She a wetback?” he asks and we all frown in confusion. From his tone, it is clear that he is not paying Sofia a compliment and Aidan steps forward, coming to stand slightly in front of her.

  “A wetback?” Adam asks enquiringly, keeping his voice light, but I can see a muscle going in his jaw. Unlike the rest of us, I think that Adam knows the meaning of the word.

  “An illegal? An immigrant?” The words roll off Jim’s tongue with disdain. Aidan takes another step forward.

  “Easy, Braveheart,” Reed drawls from the back of the room.

  “I would think that we are all illegals,” Adam replies politely, “considering that the New United States would prefer that we didn’t exist.”

  “Bah,” Jim spits. “I don’t want to hear any of that politics. I just don’t like their kind coming over here and using what little resources we have left.”

  “From what I hear, more Americans fled into Mexico during the War than ever came out of it,” Adam retorts, getting suddenly to his feet. Jim leaps up and
reaches for his gun. Only the slightest breeze and a sudden flickering of the fire alert any of us, but Jim’s hand comes away empty and I smile to myself.

  “What in the hell . . .” he rounds on us angrily and Reed saunters across the room, the shotgun in his hands.

  “Looking for this?” he asks.

  “I think we should be on our way,” Adam says and, without so much as a goodbye, he walks to the door. We file out behind him, Jim’s bellows of protest following us out into the night. The dog doesn’t so much as bark and I chuckle as we head back to the cars.

  We don’t have long to wait. Within an hour we hear the low growl of the Humvee’s engine approaching and a moment later the headlights come into view. Archer and Loader have made good time, but we decide to push on, not wanting to sleep in a town where we have already made an enemy. Jim is peeking at us through his yellowed net curtains, but without his gun and heavily outnumbered, he is unable to do anything to stop us. I wave at him as we pull off, earning myself a very rude hand signal that has me smiling long after we leave Bakersfield.

  Chapter 27

  We travel only a few miles out of town, deciding to sleep in the cars. It’s too late to find new accommodation and we will leave for Fresno in the morning. I am still of the mind that this whole exercise is a waste of our time. I’m missing Alex so much that it hurts, and I find myself obsessing over how he will react when he learns that his father is alive. To my utter anguish, Aidan is sleeping in the Humvee with Sofia and Henry. With Crackerjack gone, he is drawing closer to the father-daughter duo for companionship. At least with Henry’s chaperonage, I am fairly confident that nothing untoward is taking place. Reed is uncharacteristically quiet, his good mood over the shotgun incident didn’t last long.