The Legion

by Melissa Delport

  “Take care of him,” I smile at her, taking Reed’s hand and climbing out of the Humvee.

  I go in search of running water, desperate to wash the blood, sweat and filth off my body. Eventually I hear the sound of water and follow it to a small stream. Stripping off my clothes I submerge myself, rubbing at my body with my hands until the grime is gone, and then I make my way back, curling up in the back of the truck and trying to will myself to sleep.

  When I head for the Humvee in the morning, the cursing emanating from the inside is proof that Aidan is awake. I hoist myself up into the back and muster a smile.

  “I guess I don’t need to ask how you’re feeling,” I say. Sofia is looking miserable, and she seizes upon my arrival as a reason to excuse herself. “I think your choice of language might be offending her sensitive nature,” I laugh and he rolls his eyes. “Henry, ever the refined English gentleman, has probably never cussed a day in his life,” I add. “When last did you have any painkillers?”

  “Henry popped in and gave me some about ten minutes ago. With any luck, they’ll start to work sooner rather than later.” He clamps his hand over his shin suddenly, and then cringes as the pain gets even worse. “It hurts so bad,” he clenches his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his side. “I didn’t think it would hurt like this.”

  “Yeah, well, having the ability to heal doesn’t do a damn thing to numb the pain, unfortunately,” I sympathise. He regards me steadily, a strange look passing over his features.

  “You hurt like this?” he asks. “Every time I’ve seen you injured, you were in this kind of pain?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I answer, wondering where he is going with this, “but obviously it varies, depending on the extent of the injury. You’ve got a pretty serious one there,” I gesture at his bandaged leg.

  “You had a chunk of flesh the size of your fist bitten out of your neck.”

  “Okay, that was pretty bad.”

  “You’re braver than I thought.” The unexpected compliment makes me feel uncomfortably shy and I quickly change the subject.

  “You weren’t in pain when you got shot?” I ask.

  “I don’t remember, I was unconscious most of the time,” he replies. “By the time I woke up, I was almost fully healed.” There is an awkward silence and I get abruptly to my feet, crouching low in the confines of the vehicle, the space suddenly seeming to shrink as we stare at each other.

  “I’d better get going, we’re starting our search for supplies today.”

  “Rebecca,” he stops me as I am about to climb out and I turn back. “Be careful,” is all he says.

  Chapter 32

  We spend almost a month in the gloomy, soul-destroying city, finding nothing but death and destruction. We navigate the area with caution, ever aware of the instability that may have been caused. What a waste of time, I keep thinking, wishing, unfairly I suppose, that Loader could work a little faster on the damaged vehicles. Tempers flare, and even Adam seems more surly than usual. The only ones unaffected by the depressing atmosphere are the children, Brooke and Oliver, who spend their days evading us and exploring, watched over protectively by Hope. They are particularly fascinated with the trams and spend hours playing inside them.

  Aidan has healed fully a week after his crude surgery, much to Henry’s relief. Since he is a neurosurgeon, Henry’s knowledge of orthopaedics is limited and I think he was more stressed than he ever let on in case he had done something wrong. He is still insistent that Aidan is to rest the leg, so, much to Aidan’s chagrin, he is delegated to helping Sofia with preparing food and cleaning. Sofia is noticeably delighted.

  I notice a subtle shift in the dynamics of our travelling band. Having spent over two months in each other’s company, our group is starting to integrate more, the lines between the Legion, the Ordinary and the Deranged are becoming less and less obvious. Unlikely friendships are forming and long-standing allegiances are tested. Archer seems to be transferring his loyalty from Adam to the Legion, and he now looks to me for instructions. Adam seems quite accepting of this and I am more than happy to have inherited the skilled archer. He lost all his arrows in San José and is painstakingly whittling a new set, aided by Oliver’s father and the other Deranged man who have been following him around.

  Archer’s story is horrendous and makes me sick to my stomach. He is thirty-eight years old, by his estimate, since, as is the case with most of the Ordinary, he no longer remembers his exact birth date, which would have made him around ten years old when the holocaust occurred. His parents were already well equipped for a self-sufficient lifestyle; they were part of a group of people embracing ‘alternative living’ in Georgia. I bite my tongue to stop myself asking if they were nudists. Archer grew up in this informal settlement, being home-schooled by his ‘hippy’ mother, while his father commuted to a nearby town in search of temporary employment every few months when things got tight. As part and parcel of ‘living off the land’, Archer was taught at an early age to shoot a bow and, with little else to do, he practised obsessively, honing his natural talent. His father was away on one of his work-seeking trips when the bombs hit. Georgia was not targeted, but the nuclear winter that followed affected everyone, no matter where they were.

  Fortunately, Archer’s mother managed to put aside her grief, and the heartbreak of losing her husband, and take care of herself and her son. By the time he was sixteen, Archer could feed what remained of their community on the strength of his bow. An expert marksman, whatever he aimed at, he brought down. He never missed, unsurprisingly, considering he was shooting for his survival. His skill kept him and his mother safe. A few men in the community had created their own dictatorship, calling themselves the ‘elders’. They seized control of all the subsistence farms and demanded ‘taxes’ in the form of food. If a family was unable to provide enough, they demanded sex from the women. Archer’s mother was spared because of the meat that Archer provided.

  As he grew older Archer became more of a threat, but the leaders didn’t dare dispose of him for fear of losing their regular supply of food. Eventually, however, Archer started to fight back for those who couldn’t. By the time he was eighteen, he was no longer intimidated by those in power, and when he caught one of the ‘elders’ raping his thirteen-year-old neighbour, he shot an arrow through his heart. Dragging it through the settlement, he left the body at the door of the elders’ hall, sending his message loud and clear. Their reign of terror would no longer be tolerated.

  The following day when he went out to hunt, four of the elders attacked his mother, ignoring their colleagues’ warnings. They raped her repeatedly, beat her to the brink of death and then left her naked and bleeding on the street. Archer hunted each one down and they were dead within an hour of his return. The council was disbanded and the community banished them from the area. Unfortunately, as grateful as they were to Archer, the community lived in fear of him. He had so calmly killed five men and, despite his gentle nature, they could not come to terms with that. Feeling ostracised, Archer left the village, but not before stockpiling enough meat so that the villagers could get through the following winter if they dried it properly.

  His mother healed. He nursed her back to health. But he didn’t take her with him when he left.

  “I didn’t know where I was heading or what I was going to encounter. It was the only life she had ever known,” he explains. “It wouldn’t have been fair on her to take her away.”

  “Didn’t she want to go with you?” I ask, unable to believe she had just let him leave.

  “I didn’t give her a choice,” he smiles, his eyes fixed on the fire. “That was twenty years ago; a lifetime ago.”

  “Did you ever see her again?” I ask, wishing for a happy ending.

  “A few years ago I went back. I had met up with Adam already and we travelled south in search of supplies. We ventured so close to where I had grown up that I m
ade a small detour. She was there, but I couldn’t bring myself to approach her. I left without saying a word.” My face falls and then he gives me a dazzling grin. “Adam sensed how distraught I was, as he does. He coaxed the whole story out of me. The following morning he took me back and offered my mother a place in his community. She grabbed it with both hands. Gave me the dressing-down of my life too, for leaving her like that.”

  “So, she’s back with the others?” I ask, delighted at the sudden twist in the morbid tale.

  “Yeah,” he laughs, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. “She headed up into the mountains with the rest back in Durango. With any luck, they’re safe in Las Vegas with your people now.”

  Finally, the day dawns that Loader finishes his repairs and both the truck and the bus are ready, albeit that both are looking rather the worse for the wear.

  “I think we should search the northern section of the city today,” Adam says one morning as he pores over an old map, oblivious to the downcast faces around him.

  “No.” I stand up. I have made my decision. “We’re going home, Adam. We’ve done enough, we’re dangerously low on supplies and our people are exhausted. It’s time to go home.” He looks from me to the rest of the group. Jethro and Reed are already starting to pack up and Archer shoulders his bow, following their lead. After a brief pause, Aidan stands too and Sofia rises beside him, Henry a second later. The Deranged woman and two of the men are coughing, they seem to have picked up a virus and have been looking sickly for a few days.

  “Dad,” Hope takes Adam’s elbow, “she’s right. We can come back, but the children need to be taken to a safe place. I don’t want them getting sick.” She eyes the sickly Deranged, a worried frown creasing her smooth forehead. I am surprised that Hope would agree with me, but I’ll take whatever support I can get. Adam smiles fondly at her for a moment and then, with a resigned sigh, he nods.

  “You’re right, Rebecca. It was foolish to think we would find anything here, but I had to try.” There is a note of pleading in his voice and I realise that he is offering an apology.

  “I’m glad that we did,” I concede, “and we saved nine people in the process. My Legion will continue to help you in whatever way we can. What you do is honourable, Adam. I respect it, and I’ve come to believe in it. But for now,” I emphasise, “for now, all we need to focus on is getting home.” As I say the word I sway slightly on the spot, I am feeling light-headed. Aidan catches my arm looking concerned.

  “Are you okay?” His face swims in front of me and I blink a few times. Slowly, my vision returns.

  “I’m fine,” I say, looking briefly at the three sickly Deranged. “Absolutely fine,” I repeat.

  “I saw that,” Henry announces, rounding the corner into the alleyway where I’m hiding. I’m sitting with my back against the brick wall of an old department store, avoiding the others. Nobody seems to have noticed that I’m gone, nobody but Henry, that is.

  “I just needed a minute,” I insist rising to my feet.

  “Sit down,” Henry barks, and I sit. He is holding his trusty satchel and I sigh in exasperation.

  “I’m not sick, Henry.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” he says briskly, digging around in his bag and pulling out a blood pressure monitor.

  “I’m worried about the others too,” Henry says as he wraps the cuff around my arm. “They seem to have picked up some sort of infection, but I suspect it’s viral, not bacterial. I’m hesitant to use up the antibiotics if they aren’t going to be effective.”

  “Do you think they’ll get better?” I ask, for the first time feeling genuinely concerned. Henry has me worried, too.

  “I hope so. I think your decision to go home is the best thing for them. At least once we’re back in civilisation, so to speak, with access to running water and fresh food, they’ll have a better chance of getting strong enough to fight the infection.”

  While we are talking he listens to my heartbeat, checks my temperature and peers down my throat and into my ears. Eventually he sits back on his haunches.

  “You don’t have a fever and everything else seems normal,” he ponders aloud. “The others are running chronically high temperatures. I guess I was wrong.”

  “I told you, Henry. I don’t get sick, not since I had the healing procedure. My body automatically fights off disease before it has a chance to develop.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Well, let me know if you have any new symptoms, or if you feel off.”

  “Off?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Yes, off,” he retorts, “sick, unwell, strange. Off!”

  “Okay, Henry,” I smile, “I’ll let you know if I feel ‘off’.”

  We head back along the same route. I am not inclined to cover any new ground which could energise Adam to search for survivors. We drive straight through San José and keep driving south. Travelling through Bakersfield I keep my eye out for any members of the small community but we see no one. As we pass Jim’s tumbledown house, Reed starts chuckling. I also start to laugh and find that I can’t stop. The atmosphere is positively jovial, we are all happy to be going home and I am alive with the anticipation of seeing Alex again. We keep going until we reach a tiny town called Caliente where we spend the night. My mood darkens somewhat when I wake in the night, my forehead clammy. For the first time in a long time, I feel sick; really sick. I think back to the squalor of San Francisco and shiver involuntarily. Who knows what we might have picked up there?

  We are only 250 miles from home and we plan to start the final journey early the following morning. I begin to go over in my head what I am going to say to Alex, rehearsing the words to try to explain Aidan’s resurrection.

  “You’re overthinking it.” Reed sits down beside me in the early hours of the morning. I have barely slept. “He’s going to be pumped. It’s not like you’re delivering bad news. Besides, he knows about healing, he’ll get it.” I smile at him and rest my head on his shoulder.

  “You should be sleeping,” I murmur.

  “I can’t,” he admits. “I’m excited about getting home.”

  It has been three months since we left on our mission to blow up the NUSA lab. So much has happened since then that I can barely get my head around it. Finding Adam and his people. Finding Aidan and all that that implies. Numerous towns and cities, the different lives that we’ve saved. It has been one hell of a journey!

  “I need to use the little ladies’ room.” I crawl out of the truck and stretch my legs. In the faint light of the approaching dawn, I see Henry rushing across the camp towards the bus.

  “Henry!” I call, my voice barely more than a whisper. He doesn’t hear me. I jog across to him, reaching him just before he arrives at the bus.

  “What is it?” I ask, glancing at the satchel slung over his arm.

  “It’s the woman,” he mutters, sounding preoccupied. “She deteriorated during the night.” I follow him aboard the bus and I am surprised to see that all the occupants are awake, except for the children, who are sleeping on the very front seats.

  We head for a row of seats towards the back and Henry crouches over the woman. Even in the dim light she looks terrible. Her face is shining with perspiration but her lips are chapped and dry. Her eyes are dull and lacklustre, another sign of infection, and when I put my hand to her forehead her skin is blazing hot to the touch.

  “I’m giving her the antibiotic,” Henry whispers. “It’s a long shot, but I have to try.” He fumbles in his bag. “Sofia, dampen a towel and put it behind her neck. Rebecca, get her jumper off – she’s burning up and we need to get this fever down quickly or she could have permanent brain damage.” The woman is shivering uncontrollably and I fight the natural urge to cover her little body with a blanket. Henry manages to get her to swallow the antibiotic and we all hold our breath as she gags. Thankfully, she settles down and Henry coaxes he
r to take some ibuprofen.

  “I wish they’d woken me sooner,” he says, as we wait for the medicine to take effect.

  “She’ll be okay,” Sofia soothes, taking his hand.

  I stare down at the sickly woman, a cold feeling growing in my chest. Is this what I’m in for? I think about how awful I felt last night and, even as I remember, I start to feel shaky. As the sun rises the others awake and start to go about their usual morning routine. Eventually I get to my feet. The Deranged woman is sleeping and her colour has improved.

  “Henry, could I speak to you, please? In private,” I add in an undertone. He follows me immediately, gesturing for Sofia to stay with the patient.

  As I step down on to the ladder, Aidan steps up on to it. I gaze down at him, moving slightly to the left as he steps right. We both mutter an apology and step in the opposite direction, colliding again. He smiles up at me and I catch my breath. In this unguarded moment, I remember the kiss in the alley and, from the look on his face, I think he remembers it too. Henry coughs awkwardly behind me and I shake my head, coming back to the present.

  “Ladies first,” Aidan steps aside and sweeps out his arm. I make my way down the steps, Henry right behind me.

  “Tiny,” Reed steps out from the front of the bus and I start. I didn’t even know he was awake. I glance back at the steps but Aidan is gone, thank goodness. Ignoring Henry completely, Reed looks down at me.

  “I’m leaving,” he says, so suddenly that it takes me a moment to register his words.

  “What? Where are you going?” I am half smiling, sure there is a reasonable explanation.

  “I can’t do this,” he opens his arms wide and shrugs his broad shoulders. “I can’t watch you torture yourself, torture me. Not any more. You need to sort your head out, and I need to get as far away from you as possible.”