by Talis Jones
I choose me.
BANG.
Empty hazel eyes gaze up at me, red red blood pooling around her body mixing with that of her lover’s. I expect to feel something. Guilt, shame, shock, relief, loathing, pride, something. But I don’t. The situation was too simple. Him or me and I chose me. Her or me and I chose me. I chose Connors. I relied on my gun in my hand and I survived. I'm not falling apart. But suddenly I know that it isn’t enough. I feel ready to stake my faith in something a bit bigger, a bit greater, a bit more worthy. I’ll place my anchor in Connors.
With ice-cold steps I walk over to James’ motionless body and crouch down then move over to Selma’s. I take a good long look at my actions. With steady fingers I reach out and snatch the glasses from Selma’s empty face and settle them on my own. Strength ripples through me like a cooling current as the scene shifts into focus. Maybe Connors’ God was real because damn, what are the chances? I can see.
I pry the crumpled paper from her limp fingers and smooth it flat. I mean to read it but something pulls me short. If Connors wanted me to know then he’d tell me. He said he would when I was ready. I feel ready but I trust Connors, he’s my anchor now so I’m gonna trust him even with this.
Tearing off a good chunk of Selma’s silly skirt I rush back to Connors worried that he’s still unconscious. I gently soak the fabric in a patch of melting snow, warm it as much as I can with my body heat and breath, then mop up the blood from the wound. Head wounds bleed more than warranted and I’m relieved when I see that the rock missed his temple only leaving a shallow scrape. With a cold hand I smack his cheek, gently at first then harder when he doesn’t stir.
“Get up, Connors,” I call to him quietly. Those gunshots must have woken up the whole camp and if they weren’t such Nervous Nellies they’d already be here. I dunno who they’d believe and I don’t care to sit through it. “Get up, we gotta go,” I snap, urgency clear in my tone.
Finally he begins to groan and fidget. Splashing icy water on his face brings him to full alert. “Where’d they go?” he gasps.
“I took care of it,” I tell him, my tone flat. His eyes roam to the bloody forms not twenty feet away and says nothing. He doesn’t ask about my new glasses because he knows. “Here.” I press the stolen message into his hand.
He looks at it longer than needed and for a moment I worry that he has a concussion. “Did you read it?” he asks quietly, softly, dread and desperate hope laced within that simple question.
“Nope,” I promise. “You said you’d tell me when I was good and ready, so I’ll just wait until then. By any chance am I ready yet?”
“Not yet, kid.” Connors manages a smile that turns into a wince of pain. “You’re not gonna bandage me up with that flowery stuff are you?” he asks seeing the strips I’d made of Selma’s once lovely skirt.
“Take it like a warrior,” I warn sternly. Hearing no further protests I wrap the cotton strips tight around his head, an extra wad over his cut.
“I think we should go before the frightened mice scurry out and find us,” I say.
“Yep.” With a groan he clambers onto his feet but I can tell something is bothering him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I wanted to attend the old man’s funeral,” he admits. “But you’re right, we can’t stay here.”
The approach of people reaches our ears and I can see the small flickers of torchlight crossing to our edge of the camp. “We gotta go, Connors. But we don’t gotta go too far.” Without waiting for him to riddle me out I sling on my shotgun and take off for our horses’ corral. Leaping over the fence I throw on Lady’s tack haphazardly and kick her into gear.
A glance over my shoulder shows me Connors saddling up Horse. He’s quick but slower than he should be. I probably should’ve stayed behind, helped him, and made sure he really didn’t have a concussion or something. Too late.
Lady explodes through the moonlit woods with Connors close behind me just as the others stumble over the corpses I left behind. We’re too far to hear how they’re taking it but it doesn’t matter. I urge Lady on faster.
CHAPTER 22
“Get up,” I call, kicking Connors’ booted foot with my own. The sun had already begun to break through the stormy clouds above and most of the snow vanished with it. “If you wanna attend that funeral then you’d better get up.”
“What are you talking about?” he mumbles groggily.
“The old man’s funeral,” I sigh exasperated. “Let’s go.”
At last Connors gives in. Sitting up he gives me a blank stare. “We can’t.”
“Of course we can. You wanna go so let’s go,” I grin. “The old man’s funeral is gonna be at sunrise by the waterfall. So either you get off your hibernating butt for the funeral or you get up to push on.”
It’s Connors. Was it really a choice?
We guide our horses around the north end of the camp and circle our way to the low cliffs of the falls. From our perch we can look down and see the community gathered on the opposite shore. We’d missed the burial but that was in the woods with skinny trees and limited cover. The ritual we could watch from a safe distance.
A woman steps forwards first, a paper lantern held in her hands. Carefully she sets it on the water where it bobs and floats in lazy circles before making its way down the strangely glassy river, caught in a current. With her lantern gone she steps to the side and begins singing a low melancholy tune. One by one the others set their lanterns upon the water and with each offering placed another voice joins the mourning song.
Connors and I watch in respectful silence, for a moment his head is bowed in prayer. I watch curiously, my eyes drifting with intrigue across the celebration of death before me. After all the lanterns have been bestowed and the funeral song comes to a close another song ignites. It feels just as heavy but also happy, hopeful. While the first pulled something deep and dark in my heart, this one fills that tear with peaceful light.
We stay crouched in our balcony seat a good while after the crowd disperses. Vaguely I wonder if they’d do the same for Selma and James. I sort of hoped so.
“Time to go, kid,” Connors murmurs gently breaking our pact of silence.
“I bet Sanctuary is someplace like that,” I tell him quietly. “A place where you can live how you want. A place where people will mourn and sing hope for you no matter how well they did or didn’t know you. They’d do it because you’re a human soul and no matter how you got along that’s something that connects us all.”
“Something like that,” he agrees with eyes clouded over lost in thought.
I shake my head, searching for a lighter mood. “I’d hate it,” I laugh. “Too much drama. If it’s anything like this place then it’d be like hiding trapped in a soap opera.” I’d never actually seen one but I’d heard enough from Lizbeth talking about how she missed her favorite shows to know that their loss was a gift to the world.
Connors laughs in agreement. Eyes sobered he puts an arm along my shoulders and smiles. “When you find Sanctuary it’s gonna be worth dying for. I know it.”
“Let’s go. This place is turning you into a weepy petunia,” I tease.
Horses giddy, dirt and dust flying up in our wake, angry sun glowering down over our path, Connors and I leave the forest far behind. Back home on the open road carrying on our search for Sanctuary.
CHAPTER 23
Days blur together, each as dusty and forlorn as the last. Sun up, saddle up. Sun down, lay down. Grit crackles in my teeth, dirt coats my skin a chalky shade, dry grease slicks my hair, and blisters leave scars that are wrenched opened again and again spilling more of my blood like a trail for ghosts to follow. How long have we been riding? A week? Longer? Every time I ask Connors where we’re headed he only says that we’re riding north.
“I smell disgusting,” I announce at last, pulling down the kerchief from around my mouth so he can hear me.
Connors drops his protective cloth as well. “I don’t sm
ell nothing,” he grunts back.
“That’s just because the stench is buried under all the filth. I’m so caked in dirt it’s like a hideous shell.”
“Well don’t break,” he grins. “I’d hate to know what potent potential lies beneath all that filth.”
“Shut up,” I grumble.
“Don’t worry, kid. We’ll be hitting a town soon.”
“You sure about that?” I argue. “You’ve been saying that for the past three days now.”
“Yep. There should be a town just across the Nebraska border.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Connors lets out a quiet sigh. “Me too, kid.”
Funny thing about this world, when it shifted and twisted it blew gales of sand in storms more powerful than anything our nation had seen before. Whole cities torn down, entire landscapes scraped flat, and all because of a lethal combination of wind, fire, and earth, all set into chaos by some fool unknown. Even to me it seems impossible, incomprehensible, utterly absurd to consider an actual city of millions laid flat but my eyes have seen what my brain will not. Now after a decade has passed and the earth has settled into a new rhythm the carnage of humanity’s conquests have been long buried beneath shifting dust along with humanity itself. A nation of billions reduced to a scattered handful of coyotes and cottontails.
They say more live beyond the walls to the west and past the mountains in the east, but here? In these parts? Wide open spaces, the occasional carcass of a town, and the cottontails trapped within these borders are protected by the S.C. Rangers if they happen to pass by.
This country is gone.
Dust Dust Dust Dust Dust…
From dust we were made and to dust we’ll return.
At first the road built strength upon my bones. My riding grew steadier, my muscles hardly ached, and the sun’s anger only fueled my resolve. Now weariness begs me to stop and to please please rest. Once more my determination to help Connors find Sanctuary weakens and with that softening of conviction my body also crumbles. I need faith as strong as Connors’. Without it I need a win. Soon.
Dust Dust Dust Dust Dust…
Dust made this land boring and bleak. Dust put our people back in their place. Dust buries the mice and challenges the wolves.
I am a child of dust and I will gather each grain until I grow strong as a mountain and no matter how the wind howls I will never bow to it. The angry sun might bake me bare and the rain might drown my senses. History might carve out my heart and the future might give me nothing to cling to. But I am a child of dust and I will not break.
“When we get there I’m grabbing a hat,” I mutter. I look longingly toward the wide-brimmed hat shielding both Connors’ neck and his shiny bald head.
“Kid, when we get there you can have a bath,” he chuckles. “Hey, eyes up.”
I look ahead and see a sign growing in the distance. Kicking my heels into Lady’s side we run towards it eagerly. Nebraska…the good life. A joyful holler sings out my throat. “We made it, Connors!”
Connors waves his hat around hollering back with a grin I can see from here. I slide the plastic frames up the flaking burn on my nose and bolt forwards across the invisible border, eyes desperate for any indication that life lurks ahead. Disappointment settles in my gut just as movement flashes in my periphery. Squinting I lean towards it and see that a wagon is rolling into the horizon.
People.
Normally passing people is rare and unwanted, whenever we see humans on the horizon we change course to avoid them. Too risky to gamble on the honor in their hearts. But now? Now it means possible civilization.
I pull the reins and give a sharp whistle. Horse gallops his rider to my side with all the formality bred into his step that boasted that first day I saw him. “A wagon just disappeared that way,” I report.
“Well then, let’s get moving.”
Nudging our horses forwards takes hardly a tap of the heel or a flick of the reigns. As if they sense the fresh water waiting ahead they gallop with all the strength in their hearts, Connors and I grinning all the way. I bet if horses could smile they’d be smiling for sure.
Sure enough we pull up in a town not much different from the one in Kentucky. “It’s not much but it’s a dream come true all the same.”
Connors gives a bark of laughter and I follow him to a makeshift hitching post someone must’ve made. Not far down Main Street I spot the wagon from earlier. I nod in its direction and Connors turns. “Good eye, kid.” With a proud slap on the back he jumps down off of Horse and I follow suit. After our steeds are tied up we meander into what appears to be the main hub of town, a small diner called Jimbo’s.
A bell tinkles when we open the door and several pairs of eyes turn in our direction. Such a thick coating of dust covers me it’s like a mask and I hardly feel the locals’ burning curiosity. “Two sodas,” Connors orders slamming down a few bills onto the counter.
“And a place to wash up,” I add.
The waitress stares at us wide-eyed and I don’t miss her glance flicking to our guns. “Um, I’m sorry, um but we have a no weapons policy,” her voice squeaks out. “I’m sorry but um you’ll have to leave those outside.”
“Not a problem,” Connors smiles. “We’ll take the sodas and go.”
“Um…yeah, okay sure,” she smiles timidly. I can tell she was probably supposed to recite some other rule but clearly two strangers coated in filth with firearms strapped to their bodies and steel in their eyes made her think twice about that. Good. I’m thirsty. “What um, what flavors would you prefer?”
“I’ll take a Coke.” Turning to me Connors asks, “What about you, kid?”
“Do you have Strawberry?” I ask. The woman gives a small bob of her head and disappears. I stretch out my limbs, my mouth already salivating at the thought of a cool drink, a soda, no less. They’re hard to come by anymore.
Two bottles slide across the metal counter and we snatch them up gratefully. “And a place to wash?” I ask again.
“Um, yes, there’s a um, there’s a um, a um—”
“Spit it out, Carol,” a man snaps roughly. I frown at him, my eyes sizing up the creep—graying hair but the size of a bull. Connors lays a hand on my shoulder in warning. My hand twitches but I keep myself in check.
Nerves dance in her eyes as the words finally tumble free. “There’s a motel down the street.”
“Thank you,” I nod kindly. I line up the metal cap against the counter and give it a hard bop with the heel of my hand popping it free. A cool swig of fizzy artificial strawberry goodness glides down my gullet and a sigh escapes my cracked lips.
When the door swings shut behind us I shoot a disgruntled glare towards Connors. “I don’t like that man.”
Connors gives me a side-long glance. “Not the nicest fella,” he agrees.
“We should’ve said something,” I seethe.
“Careful, kid,” he warns. “Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“But he—”
“Look, kid.” Connors stops walking and spins me around until we lock glares. “Some people are stuck in bad situations, like you were. They need rescue, rebellion, and freedom. But some people are just too fragile for this world on their own and gotta toughen up. They need tough love, protection, and someone to give them both.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” I insist.
“That girl is doing just fine,” he assures me sternly. “A nervous creature, yeah, but she’s surviving one day at a time. And her troubles reside inside of herself. Only she can overcome them. Coddling can be just as debilitating as abuse. Leave her be.”
I resume walking and Connors sticks by my side. I know he’s right. It’s just…I’m tired of nothing but travel. Nothing but a long dusty road. The allure of finding Sanctuary has long worn off, shedding from my desires and left behind somewhere in the barren world behind us. The only thing that kept me going was pure stubbornness and my constant d
aydreams of a bubbling bath with real soap. But I need something more. I feel this need within my bones shivering for action. Nothing but the angry sun and Connors for company gets real monotonous real quick.
“I call the shower,” I chirp as I dive across the threshold of the small motel lobby. A tired looking man dozes in the chair. “Excuse me,” I call.
The man jolts awake with a snort. “Sorry, can I help you?”
“We need a room.”
“For how long?”
“Uh…” I turn to stare at Connors unsure of how to answer.
“We’ll take one room with two beds for two nights,” he provides.
I smile. “What he said.”
I practically float out of the shower wrapped in a surprisingly plush towel. I’d used all the shampoo and conditioner inside the tiny bottles I’d found in the bathroom for myself seeing as Connors is as bald as an eagle and my hair was a mess from Hell. “That was wonderful,” I sigh blissfully.
“Outta the way, kid,” he laughs. “My turn.”
I eye the pile of filthy clothes on the tiled floor. I don’t even care when Connors shoves them out the small room with his foot and shuts the door. “Ugh, there’s gonna be nothing worse than putting those nasty things back on.”
“I’ve got an extra shirt in my bag,” he says, his voice muffled through the door. “You can sleep in that if ya want. We’ll grab new digs along with some much needed supplies when the sun rises.”
“Thanks,” I call hastily before pilfering through his things until I find a large cotton shirt that would practically hang as a dress on me. I slip it on and dive under the covers of one of the twin beds. The sun has only begun to set but I’m asleep before Connors even exits the shower.
