Wanderers

by Susan Kim

  Aras snapped his fingers at Esther.

  “That’s long enough,” he said. “Take it off and let it sit.”

  Again working with great care, Esther used an old towel to lift the firebowl off the flames. She set it on the ground, where it sent out white tendrils of vapor.

  At Aras’s instruction, Michal presented the cup, now draped with the clean shirt. Esther lifted the firebowl and poured its contents onto the folded fabric. The cloth acted as a strainer; as the steaming water seeped through, it left a fine residue of grit and rust. Within seconds, the cup was nearly full.

  “Now,” Aras said, “get the boy who teased my dog.”

  Startled, Esther glanced up. She caught Eli’s reaction; he shook his head no once, with emphasis. As for Silas, he was backing up, terror in his eyes as he clutched his injured arm to his chest.

  “I ain’t coming near that stuff!” he shouted, his voice shrill. “You trying to kill me!”

  Aras sighed. Then he fumbled for the cup, steam rising from it.

  And he brought it to his lips.

  Everyone gasped. Michal made a move to knock the cup from his hand, but Esther held her back.

  “Wait,” Esther said.

  Aras blew on the cup and then drank. After he had finished a few gulps, he lifted his head, a faint smile on his face.

  Was he mad? Esther’s eyes flickered toward Skar, then Joseph, but they were looking to her for guidance. Although her impulses had failed her many times in the past, she had no choice but to trust them today.

  After what seemed an eternity, she nodded.

  “Do what he says.” It was Eli who spoke, although it was with difficulty. He had seen Esther’s response and that was enough for him.

  When Silas didn’t move, the older boy picked him up and carried him, even though he fought and kicked. Then Eli held the whimpering Silas down as Esther used the hot water to bathe his arm.

  In moments, the wound, though still deep, was clean.

  “Now,” Aras said, “tie up his damn arm.”

  Nine

  AS ESTHER TIPPED A BOWL OVER HER HEAD, MOONLIGHT MADE THE HOT water gleam silver as it ran down her shoulders and her naked back.

  It was a delicious feeling and the first time she had bathed since leaving Prin. Back home, cleaning oneself was something one did rarely, if ever, with a washcloth and a scant cup or so of precious bottled water. But tonight, after she had dipped out another firebowl’s worth from a nearby stream and repeated the process Aras taught them, Esther found she could allow herself the impossible luxury of a hot shower.

  She was not alone. In the dark woods around her, she could hear the others bathing themselves, too, scrubbing clothing, and washing off the accumulated dust of the road. The idea that water—the poison that fell from the sky, filled lakes and streams, and collected on the morning grass like a deadly veil—could be made harmless was almost too miraculous to be believed. The revelation brought a sense of boundless plentitude and with it, a rare festive mood to the caravan. People called to one another through the trees and shouts of laughter rang in the night air.

  Yet while one of their biggest problems had been solved, another was not.

  Esther was starving.

  She had eaten only a few mouthfuls of the food she had brought back; she wanted to make sure everyone else had had enough, and now there was nothing left. She could barely recall the last meal she had eaten nearly three days earlier: a meager bowl of rabbit stew and some flatbread. And although she had drunk deeply, trying to fill herself with water, it didn’t begin to dull the painful emptiness that gnawed at her gut.

  Then she heard a jangle of chain.

  Two eyes gleamed in the moonlight: It was the dog Pilot. Holding on to his collar was Aras.

  “Who’s that?” he called.

  Blushing, Esther tried to hide her nakedness. Then she remembered the guide couldn’t see her and after a moment, let her arms drop.

  “It’s me,” she said.

  “You weren’t at dinner,” he said.

  “I wasn’t hungry.”

  Aras snorted at the obvious lie.

  “Yeah,” he said, “maybe not. But maybe you better come with me. I got something to show you.”

  Esther dried herself off as best she could and put her damp yet clean clothes back on. Then she trailed behind as the dog led its owner deeper into the forest, skirting trees, an empty metal barrel, a destroyed sofa. Esther found herself keeping her eyes on the white of Aras’s robes, which gave off the faintest glow in the moonlight; the darkness had rendered her nearly sightless, as well.

  As he walked, Aras kept one hand in front of him, touching trees, brushing their rough surfaces, and making his own calculations. Occasionally, he made the strange clicking sounds he used to communicate with his dog; the animal responded to each one, turning or slowing down. Aras finally stopped under one tree. Kneeling, he felt around on the ground. Then he stood.

  He extended his open palm. Esther had trouble making out what he was offering her until she felt it. It was a small round object, something she had encountered many times before, littering the ground underneath trees in Prin: greenish brown, with a tiny point at one end and a leathery cap.

  She looked at him, baffled. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Eat it,” he said.

  Esther laughed.

  Other than the occasional rabbit or squirrel, food wasn’t something you found outside. Eating something that fell off a tree or grew in the dirt would be like swallowing a rock or piece of plastic: It was impossible, nonsensical, and probably deadly. Food, real food, was something that came sealed in packages, bags, jars.

  But Aras seemed serious, and Esther was again reminded of her empty stomach. She tried to examine the small object in the moonlight. Then she decided to trust him.

  She gave it an experimental nibble. “It’s too hard,” she said.

  Aras snorted. “It’s an acorn,” he said; “a nut.” It seemed he was about to add the word “idiot” but thought better of it. “You got to break the shell first. Use your side teeth or you’ll hurt yourself.”

  Esther did; and there was a resounding crack. She removed the pieces and found that there was a small kernel inside. Hesitantly, she popped it into her mouth and chewed. A moment later, she spat it out and glared at him.

  “That your idea of a joke?” she snapped.

  Aras smiled. “It’s bitter, but you can boil the taste away. Ain’t much, but if you pick a bunch, it’s something. They keep a long time. I shouldn’t have to tell you.”

  Feeling around on the forest floor, he scooped up a few more and handed them to her. After a moment, Esther joined him and began storing them in her pockets. The bad taste was still on her tongue, but she was so hungry, she didn’t care.

  At that moment, something flittered past her in the darkness and landed on the back of Aras’s hand. Without hesitation, the boy grabbed it and examined it, running his fingers over its tiny body.

  Esther recognized it. It was a greenish insect with long legs, the kind that lived in tall grass and jumped high. Aras twisted off its tiny head and limbs and flicked them aside. Then he held it out.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  A wave of nausea swept over her. To put an acorn in her mouth was one thing; but insects were disgusting and filthy things, skittering creatures of death. Esther had seen flies feed off fresh carcasses, both animal and human; and after they were done, she knew that beetles and worms crawled through the bones, picking them clean.

  As if sensing her reaction, Aras smirked. Then he put the thing into his month and deliberately bit it in two.

  “Not bad,” he said.

  He offered the other half; after a moment, even as her stomach rebelled at the thought, she raised the bug to her lips, squeezing her eyes shut as she did. With one swift movement, she popped it into her mouth and chewed, crunching loudly.

  To her amazement, it didn’t taste bad. Better than the acor
n, that was for sure.

  Even more surprising, the tiny mouthful made her hungry for more.

  Esther dropped to her knees and began scrabbling through the darkness. She lunged in vain at the tiny shapes that flitted past, slapping at them in clumsy desperation. Yet it was impossible to see her hand in front of her face, much less an insect, and she was much too impatient, and hungry, to wait for them to come to her. After a few minutes, she realized it was an impossible task.

  Aras had already headed to the campsite. By the time Esther, chastened, caught up with him, he was crouched in front of the dying campfire, scratching Pilot behind the ears and smoking another paper.

  “You catch anything?” he asked. His voice was lightly mocking.

  “No,” she admitted. “Although I bet it’s easier in the daylight.”

  He grunted. “Well,” he said, “there are other ways to eat.” Feeling around on the ground, he located his heavy duffel bag. Then he unzipped it, pulling something out.

  “Here,” he said. It was an unstrung bow made of gleaming wood that sparkled in the fading campfire light; and at that moment, it was the most glorious thing Esther had ever seen. “Carbon tips, extra catgut. But I only got a few arrows left. You know anyone here who can shoot?”

  Esther thought of Skar and smiled.

  “I think I do,” she said.

  The sun was already well into the morning sky, and Aras was still asleep.

  Everyone else had been up for hours. They had poured boiled water into bottles, repacked their belongings, and checked their bicycles for repairs. Esther had recruited Skar and Michal to help her collect acorns. Although the girls seemed doubtful at first when she explained it to them, they went along. Using a backpack, the three gathered hundreds of the nuts, which they dumped into one of the wagons.

  Now, they all waited outside the gas station for their new guide, one whose knowledge—if not personality—they had begun to appreciate.

  Keeping an eye on Pilot who lay next to his owner, Esther picked her way across the cluttered floor of the gas station and approached the sleeping boy. Without his sunglasses, he looked oddly young and defenseless; and for the first time, she saw the prominent white scars that ran across his forehead and eyes.

  Esther nudged him with her foot, and his eyelids flickered.

  Then in a single movement, he lashed out a hand, grabbing his glasses and putting them on. Hidden once more, he jumped to his feet and grabbed hold of his dog’s collar.

  “Let’s go,” he said, as if it were his idea.

  As they headed toward the caravan, Esther was about to offer him a ride, but thought better of it.

  “I’ll be in front, pulling one of the wagons,” she said. “Eli’s got the other one. We got only two free-bicycles, and it’s Rhea’s and Silas’s turn. Joseph and Kai ride with me. Everyone else walks until we switch off.”

  Aras kept his head down, listening. Then he spoke. “Show me where the sun’s at. How high is it?”

  Feeling awkward, Esther turned Aras and took his free arm, raising it so it pointed at the sun. He thought for a moment, chewing his lip, then pulled something from his pocket. Esther feared it would be another smoking paper, but the guide surprised her.

  It was a small, round object made of metal; it looked like a wristwatch, but lacked a strap and a clear plastic cover. Instead of numbers, it had four letters printed on its face; and at the center, a thin needle spun and wavered. Aras skimmed the surface with his fingers before he spoke.

  “North by northwest. Which means that way.”

  Esther noticed that Joseph was leaning from his wagon, listening. When she caught his eye, he nodded in agreement.

  Overhead, the dirty-yellow sky was bright and cloudless, but a breeze made it bearable. Esther pedaled in front but slowly enough to allow Aras and his dog to keep up. She learned that staying close to the guide was essential.

  At Aras’s request, Esther told him about their progress, the condition of the road ahead, and the weather. She identified upcoming exits, laboriously sounding out the numbers posted on the small signs along the low railing, and reading the town names and mileage markers, as well.

  Often, there were obstacles. Most of them could be steered around—abandoned trucks jackknifed across asphalt stained black with oil, their trailers gaping open and interiors plundered. One time, it was a monstrous pile of crushed and twisted steel. The structure was so huge, it filled the road and flattened the trees on either side. On examining it, Joseph decided it was an “airplane,” a vehicle he claimed could fly across the sky. He was so excited by this fanciful discovery, Esther had a hard time convincing him to go. He only agreed when she allowed him to take a souvenir, a shredded canvas strap with a buckle attached that he found underneath a twisted metal sheet.

  As they traveled farther north, the hurdles became more frequent—and more serious. Entire sections of forest had been uprooted, toppling dozens of trees across the road. At other places, earthquakes had ruptured the surface, breaking it into plates that sheared off in different directions, revealing gravel and red clay beneath. Each time, Esther would call a stop and, after consulting with Aras, had everyone unload the wagons and carry everything across, item by item.

  But they had to stop when they reached a narrow mountain pass. Some tremor from the earth had triggered a landslide from both sides, forming a massive pileup of dead trees, boulders, and loose slag that filled the road. In the wreckage, Esther could make out the remains of crushed cars, trucks, and what looked like an entire house.

  “It’s bad,” she said as they approached.

  Next to her, Aras clicked his tongue, and his dog halted. “Can we get across?”

  Skar had already approached the roadblock and was testing the footing. When she was no more than a few steps up, she had to leap to the ground. Loose gravel and dirt collapsed around her, setting off another small landslide. “It’s too unsteady,” she called.

  Aras lit a fresh smoking paper. “Well,” he said. “Guess we got to go back and cut around. Quarter mile or so.”

  They turned and retraced their steps. When they had gone far enough, Aras had everyone dismount, unload the wagons, and detach them from the bicycles. They then hoisted everything over the low metal railing by the side of the road and headed into the overgrown forest.

  Dappled sunlight filtered through the trees. A dense bed of decaying leaves did little to cushion the ground, which was rocky and treacherous. After one jarring bump, Esther decided to save her tires and got off to walk. She led the way, the others in single file behind her. The only sound was the jangle of Pilot’s chain.

  “Start heading that way.” After several minutes, Aras had stopped to relight his smoking paper and now spoke through clenched teeth. “See if we around the roadblock yet.” Esther was about to do as he said when she noticed something through the trees.

  “Wait up,” she said. “Something’s ahead.”

  She and the others found themselves on the edge of a small field, badly overgrown. Looming in the distance were the skeletal remains of a sprawling building, its large windows smashed. Near them were a rusted swing set, as well as a miniature house made of plastic, still colorful after so many years, large enough to fit several children. This place was similar to those she had seen many times in Prin.

  “What is it?” Aras asked behind her. “Anything good?”

  “Don’t think so,” Esther replied. “But we might as well check.”

  The two of them waded through grass that was hip deep, followed by the others. Other than the clanking of Pilot’s leash, the only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the snapping of twigs beneath their feet. Behind her, Esther could hear Silas whisper something, and then Rhea give a shrill laugh in reply.

  “I dare you!” Silas said.

  “Hush, now.” Esther was annoyed. If anyone were hiding inside, it would be foolish to advertise their presence.

  Then she saw what had drawn their attention. In the distance
lay a large, rectangular patch of dead yellow leaves, surrounded on all four sides by a white strip of cracked concrete. In the midst of what felt like a jungle of overgrown grass, the precision of the shape and brightness of its color were striking.

  Esther described it to Aras as best she could. “Be careful,” was all he said.

  “About what?”

  “Just tell them to be careful,” said Aras. “That’s all.”

  Behind them, Rhea had remounted her free-bicycle. Now, wobbling on the soft ground, she rode straight at the blanket of leaves.

  “Hey,” Esther called. “Don’t get too close!”

  Either Rhea couldn’t hear or was pretending not to. “Watch me!” she yelled to Silas, who cheered her on. Esther watched in disbelief as the girl sped right toward the leafy rectangle.

  As soon as Rhea landed on it, it became clear that it was not solid. The bicycle tipped forward, dumping the girl directly into the golden mess. As she screamed with laughter, floundering and wallowing in the decaying vegetation, they all heard another noise.

  It was the sound of something tearing. Rhea had landed in the middle of an ancient rubber tarp, and it was ripping beneath her.

  “Don’t move!” shouted Esther.

  But it was too late.

  Rhea was already sinking through the spreading breaks in the flimsy cover. Her foolish smile vanished and her face went deathly pale.

  The others were frozen, staring. Esther had already dropped her bicycle, but before she could make a move, Aras grabbed her arm.

  “Stop,” he said.

  Rhea was floundering on the tattered surface, her robes ballooning around her. Dazed, she flapped her arms, struggling to climb out, but her movements only seemed to drive her in deeper.

  Then with a final shredding sound, she tore through completely. There was a loud splash and for a moment, she disappeared from view.

  “Help me!”

  When Rhea resurfaced, her sunglasses had fallen off and her hair was plastered across her face. There was apparently water hidden beneath the tarp, ancient rainwater that had leached underneath the rubber, filling the deep depression in the ground. Rhea was frantically thrashing her arms and legs like a bird Esther had once seen in its death throes. Water sprayed through the air and the others shied away.