A second later, he noticed Mary standing in front of the wagon. He jumped out.
“Stay back,” Joe said.
He cocked the lever on the Calvin, and as he moved toward the dead man, he kept the muzzle pointed at the dark doorway, just in case there were more crazed people inside ready to charge out. When he reached the dead man, he felt something behind him. He turned his head to find Mary at his elbow.
“What did I tell you?” Joe said. “Stay back. Now go in the cab while I check everything out.”
Mary didn’t move, so he escorted her to the cab and told her to get in and stay put. She listened this time. After he walked past the dead man, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mary was still there. He tried not to look at the pool of blood and the black hole where the man’s eye once was. Joe was beginning to think he’d done the wrong thing.
When he got to the door, he already smelled the rotten stink. It was so vile he turned his head away for a moment. And as he stepped up into the doorway, he heard the sound of swarming flies. The stench was even worse now. Joe fought back the sour vomit rising in his stomach. He shuffled carefully across the dusty floor until he reached what was causing the smell and the swarming flies. In the corner sat the two dead bodies of a dismembered woman and child. Maggots crawled in their eye sockets and filled their purple mouths and squirmed in the long slits across their necks. The bones of their hacked-off limbs sat in a pile beside them.
Joe turned quickly and hurried out the door. He stood for a minute to regain his composure. He stared at the dead man. Joe reckoned he must’ve gone mad from killing his family and then eating their flesh. Maybe the man only wanted help or to be rescued. Maybe Joe had done him a favor by putting him out of his misery.
Joe walked to the wagon, got in the cab, and stashed the rifle below the bench. He was about to go when he thought better of it. He couldn’t just leave the situation the way it stood. He had to do the only right thing he could do now. He turned to Mary and told her what he’d witnessed.
“We got to bury them,” he said.
Behind the building, they gathered broken bricks from all the rubble. They made outlines of three rectangles of diminishing size. Joe retrieved the man he’d shot. He grabbed his ankles and dragged him. His outstretched arms rose above his head, and his hands came together like a steeple in the blood. Joe dragged him into the biggest rectangle and positioned his arms next to his body. He told Mary to start stacking broken bricks on him.
Meanwhile, Joe returned to the wagon and pulled out a blanket that he took into the building. He held the blanket to his nose until he got to the rotten bodies. He draped the blanket over the mutilated child. Flies whizzed around Joe’s head. They buzzed in his ears and stuck to his face, but he ignored them. He tucked the blanket around the child’s torso and scooped him up in his arms. A few maggots spilled out the end onto the floor where they writhed around as if in agony. Joe carried the dead child to its grave. He knelt down beside the toothed outline and rolled the body from the blanket. Mary stopped burying the man and stared at the child’s corpse for a little bit before she continued to gather chunks of broken bricks again.
Joe used the blanket to carry the woman to her grave too. Like the child, he shrouded her body and wrapped her in the blanket before he carted her to her final resting place, still cloaked in the blanket. When Mary saw the dead woman next to the dead man—husband and wife, mother and father—she knelt down and bowed her head. Joe figured she was offering a prayer, which he thought was a good thing to do. After he said a few words to the Goddess Virid, they both spent the remainder of the morning piling rubble on the dead bodies. By early afternoon, with the sun blazing like liquid in the sky, they finished covering the dead.
Hot and tired, Joe drove the wagon back to the river. He unhitched the horses to wander out on the sandbars and get a drink. He and Mary splashed water on their faces and stuck their sore feet in the murky water. Later, Joe rounded up the horses so they could continue on their journey to the forest. He didn’t want to spend the night in that wasted ghost town where he killed a man so desperate he ate his own family. It was a bad omen. At dusk, he couldn’t even see the town anymore against the bloody sun sinking over the deserted plains.
Chapter 14
They found a place to camp among some scrub trees. Joe was exhausted. He hadn’t slept for nearly two days. Despite the stifling heat, Mary had fallen asleep in the cab again, but once they stopped she jumped to work. She watered the horses and got the food and blankets ready while Joe made a fire.
His mind was still troubled with the fact that he’d killed a man. He wished Frank was there to talk to. Even though he had already asked Virid to forgive him, he still couldn’t come to peace with what he’d done. Perhaps Frank was right. Perhaps this whole adventure was a huge mistake, a fool’s errand. But he didn’t like thinking that way. He didn’t like the doubts creeping in like a bad disease.
Joe was homesick. He began to miss Frank a lot, particularly since they spent nearly all their days together back home. They did chores, hunted, checked traps, and kept Mom and Dad’s spirits up. He missed the way they bickered and argued and how he could get Frank to laugh even when Frank didn’t want to. He wondered how Frank was getting along without him and how Mom and Dad were faring under the stress of finding out their youngest son and the pregnant girl were gone. Not only gone but off on a journey his parents would think was treacherous and bound to end in tragedy. He hoped Mom’s sickness hadn’t gotten worse because of their disappearance. He knew she was probably bed-ridden, mumbling, “my lambs, my lambs,” over and over. He also knew Dad must’ve gotten all bent out of shape at first and declared that he would bring them back. Without the horses, though, there was no way he could do that. Joe knew they were all worried and fretting. A part of him felt bad about that.
Even so, he was still convinced he was doing the right thing. They’d all be better off in the end. With the money he got from selling the diesel they could buy what they needed to stay on the farm instead of being forced off the land and into the city. There was no other choice really. No room to fail. He had to return home with the money.
After they ate that night, they both curled up in their blankets. In the night, Joe awoke and found Mary sitting straight up, shivering. He crawled next to her.
“I’m scared,” she said.
It was only the second time she’d spoken, but just like the first time, Joe was astonished. She’d only said two words, but two words that added up to a lot. He tried not to make too big of a deal out of it.
“Don’t be scared,” he said. “We’ll be alright.” He tried to think of something to reassure her. “Remember, Virid is always leading us to what is true. She wouldn’t lead us astray.”
He figured that was the end of it. He didn’t expect her to say anything more, but she spoke again.
“She punishes the wicked,” Mary said.
Joe thought that was a strange response because he didn’t say anything along those lines. Not even remotely.
When Mary spread her hands over her belly, Joe realized what she must’ve meant. She meant herself. She was wicked. She should be punished for whatever happened to her.
“That’s not true,” Joe said. “Virid forgives all sins if you trust her. That’s what the prophet tells us. Everything else is washed clean, clean as snow, white as sheep’s wool.”
“White as sheep’s wool,” she repeated.
“That’s right. White as sheep’s wool.”
Joe wanted to put his arm around her, but he still didn’t want to do anything she’d take the wrong way, so he refrained from that small gesture. He still couldn’t believe they’d had an actual conversation, an actual back and forth. He wanted to find out even more about her now. Why she thought she should be punished? How she got that baby? Where she came from? Who she was? But once again he didn’t feel right asking something like that. Besides, she wouldn’t tell him anyway. At least not yet. So he thought he
would try to find out what her actual name was again.
“I know I’ve been calling you Mary,” he said. “But I know it’s not your real name, and I’d really like to call you by your proper name, the one you were born with, you know?”
“Mary,” she said, quickly.
“Mary? Really?” He was skeptical. “I just made that up.”
“It’s Mary,” she said again.
“I don’t believe you”
“It’s Mary now.”
“So that’s not your real name, the one your mom and dad gave you?”
“That name is gone.”
“But what was it?”
“It’s gone. I’m Mary now.”
“You don’t want your other name anymore? Is that it?”
She nodded her head.
When Joe spoke again, he chose his words carefully, which he didn’t always do, but now he wanted to make sure he understood her reasons for wanting her new name over her old one.
“Because of bad memories?” he said. “Because you don’t want to think about that person? You’re a different person now. Is that it?”
“I’m a new person now,” she said.
“That’s right,” Joe said. He paused a moment. He was starting to understand her more. “You can rest against me,” he said. “It’s okay.”
She hesitated at first. Then she gently leaned her head against his shoulder. The contact was so light that Joe barely noticed it, yet its effect was more than noticeable. The touch of her head felt wonderfully soothing, as if she was trying to comfort him instead of the other way around. Mary, he said to himself. The fact that she didn’t want her old name anymore, but wanted the name he gave her instead, said a lot about what her old life must’ve been like and how much being with Joe represented something better. It was hard to believe that being robbed, shot at, and killing a man was better, but maybe that was beside the point. Maybe what mattered more was someone being good to her.
Chapter 15
The following evening they camped a few miles outside of the forest. They had enough daylight to make it in and camp there, but Joe didn’t want their first experience in the forest to be at night. Traveling during the day would be much better. That way they could get used to it and know what to expect. It seemed like the smart thing to do. He remembered what Frank said: “Don’t be a hero. Play it safe. Listen to your gut. If you feel afraid, then be afraid.”
They didn’t make a fire because Joe didn’t want to attract any attention. No one was around in the immediate area—no camps, no fires, no shacks, no shantytowns. The only thing that concerned him was far to the north where he saw white specks of light and glowing green capsules. The lights were from a biofuel refinery and the green capsules were giant tubes of algae used to make fuel and plastics. Of course, Joe didn’t know that. He also didn’t know they belonged to the city of Chikowa, or that the refinery and surrounding fields were heavily fortified with high fences, guard towers, and constant armed patrols.
Frank never told him why going north was the best way to get into the city. He only said that few people used it. Only the Hickabas from the cold regions far up north came stampeding across this barren landscape to raid forest dwellers and harass Chikowa’s military. He wondered if the lights and green capsules were coming from one of the Hickabas’ cities. It was probably why no one lived here. Whatever homestead was established would be razed by the Hickabas in short order.
They drank the last of the water they had and gobbled up the remaining jars of food. The horses chomped at the dry grass. He had to find some food in the forest tomorrow, but with only nine bullets left, he couldn’t waste any shots.
They lay down on the blankets spread near the wagon, and Joe stared up at the stars that looked like scattered bits of crushed glass. He gazed at the moon. There was no use in pretending he wasn’t afraid because he was, pure and simple. Going into the forest was what he’d feared from the very start, but he’d put it out of his mind to focus on getting across the plains. There was no escaping it now. From what Frank had experienced in the forest—the cold, the dark, the thieves, the refugees in rags, the violence—Joe knew this could be the most threatening part.
“You ever been in the forest before?” he asked Mary. In retrospect he thought that was a stupid question to ask. He’d only asked because he was nervous and wanted to talk about it. “Of course, you haven’t. The longest journey you’ve been on is probably when you came to our place.”
He got out his recorder, put it together, and played a song. He blew softly into the mouthpiece, just a whisper, so the sound was hushed like a sigh. He played a verse and then sang a verse.
“I know dark clouds will gather ‘round me,
I know my way is rough and steep,
But golden fields lie out before me,
Where Virid’s lambs their safety keeps.”
When he finished, he sang a lullaby to help Mary go to sleep. She was most likely scared like him, so he wanted to soothe her mind and let her know he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.
“Sleep my child and stars attend thee,
All through the night
The moon its silver light will send thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy darkness creeping,
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones’ vigil keeping,
All through the night.”
During the night, Joe awoke suddenly. He felt as if someone had jabbed him in the shoulder. He grabbed the Calvin rifle beside his leg and twisted his head one way and then the other, trying to peer into the darkness to see if anyone was there. Mary’s head was resting on his chest, which surprised him. She must’ve been afraid and moved closer to him to feel safer, to take comfort in his warmth and the sound of his heart. She seemed like a child to him at that moment, although there was something else there that he couldn’t define yet. He gently squirmed out from beneath her and crept around the wagon. He stared across the dark surface of the swaying land. He searched the darkness for anything that seemed strange, not that he would know, because it all seemed strange.
After a while, when he was satisfied that his imagination was making the darkness come alive and it was only a dream that had stirred him, he returned to Mary. But he barely slept the rest of the night.
Chapter 16
Joe stopped the wagon in front of the entrance to the forest. The size of it was like nothing he’d ever set eyes on before. The tops of the looming trees rustled and shook in the wind like the clouds of a thunderstorm or the wave of an oncoming duster billowing across the plains. Joe felt at any moment that the rolling treetops were going to crash over him and send him tumbling away.
He flicked the reins and the wagon moved out of the sunlight into the dark forest depths. Everything became eerily silent, as if they had entered the belly of an animal, where the sounds of the outside world no longer existed. Dark tree trunks lined both sides of the road like giant stakes speared into the ground. Anything could be hiding behind them, waiting and watching. The wagon creaked and bumped over the rough road. Joe scanned the forest, trying to peer through the thick web and see what was hidden.
No more than a few miles in, the driver’s side tire blew with a loud pop. The cab dropped abruptly to the left. Mary flew across the bench and crashed into Joe, which knocked him out the door. But he managed to twist his body in time to grab hold of the doorframe before falling onto the road. At the same instant, the horses reared up. They jerked the tilting wagon and took off running. Joe’s legs smacked against the ground and flailed in the air. He didn’t panic, though. Not even close. A few seconds later, when his legs fell against the road for a third time, he kicked his feet against the ground. His legs popped high and he hooked a knee over the edge of the wagon bed. From there he worked his body over enough to swing himself into the wagon.
Meanwhile, Mary caught the reins. She was doing everything she could to stop the horses. Joe crawled thro
ugh the back window and toppled into the cab. He landed head first on the floorboards, where he curled around and scrambled onto the bench. Mary gripped the back of the bench with one hand as she bounced around. The reins were twisted tight around her other hand, all the way up to her elbow. They were pulling at her sleeve so much that Joe thought the coiled reins were going to rip the sleeve clean off her skin or yank her arm out of its socket. He lunged forward and snatched the taut reins at the end of her hand while he hung onto the dashboard to keep from bouncing out the front window.
“Get your arm out!” Joe shouted.
Mary shook her arm.
“Easy!” he shouted at the horses. “Easy!”
Finally, Lester started to slow, which made Sam calm down enough so that they both slowed to a trot.
“Whoa, boys. Whoa. Whoa.”
When the horses came to a full stop—their heads shaking and nodding, their muscles twitching and shivering—Mary leapt out. She ran to the side of Lester’s neck and spread her hands over his skin. She combed her fingers through his mane and pressed her cheek against him. His shivering muscles relaxed until there was barely a ripple. Joe watched in amazement until he noticed the rip in his pants and the red scrape alongside his knee. When he stepped out of the cab, his knees buckled under a jolt of pain. He hobbled over to the blown tire and knelt on his good knee.
The tire was shredded down to the rusty wheel rim. Joe had no idea what had happened. The tires were old and cracking, for sure, but for it to just blow like that was unusual. He looked back down the road and spotted what appeared to be a row of spikes sticking up like the tongs on a garden rake. It didn’t take much to realize that someone had set a trap and sprung it just as the wagon rolled near it. And whoever set it must still be lurking in the trees somewhere. When he looked ahead at the horses, he didn’t see Mary right away, and he jumped to his feet.
Never Too Far Page 6
