by Jack Bates
“It’s a good thing we did,” the orange haired woman says. “What were you planning to do with all of these?”
Denny holds up a hand for silence. “That’s enough, Bethany,” he says. Bethany shrinks back against the couch. Denny turns his attention to me. “You certainly are well equipped,” he says.
“It’s a dangerous world out there,” I say.
Bethany cuts in on me. “Smart people stick together for safety. Ain’t that what you always say, Denny?” Denny gives Bethany a lingering glare. She slumps deeper into the couch. “It’s what you always say,” she says. It’s basically to herself.
“Ever kill a runner?” Denny asks.
I nod. “Killed a few,” I say. “But it’s not really killing if it’s already dead.”
“Government propaganda,” Bethany says. Denny doesn’t even bother to look at her anymore. This seems to frighten Bethany more than his stony glares. She looks to Leslie and the other younger woman for support.
“If what you told us outside is true,” Auntie Alice says, “then maybe it’s getting a little more complicated.”
“Living or dead, they’s still the enemy,” Sledge says. He slaps a hand down on his bald head and rubs the bare scalp. He yawns. “Think it’s time to call it a night.” Sledge stands. Scarecrow stands along with him.
“I think it’s time everyone got a little shut eye,” Denny says.
Bethany stands and holds out her hand. I think she’s reaching for Aubrey’s, but then the other woman, the one with the long, straight black hair, holds up her arm. Their hands fold around each others’.
“Come on, Tessa,” Bethany says.
They walk like that to the stairs, holding hands, Bethany practically pulling the other behind her. Bethany glares at me over her shoulder. Her friend only gives me a thin smile that frightens me. As they go up the steps, Tessa reaches up and scratches at something on her scalp. It’s perfunctory. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s just given herself away. Not every itch is an indication you are infected with Balzini’s Rash, and I hope that it was just an absent gesture. It isn’t until she wipes her fingertips on her clothes that I know my suspicions are real. As if to check and see if anyone noticed her, Tessa turns and looks over the railing at us.
“Come along, Leslie,” Bethany says.
Leslie tucks her blond hair behind her ears. She glances sideways at me without looking at me directly. I frighten her. I frighten all of them. They think I am something I’m not. All I am is a girl who never got to graduate from high school because the world went bat-house crazy. I lower my eyes. That was something my dad always said when things like this happened in the world. “That guy who shot up his office was bat-house crazy…What are those people thinking? Are they bat-house crazy? If you think I’m going to let you go camping with that Lane doofus, then you are…’
“Robbie? You okay?”
Aubrey’s question snaps me back to my immediate reality. I bring my attention back to the people in the room. He, Auntie Alice, Denny, Sledge, and the scarecrow stare at me.
“It’s been a long—” I stop. My smile is tired. “It’s just been long.”
“Right on, Sunshine,” Denny says. “A little rest will do you good. We’ve got an extra room upstairs—”
Before I can decline the invitation, Auntie Alice has rescinded the offer. “Not tonight, Denny. Not tonight.”
Denny laughs. His eyes squint behind his round, wire-rimmed glasses. His face goes pink and scrunches behind a thick, curly brown beard. He says goodnight and goes up the stairs. All Auntie Alice can do is stare at me.
“Can I take my things?” I ask.
“Absolutely not. Sledge and Jimmy will put them away for safe keeping.”
Sledge looks a little irritated. I think he wants to get to his sleeping bag up in his tree fort. Jimmy the Scarecrow whistles some nameless tune and picks up the weapons, lighters, and matches.
“What about the rest of it?” he asks.
“She can take it,” Auntie Alice says.
I pick up the picture of Lane and the tennis ball. “Be careful with the rest of my gear,” I say. Scarecrow Jimmy gives me a salute. I want to snap his wrist.
It is Aubrey who takes me out to where I will bed down for the night. Some of the tents still have a flickering inside of them from lanterns. The yard is quiet. I can hear some people whispering as we pass. At one point I think I hear someone whimpering. We walk alongside a tent where a guy strumming a guitar sits on an upside down milk crate. He sees me and his eyes go flat. He stops strumming. As pass, I hear him whisper to someone inside his tent.
“Yeah, it’s that girl,” he says. I look over my shoulder and he’s staring at me. There’s a face watching me from behind the fine mesh screen of the tent window. Because it’s night and because the person is behind a screen, I can’t make out any features. I can only feel his eyes on me. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me.
My tent is at the rear of the yard, nearest the wooden privacy fence. There’s a door panel in the fence. It’s a black, iron grasp with a thumb-latch release. On our side, two heavy-duty slide bar locks have been installed. A coil of razor wire has been fitted over the panel so that if the door is opened, it won’t pull down the rest of the coil running along the top.
Aubrey continues to my tent. I stop a step or two behind him.
“Aubrey,” I say. I keep my voice low. “What’s behind the fence?” He looks back at me, shines his flashlight in my eyes. I hold up my hand. He lowers the beam.
“You should get inside your tent,” he says.
“I will, but what about—”
“Robbie. Really. You should come inside.” He holds the flap back for me. I get the impression he wants to talk to me privately. I’m not sure how much privacy a city of tents can provide.
My backpack sits inside the tent. I already know my weapons have been confiscated, but I go through the pockets and insides anyhow. I sift through the odds and ends and think, “This is my life now. All I am is inside this backpack.”
“They left everything else alone in it,” Aubrey says. He kneels in front of me.
“Why did they take my belongings?”
“It’s a precaution.”
“I’m not the enemy. The runners are the enemy.”
“We can’t be too sure,” Aubrey says.
“Why not?”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed it, Robbie, but it’s a dangerous world out there.”
“Yeah, and apparently the biggest danger is me.”
“You don’t understand what’s happening. You’ve been solitary too long.”
“And you do understand?”
“More than you.”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
But Aubrey says nothing. He just stares at me.
“Who put up my tent?” I ask.
“Matt and I did while you were sleeping.”
“You mean after you drugged me?”
Aubrey looks away from me again. “I didn’t have a choice. You saw what Auntie Alice did to Matt.” Aubrey can’t look at me. He turns to the flap. I stop him.
“Where is Matt, anyhow?” I ask. “I haven’t seen him since he cut the hand out of my hair.”
“What do you care?” Aubrey’s voice turns hostile. “We may be a bunch of people here, but we’re all basically alone.”
So I try another approach to keep him in my tent. I grab his hand. It’s warm and calloused from hard work. “What’s on the other side of the wood fence?” I ask.
Aubrey looks at our hands. His fingers fold over mine. “Don’t worry about it. You’re safe in the yard.”
But I wonder just how true that is.
Seven
Sleep eludes me.
I worry about Yuki. I want to believe she’s still in that storeroom waiting for me, but then I remember she’s a dog and she’s probably wandered away. Does she even give me a second thought? I can’t imagine she’s lying behind those boxes wondering where I am.
The boxes.
There were quite a few there. Aubrey and Matt said they were out looking for supplies. I wonder how long the group has been camped at Freedom House. A week? A month? The tents would suggest this group is nomadic. I can’t imagine what would bring them to Kawkawlin. I have more questions than I do answers.
I let it go and think of Matt and Aubrey.
One of them is a punk, the kind of guy my dad said Lane was. “Nothing good ever comes from spending time with boys like him,” he told me. My dad didn’t understand Lane. Maybe if he’d taken the time to get to know him instead of judging him by the way he looked, there wouldn’t have been all the friction that there was between us. I’ve had time to wonder if I was only dating Lane because my dad didn’t want me to. I know he would have preferred a guy like Aubrey.
But is Aubrey any different?
As soon as I looked into those amazing blue eyes of his, I wanted to find out more about him. It could just be that in the last 58 weeks my encounters have been mostly with people who are a decade or so older than me and the loneliness has dented their brains. Seeing Aubrey has made me want to give up the open road, at least for a while. He is handsome. And he does seem somewhat interested in me. After all, he didn’t rip his hand away when I took it. Since I’ve gotten here, though, it’s been almost the opposite. Aubrey shows more interest in Denny and the house family than he does in me. That makes me wonder if he knows something he hasn’t shared with me.
And then there’s Matt. He’s crude, he smokes, and he’s destined to always be in trouble. His hair is thick and spiky. I think he’s lived his life as if he were a hip-hop star. But there’s a sparkle in his eye. When I think of his freestyle rapping on the road, it makes me laugh.
A small stone or something similar to it strikes my tent.
I sit up. The night is still. Did I imagine it?
There’s a second plunk on the nylon skin. Someone is trying to get my attention. I don’t know if I should risk going outside. One of my tent screens faces the wooden fence. I unzip the shade and press my face into the screen. The fine mesh is cool in the night air. In as low a voice as I can use and still be heard, I ask, “Who’s there?”
“Robbie,” Matt says. His voice is also low. We speak like we’re talking to ourselves, hoping no one else hears our thoughts. “It’s me, Matt.”
“Where are you?”
“They put me in the pit.” He sounds terrified.
“What’s the pit?”
“It’s back here, on the other side of the fence.”
“Why are you back there?”
“I broke rules,” he says. “I broke rules.” He sniffs. It might as well have been thunder. “He cut off my fingers, Robbie.”
“Who did? Denny?”
Matt sniffs again and I wish he wouldn’t. His voice breaks. He’s sobbing. “Yeah, Denny. He was pissed we lost that runner. He blamed me. So he cut off my fingers and fed them to the pigs.”
“Matt. You have to keep your voice down.”
But he’s through trying to conceal his presence. “Listen, you have to get out of here.”
“I can’t tonight.” My whisper is so harsh it burns my throat.
“No, listen, you have to. You’re in too much danger.”
“I know. But how do I get away?”
“I don’t know. You just have to.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Denny pays a bounty for wanderers. He needs them for the Drome.”
I’m not following what Matt is telling me. I think he’s talking about the bike track, but I can’t imagine why Denny would want me there.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I don’t have time to tell you. Just be ready to run.”
“I don’t understand—”
Matt silences me. He yells out from behind the wooden fence. “Aunt Alice and Denny are full of shit!”
The top of my tent lights up as a great light sweeps over it. The lemon yellow nylon explodes like a solar flare. I flatten myself on the plastic flooring. Whatever is emitting the light is not an ordinary flashlight. It’s probably more of a searchlight. From wherever it comes, there are shouts and exchanges. A metal bell starts ringing.
“Matt, someone’s coming,” I say. He doesn’t respond. “Matt?”
Then I hear Matt yell, “Over here!”
Someone shouts outside my tent. It could be Sledge. I zip up the shade and lay back down on my sleeping bag. The voices are nearer now. They are talking over one another. I hear one of them yell for people to get back in their tents. I’m pretty sure it’s Scarecrow Jimmy. Denny is with them. Maybe even Aubrey. I hear a group of people go running pass.
The metal latch of the wood fence’s gate clicks loudly. The shouting grows fainter as the posse runs off behind the house. For a moment I lay in my tent listening to my heart pound in my ears. When it sounds like there is no one around, I roll over and rise up on my knees. As quietly as possible, I undo the zipper to the tent flap. I stick my head outside. There’s no one around and the wood fence door is open. I unzip the flap the rest of the way and spring for the open door cradling Baby in my arms.
Before I can slip through, I get knocked to the ground. Whoever tackles me wraps his arms around my waist. I roll over so that I am on top. I raise an elbow and smash it down into the nose of my assailant. The arms release me and I roll off as the attacker slowly gets up on her feet.
It’s Bethany. She’s holding her nose with one of her hands and tugging Baby with the other. All the while she is cursing me. I see her reach behind her, and from her waistband she pulls out my knife.
I know she thinks she has the upper hand on me now because she’s holding the weapon, but what she doesn’t know is how much I’ve learned being on my own for thirteen months. Bethany releases her hold on Baby and I almost topple backwards. Bethany makes the mistake of charging me, the knife raised over her head. It gives me more than enough opportunity to find a stance, rock back, and drop the sole of my foot into her chest.
Bethany is knocked on her back. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. The knife is clutched loosely in her hand. I stomp my boot down onto her wrist and hold it there. I reach down and take back my knife. I could deliver the deathblow, but I don’t want to. She’s not a runner. I can’t kill just to kill.
From across the yard I hear the panicked cries of another woman. She’s calling for Bethany, and all I can think is it must be the woman with black hair. Tessa.
I drop a knee down onto Bethany’s chest. I place the tip of the knife under her throat. “Don’t ever, ever touch me again. I won’t be as forgiving as I am tonight.”
“Bethany!” A woman in the night yells for her.
“Over here, Tessa! She’s going to kill me.” Bethany’s voice is a mushy gurgle.
I want to punch her, but instead I push off of her and head for the open gate. A flashlight beam illuminates the trees in front of me. Behind the house is a dense track of trees and flora. There is a narrow footpath that leads down a hill. I have no choice but to head that way.
They follow me into the forest. I want to get off the footpath, but I don’t know how dense the woods around me are. I need to follow wherever the trail goes until I get pass the trees. I’m hoping I don’t fall into whatever pit Matt said he was put in. It’s just blind luck and a sliver of moonlight that carries me along the dirt trail and down the steep hill.
There’s a clearing up ahead of me. I know it’s there because there are several large drums with fires burning in them. They run along a chain-link fence that surrounds a large wood and cinder block structure. It appears to be some sort of stadium. On the far side of the fence I can see the flashlights of the search party. I just have to get to the clearing, I think, and then I can break off in a different direction.
My lungs burn. My heart is beating against my chest. My fingers are wrapped so tightly over the handle of my knife it feels like the rubber grip is burning. It i
s impossible to run and hold onto Baby. I fling the pack off to the side.
“She’s out!” Bethany yells. “Hey! She’s out! The agent is out!”
I don’t have time to think about what she is saying. I have no idea who the agent is, but given who they are chasing, it must be me.
I reach the clearing. On my left is a park. Swing sets, merry-go-rounds, a climbing structure. On my right, more trees. In front of me is the fenced-in stadium. I have no choice but to head towards the park.
A concrete path loops around the stadium. A branch of it connects the playground and picnic pavilion. I start running along it. When I get halfway to the park, I notice there is a wooden sign that says “Velodrome.”
I can hear Bethany’s shouts for help growing closer. I break off through the picnic pavilion and follow the asphalt road. There is no way of knowing where it goes. The only place I need it to go is away from here.
Up ahead the road bends to the left. When I reach the bend, there is one of those military trucks parked diagonally across the pavement; it stretches shoulder to shoulder. This one has been burned. I’m not sure if it was abandoned or placed there. It’s useless to me, and an unexpected inconvenience. I step onto the shoulder to run around it when I see the bobbing, swinging beams of flashlights coming from the other side of the truck. In a few moments, the two parties chasing Matt and me will meet together. I stop next to the truck and look around.
There is another concrete pathway cutting into the nearby trees. A wooden sign at the entrance of the path says “Pool.” It’s the only clear exit from the situation. The path is not long. It ends at an Olympic size swimming pool surrounded by a ten-foot-tall, diamond link fence with a pair of gated doors usually held shut with a length of chain. The chain hangs off the metal frame of one of the gates. I push the gate and go inside.
I can see in the moonlight that there is no water in the pool. I go to the edge, hoping that if the chasers do check the pool, they won’t bother to look into it. I’m about to lower myself in when I stop. The pool is not empty after all. It is filled with people. Fifteen, maybe twenty. They are huddled together in the deep end in ankle-deep puddles.
