by Gwen Cole
Things run through my mind like: What if he’s been lying to me this whole time and brought me out here to kill me? Is he going to drown me? Is he going to kiss me? Is he going to kiss me and then drown me? But even as these horrible thoughts pass by, my heart doesn’t change pace, because I don’t believe them to be true. Even though my heart may have sped up when I thought of him kissing me. Gage and I would sneak into the barn once in a while to get away from the others, and he kissed me once in one of the darker corners. It was an awkward kiss, and the way I’m feeling now can’t compare to it.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Seph asks, his voice a whisper.
I nod.
“I don’t know the color of my eyes.”
It takes me a little while to understand what he means, and when it settles in, I can feel my eyebrows draw together. “You don’t?”
He shakes his head then explains with a shrug, “I only have broken glass and rivers for a reflection, and it’s not like I’m going to go looking for a mirror. It’s not something that ever mattered.”
My reaction is slow in coming, and this ache in my heart starts to grow. How could somebody not know the color of their eyes? Seph doesn’t know how good-looking he is and probably never sees the girls turn their heads when he passes through town.
And I can’t believe that thought just ran through my head.
Do I actually think he’s good-looking? Somewhere far, far away in my head, something whispers yes.
“Do you want to know?” I ask, more to distract myself than anything.
Seph opens his mouth, pauses, then says, “Yes.”
I look deeply into them now that he’s closer, seeing the darker shade around the edges. “They’re green,” I tell him. “The best kind of green you can think of.”
“Green?”
I nod and smile.
Seph shifts a little closer, looking down at the water until he says, “I guess that means we’re two parts of the world we’ll never see. The sky and earth.”
“Mine aren’t as great as yours,” I say, shaking my head.
“No, they’re probably better.” It’s like he realizes how close he is and what he just said, and he attempts to cover up with something else. “The first time I saw Finn, I knew I recognized him from somewhere just because of his eyes. But it wasn’t him, it was you.”
The wind blows through us, brushing against my arms to make me shiver and putting more space between us. Now that the moment—whatever moment it was—is gone, Seph glances around.
“We could stay here tonight, if you want to,” he suggests. “There was a patch of dead trees back from where we came, so we could at least dry our clothes.”
“What if we haven’t come far enough yet?” Because it’s been on my mind this whole day. What if we didn’t come far enough yet and miss the train? Miss my chance of getting Finn back? I do my best not to think of it, because every time I do, I start to panic.
“It’s up to you, but the horses need a good rest.”
I can tell he won’t argue if I say no, and we would keep riding into the night and make a cold camp and my clothes would still be wet. I’m confident with the miles we’ve covered, but I’m scared it isn’t enough.
“Let’s stay,” I decide.
Seph gives me one last smile and says, “I’ll get the wood and you can change while I’m gone.”
I nod.
He wades out of the water and whistles to Cade, who comes running. Seph slides up on his back and grabs a fistful of mane, his legs tight against the horse’s sides. I watch them ride off, and I’m grateful he doesn’t look back to see my reddening cheeks.
It doesn’t take long for them to return. I’ve already changed and am in the process of rolling rocks into a circle for the fire. They’re big, but they’ll work better for drying clothes.
I straighten as Seph slides off Cade with a bundle of wood in his arms. His hair is almost dry now, windswept by riding. He drops the wood and starts a fire as I bring our gear over and settle on one of the rocks meant for sitting. Seph is already settled on his, across the campfire. The sky is still light, and yet once the fire is going, the night seems darker than before, tricking me into thinking it wasn’t late. It’s always hard to tell with this gray sky.
“Too bad we don’t have any more of those potatoes,” I say.
“Or anything that could be cooked over a fire.” Seph glances at his saddlebags and then down at himself. “I should change out of these clothes.” But he doesn’t make a move to do it and continues to stare into the flames. He fingers the cloth around his wrist—something he does often but probably doesn’t realize.
“Avery.”
“Yeah?”
His eyes don’t move and he takes exactly four breaths and then he says, “What do you plan to do tomorrow?” Seph looks up.
I’ve known this question was going to come, and until now, I’ve chosen to ignore it. Because— “I don’t know.”
I can’t hold his gaze. I’ve brought him all this way and it might be for nothing. Everything I fear may happen and Finn will really be gone forever. I have no idea what I’m doing or what I’ll do tomorrow. All I want is to have Finn back, and I don’t even know if it’s possible.
“For what?” Seph asks.
I lift my head. It takes me a few seconds to realize I’ve said, “I’m sorry,” out loud. But it’s something he deserves to be told.
“For coming all this way and me still not knowing what to do.”
Then he says something that puts my heart at ease, at least for now. “We’ll figure something out.”
It brings a question to mind, one I can’t hold back. “Why did you come with me? I never asked you to—you were planning to go somewhere else, and you don’t gain anything from it, so why?”
“Why should my decisions be based on gaining something?”
“Because everybody wants something.”
“Something, but not always for gain.”
I lean back and exhale.
“What?” he asks.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I say. “I was just curious.”
Seph looks at me a long time. “I decided to come with you because I know I can help. And your brother isn’t someone who deserves to be in the position he’s in, and nobody knows that better than I do. That’s why I came with you.”
My head shakes slightly on its own.
“You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that,” I say.
“Then what is it?”
“I’ve never met anyone like you before … not even close, and I keep doubting you when I shouldn’t. My mind tells me I should, because I don’t know you, and yet—” I shake my head again. “That’s just it … and yet.”
“It’s good not to trust people.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t trust you?”
It’s his turn to shake his head. “No.”
Seph takes a deep breath and puts more wood on the fire, ending our conversation and leaving me with more questions. When we do talk to each other—which isn’t often—it never lasts long.
Sometimes there’s nothing more to say than the truth.
Then before I’m ready for it, Seph reaches back and pulls his shirt over his head. I’ve seen Finn without a shirt countless times, but Seph isn’t my brother and nothing about this is the same. The belt around his waist isn’t tight enough. Fire dances off the veins running up his forearms. I’m trying not to look at his chest but my eyes deceive me.
Seph lays his shirt over the rocks and catches my eye before I turn, hoping my face hasn’t given me away. Then I ask myself, why should it? Seph will always be a stranger to me, and he’ll be gone once Finn is freed. All we share is a mutual goal. I repeat the same question in my head—what is wrong with me, what is wrong with me, what is wrong with me?
Out of the corner of my eye, Seph goes to his saddlebags for dry clothes. When I happen to look up, I catch a glimpse of his bac
k and my heart skips a beat. I’ve never seen so many scars on someone’s back before. They’re white and straight, except one that is longer than the others, going from his shoulder to his hips—wider than the others, too.
Seph glances back, holding up a worn pair of jeans.
“Do you mind?” he asks, for some reason smiling.
“What?” Then as dumb as I sound, I say, “Oh, right, sorry.”
I turn away, digging the heel of my palm into my forehead. The night is dark now and I hear the horses near the river, enjoying the night off—then I hear Seph somewhere to my left, pulling on clothes to cover up the scars I won’t forget anytime soon.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. I turn back around and he’s wearing a dark T-shirt now, his boots untied.
I shake my head. My stomach is coiled tight thinking about tomorrow and there’s no way I can eat anything. The horses are already here, like they know he has food. He gives a handful to each then sits down across from me, brushing the crumbs from his palms.
“I’m not hungry either,” he finally says. “Not for those bars, anyway.”
“We had to eat them all winter once. They’re horrible.”
“After a while, it’s not so bad.” He kind of smirks to himself. “You have to get creative with the way you eat them.”
I actually laugh, surprising myself. “I don’t even want to know.”
But Seph turns serious after a moment, fingering the red cloth again. “I was somewhere north of here a few years ago, and I took a chance and went around this settlement because nothing about it said friendly. It was winter and there was nothing but flatlands everywhere. Even though I rationed my food, I still ran out. I went days without finding anything and I could feel myself becoming weaker and weaker.
“Then one day, I boiled some water and put some of Cade’s feed into it. It made this horrible-smelling mush, but I had to eat something.”
“And you did?”
He looks up and nods. “It was enough to keep me going until I came to a small town where I could buy real food. So now, every time I think those nutrition bars are bad, I remind myself they aren’t as bad as having nothing, or being forced to eat something not meant for you.”
I don’t know what to say—I can’t imagine being hungry enough to eat horse feed. Finn and I were lucky enough to live in a town where people looked out for one another—at least enough so nobody starved.
I don’t understand how Seph can live out here like he does. Every story he tells me, it’s another near-death experience or fighting for his life from people who want him dead for no reason. But then there are times when I see how much he loves it out here, and it makes me realize the Wild is a part of him. A part of who he is.
“You’ve said you don’t have anything to go back to,” Seph says. “Are your parents—”
He leaves it hanging and I finish it for him. I tell him, “They’re both dead. Dad died when we were really young and then Mom got sick a few years ago. The doctor said he thought it was some type of cancer.”
Nodding, he says, “It makes sense now, knowing you’re twins.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because people usually don’t go this far to save someone. You said Finn was taken with other boys his age?”
I nod.
“How many other families do you think went after those taken?”
I know the answer to that— “None.”
It’s not a question. People in town never so much as went to Kev for supplies—that’s why they paid me to do it for them.
“What you and Finn have is something most people never find.”
“Have you?”
Seph gives a sharp laugh and smiles. “No.”
“Okay, then how do you know who has it?”
“Because you’re here and they’re not, and I can see it every time you mention his name. It’s pretty obvious. There’s a bond between you that is rare.”
I swallow and bring the subject back to where it was. “What about you? You said your mom died when you were two, but what about your dad?”
Seph shifts his gaze to the fire, his fingers playing with a pocketknife. “I think I was nine when he died. A man shot him in the head and made me watch.”
He says it so easily that it catches me off guard. My breath comes shallow for a few seconds until I right it again, but nothing brings my heart back to normal. It’s one of those things that sticks with you after you hear it. Like random moments in the past I’ll never forget.
Seph lets out a breath—one between a laugh and surprise. “I’ve never told anyone that before. I’ve thought it a thousand times but never said it out loud. Probably because nobody has ever asked.”
When he looks at me, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry you were nine when you saw your father murdered? I don’t have anything to say because there is nothing to say.
We sit for a long time in silence, using up the last of the wood and falling asleep next to the hot embers.
I dream about things I can’t remember.
21.
Seph
I wake before Avery.
The horizon is becoming light with every minute and I pull on my cold boots. I slide onto Cade’s back and I don’t need to tell him anything. We ride east toward the sun we’ve never seen. He starts out with a steady gallop, but soon it turns into something more.
I let him go as long as he wants, running hard with his ears always forward. He turns when he’s gone far enough. When we ride back into camp, Avery is packing up her things. I jump off Cade and she glances at me once without saying a word.
I’m not going to be the one to break the silence.
I roll up my dry clothes from near the cold fire but decide to change back into the shirt Marshall gave me. It’s the best piece of clothing I’ve owned in a long time. I change quickly and when I turn back around, I catch her eye. Right then, I remember the scars on my back, and wonder if she saw them last night, too.
They healed too fast for me to remember them, unlike the many others my body holds.
“Where did you get those?” Avery finally voices.
“Kev.”
Her eyebrows crease together. “But that was only a few days ago.”
“You know that Lawman soldier you met before we reached the city? He’s made something that heals wounds faster—so I was lucky, otherwise I probably wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s amazing,” she says, rolling up her bedroll. “How did it happen?”
I pause then, not wanting to relive that moment. “There was a man there that wanted to make a show of me … it’s not really important.”
“It’s important if they punish you for things you never did,” she argues, standing. She has her bedroll curled around her arm but doesn’t make a move to strap it to her saddle.
Sometimes she can be stubborn when she wants to know things—that much I’ve learned. I suddenly feel angry. It’s my choice if I want to tell her things, not hers. And this is something I want to keep to myself.
“It doesn’t matter because it’s already happened.” My voice comes out stronger than I expect and I recoil. I turn away but don’t go anywhere. I stand there and take a breath, forcing my finger not to tap against my leg and trying not to think about being tethered to that post. I don’t want it.
“Seph—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Because it already happened,” I say again, turning around. “What’s the point of reliving something that can’t be changed?”
Something serious passes over her eyes, and she says, “So you don’t have to carry the burden alone.”
I want to make my legs work but they won’t. My entire life I’ve been alone, so I’ve thought nothing of it. And now Avery is here, offering something I’ve never thought possible, and still maybe don’t. Will telling her really make a difference?
No.
No, it won’t. How could it?
/>
In the end, I shake my head and turn away. I saddle Cade, and I feel her eyes on me until I hear her call Jack over.
We mount in silence and continue south.
She rides a little ahead of me and never turns around.
Sometimes I think I was never meant to be around people. I never get along with them and rarely enjoy the company. They talk too much and demand answers I would rather not give.
It’s not an hour later when we come to the railroad tracks.
Avery slides off her saddle and approaches them. We look east and west, both wondering if we’re too late. I dismount, pull my bandana down, and stand behind her.
When she turns around, she smiles. “We’ve been this close since yesterday and didn’t even know it.”
“And now that we’re here, we’d best get ready,” I say. “It could come at any time.”
She nods, looking east.
“Avery.”
“Yeah?” She turns again.
I open my mouth. And then say, “I’m sorry.”
Avery shakes her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“Yes, there is. You said you’ve never met someone like me, but I’ve never met someone like you. You’ve been kind to me and I haven’t repaid the favor well. I’m just—I’m not very good at this.” I gesture between us, trying to make my point. “I’m used to talking to Cade but he can’t talk back. So I’m sorry if I’ve been difficult.”
She offers a small smile. “I’m lucky to have you. And I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t push you. Finn always has to remind me not to be pushy.”
“Maybe I should be pushed more often.”
We wait behind an outcropping of rocks near the tracks where we can’t be seen when the train comes. If it ever does—we’re still not sure if we missed it. Avery sits next to me, asking questions about my plan, which will most likely work. At least, I hope it will because it’s all we’ve got.
“I don’t know how many soldiers will be on the train,” I admit, “but they’ll be in a different train car. If anything, there will be a couple of guards. Nothing we can’t handle.”
