The Last Legend

by Ernie Lindsey

  Boom, boom, ba-boom.

  Finn walks in front of the crowd, unafraid of being so close to a clan of Republicons. He doesn’t understand how dangerous this is—or used to be—but after what they did for us, maybe I don’t have to be afraid either. “That’s the vanguard.”

  James pushes through his group and joins Finn. “What’s a vanguard?”

  “The lead company of soldiers.”

  “How many?”

  “Didn’t you see them in the forest?”

  “No, we came up from the south. Are there a lot of them?”

  “Too many,” Finn says. “Five hundred at least. Ten thousand behind that.”

  “We don’t have enough arrows.”

  “You think?”

  I step around the gaggle of Republicons and move to James’s side. He and Finn are both staring north, hands on their hips. Man and boy, pondering. I reach out and touch James on the arm. It’s strange, feeling the need to do this but realizing that I’m touching a dreaded Republicon. And until this morning, as far as enemies go, he’s all I’ve ever known. “We have to leave,” I say. “You and your friends have to go. Get back into the woods where it’s safe. Hide, or run, whatever you have to do.”

  “What about you two?”

  “We’re going south, back to the capital. It’s my job to warn them.”

  Finn says, “But you don’t have an army, Caroline. The PRV can’t protect itself, not from them. They’re coming, no matter what. Maybe we should…”

  “Should what?”

  “Maybe we should save ourselves.”

  “Look at what happened here, Finn. All those people deserve better than this. They don’t deserve to become slaves. They—they deserve a chance to run. I don’t care who they are or if I don’t know them, we have to give them a chance.”

  “We’ll go with you,” James says.

  “You don’t have to do that. If you go now, you’ll have plenty of time to disappear, and if we travel in a big group like this, it’ll just slow us all down.”

  James laughs. “Slow you down, huh? You hear that?” he says to his people. “She thinks we’ll slow her down.”

  “But—”

  “We may not look like it, but we can move. Fast. And you’ll need protection. If we go with you, if we protect you, will they offer us a reward?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible.”

  “It’s a five-day run from here to your capital, and trust me, I know you can’t go that whole way without resting. No one could. You’ll have to rest. Who’ll protect you? We will. And you’ll tell them we did. I don’t care how well you know these woods this far north—have you ever been outside of this valley?”

  “Yes. Just over the hills to the abandoned towns. Salvage runs.”

  “Uh-huh, see? Here’s what you don’t know—there’s more like us, plenty more, that you’ve never seen. You’ll need someone to walk you past them. You need our help. If you try to go alone, what happens if you come across more like us, huh, without us around? Or another band of these little blackcoats catches up to you? What then?”

  He’s right. I know he’s right, and I don’t want to admit it. I know the surrounding area well and could navigate it blindfolded, but I’ve only been as far south as that spot where the river forks. There’s good fishing there. I was there last week and brought home three trout that Grandfather and I cooked for dinner. Beyond that, the woods are a mystery. The scouts never went farther than the river fork.

  Finn and I could make it on our own, I’m sure of it. We’ve been scouting long enough to find the best paths and the best places to hide, where to find food and how to build a shelter to use for one night.

  That’s the problem. It’s too far. We’ll have to rest. We could take turns staying on watch while the other sleeps, but after days of running, we’ll get tired. We’ll wear out, and we can’t risk the fact that the one on guard might fall asleep.

  The Republicons down south may not know that war is coming, but they won’t care. If they don’t kill us, they’ll strip us of everything we have, which won’t be much, and I have no desire to run naked and cold through the woods all the way to Warrenville.

  Admitting that we could use the help is the only answer. “Safety in numbers,” like Grandfather used to say.

  And look where that got us. Numbers didn’t mean anything. Not against guns, not against Captain Tanner and his goons, not against Hawkins’s betrayal.

  Hawkins. I forgot about him.

  He’s still alive, writhing in pain, lying on the ground with his huge, round belly poking out from underneath his shirt. Seeing the fat, blobby flesh gives me an idea.

  “We’ll go together on two conditions.”

  “And what’s that?” James asks.

  “Follow me. I’ll show you.”

  We hurry, because the drums are growing louder behind us, but it doesn’t take long for James and his gang of Republicons to help me with what I want.

  When we’re finished, Hawkins has been stripped down to his underclothes and tied to the podium in the middle of The Center. I want him to be humiliated, and so far, it’s working.

  He’s pleading for me not to do this, to let him go. Begging like a child with a blubbering bottom lip and tears streaming down his face. “You’ll never see me again,” he says. “I’ll disappear. I promise.”

  “I’m sure you’ll disappear,” I say, “but probably not in the way you’d like.”

  I hang the sign I made around his neck. The black letters, scrawled on the wood with a burnt hickory log I found in a nearby shack, won’t easily wash away in the rain. It reads, “Traitor,” on the first line and “Long live the PRV!” on the second.

  It’s my hope that when the vanguard arrives, they’ll see all the eliminated DAV soldiers and think that Hawkins betrayed Captain Tanner. I’m taking a huge risk by leaving him alive, but I’m sure they’re aware that a bound and practically naked man will say anything to stay alive, and he’ll be dealt a punishment far more severe than what we have time for.

  “Caroline,” he says, “please don’t leave me.”

  “Look at what you did,” I say, pointing. I shout at him. “You caused this! You were General Chief. You were supposed to protect us! Why? Tell me why you did it!”

  “They can’t be stopped. I had to—it was the only way to—”

  “To not become a slave?”

  “I wouldn’t survive, I know I wouldn’t.”

  There’s nothing left to say, nothing that will change my past or his future. I don’t owe him the courtesy of any prophetic words. I say nothing more than, “Goodbye, Hawkins,” and then turn away from him to face the Republicons behind me. Some are smiling at Hawkins, and others are staring intently at me, waiting for instructions, like I’m the one to lead them.

  I approach James. “If you and your people help us get back to the capital, if you help us warn our citizens and protect us from the other Republicons, I’ll do whatever I can to get you a reward, but I’m a duly appointed representative of the PRV, and you’ll follow my orders. Agreed?”

  “How much of a reward?”

  “Whatever I can manage. As much as I can.” Saving my people’s lives is worth it, and it’s strange, feeling this strength inside me, making demands of an adult.

  James glances over his shoulder at the ten men and women. They shrug, nod, and say yes when he asks if they’re up for a hike. “Lead the way,” he says.

  I feel horrible for what I’m about to do next, but if we want to survive, if we want to get back to Warrenville as fast as we can, pillaging my own kind will be necessary. We won’t have time to hunt or fish. “Finn, James, all of you, find the packs filled with the most food. Take the ones from the families. They’ll have more than the others.” I step over to Finn and grab his arm before he can leave. “Grab one for me, okay? I’ll be back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to say goodbye.”

  He doesn’t question me.
He understands. He hugs me and then pushes me in the direction of my shack. “Hurry. They’re not far.”

  I run back through The Center, averting my eyes, ignoring the remainders of what’s left around me. I try not to think about the past. If I allow myself to remember their smiles, their laughter, the stories they told, I know I’ll break down into a sobbing mess of tears.

  I stop in front of the place I’ve called home since the day Mother and Father left. It’s strange to pause for a second and really look at it. When you look at something over and over, every day of your life, it blends into the surroundings and you fail to see all the imperfections that make it what it is. But now that I’m about to leave it behind, I see it differently.

  It leans to the side, slightly, but enough to make me wonder how I could’ve missed that for so many years. The wooden walls have grayed more than most of the other shacks around us. Moss has taken root and grows in tight green bunches down near the foundation. Three swirling knots, to the left of where the door used to be, form what looks like two eyes and a gaping mouth. Rain runs off the metal roof, splashing into rivulets along the sides.

  I can feel my eyes beginning to water with the realization that this is no longer my home. By tomorrow, it’ll be an empty shell, void of the lives that were lived there. If the DAV army can get their torches hot enough to burn the soaking wet wood, and it’s doubtful they will, all that will be left is a pile of black, smoldering timbers.

  But I can’t allow the loss of my past to consume me. My future is the only thing that remains, and I have to get this over with so I can move on. Rushing inside, I find Grandfather where I left him when Finn killed the DAV infantryman, who’s lying beside him. This man, this invader, broke into my home, and his presence here sends me into an uncontrollable rage. He violated our home, and I want him gone. I grab his leg and begin pulling, yanking, trying to drag him. At first, he’s too heavy. I pull and pull, and nothing happens. I curse at his body, demanding him to move.

  A warmness fills my legs and my arms, a sensation I’ve never had before, and when I yank his leg again, his body slides across the floor. He’s almost light, like I’m dragging a sack full of deer hides.

  Grandfather’s words echo in my head. “Strength… she gave it to you for a reason.”

  12

  I’m amazed at how easily I’m able to drag the soldier out of my home. What’s happening to me? First I can hear Finn’s thoughts, and now this. I’m dragging a man who easily weighs a hundred pounds more than me like he’s a pillow. I don’t know. I simply don’t know what’s going on.

  The beating of the drums grows louder, and I don’t have time to think about it.

  Boom, boom, ba-boom.

  I grunt, growl, and heave the soldier, slinging his body, watching it slide ten feet across the mud. I stare down at my hands, shake my head, and then dart inside.

  There’s no time for a long goodbye. I kneel over Grandfather and push his white, stringy hair away from his forehead. I kiss him there. Before, his skin was burning hot. Now it’s cold and dry. No more tears, I think, and then I grab the blanket from his bed. I pause and take one last look, knowing I’ll never see him again.

  My grandfather. The man who fed me and clothed me, cared for me when those who should’ve had left me behind. I promise myself that if I ever find my parents, if they’re still alive, I won’t scream at them. All I want to know is why.

  Grandfather. The man who taught me how to hunt and fish, how to find the most perfect rocks for my slingshot, and how to sneak so quietly through the woods that I could slip up behind a squirrel and grab its tail.

  “I’ll make you proud,” I say, and then drape the blanket over him, covering his body from head to toe.

  That’s it. I leave him here, realizing that when one world ends, another begins.

  My past is gone.

  Back in The Center, I see that Finn and the Republicons are at the south end of the encampment, patiently waiting on me. They each have two sacks slung across their backs—their own, and another they’ve taken from one of the fallen.

  When I approach, Finn hands me a bag. I recognize the family markings on it. Two connecting circles with a line through the middle, which tells me the sack belonged to Brandon’s father. I hold it, stare at it for a moment, and then say, “Trade.”

  He does without question, and then we’re moving.

  I don’t look back. I’ll never look back.

  The only sounds I can hear are our boots slapping against the sopping earth and Hawkins’s remorseful wail.

  I’m dreaming. I know I’m dreaming, but it feels so real, like I’m actually back at the encampment. I’m in my shack with Grandfather and Grandmother. Mother and Father are there, too, along with someone who looks like Ellery—no, it’s definitely her, but she’s much, much younger. Younger than an Elder. Her hair is brown and curly on her head. Her skin is tight and flush with pink. She’s smiling, and I see a row of beautiful white teeth. I say something, but they don’t hear me. I don’t think they know I’m here.

  Everyone is happy. Talking and laughing, excited about something they’re looking at in the middle of the room. I nudge past Grandmother’s shoulder; she doesn’t feel me. I ask what’s going on, and no one responds.

  I see what they’re looking at. It’s a crib. Inside, a small baby sleeps, wrapped tightly in a white swaddle. It’s me. It has to be me.

  Grandmother says, “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “More than beautiful,” Grandfather adds.

  “She takes after you both,” my mother says to her parents. From what I was told, Father’s parents were lost in a flood, years before he and Mother met.

  The baby—I—begin waking up, squawking and struggling against the swaddle. It’s hard to believe that I was ever that small. I’m not big now, but the baby me is so tiny.

  Ellery bends over the crib and strokes the baby’s cheek. “She’s hungry. I think it’s time.”

  Time for what, I ask, and again, my words go unheard.

  Mother turns to Father. She looks concerned. “Are we sure about this?”

  Father sighs. “Ellery says she’s the one, Meredith. I believe her.”

  “But what if you’re wrong, Ellery? Our baby…”

  Ellery’s smile is warm and comforting. “Am I ever wrong?”

  “No, but—it’s just that—”

  “She’s your child. You and Anson have the final say. But I’ve seen it. You’ll say yes, whether it’s today or a year from now. What I see does not lie.”

  Mother twists a button on her dress and asks, “What do you think?”

  Grandfather and Grandmother exchange swift glances and take each other’s hands, looking down at the child in the crib. I want to question what’s happening, what they’re talking about, why Mother is so concerned, but it’s a waste of time. I’m invisible to them. I’m a bystander to a seemingly important moment in my life.

  Is this a dream? Or am I really seeing the past?

  Grandfather says, “I don’t need Ellery to tell me she’s special. Look at her. Look at that face. Can’t you feel it?”

  I can. I can feel the love inside him for his only grandchild, the one he would eventually raise.

  Everyone waits while Mother twists, twists, twists the button.

  I survey the room. It’s warm inside the shack. A fire burns in the stove. Everything is the same, but different. There is one bed, big enough for both my grandparents to sleep in instead of the two smaller ones we owned. The shelves that Grandfather and I built aren’t there. Of course they aren’t. This is years and years before that summer. Grandmother wears the dress that hung on our wall for so long.

  Finally, Mother lets go of the button and covers her face. From behind her hands, she says, “Go ahead. No—wait—it won’t hurt, will it?”

  Ellery assures her that it won’t, that I won’t feel a thing.

  “What did you mean when you said, ‘A girl will lead them’?”


  “It’s not my place to question the future, nor to prevent it from developing how it should, Meredith. It’s better that I don’t say. You must trust me.” She finishes speaking and looks directly at me. At me, the invisible one. I’m the only entity on this side of the room. Ellery says, “I was wondering when you would arrive.”

  Not a single one of them reacts to her words. It’s as if we’re alone together.

  “I’m here,” I say.

  She can hear my voice. Ellery puts her finger to her lips. “Watch,” she whispers. She pulls a knife from a pocket and pricks the tip of the same finger, which she then holds down to the open, crying mouth of the infant. I watch the baby suckle, and I taste blood on my tongue. Ellery allows the baby to squeeze her pinky, and I feel the warmth of her skin on my palm.

  I watch, and I wait, like everyone else. The baby drinks from Ellery’s finger, and I feel a fullness in my stomach. I want to tell her to stop, that it’s too peculiar, and when I can pry my eyes away from the crib, Ellery appears as the woman I’ve always known. The pink is gone from her pale, wrinkled skin, and her hair is white and fluffy. She looks drained. Empty.

  The baby stops crying, makes a subtle noise of contentment that I can barely hear, and then falls asleep again.

  “It’s done,” Ellery croaks in her familiar voice.

  Mother cries softly. Father puts an arm around her shoulder. My grandparents hug each other from the side. They’re beaming. They’re proud.

  “What did you do to me?”

  Ellery strains and struggles to move her frail body around so she can face me, looking up like her neck is stiff and nailed to her shoulders. “I have given you the greatest gift. On the morning of your fifteenth year, you will become…”

  Her words trail off in hollow repetition, and I never get to hear the rest of her sentence. What will I become? I feel hands on my shoulders—real hands—and they’re shaking me, not roughly, but enough to wake me from my dream.

  I open my eyes halfway, groggy and frustrated that I was pulled from Ellery’s words of revelation. It’s not quite dark, maybe an hour or so before sunrise, but it takes me a moment to remember where I am. I smell leaves and rain—the ever-pouring rain—and figure out that I’m somewhere in the forest.