The Last Legend

by Ernie Lindsey

  “I do,” says a voice from behind a nearby tree, and James slinks out.

  “So do I,” says another, and Finn moves around from the trunk of a large mountain maple.

  It’s followed by a chorus of “I do too” and “Me too” as the rest of my Republicon friends appear from the shadows. Their bows are drawn back and trained on Crockett’s gang.

  She reacts to the danger by pulling me in front of her as a shield.

  I can feel the strange warmth in my arms and legs again as I latch on to the arm she has around my neck. I pivot, pull, and swing, easily tossing her ten feet into the center of the two opposing groups.

  They’re all shocked, amazed, and bewildered.

  Crockett sits up from where she landed, holding her ribs. She’s dumbfounded, too, that someone my age and size could do such a thing, but I can tell that she doesn’t even know the right questions to ask. “How’d you do that?”

  “Now you know why I’m in charge.” I hear the words come out of my mouth, which doesn’t answer her question, but even I can’t explain it.

  She winces as she stands, inhaling with a slow, painful breath. “Maybe she’s not such a little girl after all. Boys, why don’t we shake hands with these nice people?”

  I don’t trust her, and I wonder if I’m making a mistake.

  14

  As if he weren’t already angry with me before, James is absolutely furious with me now. The members of his group have put away their weapons, and they’re standing near the tall white pine, trying to care for Squirrel, attempting to get the arrows out of him without doing too much damage. Crockett is there with them. She didn’t apologize, but at least she ordered her men to help. Two of them are cutting down small saplings and they plan to stretch some deer hide across them to make a sling for Squirrel.

  The plan is for Little Blake and Big Blake to carry him west. Crockett says there’s a Republicon group about ten miles away, hopefully out of the main army’s path, with a healer among them where they can leave Squirrel until he can mend and then rejoin us—if he makes it. If we make it. He’s badly wounded, but we think his chances are good. Big Blake and Little Blake, who’s not so little at all, are good runners, and they should be able to catch up to us before we reach the capital.

  James towers above me, and he has to bend over to put his shaking finger in my face. His cheeks, the parts not covered with his beard, are red, and his eyes bulge. “You’re crazy if you think I’m letting her come. No.”

  “We could use their help,” I say. “It’s their land, too, and if they come with us, we’ll have that many more people for protection or to fight if we need it. More people to stand watch so we can rest.”

  “Caroline, they killed Rawley! Don’t you understand that? She’s lucky I don’t walk over there and put a knife in her belly right now.”

  I lay my hand on his shoulder. His friend is dead, and it’s an awful thing to ask of him, but it makes sense for them to come. I’m learning all too fast that leaders have to make some of the worst decisions that are the best for their followers. I still don’t consider myself their leader, actually, but they’re looking for me to guide them. A fourteen-year-old girl. I know I promised him a reward, but why he’s actually trusting me to get them somewhere, I don’t know. “I understand, and I’m sorry.”

  “No, you don’t. If you did then you wouldn’t be asking this.”

  We can’t stand here arguing all day. What I’m asking would be hard for anyone to accept, and I’m aware of that, but in addition to the DAV, time is also our enemy.

  I say, “Within the next week or the next month, it doesn’t matter how long, you and all the rest of them won’t have a home. There won’t be anywhere to go. It won’t matter who killed who because these woods will be crawling with DAV soldiers. You don’t have anywhere to go. You can’t get into West Virginia, or Kentucky, or Tennessee, or North Carolina.

  “You don’t have a choice, and it’s the only way, so you can either take your chances on your own, or we can all go together, and I’ll get you your reward. From here on out, we’re moving forward, not backward, both with our heads and our feet. Crockett agreed to go, she and her men, and you should, too. You don’t have to like it, you just have to do it to survive. It’s your choice, James, do what you want, but Finn and I are going south, with or without you.”

  “South, south, south!” James shouts. “What happens when you go south, huh? Even if we get there in time enough to warn them, where will your people go? I heard Finn—I heard him say that you don’t have an army. You told me the DAV has tanks and ten thousand men, so how in the world do you plan to fight, huh? Tell me that. If we don’t have anywhere to go, you don’t have anywhere to go.” He takes a deep breath. His shoulders rise and fall as he shakes his head. “It doesn’t make sense, Caroline. I offered to come with you, to help you, to protect you, because I saw what those blackcoats did to your families. It wasn’t right. Forget the reward. But what happens when we get to Warrenville if you don’t have an army to protect yourselves? Wherever you go, wherever we go, the result is the same.”

  He’s right. I haven’t been looking at it that way. My goal, and my only goal, has been to warn as many towns and encampments as possible while we retreat, to give my people a chance to run before the DAV army could capture them and take them north to work. But what then? The blackcoats will run right over anything in their path, including Warrenville, all the way to the high-fenced borders of the surrounding states. We’re all doomed. Within a year, or as little as six months, we’ll be servants to the DAV. That is, unless…

  “Answer me,” he says.

  “We’ll build an army.”

  James scoffs and leans against a tree, looking at me like an ignorant child. “With what? Sticks and arrows?”

  “People.”

  “People? Really? People? People die, Caroline, especially when the other side has tanks and bullets!”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “You will, huh? You? Tell me what you know that the idiots running the PRV don’t.” He pauses, then chuckles. “You know what? Never mind. It wouldn’t surprise me if a girl your age was smarter than that bunch of lazy cows.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That’s not exactly a compliment, and it’s still a horrible idea.”

  “We don’t have—” I stop trying to convince James as Finn jogs over to us.

  “The Blakes are ready,” he says. “We got Squirrel bandaged up, and he’s in a lot of pain, but Crockett thinks he’ll be fine once they get him to the healer.”

  “Good,” I say to him. Then to James, “Are we done here?”

  “I guess.”

  “Crockett and her men are coming,” I say. The determination in my voice leaves James grudgingly agreeing. He doesn’t like it, and I don’t blame him, but I suspect he knows that we’re safer together than we are apart—for now, at least.

  The three of us walk over to Squirrel. He’s lying in the sling, almost looking relaxed, as Big Blake and Little Blake stand at each end, patiently holding the saplings. Squirrel is so thin that it’s not a struggle for either of them.

  Squirrel grins, and there’s pain in his eyes.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah… no. Honestly, I think the fall hurt worse than the arrows.”

  James reaches down and ruffles Squirrel’s hair. “You’ll be back to climbing trees in no time, buddy. Come find us in Warrenville when you’re ready… just follow the smell.”

  Squirrel nods and winces when he tries to lift his hand to James. They shake, and he says, “Don’t let the blackcoats get you.”

  I say to the Blakes, “You know where we’re going. Catch up to us. We’ll need your help.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they say in unison, and after I slap Little Blake on the back, they carefully make their way down the hillside, heading west.

  Crockett walks up beside us and watches them go. Without looking at him, she mutters, “James?”


  He refuses to turn in her direction, choosing to keep his eyes on the three members of his clan as they leave the comfort of our little community. “What?”

  “Sorry about your men. I was protecting my territory.”

  He doesn’t acknowledge her apology. Instead he walks away without saying a word.

  “Thank you,” I say. At least it’s something.

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  Five minutes later, after we’ve all gathered our things, and the two parties have given each other enough wary glances to last a lifetime, we’re on the move again.

  Heading south.

  Where there’s no protection. Maybe no hope.

  I have to believe that’s not true.

  It’s the only way we can go.

  Over the next two days, our collection of Republicons and citizens grows as we retreat. We warn makeshift encampments and ramshackle towns about the impending danger. Some choose to come with us, and some choose to head into the woods, preferring to hide in smaller groups in hopes that they can outlast what’s coming. I don’t question them. I may be leading this roughshod assembly, but I’m not going to force people to do anything they don’t want to do, regardless of how unwise their decisions are.

  Like James says, the potential result of this mad dash south might only be delaying the inevitable. With nowhere safe to run, I can’t disagree with the fact that they may last longer as free men hiding in the woods. More than once on our journey, since my talk with James, I’ve considered the same possibility for us, but as an official scout of the PRV, it’s my responsibility to warn the citizens that don’t know.

  The rain is never ending.

  Finn and I both have blisters on our feet, and the skin down there is white and wrinkled from going days without changing into dry socks or the luxury of warming our boots by a fire. In the middle of our third day running, when every step is met with sharp pain arcing up our legs, we use a trick that James teaches us—it’s what the Republicons do to keep their feet dry. Four of his members part with spare shirts and ancient plastic bags that they’ve salvaged from somewhere. They tell us that back before the world ended, people used to carry supplies in them. Now they’re waterproof socks, of sorts. We wrap our feet in these items to keep the wetness out. It helps, but not a lot. The blisters still hurt, but at least it doesn’t feel like I’m squishing through a shallow river every time I stride forward.

  We come across even more groups of Republicons, and initially, they’re hesitant about joining our cluster with the presence of Crockett and her gang, but once they understand their lack of options, they agree and keep a watchful eye on her. Truthfully, I think she enjoys it. Their caution only adds to her reputation.

  James continues to ignore her, and from what I can tell, she couldn’t care less.

  When we stop to make camp on the third night, I ask Marla how tired she is, and of course, she says not at all. The girl has a bottomless supply of energy, and where she gets it from is anybody’s guess. James and I argue over whether or not it’s a good idea, but I send her north anyway. I have to know how much distance we’ve put between ourselves and the DAV runners. They’ll be ahead of the vanguard, but if they’ve found some of the PRV citizens we’ve left to fend for themselves, there’s a possibility that they’ve slowed or stopped altogether. Taking prisoners and seeing that they’re properly contained takes time.

  “Be careful,” I tell Marla. “Go as far as you think is safe, and if you don’t see any of them by then, get back as fast as you can.”

  “How far is that?” she asks. “How much room do we need between us and them?”

  I don’t know the answer to this. Our group has grown to a size that makes it difficult to move fast through the woods. We number in the hundreds now. I lost count after the PRV citizens from the last two encampments decided to join us.

  I look around at all the blank, exhausted faces. There are people everywhere, hiding under trees and bushes to get out of the rain, eating deer jerky and homemade bread, goat cheese and apples. Babies cry and suckle at exposed breasts.

  These are my people. My people. How did I come to be in charge of such a large mass of bodies, all counting on me to make the right decision? The weight of the responsibility sits hard on my chest, and my lungs refuse to work the way they should. It’s too much. So many lives.

  Marla asks again, “How much?”

  “I don’t know.” My vision begins to blur, and I can’t tell if it’s from stress or tears forming.

  “Well, I can’t just go running back without—”

  I stamp my foot and slap my thighs. “I don’t know. I don’t know, okay? Just go. Go until you find them, and do not get caught.”

  Minutes later, I find that I can’t stop my hands from shaking. I need a distraction. I walk through the swarm of people eating, resting, and building campfires. A young mother with blond hair, green eyes, and one of the most beautiful baby girls I’ve ever seen sits huddled under a rock outcropping. The opening beneath dips deep enough into the hill that I’m able to scoot in next to her and ask how she’s doing.

  “Okay, I guess.” The baby rolls over and latches onto the mother’s breast.

  “I’m Caroline.”

  “Sweeney,” she says, extending a hand.

  We shake. She’s frail. I’m afraid I’ll crush her bones. Her baby pulls away and screeches, leaving the breast exposed. She doesn’t try to cover herself up. She’s so exhausted.

  I reach over and help her by lifting the shirt back onto her shoulder. I’ve been around enough children to know the cry of a hungry baby. Sweeney isn’t producing enough milk. I pray that we can find enough food to make that possible. “What’s her name?” I ask.

  “Willow,” she answers.

  “That’s a beautiful name.”

  As I suspected, Sweeney says, “I can’t produce enough milk. Do you know how much further?”

  I tell her I don’t, and when I offer to find her something to eat and drink, she thanks me. Before I go, she asks me to say a prayer with her, and I agree to do it.

  This praying, it’s good.

  We could all use God’s attention right now.

  15

  On the morning of the fourth day, I have to break up a fight between Crockett and James. More delays are the last thing I need. Marla hasn’t returned, and I’m starting to worry about her. If the blackcoats captured her, or have done something worse, James will never forgive me. Rawley, Squirrel, and now maybe Marla—if anything happened to her overnight, James and his friends are gone, no question.

  I’m finishing up breakfast—nuts and undercooked squirrel—when Finn runs over and practically trips into my lap.

  “What’s the matt—”

  “We’ve got trouble. James and Crockett.”

  He doesn’t need to explain. I understand immediately. “Where?”

  “Over in the middle.”

  I hurriedly follow him through the gathering crowd of onlookers, pushing past wet bodies, craning their necks to see what’s going on, wondering what all the shouting is about. Some of them move out of the way when they notice it’s me, and I can’t help but feel a measure of pride that I seem important enough for them to give me space.

  Citizens and Republicons alike have backed away from Crockett and James, forming a wide hole in the crowd, giving them room to circle each other with knives drawn and their arms held out. They’re both crouched, sidestepping, circling, taking small jabs at the air, waiting for the other to make the first move—or the first mistake.

  I push the last man in front of me out of the way and rush into the open space.

  They don’t take their eyes off each other when I scream for them to stop.

  James says, “Get out of here, Caroline. This is between me and her.” He lunges, jabs at Crockett’s stomach, misses, and then bends his body at an awkward angle to avoid her counterattack. She misses, too, and they go back to revolving around each other.

 
I scream again for them to stop, but they’re not listening.

  He says, “You’re going to get hurt, now get out of here.”

  “No, James, stop it. Both of you.”

  They circle. Crockett slashes at the air and misses James’s midsection by less than an inch.

  “This won’t bring Rawley back and you’re slowing us down.”

  “And if I get rid of this heartless hag, that’ll be one less mouth to feed,” James snarls.

  Crockett snarls right back at him, “Your blade’s not worthy of my blood, big man.”

  The longer I stand here and try to talk some sense into these two, the more time we’re wasting. We should’ve been moving an hour ago, but I made the decision to let everyone rest a little longer. They need it. I need it. And partly because I wanted to give Marla a chance to make it back so I wouldn’t lose James. If I don’t handle this the right way, that might happen regardless.

  I don’t know why the fight started, and I don’t care. All that matters is stopping the two people I’ve been counting on to help me lead this hungry, tired, and frightened horde.

  I plead and I beg, but they ignore me, swiping and stabbing at each other as the crowd looks on. Some are cheering for James; some are cheering for Crockett. Others stand silently, holding their arms across their children’s chests, keeping them away from danger, but allowing them to watch a fight to the death—unless I can stop it.

  I can’t think of anything else to say that will convince either of them, so I say something foolish, hoping it’ll shock them into submission, or at least distract them long enough to forget what they’re fighting about. I step closer, but far enough away that I won’t accidentally get stabbed or sliced by one of their blades, and plant my feet. I point at them. “Crockett! James! I am ordering you to stop, right now!”

  It works, for a second. They pause and stand up from their crouches, lowering their knives to their sides as they look over at me. Crockett laughs. James has a mixture of surprise and anger on his face.