The Last Legend

by Ernie Lindsey

  “But maybe he could’ve made a difference in other ways.”

  We continue to ramble on about the past and what could’ve been, but I feel like we both know that we’re avoiding an important conversation. If that nurse really infected Finn with the serum, and he became a Kinder, and Ellery turned me into one as well… then what was to become of us?

  We were the last two Kinders. We weren’t given a choice. We were created.

  The retreating horde is moving at a good clip ahead of us, and we fall farther behind. I was feeling isolated before, but now that I have a better idea of what’s actually happening to me, I have this overwhelming sense of being even more of an outsider, an orphan. I want to reach over and take Finn’s hand, because at least we’re together. At least I have someone to cling to. Being a leader doesn’t mean you don’t need a shoulder to cry on now and then.

  Finn takes a drink from his water container and asks if I want some. I shake my head. After hearing the horrible stories about the contamination, I’m not that thirsty. It took a hundred years for the pollution to dissipate naturally, and I’ve never had any issues before, but I can’t shake the idea of my insides rotting.

  It’ll be dark soon, and I need to spread the word to make camp for the night. We’ll need to collect water, do a headcount, and post sentries. Fires need to be built. Game hunted. Injuries tended to. It takes a lot to keep your people happy, and part of me wonders if Daniel Allen or Carter Rash, either one, had any clue about what they were getting themselves into.

  However, before I go, I have a couple last questions for Finn.

  I tug his arm and tell him to stop for a moment.

  “Yeah?” he says.

  “Why fifteen? Why that birthday?”

  “The history teachers said that was the minimum age for volunteers—some genetic thing. Science stuff I didn’t understand.”

  “Are we the only two?”

  “I think so.”

  “You think?”

  He looks around like he’s uncertain, then nods. “I mean, yeah, I know.”

  “But how? How do you know?”

  “Just a feeling. Maybe that’s one of my special powers or something, but it’s almost like I can sense it. That’s how I found you, remember? I sensed you. You’re here, right here, and I can feel this pull between us.”

  “Then why did you act so surprised to see me doing all that stuff, if you knew?”

  “You had to figure it out for yourself. If I’d said something to you about it, you would’ve laughed me out of the forest. I found you, and I waited. You’re the only one.” He points out into the woods, north, south, east, and west, then adds, “I don’t feel it coming from anywhere else. You’re my beacon, Caroline.”

  I feel lighter in my stomach when he says this, and it’s a warm reaction I don’t recognize, not immediately anyway, because it’s been so long since it’s happened—not since before Brandon died in the woods.

  Finn takes my hand. It’s comforting.

  “I have to go,” I say. “I need to have James stop the march for the night before it gets too dark.”

  He smiles. “Duty calls, fearless leader.”

  I chuckle and slap his shoulder. “Find me later. We’ll eat, and you can tell me more stories about your powers.”

  “Okay,” he says. “It’s probably not that exciting.”

  We catch up to the stragglers at the rear, and I leave Finn to tell them we’ll be making camp soon.

  Rather than trying to weave my way through the crowd, I skip out to the outer edges and pick up my pace, marching with my head down and legs pumping to catch up to James. My feet ache, my legs ache, my back is throbbing from the pain, yet I feel lighter, happier, and relieved that I won’t be doing this on my own. We may be isolated as the only two Kinders remaining, but at least we have each other.

  Even with my head down, I can sense the others staring at me. Words are carried across the raindrops and misty breeze where they worm their way into my ear and inside my head. “There she is. I hope she doesn’t kill us.”

  I whip my head around to the man marching next to me. “What did you say?”

  He recoils and holds his hands up. I see the dirt that smears his palms as he shakes in fear. His mouth moves rapidly, but no words come out. He’s shaking his head and finally manages to utter, “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

  It’s then that I realize that I had heard his thoughts. Not his words.

  He’s thinking, “Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, please, don’t kill me.”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” I say aloud. “I’m here to help you, idiot.”

  “W-w-what?”

  “Forget it. Get ready to make camp. Spread the word. We’re stopping soon.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will. Of course.”

  I scramble to get away before I can hear anything else. I don’t like that part. I want it to stop. The speed, the strength, the physical abilities—I can see how those would benefit me, but being able to hear someone’s thoughts can only lead to more trouble.

  When I reach the front, I find James leading the procession with Teresa. They’re walking side by side, pushing themselves forward with walking sticks as tall as they are. They’re laughing, which is something I don’t expect. I thought for certain he’d have left her tied to a tree somewhere, miles back, but they seem to be enjoying themselves.

  Teresa spots me and waves.

  James turns. “Ho, Caroline! The glorious leader has returned.”

  “Why’re you talking like that?” I ask.

  He continues with the strange tone in his voice. “Young Teresa here tells me that people of a certain influence in the north—those with something called money, I believe—they speak with a very dignified tone.” He laughs, coughs, and winks at me. “I’m not sure what dignified means, but it sounds fun.”

  “It’s not, really,” Teresa adds. “They’re horrible people.” She says horrible in such a way that sends them both into fits of giggles. James, the burly brute, is holding his ribs and doubling over.

  I nod, feeling left out of the fun, and tell him that we’ll need to make camp soon.

  He wipes his eyes with a sleeve, puts his hands on his hips, and surveys the area. “Looks good here. Nice cover under the trees. Thick canopy to keep the rain back.”

  I point out a couple of places high on the ridges above us. “Perfect lookout spots up there, too. Let’s do it. Why don’t you start spreading word back through the crowd?”

  Teresa steps forward with a bright grin and an eagerness that surprises me. “I’ll go. Let me help.”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “One second,” James says, his hand on her shoulder. He takes a deep breath, rears back and bellows, “Halt!” so loudly that it echoes throughout the valley. “Now go,” he says to her. “Tell them I’m serious.”

  Once Teresa disappears among the masses, I say to James, “Do you trust her now?”

  “God, no, but she’s fun. Reminds me of my daughter, minus the lack of trust.”

  “You have a daughter?”

  The smile disappears from his face. “Had.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

  “It was a long time ago,” he says with finality, turning back toward the slowing mob.

  We stand in silence for a few awkward moments watching the battered crowd of PRV citizens as they fall to their knees and lean up against trees. With each passing day, we’ve added more and more to our numbers, and the closer we get to Warrenville, the better shape some of them seem to be in. Down here, they’re closer to the supply chain, and if they need something, it’s easier to make a trek back to Warrenville. They don’t need to go on fruitless scavenging missions just to find an old piece of leather to patch a boot. I’m sure that if they have something to trade, it’s not an inconceivable concept for them to get medicines and clothing.

  James and I ask some of the fresher citizens, who’ve only been on the march for a co
uple of days, if they’ll head to the rear and help out those who’ve been struggling since the first day. Thankfully they oblige, and it only takes us about an hour to get everyone stopped and ready to settle in for the night.

  Campfires burn under makeshift shelters to prevent the rain from dampening their heat and the citizens’ spirits.

  A young man, who looks to be in his early twenties, sits next to a woman three times his age. She shudders and shakes so badly I can hear her teeth clattering together. He turns a skinned rabbit on a spit, pulls a bite-sized hunk of the cooking meat free from the bone, and hands it to her. She has the strength to lift it to her mouth, but not much more. It breaks my heart.

  I kneel beside them both. “I’m Caroline,” I say. I wait to see if I can hear the fear in his mind. I don’t.

  I smile and relax when he answers, “I’m Dale, and this is my grandmother, Cherise.”

  “I haven’t seen you before. How long have you been with us?”

  “Since the day of the sniper. We joined you that morning, and then this happened.” Dale lifts his grandmother’s left sleeve and shows me a blackened, grotesque blotch around a wound on her upper arm. “She’s not doing so well. How much farther?”

  I wince, hissing between my teeth, and rock back on my heels. “Not much, but we have some healers with us. Why haven’t you asked for help?” I’ve seen wounds like this before, back in my village, when others accidentally fell in the forest or cut themselves with a dull, rusty knife. “She’ll lose that arm if we don’t do something.”

  “She didn’t want to slow us down. She was terrified we’d get left behind.”

  “Better than dying,” I answer, getting to my feet. “Wait right here. I’m going to find someone for you.”

  I step around their campfire and head deeper into the throng of resting bodies. There’s laughter and a guitar playing while someone sings a song. Moods are high, and it’s good. They know we don’t have long now.

  On one hand, I feel horrible because I’ve led them to believe that salvation is close. I’ve allowed myself to do what I promised I wouldn’t: I’ve given them real hope when that may be the very thing that’s their undoing. I want to have hope myself. I want this grueling escape to be worth it. I don’t know that it will.

  On the other, it feels good to be doing something tangible at the moment. I’m looking for a healer to help a wounded woman. This is something I can control. The outcome, the resolution, is easy and obvious because there are two steps involved and no more. One, find a healer, and two, show him where Dale and Cherise are sitting.

  I’m so focused on my search that, at first, I don’t notice the silence falling over the crowd as I pass by. The awestruck quiet trails behind me like muscle shredding as an arrow passes through flesh.

  I ignore it. There’s nothing I can do. I find Tom Barner, the healer we picked up three days ago, resting against a tree. He’s packing shredded tobacco into a pipe.

  I open my mouth to speak, and then I hear the terrified scream.

  22

  It sounds like a young girl. Her shriek is shrill and pierces the air, filling the void in my wake. She’s screaming, “No, no! Let me go!” as I spin in circles hunting for the source.

  When I find it, I see only one thing that tells me all I need to know.

  Long red hair.

  Frantic, I shout for Tom Barner to go help Dale and Cherise, and then I break into a run. I jump over people and campfires. I shove men, women, and children out of my way. They’re all turning to see where the screams are coming from. If they don’t see me coming, if they don’t move out of my way soon enough, they’re sent tumbling into one another like pieces of that game we used to play back in the village, the one with the ball and pins.

  Four men are climbing into a tree. They’re holding Teresa by her arms and legs. She’s thrashing, trying to break free, but they’re too strong.

  “Let go of me!” she screams again. “I didn’t do anything!”

  A crowd gathers beneath the largest branch that hangs out over the campsite. A man in a blue jacket hands a rope up to one of the four men. A noose dangles from the end.

  I’m screaming for them to stop, flailing through the crowd as fast as I’m able.

  Why can’t I fly now? Why can’t I lift off the ground and soar over top of everyone in my way? I concentrate on doing it—I see my feet lifting off the ground, going up, up, and over—but it doesn’t happen. I’m stuck in a sea of onlookers, shouting for the men to let Teresa go.

  She wails and tries to break free. One of the men almost falls, but regains his balance just in time. He teeters on the limb, latches onto the one above, and holds himself steady while the other three shimmy farther out, dragging the young, redheaded sniper behind them. When all four are in place, one of the men wraps the noose around her neck while another ties the loose end to the limb.

  I manage to work my way through the crowd and stop below them. Out of breath, not from exertion but rage, I point into the tree and shout, “Get her down, now.”

  “Who’re you?” the first man asks, as if he doesn’t know I’m in charge.

  One of the other men in the tree laughs and says, “He’s new here.”

  “Caroline Mathers. The superior officer and an official representative of the PRV, and as your government delegate, I’m ordering you to get her down before I have to come up there.”

  A different one shouts down, “We know who she is. We know what she did.”

  Teresa sits on the limb beside them, shaking. “Caroline, tell them. Tell them that I helped you.”

  “Who told you?” I ask, wondering who betrayed my confidence. James. It has to be James. “James!” I scream. “Where are you? Get over here, now! Who told these men who she was, huh? You let her go, and get her down from that tree. She’s under my protection and so help me, if anything happens to her—James!”

  The man in the blue jacket, who handed up the rope, shouts to the crowd around me, saying, “This right here is a damn blackcoat sniper! How many of your kin did she murder two days ago?”

  More angry shouting from behind me. I spin around, clenching my teeth, and howl right back at them, “But she also saved us. She killed every single one of those eight men to protect you. Look how young she is. She was following orders.” And then to the men in the tree, “You saw me this morning. You know what I’m capable of. Get her down. Final warning.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Miss Caroline. We’re following orders, too.”

  “On whose command? I’m the only one who gives orders around here. Who told you to do this?”

  I hear a voice so close to me that I jump.

  Finn says, “I did.”

  “Why?” I shove him. He’s sturdier than he looks. He doesn’t move. With my teeth clenched, I growl, “You don’t have the authority.”

  “She’ll betray you, Caroline.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I can feel it. I found you, didn’t I?”

  “That’s different.”

  “Is it?” Finn turns his eyes up to Teresa, who sits on the limb above our heads. “When were you going to do it? Show Caroline the knife, Henry. It’ll be right where I said it was.”

  The man with the bushy black beard grabs Teresa’s left pocket and yanks, ripping the material, exposing part of her pale leg. Strapped to her upper thigh is a short knife with a thick black handle.

  Finn says again, “When were you going to do it?”

  Teresa’s face twists in anger. Her eyebrows dip. Her forehead pinches together in the middle, creating a deep crevice on her brow. She works her mouth around and then spits at him. “It doesn’t matter. You’re all going to die, you bunch of PRV scum.”

  From nearby, I see Crockett and two of her men holding their arms high, cheering. She disgusts me, and I think that maybe I should’ve let James kill her on the day they fought.

  Finn shakes his head at her, chuckles, and looks back into the tree. “He
nry?”

  “Yessir?”

  “Show this young lady out,” Finn says.

  I don’t try to stop them when they push her into the open air.

  Hours later, it’s pitch black in the forest, except for the distant glow of burning embers underneath improvised canopies.

  I’m keeping watch, taking a turn while others get their rest. I can’t sleep anyway. Every time I close my eyes, I can see her swinging.

  The campfires have all but died out, and my people—are they my people?—are sleeping soundly, with a few exceptions. A baby cries on the far side, the high-pitched wailing traveling easily through the trees now that the ever-pouring rain has dwindled to a drizzle.

  It does that—gets your hopes up. It can be pouring for days on end, and then it’ll taper off, just enough to make you think that life may have some color again. Just enough for you to think that maybe, just maybe, you’ll get to see the stars one more time before you die. Like if you strain hard enough, you’ll get to see a speckle of brilliant blue beyond the pallid gray that hovers overhead like a morose blanket.

  Then, right when you think that there’s a chance—some hope of light and life opening up—the heavens release, and God’s waterfall drenches you once again. Never ending. Always.

  This entire retreat has been like that. Run, run, run, and when you think you’re safe, that there might be that blue sky of hope at the forefront, something slams you down again, yanking the good possibilities away.

  I thought we were out of the clouds. I thought we’d made it beyond the storms.

  The men cut Teresa down not long after her legs stopped twitching, but it doesn’t matter that they dumped her body in a shallow grave. I can still see her hanging there in my mind. I look over at that godforsaken tree, and I see the image of her dropping ever so slowly until she reaches the end of the rope and—

  “Caroline?”

  I wipe my eyes and look up at James standing next to me. He’s a massive man, but he’s so quiet, and I think of nicknaming him Ghost. “What?”