“You should get some rest.”
“I’m on watch. Go back to sleep.”
“Soon. I came to tell you that Crockett and her men are gone.”
“They left?” I find it hard to hide my relief. They’re excellent marksmen, but they’ve been the cause of more ruckus than they’re worth. I’m glad they’re gone. Saves me the trouble of shooing them out of camp on my own.
“An hour ago. She told Marla that we were too slow, and she wasn’t going to die for this sorry group of slaves.”
“Do you blame her?”
“Good riddance, I say, but no. I can’t.” He flops down beside me and holds out a flask. “Have some.”
I take it and gulp, expecting water. Instead, it’s a sharp, foul taste that burns my throat, and I cough, feeling like I swallowed coals from a campfire. My eyes water, and my stomach grows hot on the inside. When I can speak again, I ask, “What was that?”
“Sour mash. It’s made from corn. One of the men we picked up yesterday said he made it at home. I’ve had it before, but it’s been years.”
I cough again and wipe my mouth with a dirty sleeve. I’m covered in mud and grime. My clothes are filthy. It’s amazing how much I miss bathing in the river, no matter how freezing cold it is. I spit flecks of dirt away from my lips, along with the disgusting taste in my mouth. “Why would anyone drink that?”
“It makes you feel good.”
“I don’t see how. It tastes awful.”
“It also makes you forget for a little while.”
I look over at him expectantly. “It does?”
“At least until tomorrow morning.”
“Give me that.” I yank the flask from his hand and take long, full swigs. My throat sears, but I try to ignore it.
“Whoa, whoa. Easy,” James says. “Not too much.”
I cough again. My tear ducts pour like their clouds have opened up. “The more you drink, the more you forget? Is that how it works?”
He laughs quietly, takes a drink, and screws the cap on. “Only to a certain point.”
I lean back against the maple and rest my head on the slick, slimy bark. My hair is so disgusting that it doesn’t matter anymore. Not that I cared that much before, but now it’s useless to even bother. I want a bed. I want shelter. I want to be warming my toes in front of crackling, burning logs inside my hut, rather than placing my boots beside a pathetic fire pit, hoping they’ll dry enough so that water doesn’t squish out with every step. The plastic bags we use to cover our feet are falling apart, and I can imagine the skin will begin to rot off if we can’t dry ourselves under a roof sometime soon.
And that’s just us. James and I, his Republicons, and Finn, the ones who were fortunate enough to have protection for our feet, are doing okay for now. The citizens with us, who were rushed from their homes, will likely need medical treatment for their disgusting feet.
Minutes pass. We sit in silence. James unscrews the flask’s cap and takes another swig, then offers me some more. I take another small swallow for good measure.
“We’re almost there,” he says. It’s an absent, blank statement, like he can’t think of anything else to say. It’s either that, or he doesn’t want to say, “I told you so,” about Teresa.
“Tomorrow night,” I agree. “If we have luck on our side, we should get close enough that we can see Warrenville.”
“You’re sure? You’ve never been, have you?”
“I’ve heard stories. Some of the Elders in our village have been there before to visit family or pick up supplies that we couldn’t salvage. When we get close enough, there’s a high ridge that’s supposedly a couple of miles away, and they say there’s a huge clearing and you can see down into the valley. It’s big and wide, with a river running through the middle of it, and there are roads that make it easy to travel. Can you imagine that? Not having to walk through wet grass and leaves anymore?
“They said that years and years ago, before the rains came, you could stand on top of the ridge, and the sun would rise and create this perfect wedge of light right through the middle of the valley. The river would shimmer like a golden road leading right into the heart of the city. But if you were there at sunset, the sun shining from the opposite direction made the whole valley look like it was on fire.” I’m rambling, and I can tell that I’m rambling, but I don’t care. The sour mash has warmed me from the top of my head to the tips of my wet, wrinkled toes. I feel light. Happier, maybe, if that’s possible.
When I move my head around too fast, the forest spins.
I giggle, and James asks me if I’m feeling better.
“Yeah, some.” And as soon as it shows up, it’s gone again. Somehow, my being okay reminds me that we, as a group, really aren’t. I yank the flask from his hand and take another deep pull. I swallow and notice that the burn isn’t as strong. “What happens when we get there, huh? They’re still coming. The DAV army is right behind us, and their vanguard might even catch us before we get to Warrenville, and that’s only five hundred of them. The main army is still out there, and they’re not too far behind either. If what we were told is true, the PRV government doesn’t have any weapons to defend itself with. They’ll run right over us, James, and all of this will have been for nothing. By this time next week, we’ll be marching north again.”
“That’s enough,” he says, smiling. He takes the sour mash away from me and pours it out. It’s probably a good idea, because I can’t feel the tips of my fingers. James puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. It’s affectionate and warm, like a brother hugging a sister. I’m an only child, but I can image that’s what it would feel like.
He says, “Do you want to know why we followed you? Why we allowed a girl your age to give us orders?”
I lift my head to look at him. My vision blurs. “I promised you a reward, but you knew I couldn’t keep it, didn’t you?”
“Right. The others might want it, but I knew the chances were slim. Anyway, first,” he says, holding up an index finger, “you have to understand that we’re survivors. Call us Republicons or lawbreakers, whatever term you want to put on us, but labels only mean something to the people that attach them. You see us as outlaws, we see ourselves as a group of people who didn’t want to follow the establishment. Rules and laws and order are made by man, Caroline. You’re supposed to behave a certain way because somebody said so. A long time ago, there may have been a man that other people admired because he was smart, or strong, or seemed like he had all the answers, and then one day, he decided, this is how things should be. And people listened because they looked up to him, and then it spread out from there.
“More leaders made more rules, and more rules led to more disobedience, and look where that got us. The world didn’t end. Structure did, most of it, anyway. All those laws weren’t a good thing. Everybody felt too constricted, and when they started to come together again to create new rules and form new governments, we could see the pattern and where it would lead. So, people like me took to the forest and decided to make our own way. My father and grandfather, all the way back. We’re not bad people, we just think differently.”
I’m loopy now, barely able to comprehend what he’s saying, but I can grasp enough to question what I’m hearing. “But you kill people and steal from them. You’ve been attacking villages for decades.”
“Unfortunately, that’s the innate order of things. That’s nature, Caroline. That’s a mountain lion taking down a deer. That’s a big fish eating a small fish. That’s the hawk preying on a field mouse. It’s only wrong because someone long ago said it was wrong.”
“But it’s not right, either.”
“You were a part of the northernmost village in the PRV territory. Each and every Republicon group knew about your station. You’re fourteen, right? How many times were you attacked, that you can remember?”
“Directly? None.”
“And you want to know why? Because you were strong. You were well prepared.
You were trained. You knew how to fight. Even Crockett refused to come that far north. You weren’t the bottom of the food chain.”
I nod. It makes sense. I still don’t agree with his methods, but I understand. Maybe it’s the sour mash, but I can grasp the meaning in his words.
My words, however, aren’t so clear. I’m getting sleepier, dizzier, and they come out slurred and thick on my tongue. “That doesn’t explain why you chose to follow me.”
“You were right when you said that when the DAV came through we wouldn’t have a home left. At first, I thought that if we helped you get back to safety, maybe your government would reward us, just like you promised, and we could disappear again with provisions. Then… I don’t know what it was—maybe it was the strength I saw in your heart—but for the first time in my life, I had this sense that you were someone I could listen to. You’re a leader.”
His words drift through my spinning mind, and the last thing I feel before I fall asleep is a tender, reassuring hand stroking my hair.
23
I wake up the next morning, and my head is throbbing. The last time I can remember having a headache this horrible was when I fell out of a tree stand two years ago. With each beat of my heart, pain shrieks through my skull, and for the first time ever, I’m happy that the sun isn’t shining when I fully open my eyes.
I put my hand to my forehead, groan, and then turn to the side and vomit onto the leaves. James is gone, and he’s lucky he’s not close by, because if he were within reach, I would probably punch him right in the nose for doing this to me. I forgot about Teresa, temporarily, but this wasn’t worth it.
Down the hillside and in the trough of the rolling hills, the group packs up their gear for one last march to safety. They’re lively but quiet. I wonder if they’re still reeling from Teresa’s hanging yesterday or if they’re simply ready for this to be over with, like when you shoot a deer miles from the village and you have to drag the heavy carcass all the way back. And when you’re within sight, this almost-there relief envelops you.
When I stand, I grow dizzier than I’ve ever been, and I vomit once more.
I can hardly hold my eyes open long enough to find my water canteen. I rinse out my mouth, then chug what remains. My first thought is to get something in my stomach. The second is to find Tom Barner, the healer, to see if he has any magical remedies that will make this go away immediately. The third is to find James and really punch him.
Instead, I lean up against the tree and try to control my breathing. That seems to help. If I’m supposed to be a Kinder, if I’m supposed to be superhuman, why can’t it happen now? I think about finding Finn to see if he has any suggestions, but the thought of moving in this condition keeps me right where I am.
I wait. I watch. I try not to empty my stomach again. Twenty minutes pass, and I can no longer stand still and wallow in the aftereffects. Food first, then Tom Barner.
I’ll hurt James later when I’m well enough to swing my fist.
Finn is hunched over a campfire, underneath a canvas canopy, and he’s poking at a roasting quail. The meat glistens, and my mouth waters. It’s weird, though, how I’m famished but the thought of eating makes me sick to my stomach. He greets me, and thankfully, it distracts me from the bubbling roil in my gut. “Morning! We were getting worried about you.”
I only nod, because I’m still furious with him after yesterday. I’m glad that he was watching out for me and that he exposed Teresa for what she was, and I appreciate the fact that I’m alive, but I’m so, so angry with him for not consulting with me first. There were better ways to handle it. We could’ve taken her away from camp and done the same thing without making a spectacle of it. By doing what he did, he undermined what little authority I thought I had over this group.
Maybe he was doing me a favor. Maybe he’d heard me say enough times that I didn’t want to be in charge, and he was only trying to show the others that there was more than one of us to revere. But regardless of his motives, or the resulting consequences—which he said last night had strengthened my role as the woman in charge—we should’ve talked about it first.
I think he can tell I’m livid, because he reaches over and rips a drumstick off the quail and hands it to me, hesitantly, as if I’m going to lunge and rip his whole arm off. I grab it, and despite what my stomach is telling me, I take a nibble. Quail aren’t the biggest birds, but their meat is delicious, and it only takes a couple of bites to restore my appetite.
Finn watches me eat.
I say, “Stop staring at me,” around a mouthful of quail.
“Sorry. Just wondering what happened to you last night.”
“James happened. Or actually, what was in his flask happened. Something called sour mash.” The thought of it sends my belly spinning, and I have to stop chewing.
“Not that. I meant after they cut Teresa down. You know we had to do that. Where’d you go?”
“Finn. Not now.”
“She was going to kill you in your sleep.”
“You should’ve talked to me first.”
“Oh, so now I need to ask for your permission to save your life?”
I sling the bones onto the ground and smear the grease on my pants. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I stand and turn to walk away.
“Stop,” he says. “Stop running away.”
I bend over him, pointing in his face, then out toward the gathering citizens. “That’s what we’re all doing, Finn. We’re all running away. You’re running from home, and we’re running toward our new one. We’re all running from something.”
“That’s not—I mean, you have to start acting like the leader you are, Caroline. The last time we counted, there are eight hundred and forty-two people here that are expecting you to lead them somewhere safe—”
“There is nowhere safe! Nowhere! And how am I supposed to be the leader when you’re doing things like yesterday, huh? You made me look like a fool.”
“I did it for you, okay? Maybe I didn’t do it the right way, but they needed to see that you’re wise enough to make the right choices. They need to know that you’re going to make the smartest decision, even when someone undermines your authority. Do you understand that?”
He’s right, but I don’t want him to be. I can’t shake the desire to prove him wrong. My hands, arms, and legs are shaking. Temporarily, the anger has abated the sour mash sickness. I grind my teeth together as I bend down and jam my finger into his chest. “We were fine. Fine. They were listening to me. They were following me. I didn’t need your help. I didn’t need to prove anything to them.”
He rolls his eyes and looks away. “Okay. I was wrong.”
“Thank you.” And then I wonder why he’s giving up so easily. “Wait, that’s it?”
“What else do you want me to say? You’re right, I’m wrong, and you’re being too stubborn to listen to my side.”
It occurs to me that we’re squabbling like a married couple, the way people used to do in my village—husbands and wives nagging each other in the middle of The Center. Raised voices. Hands tossed up in frustration. Curse words muttered in hushed tones.
I’d never had a close companion; there was never time for fun, frivolous things like sneaking into the woods late at night and touching our lips together under a full moon. The closest I ever came was with Brandon. If this is what it’s supposed to be like, if fighting means you care about someone, I’m not sure I’ll enjoy it.
I decide to give him a chance. If fighting means you care, then compromise should mean the same thing, too. “Okay, then tell me.”
Finn stands and crosses his arms. He flattens his lips together and tilts his head to the side, stares at me.
“Well?”
He takes a deep breath. “I guess I thought, you know, I thought since we’re the same that maybe we could be a team.”
“So that whole show yesterday, that was for you?”
“No, it was for us.”
“How?”
/> “We’re different, Caroline, and if the depth of that hasn’t hit you yet, when will it? We’re Kinders, for God’s sake. No matter what happens, from here on out, whether the DAV trashes your capital—”
“Our capital,” I remind him.
“Yes, ours, you know what I mean. No matter what happens, this is not going away. We can’t just drink a bunch of sour mash and pray that we’ll wake up normal. It’s you and me now. Us. We’re the only two. The DAV and the PRV can fight all they want, but in the end, we may be the last people standing.”
He’s scared. I can tell by the look in his eyes. It’s a massive weight on our shoulders, being who we are, without any idea why. Were we chosen on purpose? Was it random chance?
Are we lucky or cursed?
Whatever the case, I get what he’s saying. We should lead together. It makes sense.
“Okay. We’ll do it together,” I say quietly as I move closer and pull him in for a hug. He smells like damp earth, sweat, and grubby clothing tainted with firewood smoke. I’m beginning to associate that with the smell of comfort. I kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear, “But next time, we should talk about it before you decide to execute someone.”
I watch him grin as he touches the spot where I kissed his cheek. He chuckles and nods, and nothing else needs to be said.
I take his hand, clutching it tightly, and then I let his fingers slip out of mine. “Are you okay running point? We can be at the valley by nightfall if you push hard enough.”
I ask this, instead of ordering, because it’s my first attempt at leading together.
“Yeah.”
“Good. Let’s get everybody moving, and I’ll join you later.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“I need to find Tom Barner and then punch James in his stupid face.”
By my calculation, which is to say a complete guess, we can’t be that many miles away from Warrenville. We’re down here, low in a valley that opens up into what used to be farmland, according to the ones with us who aren’t from too far away. The same ones who tell me about what used to be grown here, like tobacco and something called a bell pepper, insist that the capital is due south, over that last small mountain that’s standing in our path.
The Last Legend Page 16
