The Centaur's Wife

by Amanda Leduc

  Annie snorts. “I guess there’s not much you can do when the world wants to starve you out.” When they look at her, puzzled, she only shrugs. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that’s what’s been going on,” Annie says. “It doesn’t even take a doctor.”

  As they move away, Tasha looks back at the greenhouse one last time. Flowers tumble from it, wild and happy. She felt no whisper of madness as they came close to it, no surge of despair.

  It is only a greenhouse now, she thinks, soon to be gone entirely. And these are only flowers. This is all they’ve ever wanted to be.

  * * *

  They reach the city at dusk. They head straight for the townhouse. Around them, the same empty silence. The slow circle of birds overhead.

  Tomorrow, Tasha thinks. Tomorrow the three of them will leave.

  At the front steps, Elyse cocks her head. “What’s that sound?”

  They all listen—they hear birds, the rush of wind, and then a deeper rumble.

  Annie breathes out. “It sounds like a car.”

  As one they move toward the sound—down the street, across the square and past the clinic.

  People, Tasha thinks. People.

  Beside her, Annie reaches for her pistol, then looks down sharply as she realizes it’s not there. It must have fallen from her hip as they struggled through the undergrowth toward the greenhouse.

  At last the vehicle comes into view, a filthy U-Haul lumbering over the green-choked roads.

  It pulls to a stop in front of them, and the driver opens the door and swings down onto the ground.

  “Tasha,” he says.

  It’s a voice they all remember.

  23

  They run until Estajfan can’t go on anymore. It isn’t even Estajfan who stops—Heather makes them.

  “Stop!” she calls out into the night. “We have to stop!”

  Estajfan is wheezing, his stomach heaving in and out. Heather scrambles to the ground. “We have to rest,” she says. “Estajfan—you have to rest.”

  He shakes his head. “They’ll find us if we don’t keep going.”

  “If you drop dead, they’ll find us for sure.” Heather pulls him away from the road and his siblings follow.

  The trees are close, lit faintly by the moon. “Lie down,” Heather says as she leads him a little deeper. Estajfan obeys. “Aura,” she says, “you need to check his wounds.”

  They all feel Petrolio shudder.

  “It’s all right,” Estajfan says. “Petrolio, I’m all right. The woman—Moira—she helped.”

  “She shot at you as we were running away!” Heather protests.

  “Before,” he says. “She took out a bullet.” He gestures at the crude bandage that still sticks to his flank. “And I—I hurt the boy. I deserved to be shot at.”

  “You didn’t deserve anything,” Aura snaps. She kneels by him. Her hands are gentle, but Estajfan winces as she pulls the duct tape away. She inspects the wound as best she can and then pulls a small pouch and a tiny pot from her satchel. She takes a scalpel out of the pouch, dips it into the pot, and scrapes gently at the wound. Then she dips her fingers in the pot and smears grey salve over the wound before she covers it with a bandage.

  “What would you do without that bag?” Heather murmurs.

  Aura laughs. “It is helpful. Particularly when you have brothers who insist on getting into trouble.”

  Estajfan laughs too, then catches his breath in pain. Aura watches him. “If we see that woman again,” she says, “I will thank her. If the bullet was still in the wound, you wouldn’t have been able to run.”

  Petrolio stamps his hooves. “Thank her? If we see her again, she’ll be lucky if I don’t trample her into the ground.”

  “She was frightened,” Estajfan says. “They all were.”

  “I don’t care!” Petrolio shouts. “They shouldn’t have shot you in the first place!”

  Aura pulls another bandage out of her satchel—a long strip of gauze—and wraps the length of it around Estajfan’s body. “That’s what they do,” she says, her voice soft. “Humans don’t understand—they will never understand. That’s why we are safe on the mountain in a way we’ll never be down here.”

  “Not all humans,” Heather says, hurt. She helps Estajfan shift so that Aura can reach beneath him and pull the cloth up tight, tying it in place. “Some of us have tried. I try.”

  Aura puts a hand against Estajfan’s forehead. “Sleep,” she says.

  He shakes his head, tries to get up. “What if they find us?”

  “If we hear something,” Aura says, her voice firm, “we’ll go. Until then, you need to sleep.”

  He looks about to protest, then sighs. Maybe it’s her words, maybe it’s her hand on his head, but soon he’s asleep.

  “Where did you learn to do all of that?” Heather says. “The scalpels, the salve.”

  “My father taught me,” Aura says. “Sometimes animals on the mountain would get hurt and I would help him stitch them up.” Her voice softens. “Estajfan kept bringing me things for my bag.”

  “So human knowledge is good for something, at least.”

  If Aura hears this, she doesn’t let on. “Come,” she says. “I hear water nearby.”

  * * *

  They find a creek, bubbling and swift in the dark. Not enough to bathe in, but Heather is able to wash her arms and face, to dip her head under and rinse the worst of the dirt from her hair. When she’s done, she combs her hair out with her fingers.

  Beside her, Aura stands pale and silent.

  “I won’t hurt him,” Heather says. “I promise.”

  “That’s not a promise you can make,” the centaur says. “You don’t know what it’s like to be him, to be us—that’s not something anyone can understand.”

  “But I can try,” Heather says.

  “Every time someone tries, someone gets hurt,” Aura says. “It happened with our father and our mother. It happened with your father, the first time you came up.” Aura shakes her head. “We belong on the mountain, Heather. I don’t have to like that to know that it’s true.”

  “And what about Estajfan?” Heather says. “What about”—and she’s the one to make the gesture now, a wide half-circle, mocking Aura’s earlier words—“whatever lies between us? You said that. Not me.”

  “I know. I don’t need to understand that to know it’s a danger.” She waves at the copse where Estajfan sleeps and Petrolio waits. “We’ll take you home. We’ll see that you are as safe as we can manage. Beyond that—I don’t think we can make any promises either.”

  When they rejoin the others, Heather lies down beside Estajfan, wrapping her arm over his chest, like she belongs.

  * * *

  Sometime later, the truck passes. Aura is the first to feel the noise in the ground, willing the dark things around them silent and still. The faint beam of its headlights comes in their direction, then fades away along with the sound of the engine.

  “Are they gone?” Estajfan says, from where he lies on the ground. Heather is still asleep beside him.

  “I think so,” Aura says. On her other side, Petrolio is tense, waiting.

  “I broke that boy’s leg,” Estajfan whispers. “I didn’t think twice about it. He didn’t do anything to me.”

  “They captured and hurt you,” Petrolio reminds him. “That’s not nothing.”

  Estajfan nods. “Still,” he says, “what are we going to do?”

  “They’ve passed us,” Petrolio says. “They don’t know where we live or where we’re going. Why can’t we just go home?”

  Aura doesn’t look at Estajfan, but she knows what he’s going to say.

  “What about Heather?”

  “What about her?” Petrolio spreads his arms out wide. “We came to rescue you, Estajfan. You’re as much a part
of the mountain as we are.”

  “But we aren’t a part of the mountain,” Aura says. “Not in the way that we want to be, not if we continue like this.”

  “Like what?” Petrolio cries, waking Heather, who sits up, watching them all.

  Aura thinks of their long-ago life on the mountain, just the four of them, the wild animals, the sky. For a moment she’s overcome with longing. Da, she thinks. Da, you were right.

  But then, he’d also been unhappy. Hadn’t she known that the best?

  If there’s no place for them on the mountain anymore, where else can they go? She pushes the thoughts away and addresses Heather. “They’re heading for the city,” she says. “What do you want to do?”

  She can see the longing on Heather’s face—except that she’s not longing for the mountain. She wants her girls, she wants Estajfan, she wants all of it. She wants the life that used to be.

  “I need to go back to the city,” Heather says, finally. “I need to say goodbye.”

  24

  When Brian wakes, sometime in the early morning, he writhes with pain. Since they have nothing to give him for it, Moira and Darby each take turns murmuring words of comfort in his ear, soothing him as best they can.

  They can’t see outside of the truck; they have no idea where they’re going. They sleep and wake and sleep and wake again. Occasionally JJ stops and they get out to pee. The engine doesn’t blow.

  And then, finally, they come to a stop and hear the driver’s side door open. JJ steps down and says something, but Moira can’t hear what.

  “Is he talking to someone?” she hisses. Darby is already at the back door. The latch sticks; he bangs it, yells.

  For a moment nothing happens and Moira’s breath catches. This is it, she thinks. We’ve been ambushed. We’re all dead. But then the door unlatches and JJ stands in front of them. Beside him are three women, all as thin and dirty as they are.

  Moira can’t help it; she’s so astonished to see the women she practically falls out of the truck.

  “Easy,” says the woman who catches her. She’s tall and blonde. “Are you all right?”

  “You’re—you’re real,” Moira gasps. “You’re alive.” How many green roads have they driven down since the scream? She can’t help it; she clings to the woman, sobbing.

  “It’s all right,” the woman murmurs. “I understand.”

  When Moira finally gets herself under control, Darby is shifting from one foot to the other, and JJ stands silent, staring at the ground.

  “Where are we?” Moira asks.

  In answer, the women step back from the truck and point. Moira turns and there it is—the remnants of a city and beyond them, a mountain that rises into the sky.

  She’s never seen a mountain before, but right now she’s more interested in the women. “Who are you?” she asks. “Does JJ know you? Is that why we’re here?”

  “JJ?” the blonde woman says. “If by JJ you mean Joseph, then yes.”

  JJ shrugs. “JJ is what my mother used to call me,” he says. “My wife called me Joseph.” He lifts a hand in the direction of the tall woman. “Moira, this is Annie. And this”—his voice is strained here—“is Elyse.” Another blonde, small and gaunt, breathing with difficulty. “And this is Tasha,” he says, motioning to the woman beside him. The smallest of the three, dark and silent. He clears his throat. “Moira, she’s a doctor. Annie’s a nurse.”

  “Help,” Moira says, instantly. “Brian needs help.” She scrambles into the truck, the small woman right behind her, to where Brian lies.

  The doctor—Tasha—drops to her knees. Her hands move over his leg—fingers that know what to do. “What happened?” she asks.

  Moira swallows. “He was—trampled.” She motions to the makeshift splint. “I tried to stabilize his leg, but we were in a hurry and all I had were branches…” She’s weeping again.

  Tasha puts a hand on Moira’s arm. “You did the best you could. You did an excellent job.” She calls to the people gathered at the edge of the truck. “Annie, we need to get him to the clinic. Can you”—nodding to Darby and JJ—“help me lift him?” Then she reaches down and grasps Brian’s hand. “This is going to hurt,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

  The boy passes out again on the way to the clinic, but his screams linger in Moira’s head like an alarm. She turns to face the doctor. “Is it infected? Is he going to lose the leg?”

  “I don’t know yet.” The doctor is walking briskly after the others. “I need to see.”

  “Here,” Moira says, running to keep up with her. She fumbles in her pocket. “I found this. If you need it.” She hands Tasha the scalpel.

  Tasha takes it gingerly and holds it up to the light, an odd expression on her face. “Where did you get this?”

  Moira waves a hand back in the direction they’ve come from. “Back—there. Far away. It was just on the ground.” She wills herself not to cry. “I took it—for Brian. In case I needed to use it.”

  Tasha stares at the scalpel in her palm for so long Moira starts to feel uneasy.

  “What?” she finally asks. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Tasha shakes herself. “It’s just that my mother told me stories about a scalpel like this. It’s part of why I wanted to be a doctor.” She puts the blade back in Moira’s hand and folds her fingers over it. “Keep it. I have more. And you might need a weapon.”

  You might need a weapon. Moira suppresses a shudder. When they reach the clinic, Joseph is waiting for them.

  “Did you ask her?” he says. “Have they seen it?”

  “Ask me what?” Tasha says.

  JJ is silent for so long Moira wants to scream. “We saw something,” he says, finally. “Farther south, close to the water. I don’t know what it was. Half man, half horse. We had it with us for a night, and then it…escaped.” He sounds sheepish, and suddenly Moira feels it too.

  But the small blonde has overheard them. She doesn’t look surprised. “Centaur,” she says, and the word slices into Moira, inevitable and perfect. “You saw the centaur.”

  * * *

  Brian doesn’t lose the leg—at least not that night. As Tasha and Annie work over him, Moira watches from her perch near the front door, the night wind cutting softly through the broken front window.

  She’d offered to help, but it’s clear that these women have worked together for a very long time—they move in sync, the tools that Tasha asks for already waiting in Annie’s outstretched hand. Her other hand holds a flashlight, illuminating the mess. Brian is delirious with pain and drifts in and out of consciousness. When he moans, Moira stirs at her perch.

  “You can come closer,” Tasha says, softly. “It would be nice for him to have someone he knows nearby.”

  She sits by Brian’s head and takes his hand like she did in the truck. It’s clammy, his forehead warm and damp.

  “He has a fever,” she whispers. “That’s not a good sign, is it?”

  The other women, intent on the leg, don’t answer. Tasha is using a sponge to clean the wound and a pair of tweezers to remove tiny fragments of bone.

  The leg is broken in several places.

  “Anterior and posterior tibial arteries intact,” Tasha says. She nods to Moira. “You did well to staunch the bleeding.”

  Moira squeezes Brian’s hand and fixes her gaze on the collection of bone fragments that Tasha is amassing.

  “Here,” Annie says, after some time. “Hold this.”

  Moira takes the flashlight that Annie offers, then trains it back on Brian’s leg. Tasha positions and grasps the broken bottom part of the shin bone, then slowly pulls as Annie braces the leg. Sweat stands out in beads on Tasha’s forehead and for several long, impossible moments no one makes a sound. The bone slides into place.

  “There,” Tasha says, a note of quiet triumph in her voice. “Ne
xt one.”

  Moira holds the flashlight steady. The light doesn’t waver. The light doesn’t go out.

  * * *

  When they are done, Moira leaves Brian bandaged and sleeping on the mattress at the back, his leg splinted and immobile as Annie and Tasha clean up.

  JJ and Darby and the blonde girl, Elyse, sit in the clinic waiting room, half-asleep.

  “He’s all right,” Moira says, and she watches Darby and JJ relax. “At least for now. Tasha says we have to watch for signs of infection but they still have some antibiotics, so hopefully he’ll be okay.” She plops down into an empty seat beside Elyse, then leans forward and puts her head in her hands.

  “Here,” Elyse says, softly, and when Moira looks up, the girl is offering her an apple and a potato in her outstretched hands. “When did you last eat?”

  Moira can’t remember. She takes the apple and bites into it as she rolls the potato around in her hand.

  Tasha comes out of the back room and sits in a chair on the other side of Moira. “Joseph,” she says, “what did you do after you left?”

  “I biked as far away as I could get,” he says. “Left the others almost right away—scrounged food where I could, slept in ditches. I made it almost as far as the water before—before anything else happened.”

  “And when the—scream—came?”

  Joseph looks at his hands. “I was in bed,” he says. “Some of the places I passed through were doing better than others. Ramshackle hotels, places where people were surviving without power. When I heard people screaming outside—” he clears his throat—“I saw my wife burning, and my boys, after the meteors came. Over and over in my head. I stood up, and reached out for the window, ready to break the glass”—he reaches a hand out now—“and there was a tree there, so close I could almost touch it. I counted a leaf, and then another, and another. I just kept counting. And the memories went away, eventually.” He clears his throat again. “When the meteors came, that’s what saved me then too, in a way. We’d gone on a road trip, and I was outside packing the van when the meteor took the hotel and the van with it. It missed me by inches. It was so hot I couldn’t stay there, so I just started walking away, counting my footsteps as I went. I got to ten thousand before I came to.”