He shakes his head. “There’s all sorts of sick things out there,” he says. “Gangs. Cannibals. Mutants. And other arenas that make One look like nothing.”
He sighs.
“ Anyway, I gave my little brother two guns, fully loaded, two weeks’ worth of food, my motorcycle, and sent him away, on Route 80, heading west. I told him to head to our uncle Jack’s house, in Ohio, if it was even still standing. At least it was a destination. I made sure he hit the highway, and was going in the right direction. That was the last I ever saw of him.”
He sighs.
“ The slaverunners took me away, made me one of them, and I stood guard in the arena. For months, every night, I watched the games. It made me sick. I saw new people come and go every night. But I never saw anyone make it out of there alive. Never. Until you came.”
He looks at me.
“ You were the only one.”
I look back at him, surprised.
“ When I saw you fighting, I knew my time had come. I had to leave that place. And I had to do whatever I could to help you.”
I think back and remember when I first met him, how grateful I was to him for helping us. I remember our trip downtown, his nursing me through being sick, how grateful I was to him again.
“ You said something to me once,” I say. “I asked you why did it. Why you helped me. And you said I reminded you of someone.” I look at him, my heart pounding. I’ve been wanting to ask him this forever. “Who?”
He looks back into the fire. He’s quiet for such a long time, I wonder if he’ll answer me.
Finally, in a quiet voice, he says. “My girlfriend.”
This floors me. Somehow, I can’t imagine Logan with a girlfriend. I envision him in a military barracks. I’m also shocked that I remind him of her. It makes me wonder. Who was she? Did she look like me? Is that why he did it? Does he see her when he sees me? Or does he really like me?
Instead, I can only summon the courage to ask, “What happened to her?”
Slowly, he shakes his head. “Dead.”
I’ve asked too much. In another time and place, they would be harmless questions; but this is not a harmless age we live in, and here and now, even the most innocuous question leads to lethal answers. I should’ve remembered what I learned years ago: better not to ask anyone anything. Better to just live in the silence, in the wasteland. Better not to talk at all.
E I G H T
I open my eyes, looking around, trying to figure out where I am. I’m sitting, leaning back against the rock wall of the cave, and I look around, and see everyone else lying around the fire, fast asleep. Something feels wrong.
I feel something crawling on my leg, and I look down and see a huge tarantula, making its way up my calf. I jump up with a start, brushing it off, freaking out. I feel more of them, all over me, and spin and turn as I frantically swat them off.
I look down, and see dozens of them, crawling all over the floor. Tarantulas cover the walls, swarms of them, making the walls seem alive.
I turn and look to the mouth of the cave. As I do, suddenly, a dozen slaverunners burst in. They’re wearing masks and holding guns, as they charge right for us. There are too many of them, and they’re coming in too fast, guns drawn. I’m unarmed, and there’s nothing I can do. They found us.
They come right at me, and the closest one raises his gun to my head. My throat goes dry, a moment before I hear the gunshot.
I wake up gasping, swatting my arms and legs, trying to get the spiders off. I look around and realize, slowly, it was just a nightmare.
I’m in the cave, leaning against the stone wall, before the embers of the dying fire. Everyone is fast asleep- except, I see, for Logan, who sits by the entrance, stoically looking out, standing guard. It is daybreak.
I sit there, hyperventilating, trying to calm down. It was so vivid.
“ You okay?” comes a soft voice.
I look over at Logan, who looks back with concern. Beyond him, the snow is piled high, at least a foot and a half, and it is still snowing. I can’t believe it. The storm hasn’t stopped.
I take a deep breath and nod back.
“ Just a bad dream,” I say.
He nods, and turns back to looking outside.
“ I know what that’s like,” he says.
I stand, needing to shake out the cobwebs, and walk over to him. I stand at the mouth of the cave, and look out. The light of the breaking dawn is beautiful, with streaks of reds on the horizon against the thick gray clouds. The Hudson has turned to ice in places. A mist and fog settles over everything, and I feel as if we are in a surreal winter postcard.
It is very tranquil. I feel tucked in here, safe. I look over and see our boat, covered in snow, still bobbing in the water. Yes, it’s treacherous out there, but at the same time, that means no one can get to us. It seems we have another day pass; clearly, we can’t be going anywhere in this.
“ Looks like we’re not going anywhere today,” I say.
“ Looks like it.”
I turn and look for Rose, my heart racing. It will be impossible for us to get out there and try to find medicine for her in this weather, the only drawback.
I hurry over and examine her. Her breathing is shallow, rapid. She looks more pale than the night before, and her bandage has turned green and brown, pus oozing out the sides. I can smell it from feet away, and my heart wrenches at the site.
I kneel down, and slowly unwrap it. As I do, she twists and winces, moaning softly. I unravel it, dripping with pus. Her wound has turned entirely black, festering, and I nearly gag. My heart breaks in pieces. I can hardly imagine the pain and suffering she is in right now. It looks incurable. I feel like crying, knowing what’s on the horizon for her. I would give anything to be a doctor, to have a doctor here right now. It is like watching my own little sister die, helplessly.
I want to feel like I’m doing something, so I hurry to the mouth of the cave, grab some fresh snow, and gently place it on her wound. She winces as I do so. I take one of the fresh bandages I have left to dry by the fire, and wrap it around, doing the best I can.
I turn back and come over to Logan. I sit beside him, looking out at the snow, and my eyes well up.
“ It’s bad, huh?” he asks.
I nod, not looking at him.
“ You’re doing everything you can,” he says.
“ No I’m not,” I say.
He doesn’t respond.
I think back, wondering how we could have prevented it. I should’ve been more vigilant that night, when the mutants attacked. I never should’ve let Ben stand guard. I knew he was too fragile, too unstable. I can’t help feeling as if it’s all my fault.
“ It’s not your fault,” Logan says, surprisingly, as if reading my mind. “It’s his,” he says, gesturing with his head back to Ben, sleeping along the back wall.
Logan refused to allow Ben to stand guard the night before, still not trusting him. I can feel his anger and resentment towards him, but I know it is not helpful. Yes, Ben fell asleep. But even if he was awake, who knows if things would have gone down differently.
“ You shouldn’t be so hard on him,” I say. “He just lost his brother.”
