My heart falls to hear this. Poor Ben, clinging to his fantasy.
“ There’s no way we’re going back there,” Logan says. “You had your chance. You should’ve said something before.”
“ Do what you want,” Ben says. “I’m going back home.”
The four us stand there, at a standstill. There is no majority vote here. All of us are torn, all wanting something else, none giving an inch.
Suddenly, a cracking noise pierces the air. A tree branch falls right near us, and it takes me a moment to figure it out. The noise comes again, and another branch falls, and that’s when I realize: it was a gunshot. We are being fired upon.
T E N
Another shot, and a bullet flies right past me and hits the ground, only a few feet from where I stand.
“ Take cover!” Logan screams.
We all run back to the cave, as another shot rings out, chipping a branch a foot above my head.
We make it back to cave and stand huddle inside, looking at each other, shocked.
“ What the hell is it?” I ask.
“ A sniper,” Logan says. “Somewhere on shore. It’s not coming from the island-the angle is too steep. He must’ve been waiting for us.” Logan turns and looks at me. “You still want to stay here?”
He has a point. But I don’t care about who was right or wrong now; I just want to get us all out of here, quickly and safely.
“ So now what?” I ask.
“ I only have a few shots left in my pistol,” Logan says. “There’s no way I’d hit him. He’s too far. That’s a long-distance rifle. He’s got us pinned here.”
Ben crosses the cave, grabs the bow and arrows. He wears a new expression-tough, fearless-one I haven’t seen before.
“ Where are you going?” I ask.
But he just struts out of the cave without hesitating, into the open.
“ Ben!” I yell. “Don’t! You’ll get killed!”
But Ben keeps walking, and as he does, another gunshot rings out, missing him by a few inches.
Ben keeps walking, doesn’t even flinch. It is unbelievable. He struts with his chin up, determined, walking right out through the trees, towards the direction of the gunfire. It is as if he is suicidal.
And then it occurs to me: maybe he is suicidal. Maybe he feels so overwhelmed with guilt about his brother, that a part of him wants to die.
I hurry to the mouth of the cave, as we all do, and stand there, watching.
“ He’s going to get himself killed,” I say.
“ That’s his choice,” Logan says.
Ben walks through the trees, gunfire hailing down all around him, barely missing him in the tree cover. He reaches the shore, and stands there, out in the open. Gun fire hits the sand near him, just missing.
As if he has all the time in the world, Ben slowly removes the bow from his shoulder, takes out an arrow, and studies the far shoreline. On the horizon, on the other side of the Hudson, high up on a cliff, there is a lone gunman, aiming down with his rifle. The stock of his rifle glistens in the sunlight.
More shots ring out, but Ben doesn’t flinch. He stands there, boldly. I wonder if this is courage, or suicide. Or both.
Ben places a single arrow on the bow, pulls it back, and takes aim. He holds it there for several seconds, waiting, aiming. Another gunshot rings out, missing him, but he doesn’t flinch.
And then, finally, he lets go the arrow.
I see the arrow sail through the air, high across the Hudson, a good hundred yards. It is a thing of beauty. I’m amazed.
I’m even more amazed to watch as it finds its target: it lodges right into the chest of the lone gunman. After a moment, he falls face down, dead.
I look over at Ben in shock.
Ben walks back to us. He stands at the mouth of the cave, holding his bow and arrow, and we stand there, staring back at him. No more gunshots hail down. It wasn’t the slaverunners. It must’ve been a lone, crazed gunman. A survivor.
Ben stares back at us wordlessly, and for the first time I can see the warrior in his eyes, a whole different Ben than I’ve seen before. I can also sense that a part of him had indeed wanted to die, had wanted the gunman to kill him, had wanted to join his brother. But he didn’t get his wish.
At the same time, it seems like the episode was cathartic, like it exorcised something within him. Some sort of guilt about his brother or Rose. As if he faced death, and now he’s ready to live again.
“ I’m ready to leave,” he says. “Let’s go north.”
The four of us sit silently in the boat, each lost in our own world, as our boat continues up the Hudson. Logan is steering, and we have been driving for hours, winding our way slowly upriver, avoiding chunks of separating ice. We all keep our eyes peeled forward; none of us dare look back.
We all left behind too much back there. Since the shooting, Ben doesn’t talk about going home. I have nothing more to say, either. Obviously, it wasn’t safe to stay there, after all. That shooter may have been a stray-or there may be more where he came from.
The mood now is much more somber. We all feel the absence of Rose. Penelope sits in Bree’s lap, shaking, and I feel like we’re all in mourning for a lost comrade. I think her passing also reminds us all of how close we came. It could’ve been any one of us-by pure happenstance it just happened to be her.
I don’t think any of us really believe we will live for long. Each day is like looking our own mortality in the face. It’s not a matter of if we will all die. But when.
A part of me has given up caring. I just look ahead, focus on the far north, on the distant goal of Canada. I hold it in my mind, and try not to let it go. Whether it’s real or not, it doesn’t really matter anymore. It’s something. A destination. It beats our aimlessly wandering, heading God knows where, for God knows what. It’s comforting to think that we’re heading some place that might one day be home.
Ben surprised me back there-he surprised all of us. I was sure that he was going to get killed. Whatever his motive, his actions were brave, and he took out the sniper and saved us all. I think Logan has a new respect for him. I certainly do. And I think Ben, sitting a little taller, has a new respect for himself. It’s like, finally, he’s a member of our team.
Bree, on the other hand, has withdrawn into herself, ever since Rose’s passing. Her eyes seem sunk, hollow, and she seems more out of it than I’ve ever seen her. It is as if a part of her died with Rose. She clutches Penelope as if she’s holding a piece of Rose, and looks off into the water as if she’s bearing the sorrows of the world. I can’t stand to see her like this. But I don’t know what else to say.
Logan, beside me, is quiet, and I can see the concern in his face. He stands over the wheel, checking the gas gauge every few seconds. We are now officially in the red. He keeps scanning the shoreline, as do I, for any signs of a town, a station-anything. But there is nothing. We’ll be out of gas soon. And we’ll be stranded. What I would give now for just a gallon of gas. I don’t know what we’ll do without this boat, if we have to leave it.
Suddenly, I spot something coming towards us in the river. At first I wonder if I’m seeing things, but then I see it’s real. I grab my gun, even though there’s no ammo left, and brace myself.
“ Get down!” I scream to Bree.
She and Ben jump down, looking out over the rail. Logan looks over at me, not understanding, then he looks out and sees it, too. He squats down, and reaches over and grabs his gun.
Coming right at us is another boat. It is a huge, rusted metal boat, maybe a hundred feet long and half as wide-it looks like a mini barge. It floats towards us, between the chunks of ice, crookedly, on an angle. That is when I realize that something looks wrong with it.
