The Knife of Never Letting Go

Which is enough.

“Let’s go,” I say.

We pack without any more words, and fast. I get my rucksack on, she gets her bag round her shoulders, Manchee’s on his feet again and walking, and out the back door we go. As simple as that, we’re going. Safer for Farbranch, definitely, safer for us, who knows? Who knows if this is the right thing to do? After what Hildy and Francia seemed to promise, it’s hard leaving.

But we’re leaving. And that’s what we’re doing.

Cuz at least it’s us who decided it. I’d rather not have no one else tell me what they’ll do for me, even when they mean well.

It’s full dark night outside now, tho both moons are shining bright. Everyone in town’s attenshun is behind us so there’s no one to stop us from running. There’s a little bridge that crosses the creek that runs thru town. “How far is this Haven?” I ask, whispering as we cross.

“Kinda far,” Viola whispers back.

“How far is kinda far?”

She don’t say nothing for a second.

“How far?” I say again.

“Coupla weeks’ walk,” she says, not looking back.

“Coupla weeks!”

“Where else do we have?” she says.

And I don’t have an answer so we keep on walking.

Across the creek, the road heads up the far hill of the valley. We decide to take it as the fastest way outta town then find our way back south to the river and follow that. Ben’s map ends at Farbranch so the river’s all we got for direkshuns from here on out.

There’s so many askings that come with us as we run outta Farbranch, askings that we’ll never know the answers to: Why would the Mayor and a few men go miles outta their way to attack a whole ruddy town on their own? Why are they still after us? Why are we so important? And what happened to Hildy?

And did I kill Matthew Lyle?

And was what he showed me in his Noise right there at the end a true thing?

Was that the real history of Prentisstown?

“Was what the real history?” Viola asks as we hurry on up the path.

“Nothing,” I say. “And quit reading me.”

We get to the top of the far hill of the valley just as another rattle of gunfire echoes across it. We stop and look.

And then we see.

Boy, do we see.

“Oh, my God,” Viola says.

Under the light of the two moons, the whole valley kinda shines, across the Farbranch buildings and back up into the hills where the orchards are.

We can see the men and women of Farbranch running back down that hill.

In retreat.

And marching over the top, are five, ten, fifteen men on horseback.

Followed by rows of men five across, carrying guns, marching in a line behind what has to be the Mayor’s horses in front.

Not a posse. Not a posse at all.

It’s Prentisstown. I feel like the world’s crumbling at my feet. It’s every ruddy man in Prentisstown.

They have three times as many people as even live in Farbranch.

Three times as many guns.

We hear gunshots and we see the men and women of Farbranch fall as they run back to their houses.

They’ll take the town easily. They’ll take it before the hour is thru.

Cuz the rumours were true, the rumours that Francia heard.

The word was true.

It’s an army.

A whole army.

There’s a whole army coming after me and Viola.

PART IV

20. ARMY OF MEN

We duck behind some bushes, even tho it’s dark, even tho the army is across the valley, even tho they don’t know we’re up here and there’s no way they could hear my Noise amidst all the ruckus going on down there, we duck anyway.

“Can yer binos see in the dark?” I whisper.

By way of answer Viola digs them outta her bag and holds them up to her own eyes. “What’s happening?” she says, looking thru them, pressing more buttons. “Who are all those men?”

“It’s Prentisstown,” I say, holding out my hand. “It looks like every man in the whole effing town.”

“How can it be the whole town?” She looks for a second or two more then hands the binos to me. “What kind of sense does that make?”

“You got me.” The night setting on the binos turns the valley and all that’s in it a bright green. I see horses galloping down the hill into the main part of town, shooting their rifles on the way, I see the people of Farbranch shooting back but mostly running, mostly falling, mostly dying. The Prentisstown army don’t seem interested in taking prisoners.

“We have to get out of here, Todd,” Viola says.

“Yeah,” I say, but I’m still looking thru the binos.

With everything green, it’s hard to make out faces. I press a few more buttons on the binos till I find the ones that take me in closer.

The first person I see for sure is Mr Prentiss Jr, in the lead, firing his rifle into the air when he don’t have nothing else to shoot at. Then there’s Mr Morgan and Mr Collins chasing some Farbranch men into the storage barns, firing their rifles after them. Mr O’Hare’s there, too, and more of the Mayor’s usual suspects on horseback, Mr Edwin, Mr Henratty, Mr Sullivan. And there’s Mr Hammar, the smile on his face showing up green and evil even from this distance as he fires his rifle into the backs of fleeing women hustling away small children and I have to look away or throw up the nothing I had for dinner.

The men on foot march their way into town. The first one I reckernize is, of all people, Mr Phelps the storekeeper. Which is weird cuz he never seemed army-like at all. And there’s Dr Baldwin. And Mr Fox. And Mr Cardiff who was our best milker. And Mr Tate who had the most books to burn when the Mayor outlawed them. And Mr Kearney who milled the town’s wheat and who always spoke softly and who made wooden toys for each Prentisstown boy’s birthday.

What are these men doing in an army?

“Todd,” Viola says, pulling at my arm.

The men marching don’t look none too happy, I spose. Grim and cold and scary in a different way from Mr Hammar, like they’re lacking all feeling.

But they’re still marching. They’re still shooting. They’re still kicking down doors.

“That’s Mr Gillooly,” I say, binos pressed to my eyes. “He can’t even butcher his own meat.”