The Knife of Never Letting Go

towards the birthmark’s hand, slicing it across the top. He yelps and lets go.

“Run!” I say to Ben. “Run, already!”

I see Viola biting the hand of the man who’s grabbing her. He calls out and she stumbles back.

“You, too!” I say to her. “Get outta here!”

“I wouldn’t,” says the beard and there are rifles cocking all over the place.

The birthmark is cursing and he raises his arm to strike but I’ve got my knife out in front of me. “Try it,” I say thru my teeth. “Come on!”

“ENOUGH!” Doctor Snow yells.

And in the sudden silence that follows, we hear the hoofbeats.

Thump budda-thump budda-thump.

Horses. Five of ’em. Ten. Maybe even fifteen.

Roaring down the road like the devil hisself is on their tail.

“Scouts?” I say to Ben tho I know they ain’t.

He shakes his head. “Advance party.”

“They’ll be armed,” I say to Doctor Snow and the men, thinking fast. “They’ll have as many guns as you.”

Doctor Snow’s thinking, too. I can see his Noise whirring, see him thinking how much time they’ve got before the horses get here, how much trouble me and Ben and Viola are going to cause, how much time we’ll waste.

I see him decide.

“Let them go.”

“What?” says the beard, his Noise itching to shoot something. “He’s a traitor and a murderer.”

“And we’ve got a town to protect,” Doctor Snow says firmly. “I’ve got a son to keep safe. So do you, Fergal.”

The beard frowns but says nothing more.

Thump budda-thump budda-thump comes the sound from the road.

Doctor Snow turns to us. “Go,” he says. “I can only hope you haven’t sealed our fate.”

“We haven’t,” I say, “and that’s the truth.”

Doctor Snow purses his lips. “I’d like to believe you.” He turns to the men. “Come on!” he shouts. “Get to your posts! Hurry!”

The group of men breaks up, scurrying back to Carbonel Downs, the beard and the birthmark still seething at us as they go, looking for a reason to use their guns, but we don’t give ’em one. We just watch ’em go.

I find I’m shaking a little.

“Holy crap,” Viola says, bending at the waist.

“We gotta get outta here,” I say. “The army’s gonna be more interested in us than it is in them.”

I still have Viola’s bag with me, tho all it’s got in it any more are a few clothes, the water bottles, the binos and my ma’s book, still in its plastic bag.

All the things we got in the world.

Which means we’re ready to go.

“This is only gonna keep happening,” Ben says. “I can’t come with you.”

“Yes, you can,” I say. “You can leave later but we’re going now and yer coming with us. We ain’t leaving you to be caught by no army.” I look over to Viola. “Right?”

She puts her shoulders back and looks decisive. “Right,” she says.

“That’s settled then,” I say.

Ben looks back and forth twixt the two of us. He furrows his brow. “Only till I know yer safe.”

“Too much talking,” I say. “Not enough running.”

36. ANSWERS TO ASKINGS

We stay off the river road for obvious reasons and tear thru the trees, heading, as always, towards Haven, snapping thru twigs and branches, getting away from Carbonel Downs as fast as our legs can carry us.

It’s not ten minutes before we hear the first gunshots.

We don’t look back. We don’t look back.

We run and the sounds fade.

We keep running.

Me and Viola are both faster than Ben and sometimes we have to slow down to let him catch up.

We run past one, then two small, empty settlements, places that obviously heeded the rumours about the army better than Carbonel Downs did. We keep to the woods twixt the river and the road but we don’t even see any caravans. They must be high-tailing it to Haven.

On we run.

Night falls and we keep on running.

“You all right?” I ask Ben, when we stop by the river to refill the bottles.

“Keep on going,” he says, gasping. “Keep on going.”

Viola sends me a worried look.

“I’m sorry we don’t got food,” I say, but he just shakes his head and says, “Keep going.”

So we keep going.

Midnight comes and we run thru that, too.

(Who knows how many days? Who cares any more?)

Till finally, Ben says, “Wait,” and stops, hands on his knees, breathing hard in a real unhealthy way.

I look around us by the light of the moons. Viola’s looking, too. She points. “There.”

“Up there, Ben,” I say, pointing up the small hill Viola’s seen. “We’ll be able to get a view.”

Ben don’t say nothing, just gasps and nods his head and follows us. There’s trees all the way up the side but a well-tended path and a wide clearing at the top.

When we get there, we see why.

“A sematary,” I say.

“A what?” Viola says, looking round at all the square stones marking out their graves. Must be a hundred, maybe two, in orderly rows and well-kept grass. Settler life is hard and it’s short and lotsa New World people have lost the battle.

“It’s a place for burying dead folk,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “A place for doing what?”

“Don’t people die in space?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says. “But we burn them. We don’t put them in holes.” She crosses her arms around herself, mouth and forehead frowning, peering around at the graves. “How can this be sanitary?” Ben still hasn’t said anything, just flopped down by a gravestone and leant against it, catching his breath. I take a swig from a water bottle and then hand it to Ben. I look out and around us. You can see down the road for a piece and there’s a view of the river, too, rushing by us on the left now. It’s a clear sky, the stars out, the moons starting to crescent in the sky above us.

“Ben?” I say, looking up into the night.

“Yeah?” he says, drinking down his water.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” His breath’s getting back to normal. “I’m built for farm labour. Not sprinting.”

I look at the moons one more time, the smaller one chasing the larger one, two brightnesses up there, still light enough to cast shadows, ignorant of the troubles of men.

I look into myself. I look deep into my Noise.