I wake to the sound of leaves rushing in the trees overhead, their branches swaying and tugging in the breeze. A sudden chill invades the space between my shoulder blades and I sink deeper into the warmth of the fur blanket. It’s heavier than it was last night. I open my eyes.
Oh. It’s not one blanket, but several. A pile magically appeared overnight, or maybe not so magically. I glance at the masked man.
He crouches across from a crackling fire, slowly turning a spit with a few plucked birds on it. More pheasant? The smell of roasting meat sends my mouth watering. He sports his goggles, scarf, and hood pulled over his head.
I ease myself up, flinching at the deep ache in my bones. The gunshot wound on my leg throbs dully.
He silently offers me a bird on a stick and I snatch it, chowing down like a starvation survivor. My appetite returned with the new day I guess. With a full stomach, I wipe the grease from my chin and watch him. He finishes drying the last of the meat and stores it in a leather bag on my mount.
“Why do you cover your face?” I ask.
He pauses. “I’ve made mistakes in my past.”
I wait for more but nothing comes. He just walks across the campsite and puts out the fire.
“Are you hiding from someone?”
He crouches, tidying up the area. “It is so that I do not become the person I was.”
And who was that? What has he done to need a mask? I find it hard to imagine the man who can take down a dozen raiders all alone needs to hide from anyone.
I helped clean camp and notice he placed the most valuable supplies of food, ammo, and weapons on my horse. Which seems odd. Either he turned himself into the pack mule of this trip or he is ensuring I get everything useful in the event we part ways.
He busies himself with one thing after another, his attention everywhere but on me. The horses, the campsite, and the weapons all get checked and rechecked, I feel dizzy just watching. Then his question from last night drifts to the forefront of my mind and it occurs to me that while things ended on a good note I never really gave him an answer.
“Hey,” I say. “Stop for a moment.”
He pauses beside his horse and I walk over, stopping before him. Our height difference suddenly becomes apparent as he towers overhead and I have to resist my body’s instinctual step back. It’s been so long since I willingly stood so close to another human who wasn’t threatening my life. Or my freedom. I stare into those dark goggles and slowly reach up, pausing as my fingers hover over the sides of his headwear, waiting to see if my unspoken request will be denied. But he stands motionless like last night. So I carefully lift the goggles and lower his scarf revealing pinched brows and lips pressed into a thin line.
“If I tell you to leave, will you?” I ask.
The corners of his brows tug upward, but he answers without hesitation. “Yes.”
I give a single nod, expecting the response. “I want you to come with me, for now, at least.”
His shoulders ease back and the strain between his brows fades. He starts to say something when I interrupt. “But if you’re traveling with me I want to see your face.”
“You’re not worried?”
“About what?”
He hesitates, “about me.”
I touch the pistol he gave me, now sitting in a holster on my good thigh.
“Not unless you’re bulletproof.”
He cracks a smile.
“Natasha,” I say, tucking my hair away in a baseball cap and lifting my hood. “Or Nat or Tasha, if you prefer.”
“Eli.”
Such an old-fashioned name but somehow it suits him. A smile breaks the space between us and I feel all tenseness melt away.
“Where are we going, Natasha?”
“East.”
Eli mounts his horse in one fluid motion and turns it in a half circle as he scans the area.
I smile. Showoff.
~~~
We reach a sign labeled Cape Tallow and Eli dismounts, walking into an abandoned gun shop. I follow, tying my horse off beside his on some old rusty bike racks. Inside, I ogle at untouched shelves with guns lining the walls. Normally these kinds of stashes are long gone, raided years ago, but it seems this one got overlooked. I grab some pieces from behind the counter and line them up to decide what I should take.
“The bow is best,” Eli says from behind, making me jump.
When did he get so close? His eyes are on a compound bow at the end of my lineup. I may have pulled it out and set it there but I never seriously considered it.
I place a hand on a beautiful sniper. “I’m a better shot with a rifle.”
“The bow is silent and you can reuse ammo.”
He has a point. I could get a suppressor for the rifle but it still can’t compare to an arrow. Plus, once I run out of bullets there is no guarantee I will find more. Then a gun becomes dead weight. I pick up the bow and draw the string back taut. It feels so effortless as the gears rotate to leverage the force in my favor.
I glance over my shoulder, “You use a bow?”
He nods, reaching behind to produce an enormous, traditional-looking bow, holding it out for me. Despite the size, it is light, looking to be made of a composite aimed for strength and agility. I run my fingers across the smooth surface, touching the string. It’s tight. Tight enough to slice through steel. Or an arm. The length of it goes from the floor to my shoulder.
“I can show you how to shoot it.” He adds, “if you want.”
It wouldn’t hurt to try. If it doesn’t work out, I can toss it. I take the compound bow but sling the leather strap of a sniper rifle over my shoulder for good measure.
As we push through the rest of the town I make a few stops at an ancient run-down mall and find new clothes. The natural fabrics are long gone but a few synthetic ones are still good. I decide to match Eli’s theme of all black and snatch a surprisingly well-preserved leather coat. I also pilfer some canned food from a small, mom and pop grocery store.
Eli never comes in with me, opting instead to keep watch from his horse and I notice his scarf pulled up to hide his face again but I leave him be. He technically never agreed to my request to see his face. It’s just hard to build trust when only one of us has the advantage of reading expressions.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
I stuff my bags with canned beans and soup, hauling myself onto my horse to go. But Eli remains silent and still, staring intently at the treeline across the street. I follow his gaze, nervous adrenaline ticking into my system with every passing second, and reach for my gun.
A deer bursts forward, leaping over a low cinder block wall and surprising a few doves who roosted nearby. It darts down the street before crossing over and disappearing around a corner.
I calm my beating heart. “It’s just a–”
Thwip!
Eli shoots an arrow into the brush about sixty paces beyond where the deer appeared. A shout of pain. Then a thunderous gunshot.
I duck and hurry the horse to the side, heading for cover. But Eli does the opposite, kicking his horse forward, toward the gunfire. Straight-backed, bow drawn, he lets another arrow loose.
I hear a rustling in the distance, then, nothing. Digging my heels in, I follow Eli as he rides off into the woods but there in the brush, something catches my eye. A bald man lies slumped over a fallen tree with an arrow protruding from his chest. A little ways from his limp arm lays a pistol. I grip the reins tighter and kick the horse forward.
A human whimper floats through the air as I come upon Eli’s horse. Then another. I dismount and peer around it. Eli stands with his sword drawn. A redhead laying at the base of a tree quivers at the end of his sword. An arrow buried deep into his knee and another in his shoulder.
“I know that guy,” I say.
All eyes turn to me. The redhead teen from the camp swallows nervously—Mikey, I think. The same one who shot me after I climbed out of the pit and tried to run. Anger buds to life inside me.
Mikey glances between me and Eli and seems to make a connection. “So you weren’t alone?”
“You are.” Eli says, touching the tip of his sword to Mikey’s throat.
My anger dissolves as I realize what's happening. Will Eli really kill him? Right now? Right in front of me? He's just a kid.
“Wait! Wait! Anything you want. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t!-”
“Why are you here?” Eli interrupts.
“Me and…” his adam’s apple bobs with a swallow and another quiver courses through him. For a moment he looks like he might cry. “Me and Tarron wanted to see how the chief was doing on finding those girls. Thought we could catch the group on the way back.”
Eli’s head rises slowly as he turns his masked face to look at me as if to say, girls?
I shrug at him. “I told them what they wanted to hear.”
“Your leader and the men with him are dead.” Eli lifts his sword, readying to strike. “You can join them.”
“No, no, please!” Mikey ducks, covering his head with his hands.
“Wait.”
The word escapes my lips before I can think. Eli pauses to look at me.
My brain fumbles for a reason. Eli is right, of course. The kid is a liability if we let him go. The camp he comes from holds many more armed and dangerous men who would not hesitate to hunt me down. Even more so when they learn what’s become of their chief. But how can I stand here and watch this boy die? It feels wrong. It is one thing to defend yourself in the heat of battle, but this feels different. This is different.
“My bag,” I say, glancing between them. “My bag is back at their camp.”
“I can get it.” Mikey volunteers in a heartbeat. “I know where it is. I can get in and out in no time flat. No one will know a thing.”
Eli gives me a long look before turning his attention back to Mikey bleeding on the ground.
“He cannot walk.” He says, waving his sword at the arrow protruding from Mikey’s knee.
“N-n-no, I can walk.” Mikey struggles to his feet, using the tree at his back to claw his way up. “I-if anyone asks I’ll say I tripped at night and twisted it. I’ll say that’s why I’m back early without Terron.”
I shrug a shoulder at Eli. “He says he’s fine.”
I can only imagine the questions lying behind that mask right now. If I could see Eli’s eyes I bet they would be asking me why? Why save this man?
Because, Eli, it’s too easy for you to kill him. And too hard for me to watch you do it.
Eli seems to weigh the situation. I watch him consider the possible consequences of going against my wishes. After some time he sheaths his sword and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. Then he unceremoniously yanks the arrows out from Mikey’s shoulder and knee before walking back to his horse.
Mikey is crying now, probably from relief as much as from pain and he clutches his knee, sliding back down to the forest floor. In another life, I would pity him but now I watch in silence, the numbness from earlier returning full force. Eli returns with some rope and proceeds to tie his hands securely behind him. He takes the rest and wraps it around Mikey’s shoulders in a harness of sorts and ties the end to his saddle.
We take it slow, I suspect for our prisoner’s sake, as we follow the trail Mikey says leads back to their camp. We stop for lunch after an hour. Eli disappears into the woods and I pull out the leftovers from breakfast and chow down when I catch Mikey staring at me. Streaks of dried tears paint his dusty, freckled cheeks.
“What’s in the bag you want so badly?” he asks.
I remember Uncle’s journal and the pictures of my family. Sure, I want them back, but not at the expense of my life.
“Not too much. At least nothing I couldn’t live without.” I stop eating for a moment to give him a pointed look. “But I can’t say the same for you.”
He seems distracted and misses my veiled threat as he asks, “So… why did you stop your friend?”
I sigh. “Don’t look too much into it. What were you doing watching us back there?”
“Terron…” Grief flashes across his face and he looks down. “He thought we’d stop by the town on the way there when we noticed you two. We didn’t want any trouble.”
“Neither did I.” I try to keep the spite from my words, knowing this ‘Tarron’ person must be the bald man Eli shot and killed back there. “Yet I still became a prisoner when you found me.”
“Would it really have been so bad?” Mikey looks up at me with sad eyes, “to stay with us?”
I bite my tongue, remembering his words of encouragement to me after they caught me. The camp probably saved his life. Provided food, safety, and camaraderie. But the boy is naive. He knows nothing of the darkness in those same men he considers friends and leaders.
“I have a brother. I’m looking for him.”
“Really?” He perks up, amazement filling his tone. “Real family? Like from before everything ended? He woke up at the same time as you and everything?”
I don’t answer. I know the chances are slim, my hope—incredibly unfounded. But so are the chances of me surviving long enough to find him or the chances of me waking up at all. Providence worked one miracle waking me so why not another?
After finishing my meal I grab a bottle of sealed alcohol I found in town and rip an extra shirt up into strips. Mikey watches as I plop down beside him in the pine needles. I tear open the hole in his pants where the arrow went in to get a better look. Blood oozes down the side of his leg and I grimace at a bit of bone between all the fiery red flesh. I pour alcohol over his wound and clean it, gently dabbing the blood away. Mikey handles it well, not crying or whimpering but his leg still shakes. Maybe I should have looked harder for some liquor or pills in the city. I finish wrapping it with cloth strips and lean back to get a better look. Not an amazing job but not too bad either. Someone more skilled than me can fix it up when he gets back to his camp.
“Thanks,” Mikey says, pulling me from my thoughts. “And I’m sorry for shooting you before. I didn’t know you were a girl.”
“Hey.” I flick him in the forehead, “don’t get any ideas. We’re not friends, alright? Just get that bag tonight. It better have all my stuff in it.”
His eyes shoot wide before dropping to the forest floor. I frown, noticing strips of angry, red skin marring the back of his neck, peeking over his shoulder. Curious, I yank the collar of his shirt down to get a better look and he winces. Five long, red hot twisting lines cut deep gashes across his back. They are a couple of days old and somewhat scabbed over except for the parts where Eli’s rope harness tore them open again.
“What happened here?”
His gaze wanders up but not enough to reach my eyes. “When you turned out to be a girl, and then because I was the one who shot you…”
They whipped him—a teenager—just doing what he was told. I squeeze the water canteen in my hand.
“If you need us to slow down or take a break—”
Alarm flashes across his face. “I won’t slow you down, I promise. It’s not as bad as it looks, really.”
“Hey, stop. Look at me.”
His chest jumps up and down in quick, shallow breaths but his skittering eyes finally meet mine.
“I’m not trying to hurt you. So if you need to take a break, or if we’re going too fast, I’ll make sure we stop for a bit. Okay?”
His panic settles like a deep, slow exhale. He nods, holding my gaze. As I stand to go, Eli emerges from the woods. If he notices our prisoner’s bandaged knee, he says nothing and between the goggles and scarf whatever he might be thinking is a mystery to the world.
Mikey examines my handiwork, head tilting this way and that. He seems so young. It’s easy to forget until you see his face. The youthful stare and boyish roundness of his cheeks make me wonder if he isn’t younger than I initially thought. Maybe fifteen instead of seventeen. He’s just so tall. Would have made a decent basketball player. Maybe he had. But not anymore. Now the only thing that matters is strength and smarts and only so long as you can beat the next man down the street. Eli is proof of that. He killed the chief so effortlessly despite the evil man’s confident words to me that night in the bedroom.
Wasteful.
Ha. As if I were a resource to be used up. But then again, to him, I was. I glance at Eli as we continue our slow gate toward the camp. The man’s body flows in perfect unity with his horse’s steps. I keep waiting for him to change his mind. To realize that letting me call the shots makes no sense. Not in this world.
But instead, he follows. He lets me lead. Surrendering control to someone so much weaker than him and I still can’t understand why. But I’ll take it. I need it.