Chapter 15
When the sun starts to rise, I’m brought out of a daze. Without the rain, the river’s current has slowed, and we inch downstream with the sounds of nature all around us.
I’ve never really been outside like this.
City parks, backyards, and trips to the zoo are as close as I’ve come to really being out in nature.
On the river, turtles sit on logs, waiting for the sun.
Fish pluck bugs from the surface of the water.
Birds start their songs up in the canopy of trees above us.
This is what things were like before humans built their cities. Before they made their rules.
In my exhausted state, a moment of clarity takes me by surprise. I realize suddenly I won’t miss the world as it was, a world that never planned to accept someone like me. Out here, instinct and survival are the only rules. This is a world that was made for me.
“We should find somewhere to get out and dry off,” Nurse Patrick whispers, interrupting my thoughts.
Like me, Keisha and Nurse Patrick haven’t slept a wink.
They stare forward, red-eyed, taking in the scene around us.
On the floor of the canoe, January snores softly in two inches of water, still oblivious.
Lucia is curled tightly on Keisha’s lap; her even breaths let me know she’s sleeping soundly too.
“How far do you think we’ve gone?” I wonder aloud.
“There’s really no telling,” Nurse Patrick says. “All I know is we’re still headed south. This is the Illinois River. Eventually it pours into the Mississippi, but we’re still a long way from that.”
I nod. At least we’re heading in the direction we planned.
We continue to float in silence. I wonder if anyone will mention what happened to Ginger. I wonder how we’ll tell January she’s gone. I wonder if they’re scared of me.
I don’t feel bad about tripping Ginger. She was a liability from day one, and the truth is she wasn’t meant for all this.
There’s nothing fair or just in this new world.
There is no order, there are no “human rights,” and complaining won’t magically make things go your way.
I almost smile at the thought of never having to hear her high-pitched whine again.
Besides, if we had waited for Ginger to make it to the boat, none of us would have survived.
They have to understand that. I hope they do.
If Ginger was a liability, then keeping Jan alive is a suicide mission.
There is no bigger threat to our group. If I were alone, I’d leave her behind without thinking twice, but the rest of the group would never allow it.
I try not to imagine all the risks involved with letting her live.
“The river banks up ahead,” Nurse Patrick says, pointing downstream. “See the little beach? We could get out and rest right there.”
I see it. A low, grassy riverbank slopes into the water at just the right angle.
Nurse Patrick uses one of our paddles to steer us ashore.
Keisha begins gathering what little supplies we have left, and when we’re close enough, I jump out of the boat to pull us farther onto the bank.
Lucia wakes up, takes a quick look around her, and instantly begins finding ways to help.
Jan wakes, glances around, then goes right back to sleep.
The difference between the two young girls is stark, and I’m again struck by January’s uselessness.
When we’re completely ashore, we pile out of the boat. We’re a sopping wet mess. Nurse Patrick gently shakes January awake, putting his finger to his lips, reminding her to keep quiet.
Jan blinks several times, then sits up. “Where are we?”
“The carriers broke into our shelter last night, remember?” Nurse Patrick explains. “We had to escape. We found this boat and floated away, down the river. We’re safe now,” he continues, waiting for Jan’s inevitable question.
“Where’s Ginger?” Jan finally asks.
“Jan, I want you to look around you, okay?” Keisha says, jumping in to help. “Remember, we have to be very, very quiet. The carriers might be out here waiting to wake up and get us, okay?”
“Keisha is right, January. I’m going to tell you what happened to Ginger, but you need to stay calm,” Nurse Patrick says.
January’s breaths are already quickening, and her face is turning pink. “Is she okay?” Jan asks, her chin wobbling.
“January, the carriers caught up to us, and they bit Ginger. She died. I’m sorry,” Nurse Patrick says, delivering the final blow. I appreciate his editing.
January’s eyes go wild, and her breathing is so fast I think she might hyperventilate. At least she’s not screaming.
“Deep breath, Jan. Watch me,” Nurse Patrick says, demonstrating.
It takes several minutes, but her breathing evens out. Finally, the tears come. Her sobs are mournful and far quieter than her tantrum tears. When I’m certain she won’t scream, I turn away to walk the perimeter.
I keep my machete ready, but the riverbank and the surrounding area are quiet, save for the birds and the bubble of the river. I decide we’re relatively safe and join the others to start unpacking my wet backpack. Anything that isn’t in plastic is completely soaked through.
“Quinn, what do you think about starting a fire to dry us off?” Keisha asks quietly as she rubs January’s back.
“That’s smart. Lucia, come with me. Let’s see if we can find some wood. Keep your weapon up.”
We start by picking up tiny twigs. Farther inland we find bigger fallen branches. I use my foot to break them into manageable pieces, and we carry them back to the little beach. Soon, we have a pile big enough to start a fire.
From the side pocket of my wet backpack, I pull out one of the lighters I took from the sporting goods store.
I glance at Jan, but she’s not watching me. She’s still crying softly, hiccuping occasionally, but I think we’re out of the woods, so to speak.
I flick the lighter to get the fire started. Nothing. I try again. Nothing. Several more tries yield the same results. It must be waterlogged.
“Give me that,” Nurse Patrick says with his hand out. I pass the useless lighter to him. He turns the lighter upside down, giving it a few shakes. Then he presses the lighter’s wheel to the rubber on the side of his boot, moving it back and forth quickly.
After a few seconds, he tosses the lighter back to me. I flick it. A flame appears, and I can feel my face light up. “How did you know how to do that?”
“Old smoker’s trick,” he says, smirking. “Never thought smoking would come in handy in the apocalypse. Here, let me show you how to get that fire started,” he says, taking the lighter back.
“Keisha, Lucia, you need to hear this too,” he says, waving them over.
“Starting fires is tricky. You have to start with tiny pieces, then work your way up to the bigger branches. And remember, fires need to breathe.” He uses the smallest bits of wood and a few dried leaves to create a tiny nest. Then he balances a few larger pieces in a peak above the nest and lights it on fire.
January’s eyes glow in awe.
“Once the bigger pieces start to catch, you can add more,” he says, motioning for me to add more sticks to the fire. “Don’t add too much now. Wait for it to catch. Good,” he says, smiling proudly. “That’ll be a real nice fire.” He tosses the lighter back to me.
I catch it in both hands and smile. Once again, I’m almost glad he’s here.
The fire grows. Nurse Patrick shows us how to use larger branches to stretch our clothes and hold them close to the fire to dry. Soon, I have something relatively dry to change into.
All this open land makes me anxious, and I find myself gripping my machete every time the leaves rustle. For now, though, nothing comes. So we use the quiet to take inventory of what’s left of our supplies.
In the escape, all we held on to were our weapons and backpacks.
Luckily each pack had a few bottles of water, some dehydrated food, a mess kit, toiletries, and a spare set of clothing for each of us.
Nurse Patrick was also carrying a few pieces of campfire cookware and a few odds and ends.
I can also hear the pill bottles shake in his pockets when he moves.
We left behind a lot, but it really could have been worse.
We rehydrate some food in a little tin pot and eat. It’s tough to choke down, and January whines, asking for candy bars instead.
“Jan, we need to save the candy for when we need quick energy. We have time to cook more nutritious food right now, so we should use this time wisely,” Nurse Patrick explains patiently.
Eventually she takes a few bites with her nose turned up.
Beside her, Nurse Patrick’s watch beeps softly, letting him know it’s time to hand out morning meds.
He passes Jan a handful of pills, and she swallows them dutifully.
Once we’ve all eaten as much as we can stand, I realize just how tired I am.
“We need to get some sleep. Maybe we can take shifts?” I ask, yawning.
“Sure. Lucia, why don’t you stand watch with me and January, since you both got a few hours of sleep on the boat.
We’ll let Keisha and Quinn get some rest,” Nurse Patrick says, with kindness in his eyes.
I nod at him gratefully and carry my almost-dry pack under a big shady tree next to the river. Keisha follows, dragging her feet.
I lay my pack down on the soft grass and use the smooth part as a pillow. I leave a little spot for Keisha next to me. She lies close to me and pulls a big flannel shirt over us. It isn’t cold, but somehow it makes me feel safer. Still, I keep my machete gripped in my hand, just in case.
As I’m drifting off, Keisha speaks. “Quinn, you killed Ginger. On purpose.”
“I did it to save us.”
“What if I had been the slowest one?”
I’m almost too shocked to speak. How could she not know?
“I’d never let anything happen to you, Keisha.”
“Why?”
I don’t know what to say, so I pretend to have fallen asleep, avoiding the question I don’t have the courage to answer. Soon, she gives up on waiting for my response. Her breathing becomes rhythmic, and I’m lulled into real sleep by the hypnotic rise and fall of her.