Chapter 27
With the glow of the fire and the screeching of the carriers far behind us, we slow our pace, and our breathing starts to even out.
“What happened back there?” I ask Keisha between breaths. I was so consumed with my own fight, I didn’t even see another carrier nearby, let alone register that she was fighting one right next to me.
“There were two of them. The carrier that attacked you had another one right behind it. I don’t even know what came over me, but I slammed the wheelbarrow into it before it could reach you.
It fell, and I just jumped onto it. I had it stabbed through the eye before I even realized what I was doing.
It was like I was possessed or something,” she says, almost giggling. “I felt…”
“In control,” I finish for her. I know the feeling. It’s exactly what I felt when I killed my first carrier back at the Pegasus Center.
“In control,” she confirms with a wide grin. “Quinn, we really are built for this.”
I know what she means. Before the world ended, I didn’t realize just how much I was dreading life beyond the Pegasus Center.
My choices were slim. I was either going to be flung out into the world to compete with kids who grew up with every advantage or face more confinement.
Both choices felt like a death sentence.
Keisha would have fared better, though. She has the ability to move through life easily, blending in.
She’s charming and beautiful and smart. Inside, she may be built differently than most, but she would have made it in the real world.
But making it and feeling alive are two completely different things. She’s finally understanding.
“It feels pretty great, right?” I say, smiling back at her.
“Where do you think the farmer went?” Lucia wonders aloud.
“Your guess is as good as mine. At least his truck was headed in the opposite direction of the river. I doubt we’ll run into him.”
“That’s good because all of a sudden I’m exhausted,” Keisha says.
“Me too,” says Lucia.
“Adrenaline crash. Me too. But we got some really great stuff. With those straw hats, I’ll finally be able to stay out of the sun. And we’ve got enough food to last us awhile if we’re careful,” I say.
“And pillows! Those metal benches in the canoe are about to get a big upgrade,” Keisha says with a little smile.
“That’s not all. I got something for you,” I say, grinning at Keisha.
“For me?” Her eyes light up.
“For you.” I pull the lip balm out of my pocket.
She stops pushing the wheelbarrow and drops the handles so she can take the tiny plastic tube and hold it in both hands. She stares at it like it’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen and does a little hop that makes my smile grow even wider.
“Oh my god, ohmygod, ohmygod!” she squeals.
“Shhh,” I whisper, laughing a little at the scene she’s making.
“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Thank you, Quinn.” She pops off the top of the tube, wipes the balm on her shirt to remove the top layer, then smooths it onto her lips. “Amazing,” she says, closing her eyes, practically groaning.
She puts the cap on, then tucks the tube into her pocket.
I’m not expecting what comes next. There, in the dark, she opens her arms, wraps them around my neck, and squeezes her body close to mine until our eyes are perfectly aligned.
The heat of her body on mine is like electricity.
I place my hands on her hips. Her softened lips graze my cheek slowly until she stops, just to the left of my mouth, and plants a firm kiss at the edge of my lips.
She moves away slowly, leaving behind a lip balm print that I feel long after the kiss is over.
From the corner of my eye, I see Lucia turn away from the scene and keep walking.
“You’re my best friend, Quinn,” she whispers so only I can hear.
“Well, duh” is all I can think to say. I feel awkward. I don’t know what comes next. So I let my eyes shift behind us to check for carriers or any sign of the farmer.
“Come on. We’ve got to keep moving.” I reach up and feel the empty space where her lips were and wish for more.
* * *
When we reach the base of the levee we’re all completely exhausted. After taking my turn pushing the wheelbarrow, my arms and legs feel like lead. Climbing the levee feels impossible, but we’re so close, and the sun is already starting to light up the sky and send the temperature soaring.
There’s no way we’ll be able to push the wheelbarrow up the levee, so we unload the plastic grocery bags, then start the climb up, carrying as many bags as we can. It takes two trips each, but we finally get the job done.
We sit at the top of the levee, surrounded by our hard-earned supplies, and share the last of our water.
We smell like smoke, sweat, and dirt, but it was all worth it.
This, combined with what we took from the boatel, gives us enough food to last us at least a week, if not more.
We also got a few things that will make our lives easier, safer, and a lot more comfortable.
I dig through the bags until I find the binoculars I’d been wanting so badly.
They’re heavy and obviously very expensive.
I hold them up to my eyes, then touch the wheel slightly to bring the world into focus.
I scan the horizon, and my mouth hangs open in awe.
The farmland seems to go on forever. The corn sways in the breeze in some of the fields, while ankle-high plants I don’t recognize grow in the others.
In the sky, birds of prey circle the fields looking for a meal.
I can see the farmer’s house clearly, and the red pickup truck sits in the driveway again.
He came back, who knows when. Thin curls of smoke still rise from the back of the house.
My gut churns with anger. I still can’t believe he got away.
Part of me wants to go back and finish the job, but I know better.
We got what we came for, and we’re lucky to have escaped with our lives.
I scan farther to the right of the farmhouse and freeze. “Oh god,” I mutter under my breath.
“What? What is it? Let me see,” Keisha says.
I turn the wheel to refocus the binoculars, but the scene doesn’t change.
There have to be dozens of them. Carriers of all sizes run swiftly toward the farm, some dragging a leg, some missing arms, all of them dripping in rot.
If I didn’t know better, I would think I could smell them from here.
The memory of the stench sticks with you.
I groan and pass the binoculars to Keisha.
She brings them up to her eyes, and I point her in the right direction. A gasp escapes her lips and I know she’s found them. She passes the binoculars to Lucia. Lucia puts the binoculars down when she finds them.
“That’s the biggest herd we’ve seen yet,” Keisha whispers, even though they could never hear us from here.
“How far away do you think they are?” I ask her.
“At least a mile. Maybe two?” she estimates.
“At the pace they’re running, they could be here in ten, maybe twelve minutes,” I say.
“They’re not coming here. They’re headed toward the farm. Looks like we didn’t need to finish off the farmer after all. The carriers will take care of him for us,” she says. I study her face to see how she feels about that but can’t quite read her expression.
“Still, we should get back on the river. If we accidentally draw their attention, there’s no way we’d be able to fight all of them off. Stay alert though. Who knows how many of them are still out here.”
We search our surroundings for carriers, but nothing moves.
The only sounds are us, the breeze, and the birds overhead.
We carry each bag down the levee carefully and lay them beside the canoe.
When we finally place the last bag in the pile, a new level of exhaustion hits me.
“We need water, food, and rest. In that order,” I say to Keisha, breathing heavily.
“I’ll get a fire going for the water, but do you really think we can afford to sleep right now?”
“No,” I admit. “Maybe we can take turns napping in the boat?”
“If you don’t mind resting on top of all this stuff,” she says, gesturing at the bags.
“I think I could fall asleep anywhere at this point,” I answer groggily.
Keisha puts together a fire and sets some water to boil.
With our new set of pots, we can boil a whole day’s worth of water in one go, saving us precious minutes.
I carefully pack the boat, creating neat piles and carving out a narrow space in the front of the boat for sleeping.
We’ll have to curl up tight to make it work, but it’s better than nothing.
Keisha pours the last of the steaming water into our bottles and screws the lids on tight, then hands me a jar of pickles from the farm. It’s not a meal, but it’ll do. I pass the jar to Lucia, then pile the last of our things into the boat. It’s going to be a very tight squeeze.
“Ready?” Keisha asks as she pours river water over the fire.
“I want to check on the herd one more time,” I say, grabbing my binoculars and heading toward the levee. “I’ll be quick.”
When I reach the top, I pull the binoculars up to my eyes and peer toward the farmer’s house.
There are dozens of them. I try to count the carriers, but I lose track after about thirty.
They’ve surrounded the house completely and it’s just a matter of time before they get inside.
I sigh, feeling a little disappointed I’m not there to watch it unfold.
Something about the scene itches the back of my brain.
I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something, and then it clicks.
Where’s the red pickup truck? Could he really have gotten away?
I drop the binoculars and scan the area looking for any sign of the truck, but I see nothing.
Not even a cloud of dust. I guess we’ll never know what happened to him.
I stumble down the levee, then help Keisha shove the boat into the water, jumping in just as the water reaches my ankles. We each grab a paddle and make our way to the center of the wide river, where we’ll be safe from the herd and anything else on land.
“You two take the first nap. I’ll wake you in an hour or two,” I say. I can see they need it more than I do.
“Thanks, Quinn,” Keisha says sleepily as she carefully crawls toward the little nest I built at the front of the boat. She practically falls into it, sending the boat rocking, and I crack a little smile. Lucia curls in next to her.
“Here,” I say, tossing Keisha one of the farmer’s straw hats. “To keep the sun out of your eyes.”
“You’re the best,” she mumbles, already half-asleep.
I sip water and paddle slowly down the river, taking in the early morning sights and sounds. For a brief moment I wonder how far we’ve come since we left Peoria and exactly where we are now. Then I remember that the farmer gave us a clue.
The current is moving us at a decent clip, so I tuck the paddle back inside the boat and pull out my new pocket atlas.
The farmer mentioned two nearby towns, Winchester and Hillview.
First I find Peoria on the map, then trace the river south with my finger, looking at the names of the towns to the east and west of the thin blue ribbon.
My finger finds Naples, and I shiver, remembering our stay at the boatel.
I trace an inch or two farther south and see Winchester, then Hillview just below it. This must be where we are now.
As I look at the map, it’s hard to believe the world as we know it ended.
I wonder what it’s like back in Peoria now.
I wonder if anyone in Chicago could have possibly survived.
I trace my finger to the lowest tip of the map, then cringe.
I wonder what it will be like when we paddle through St. Louis.
We’ll be there before we know it. If I had to guess, I’d say we’ll be there in a little over a week if we don’t stop anywhere for too long.
I look down at Keisha and Lucia, curled up in the bottom of the boat, breathing evenly. I crave sleep, but it probably hasn’t even been an hour. I put the atlas back in the front pocket of my backpack and keep paddling.
* * *
The sun starts to rise overhead, and I’m pretty sure Keisha and Lucia have been sleeping for several hours now. My whole body is begging for rest. I reach down and nudge Keisha awake. She groans and curls up even tighter.
“Keisha, I need to sleep. It’s been hours,” I say, not even attempting to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
A heavy sigh follows, and Keisha finally sits up, groaning, “How long was I out?”
“I don’t know, like four hours,” I say impatiently. I nudge Lucia out of the way, a little harder than necessary, then curl into the nest on the floor of the canoe. I place a straw hat over my face and sink into a deep, dreamless sleep.