Chapter 30
Our routine continues for days. We paddle, find a place to camp, eat, boil water, sleep, and repeat.
Occasionally we stay an extra day in a spot that feels safe so we can do some laundry, clean the inside of the boat, or bathe in the river, but we try to stay out of the water, knowing that sunken carriers are still a threat.
We trade watch duties, but carrier sightings are rare.
Once, in the middle of the night, I think I hear people on the river.
The sound of soft voices, maybe two women talking, echoes off the river.
But the sound passes quickly, leaving me to wonder if it was just a dream.
It’s hard to keep your guard up when routine sets in.
I know we could face danger at any moment, whether from carriers or people, but after days of relative peace, the need to relax is hard to resist. Still, we try to stay diligent, scanning the horizon with our binoculars, listening for shrieks, and looking for signs of people.
But for six days the river has lulled us into a sense of safety.
So when we hear voices ahead of us down the river, I have to scramble to find my machete at the bottom of the canoe under my dirty clothes.
From the front of the boat, Keisha whips around and meets my eyes.
We both point toward the voices in a wide-eyed warning to each other.
I look down at the water. The current is moving fast today.
We won’t have much luck trying to backpaddle.
I nod toward the opposite side of the river, silently telling Keisha to start rowing to the west, then place my finger on my lips, a plea to paddle as quietly as possible.
She understands. We’ve practiced this. She silently and deeply dips her paddle into the water, then pulls it back, moving the boat toward our destination.
I mirror her movements, hoping we don’t draw any attention.
By the time we make it to the west side of the river, we’re way too close to the mystery group for comfort.
I can hear their laughter clearly, and I’m able to distinguish between several voices.
We quietly climb out of the canoe and gently drag it ashore.
I reach for my binoculars, then search the east bank for the source of the noise.
A gasp escapes my lips, and I instinctively—and stupidly—duck down behind the canoe.
“What? What is it?” Keisha asks, following me behind the canoe.
“They see us,” I say.
“What do you mean? How do you know?”
“Because when I looked through my binoculars, I saw another set of binoculars looking right back at us. They know we’re here.”
“Shit,” Keisha sighs.
My feet itch to run and hide, but we can’t abandon our stuff, we can’t paddle back against the current, and apparently, we can’t hide until they leave. Shit.
“Hey, there!” a friendly voice calls from the other side of the river.
We stay low, our backs pressed to the canoe, looking at each other.
“Do we try to outrun them or make friends?” Keisha asks.
“They outnumber us. I saw four people.”
“What else did you see?”
“Not much. I saw a pair of binoculars looking back at me and that kind of interrupted things,” I say impatiently. “Give me a minute.” I pick up the binoculars again.
I peek over the canoe and find the group.
The woman with the binoculars sees me and gives a friendly wave.
I ignore her. There’s another woman at her side and two men sitting in camping chairs, watching our side of the shore.
They have a decent amount of camping gear and a wide rowboat docked on the bank. Not a bad setup.
“They’ve got a lot of good stuff. Might be worth it to check them out,” I say, flashing a mischievous smile at Keisha.
She looks hesitant. I can see her turning something over in her mind.
I almost ask her what she’s thinking, but then her eyes darken and she sits up just a bit straighter.
“We don’t really have many good options here.
Let’s go make friends. How do you want to do this?
How long are you planning on playing nice? ” she asks cautiously.
“We’ll get information from them first. I want to know what they’ve seen, where they’ve been, and where they’re going. Then I want their stuff. And we can’t leave any loose ends this time.” I hope she doesn’t argue. Surely she understands why we can’t leave them alive.
“I can get them talking. But, Quinn, let’s not just assume we’ll have to kill them, okay? Let’s at least consider the possibility that we could take what we want and leave.”
I sigh and roll my eyes. “We can’t get ourselves into another sticky situation. If we leave them alive, they’ll be on our heels just like the farmer.”
“Maybe they’ll be allies. Sometimes there’s safety in numbers. Maybe they actually know what they’re doing out here and could help us. Looks like they’ve made it this far,” she says casually. Too casually. Why the hell is she so insistent that we let them live?
Anger heats my chest, but I push it down. There’s no time to argue.
“Hello-oo?” the voice calls from across the river.
“Fine, whatever. I’ll keep it in mind. Are you ready?”
“Ready.”
We get back into our boat and steer it to the east bank of the river and glide onto the shore right next to the strangers’ camp.
As I pull the boat onto the rocky beach, Keisha gives the strangers her best smile, painted with hints of relief and shyness.
It’s perfect. I try to mirror her expression, but I let my hair fall into my face, just in case I’m failing miserably.
“We’re so glad to run into more people. It’s been a while since we’ve seen anybody. I’m Keisha, and this is Quinn,” she says in a very sweet but somehow humble voice.
“Keisha. Quinn,” the taller man says as he nods and reaches out his hand. I take it and give it a decent squeeze. “I’m Steven, and this is Grady, Suzanne, and Marcy.”
He points to the others as he makes his introductions, and I learn the woman with the binoculars is Marcy.
As discreetly as I can, I look them up and down, searching for anything I can use against them.
They all look to be in their thirties. They’re relatively clean and seem like they haven’t missed more than a few meals.
They give us genuine smiles and wave us over to their camp.
“Thanks for the warm welcome. It’s so hard to know who to trust these days,” Keisha says.
“Don’t we know it,” Marcy says, rolling her eyes, her frizzy brunette hair bouncing as she nods. “Here, why don’t you come sit?”
Marcy, Steven, Suzanne, Keisha, and I all take a seat on a blanket in a clearing between the river and the tree line. A few feet away, Grady is busy building a fire. I try to keep an eye on him while I attempt to move the conversation forward.
“Do you all know each other from before?” I ask.
I need to know how much they care about each other.
People fight harder for people they love.
Keisha glares at me, knowing exactly where I’m going with my line of questioning.
Oops. They don’t seem to flinch at my question, but I decide to let her take the lead from now on.
“Pastor Steven and I have been married for seven blessed years, thank you, Jesus,” Marcy says, smiling over her shoulder at her husband. “We ran into Grady and Suzanne a couple weeks ago. They met back at the shelter in Bluffs.”
Bluffs. That’s the shelter just outside of Naples. The one Ramsey told us about. I wonder if they might know him. I don’t dare ask, though.
“Where are you coming from?” Keisha asks.
“We’re from Jacksonville. Are you familiar with the area?
” Steven asks. Keisha shakes her head, so he continues.
“It’s a bigger town just northeast of here.
We do a lot of camping, so when everything happened, we knew we needed to get out of town and find somewhere less populated, so we piled all our camping gear into the truck and headed to the river,” Steven says with a shrug.
“And Grady and I lived in Bluffs,” Suzanne adds.
“The shelter was getting…out of hand. The evils of this world will always try to dim the light of the Lord, you know. The shelter didn’t seem like it was going to hold together much longer, so we walked toward the river for deliverance.
We knew we’d have a fresh source of water if we kept to it.
That’s when we met these two angels in a rowboat,” Suzanne says, smiling gratefully at Marcy and Steven.
Jeez. These people are laying it on thick. I’m already annoyed, but I try my best to hide it.
“Wow, that sounds really nice. People helping people, I mean. Have you run into any trouble?” Keisha asks.
“Oh, here and there,” Steven says vaguely. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.” He pats a long, serrated knife on his belt.
“Carriers or people?” I ask him.
“Both,” he answers sharply. “There are many evils in this cursed world, girls,” he says without elaborating. The entire group’s eyes hit the hard-packed ground at their feet.
I look around, trying to take the temperature of the gathering. It got tense fast. Keisha’s a professional peacekeeper, though, and I watch in awe as she turns things around.
“Yes, we’ve seen it,” she says, putting her saddest eyes on. “We’re from Peoria. We’ve been on the river since Havana. We started with six, but now it’s just us.” Somehow, she manufactures a tear that slides down her cheek at the most perfect of moments.
“How old are you two?” Steven asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m seventeen,” Keisha answers.
“Sixteen,” I answer.
“Oh, bless! Just babies!” Marcy says dramatically with her hand on her chest.
I try not to let my annoyance show on my face. Instead, I try to look as sad as I can, mirroring Keisha. In seconds, she’s managed to melt away the tension and make them underestimate us. I know it’s a good thing, but the pit of my stomach still boils at Marcy’s sympathy.