The wind blew hot and dry across the plains, chinook the old cowboys would say. It licked at the fire, causing shadows to dance across the ground, like old spirits grasping for attention. Tired eyes watched the dance, a ghost himself, but he didn’t want attention. He breathed in deeply, holding the desert air in, he closed his eyes, feeling the fire before him, watching the dancing from behind his eyelids. Slowly he exhaled, releasing the air trapped in his lungs, slowly opening his eyes. Standing slowly he kicked dirt on the fire and grabbed his backpack, it was time to move.
He began to walk away, into the darkness, into the night. The moon highlighted the plains, the tall grass waving in the moonlight, in the distance stood a city, large and imposing. Lights no longer highlighted the towering giants. Now they stood silhouetted by the moon, just as him and the flickering shadows of the fire, a ghost, death incarnate. Nothing lived within, only corpses, only ghost.
Sad sunken eyes watched him as he entered the city limits. He didn’t look back, only continuing to walk through them. Ahead of him in the streets stood a group of dirty men, clothes torn, faces covered with filth, angry scowls turned toward him. As he neared the one closest to him straightened his back, he raised his hand and opened his mouth as to say something to the man approaching, but the words never came. Faster than he could react to, the man pulled the handgun that hung in the belt to his right side; an old colt, single action, his purlicue pressed the ambidextrous safety on the back in firmly, the handgun leveled with just above the belt it rested upon only moment before.
The only sound heard after the shot rang out was the clattering of the brass on the blacktop, and the shuffling of feet. The group the man once stood with moved off to either side, baffled, wide eyed. Their friend lay dead on the blacktop, a small hole newly formed on his left bicep. Below him a large blood puddle began to form below him, blood pouring from the apple sized hole in his upper back. His right arm, the pointing arm had fallen limply beside him, the left one still behind him, fingers loosely grasping the knife handle.
He holstered the handgun, he didn’t look at any of the bystanders, they saw what was to come if they blocked his way. He proceeded, further into the cadaver of a city.
A market sat a few blocks further ahead. He approached an old woman whom had a selection of breads, he handed her a crumpled mess of bills. Her tired old eyes focused on his face, partially hidden beneath the wide brimmed hat he wore, his face was just as dirty as any of them, it was tanned, leathery, scarred and scratched. His green eyes met the old womans, they were intense; deep green, they were focused, they starred almost through her. She reached below the booth and pulled up a decent hunk of dried meat, she looked around to see who would have noticed. She wrapped it in a light paper with the bread and handed it to him, he took it from her and gave her a small nod, before turning and walking away.
He wandered through the city farther and farther, and eventually the sun began to rest on the horizon. Climbing the steps of a dilapidated old apartment building, he found purchase on the second story, an open room, looted and soiled. The pictures had been removed from the walls, this was his indication that no one was there, at least not the original owners.
His backpack landed with a thud upon the fire escape, he leaned against the rail and looked down the alley, it seemed relatively clean, no large heaps of trash as he had seen in many other alleys in the city. He used his backpack as a backrest as he sat down upon the floor of the fire escape, reaching back he pulled the rifle that was secured in the tightened side straps of the pack. He ran his hand along the side of the repeating rifle. The wood was deeply scarred, a dark brown color, with smaller cuts and nicks across the stock and hand rest, the metal was no better, below the scratches in the metal it could easily be seen where the steel had been machined out, grinded, made by hand many years ago. Laying it across his lap he leaned back, pulling the brim of his cowboy hat down farther across his face, he began to drift off.
Faces darted behind his eyes, memories of a time once before. His mother held his hand as they walked through town, he was only a little boy, and the world astounded him. A gunshot rang out as his father took him hunting, a deer ran a few yards and then toppled under its own weight, the world confused him as a tween, and killing an animal did nothing to resolve that confusion. Shapes of every size, every color, and he was awake, gasping for air, memories of before always did that to him, forced him awake in a panic. Calloused fingers gripped at rifle, his index finger brushed the trigger, his other hand stroked the barrel. He slowed his breathing, closed his eyes and sucked in air, just as the night before, but silence no longer filled the void around him.
A scream called out from the end of the alley, a woman broke the corner and sprinted breakneck speeds down its length, she was crying; a man followed running at a distance of a few yards behind her, his fat right hand carried a revolver, a snub nosed pocket revolver. Halting he began to line up the shot, but he wasn’t fast enough, before he could pull the trigger a pop rang out and in an instant he was on the ground wriggling, all his nerve endings flaring at once, the neurons in his brain flared rapidly and then died off. A second man, bald ran around the corner, he was fat, a hard feat in recent times, in his hands a military rifle. Before he could line up a shot on this new assailant ,the bald man had fired down the alley at the woman, she fell screeching, grasping at her leg. The bald man fell much like the man from the previous morning, a hole in his chest, blood pooling from the hole in his lower back.
He scaled down the fire escape ladder, the rifle still in hand. Jogging he made his way to the woman, she had stopped screaming and was now just crying, shaking, clutching her wounded leg. She saw him approaching and tried to crawl away, she began to flail and claw as he picked her up, his long arms wrapping around her dainty waist. She was built like an athlete, strong and muscular, she certainly didn’t seem that malnourished. He struggled to carry her and his rifle back down the alley, he couldn’t patch her up without his backpack. He stopped to search the dead men, as he released her she lept for the first man's revolver. She didn’t have hardly his reflexes, before she could turn to aim he already had her pinned against the wall of the nearest building. Struggling valiantly she writhed like a snake to get free of his grip, he smashed her hand against the wall repeatedly to get her to release the firearm, but she wouldn’t budge. Tired of her antics already he went into a partial crouch and began to press his knee into her injured leg. It was a clean shot, through one side of her calf and out the other, it missed all the important stuff, the only thing he could hope to do would be disinfect the area around it, maybe suture it, and wrap it in gauze, all things he’d learned over the years, and from his mother. She screamed out and then went limp, the pain too much for her to bear. Slowly he allowed her to fall to the ground before he went back to looting the two men. The bald man had a small backpack, he grabbed it and the military rifle, which thankfully had a sling; the other man had a few speed loaders in his pockets. Grabbing the loot he once more hefted the woman and began to drag her toward the apartment.
A couch had been flipped over in the living room of the apartment, laying her on the ground of the living room he righted the couch and moved her on it. He quickly grabbed his backpack from the fire escape and began working on her leg.
As she awoke he sat across from her with his back against the opposite wall. The sun light slowly began to fill the room they sat in, yet the light was still dim enough she couldn’t make out his features beneath his hat. His elbows rested upon his knees, his right hand held his left hand in the center between each knee. She began to panic again, her breathing picked up and she started to try and move, do something, anything to get away again. He tossed her a small orange bottle, it rattled as it landed next to her on the sofa. “Two.” His hands returned to their original position. She stared like a doe in headlights at him. His voice was like sandpaper, deep and gravely. Slowly she began to pick up the bottle and undo the lid, shaking two out of the small bottle. He reached beside him, where he had once received the pill bottle, he hefted a bottle of water and tossed that to her as well, it hit the cushion and bounced off onto the floor beside the couch.
After she downed the pills she proceeded to continue chugging the water, she hadn’t realized how thirsty she had been when she awoke. The sun now cast a soft blue light across the entire room, the shadow cast by his hat was now gone, but that mattered little with his head tilted down as it was. Even after intaking an entire bottle of water her voice still cracked as she began to speak. “Wh-who are you?”
He raised his head and looked her in the eye, she now saw what the old woman had seen. Squinting, he studied her, his eyes darted rapidly across her face, across her body, down to her wounded right leg. “How’s that leg feeling?”
As she opened her mouth to respond voices began to call out from the alley. Grasping the rifle at his side he stood and slid over to the window. Peering out from the edge of the window he scanned the alley, three men with a variety of weapons walked the alley, they had stopped calling the names as they reached the alley, they were searching for the two men, and they had found them; now the search shifted toward finding who killed them.
Watching for a moment more he walked across the room to her. He pressed the back of his left hand against her forehead. She didn’t appear to have a temperature, but from the look in her eyes she did seem tired. “Rest, I’ll draw them away.” Looking up she could no longer see his eyes, the brim of his hat once more casting a shadow across his eyes. Nodding she laid down on the couch once more. As she drifted off she was startled as a blanket was strewn across her, she clutched it tightly against her and settled back in, falling asleep uneasily.
The next time she awoke he was no longer in the room, all was quiet. She laid still for nearly thirty minutes by her guess, she was scared. The sun had passed its zenith she judged by the shadows directions, had he been gone all day? Had he died? Had they killed him? These thoughts raced through her mind as she lay there.She jumped as the door opened. He entered, bloody, but alive. Seeing the blood she began to rise, only for him to stop her with the raising of his hand. Unbuttoning the shirt he threw it down beside his backpack, giving her a look at his chest and stomach. His chest was broad, his torso long, his ribs could be seen, he was malnourished. Quickly he pulled a new shirt from the backpack, a corduroy sweater.
Walking over he laid his hand once more on her forehead, he walked back over to the backpack and pulled out the bread and meat the old woman had given him, he tossed it to her on the sofa. Slowly she unwrapped it and began to rip off small chunks of bread to eat. Sinking down the wall he sat back where he had that morning, watching her from beneath the brim of his hat. She broke the silence after a few minutes, “so..uh, what’s your name again? I didn’t catch it this morning.”
“That’s because I didn’t give it to you.” He stated coldly.
“Well can I have it now?”
“Why?”
“Because if I’m going to be locked in a room with someone I’d like to know who I’m locked in the room with.”
He chuckled. “Walter.” She looked at him perplexedly, as if she was expecting more. “You?”
“Aj” He nodded and reached into the backpack, retrieving a bottle of water. He had removed the hat earlier when he switched shirts, but she hadn’t paid much attention as she looked at his torso, but he removed it now to drink the water. His hair was short, some of it was funny lengths and stood out funnily, he had cut it with a knife, but she didn’t know this. It was a dark brown color, almost black, but it still held light enough to distinguish it. He replaced his hat and recapped the water, placing it once more into the backpack.
He watched her eat, nibbling away at the bread and meat. After a while she rewrapped it and set it to the side, he leaned over and grabbed it, unwrapping it and finishing off what was left. When he finished he crawled over to her legs, he began to undo the dressing on the wound and inspected it. It was a dilemma, he’d hate for her to be captured again, but the nature of the wound made it a hard thing to hide. It could always be covered by pant legs or something of the nature, but she’d still need to use a crutch to walk around, if the leg was simply broken it could be set and a covered and, while she would walk with an altered gait, she could walk, and that would help her avoid suspicion. The only option he could see as feasible would be to have her rest until it was entirely healed, which could take weeks if not months.
Breathing in deeply he closed his eyes in thought; why had he saved her? Typically he wouldn’t have intervened, he would have turned his head, not his business. He studied her once more, her long golden hair, it was filthy and matted down, but it still shone none the less. She had freckles dotting her cheeks, which were tanned just like her arms and legs, her cheeks also had the slightest bit of chub to them, oddly, he thought. Her eyes were a vibrant emerald green, they watched him with a sparkle, a curiosity. Bandaging her leg again he wrapped gauze around it once more and stood. “Why’d you save me?” she inquired.
Inhaling deeply once more he turned and walked toward the door again. “I’ll be back soon, you should get some more rest.” The door opened and closed, and alone she sat once more, she lay back down, as darkness from the night filled the room she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.
When she awoke again he was in fact in the room once more, head hung low, legs stretched out before him, rifle across his lap. A quiet snore escaped his lips, and she smiled to herself. She couldn’t place it, but there was something about him, something that made her smile. He was handsome, not cute, but handsome. Most of the boys back home would have been cute, but he was handsome, in a rugged way. A small shiver racked his body, he was wearing only the sweater he put on before as a top layer, and a pair of brown cargo pants as bottoms, it was far too cold to only be wearing that and sleeping. Slowly she began to rise and limp over to him, it was slow going, as she was careful not to put any weight on her injured leg, but she made it, her blanket wrapped around her body she slowly began to slide down the wall to the floor beside him. After she removed his hat she sat it gingerly off to her left, then she carefully removed the rifle from his lap, setting it off to his right, then she covered them both with the blanket. Cautiously she leaned into his side, altering her position she came to rest on her hip more than her butt, pressing the right side of her body against his torso. Resting her head on his chest she slowly began to fall asleep again.
As he awoke he became aware of the body pressed against him. Looking down he found her snuggled into his chest, sleeping peacefully. Usually he’d be up by now, getting ready to move once more, but he didn’t want to wake her, so he leaned back, then felt to his side for his rifle, grasping the stock and trigger, before closing his eyes again. He didn’t sleep, simply sat there breathing, feeling her breath. After a while she slowly began to stir, she nuzzled into his chest before slowly sitting up and stretching and yawning. His eyes opened to watch her, she lay back against his chest. She tensed, her hand trailed up his torso, touching around as if to confirm what she was laying against. Slowly she peaked up to his face, once she made eye contact she jumped away with a start. His face remained emotionless throughout the ordeal. She smiled sheepishly, slightly embarrassed by the encounter, her hand rubbed the back of her head. “Sorry about that, must have been them meds you gave me yesterday, made me act all loopy do loopy stuff, you know?” He simply nodded to her and leaned back against the wall. “You ain’t mad are you?” A confirmatory no nod assured her he wasn’t mad. Awkwardly she scanned the room before resuming the position she had been in the night before, even more cautiously than last night she lay back against his chest. Her eyes closed once more, and with a sigh she began to drift off again.
Quiet snores began to escape her lips as she slept once more. This was nice, soothing even. He looked down at the slumbering form against his chest. Putting his head back once more he closed his eyes and inhaled, holding in the morning air before releasing it. It had been a good while since rested this long, and he could begin to feel it in his bones, a tired ache in the marrow, in each arm, in his legs, down his spine. He released his breath, but kept his eyes closed, as long as he didn’t sleep too deeply, he could afford a little more sleep. As he drifted to sleep his head drooped, slowly coming to rest upon hers. He slept the day away, not waking again until the next morning, neither did she.
As he awoke he straightened his neck and back and popped the former, groaning slightly as he did so. She stirred on his chest, and gently he managed to remove her from his chest and lay her down where he once sat, laying her head upon his backpack. Snuggling into the blanket she smiled in her slumber, he stood. Sitting upon the couch he looked out the window. All that was visible were the iron wrung bars of the fire escape and the bleak stone of the neighboring building, he sat in silence, just looking through the window at nothing. Her breathing was all that pierced the silence, quiet, enough to hear them. His gaze shifted, he now stared at the floor, eyes tracing the grain marks of the wood.
A small groan caught his attention, her face was contorted into a look of pain, her fist balled at the blanket, pulling it up to reveal her feet. This was the first time he had noticed she was without shoes, her dainty feet were covered in dirt and dried blood, the bottoms were raw, red and swollen, he didn’t have the supplies to deal with her. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When she awoke he kneeled at her feet, carefully inspecting them, looking at her he carefully began to apply pressure to different areas of her soles, causing her to squeal and ball her fist, the pain was unbearable. The pain medicine he had given her had dulled the pain the last few days, and she had been sleeping alot as well. The bald mans backpack now sat open beside him, open, filled with what look like bandages, the bald mans rifle was now gone, bartered away. He removed a brown bottle from the backpack, and a cloth; the cloth was soaked in liquid from the bottle and lightly he cleaned her feet with it, the pain doubled. She tried to jerk her leg away, but his grip was steadfast. He cleaned one foot, then switched clothes and cleaned the other, afterward slowly beginning to wrap each one in gauze. He finished and sat her feet back down, throwing the filthy clothes into the corner of the room. “Stay off your feet.” His arm hooked under her legs, the other snaked beneath her. He lifted her and carried her to the sofa, laying her down gently. He went back to his spot on the floor, watching her from under his hat. “So… why’re you out here?” She asked, trying to break the silence.
He studied her face once more; taking in each feature separately, then together, he kept silent, allowing the silence to build again. “How’d you get captured?” He finally spoke, cutting through the new silence like a knife.
“I was with my friends when they ambushed us, we ran, and I got separated, none of my friends got captured far as I could tell, but… I-I don’t know…” She trailed, quietly beginning to sniffle, her tears sliding down her cheeks like snakes. She didn’t hear him move, she hadn’t noticed it either, as she stared silently at the floor, crying. He snuck across the floor to her, holding a tissue in his outstretched hand. She accepted it and wiped her tears as he returned to his position against the wall. “They said they was going to sell me, like at an auction, like I was an animal… I was able to run away, but they saw me and… you know the rest.” He nodded.
“You’re friends, you know where you saw them last? In the City?”
She nodded no, “It wasn’t in this city, it was in another one… Cleaveland they called it?” He knew the city, it was many miles to the east. “I… I know it’s a lot to ask but… could you maybe help me get there? Help me find my friends?” She begged, it tugged at his heartstrings. He wasn’t sure why, but he was inclined to say yes.
The room sat in silence. He hadn’t responded, simply looked onward. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes, inhaling deeply. “Yes.” Flat and emotionless. She looked at him, she was to choked up to respond. It wasn’t really clear to her why, but she felt she could trust him, that he could help her get home. His eyes met her, they watched one another, he studied her smile, she studied his sharp features, emotionless.
His eyes scanned across the horizon, picking out any little detail he could find. The road signs were still mainly there, still pointed east. In the distance a church steeple stood, a sentinel watching the plains. He decided to make for it, the sun set fast, and the plains were never very forgiving at night. As the light finally disappeared over the horizon he noticed the soft glow within the chapel. A hum could be heard.
As he entered a man in black greeted him. Silently, he bowed and welcomed him into the chapel. At the front of the chapel a small choir stood upon the stage, a man in robes stood behind a podium, a congregation sat, heads bowed in silent prayer. He watched them for a short while before sitting in the back row of pews. The choir hummed softly, no one spoke though, just their low hum. The priest looked up from the podium, looked up to see the new comer. The father was old, aged beyond his years it would seem. His tired eyes looked over the boy who had recently entered his house. “My children, I am glad we could meet again, during these trying times it can be hard to keep thy faith. Remember children, in these times we must keep our faith, for it it is in the lord that we shall find salvation, we shall be given new life in his kingdom…” The priest continued his sermon, he simply stood from the back of the church and started toward the door. His throat had tightened, he took shallow breaths.
He hit the ground hard as he exited. He gasped, but nothing entered his lungs, hyperventilation set in. It felt like he would vomit, but nothing came out, just dry heaves. The door began to open behind him, but as the priest exited it was too late, he took off into the night, a dead sprint into the darkness.
A crack in the road, wear from the lack of care. His foot caught, he tumbled head over heels, landing on his back harshly. His breath returned, he could breath. New moon, the sky lacked the glowing orb, allowing more starlight to fall softly upon the land. He watched them, a million pin pricks in a black sheet, backlit. Under the canopy of stars the plains were silent, a gentle wind blew through, warm. Slowly he sat upright, he looked about him. On either side of the road the grass stood tall, at random intervals along the road grass had pushed through. A road sign above him, west to denver. In the distance they had their own faint luminescence, the mountains rose above the earth, giants, the breeze almost seemed like a whisper from them, soothing siren song sweeping across the prairie, gentle, then silent.
Off the road there was fire, far into the plain. He watched it, then he heard the yelling, then the gunshot, then the silence. He closed his eyes, he in took the night air, he continued west.
The water of the brooke soothed his throat, clear cool water brought down from the mountains. He turned, his campsite laid out along the creekbed. A small tree stood off to the right, she was tied to it, blindfolded, gagged. They hadn’t touched her, not sexually. They beat her when she tried to run, they beat her when she attacked them, but they hadn’t raped her. She was a fine prize, worth good money. Auction in San Fran would be worth it, enough money to live off for a lifetime, especially once he ‘cut ties’ with his crew… The fire roared, a large bonfire, warm as holy hell. He watched it, but his attention was drawn away from it, to the man staggering away from it. The man was drunk again, looked to use her, unbelievable.
The rifle sat finely against his shoulder, the kick was light, the body hitting ground was not. He was tired of his games, his incessant push to see how far he could push, now he was dead, like a dog. He tried to reason with him, tell him to leave her alone, but tonight he didn’t feel like listening. He kept yelling, it was no use. His thoughts jumped back to the church they had seen as they walked the interstate, reminded him of the protestant church he went to as a kid. God was dead, all that mattered now was staying alive. They kicked his body downstream, didn’t want animals nosing around while they slept. He rubbed his bald scalp and looked at the young woman, she was going to make his life good, he could feel it in his bones.
The days flowed by, the sun came and went, she relearned walking, she could stand again, she was healed. It grew constantly colder, the air kept a constant chill to it now, the plains were unforgiving in this. There was nothing to keep cover behind, to stop the shrill winds from consuming you. Ground passed by them, miles and miles of field, nothing for miles. They passed a smoldering foundation, he look at it momentarily, she couldn't make heads or tails of the ashes, but he seemed to, seemed to know what it was. She didn’t ask, she wouldn’t have gotten much in the form of answers even if she had. He began to walk again, eastward. He seemed to know where he was going, and she didn’t know the geography of this place well enough to inquire upon their direction.
She got rather used to the silence, the sound of the plains was soothing. He kept his usual stony demeanor, using hand signals more often than words. He seemed at home here, on the road, or was it in the wilds. Daily she would be stopped by a raised hand, he wouldn’t look to her, instead he’d point, a mother deer grazing with her fawn, a herd of bison in the distance, a pack of wolves howling at the moonlight. One night she marched along behind him, like a pup following its mother, she noticed his jaw was set, he was tense, on edge. It was as if he sensed her question, his hand flew up, he marched on. They neared a tree, he dropped his bag, his hand moved under the back of his shirt, he gripped something.
It wasn’t until they reached the tree she heard the first noise, it was soft, but it was there. She stopped and turned to investigate, it was dark out, the full moon rose high in the sky, silhouetting it. A cougar sat upon a low hanging tree branch, it’s tail swayed, she could see its eyes, pupils reflecting the dull light. It leaped, she was knocked aside. He took the cougars tackle, his right hand came up in a flurry, smashing repeatedly into the cat's neck. Above the noises both parties made she could hear a sick suctioning noise, and only once she realized she was hearing a knife suctioning as it slid in and out of living tissue, he came up from there wrestle on top, before plunging back down, driving the knife deep into the center of the cat’s throat, it kicked and thrashed momentarily before going limp. He stood victoriously, a cut down one cheek, the back of his shirt became crimson, a scratch had found its mark on either side of his back, missing his spine narrowly. His foot pressed firmly against the animal's sternum, he grasped at the knife and pulled back with all his force. It slid out slowly, until it reached the curve of the blade, then it slipped out quickly.
She fetched his backpack as he removed his shirt, he had her wipe his back with an alcohol pad before having her wrap him in gauze. She had to suture the cut on his cheek the animal’s upper canine had caught his cheek during the scuffle. She warned him not to smile to much, or he could risk breaking the stitches, her joke was on deaf ears it seemed.
After a week they reached a city, it was small, empty. As they passed through not a soul was seen, they had only traveled a few miles from the city when a storm began to swell on the horizon. He motioned toward a small farm house, he could sense how tired she was, the trip thus far had been long, she needed rest if she was to keep going. Outside the storm raged, but inside she slept. The farm reminded her of home, made her feel comfortable, safe. He sat in a chair across from her, the rifle across his lap. Heading east made him uncomfortable, took him to close to the past, but it was no matter, the foreign sense of duty that drove him to help her outweighed his discomfort. It rarely left his mind, the odd drive to help her, always running through his head, he couldn’t place it. She snored softly as she slept, undisturbed by the world around her, an oddity.
From the moment he found her there was always something strange about her, how well fed she had been, how her eyes never seemed to carry the same sad glimmer most peoples did, how she was so trusting. His thoughts are interrupted by the movement of the door, slowly opening as a man enters the house. He pulls the trigger on the rifle, the round goes through the man’s leg, the man falls screaming, scrambling toward cover. He worked the action and left the chair he sat, going to a crouch, focusing on the doorway the man hid behind. His eyes left the doorway for a second to look to her, she’s fallen to the floor, she glanced rapidly at him and toward the door before crawling to the side of the couch away from the door. The man reappears before his eyes leave her, firing a handgun at him, he clips him in the shoulder, he fires the rifle blindly in his direction before the man meets him.
They clash, blindly wrestling for control over the other. He’s atop the man, strangling him, his eyes dart to her peeking out from the couch, watching him through fearful eyes, he loosens his grip. The man hits him hard aside the head, he falls from atop him. The man straddles him and begins choking him. She begins to crawl around the couch, to the rifle. It’s heavy in her hands, the action is fluid, the click assures her the action is closed properly, she points it at the man, she turns her head before she pulls the trigger. The noise deafens her, ears ringing she looks over, the man has gone limp atop him. He pushes the man off, coughing roughly and clutching at his throat.
She drops the rifle and crawls to him, checking him over for wounds, tears begin to well from her eyes. She’s overcome, emotion wells up and overflows, her tears fall freely, she collapses atop his torso, bawling as he regains his breathing, still coughing, still holding his throat.
They slept in the floor that night, passed out after the ordeal. She awoke first, prying her head off his chest, she removed the hair that had dried to her face with tears from her cheek; she shook him, trying to wake him, to assure he hadn’t been killed that night. He awoke, his eyes were bloodshot, he looked dead, but he was still kicking. Tears flowed once more from her eyes as she buried her head into his chest once more, he stuttered, his arm had begun to wrap around her but he stopped, only for a moment. He rubbed gentle circles on her back as she cried, shushing her cries as best he could. His left arm began to raise, he began to flex it, pain shot through, he winced. She raised her head and looked at him, she noticed his raised arm, he had been shot.
She rushed to find his backpack, scrambling madly across the floor to grab it. His clothes and personal effects flew through the air and scattered across the room as she searched for his first aid supplies. A picture drifted through the air, cast into the air as the shirt it was tucked into was thrown from the backpack, he watched it float down, a young man, a woman, an aged man, all smiling, the photo was faded, bent slightly, boxing around the edges. Her hands were a blur as she set to tending to the arm, but he didn’t notice, he was studying the photograph that sat across from him on the floor, studying the young man in the picture. His eyes were bright, his face was clean and shaven, he was young, freshly a teen, he smiled, a smirk more than a smile but it was enough; he was happy. She had finished tending to his arm, she looked at his face, eyes glued to the photo.
A hand entered his vision as she retrieved the photo. She studied it quickly before looking at him, he looked at her with the same intensity still in his eyes, but it was a different look now, there was a different element in his stare. “What happened to them?” His breathing picked up, his chest heaved quicker, his eyes watered suddenly, tears began rolling down his cheeks, his fist clenched, a sob escaped his throat and brought with it a torrent of sobs.
She pulled his head into his lap as he cried, running her hand gently through his hair, shushing away the tears. He cried for several minutes before shakily regaining his composure, he had turned on his side as he cried, he lay like that, just breathing for several minutes after the fact. Her hand continued to snake through his hair, soothing him.
“I made a mistake. I was foolish and made a mistake, just like last night, I got them killed, just like I almost killed myself last night.” He squeaked out, his once strong deep voice cracking as he spoke.
She placed her other hand on his cheek as she continued running her hand through his hair, gently shushing him. His eyes raised, he watched her from the corner of his eye. She watched him as she ran her fingers through his hair, looking on him caringly, with kindness. His chest swelled as he took a large breath, his eyes closed. He sat up and looked around the room before standing. “We should get going soon.” She looked stunned, he began to pick up the room, grabbing his belongings and stuffing them haphazardly into the backpack.
“Can we talk about that?”
“No.”
“Walter.” She grabbed his arm, stopping him momentarily. “Look around, look at what happened last night, we need to rest,” her other hand cupped his cheek, “you need to rest.” Their gazes met, they studied each other for several moments.
He jerked his head away from her hand, he leaned over and grabbed the photo from where she had dropped it on the floor, stuffing it quickly back into the backpack. “We leave in ten.” He shouldered the backpack, he retrieved the rifle from where it lay on the floor still, the action half cocked, he walked through the front door. She only watched the door for several moments before retrieving her bag from beside the couch and following him out. As she exited he looked back and nodded before starting up the road.
They continued on the road for many days, each day getting a little colder, a little more fatigued, a little closer to home. He grew colder over the following days, more frigid, communicating less than he already did, it worried her. She awoke one night while they camped, he sat nearby, he looked motionless into the plains for many minutes, unwavering, as if he was searching for something out there. When he looked back at her she remained still, feigning sleep, she wanted to see what he’d do. He looked back into the plains for several moments more before turning away, laying down onto his backpack, moving his hat lower over his eyes, seemingly sleeping. She turned over and fell back asleep.
After several more days of traveling they saw another city on the horizon. They passed through it, stopping only once they reached the other end of the city.
He sat the man from the farm house’s handgun on the market stall, the man eyed it suspiciously, turning his eyes upward to the man offering it. He pulled it across the table to him, inspected it and placed it below the table, replacing it with a small sack he proceeded to fill with supplies.
As he traded with the man at the stall she stood nearby, watching the market scene around her, when something caught her eye. A small boy stood at the edge of the crowd, watching her. He beckoned her over, she was reluctant at first, but what if something was wrong, she could at least see what he wanted. As she approached he ran down the alley, to a dumpster further down the alley, she walked toward it.
She froze, a man lay, back against the wall of the building, throat slit, hand resting on a small revolver on the ground. A hand grabbed her, clamped over her mouth, she could feel the cold steel of a barrel pressed against her right temple. A man entered her vision on her right, the barrel of the gun was removed from her temple, he put his index finger over his lips, she nodded. One eye was a milky white, the other a deep blue, he had a light beard, he was less filthy than most others.
He removed his hand from over her mouth, she screamed out Walter’s name, he smacked her with the butt of his pistol, her vision went black.
He had started putting the bag of supplies into his backpack when he noticed her absence, he rapidly began scanning the market place. A scream called out, his name, the alley. He ran down the alley, a man and a boy exited the other end, the man had something over one shoulder. He pulled the rifle from his back, they entered a building nearby as he rounded the corner.
It was an tenement building, he heard no noises above him, they were on this floor. He kicked in each door, until he reached the final one. As the door flew open he pulled the rifle up as quick as he could, the man stood, holding her unconscious body before him, a pistol held to her head. “Drop the rifle.” Slowly he began to lean over, his left hand open, palm perpendicular to the ground, the man adjusted the pistol down to her kidneys, he put the rifle at his right foot. In a quick a motion as he could he brought his hand up, removing the pistol from his hip, the bullet ripped through the man’s hand, exiting through his wrist. The man screamed, he had dropped the pistol, and her, to the floor, clutching at his wounded hand.
He stood, adjusting his aim, and put the next bullet through the man’s good eye, taking a good portion of the back of his head out as the bullet exited his skull. The boy revealed himself, he had hidden behind a nearby chair, running to his father's side, his father still danced on the ground, body seizing as the neurons in his brain flared for a final time. The boy sobbed, but it was silenced quickly, the boy met the same fate as his father. He retrieved her from the floor and carried her across the hall, laying her on the on the sofa, he began to check her for wounds.
She awoke, groggily, her head pounded. He sat across from her, watching her. He had believed she was causing him to lose his edge, to stop watching his back, he had grown distant over the last few days, trying to keep from becoming overly attached to her, but he realized with this that it was to late, he cared, he couldn’t allow harm to befall her, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he had. He stood and walked to her as she awoke, he removed his backpack and sat it beside the couch, retrieving a bottle of water he handed it to her.
As she sipped the water he studied her face, every speck of dirt, the curve of her cheeks, her button nose, her cracked lips. “I’m sorry.” She stopped drinking and looked at him. “I-I… You could have been killed today because I was scared, I’m sorry.”
“Scared of what?” The thought baffled her, him scared? She had seen him wrestle cougars, shoot men without blinking, him scared?
His breath grew shaky. “I was scared of getting to attached, of losing you, if I lost someone else, I…” Her hand cupped his cheek. She pulled him in, a rush of colors, he felt faint, all the blood rushed from his head, his heart raced, their lips parted, his breathing became erratic. She smiled, his eyes became glassy, they had lost focus. He just stared at her, her vibrant green eyes peering into him like a book, he returned for seconds, his hands gripped her shoulders, he pulled her into a sitting position, he pulled her against his chest roughly.
Her hands held his face, the kiss intensified, their lips parted, tongues intertwined, his hands dropped to her hips, yanking her shirt over her head in one pull. She tugged his shirt out from his pants, he grabbed it and quickly pulled it off, returning to kiss her as fast as he could. They stood and struggled with each, him with her tight jeans, her with his belt. Once they had removed each other's top layers looked breathlessly at one another. His hands gripped her hips, holding her against him tightly, her hands on his chest. He pulled her back as he plopped down on the couch, she straddled his lap, he planted kisses down her chest, down her cleavage, she giggled at the tickling of his scruffy facial hair on her skin, she hooked a finger under his chin and pulled him up into another kiss, pushing him into a laying position on the couch, she began to crawl up his torso, their lips met, passion unfolded throughout the night, they intertwined bodies, they revealed themselves to one another.
He noticed the door ajar across the hall, he could see the bodies still, the sun slumped over his father. He had tried to piece together why they had taken her when she was still unconscious, perhaps she was a ransom, perhaps they had seen them together in the market and wanted their things, and if no one came, perhaps they planned on selling her at auction, none of that mattered now.
They didn’t speak of the night before, they merely continued onward toward Cleveland. She often caught him staring at her in the evenings as they bedded down at night, not studying as he usually did, just watching, taking her in.
Slowly plains turned to woods as they headed east, it had been many weeks by now, the winter was almost upon them, they rested less, they traveled further in any given day, they pushed themselves onward. Rain had begun turning to snow, often they awoke to a fine powder on the ground, it melted quickly, there only long enough to warn them. He began to allow fires, small ones, only long enough to warm themselves from the road every other night. They camped near the beach one night, they sat and watched the firelight dance across the waves, sparkles of light flickering across diamonds.
On the horizon loomed Cleveland, the city seemed surreal out there, a ghost watching them. Inviting them in, a siren on the shores of the Eerie lake. They camped on a hill, they said few words to one another that night, worry and anxiety ran through them, the usually calm night was electric around them, they cast glances at one another from across the campfire, they never made direct eye contact, watching to see what the other would do, chess players caught in a stalemate, they just refused to admit it.
They rose before sunlight, shapeless forms sliding across the landscape, down the highway, they looked up at the towering heights of the city as they entered, ants at the base of a great dead tree, even without lifeblood, the termites and the ants hollowed out a feeble existence inside its trunk. A long icy wind blew off the lake, she shivered, he marched onward.
They stood before the city, like gentiles on the edge of zion, the road had been long, and before them sat a city unwelcoming, the streets were barren far as their eyes could see, just trash blown about by the sea breeze, the grey sky made the city seem colder. The city branched outward before them, they began through its desolate streets, searching, feeling full circle. Hundreds of miles and many days east and they seemed to have returned back to the west, as if they were back in the plains, trading the mountains for lakes, they rested for the night. Atop the building they could see for miles, they saw smoke on the horizon, nothing else. They heard gunfire from the distance, quick shots, no return fire, it was short, she rested uneasy that night.
They walked toward the fire the next day, the smoke had disappeared but they knew where they would head. Dead bodies lined the road, ashes before them, executed, killed like game, for sport, nothing more. They pressed onward, nothing for miles, no clues, no signs, only the vast expanse.
It would take days to search the city, but before them lay their first clue, a restaurant, she recognized it. A square with great stone buildings sat across from a warehouse, one was decorated in great flowers, a mural a hundred feet tall, sunflowers that reached toward the grey sky, searching for the sun, the light, none was found. Off a side street, a restaurant, a bar, a cellar really, but she recognized it, they had stayed there before. A letter was left, scrawled to a friend, she held onto it dearly, she teared as she held it.
Every night they travelled closer to the heart of the city, her sleep grew troubled, gunfire seemed to be closing in on them.
Before them sat a fire, a family rested, sad, bedraggled, tired, hungry. He looked to the man next to him and nodded, they raised their weapons and fired, the entire group did, quick kills, they knew the family had nothing, but it was the thrill of the chase, the hunt for man. They all smiled and cheered, they pressed onward, looking for the next game.
They huddled together in the apartment, their whole group, they had nothing left, but they refused to give up hope. They pressed onward, searching, they would find their friend, they had to. She looked to each of her friends, tired filthy faces, held together by their friendship, they had hope. Tonight they huddled together, but they had decided, tomorrow they would light a fire, if only for the night, they needed that much at least.
He stood, she slept nearby. The sun had set recently, he would return by dawn, she would never know he had left. They slept atop a tenement, no one would come to the top during the night, they had no reason to, it was cold and barren. He pulled a bookshelf from a top story room and pushed it over the stairs, added security. Fire had been spotted on the horizon, he needed to see. They had been searching, they often came upon the ashes of old fires, bodies strewn around them, as they had before, he needed to see.
He crept through the dark city, no lights, only the senses, an urban forest, his domain. The fire was visible from here, a group of young women huddled together around it, not much older than her, they seemed odd, he watched. A shadow, a lurking black serpent crawled along the ground outside the firelight, a silhouette to him, then another, a group of them. He had the rifle with him, he aimed at one of the shadows.
They rested around the fire, it was nice to warm their bones, to forget their troubles for a while. Fatigue filled them around the fire, it soothed, they wanted to sleep, they all yawned. Suddenly action, they dropped, they screamed, they panicked, gunfire down the road. Closer now, they could see the muzzle flashes, several from just outside the firelight. Jumping, running, they scrambled away, into the night.
He had expected this to be a simple hunt, the game was ripe for the taking, just ahead of them, now they were the hunted, a shadow had reached out from the night and taken one of their own. His men fired blindly into the night, they couldn’t find the shooter, he truly was a shadow. They stood, they retreated, staying wasn’t worth the loss of another man.
The shadow stood, they had retreated, he could see it in the firelight. He had hid in the nearby alley, only peeking out once they had stopped firing, they were hunters, seeking game where they could find it, hunters who looked for sport. He waited, he couldn’t risk their return suprising him, they did not return. He approached the fire, the inhabitants had left in a hurry, there belongings remained, backpacks scattered around the fire, a paper caught below one, he retrieved it. Another letter, he recognized the handwriting, she needed to see this.
She awoke that morning, he crouched beside her, he had shaken her. The sun had not yet risen, he held a paper in his hands. It was hard to read in moonlight, but she could see what it was, a letter, where had he gotten this. He was packed, his backpack once more on his shoulders, she scrambled. They ran to where the fire had been, the sun rose soon afterward, the fire was nothing but smoldering embers now, but the backpacks remained, she recognized them.
She gathered them up and cried, they were so close, so near, she was almost to them. He watched her, he felt emotion well up in him, she was almost home, then they would separate, he would return west, she would be home. He held the rifle in his hands, it felt good, he would always have that, he would always have the rifle, but did that matter anymore.
She watched from the alley, they had sent her, she was the fastest amongst them, to retrieve their things, to scout the area. She was shocked, there sat Aj, crying, a man stood above her clutching a rifle, emotion welled up, she rushed.
He heard it, a quick approach, he waited, as if he hadn’t. It was upon him in moments, he brought the butt of the rifle back, it came full force into the blow, the impact had been hard, now intensified as she continued into it, she couldn’t stop, her full weight and speed went into the blow, the woman made a small noise as she impacted. She looked up, he had just struck someone, she recognized the woman. Her friend, she jumped up to her, she knocked him out of the way as she did so, he caught himself from falling over. She tended to her injured friend, her rainbow hair sat in clumps atop her hair, she recognized that hair instantly. Rainbow lay on the ground gasping, the wind had been knocked out of her, but she wasn’t hurt seriously. He watched her tend to the woman. “Aj, w-w-we though-t you w-were ki-kidnapped.” The woman gasped out.
“I was, this man saved me, brought me back to find you guys.” She cried, she hugged her friend, the woman began to cry as well. They sat for several minutes crying before standing, still hugging, they parted. “Are the others okay? Where are they?”
“They’re fine, much better once they see you, after last night we ran, a gunfire erupted outside our camp here, we couldn’t stay nearby, we ran a few blocks before we stopped, come on, I’ll take you to them.” They gathered the bags and left, the women raced, laughing as they ran.
They approached the building the women stayed in, ahead a group of men walked in a line, searching, they would find their prey from the previous night, it was nearby, they felt it. He stepped forward. “I’ll draw them away, take your friends away from here.” She nodded and began toward the building, he grabbed her. She began to open her mouth to ask why, he pulled her into a kiss. Her eyes closed, her arms went limp, she had felt as if that night had been a dream, he denied that thought now. He pulled away, he nodded, he ran toward the group of hunters.
She and her friend ran into the store their friends inhabited, calling to them as they entered, they had to leave now. The group was shocked to see her, there would be time later for pleasantries, they ran from the store, away from the group of men, they were together again, they had renewed vigor.
He took a place behind a corner, he peered around to see where they stood, they closed in, the time was now to strike. He turned the corner and took aim, he downed two before they could fully respond. Bullets whizzed past him as he hid behind the corner, his adrenaline rushed, he felt alive. Another man went down, he had dropped to the ground and crawled out from behind the corner, he fired a second time, the man went down screaming, they still had a group of twelve, they would not be defeated by one man. He ran from the corner to the opposite alley, firing blindly into the street, he missed, but it was enough to distract them. He fired twice more once he reached the opposite side of the road, his rifle was now empty, he pulled his pistol.
The first man to round the corner was ended swiftly, his body twitched as his brain flared, they ran past the alley, taking up places on either side, the alley was a dead end, they had him trapped. He ran down the alley, toward a dumpster, one of the hunters rounded the corner, firing twice, one hit his arm, the other his calf, he fell with a scream. He rolled over and shot twice, hitting the man once in the chest. He crawled the rest of the way to the dumpster, he dispatched another man that rounded the corner as he reached the dumpster, they were down to four, this had become a close match
They rushed him, they had no choice, if they continued to approach him single file they would be as lambs to slaughter. He had stood, shakily, behind the dumpster, he heard their heavy footprints on the asphalt, he peered out from behind the dumpster, two more went down. They had reached him before he could fire again, he lept at the first man to reach him, they wrestled, like vicious dogs, they snarled and screamed as they fought, teeth gnashed into flesh, bone cracked bone.
He couldn’t believe this, they had started with so many men, now they were reduced to two, by him, by this animal. He fought tirelessly, fleshwounds had been torn into him by bullets, but he still thrashed on the ground, he could see flashes of his eyes as they rolled, intense, wild, focused on one goal, survival. He had tried to line up a shot, but their rolling made the goal unattainable.
The man was a worthy adversary, he toiled best he could, but he couldn’t defend his side from the knife. It had sat against his back as it always had, always under his shirt, he had managed to free it during their toil, he sank it deep in the man's side, the man tensed, he suddenly felt warm, his side felt warm, as if tea had been spilled on him, he settled into the warmth, he felt tired now, he sunk down atop of him.
He watched as his acquaintance settled atop the man, sinking down, he raised the rifle as he approached weary of the situation.
He threw his body weight forward, throwing the knife with all his force at the man still standing, it thumped hard against his chest, but it did not wound him, merely stunned him. He scrambled madly toward his pistol, he had dropped it when he lunged at the man, he reached it, he rolled to face the man, they had reached a stalemate. They were both rats, caged by one another, they had their sights trained on one another, they were stuck. A shot, a crack, a surprise, rang out from beyond them both, there she stood, the man fell, the bullet did not leave his body, it yawed inside, it hit bones and bounced, he died before he even knew it, he fell, blood leaked from his mouth, it followed gravity, nothing was there to move it any longer, his heart had stopped, a hole had been beamed through it.
She breathed heavily, the rifle she had found amongst the dead was heavy in her hands, but not so heavy as before, she had blood on her hands now, but she would wash it away, she had good reason. He lowered the handgun as he saw her, her heaving chest, her thin body, malnourished, but not so, she now towered, unlike when he had found her, the sparkle in her eyes had returned in full force, brighter than before, she had changed, he knew it.
The blood pounded in his ears, his adrenaline still rushed, he read her lips as she spoke, she cradled him in her arms, crying as she spoke to him, he pulled her down. Her lips pressed his, pain for a moment, his lip had been cut in the scuffle, but he didn’t care. They held each other, she began to change, snow fell in drift around them. Equine ears and an quine tail, she began to morph, not quite human, but close, neither noticed until they parted.
Her eyes stared longingly into his, he look baffled as he looked on her, did his eyes play tricks on him, had he died in the fight, this an odd hallucination as he lay dying. She cupped his cheek, he felt her warmth, he hadn’t died. She kissed him once more, he ran his hand through her hair, she cradled him in her arms, he was alive.
“Aj, we have to go.” A voice called from the alley's end.
They parted and looked, her friends stood at the alley's mouth, they stood in row, five silhouettes, the rising sun behind them, they stood taller now, spoke with more confidence, they were together, they had not let this land break them. “He’s coming with us, we have to help him.” She stood, taller than most of them, she asserted, she would not take no.
“Aj, we ca-”
“We have to, he’ll die if we don’t, he saved me, it’s the least we can do.” They looked worriedly at one another, the one with a purple streak in her hair sighed, she nodded.
She gathered his things quickly, she threw them into his backpack, she shouldered it, she pulled him to his feet, she handed him the rifle, he took it, using it as a cane, supporting his injured leg. They hobbled to the end of the road, the girl with a purple streak in her hair closed her eyes and began to chant something, he began to feel a tingle.
He looked at her, she smiled at him, he kissed her, she kissed back.
The street sat empty, signs of life now gone. Death was scattered across the road, blood in great pools, the city sat silent, a great pale ghost, a warm wind brushed through the streets; it melted the snow and warmed the concrete, a chinook the old cowboys would call it.
