It didn’t take long to fill his bag, and he wandered over to the produce section, where the smell of rotting fruits and vegetables assaulted his nose. Everything was covered in green mold. Covering his mouth and nose with his shirt, he looked around but couldn’t find Paul. Heading over to the pharmacy, he decided to see how Chickadee was doing. He didn’t see her at first, but then he heard the sounds of jars being pulled off the shelves behind the pharmacy counter.
He rounded the corner and saw Paul and her tossing bottles on the floor.
“There’s nothing here,” she said. “They’ve looted everything.”
“That’s it, then,” Paul said.
“That’s not it,” Chickadee said. “We’ll find something. There’s got to be something here. Check the fridge again.”
“It’s empty. Everything’s on the floor.”
“What about this one?”
“Expired. It’s useless.”
She tossed a few bottles aside, breaking one. The sound of glass cracking filled the store.
“What are you guys doing?” Mason asked.
Chickadee jumped. “Don’t do that. You scared the crap outta me.”
“If you’re into hard-core stuff, that’s just not cool. I’m not into that.” Mason stood his ground and glared at Paul, who simply stood up and walked away from the mess.
“We’re not looking for drugs,” Chickadee said. “And I’m really insulted that you’d think that, Mason. Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said? I don’t swing that way. I don’t even drink. I was just looking for some penicillin. I’m worried that this cold could turn to strep throat. It happens to me a lot. That’s all. Honest.”
“And there’s nothing here,” Paul said. He calmly walked over to where Mason stood and grabbed a red-and-white bottle of cough syrup off the shelf. “You’ll just have to make do, Chee. If you get worse, we’ll deal.”
Mason didn’t know what to do. He wanted to believe them, he really did. But it was awfully suspicious. Neither of them seemed to be the types to do drugs, and he hadn’t caught them behaving oddly or spaced-out since he’d met them. But something was definitely up. He just couldn’t figure out what.
“Don’t be mad, okay?” Chickadee said. She came around the counter, and Mason could see she wasn’t holding anything. She opened her bag and showed him the contents. Nothing but protein bars. “I’m not into drugs. In fact, I’m hurt that you’d think otherwise. Please believe me.”
Mason nodded. “Yeah, okay. I believe you.”
From outside a gunshot sounded. Footsteps pounded on the cement, and one of the store windows shattered.
“Time to go,” Paul said.
They headed around back to the storage area and exited through the loading bay. Outside, the sky glowed red and pink.
“Let’s find a place to spend the night,” Paul said. “There are enough hotels here that we should be able to grab one without being found.”
“Let’s do it,” Chickadee said. She gave Mason a big grin.
They ended up in one of the cabins on the outskirts of town. Mason went into the lobby and found some keys while Paul walked around the perimeter to make sure no one was lurking in the bushes.
The room was small with bunk beds and a couch that folded out.
“I get top bunk,” Chickadee said. She ran over and climbed the ladder to settle in. She bounced up and down on the mattress, her head nearly hitting the ceiling.
Mason sat down on one of the chairs and watched while Paul checked the windows. Pulling the curtains closed, he double-checked the lock on the door before heading into the bathroom to make sure they had an exit strategy.
“I’m exhausted,” Chickadee said. She yawned three times in rapid succession. “It’s been forever since we’ve had a bed. How long has it been since we left Calgary?”
“Four days,” Mason said.
“That’s crazy. I used to make the drive all the time and it only took about an hour and a half. We could make it to Vancouver in two days if we drove fast. Never dawned on me that walking would take so long. No wonder my poor feet hurt. I need a pedicure. I’ll have crusty granny feet if this keeps up.”
“If it weren’t for all the roadblocks we’d be able to drive,” Mason said. “It might get better outside of Banff, but it’ll probably be worse once we hit the Fraser Valley.”
“You know a lot about the area, then?”
Mason shrugged. “A bit. We did go camping there almost every summer. It was Mom’s favorite place.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? You didn’t kill her.”
“I’m just sorry. Sorry that there won’t be any more camping trips for kids or rock bands or even new books to read. No more movies or fresh bags of popcorn. It really sucks when you think about it. Of course, there is the possibility that we might be able to win this war, but not for a very long time. Probably longer than you and I will ever exist in this world.”
“I try not to think about it.”
“Sometimes it’s all I ever think about.”
“Why? It’ll only bring up bad memories.”
Chickadee jumped off the bed and walked over to where Mason stood. She paused less than a foot away from him. “There are different types of people in this world. There are people who accept what’s in front of them unquestioningly. They live in the dark. In defeat. Ignoring what the future might bring or how they might help to make things happen. Then there are people like me. Optimists. They too live in the dark, in times like these, but dream of the light. I trust in the possibilities of betterness. I believe there is more to life than this. I have to. There’s no other choice for me.”
She leaned toward him and he could smell her hair. Coconut. One of her braids brushed against his arm and she looked up into his eyes. He realized he wanted her to look up at him like that forever. Her beautiful face, bright and shiny and full of life—there was no one else as truly amazing as her left on the planet. Mom would have loved her.
“Bathroom’s clear,” Paul said as he came back into the room. “There’s a window there, big enough for us to squeeze through if we have to make a quick exit.”
“Excellent.” Chickadee bent down to retrieve her backpack. “So what’s for dinner, then?”
They tossed their findings on the floor and ate a meal of canned beans and granola bars, and split between them two apples that somehow managed to avoid growing moldy. They washed it down with cans of warm root beer and orange Crush. Afterward they sat and listened to the silence while the room steadily grew darker. They were too close to the main road to risk having candles.
“Tell us a story, Paul,” Chickadee said after a while. She turned to Mason. “Paul’s great-grandpa used to be a real storyteller back in the old days. Paul knows all the old legends. They’re really good.”
“Cool.”
“You’ve heard all my stories,” Paul said.
“Yeah, but Mason hasn’t. You’ve got to tell one to him. Tell him about the coyote stealing fire.”
Although the room was dark, there was no mistaking the look Paul gave Chickadee. Mason didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe they had a fight earlier and he missed it. But Paul didn’t really seem angry. He looked hurt, not physically, but mentally. His eyebrows were tight together, and there was a deep longing behind his eyes. Maybe he was in love with Chickadee—that might explain it—but he’d said himself that he thought of her as a sister.
Whatever it was, Mason’s chest tightened when he saw the way Paul looked at her. There was such deep sadness in his eyes.
“I’m going to tell a different story,” Paul began. “Once, thousands of years ago, there was a tribe that lived along the banks of the Pacific Ocean where Vancouver stands today. They were hunters and gatherers. The men would travel the forests and the wives would collect the oysters and clams from the shore. This was before the arrival of the white man, and the people lived somewhat peacefully with their neighboring tribes.
Most of
the people in the village were happy, but there was one warrior brave who always wanted more. He wanted to travel and visit the world beyond his borders and fight in wars he knew he’d win, but he came home disillusioned. There was no place impressive enough to claim his heart. He wanted love, but no woman was beautiful enough for him; he wanted to eat great foods, but the oysters tasted like sand and the deer were never tender enough to his tongue. Because of this he became cold and bitter, and he’d spend his days away from his family and tribe, refusing to help or contribute anything at all to the community.
One day he decided to go for a walk. While down by the ocean shore, he came across a canoe with a strange man. Unbeknownst to him, this stranger was Khaals, the great transformer, a spirit of legend and fear. Khaals had the ability to change people into animals or even trees and rocks. He often punished people for their wrongdoings and was known for not being sympathetic. If a warrior boasted about his kills, Khaals might show up and turn him into a deer so that he’d know what it’s like to flee in fear. If a man chased women other than his wife, Khaals would turn him into a tree so he’d never be able to run again.
“Why do you walk along the sand?” Khaals asked. “I hear your people celebrating in the distance. Why are you not with them?”
“There is nothing worth embracing,” the brave said. “What is the point of living when I know I will just die? What is the point of loving when all the women are shallow and ugly? I have seen all there is to see, and there are no wonders for me to behold. I’ve done everything worth doing. Life is no longer a challenge. I’m bored.”
Now, Khaals was not the type of spirit to anger, and the brave’s words displeased him. He looked down on the warrior and read deeply into his mind.
“You think life is boring? I’ll show you what it’s really about,” Khaals said, and he turned the brave into a wide, polished rock.
“I’ll be back when you find something worth living for,” Khaals said.
The brave lay trapped in his rock prison for thousands of years. The world grew up around him. He watched his people fall to the white man, watched the city grow and surround him, and saw the horrors that mankind was capable of doing. His mind never softened and his desire never grew.
Then one day a woman appeared. She was an ordinary woman—nothing special about her. But she carried herself on the wind, and the scent of wildflowers blossomed in her hair. She sat down on the rock and brought out a book to read. The softness of her touch moved the warrior, and he found himself missing her when she left a few hours later.
To his delight she returned the next day with book in hand, and the next day after that. Soon he found himself waiting only for her arrival and devastated with each passing. He longed to talk to this ordinary woman, touch her hair, and tell her how important she was to him.
One morning, after several months, the warrior was surprised to see the shape of Khaals’s boat on the water. The transformer had returned for him as promised.
“Do you know why I’ve come back?”
“I’ve found something worth living for,” the brave replied.
“But she is not a great beauty,” Khaals said. “She will not bring the world to you. She will not make the food taste any better. She is nothing but ordinary.”
“Her hair holds the wind and her eyes will see my soul,” the brave said. “The oysters will taste of the ocean instead of sand because she will help me see their true flavor. She is beautiful enough for me.”
With that, Khaals transformed the rock back into his true self. When the woman returned she found the warrior in its place. They instantly fell in love.
For many moons they shared all their time together. And the food did taste better and the rain that fell from the clouds was soft and warm on their skin. The warrior reached up into the skies and plucked the stars from their cushions and placed them in her hands.
But the woman was sick. She was dying.
When the warrior found out, he was beyond angry at Khaals. What was the point of bringing this beautiful woman to him if he would only lose her? Khaals had given him a taste of life, and now he would take that away.
The woman grew weaker. His fury grew, and realizing he couldn’t stand to watch her wither, he did the only thing possible. He told her he no longer loved her. He looked deep into the pain in her eyes, but he couldn’t take back the words.
He left.
He walked back to the ocean shore and called for Khaals.
“Why did you do this?” he asked when the transformer appeared. “You gave me life and then took it away. I was better off as a rock. At least then I didn’t have to feel. You tricked me, and for that I left her.”
“You left her because you couldn’t face the pain,” Khaals said. “You had true love, but you were selfish and turned your back. You are not strong. And because of that I shall leave you as you are. An empty husk to walk for all eternity.”
And the warrior became a rock again, only this time he could move and speak. But he never tasted the ocean or smelled the wildflowers on the wind. He never felt the rain on his face or knew the joy of living.
He was never strong again.
Chickadee was crying. She tried not to let anyone hear, but a few sniffles filled the room. When Mason looked back at her, the tears on her face were as big as crystals.
“I’m such a girl,” she said.
“That’s okay,” he said.
“It was just a really sad story,” she said. “I can’t imagine what it would be like going through life without feeling. Or feeling so much that you couldn’t stand to watch someone you love die.”
“Maybe he couldn’t bear to bury her,” Mason said, thinking of his own mother. “So that’s why he left.”
“Either way it’s just a story.” Paul yawned and went over to the couch and picked up a blanket. “I’m tired,” he said. “It’s time for bed.”
Mason wanted to ask him why he told that particular story, but Paul rolled over on his side, facing the wall, making it clear he had nothing more to say. Chickadee reached out and touched Mason’s arm, getting his attention.
“I’m tired too,” she said. “Can I still have top bunk?”
Mason gave her half a smile. “Sure. I’ll take first watch.”
“I’ll take second,” Paul said. “Wake me in a few.”
Mason went and used the bathroom and tried washing off some of the dirt and sweat on his face with a water bottle and one of the towels on the rack. It helped a bit. He rubbed his tongue along his teeth, deciding they’d have to remember to grab some toothbrushes soon. The face in the mirror was unfamiliar; it felt like years had passed since he last saw his own reflection.
Yawning, he returned to the room and sat down in the chair by the window. The air around him was quiet, but he knew no one was sleeping yet. When he roused Paul several hours later, he had the feeling Paul still hadn’t slept at all. They silently traded places and Mason crawled into the bottom bunk, pulling the covers up to his chin.
He lay in the dark, staring at the wood above him until his eyes grew heavy enough to close.
At the moment before he fell asleep, he heard Paul’s voice reach out through the blackness.
“I’m not strong enough.”
But he was too tired to respond.
When he woke the next morning, Chickadee was sitting in the chair by the window. Her body was stiff and she held her head in her hands as if she couldn’t keep her neck upright without the help. Her entire body trembled. How long had she been sitting there? Why didn’t she wake him up?
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“He’s gone.”
“Huh? Who, Paul? Where’d he go?”
“Just gone. He left me. Us.”
Mason pulled at the blankets wrapped around his legs. They clung to his body, refusing to let go. Eventually he freed himself and moved over to the window where Chickadee waited, tears streaming down her face.
“He can’t be gone,” he said. ??
?Maybe he just went for food.”
“We have food.”
“Did you look outside?”
“He’s not there.”
“Why would he do such a thing? I don’t know Paul as well as you, but I can’t imagine he’d wander off like that. He cares about you.”
“That’s the problem.” Chickadee finally looked away from the window. She reached over and took Mason’s hand. “He cared too much to watch me die. Just like the story.”
Her fingers were soft and slightly damp from the tears. Mason didn’t know what she wanted him to do. She was seeking comfort, but there were no words he could use to make things better. There was something visible just behind her eyes, an answer to a question he didn’t want to ask.
“Are you dying?” The words hung in the air like a bad smell.
“We’re all going to die.”
“But are you sick? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I’m not sick.”
“Okay.”
A can of lukewarm Pepsi rested on the table. Chickadee reached for it and took a long drink. “I’m so thirsty,” she said. “I think I’ve cried all the liquid out of my body over the past few days. How much more before I shrivel up into a husk?” She squeezed his hand and pulled him closer to her, so their noses were almost touching. “Please don’t leave me, Mason. I don’t think I could stand it if you go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Her lips brushed his, a small kiss. It happened so quickly he couldn’t fully decide if it was actually real or his imagination. Opening his arms, he pulled her into him, wrapping himself around her and trying to keep her safe.
They stayed that way as the minutes passed and his arms cramped, but he didn’t let go. The front of his shirt grew wet and uncomfortable, but he barely noticed. Finally she pulled back, and he released her reluctantly.
“Do you want me to go look for him?”
She sniffled and shook her head.