***
We're finally on the brink of departure, and everyone is running last-minute errands. Oscar and I roast rats over the coals in the stove, carefully wrapping and packing some meat for the journey. It won't last long, but we'll want a meal of some sort, and food costs more than we have. Jonas has spent the last of our money on other things we'll need, and traded off our bigger items for smaller, more usable ones. Our frying pan has turned into a spare knife. Our dishes have become an old leather pack with shoulder straps. We cannot trade our larger items without revealing what we intend to do, so we'll be abandoning some hard-to-get things like the mattress, and rain barrels, and our shack with running water. This was one of Miranda's complaints. How can we leave all this behind? Apollon insisted we'll replace it, and do even better somewhere else. He reminded her that they rigged up the pipes and the pump. Why can't they do it again?
Miranda just frowned. It's not leaving these things behind that bothers her. It's leaving behind the hope that her mother will return for her. I'm glad I don't have to worry about such things. But as we wait for them to come back, I think about Miranda too much. I think about saying something to her that could make it easier for her. I don't know what that is.
As we come to the end of the rat meat, I get up and pace. Jonas, Apollon, Neveah, and Miranda are still out, and I'm beginning to wonder what's taking them so long. Before I can wonder much more, Apollon and Neveah show up. They have a large bundle of herbs with them, and, ducking through the door, Apollon smiles.
His face is flush, and he looks winded. He sounds a little breathy, but pleased. "No sign of Matthew's men on the road tonight," he reports. "Maybe they're busy with something."
Or maybe their numbers are dwindling. None of us have heard anything about what might have happened to Matt's armed escort, if he even sent it, but his men have definitely seemed preoccupied with other things lately. That's perfect for us.
"We're about ready here," I say, glancing at Oscar, who nods.
Apollon nods too, and then suddenly goes to the chair to sit down. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to.
I kneel at his side. "Hey," I say softly, "it's not too late for us to drag you."
This earns me a mocking smile, even though his face is still turned downward. "You did such a great job getting me from the door to the couch that way," he says. "A few miles would be nothing, I bet."
He's teasing, but part of it rings true. And a few miles is a major underestimation of our journey.
I have to brush it off, though, because we need to leave. Yesterday. So I just play along. "If you weren't so enormous...."
His smile widens. He glances up, like he's looking at his own forehead. "Yeah," he says, his grin turning wicked, "My E is for 'enormous'. What's yours?"
Before he gets all this out, the door is halfway open and Jonas is walking in. "Embarrassed," he answers. I'm not sure if he's talking about himself, or me. Accurate, though, probably for both of us.
I climb to my feet. He's wearing a scowl and holding tension in his shoulders.
"Everything OK?" I ask.
He makes a noise in answer, then says, darkly, "Got into a fight with that trader. He figured out we were leaving and tried to blackmail me."
Apollon looks up at him, wide-eyed. Neveah stops and turns to watch him over her shoulder. I look Jonas up and down, and don't see any sign that he's been wounded. Somehow I doubt the other guy faired so well.
"Are we ready?" Jonas asks, glancing around the room.
"Just waiting on Miranda."
He squints, frowns. "Isn't she back?"
I shake my head slowly. The bad feeling sinks in, as if it was just waiting for his words.
We all sit in silence and look at each other. Look at the wall. Look at the floor. Look at our hands. Look at each other. Miranda doesn't come home. I begin to wonder if she's decided she doesn't want to come with us. But I'm not going to say that.
Apollon does. "She said she didn't want to come," he says. The words drop into the silence between us like a brick off a building.
Jonas opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't. He shakes his head, but the gesture is slow and uncertain.
We would probably sit here and debate it all night, wondering if we should leave without her. But Oscar settles it for us.
"She packed her pliers," he says. He kneels down at one of the packs, fishes around, and pulls them out. "See," he says, as if that's everything we need to know.
It is.
"Shit," I say, climbing to my feet. Jonas and Apollon are right behind me. So is Oscar, but Neveah puts her hands gently on his shoulders.
Jonas glances at Apollon, who has gone a little pale in between sitting and standing. "Not you either," he says softly.
Apollon looks like he's going to protest, but doesn't. He may have it in him to make it most of the way down the road. Or he may have it in him to back us up in a fight. But he definitely doesn't have enough to do both. And he knows which one we need from him the most. He sits down, and flushes red. Now his 'E' is for 'embarrassed'.
Jonas and I walk out into the dark of the night. The air smells cold, like snow is coming. Neither of us speak, but we both seem to know where we're going. To Donegan's.
Donegan and his men occupy a squat row of old metal buildings not far from the shanties I used to pass every day. We hunker down in the alleyway behind and quietly work our way closer to some windows. They're boarded up, but there are gaps, so we can hear the people talking inside. There's a group of men, rambling about things I don't care about. We listen, and my feet start to feel pins and needles from maintaining my crouch. I want to run away from here and find Miranda. Maybe she's even made it home by now. But then, eventually they mention "her". It's only something about bringing water to her room, but it's enough. Jonas and I look at each other in the darkness.
We sneak away from the window and lean back against the opposite wall. I shake my legs out, trying to regain feeling.
"I'm going in after her," Jonas says quietly. "Stay here, and—"
"No," I say. Now who's being stupid? We're outnumbered and out-armed. Miranda's probably locked up and guarded. We can't just go in after her. But then, what else can we do? Leave her? I'm struggling with the futility of the plan when I realize there's another option. Not fun or convenient, but effective. I set my hand on Jonas' arm. "I'll go for help."
He's silent.
I turn and start away, but then he's gripping my arm, pulling me back. "Not gonna happen," he growls through clenched teeth.
I stare at him in the darkness. "Jonas," I say, but he's already shaking his head.
"Look," he says, "if you go for help, I'm going in by myself. I'll probably be dead by the time you get back. So you could do that, or you could stay here and back me up."
"By doing what?" This is ludicrous. We're both going to die.
He glances around. "A diversion?"
I frown and consider. Could I make it all the way to Matt's and back before Jonas could get himself killed? Would I be willing to risk it? And if it worked, would it screw up our plan to leave? "What kind of diversion?"
He shrugs. "Burn something." Then his grip finally loosens on my arm. He rubs his fingers up and down lightly before he lets go entirely. "Stay safe." And he's gone.
I sag back against the building wall and scowl. "Burn something," I mutter to myself. I look around for something to burn, wondering how I'm going to make sure that I don't accidentally burn down Jonas or Miranda in the process. Or the whole Outpost for that matter. Then I realize I have nothing to start a fire with.
I curse and run for the end of the alley.
It's not the smartest way to go about things, but I need fire. Now. So I race toward the shanty-town, my ribs throbbing. I scoop up a stick on my way. Huddled shapes cry out in surprise as I burst into the middle of the campsi
te. I dunk my stick into the fire, brandish it at some sickly-looking guy who jumps up in protestation of my intrusion, and head off at high speed. They hurl curses after me, but no one follows. I hardly notice. Nothing matters as much as starting this fire.
I thrust my flaming branch into a shed nearby Donegan's row, but hopefully far enough away from other structures to keep from setting the whole Outpost ablaze. The fire takes a moment to catch. I drop my torch and run down the alley. Behind me, there's an explosion of metal and glass. I ditch into the mud, wondering exactly what was in that shed.
After that, everything is chaos. Voices. Shouting. Silhouettes run toward the shed, throwing water and dirt on the fire. I belly-crawl further out of the flickering light, trying to avoid their notice. At the end of the alley, I right myself against the wall. I step around the corner, straight in front of two men headed toward the blaze. They blink at me. One of them levels a gun at my face.
I sigh and close my eyes. Death always comes for me like this, with its mouth open, hungry, ready to devour, and then it slinks away again, just after I make peace with the idea. It's like a joke, only no one's laughing. I don't laugh this time, either. I open my eyes again. I watch the man's finger tighten on the trigger.
His friend makes an unexpected noise, like a protest. He falls to the ground with a knife sticking out of his back. Jonas sweeps the legs out from under the man with the gun while Miranda kicks at his head. Jonas wrenches the gun away. Miranda keeps kicking. Her teeth are bared. Vicious little growls accompany each kick.
"Who pissed you off?" I ask, as she comes up for air. Her cheeks are flushed red and her eyes wild. Maybe I shouldn't have asked. I grab her by the arm. "Come on."
We run down the back streets, toward home. My lungs ache, and an invisible hammer is smashing into my chest, but running feels good anyway. We burst in. Our friends are ready with the packs. Even Apollon is all strapped up, and wearing nightglasses.
"We thought you might want to leave right away," Apollon says, grinning. He hands the other two sets of nightglasses to Miranda and Jonas, who begin strapping them on. "Was that an explosion we heard?"
Miranda, having expertly adjusted her own glasses in a flash, frowns at Apollon and stands on tiptoes to mess with his.
"Something like that," I answer, and grab one of the remaining packs, hoisting it onto my back. "Let's get out of here."
Jonas nods gravely. Something about the nightglasses on his face is unnerving. His eyes are hidden. Another wall. I have to settle for the fact that he's not looking at Miranda. Not fixed on her, not awash in relief. He's ready to get out of here. That's all.
We're out the door only a moment after we return.
We stick to the darkest, quietest streets, sometimes circling around lighted or populated areas in favor of less-trodden paths. None of us talk. Our careful steps crunch through the darkness, our breath steaming in the cold air. Our heartbeats throb inside our heads. This is our escape. Tonight, we leave this place behind and head into the unknown. Uncertainty, danger, and anticipation are thick on the air. Excitement replaces fear. Even though I know I could easily die tonight, I feel like laughing. I'm a child playing a game. The possibility of disaster morphs into a rush of adventure. I glance behind me, at Jonas, at Oscar, and see it on their faces, too. Oscar and I grin at each other. As the path widens, he grabs my hand, and we walk together into our future.