“Too late for that,” Matthew says, getting closer.
“You don’t wanna do this. I can tell.”
“Shut yer mouth.”
“Please,” I say, waving the knife. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Do I look concerned, boy?”
Closer, closer, step by step.
There’s a bang outside somewhere, off in the distance. People really are running and shouting now but neither of us look.
I press myself back into the little nook but it’s really not wide enough for me. I glance round, seeing where escape might lie.
I don’t find nothing much.
My knife’s gonna have to do it. It’s gonna have to act, even if it is against a machete.
“Todd?” I hear behind me.
“Don’t worry, Manchee,” I say. “It’s gonna be all right.”
And who knows what a dog believes?
Matthew’s almost on us now.
I grip my knife.
Matthew stops a metre from me, so close I can see his eyes glinting in the dark.
“Jessica,” he says.
He raises his machete above his head.
I flinch back, knife up, steeling myself–
But he pauses–
He pauses–
In a way I reckernize–
And that’s enough–
With a quick prayer that it ain’t the same stuff from the bridge, I swing my knife in an arc to my side, slicing right thru (thank you thank you) the ropes holding up the silage rolls, cutting the first lot clean away. The other ropes snap right quick from the sudden shift in weight and I cover my head and press myself away as the silage rolls start to tumble.
I hear thumps and clumps and an “oof” from Matthew and I look up and he’s buried in silage rolls, his arm out to one side, the machete dropped. I step forward and kick it away, then turn to find Manchee.
He’s back in a dark corner behind the now-fallen rolls. I race over to him.
“Todd?” he says when I get close. “Tail, Todd?”
“Manchee?” It’s dark so I have to squat down next to him to see. His tail’s two thirds shorter than it used to be, blood everywhere, but God bless him, still trying to wag.
“Ow, Todd?”
“It’s okay, Manchee,” I say, my voice and Noise near crying from relief that it’s just his tail. “We’ll get you fixed right up.”
“Okay, Todd?”
“I’m okay,” I say, rubbing his head. He nips my hand but I know he can’t help it cuz he’s in pain. He licks me in apology then nips me again. “Ow, Todd,” he says.
“Todd Hewitt!” I hear shouted from the front of the barn.
Francia.
“I’m here!” I call, standing up. “I’m all right. Matthew went crazy–”
But I stop cuz she ain’t listening to me.
“Ye gotta get yerself indoors, Todd pup,” Francia says in a rush. “Ye gotta–”
She stops when she sees Matthew under the silage.
“What happened?” she says, already starting to tug away the rolls, getting the one off his face and leaning down to see if he’s still breathing.
I point to the machete. “That happened.”
Francia looks at it, then a long look up at me, her face saying something I can’t read nor even begin to figure out. I don’t know if Matthew’s alive nor dead and I ain’t never gonna find out.
“We’re under attack, pup,” she says, standing.
“Yer what?”
“Men,” she says, rising. “Prentisstown men. That posse that’s after ye. They’re attacking the whole town.”
My stomach falls right outta my shoes.
“Oh, no,” I say. And then I say it again, “Oh, no.”
Francia’s still looking at me, her brain thinking who knows what.
“Don’t give us to them,” I say, backing away again. “They’ll kill us.”
Francia frowns at this. “What kinda woman do ye think I am?”
“I don’t know,” I say, “that’s the whole problem.”
“I’m not gonna give ye to them. Honestly, now. Nor Viola. In fact the feeling of the town meeting, as far along as it got, was how we were a-deciding to protect ye both from what was almost certainly a-coming.” She looks down at Matthew. “Tho maybe that’s a promise we couldn’t keep.”
“Where’s Viola?”
“Back at my house,” Francia says, suddenly all active again. “C’mon. We gotta get ye inside.”
“Wait.” I squeeze back behind the silage rolls and find Manchee still in his corner, licking his tail. He looks up at me and barks, just a little bark that’s not even a word. “I’m gonna pick you up now,” I say to him. “Try not to bite me too hard, okay?”
“Okay, Todd,” he whimpers, yelping each time he wags his stumpy tail.
I reach down, put my arms under his tummy and hoist him up to my chest. He yelps and bites hard at my wrist, then licks it.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I say, holding him as best I can.
Francia’s waiting for me at the doors to the barn and I follow her out into the main road.
There are people running about everywhere. I see men and women with rifles running up towards the orchards and other men and women scooting kids (there they are again) into houses and such. In the distance I can hear bangs and shouts and yelling.
“Where’s Hildy?” I yell.
Francia don’t say nothing. We reach her front steps.
“What about Hildy?” I ask again as we climb up.
“She went off to fight,” Francia says, not looking at me, opening the door. “They would have reached her farm first. Tam was still there.”
“Oh, no,” I say again stupidly, like my “oh nos” will do any good.
Viola comes flying down from the upper floor as we enter.
“What took you so long?” she says, her voice kinda loud, and I don’t know which one of us she’s talking to. She gasps when she sees Manchee.
“Bandages,” I say. “Some of those fancy ones.”
She nods and races back up the stairs.
“Ye two stay here,” Francia says to me. “Don’t come out, whatever ye hear.”
“But we need to run!” I say, not understanding this at all. “We need to get outta here!”
“No, Todd pup,” she says. “If Prentisstown wants ye, then that’s reason enough for us to keep ye from them.”
“But they’ve got guns–”
“So do we,” Francia says. “No posse of Prentisstown men is going to take this town.”
Viola’s back down the stairs now, digging thru her bag for bandages.
“Francia–” I say.
“Stay right here,” she says. “We’ll protect ye. Both of ye.”
She looks at both of us, hard, like seeing if we agree, then she turns and is out the door to protect her town, I guess.
We stare at the closed door for a second, then Manchee whimpers again and I have to set him down. Viola gets out a square bandage and her little scalpel.
“I don’t know if these’ll work on dogs,” she says.
“Better than nothing,” I say.
She cuts off a little strip and I have to hold Manchee’s head down while she loops it around the mess of his tail. He growls and apologizes and growls and apologizes until Viola’s covered the whole wound up tight. He immediately sets to licking it when I let him go.
“Stop that,” I say.
“Itches,” Manchee says.
“Stupid dog.” I scratch his ears. “Stupid ruddy dog.”
Viola pets him, too, trying to keep him from licking off the bandage.
“Do you think we’re safe?” she asks quietly, after a long minute.
“I don’t know.”
There’s more bangs out in the distance. We both jump. More people shouting. More Noise.
“No sign of Hildy since this started,” Viola says.
“I know.”
Another bit of silence a
s we over-pet Manchee. More ruckus from up in the orchards above town.
It all seems so far away, as if it’s not even happening.
“Francia told me that you can find Haven if you keep following the main river,” Viola says.
I look at her. I wonder if I know what this means.
I think I do.
“You wanna leave,” I say.
“They’ll keep coming,” she says. “We’re putting the people around us in danger. Don’t you think they’ll keep coming if they’ve already come this far?”
I do. I do think this. I don’t say it but I do.
“But they said they could protect us,” I say.
“Do you believe that?”
I don’t say nothing to this neither. I think of Matthew Lyle.
“I don’t think we’re safe here any more,” she says.
“I don’t think we’re safe anywhere,” I say. “Not on this whole planet.”
“I need to contact my ship, Todd,” she says, almost pleading. “They’re waiting to hear from me.”
“And you wanna run off into the unknown to do it?”
“You do, too,” she says. “I can tell.” She looks away. “If we went together . . .”
I look up at her at this, trying to see, trying to know, to know real and true.
All she does is look back.
Which is enough.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We pack without any more words, and fast. I get my rucksack on, she gets her bag round her shoulders, Manchee’s on his feet again and walking, and out the back door we go. As simple as that, we’re going. Safer for Farbranch, definitely, safer for us, who knows? Who knows if this is the right thing to do? After what Hildy and Francia seemed to promise, it’s hard leaving.
But we’re leaving. And that’s what we’re doing.
Cuz at least it’s us who decided it. I’d rather not have no one else tell me what they’ll do for me, even when they mean well.
It’s full dark night outside now, tho both moons are shining bright. Everyone in town’s attenshun is behind us so there’s no one to stop us from running. There’s a little bridge that crosses the creek that runs thru town. “How far is this Haven?” I ask, whispering as we cross.
“Kinda far,” Viola whispers back.
“How far is kinda far?”
She don’t say nothing for a second.
“How far?” I say again.
“Coupla weeks’ walk,” she says, not looking back.
“Coupla weeks!”
“Where else do we have?” she says.
And I don’t have an answer so we keep on walking.
Across the creek, the road heads up the far hill of the valley. We decide to take it as the fastest way outta town then find our way back south to the river and follow that. Ben’s map ends at Farbranch so the river’s all we got for direkshuns from here on out.
There’s so many askings that come with us as we run outta Farbranch, askings that we’ll never know the answers to: Why would the Mayor and a few men go miles outta their way to attack a whole ruddy town on their own? Why are they still after us? Why are we so important? And what happened to Hildy?
And did I kill Matthew Lyle?
And was what he showed me in his Noise right there at the end a true thing?
Was that the real history of Prentisstown?
“Was what the real history?” Viola asks as we hurry on up the path.
“Nothing,” I say. “And quit reading me.”
We get to the top of the far hill of the valley just as another rattle of gunfire echoes across it. We stop and look.
And then we see.
Boy, do we see.
“Oh, my God,” Viola says.
Under the light of the two moons, the whole valley kinda shines, across the Farbranch buildings and back up into the hills where the orchards are.
We can see the men and women of Farbranch running back down that hill.
In retreat.
And marching over the top, are five, ten, fifteen men on horseback.
Followed by rows of men five across, carrying guns, marching in a line behind what has to be the Mayor’s horses in front.
Not a posse. Not a posse at all.
It’s Prentisstown. I feel like the world’s crumbling at my feet. It’s every ruddy man in Prentisstown.
They have three times as many people as even live in Farbranch.
Three times as many guns.
We hear gunshots and we see the men and women of Farbranch fall as they run back to their houses.
They’ll take the town easily. They’ll take it before the hour is thru.
Cuz the rumours were true, the rumours that Francia heard.
The word was true.
It’s an army.
A whole army.
There’s a whole army coming after me and Viola.
We duck behind some bushes, even tho it’s dark, even tho the army is across the valley, even tho they don’t know we’re up here and there’s no way they could hear my Noise amidst all the ruckus going on down there, we duck anyway.
“Can yer binos see in the dark?” I whisper.
By way of answer Viola digs them outta her bag and holds them up to her own eyes. “What’s happening?” she says, looking thru them, pressing more buttons. “Who are all those men?”
“It’s Prentisstown,” I say, holding out my hand. “It looks like every man in the whole effing town.”
“How can it be the whole town?” She looks for a second or two more then hands the binos to me. “What kind of sense does that make?”
“You got me.” The night setting on the binos turns the valley and all that’s in it a bright green. I see horses galloping down the hill into the main part of town, shooting their rifles on the way, I see the people of Farbranch shooting back but mostly running, mostly falling, mostly dying. The Prentisstown army don’t seem interested in taking prisoners.
“We have to get out of here, Todd,” Viola says.
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m still looking thru the binos.
With everything green, it’s hard to make out faces. I press a few more buttons on the binos till I find the ones that take me in closer.
The first person I see for sure is Mr Prentiss Jr, in the lead, firing his rifle into the air when he don’t have nothing else to shoot at. Then there’s Mr Morgan and Mr Collins chasing some Farbranch men into the storage barns, firing their rifles after them. Mr O’Hare’s there, too, and more of the Mayor’s usual suspects on horseback, Mr Edwin, Mr Henratty, Mr Sullivan. And there’s Mr Hammar, the smile on his face showing up green and evil even from this distance as he fires his rifle into the backs of fleeing women hustling away small children and I have to look away or throw up the nothing I had for dinner.
The men on foot march their way into town. The first one I reckernize is, of all people, Mr Phelps the storekeeper. Which is weird cuz he never seemed army-like at all. And there’s Dr Baldwin. And Mr Fox. And Mr Cardiff who was our best milker. And Mr Tate who had the most books to burn when the Mayor outlawed them. And Mr Kearney who milled the town’s wheat and who always spoke softly and who made wooden toys for each Prentisstown boy’s birthday.
What are these men doing in an army?
“Todd,” Viola says, pulling at my arm.
The men marching don’t look none too happy, I spose. Grim and cold and scary in a different way from Mr Hammar, like they’re lacking all feeling.
But they’re still marching. They’re still shooting. They’re still kicking down doors.
“That’s Mr Gillooly,” I say, binos pressed to my eyes. “He can’t even butcher his own meat.”
“Todd,” Viola says and I feel her backing away from the bushes. “Let’s go.”
What’s going on? Sure, Prentisstown was as awful a place as you could ever not wanna paint it but how can it suddenly be an army? There’s plenty of Prentisstown men who’re bad thru and thru but not all of them. Not all.
And Mr Gillooly with a rifle is a sight so wrong it almost hurts my eyes just to look at it.
And then of course I see the answer.
Mayor Prentiss, not even holding a gun, just one hand on his horse’s reins, the other at his side, riding into town like he’s out for an evening canter. He’s watching the rout of Farbranch as if it was a vid and not a very interesting one at that, letting everyone else do the work but so obviously in charge no one would even think of asking him to break a sweat.
How can he make so many men do what he wants?
And is he bulletproof that he can ride so fearlessly?
“Todd,” Viola says behind me. “I swear, I’ll leave without you.”
“No, you won’t,” I say. “One more second.”
Cuz I’m looking from face to face now, ain’t I? I’m going from Prentisstown man to Prentisstown man cuz even if they’re marching into town and are gonna find out soon enough that neither me nor Viola are there and are gonna have to come this way after us, I gotta know.
I gotta know.
Face to face to face as they march and shoot and burn. Mr Wallace, Mr Asbjornsen, Mr St James, Mr Belgraves, Mr Smith the Older, Mr Smith the Younger, Mr Smith With Nine Fingers, even Mr Marjoribanks, wobbling and teetering but marching marching marching. Prentisstown man after Prentisstown man after Prentisstown man, my heart clenching and burning at each one I can identify.
“They ain’t there,” I say, almost to myself.
“Who isn’t?” Viola says.
“Ain’t!” Manchee barks, licking at his tail.
They ain’t there.
Ben and Cillian ain’t there.
Which, of course, is grand, ain’t it? Of course they ain’t part of an army of killers. Of course they ain’t, even when every other Prentisstown man is. They wouldn’t be. Not never, not no how, no matter what.
Good men, great men, both, even Cillian.
But if that’s true, then that means the other is true, too, don’t it?
If they ain’t there, then that means once and for all.
And there’s yer lesson.
There ain’t nothing good that don’t got real bad waiting to follow it.
I hope they put up the best fight ever.
I take the binos from my face and I look down and I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and I turn and I hand Viola back the binos and I say, “Let’s go.”