E j deen, p.13
E. J. Deen, page 13
Still trapped in his cave. He slowly traced the scar, remembering the pain. He could almost taste the blood in his mouth.
He chuckled, a low rumble in his throat that sounded almost like a growl.
“But I got the Hummer,” he whispered into the dark. “Fuckers!”
But his encounter had cost him dearly, had cost him his identity. His life hadn’t been the same since that night in the swamps. His entire existence was cloaked in secrecy now. Because of his theft, because he had managed to escape the Pirates, he was in constant danger. The scar was a flashing neon sign to anyone who looked at him. Any Pirate who saw it would kill him on the spot.
10
Hidden just inside the tree line, Zach stood on the outskirts of the clearing near Pete’s dilapidated home. Since he wouldn’t be taking the Hummer this trip, he had no real need to stop and talk to Pete.
Still, he’d paused on his way out of the mountains. Something had made him stop there, maybe some innate need to check on them.
He’d been standing there for a long time, just watching, considering, and remembering. Remembering the years and all that had passed between himself and his friends. There was so much. Pete and Sara were such good friends to him. He knew he should tell them where he was going, at least say goodbye, just in case he never made it back, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Sara would worry. She would beg him not to go, and her pleas would only make his leaving more difficult. It was hard enough already. So much easier to leave without seeing them, without telling them.
At times like this he wished he’d never come down from the mountains to begin with. He should have forgotten all about humanity and just lived out the rest of his life alone, without all the pressures that interacting with people imposed. People were nothing but a trap. All of them. Some good. Some bad.
But always a trap.
Coward, his subconscious whispered to him.
No, not a coward. Just smart. No distractions. Not in wartime. It makes for a better soldier.
Despite his inner convictions, the word still hung over him like an accusing finger. Coward.
He was a coward, of a sort. Afraid to show his emotions, to give in to his feelings. To lose himself in the love that someone else offered. Even friendship. Never mind a woman. He hadn’t touched a woman since the revolt. It wasn’t worth it to him. Too many of them were prostitutes, forced to sell themselves just for the sake of eating. Even if they weren’t tainted, he still didn’t consider the risk worth the orgasm. They couldn’t possibly offer him what he would demand from a relationship, anyway. Love, loyalty, true companionship. Hell, they were nothing more than leeches. Not even a challenge.
He had come to envy what Pete and Sara had. But always there was that struggle inside him. It was always the same. Every issue he faced. He was always weighing the odds, fighting himself, his desires, his needs, his dreams.
Dreams. Did he even have those anymore? Could he even remember a time when he did?
Yes. And the memory made him bitter. For what he had lost, what had been snatched from him.
Success. Family. A future. Damn, what would it be like to have a future to look forward to?
He didn’t even want to think about it. It wasn’t worth the agony, the mental torture. Entertaining any notion of the future would only make him want it, hope for it, reach for it, and what was the use in that?
The future he so desperately wanted was unattainable. Impossible. He knew it, and there was nothing he could do to change the fact. He was only one man. Only one man.
Dragging his mind away from the self-affliction, he glanced back at the little house Pete and Sara shared. Considering it was midday, there was a surprising lack of activity in the yard. Were they inside?
Making love perhaps? Was Pete smoothing the hair back off her forehead and whispering that he loved her? Or were they sharing a meal together, merely content with the comfortable silence he often noticed between them? Did they talk about the future? Was it easier knowing they had one another?
He didn’t know. He’d never asked. Strange how he’d known these people for so long—they’d done so much for one another—yet he didn’t know what they were feeling, what they suffered just to get through a day. He only knew that they were good, honest people. Caring people. He knew they cared for him in particular, and he for them. But he had limits to his ability to get close to them, and he had to work within those limits. His face and body hadn’t been the only thing scarred in the revolt. His heart and his ability to trust had been damaged too, and that was a scar that could never be healed. Not by anyone.
He stared down at the house, hesitant to leave. Something inside him, something he had lost long ago stirred. Just as it had when he’d put his arms around Serena and offered his comfort. A flicker of something he vaguely remembered from before the revolt, there and gone in an instant.
He took a deep, decisive breath, toying with the notion that danced on the edge of his brain. Perhaps there was one more thing he could do for his friends, to let them know how much he appreciated them.
Just one more promise he could keep in the event that he never saw them again. Something that would ease the suffering he might cause if he got himself killed in this venture.
Tadpole.
His mind made up, Zach sank back into the woods and skirted the clearing. Like a phantom, he moved on silent feet, passing on by the house and setting his sights on the few miles that would take him to the tiny shack where Tadpole had set up residence.
Tadpole’s shack was empty when he arrived. Damn, he didn’t want to have to go into Franklin’s. Not like this, loaded down with weapons and bombs, and dragging more behind him. He didn’t want
anyone to see him like this and start asking questions.
He sighed. It was unfortunate that Tadpole wasn’t around. Sara would be disappointed, but he couldn’t jeopardize his mission by going in search of the boy. Time was too precious, and he couldn’t waste it.
He had to move on.
He was on the verge of leaving when someone called his name. The voice distinctly belonged to
Tadpole. He swung around just as the boy broke into the clearing. As usual, Tadpole was excited to see him. Zach felt his mouth twist upwards in that sensation that was becoming more and more
commonplace of late. A smile. Slight, barely perceptible, but there nonetheless. Much as he pretended to resent the boy hanging around underfoot and trying to tag along behind him everywhere he went, he actually liked it. He could admit that now that he was leaving. It was safe to admit that now.
“What are you doing here, Zach? You don’t usually come out so soon,” Tadpole called as he drew near.
Zach hitched his pack a little higher on his shoulder, a subconscious signal that he would not be staying. “This is an important occasion.”
“What do you mean important?”
Tadpole’s expression shifted. The boy had caught the subtle undertone in Zach’s voice. He knew something was amiss. Dammit. The kid was too perceptive for his own good. Might as well come clean with it.
“I’m going away for awhile. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’m not even sure I’ll ever come back.”
Tadpole’s face fell. “What do you mean? ‘Course you’ll be back. Won’t ya?”
Zach knelt down beside him, watching as the boy’s curious gaze studied all the different bundles strapped to his fatigues, and the small travois Zach had propped against the side of the shack, his eyes dark with disapproval.
“Can you keep a secret for me?”
Tadpole met his serious gaze and nodded, but he couldn’t hide the betrayal he was feeling. He was scared. Zach could sense it, roiling off the kid. He understood it. He had been a huge factor in Tadpole’s life, and to have that taken away from him now….
Zach shrugged aside the nip of guilt that came on the heels of the boy’s obvious disappointment. He didn’t need it right now. Any emotion taken with him would only bog him down, possibly even get him killed.
“I have something very important that I have to do. I can’t shirk it. Understand?” he said.
Tadpole nodded, his eyes still searching Zach’s face.
“It’s very dangerous. I could be killed.” No sense in lying to the boy. Best to tell him straight out.
Tadpole knew how to deal with straight-talk, and Zach knew the kid would appreciate the truth more than a lie. “That’s what I mean when I say I might not come back.”
Tadpole glanced away from him, considering this for a time. Then he opened his mouth to say
something, but Zach stopped him before he could start. He knew what Tad was thinking.
“No, you can’t come with me. It’s too dangerous. You’d only get in the way. If I have to worry about you all the time, I can’t do my job. That would put both of us in danger. I need you to stay here and look after things for me. That way I can leave with a free conscience. I won’t have to worry about Sara and Pete, about you, and if I’m not worrying, I might live longer. Understand?”
It was propaganda, little more than blackmail, pure and simple, but it was worth a try. Maybe it would get the little man to thinking.
“That way you can keep your mind on what you’re doin’,” Tadpole said, understanding.
Damn, but he was wise beyond his years. He didn’t even act like a kid. Never had. Not since Zach had known him.
“Exactly,” Zach answered. He fell silent and studied the ground for a moment, wondering how the hell to broach the subject of Sara, then finally plunged in. “Sara asked about you again.”
Hiding his expression from Zach, Tadpole hung his head and kicked at a clod of dirt with a bare foot.
He knew he’d been caught in his lie, and he was obviously ashamed. But Zach couldn’t let it go at that.
The boy needed some sort of guidance in his life.
“You could have told me the truth, you know,” he said, letting the boy’s own shame be his correction.
Tadpole didn’t say anything, just stood there, his head down, his eyes fixed firmly on his toes. Finally, he gave in with, “Sorry, Zach.” But he still wouldn’t look up and meet his gaze.
“Just don’t let it happen again. Pete and Sara are good people. They deserve better.”
Tadpole kept his chin tucked into his chest, and still wouldn’t look at Zach.
“Is it so terrible, the idea of living with them?”
“That’s not what’s bad.”
“Then what?” Zach felt like he’d lost the battle already, again, and it was damn frustrating.
The boy just stood there for the longest time, not saying anything, not offering any explanation.
Zach took him by the shoulders in earnest. “Tadpole, do you understand that you may never see me again?”
That got his attention. His head came up, and he looked him square in the eye. What Zach saw there made him uncomfortable. It was fear. Fear in that little boy’s eyes. Pure vulnerability. Zach understood it all too well. The fear was something he’d never quite been able to escape himself. It seemed to hang over all of humanity these days.
“Tell me why you won’t go live with Pete and Sara,” Zach demanded, gripping Tad’s little arms a bit harder than he had intended to. It was the frustration. He had hoped to convince Tadpole, for all of them, but mostly for Sara, and to assuage his own damn guilt. But Tadpole was as stubborn as they come, and he wasn’t budging an inch.
Tadpole didn’t answer, just stared back at him. Zach let his hands fall away from the boy’s shoulders and stood up, turning his back as if to leave.
“Wait!”
Zach hesitated.
“I’m afraid…. I’m afraid if I go to live with them, I’ll get all soft and I’ll forget how to take care of myself.”
Zach went back down on his knees in front of the boy, reached out and took the kid’s shoulders, shook him a little, as if the action would help him get his point across. “You never forget, Tadpole. You never forget.”
Tadpole didn’t say anything. He just flung his thin little arms around Zach’s neck and squeezed hard.
Zach felt his heart sink down into his stomach. They both knew that what passed between them was so much more than just a conversation. It was their way of saying goodbye, the only way they knew how.
Their way of expressing that they cared for one another.
Then Tadpole was pushing away, as if embarrassed by the sudden display of affection—what he would call weakness. Zach understood. After a time, he stood up, preparing to leave, his expression closed, devoid of all emotion.
“Just think about it. Think about all the good you could do them. Think about how it would help me. I wouldn’t have to worry about them so much.” The blackmail again. What he really meant to say was that Tadpole’s presence would make Sara happy, and Zach wouldn’t have to worry about the kid so much. “And Pete could teach you a lot of things about farming.”
Tadpole nodded silently, absently scraping the back of his hand under a nose that had gone wet.
“You’re always saying you want to be like me, you want to help people,” Zach reminded him. “Well, a good place to start is with Pete and Sara. They could use your help around the farm.”
Tadpole didn’t say anything. He seemed terribly interested in the ground between them, was in fact studying it rather thoroughly, as if his life depended on doing so.
“Think about it,” Zach said, reaching for his travois, preparing to go. In just seconds, he would be leaving the boy behind, possibly forever. Oddly, it made him feel weak inside.
“Zach?”
He paused, his back to the boy.
“Do you have to go?”
Zach took a deep, stabilizing breath and nodded, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t want Tad to see the emotion on his face, didn’t want the kid to know how much he was going to miss him, how hard it was to leave him behind.
“Come back. Promise me you’ll come back.”
Zach could hear the pleading in his voice, the desperation.
“I’ll try, Tadpole.”
Without another glance, he started walking away. He couldn’t stay a moment longer. If he did, he might never leave. This was his home. These people were his family, and it was becoming increasingly harder to leave them. And, just like Tadpole, that was a threat to him. Being tied to someone was a threat to his very existence. It was a frightening thought. He had carved an identity for himself by sheer
determination and will alone, had carved a way of life, and he couldn’t afford to have that disrupted.
Perhaps this personal war of his would turn out to be a good thing in more ways than one. Perhaps he needed it, needed this long journey that would keep him away from here. Maybe it would remind him of who he was, of what he had become, and that he couldn’t afford to love anyone.
Zach’s journey was a long one. He traveled for days, weeks, hunting for his food with his bow and arrows, and lugging his burden of weapons along with him. He spent night after night sleeping on the cold, hard ground, his muscles weary and aching. Nights of dreaming, of remembering. Images of death, plague, and blood floated through his subconscious as he slept. Nights of cold sweats and waking up to fear and disorientation, then remembering where he was and what he was doing there and having to abandon the idea of any more rest to continue the journey until he was staggering from fatigue, only to start the cycle all over again.
His dreams were vivid with the memory of his mother, her body falling against him, lifeless. Her blood running over him, out into the street, flowing to meet and mingle with the blood of others, innocent people. So many innocent victims. Bloated bodies lying all around, and him stepping over them, around them, wading through them.
Why? He always awakened to that silent scream dying away in his head, and always there was no answer, only the dark staring back at him, taunting, challenging, as angry as he was.
He was a tormented man, alone in his mission. He ate alone, he slept alone, and he would fight alone.
Those people he trusted enough to help him, he valued enough to protect, and he would not ask them to risk their lives for a fight that was solely his. He had no one to lean on. He could only rely on himself.
He was alone in every sense of the word.
There were still people out there. People wanting, needing. People in despair, people waiting to take, to plunder and ravage, to rape, to kill. The timid, the weak, the lame, the sick, the dying. The confused, the worried, the scared. The strong, the angry, the fighters. The leeches, the parasites. The thieves, the killers. Still the same assortment. Only, now the bad guys seemed to be winning more than ever, taking control, taking over. Odd how one could feel so helpless, so alone amongst so many who felt the same way. He wished he could disassociate himself from it, but he couldn’t.
People. He despised them. He loved them. He yearned to be indifferent to them. It would be so much better for him, such unimaginable freedom, were he to attain that indifference. But he knew he never would. Never could. It wasn’t a part of him, had never been a part of him. Much as he might try to change it, that was the one constant. He still hoped. Perhaps foolishly, but it was there all the same.
Several days into his journey southward, he encountered a band of miscreants he would rather have not run across at all. They complicated his mission. They were few, but what they represented stretched all across the country. A group of Hunters, only five of them, and they had apparently been working with deadly precision.
They were clustered in a small clearing, so intent on what they were doing that they had no idea he was watching them from the woods. When Zach found them, they were in the act of hanging a woman, her body twitching convulsively as the last shreds of life drained from it. Hanging was one of their preferred methods of disposal. It was a relatively clean kill, a way of killing that assured they wouldn’t be tainted, but it was nonetheless inhumane.
