Robison Wells: Variant

And then I caught something, a scent in the air.

Becky noticed it, too, and her head turned quickly, suddenly alert. “What is that?”

“Wood smoke,” I said.

“Is it the school?” she asked. She was looking at the sky, looking for smoke.

“I don’t think so. We’re close to the—whatever it is. The place you could see from the dorms.”

There was fear in her eyes. “We can’t turn ourselves in. Don’t do this.”

“I’m not. I’m just going to see if I can get some supplies—bandages or medicine or something. I’m guessing they’ll all be out looking for us. No one will even be there.”

Becky looked like she wanted to argue but was too exhausted. Instead, she just stood and stared into the woods.

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely audible.

We hiked on for another mile, maybe. We were going slow and not in a straight line, so it was hard to judge the distance. Eventually, Becky couldn’t go on. I helped her down into a sandy ravine and packed leaves and debris around her to keep her warm. It wouldn’t do much good.

She took my hand. “Don’t be gone long.”

“I won’t.” I might have expected her to cry but was surprised to find tears forming in my eyes.

Before I left, I kissed her.

I almost ran through the woods now, still trying to be quiet, but knowing that taking my time could mean Becky dying alone.

The woods leveled out, the hills and valleys fading into a flat, sparse forest. There were no tracks—no footpaths or tire marks. No animals, either. I was all alone.

The scent of wood smoke was growing now, and I could see the haze between the trees. I had to be getting close.

And then the woods ended, and there was a town. Small farms and a few dozen buildings. Smoke was rising from four or five chimneys.

This wasn’t a guard camp.

I ran to an empty garden that had been cleared for the winter, to the closest building. It looked like a barn.

I wanted to scream for help, to yell for the police, but my time in the school had made me paranoid. Maybe these people knew about the school. Maybe they ran the school.

Peering in the barn window, I didn’t see anyone. But there were a few tarps. I could use those.

I carefully opened the door. It was warmer inside. There were animals there—half a dozen cows.

I ignored them and went for the tarps. They were large and sturdy and canvas—not soft, but they looked waterproof. There was a cabinet on the far wall, and I ran to it.

“Who are you?”

My heart dropped.

But it wasn’t a guard’s voice. It was a voice I recognized. A girl’s voice.

I turned.

She was standing with the cows. She’d been milking them.

She didn’t look the same, but I knew her. Her fair skin was darker and freckled—and she was taller. Older. But I knew her.

“Jane?”

She brushed a strand of red hair away from her face.

“We didn’t think anyone survived,” she said, her words slow and worried. “They’re going to be looking for you.”

I was frozen to the ground, unable to move, unable to speak.

Jane stepped out from behind the cows. Her clothes were old and worn. She stared back at me.

“I know you,” she said, her words barely audible. Suddenly her eyes went wide. “I thought you died. I thought we both did.”