Justin Cronin - The Passage

“Eight,” Alicia corrected. “That doesn’t mean we should let our guard down.”

“I’m just saying.” He opened his eyes and turned toward Alicia, shrugging. “A lot of things could have killed that cat. Maybe it died of old age.”

Alicia gave a laugh. “Sounds good to me,” she said.

Amy was standing by herself at the edge of the glade. She was always drifting off like this. For a while this habit had made Peter worry, but she never went very far, and by now they were all accustomed to it.

He rose and went to her. “Amy, you should eat something. We’re moving on soon.”

For a moment the girl said nothing. Her eyes were directed toward the mountains, rising in the sunlight beyond the river and the grassy fields beyond.

“I remember the snow,” she said. “Lying down in it. How cold it was.” She looked at him, squinting. “We’re close, aren’t we?”

Peter nodded. “A few days, I think.”

“Telluride,” Amy said.

“Yes, Telluride.”

She turned away again. Peter saw her shiver, though the sun was warm.

“Will it snow again?” she asked.

“Hollis thinks so.”

Amy nodded, satisfied. Her face had filled with a warm light; the memory was a happy one. “I would like to lie down in it again, to make snow angels.”

She often spoke like this, in vague riddles. Yet something felt different this time. It was as if the past were rising up before her eyes, stepping into view like a deer from the brush. Even to move would scare it away.

“What are snow angels?”

“You move your arms and legs, in the snow,” she explained. “Like the ones in heaven. Like the ghost Jacob Marley.”

Peter was aware that the others were listening now. A single strand of black hair pushed over her eyes in the wind. Watching her, he felt himself transported back through the months to that night in the Infirmary when Amy had washed his wound. He wanted to ask her: How did you know, Amy? How did you know my mother misses me, and how much I miss her? Because I never told her, Amy. She was dying, and I never told her how much I would miss her when she was gone.

“Who’s Jacob Marley?” he asked.

Her brow furrowed with a sudden grief. “He wore the chains he forged in life,” she said, and shook her head. “It was such a sad story.”

They followed the river, into the afternoon. They were in the foothills now, leaving the plateau behind. The land began to rise and thicken with trees-naked, twiglike aspens and huge, ancient pines, their trunks wide as houses, towering over their heads. Beneath their vast canopies, the ground was open and shaded, pillowed with needles. The air was cold with the dampness of the river. They moved, as always, without speaking, scanning the trees. All eyes.

There was no Placerville; it was easy to see what had occurred. The narrow valley, the river carving through it. In spring, when the snowpack melted, it would be a raging torrent. Like Moab, the town had washed away.

They sheltered that night at the river’s edge, stretching the tarp between a pair of trees to fashion a roof and laying their sleeping bags in the soft dirt. Peter was on the third shift, with Michael. They took their positions. The night was still and cold, filled with the sound of the river. Standing at his post, trying to keep motionless despite the chill, Peter thought of Sara, and the feeling he had detected between her and Hollis in that private gaze, and realized he was honestly happy for the two of them. He’d had his chance, after all, and Hollis obviously loved her, as she deserved to be loved. Hollis had told him as much, he realized, that night at Milagro, when Sara was taken: Peter, you of all people should know I have to go . Not just the words themselves but the look in his eyes-an absolute fearlessness. He’d given it up, right then; he’d given it up for Sara.

The sky was just paling when Alicia stepped from the shelter and walked toward him.

“So,” she said, and gave a loose-jawed yawn. “Still here.”

He nodded. “Still here.”

Each night without sign made him wonder how much longer their luck could hold. But he never thought about this for long; it seemed dangerous, like daring fate, to question their good fortune.

Alicia said, “Turn around, I have to go.”

Facing away, he heard Alicia unbuckle her trousers and lower herself to a squat. Ten meters upstream, Michael was resting on the ground with his back against a boulder. Peter realized he was fast asleep.

“So what do you make of this business?” Alicia asked. “Ghosts and angels and all that.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Peter,” she scolded, “I don’t believe that for a second.” A moment passed, then: “Okay, you can turn around now.”

He faced her again. Alicia was cinching her belt. “You’re the reason we’re here, after all,” she said.

“I thought Amy was.”

Alicia turned her eyes away, toward the trees on the far side of river. She let a silent moment pass. “We’ve been friends as long as I can remember. Nothing can change that. So what I’m going to tell you is between us. Understood?”

Peter nodded.

“The night before we left, the two of us were in the trailer outside the lockup. You asked me what I saw when I looked at Amy. I don’t think I ever answered, and probably I didn’t know at the time. But I’ll tell you my answer now. What I see is you.”

She was regarding him closely, wearing an expression that was almost pained. Peter fumbled for a response. “I don’t… understand.”

“Yes, you do. You may not know it, but you do. You never talk about your father, or the Long Rides. I’ve never pressed. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t know what they meant to you. You’ve been waiting for something like Amy to come along your whole life. You can call it destiny if you want, or fate. Auntie would probably call it the hand of God. Believe me, I’ve heard those speeches too. I don’t think it matters what name you give it. It is what it is. So you ask me why we’re here, and I’ll say, sure, we’re here because of Amy. But she’s only half the reason. The funny thing is, everybody knows it but you.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. Ever since Amy had come into his life, he had felt himself caught in a strong current, and that this current was pulling him toward something, something he had to find. Every step along the way had told him so. But it was also true that each of them had played a part, and a great deal had simply come down to luck.

“I don’t know, Lish. It could have been anyone that day at the mall. It could have been you. Or Theo.”

She dismissed this with a wave. “You give your brother too much credit, but you always did. And where is he now? Don’t get me wrong, I think he did the right thing. Maus was in no shape to travel, and I said so from the start. But that’s not the only reason he stayed behind.” She shrugged. “I’m only saying this because you might need to hear it. This is your Long Ride, Peter. Whatever’s up that mountain, it’s yours to find. Whatever else happens, I hope you get that chance.”

Another silence fell. Something about the way she was speaking disturbed him. It was as if these words were final ones. As if she were saying goodbye.

“You think they’re all right?” he asked. “Theo and Maus.”

“I couldn’t say. I hope so.”

“You know,” he said, and cleared his throat, “I think Hollis and Sara-”

“Are together?” She gave a quiet laugh. “And here I was, thinking you hadn’t noticed. You should tell them you know. Personally, it will be a load off everyone’s mind.”

He was completely astounded. “Everyone knows?”

“Peter.” She met his eye with a correcting frown. “This is exactly what I’m taking about. It’s all well and good to save the human race. You could say I’m in favor. But you might want to pay a little more attention to what’s right in front of you.”