Demitria Lunetta - In the End

I shrug, trying to play it off. “So we’ll be safe on the way there. Fine. But, Brenna, just to be clear: I’m not returning to Fort Black. You’ll be on your own on the way back here.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she says with a grin. “You bet your ass I can take care of myself. Maybe I can even find something good to bring back and trade.”

“Okay, then,” I say, and return to staring at the blank page, contemplating my last words to Jacks. Finally I scribble:

Jacks. I’m in danger here. I have to go. Thank you for everything. Really.

I know it’s a lame note. Especially after all that’s happened between us. The fact is, I don’t know how I feel about Jacks. But I can’t let anyone into my life right now. Not in that way.

Besides, Jacks could never go with me—not with what I have ahead. He’s too afraid of the world outside the walls of Fort Black. Too afraid of the Floraes. And I’m afraid too, but I can’t let that stop me from doing what I have to do.

I put the note on Jacks’s pillow and look at Brenna. “Get what you need and meet me in the parking garage at my bike. You have one too, right?” As I ask, I remember she showed me hers the day I got mine. I’d never thought to ask her why she needed one. If she used to be a Scrapper, it makes sense she would have one.

“Yep, and I don’t need to pack anything. It’s not far. I should be back by nightfall.”

“Oh, wait.” I remember Tank and Pete were last at the front wall. “Is there any other way to get out of here besides through the front gate?”

“Yeah, there’s the back entrance, out the garage where our bikes are. But . . . Amy, what is going on? Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”

I look at her. “Brenna, has anybody ever wanted to kill you?”

Brenna pauses and then gives me a wicked grin and raised eyebrows that say, Look who you’re talking to here. She snorts out a laugh.

“Just every damn day,” she tells me.

After the constant noise of Fort Black, the silence on the outside is deafening.

Brenna and I leave the prison without incident. As we make our way through the garage to our bikes, I’m sure we’ll be spotted by one of Doc’s minions. But our departure is quiet, effortless. We unlock our bikes, check the tire pressure, and ride off. It’s not against the rules to leave; when I look up nervously at the top of the wall, the guard just nods and waves to Brenna. It all seems so easy.

Too easy.

We ride across the dusty flats, side by side. Before, this would be kind of a good time—the breeze rustling my hair, the sun beating down on my face. As I listen to the wind whistle in my ears, I can almost imagine everything is like it was Before. It feels . . . free.

“This is fan,” I say with a smile.

Instead of sharing my delight, Brenna responds, “Aw, shit. Look left.”

I swivel my head to where she’s pointing. In the distance, a Florae has spotted us and is making its way over, brought by the sound of our voices.

“So you sure this Florae gadget of yours is going to work?” Brenna says nervously, looking from side to side. Because of Fort Black’s intentionally rural locale, we’re forced to ride in the wide open. Aside from a few clumps of houses, there’s nothing around for miles.

“It will work. I was out here for months before I came to Fort Black and never had a problem.” I was also sure to keep it charged and turned it on before we left.

“I hope it doesn’t crap out now,” she mumbles. I can feel Brenna’s fear through her sudden silence as the Florae lopes toward us, gaining speed.

“Shit,” she says again, pedaling faster. As if that would help.

But at a hundred feet, the monster begins to tremble, its pale yellow-green skin shimmering in the brilliant light. It flinches back and veers away in the direction it came.

“There,” I breathe, slowing down. “See?”

“Holy crap,” Brenna says. “You got any more of those things?”

“No, only the one,” I tell her as she gives me a strange look.

We ride for another half hour. The deflected Florae has given Brenna confidence, and she begins to ask more about me, my past, and my family. Not wanting to reveal too much about my mother, I tell her about my father. All the things I loved about him. How he went on and on about buying organic and not wasting water.

“An eco-nerd, huh?” Brenna says. “Well, he sounds like he was a good guy.”

“He was.” There’s a tug in my chest, but the tears don’t start this time. I wonder, after all this death and sadness, if my tears just dried up. “What about you? Your family?”

Brenna just shrugs. “I never had a family, really. Hey, this car lot’s a little farther out than I thought,” Brenna says, distracting me. We stop to drink some water. I guzzle mine greedily before I hear Brenna curse.

“My water bottle’s got a hole in it.” She holds it up. A few drops fall from a pin-sized hole in the bottom of the bottle and onto the ground, splattering the pavement.

I shake my canteen, but I’ve drunk all my water. “Hang on,” I say. Water’s usually not hard to find, if you know where to look. I stop, flip my pack from over my shoulder, and check my supplies. “I’ve got a filter, but we’ve got to find a source.” I scan the horizon with my binoculars. “There’s a farmhouse over there,” I say, pointing. “Maybe there’s a stream or a well. If you think we have a few miles, maybe we should hit that.”

“You think it’s safe?”

“Safer than you passing out in this heat and me having to wheel your ass around. Let’s go.”

We make our way quickly over the parched, scorched ground, slowing down as we get close to the farm’s gate. Before, it must have been a lovely home. The gingerbread trim is still intact, as is a porch swing, drifting back lightly in the almost nonexistent breeze. But it’s only a shell of a house now. The paint is peeling, and the windows have all been shattered. Trash litters the yard—empty cans, wooden chairs, an old trampoline. Brenna leans over and picks up a pink hairbrush.

“Think I can trade this for something?” she asks, rubbing her shaved head.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be using it,” I say, grinning. “Hey, let’s stay away from the house. There might be a well back here.”

“Hell no,” Brenna says, walking up on the porch. “Let’s see what else is inside.”

“Brenna, I’m telling you, the place could be—”

Quick as a flash, a figure shoots out the door. Before Brenna can move, the attacker has her by the neck and holds up a rusty kitchen knife. It’s a woman, thin, with dark rings under her eyes.

“Occupied,” she whispers hoarsely. She’s so filthy, it’s impossible to tell her age, but she looks at least as old as my mother. Her hair is plaited in two greasy gray braids.

Brenna yells in frustration and struggles to free herself. The woman holds the knife closer to her neck.

“Be quiet, girl!” she shrieks between clenched teeth. “Do you want those things to come? I have nothing to lose by killing you.”

“Except that I’ll kill you ,” I say, purposefully loud. The volume puts her on edge.

The woman narrows her eyes and looks at me.

“How?” she sneers.

“It will take me exactly one second to take out my gun.” I lay my hand on it at my side.

The woman grits her teeth but holds tightly to Brenna. “What do you want?”

“Water,” I say. “That’s it.”

She looks at me warily.

“I’ll stay right here with your friend while you get it,” she says. “And don’t think about going inside. My man’ll kill you in a second.”