Jason Morrow - Anywhere but Here

Ethan and I cover the fire pit with dirt while Gilbert shuffles through the back of the SUV again.

“If this works out,” Ethan says, “it will be the start of a new life. Just think what it will be like to not have to worry about things like sleeping.” He shakes his head. “I can’t wait.”

“We still have a long way to go,” I say.

“Hey guys,” Gilbert calls out to us, “come check this out.”

I kick dirt over the last bit of coals and the two of us walk to the back of the SUV.

“I didn’t think to check under the seat last night, but I found this,” he says, holding up a black briefcase.

“Is it locked?” Ethan asks.

Gilbert sets the briefcase down and fiddles with the latches until they pop up. He looks up at us. “Nope.” When he opens the briefcase, there is nothing but a little box at the bottom of it. He pulls out the box and takes off the top revealing a short, metal cylinder. “It screws open in the middle,” he says. When it’s open, he finds a smaller glass cylinder within it.

“What is it?” I ask.

Gilbert holds the glass into the light. “It’s filled with liquid,” he says.

As the light hits it, there is a crimson tint to it.

“Is that blood?” Ethan asks.

“Looks like it,” Gilbert says.

“But why would it be so well preserved?” I ask.

Gilbert shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “But if those raiders took the time to protect this stuff like they did, then it must be worth something to them.” He slips the glass into the metal cylinder and screws it tightly, and then puts it in his pocket.

“You’re keeping it?” Ethan asks.

“Leverage,” Gilbert says. “If they do track us down, maybe it’s something we can use. Seems valuable to them, whatever it is.”

Ethan and I both nod at him. It is sound logic. If they come up on us and we threaten to smash the cylinder into the ground then perhaps they won’t be so quick to shoot us. But it also means that if they want this thing so badly, then they most certainly will be tracking us. I keep my thoughts to myself on the matter as I get into the back seat. Ethan takes the wheel and Gilbert sits in the front passenger seat with a map unfolded in front of him. He lets out a laugh and shows the map to Ethan.

“Check this out,” he says. “Mr. Scarecrow has marked all the spots his little group has hit.”

I lean forward and look at the map. There are certain areas that are circled with red ink. I look north and find Foley, thankful that it is not circled. “It might mean something else,” I say. “Could be the places he controls. His territories.”

Gilbert shrugs and sits back in his seat. “Maybe. I bet it’s the places he’s finished with though.”

“Where were we yesterday?” Ethan asks.

“Cadiz,” Gilbert answers. “It’s circled.”

“Then it probably wouldn’t be a place his group has looted, nor would it be his territory,” Ethan says. “Look.” He points far north of Foley. “Crestwood is circled too.”

“His targets then?” I suggest.

“Who knows what these psychos do,” Gilbert says, frustrated. “It doesn’t matter, let’s just get to Foley.”

Despite how tired I feel as we drive, I keep my eyes open. The towns we pass are empty and the landscapes are bleak. Occasionally we’ll pass a greyskin or two, but nothing worth worrying about. I try not to think about yesterday. I try not to think at all. The very act of trying not to think about something is, in its own way, dwelling on it. The more I try not to think, the more I see the image of Lucas falling to the ground, a fresh bullet wound in his head. I see the crooked, yellow grin of Scarecrow when he knows that he has us. I see the greyskins piling on top of us. I see how I might have been able to stop it all. Fate had provided a way for me to save Lucas, but my body was paralyzed in unbelief.

We drive for about forty-five minutes before Gilbert announces that we are almost there. He gives me one of the handguns and asks if I know how to use it. I don’t answer as I pull out the magazine and check the chamber for ammunition.

“I guess that means yes,” Gilbert says, an eyebrow raised.

I’m not used to traveling with a gun. Lucas had refused to do it because of the attention it could draw, but I see the use in them occasionally. A gun is far better than nothing at all.

When we come across the sign that welcomes us to Foley, Ethan begins to slow the SUV down. We drive for about five more minutes until we come to a gas station. Everything seems empty. There are no greyskins roaming the streets but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t around. I know what my job is here. As we get out, Ethan goes to the pumps to see if any of them will work while I stand behind the SUV, watching for any trace of movement.

I hear Gilbert and Ethan talking behind me. Gilbert lets out a curse when he sees that the pumps don’t work.

“What did you expect?” Ethan says. “They’ve probably been dry for a couple of years now.”

“Then we need to look in the station to see if there’s any tubing and a gas can,” Gilbert answers. “There are plenty of cars around that could probably be siphoned.”

“I’ll stay back with Waverly,” Ethan says.

Gilbert walks into the station with his handgun ready while Ethan comes up beside me. “I hope these cars have something in them,” he says.

“I doubt it,” I say. “Gas is just about the first thing to go, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Perseverance. Keep trying until we find some.”

The side of my mouth curls up and it’s the first time I’ve smiled in a long time. Ethan’s talk of perseverance last night got me thinking. It’s all we can do in this world. The moment you start to think you aren’t going to make it is the moment the enemy starts to win.

And if the enemy starts to win, I think, then all could be lost.

I look behind me and I no longer see Gilbert. He’s probably shuffling around in the station, being as quiet as possible. “Can he be trusted?” I ask.

Ethan shrugs. “He hasn’t done anything to make me think otherwise. Just his attitude, really. He’s a survivor. One to look out for.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I think if it came down to saving his own skin or risking his life for another, he’d save himself every time.”

“Wouldn’t most people?” I ask.

Ethan shrugs. “I suppose so. I’d like to think that there’s someone out there that would stick his or her neck out for me. I’d like to think that there’s someone I’d risk my neck for.” His eyes linger on me for a moment before he looks away.

“Problem with those people,” I say, “is that when they do stick their neck out for you, they die.”

“Like Lucas,” Ethan says below his breath.

“Yeah,” I say. But there have been others. And I’m sure that Ethan has lost plenty of people too.

A hint of movement, a shadow maybe, passes by a wall down an alley like a whisper. “Look,” I say. “Did you see that? Across the street.”

“What was it?” Ethan asks.

“I thought I saw something move.”

Ethan grips his baseball bat tightly, his eyes fixed on the buildings across from us. I hold the handgun in front of me and I switch the safety off. I don’t have an extra magazine, and it’s been a while since I’ve practiced. As I’ve said, Lucas didn’t like to travel with guns, but on occasion we would find ourselves with one. I take a few steps forward and Ethan follows behind.

“If it’s a lone greyskin…” Ethan begins.

“I’ll let you take it out,” I interrupt. I know the procedure of fighting greyskins. Use a gun as a last resort — a quiet kill is a quiet escape.