J. Mitchell - Midnight City

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she continued quickly. “I’d… love to. It’s just I have things to fix in Midnight City.”

Holt looked puzzled. “But Midnight City is where you’re wanted. You’re going back there?”

“On my own terms, yes. I still have things to make right. And I left someone there, someone important, and I have to help him.”

Holt shuffled on his feet. “Him?”

Mira shut her eyes a moment. Why had she said that? Did she have to divulge every little piece of information? Did she have to keep on ruining the moment? Then again… wasn’t it the truth? Didn’t Holt deserve to know, after everything he was giving up for her ?

“His name is Ben,” Mira said. “He was framed for the same thing I was, and when I had the chance to escape, it meant leaving him. They’ll kill him in my place unless I go back.”

“And the plutonium,” Holt said. “It’s for what? Trading for his life?”

Mira nodded. “More or less.”

“I see,” Holt said, remaining quiet. “Well, it’s probably best, anyway. It’s… harder for two people to survive than one. Besides, who knows, maybe we’ll see each other again.”

In that statement, Mira saw some of the walls Holt had knocked down over the last few days suddenly rebuild themselves. It hurt her. But what else could she do?

“Holt…,” she began gently.

Another voice cut her off before she could finish. Zoey’s voice, soft and young and incapable of grasping the emotional subtleties being displayed by the two older kids in front of her.

“I want to go to Midnight City too!” the little girl said, walking up with Max following behind.

“Maybe Mira will take you with her,” Holt said, “if you ask her nicely. But Max and I are headed in a different direction now.”

“But… you and the Max have to go.” Zoey’s face collapsed with disappointment. “It’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“Listen, kiddo,” Holt kneeled down to her. “It’s been great traveling with you, and you’ve become a real friend, but Max and I have things we need to do.”

“But I need you to come,” Zoey said.

“I promise, you don’t,” Holt replied. “You’re gonna be okay. Had my doubts at first, but you’re a survivor, I can tell.”

“I need you to come, Holt,” Zoey pressed. “Please come, you have to.” Mira watched the little girl clutch Holt’s shirt in her hands, saw her eyes begin to tear up. Mira shook her head. How did you say no to that?

Holt sighed, clearly thinking the same thing. “We’ll… see how things shape up, okay? Maybe we can keep traveling together until you have to turn north. No promises, though, all right?”

Zoey smiled, let Holt’s shirt free. “All right, Holt.”

Holt looked back up at Mira. “You going to eat those or what?”

Mira realized she was still holding the CupCakes. She looked down at the dusty packages.

“Are you… sure they’re edible?” she asked skeptically.

“Like I said, those things could outlast a nuclear winter. I’m not even sure they’re technically food.”

Mira laughed, and gingerly pried open the package. Then she closed her eyes as long-dormant parts of her memory recognized the scent of chocolate and moist cake that wafted up into the air. She remembered eating Hostess CupCakes in church. Her dad would slip them to her, out of sight, and she would eat them and giggle while her mom studied them both disapprovingly. But her dad always brought them, always passed them to her.

The memory wasn’t something she expected: she hadn’t thought of it in years. She stared down at the open package with an almost haunted look.

“Everything okay?” Holt asked.

Mira nodded. “They just… they just smell really good, is all. Share?”

Mira took a CupCake out of the pack, handed it to Holt. Then she broke her own CupCake in half, exposing the white creamy center, and handed a piece down to Zoey.

Mira took an experimental taste of her half. She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but it tasted just as moist as she remembered, the chocolate sweet and bitter at the same time. Either her memories of the CupCakes had faded enough that she didn’t notice how stale it was, or whoever had made these things put some really impressive preservatives in them. Either way, she was happy. She wasn’t sure anything had ever tasted so good.

Mira stuffed the rest of it in her mouth. Below her, Zoey laughed, did the same thing, getting chocolate all over her face, smiling as she chewed.

Holt took a bite of his… and then stopped as Max whined next to him. The dog stared up at the CupCake in Holt’s hand, his tail beating the ground.

“Fine, sure,” Holt said. He tossed the rest of the cake down to Max, who caught it in his mouth and swallowed it one giant snap.

Holt looked back at Mira. For her, the look was uncomfortable… and frustrating. She’d gotten everything she’d hoped for. She had the plutonium, she was no longer a prisoner, she was free to go where she wanted, and she could enact the plans she’d been making for months. So, with all that accounted for… why did it feel so empty? Why was this look between her and Holt laced with sadness?

She knew the answer. It was the same fear she had felt a minute ago, only now it had transformed. Everything was still going back to how it was, and this brief sidestep in her life was still nearing its end.

Below them came shouts from the trading post.

Mira and Holt looked down the hill and saw a group of kids leaving the structure of boats and vessels on the river and walking through the grass toward them. They’d finally been spotted.

“Welcoming party, I guess,” Holt said. He shouldered his pack and started down the hill. Max bounded after him.

Mira followed Holt with her eyes as he descended. The moment was officially over. Different paths that could have been taken had been passed by. But what else was there to do? Obligations could be a heavy thing, Mira thought.

She took Zoey’s hand and followed Holt down the hill.

HOLT AND MAX, Mira and Zoey walked down the hill. Ahead of them, the sun had begun its final descent. Even now, the light was growing softer. Warily, Holt watched the kids below moving toward them. Even though it was just a trading post, they could still be dangerous. It was a dangerous world, after all.

When they reached the bottom of the hill, they were close enough to the river to hear bubbling as it flowed peacefully past. Five kids stood protectively between them and the trading post. Holt could see four more behind them, waiting at the entrance in case they were needed.

The group in front of them was made up of four boys (between thirteen and sixteen years old, Holt guessed) and one girl, petite and short, with a pocket vest full of items and a sextant hanging from her belt. She looked younger than the boys, but in spite of her age, she radiated confidence and cunning, and Holt could tell she was sizing them all up. Even before the girl stepped forward, Holt figured she would turn out to be the Trade Master.

In Holt’s experience, most River Rat boats navigated up and down a particular river, flowing with the current downstream during the fall and winter, trading for the fuel and supplies they would need to power back upstream during the spring and summer. The riverboat crews, though they were young, had become expert salvagers and traders, and often set up trading posts like this one.

Because the floating trading posts comprised many different ships all tied together, it meant that they were manned by many different crews at once. When the ships decided to set up shop, a Trade Master was selected from all the ships’ Honchos (the River Rat term for “captain”) to run the operations for the post.