Anywhere But Here (The Starborn Ascension) (10 page)

I didn’t expect it, but Gilbert’s words make me perk up. Yesterday, I hadn’t cared about finding a place that was safe and warm, but today is different. I feel the loss of Lucas no less than I did last night, but I know that the only way to survive is to move forward - to think forward. If we can be in Crestwood by tonight, it will be a large victory, but it breaks my heart to know that Lucas was only two days away from protection.
 

“Sounds good to me,” Ethan says. “I just hope they take us in.”

“They will,” Gilbert says. “That’s their reputation.”

I know what Ethan and Gilbert mean. It’s hard being a traveler on the road all the time. Generally there are three types of people. First, there are those that are part of a group, village, or town, holed up in a secure or at least semi-secure location. Everything they do is done from their home base. Second, there are people like us - travelers who are looking for groups or villages to join, but rarely find success. People are wary of travelers because they often believe they are part of the third type of people - raiders. Raiders loot, murder and take over small groups, relying on people’s weaknesses in order to survive. Instead of going out and making runs at a hospital or deserted town, they take from those that have done so themselves. Raiders are the reason why it’s so hard to find a group to be a part of. Lucas and I had been traveling for three years and we had only recently heard that the town Crestwood opened its doors to people. Up until now, the two of us sought out temporary shelters in small villages for a month or two at a time. But those were often attacked and plundered so we were forced to keep moving. I just hope Crestwood isn’t too good to be true.
 

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.
 

As we scan the street in front of us, I see nothing and I start to wonder if my mind was playing tricks on me. But if I
did
see something then it wouldn’t have been a greyskin, because a greyskin never hides. They are too dumb to hide. I take a couple of more steps forward when I hear a clicking noise to my left. I point my gun toward the noise and what I see makes my stomach drop.
 

Two men stand in front of us, rifles pointed at our heads.
 

“Put it down,” one of them says.
 

“We don’t want any trouble,” I say. “We’re just looking for some fuel.”

“There’s no fuel here,” the other says.
 

“You raiders?” Ethan asks.
 

The two men are silent.
 

That’s when I hear more movement to my right where I first thought I saw a shadow. There are three more people standing with guns pointed at us. For a brief second I think that these people are the same raiders from yesterday, but they aren’t. And there’s no Scarecrow.
 

“There was a third,” one of them says.
 

“He’s looking for a tube to siphon gas,” I say. My hands are shaking, leaving me little confidence for a clear shot at any of them.
 

“Just set the gun on the ground. And you, the bat.”

I hear the bat fall to the asphalt behind me and I know Ethan has given up. “Just do it,” Ethan whispers to me.

“They’re going to kill us,” I say.
 

“Not if you drop your gun,” one of the men says.
 

I bend down and set the gun on the ground, my hands still shaking. “What do you want with us?” I ask.
 

“Foley is our territory,” says one of the men to my right. He has white, pale skin and red hair and he seems about as nervous as I do.

“We are travelers,” Ethan says. “We’re trying to get to a town far north of here but we’re almost out of gas.”

“We’ve got all the gas,” the redhead says. “Best you just move on.” His eyes instantly light up as he sees Gilbert behind us. I turn just in time to see him take cover behind the SUV, his rifle trained on the redhead.

“Put your weapons down!” Gilbert yells out. “I swear I’m not afraid to go down fighting.”

“There is no need for bloodshed,” the redhead says. “Just put down your gun and drive away from here.”

They clearly aren’t raiders. If they were, they would have already tried to kill us to see what supplies we might have. If they were looking for food, they would be out of luck. But if they were looking for…
weapons!
Everyone wants weapons.

“We’re willing to make a trade!” I blurt out.
 

“We aren’t doing anything until your friend here puts down his gun,” the redhead says.
 

I turn and glare at Gilbert. His jaw is clenched and he looks back at me like I’m one of the enemies, but he knows we will all die if he doesn’t give up. He stands from his crouch and tosses the rifle to the ground, glaring at me the whole time.
 

But I ignore him and turn back to the redhead. “Now will you be willing to talk?”

“I don’t know what you might have to offer,” he answers, gun still pointed at Gilbert. “We are a fairly small group with few resources.”

“But you have fuel,” I say. “And we have weapons.”

He swallows and looks at me, but he says nothing.
 

“We need the weapons far less than we need fuel,” I say.
 

“What are you doing?” Gilbert says through grinding teeth.
 

“We have rifles, handguns, and plenty of ammunition,” I continue. “All we ask is for a full tank of gas and a bit of food for the road.”

I am met with a long silence. Redhead and a few of his men whisper at each other so we can’t hear them.

“We need those weapons,” Gilbert says to me.
 

I turn my head to see Gilbert's face twisted into a mix of anger and fear. “Not more than we need to get to Crestwood. You said it yourself, we could get there by the end of the day if we had a full tank. We won’t need the weapons there.”

The redhead calls out to me. “Is your group in full agreement?” he asks.