Humanity (3 page)

He would die.

The meat sizzled as he slapped thick
strips directly onto the burning wood. It took only moments for the smell to
waft through the air toward me.

My stomach growled again.

Compelled by my hunger, I started walking
forward.

“Why isn’t rape your sort of thing?” I
asked, settling in on the other side of the fire. I had been trying to sound
blasé, but the words came out strained.

He glanced at me as he continued to work
on the deer, slicing and slapping meat into the fire. “That’s personal,” he
replied shortly.

I grunted. “Well, I think you owe me
whatever I want, considering you killed my parents.”

He pointed the bloody knife at me. “I owe
you a meal, as far as I see things, and that is all.” He stood, grabbing the
deer carcass and walking off, knife still in hand.

“Where are you going?” I asked, hurriedly
standing to follow.

“I’m hiding the deer up a tree for later,
and then I’m going to the stream to wash up. You feel free to stay with the
fire.”

I followed beside him.

“Or not,” he muttered.

“You said all you owed me was a meal.
What if you just leave me back there and I never see you again?”

“Sentimental, are we?”

“No,” I responded, irritated. “I’m going
to kill you, remember?”

“So you’re going to follow me to make
sure I don’t escape while you’re still unarmed?”

“Yes.”

“And then what? You’ll wait for bullets
to magically appear in your rifle?”

“I didn’t say I had a perfect plan, but I
can’t just let you walk away.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“You’re assuming a lot on the possibility
of getting a weapon while never leaving my side.”

“What do you mean? I get a weapon, then
you’re dead.”

“No.
If
you get a weapon, then
you’re
dead.
Remember? The moment you become a threat, I kill you. Feel free to follow me
for as long as you want, but it might not end the way you’d like. In the
meantime, I’ll be glad of your company.”

I twisted my mouth at this. “You will?”

“Yes,” he said, stopping beside a tree
and shoving the still-bloody knife into the bark. “It gets lonely, being on my
own. I’m sure, one day, you’ll know the feeling. That is, if you succeed in
killing me.” Using the knife to support his weight, he put his toes against the
bark and started climbing.

I couldn’t help but admire the way he
managed to climb with one arm, still carrying the doe in the other. Every time
he pulled the knife free to replace it further up, there was a split second of
free-fall with his toes braced against the bark, knees bent to an acute angle –
and then the knife was back in the tree, and he kept climbing, taking a few
more steps upward.

The branch he chose to place the doe upon
was only a few heads higher than his height, than that of an abnormally tall
male, but it would definitely cut back on other animals finding the food, as
well as other humans – as long as they didn’t happen to look directly up this
tree.

He dropped back down to the ground,
sparing me a glance as he started for the nearby stream.

“I already know how it feels to be
alone,” I told him bitterly, watching as he squatted down and rinsed his hands
and knife; he cupped some water in one hand, splashing it onto his face and
neck, rinsing away the grime that had been there.

“No, you don’t,” he replied, standing and
walking past me; he gave me a wide birth as he headed back for the fire. “You
only know the initial sting of loss. You haven’t had time to dwell on that
loss, and you haven’t had time to really be alone. That’s part of the reason
you’re so focused on killing me; it gives you something to focus on, besides
the reality of your lonely future.”

“But I’m already alone,” I insisted.

“No,” he said, looking at me. “You’re
with me. You’re not alone.”

“You don’t count.”

He laughed. “Good to know. Ready to eat?”

The smell of the deer meat made my mouth
water; it was still sizzling away, not too far from where we’d gone. The man
stuck his knife into a slice, holding it up, out of the flames.

“You have something to hold this with?”
He asked. “I ain’t giving you my knife.”

“What are you afraid of?” I taunted,
turning to rummage in my mother’s backpack, bringing out a flat piece of spare
wood she’d stored there for whatever reason. We’d had knives, too, like the one
this man had. However, Dad had always been the one to carry them, and I had
unthinkingly left them with his body, just as I’d left all the other guns.

I held out the board, and the man leaned
forward, carefully easing the meat off his knife and onto it. The meat was gray
and white from the ashes of the fire, but smelled enticingly good. I
immediately leaned down and began to tear chunks out of it with my teeth.

I watched the man as I ate, as he ate,
loathing the way he used his jaw to rip the meat away from his knife. He was
only eating this meat because he had killed my parents.

But yet . . . how did
I
even have an appetite right now? All I
could understand was the incurable hunger, and that I had to satisfy it. The
hunger was like every single other day of my life, and it didn’t feel any
different today, even though my parents were gone. Why was that?

Even though there was a certain shock
churning in my skull, tying my gut into knots, I had always known this would
happen. That they would be gone one day. That they could be gone any day. That
was how the world was: ripping life away with absolutely no notice.

That knowledge did not stop me from
wanting to kill this man, from wanting to rip his throat out the same way he
ripped my parents’ lives away, the same way he was ripping the deer flesh with
his teeth before chewing and swallowing it.

“Want seconds?” he asked.

I glared at him with all the hatred I
felt. Him. He represented all the evils of the world. Why should anyone be
separated from their loved ones?

He faltered at my glare. “Er, is that a
no?”

“No, it’s a yes. Give it to me.”

“Right.” He speared the meat with his
knife and leaned forward to place it on my proffered plate. He muttered
something under his breath.

“What was that?” I asked, regaining my
composure as I began to eat again.

“I called you a crazy chick.”

“Yes. Be careful, because one of these
days I’m going to rip your throat out.” I gave him a meaningful look.

He chuckled. “I understand you’re
serious, but you need to relax a little. It’s going to be a while before the
opportunity presents itself – if ever.”

I wanted to punch him for suggesting I
relax, but he’d shoot me if I tried, so instead I just finished my dinner.

“Are you thinking more clearly now?” he
asked.

“If by ‘thinking clearly’ you mean, am I
going to let you live, then no,” I replied, settling more comfortably against
my tree, staring him down as he wiped his hands and knife clean on a rag.

“That’s unfortunate,” he replied amiably,
sticking the knife in his pocket and reclining backward. “I was truly hoping
you’d be more reasonable.”

I didn’t grace his comment with an
answer, focusing instead on how nice it would feel to strangle him. The fire
cracked, and darkness settled. When I was certain he wouldn’t see in the
shadows cast by the fire, I pulled the bracelet from my shirtsleeve, grasping
it in my hands and finally allowing a few tears to trickle out. The sound of
the fire was soothing, but not soothing enough to push away the ache in my
chest as I recognized that, if my parents were still alive, we would by lying
together now, my hand grasped in Mom’s, and Dad’s arm wrapped around her.

Slowly, though, before I truly recognized
I was doing so, I fell asleep.

Chapter 3

The sun beat against my eyelids, and I
squeezed them more tightly shut to block out the light, my fist crushing the
object in my hand. My eyes felt heavy, worn, sore. I floated between the states
of sleep and wakefulness, my mother’s face dancing in front of me.

I heard the crunch of boots near my head,
and reality came flooding back.

My eyes were sore because I’d cried as I
fell asleep, missing the feel of Mom’s hand in mine. The object I was crushing
in my fist was the silver and blue bracelet, her last token of affection for
me. The crunch of boot was almost assuredly her escaping murderer.

I jumped to my feet, shoving the bracelet
back up my arm and looking around for a glimpse of him.

The fire was a dead pile of ashes now,
and the man was just beyond that, disappearing into the trees.

I ran to catch up with him.

“You left without me!” I accused.

He rolled his eyes. “I have a skinny
teenaged girl on my tail trying to kill me, and you think I’m just going to sit
around and wait for her to wake up?”

“But I thought you enjoyed my company.”

“To an extent. It’s bad for morale to be
glared at all the time by your sole companion. I’m not going out of my way to
let you tag along; I’m not
that
lonely. Though I did appreciate you not trying to steal my knife and kill me in
my sleep last night.”

His last words were like a knock to the
head. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I was so exhausted after the big meal, and
had just wanted to lay down, and had been missing my parents’ presence so much.
. .

“Though now that I’m mentioning it, don’t
try it. I’m a light sleeper; it’s a good way to get yourself strangled.”

I grunted, annoyed.

After a moment, though, I couldn’t help
asking. “What’s on the agenda today?” Maybe if I knew what the day held in
store for me, I’d be able to see my opening in advance – the opening I needed
to kill him.

“That’s none of your business, is it?
It’s
my
agenda, and, even if you’re tagging
along, it’s still
my
agenda. Be
careful. I might just kill you out of annoyance at this rate.”

I blew my bangs out of my face. It wasn’t
like I
wanted
to come along. But I
couldn’t just let him walk free, either.

We fell into silence. What
did
end up being on the agenda involved
washing some more at the stream, bathroom breaks, and what seemed like random
circle walking, though I knew he was probably just checking that the area was
safe. I gave him some space after he made the comment about my presence being
annoying, but I was always a short stone’s throw away from him. He cooked some
more meat and let me have some. He cleaned the knife. We did some more circle
walking. We settled back in at the fire.

“The meat’ll only be good for another
twelve hours or so,” I remarked, leaning against the trunk of a tree and
watching him.

“You don’t blink much, do you?” he asked,
glancing at me before looking back up at the canopy. Staring.

“Are we moving on tomorrow? Going
somewhere else?”

“Why? You need to tell someone goodbye?”
He was still staring at the canopy.

“No.”

“Then it doesn’t matter. I told you, I
ain’t sharing my agenda with you. You’ll just have to wait till tomorrow and
see. Or you can run off and do something else. Let me go. Live your life.”

“I don’t have a life. My parents were my
life.”

“That’s sad. But, you know what? Life is
about exploration. You could always move on, explore other towns, visit a few
shopping malls, try to skip the border. You don’t have to focus on this
vendetta you have against your parents’ killer.” He didn’t look away from the
canopy.

“Is that what you’re going to do?” I
asked, jumping on the suggestions.

“Maybe. It’s none of your business,
remember?”

I paused, still watching him. “What do
you think about when you do all that staring?” I asked.

“Well, what do
you
think about when you do all
your
staring?”

He’d noticed me watching him. Good. “I
think about how satisfying it’ll be to kill you.”

“Really. Huh.”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“I think about the world. About how
Mexico won’t help us, and how China is still trying to suck away all our
resources without involving us. I think about God, and about my family, and
about all the different places I’ve been.”

“You had a family?”

“None of your business. But, mostly, I
think about nothing.”

“How can you possibly think about
nothing?”

He lifted his head from the tree base to
look at me; he smiled. “With practice.”

~ * ~

After a while, I fell asleep sitting up
against the tree and, when I woke, it was the pale dark of dawn. I gave my eyes
a moment to adjust.

There he was, lying against a trunk on
the other side of the clearing, arm thrown over his eyes. It was the same spot
he had been sitting when I’d fallen asleep last night.

I quietly groaned as I realized my
stupidity in this situation. Had I really allowed myself to fall asleep first?
He could have been waiting for that, and simply walked away from me. I never
would have seen him again, and I would never have achieved my revenge.

Maybe I was just as stupid as he said I
was.

I watched him some more, studying the way
he lay on his back, only slightly tilted to the side. A finger twitched. The
rest of his body lay perfectly straight, boots parted by half a foot. His knife
glinted from his pocket.

My heart sped as I considered the knife.
It was in the perfect position for me to slide it out without him noticing. And
then I could slit his throat.

I crept to my feet and edged closer to
him, carefully placing my shoes along the leaf-strewn ground. I moved as little
as possible, only as much as I needed to crouch down beside him.

My heart pounded. His chest moved up and
down in deep, rhythmic movements. My fingers encircled the handle of his knife,
and I slowly pulled it out. I shifted it in my grip, and my heart sped even
further. Then, I plunged it at his throat.

A hand snatched my wrist, even as I was
centimeters away from breaking skin.

My heart burst.

I yanked at my hand, trying to free it,
but he wouldn’t let go, arm still over his eyes. His fingers were cool and
rough against my skin.

“How’d you know I was here?” I couldn’t
help demanding, though I wasn’t pleased at the whine that crept into my voice.

“You’re breathing loudly. I told you I
was a light sleeper.”

His words filled me with anger, and that
anger boiled over as he pulled his arm from his face and grinned at me
mockingly.

His hand was still clamped onto my wrist,
but I stood and kicked my shoe into his ribs as hard as I could.

“Ouch!” he screeched, releasing my wrist
and jumping to his feet.

I still held the knife, and immediately
lunged at his gut. His hand interfered, and the blade scraped into flesh right
before he secured his grip around my knuckles. He squeezed until I dropped the
knife to the ground.

He picked it up, regarding me. “You’re
deadlier than I thought,” he said, shaking the handle at me. He pocketed it
before wiping his bleeding arm off on his shirt; the crimson smeared on the
fabric. “God, this is going to need a wrap.” He leaned over to the tree trunk
and reached into his open backpack, bringing out the rag I’d seen before; he
swathed it around his arm, tying a tight knot at the top.

He sighed, shouldering the pack. “I guess
this means I should kill you now,” he murmured, pursing his lips as he looked
at me.

I stood there, waiting, feeling the
danger in his words.

He rolled his eyes toward the sky. “Good
grief,” he exclaimed, then started in the direction I now associated with the
stream.

I walked after him. “So you’re
not
going to kill me?”

“Just keep your distance, alright?”

I trailed behind him the rest of the day,
not saying a word. He fed me again, but we ate in silence. When we were done
eating, he got up and walked away without comment. I followed, noting that we
were finally leaving the area behind. We were leaving behind the city in which
he had shot my parents in cold blood.

We were also leaving Alice, but I knew
Alice would do just fine without me.

We left the dense foliage we had been in
for the last few days, climbing down cement road blockers to reach what had
once been a very busy freeway; four lanes reached in either direction. Weeds
fought their war against the asphalt, breaking through in clumps.

The man chose to walk in the dead center.

I followed.

We walked.

That night, he simply left the street and
laid in the grassy ditch nearby. I followed him, though this time I made sure
he fell asleep before me. As I waited, I wondered whether there was a bigger
risk of him leaving after I fell asleep, or leaving before I woke. Was there a
way for me to fall asleep after him, and also wake before him? We had no form
of alarm to alert me to the need to rise. It seemed hopeless.

The next morning, however, I
distinguished the rustle of grass under his feet as he stood. My mind
immediately snapped into focus, and I jumped to my feet, afraid of losing track
of him if I didn’t move quickly enough. Could I train myself to be aware of his
movements at all times?

If I could, my advantage would greatly
increase. Right now we abided by a careful understanding: he wouldn’t kill me
until I was a threat, and, at that point, one of us would kill the other. He
was already at such a great advantage, any more that I could gain gave me more
than just a little hope.

We kept walking.

I tried not to think about my parents,
instead thinking about the different points in the man’s body that I could
shoot – which ones would cause instant death, and which would draw out the
pain, causing him to truly suffer before he finally died.

Around noon, he veered off the road,
walking instead to a set of bushes lining the street. He touched one, and then
put something in his mouth. He looked over his shoulder at me.

“Blackberries,” he called.

I was about five yards away from him, and
I ran that short distance to the bushes. The deer yesterday had been so long
ago that it almost felt as if it had never existed.

That single word was all he said, all he
had said since I’d almost killed him the day before. We ate. The berries were
thick on the bush, plentiful. I ate as many as I possibly could without
bursting.

He took his pack off his back and
unzipped it, then began plucking the berries off the bush and dropping them in.
I followed his example, knowing well enough that we might not find so many
berries again. Indeed, we might not find so much of any food again for a long
time.

Finally, he zipped the pack and
shouldered it. He plucked a few more berries, shoving them into his mouth.
“Ready?” he asked me.

I raised both eyebrows at him. “Are you
waiting for me?”

“Not if you don’t get a move on, I’m
not,” he said roughly, turning back to the road, away from me, and quickly
returning to his usual pace.

I hurriedly grabbed a couple more
handfuls, zipped my backpack, then jogged to catch up with him. He was so
weird.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Twenty-eight,” he answered.

I waited.

He was silent.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how old I
am?”

“Why would I?”

“Because that’s how civilized
conversation works.”

“I hate to remind you of this, but we’re
not in civilized society right now, so whether the conversation is civilized
hardly matters.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

I flushed. “Well, we’re doing a lot of
walking. It gets boring. Maybe not for you, since you have so much practice at
thinking about nothing, but
I’m
bored.” Mostly, I was tired of silence.

“Well, what would entertain you? You could
go do whatever it is, instead of coming with me.”

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“
I
am going somewhere that should be of no consequence to you.”

“It
is
of consequence to me.”

“It shouldn’t be. You need to let things
go. As I already pointed out, we don’t live in civilized society. I killed your
parents out of a basic need for survival. End of story. Move on.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not happening.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to be doing
something else right now? As you pointed out, you’re bored.”