Humanity (4 page)

“Not so bored I’m going to let you
live
.” I sighed. “Look, my parents and I
used to play games when we were walking long distances. Sometimes we would see
who could find the most letters from the alphabet in the signs we passed. Other
times, if there were a lot of cars around, we’d see how many states we could
find listed on the license plates.” I nodded at a mossy car parked in the ditch
that we were passing, probably left there after it ran out of gas – cars became
useless to everyone once the government could no longer provide fuel. “More
than either of those, though, we would play ‘I Spy.’”

“You don’t say.”

I grimaced. “Here, I’ll start. I spy
something blue.”

“The sky.”

“See? Easy. Okay, your turn.”

He chuckled, as if I had said something
funny. “I spy something dirty.”

“Everything’s dirty. You’re supposed to
stick with colors.”

“Fine. I spy something brown.”

I gave him a look. “Are you trying to be
funny?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because
dirt
is brown.”

“Ah. How about that?” He grinned.

I sighed. “I spy something grey.”

“The clouds?”

“No.”

“The buildings?”

“
Which
building?”

“Let’s go back to thinking about
nothing.” He massaged a temple with one hand.

“How about twenty questions?”

“Okay, I’ll start: why are you following
me?”

I made a face. “That’s too easy. I’m
going to kill you, remember?”

“Oh, I forgot. Okay, how about this: if
you’re following me, and I know you’re going to kill me the first opportunity
you get, then how are you going to get a weapon?”

“I’m sure an opportunity will present
itself.” My eyes skirted my surroundings. Maybe if I just found a really heavy
rock. . .

“Yes, you’re pretty sure of yourself. But
I’m
sure that I’m never going near
anywhere that might have a weapon. Simply out of self preservation. Those
buildings over there?” He pointed. “They might be empty, already looted through
years ago. But they might also have ammo. Knives. Maybe even arching equipment,
if one’s a sporting center. You could go over there right now and check it out.
But you won’t, because then you’d lose track of me.
I
could go over there right now and check it out. But I won’t,
because then you might get a weapon. So how is your plan ever going to work
out?”

“Something will come up.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something might happen. I
can stay with you for as long as it takes. Do I get to ask any questions?”

“Sure, go for it.”

“What is your greatest weakness?”
“Chicken legs thickly slathered in spicy barbeque sauce, with hot, buttery
rolls, and a side of corn on the cob.”

“Stop it. You’re making me hungry.”

“You asked. I was just being honest.”

“What is the easiest way for me to kill
you?”

“A game of twenty questions.”

“If I offered you a huge plate of
barbeque chicken right now, would you agree to exchange me your gun for the
chicken?”
“Ah, a man’s last meal.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a difficult one, but I think the
answer is I’d keep my gun, shoot you with it, and then enjoy the chicken.”

“But you said you wouldn’t kill me unless
I was a threat.”

“If you had barbeque chicken on your
person right now, then you would be a threat to my sanity.”

“Hmm. Would you kill me for a single leg
of chicken?”

“Unquestionably.”

“Where are we going right now?”

“None of your business.”

“But this is twenty questions. You
have
to tell the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth. It’s
none of your business
.”

And so it went, day after day. We didn’t
always play the games I suggested, since he preferred to think about
nothing
, but we did talk a lot. In fact,
I had to do a lot of visualization to keep in mind that he was the man who
murdered my parents in cold blood. What with knowing his favorite color was
turquoise, and his favorite flavor of ice cream was cotton candy, he was
actually starting to seem like a real person.

“Restroom break,” I told him, about five
days later, as we passed the arch of a stone bridge.

He didn’t stop walking, just gave me a
little wave with his back to me.

I rolled my eyes and rushed to the
privacy the bridge provided, quickly pulling down my pants. It had been
yesterday morning that I realized I was no longer afraid of him disappearing
when I was asleep. He didn’t want me to know, but he
liked
having me around. He wasn’t going to end that before he had
to.

Gunfire sounded, and I tensed at the
sound, listening. Definitely more than one gun.

I rushed to pull my pants back on,
fumbling with the button as I leaned around the edge of the bridge, hoping to
see what was happening.

The man, my current traveling companion,
was being shot; I watched his body crumple to the ground.

Chapter 4

No! He was
mine
! It was my right to kill him, and I’d been waiting for the
opportunity for over a week! Thinking about the moment I would take his life
was the thought that energized my every step, my every movement, my every
breath
, and these people were taking it
from me!

I rushed forward, light on my feet,
already aware that there were three of them, and they each had their back
turned to me as they approached my fallen comrade; they hadn’t known I was with
him.

The nearest one to me was a man, and I
ran at him, closing in and then propelling my leg upward and into his groin. He
yelped, loosening his grip on his gun long enough for me to shove his elbow
forward and grab the gun from his slack hand. Then I spun the gun on his two
companions, shooting one in the head and the other in the neck. The owner of my
new gun grabbed at my shoulder, tightening his grip so that I couldn’t struggle
free. But he was too late: I turned the gun onto its owner, and aimed right
between the eyes.

As the life left his eyes, his grip on me
loosened, and he fell to the ground, where the other two already lay.

But my comrade lay there, too, and there
was a lot of blood.

“No, no, no!” I muttered, running to him
and falling to my knees beside him. I hurriedly turned him over. This took some
effort, since he was so big, but I managed it.

He’d already passed out from blood loss, but
there was definitely a pulse in his neck. I hurriedly observed the bullet
wounds: one in his arm,
 
another in the
opposite leg, and a third that had just grazed his ribcage.

Those people hadn’t been trying to kill
him, mostly just immobilize him.

I shoved that observation away, instead
puzzling through what I needed to do to save his life. First, stop loss of
blood.

I tore off one of his sleeves,
momentarily noting the fabric still wrapped around the place where I had
scratched him six days ago, before wrapping the sleeve just below his shoulder
and tying a snug knot. I tore his other sleeve as well, tying this one to his
thigh. The wound at his side would do okay with just the fabric surrounding it;
it was just a surface wound.

This wasn’t the first time I’d had to
remove bullets from a live person in order to save them. I had done this with
Dad, when we’d been out hunting without Mom; Mom had stayed behind that time,
at our commune of the season. Dad had gotten shot by someone trying to steal
from him. That time, I’d also killed the offender before setting Dad right. It
helped that he’d still been conscious at the time, and was able to guide me
through the steps.

This time, I was alone. But I had to do
it, because the man would die otherwise. And then I wouldn’t be able to kill
him myself.

I took off my backpack, still stained
from the long gone blackberries, and started rummaging around. I brought out a
tweezers, replaced the backpack on my back, then leaned in closely to the wound
on his thigh. I put one hand around it, using my fingers to push down around
the wound; it oozed blood, coating my fingers and revealing the glint of metal.

I stuck the tweezers right into the hole,
and plucked the bullet out, dropping it to the ground. I took one of Mom’s
shirts out of my backpack, tightly wrapping the wound.

I moved on to his arm, doing the same. I
had no more fabric at this point, though, so I tore off one of my own sleeves.
I took out my water and drizzled some into his open mouth. Then I sat, watching
him and waiting for him to wake up.

I practiced thinking about nothing,
clearing my mind of all thought as I waited. I tried not to think about what I
would do if he died. I tried not to think about my parents. I tried to think
about nothing.

Finally, his eyelids fluttered, though
they stayed closed. He swallowed.

“You awake?” I asked.

He grunted.

“Okay, listen: I think you’re at risk for
infection. Not only do we not know where the bullets came from, but I didn’t sterilize
my tweezers when I got the bullets out of you. So, now that you’re awake, I’m
going to help you lift your head. Then I’m going to place two pills in your
mouth that’ll stop any infections, and then I’ll give you some water. Got it?”

He grunted again, so I took that as a
yes. I fumbled in my backpack, looking through all the different bottles,
reading their labels and pulling from memory what each of those labels meant.
The first one I wanted, ciprofloxacin, was at the bottom. The second, metronidazole,
I came across on the way down. This incident was going to put a huge dent into
my supply, but what was I using them for? Nothing, at the moment. And, once I’d
killed this man, it might not matter to me anymore whether I died from
infection or not.

I took the pills out of their containers,
then slipped my right hand under his head, gently lifting. “Can you open your
mouth for me?” I asked.

He did so, and I placed the pills on his
tongue, quickly wiping my hand on my jeans afterwards. I lifted my water to his
lips. He took a sip, then lifted his undamaged arm, hand clasping the bottle
and chugging more thoroughly. As he drank, his eyes opened.

He pushed the bottle away and coughed. I
set his head back down on the asphalt. “You didn’t just poison me, did you?” he
asked hoarsely.

“What? No. I just saved your life.”

“Really. And why am I still alive?”

“Do you really think I was going to let
someone
else
kill you?”

“Wait. So you saved my life so that you
could kill me yourself?”

“
I’m
the one who’s going to kill you, and
no
one
is taking that from me. God, you have no idea how I felt, knowing you
were slipping away!”

“Like I was evading you.”

“Yes!” How’d he understand that? He
didn’t already know me that well, did he? I guess I’d never made my thoughts a
secret from him. I always wanted him to know how much I longed to kill him.

“Okay. So you saved my life so you could
kill me. Why am I still alive now?”

I snorted, then lifted the gun I’d gotten
from one of his attackers; I had set it off to the side in order to tend to him
before. I leaned forward and pulled his own gun out of his pocket. I
transferred it so I held both guns in one hand before leaning over him and
pulling his knife out of his other pocket.

I held them up for him to see. “Does this
look fair?” I asked.

“No. It looks like you’re using the
situation to your advantage.”

“Exactly. Hardly satisfying.” I replaced
his gun and knife where I’d found them. “It won’t be the same to kill you now,
with you so injured you can’t even stand, and with one arm useless for the time
being. I’m going to have to give you time to heal. Especially considering
you’re going to need several more doses of that medicine.”

“And you’ll be giving them to me?” he
asked.

I shrugged.

“Are we playing nurse and patient, then?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re going to heal me up, get me back
to my feet, and
then
kill me?”

“Pretty much.”

“Huh. Well, I admire your dedication.”

I twisted my mouth at the compliment.
“Let’s move to the shelter of the bridge. I don’t think we’ll be walking anywhere
for a while.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He used his good arm to
push himself into a sitting position, and then I let him place the arm around
my shoulders, helping to support his weight as he hopped along on his uninjured
leg. Once we reached the bridge, I eased him down against the wall.

“You drank all my water, so I’m going to
go get some more. I trust you’ll stay here?” I looked at him seriously.

“We both know I’m not going anywhere. Go
ahead. Bring some barbeque chicken back if you happen upon it.”

I smirked. “I’ll get right on that,” I
replied, then started off at a quick walk. I kept my new gun in hand. After he
was out of sight, I opened the gun’s cartridge and counted the bullets: enough
for me not to worry for a while, that was for sure.

I thought back on the change of
circumstances. I’d just saved this man’s life, simply so I could kill him when
he’d gotten better. It was a little disturbing, honestly. I thought it was
understandable, considering he killed my parents. I wanted him whole when I
tore him apart. But . . . something about the desire felt off. It clenched a
knot in my stomach, and made my heart skip a beat. Something about it was
different from when I was going to fulfill a simple kill, a simple life for
life exchange, a simple revenge. Something about this new dynamic wasn’t right.

That wasn’t going to stop me, though.
This man had killed my
parents
, and I
was going to make him pay for it.

A cluster of buildings sat at an exit
half a mile away, and I began walking toward the nearest one. I glanced around
as I went, looking for any small pools that might have filled at the last
rainfall. None were visible, which didn’t bode well for what I might find at
the exit.

As for the request, it was doubtful that
I would find any food at all, much less barbeque chicken. We were traveling on
an interstate freeway, and the stores closest to it would have been the first
to be raided for sustenance.

I climbed the exit ramp, and then headed
for my target building – one with large flower pots on either side of the door.
If those had no water in them, I’d have to resort to checking outdoor ashtrays,
which was definitely not my preferred source of rainwater.

Both the flower pots and the ashtrays
were dry. I looked around, trying to come up with a solution. Water wasn’t
generally scarce, especially considering we were in Oregon. However, this was
the one time of the year when it didn’t rain. We really should have been
traveling by a stream, that considered. Maybe the man had been doing that all
along, and knew where one close by was. . .

If I was waiting to kill him until after
he healed, I was going to have to ask him his name. I had kind of been avoiding
it, and he hadn’t asked me mine, either. A name just made him even more human.
But I couldn’t keep referring to him as “the man” in my head.

I guess the best way to kill someone was
to really know them. Maybe that’s what I was doing. Knowing exactly who he was
would make it easier to kill him, wouldn’t it? Okay, I suppose that point was
arguable. . . Or not. At the same time, I wanted a label for him. I wanted to
identify him, and hate him all the more for it.

I trudged back to the bridge, empty water
bottle in hand.

“Nothing?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s your name?”

He arched an eyebrow. “None – ”

“If you say ‘none of your business’ and
refuse to give me an answer, then I’m going to kick you in the ribs. And this
time it’s going to hurt a lot more, on account of your injury. Then, if you
don’t tell me, I’m going to kick you in your thigh. Then - ”

“Gideon.”

“Thank you.”

We were silent for a moment. I stared at
him.

He raised his eyebrows at me. “Ahem.”

“What?”

“I thought you were big on civilized
conversation.”

“And?”

“What is
your
name?” he asked pointedly.

“Oh.” I was hoping he wouldn’t care.
“Candace.”

“Huh.” He nodded. “You look like a
Candace. Skinny. Pretty. Conceited. Annoying.”

I scowled. “You don’t know where there’s
a stream, do you? Because we should have been following one, considering we’re
not getting much rain lately.”

“Shouldn’t you know your geography a
little better?”

“Dad always handled the geography.”

He nodded. “The nearest stream is about
ten miles that way.” He pointed back in the direction we’d come. “It’s the same
one we were visiting before; we parted with it yesterday.” He reached into his
backpack, pulling out a bottle. “I assume you don’t want to leave me for long
enough to double back, so, here.” He offered the bottle to me. “You’re out
because I drank yours, so you can have mine.”

I furrowed my brows at him, perplexed.
“Is it poisoned?”

“Why would I waste good water on
poisoning you when I have a loaded gun at my side?”

He was right; he wasn’t going to poison
me. It was just that . . . “You said you’d kill me as soon as I became a
threat. Drinking your water leaves us with no water while you are immobile,
thereby causing me to be a threat to your life.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I think it does.” I took a drink.

“No.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes before sitting
down a few feet away from him, against the same stone wall he was leaning against.

We were silent for thirty minutes.

“Twenty questions?” I asked.