-4-

 

FOR HANNAH, IT WAS A LONG AND SLEEPLESS NIGHT. Despite the man's protection from Shrikes, there was no-one to protect them from the man. Hannah watched him sleep and waited for him to wake up. Hannah didn't know what to make of him after their conversation last night, with talks of an angel and plagues… Hannah encountered legions of madmen on her journey to the coast: men who'd become blind by a consuming stupidity that made them paranoid and violent and unintelligible. She never talked to one before. Maybe all madmen sounded like their host. Maybe the disease had only started to seep into his brain, which was why he seemed so coherent... Or maybe he was rational and knew what he was talking about. That was the scariest thought.

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Morning came and the man gave them a simple breakfast of canned beans and corn. To his guests, it might as well have been Thanksgiving. The man packed a pillowcase with eight cans of food and a bottle of water and gave it to Hannah without a word. He put his boots on and readied for the day. She studied him. He seemed less and less threatening in the daytime… and less and less mad. 

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The man sent them outside to wait for him. Hannah gazed at the window where the Shrike tried to get in. Traces of blood remained but the body had been buried. The bearer of the gnarled hand was also gone. The man must have taken care of him, too.

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The man slung a rifle over his shoulder and locked the house behind him. He wore a respirator like Hannah's, but his mask was full-faced and had goggles built-in. The man gave them a single look before he started walking.

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He led them into the forest. The dust felt even thicker than normal after a night in a dustless room. Despite the smell and the heat, Hannah could have lived in that room. A place without Shrikes, without thick dust… A place where there was food and water and protection. That's what she wanted, wasn't it? Why leave? Because it won’t last, she thought bitterly. The food won’t last. The man will die. There will be nothing to keep us safe and fed. Memories of the coast remained with her like phantom pains after a violent amputation. The water called to her, promising healing of invisible wounds. Hannah would answer the call. She had to.

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“Does he speak?” the man asked, his voice muffled behind his mask. Hannah looked to Sable who walked steadily beside her. 

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“No.”

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“How long have you traveled with him?”

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“Six months. I found him hiding in the trunk of a car. Everyone else in the town was dead.”

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“Shrikes?”

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“Soldiers.” There were tank tracks, bullet holes, boot prints…

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The man gave Sable a glance. “And you’ve managed to bring him with you through the Wastes.”

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“He’s the reason I keep going. I almost gave up after I found that town. I was starving and every building had been ransacked. I found him just as I’d lost hope. If I hadn’t heard him crying… well, I wouldn’t be here.”

​

The soldier said nothing. Hannah couldn’t see his face because of the respirator. She wondered what he was thinking. She turned her attention to trees ahead of them and noticed a bit of color amidst the gray dust. There was a small red blotch in the dust that settled in the crux of a tree. The red seeped down, like a little river. A drop of blood came through the dust and dripped from the branch. An animal had died upon the limb. Shrikes were territorial. They often fought each other for dominance. The little one always lost.

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Hannah stared at the red blotch on the tree, imagining the little mauled body beneath the newly settled dust. She searched the other trees and wondered where the victor had gone. 

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“What do they get from us?” she asked the soldier. “Why do Shrikes take over the dead?”

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“Corpses provide them with protection,” he said. “Like nests of flesh and bone. And, if a Shrike is starving…”

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He left the thought unspoken, but it didn’t matter. We’re made of meat, she thought.  Hannah held her throat unconsciously as though to protect it from a little black beak. They’re not going to eat me. I won’t let them. She took Sable’s hand and held it tightly.

​

After a few hours of walking, the man finally stopped. He’d led them to what was once a town: brick buildings lined the streets, covered in dust. They reminded Hannah of abandoned hornet nests with passageways hollow and empty and gray. The man pointed at tall metal street lights that lined what was once Main Street like fence posts. Their lightless lamps looked like heads bowed in prayer.

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“Follow the poles and it will take you straight to the coast. There’s no food from here to there, so don’t waste your time and don’t stop moving. If you travel through the day and night, you’ll reach the coast by morning.”

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“Sable will get tired.”

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“Then carry him. Just don’t stop. And for god’s sake, don’t fall asleep.”

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“OK.”

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The man’s eyes narrowed. Hannah couldn’t tell if he was about to chasten her or about to cry. It looked like it could have been either.

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He drew a weapon from his belt: the handgun he’d used to kill the Shrike yesterday. He ejected the clip and showed it to her. She counted four bullets. 

 

“That’s all I have,” he said, then pointed at a lever on the side. “Here’s the safety. Make sure you chamber the first round before use.”

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Hannah nodded. He handed her the weapon. It felt heavy in her hands. She stared at it, wondering how she’d thank him for this. She had nothing to give him in return. When she looked up from the weapon, he was already on his way back to his house. 

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“Hey!” she called after him. The man lifted a hand in goodbye and disappeared into the forest. A smile formed beneath Hannah’s old respirator. There were good people left, after all.

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