NOTE: The following paragraph is NOT MY WORK. It belongs to the author of the trilogy Chaos Walking, Patrick Ness. My FanFic begins after "I ain't what you call a lucky person."
NOTE: Any misspelled word is intentional. (Obviously.)
Maybe our story will turn out differently if we take the left fork, maybe the bad things that are waiting to happen to us won't happen, maybe there's happiness at the end of the left fork and warm places with the people who love us and no Noise but no silence neither and there's plenty of food and no one dies and no one dies and no one never never dies.
Maybe.
But I doubt it.
I ain't what you call a lucky person.
"Left," I decide. "Might as well be left."
Viola and me race down the left fork with Manchee panting along at our heels. Viola don't say nothing about what's undoubtedly all over my Noise, about the slaughter we just witnessed in Farbranch, about the army, a real honest-to-goodness army, chasing me and Viola thru hell and creashun, about Ben and Cillian—
Who ain't in the army.
Who weren't marching into Farbranch with the rest of Prentisstown—
(the whole effing town)
Who weren't shooting at the backs of everything in their paths—
(like Mr. Hammar)
Again, I'm stuck wondering whether or not this is a good or bad thing. I wonder what I would rather see: Ben shooting at the kids of Farbranch (the same ones I just saw poking their noses into the barn I was sweeping not two hours ago. Has it only been two hours?), or Ben dead back at my farm? I can't bring myself to answer, cuz what's the answer?
(what?)
We're running by the light of Viola's flashlight as more darkness creeps over the forest, the only sound my Noise and Manchee's Noise and the soft Noise of the night creachers in the woods. And Viola's quiet, which is still the loudest of them all. So quiet and secretive and it still makes me uncomfortable not knowing what she's thinking, still not knowing for sure that she's even thinking anything up there at all (even tho she says she is)—
And I push the thought back and do my best to cover it up with the rest of my Noise, even tho I know it's too late and she's already heard it, but she don't make no sign of noticing and just keeps on running, her arms pumping hard at her sides.
After a while, she stops and bends at the waist, putting her hands on her knees and breathing heavily.
"We can't stop here," I say. "The army'll be done with Farbranch and'll already be back on the road." But I'm bending over, too.
"We need water, Todd," she gasps. "We can't keep going without water."
I frown and put my hands on my hips impayshuntly. "Any ideas?" I snap.
"Todd—" she pants, then says it again, "Todd."
"There ain't no water cuz we stopped following the river, so we'll just need to deal with it till we find some," I say.
"Stupid," she mutters, shaking her head. "So stupid." And I know she means about taking the left fork and not the right.
"I know," I agree, making my voice to get gentler. "We'll find some water, tho, we will." We will. "But in the mean time, the army's getting closer and we have to keep going." At the menshun of the army, Viola viszually shudders and straightens up.
"Army!" Manchee barks.
Moments later, we're racing down the road again, trying our best not to think about the lack of water at hand. Well, at least I am. I still don't know about her.
The next hours that pass are the same as the first, running and running and running and not stopping for nothing. Finally, Viola slows to a stop, putting her hands on her knees like before, but this time, I don't urge us on. We take in huge, raking gasps of air that are painful to listen to and stay like that for a while, just breathing and catching our breath. I lick my dry lips and glance down at Manchee, whose sides are heaving. "Good boy," I gasp, patting his head, tho I don't know why I'm saying it.
"Manchee!" he barks and buries his nose into my hand.
"Maybe we should stop for the night," Viola suggests beside me.
"Here? We ain't sheltered and anyone can see us!" I protest.
"We'll move to the underbrush and hide till morning. But we need to rest, Todd," she says. "Especially since we don't have water." Reluktantly, I make my way into the woods and scoot under a bush that's close to the path but not too close. Viola crawls in next to me and Manchee curls up just outside, licking fiercely at his tail. As I close my eyes, I think I hear Noise drifting from outside the bush we're hiding under, but it must be the night creachers' Noise, cuz it don't sound like no man's Noise.
I shrug it off and the next thing I know, I'm dreaming that I'm racing thru the swamp in slow motion, trying to get away from the crocs that keep leaping out of the water at me and I'm swinging my knife at 'em all but they just keep coming and then their heads start to change into Aaron's head and the Mayor's head and Mr. Hammar's head and then Viola's standing right next to me, hissing "The book, Todd, I can read it to you!" and I'm swinging my knife at the crocs and I finally manage to slice at Mr. Hammar and his head goes flying off, but suddenly it ain't his head no more cuz it's Ben's and I've killed him cuz it's Ben it's Ben it's Ben and—
"NO!" I shout, sitting bolt upright and knocking my head into the branches above me. Viola grumbles something next to me and I push my way out from the cover of the bush, stumbling over Manchee. The sun is starting to creep up above the horizon and the Noise I heard last night is still there. But as I listen carefully—
I realize it ain't creachers Noise.
It's mostly just pictures of things, of trees and fish and there's a picture of me standing outside the bush, my eyes wide and my hair a bird's nest. Slowly, I reach down and pick up Viola's flashlight, cuz even tho the sun's rising it's still too dark to see. I straighten up and click the flashlight on—
Shining the light right into the faces of the waking Spackle camp.
