Who Carries The Fire?, a road fanfic

Papa?

Papa, can you hear me?

The boy stood on a cliff edge, clutching a half-burnt magazine that they found in a store a few days ago. On the cover a man smiled, shirtless, clutching a bottle of cologne the boy wondered smelt like. It was cold out, very cold. The wind hammered the cliff and the boy had to sit down so he wouldn't fall over the edge. He looked out over the sparse trees, ash settling on the ground, turning the forest floor a desert gray. The sun was setting behind him as the woman watched from twenty feet back.

Papa, we're leaving. I'm not sure where we're going. I heard something about the South. How it was supposed to be safer than where we were. And we have to move fast. Uncle said we were almost out of food and we're all very hungry.

Uncle was a muscular, mustachio man. He was in charge of the group and everyone called him Uncle. One night, when the darkness encompassed them and the cold crept under their flesh, Uncle gathered the six of them around a fire made from rotting wood and leaves. He told them about the South, how his father, his grandfather, and the generations before him had lived there for hundreds of years and ran a farm that grew all sorts of crops. On the land there was a big house, three floors, that could house all of them plus four. Also, everyone could get their own room and a bed. Not a blanket laid on the rocky dirt, but a real-life bed. With a pillow. If they could only get there, they could at least attempt at forming some sort of roots. Stop roaming the country like animals and just settle.

Papa, I don't know how long it's going to be. Uncle told us it was about five-hundred

miles. You used to be able to tell how long that meant. I can't.

Oh, Papa. Why did you have to go? You promised you would never leave. You promised

we would never be apart. But here we are. You gone and me leaving. You should have

stayed.

I'm scared, Papa. I'm so scared.

Goddamn you.

The woman called out for the boy, snapping him out of his frustrated crying to the wind. The boy stood up and flung the magazine over the edge. He watched it fall, dancing in the air, brushing against the cliff, eventually disappearing into the nothingness below him. He turned around and walked toward the woman, jamming his hands into his pockets and kicking the dirt below him. The woman spoke from her chapped lips.

What's the matter?

Nothing.

Don't lie to me. Tell me what's wrong.

Papa never talks back.

He doesn't?

No.

Well what did you say to him?

I said I was scared.

Are you?

Yes.

Why?

I don't know. I just feel scared.

Well, don't worry. Uncle is looking after us. We'll be fine.

Okay.

You miss him, don't you?

Uncle? He's right over there.

No, you're father, silly.

Oh. I guess. How can I miss someone who's voice I can't remember?

I don't know. I guess you just can.

Okay.

What was it your father called you two? The good guys?

Yeah. We were the good guys.

Okay.

And we carried the fire.

The what?

The fire. We carried it.

What does that mean?

I don't know.

Okay.

The next day Uncle got up before the sun rose. The ash still flickered around the camp and Uncle's hair was littered with it. As he stood up, he coughed, wheezed almost, as he wiped the sand from his eyes. He opened the bag of sunflower seeds, nearly empty, and took out the last handful. As he drank the bottle of expired juice, he meticulously separated the seeds, rationing them for six. It came out to four seeds a person. He sighed and pressed into his eyes with the fingers of his left hand. The boy awoke and Uncle met his glance.

Hi, the boy said.

Good morning.

Did you sleep okay?

Yes.

Good. How are you feeling?

Hungry.

Me too. Here, eat these.

Only four?

That's all we have.

Okay.

The boy sat next to Uncle, sucking on the seeds' salty shells. Eventually, he cracked one open with his back tooth and chewed. The salt made him thirsty. Uncle gave him the bottle. The boy spoke.

What are we going to do?

We're going South.

How long is that going to be?

I don't know. Probably a month.

But we're hungry now.

I know.

So what are we going to do?

How about you and me go look for food before everyone wakes up?

But what if everyone wakes up and thinks we left?

They won't wake up.

Okay.

Uncle and the boy silently got dressed and walked toward the road through the woods. The sun peeked through clouds and the forest smelt of fungus. They walked side by side as they reached the highway barrier and stepped over it. They looked left and right. There was nothing on either side and the emptiness made their stomachs rumble with nausea. They walked down the road and said nothing for an hour. Eventually, the boy muttered something.

I see something.

What?

Over there. There's smoke.

I don't see anything.

Look. Over the trees. There's smoke rising up.

Oh, I see it. Why don't we take a look?

What if they're dangerous?

Don't worry.

I don't think we should go. Let's find something else.

You're hungry, right?

Yes.

So it's worth a look.

Okay.

The two of them descended down the hill on the edge of the road. They found a boulder that gave them a better view. Uncle pulled out his binoculars and glassed the area the smoke was coming from. He saw a tent and a cart. The cart was filled with blankets.

What do you see?

I see a camp.

Is there anyone there?

No.

Any food?

Not that I can see. Let's take a closer look.

The two of them approached the camp slowly. Uncle walked in front of the boy, his right hand resting on the rusted pistol in its holster. The ash on his back covered the yellow letters of his jacket that once read police.

I'm gonna look in the tents. You look through the cart.

The boy moved toward the cart and dug through the sheets. Under them he found a screw driver, a magazine on fishing, fishing line, and a ticking watch. He pulled the watch out from under the magazine and wiped the dust from its face. He stared at the hands, ticking with each second and the time read 5:47. He sat down next to the cart, his back to the tents, and watched the hands for quite some time. In fact, it was five minutes exactly. As his stomach rumbled louder, he suddenly heard a loud crack. Immediately, he turned around. There was nothing.

He stood up and walked toward the tents. The watch ticked in his hand and grew louder with each of his steps. His heart thudded against his chest and he could feel his pulse in his neck, his hands growing cold and numb. Slowly, he approached the tent that Uncle had entered.

Uncle? Uncle are you okay?

No sound. The sweat beaded on the boy's neck despite the cold air biting his ears. Finally, he stood in front of the tent. The watch's ticking suddenly stopped at 5:54 and the boy pulled back the sheet of the tent as Uncle stepped out with the body of a young boy on his shoulder with a bullet hole in his chest.

The boy shrieked in response and fell to floor before the tent. He dropped the watch and stared at the boy upon Uncle's shoulder. It was the boy from years ago. The boy he begged Papa to help. There he was, limp as Uncle laid him next to the fire.

What are you doing? The boy shouted.

I couldn't find any food. He was sleeping.

You shot him while he was sleeping?

We have to eat something. We can't go South if we don't eat.

The boy shuddered at Uncle's words. He started sobbing, screaming for Papa. Uncle came to him and comforted him. In shock, the boy accepted Uncle's solace. His stomach rumbled loud and he could feel his body feeding on the tissues of his body.

We can't do this! We don't eat people! Only the bad guys do that and we're not the bad guys! Please! I knew him!

I'm sorry. But you have to understand. I'm trying to save us. There's nothing else for us to eat. If we're ever going to make it out here, we have to do ugly things. We have to survive.

I won't do it! I'm gonna run away! I'm not eating someone!

Then you'll die! Don't you understand? We'll all die!

The boy continued sobbing and fell to the floor. He tucked his knees into his chest and felt the warm saline stream down his cheeks. After a while, he calmed down but didn't turn around to face Uncle. Uncle had skinned the body and tenderized pieces of it. He was holding a piece from the thigh over the fire when he started speaking.

Look. I'm sorry about all of this. Really, I am. But we have to eat. You have to eat. You're not going to make it without food. This is our only option right now.

The boy didn't move.

I'll tell you what, once we reach the farm, this will never happen again. There's food there to last us for years. My grandfather kept a stockpile in his cellar in case something like this ever happened. Everyone thought he was crazy but I guess he proved them wrong.

The boy slowly turned around and stared at Uncle with red eyes.

We'll never do this again once we get South?

Yes.

And there's a lot of food there so we won't have to?

Yes.

You promise?

I promise.

The boy approached the fire and sat down as Uncle gripped the stick that pierced the piece of thigh and held it over the fire. The boy stared into the flames and spoke to Papa without speaking.

Papa?

Papa, can you hear me?

Why did you have to leave? Why couldn't you have stayed with me and kept me from the world? Why did things have to change? Why couldn't I just leave with you? Why did you have to go and leave me alone? Why did you leave me here, so scared of everything?

Uncle nudged the boy and brought him back to the world.

Here. Eat this.

The boy took the meat from the stick and the smoke filled his nostrils. He took a bite out of the charred thigh and chewed vigorously as his saliva digested it further, eventually swallowing it and feeling it fill his burning, empty stomach.

How is it?

Good. Very good.

Good.

Can I ask you something?

Of course.

Are we going to make it?

Yes.

How do you know?

I just do.

Okay.

And we're the good guys?

It doesn't matter.

Yes, it does. It always matters.

Good and bad don't matter in this world anymore. The only thing that matters is living another day, no matter how.

Okay.

After finishing their meal, the boy helped Uncle pack the body into the cart and collected the rest of the blankets from the tents. As he came out, he stepped on the watch and heard the glass crunch beneath his shoe. He stopped for a moment and saw that the watch was still frozen at 5:54 and the time hadn't changed. As he caught up with Uncle, the fire in the camp had already died down and with a gust of wind carrying ash it blew out and stayed there, forever extinguished. Never to be carried again.