two
My body moves to the rhythm of the wild. My feet walk one in front of the other, not knowing where I am going, but just letting go and allowing my heart to guide me. The tightness in my chest causes me to walk quicker and quicker, trying to get in more air into my lungs. I don't know how far I run, but all I know is that I made it to the endless road. It could have been that I had always wanted to go back, or probably something inside of me needed to go back.
Finally making it to the burned out church I just stood there in the cold weather standing before the gate. I can see it in the distance, the tree there in the shadow. If you didn't know to look for it, you probably wouldn't see it. The creaking sound still causes a shiver down my spine. It is enough to remind me of who is here. The steps are lighter for some odd reason. The creaking sound still causes a shiver down my spine. It is enough to remind me of who is here. The steps are lighter for some odd reason. The creaking sound still causes a shiver down my spine. It is enough to remind me of who is here. The steps are lighter for some odd reason. It maybe my imagination but everything seems to slow down.
I just stand there looking down at it. The small stone with words painted on it.
'Sheathes'
I just kneel next to it. The dirt is hard and with my finger I follow the letters slowly and think about it. She told me that it was our last name back in the forgotten years.
"Alex," I hear someone call from behind me.
I turn around and see her there just looking at me with eyes of worry. Her arms are crossed and the torn sweater just covers barely her skin. It was something that she had found on one of our walks along the town.
"Tell me," I say standing up to my feet. The cool breeze slowly stops and I know that although she has given me something that I longed for it is something that has also awakened in me a thirst for more.
"Do you really want to know," she says. "It won't change who you are, it will only bring you more questions."
It is something that I had thought of. I want to know everything that she does, everything about her, about him.
"I do," I say.
"It was years ago," she starts. "You were still a small little baby, probably three or even four. You had just started to walk when it started to snow. You have to remember back then, we didn't have the trailer park, and we were just wandering back then, trying to keep ourselves alive."
She starts to rub her arms and I can tell that it isn't easy to talk about this.
"Your mom was my best friend," she says. "We looked out for each other right up to the end. She loved you so much, because you were the only thing left of your father that she had. She got sick…"
She stops and puts her sleeve up her face whipping what I believe are tears.
"We didn't have any medicine," she says. "So we couldn't… there was no way…"
I walk over to her and through my own tears I can understand what they had to go through. The cold winters without the trailer park, without our wood stove, I don't know how we would have made it. The winters are hard here in the wilds but we make it by coming together as a community. It is the only way to survive.
My hand touches hers and I can feel her trembling. The touch causes her to jerk back in pain until she opens her eyes and see that it is just my hand.
"It is okay," I say.
"I made a promise to her before she," she starts to say. "To always look out for you, and to make sure that you made it. After your father, we didn't know what to do. He was taken…"
The words cause me to jerk back and wonder what she meant. Taken? She had always told me that he was dead. That he died long ago. Taken isn't the same as dead, it isn't the same as dying.
"What do you mean…taken," I say. "I thought he was dead."
"He is," she says.
"How do you know for sure? Did you see him die? Did she?" I say pointing to the grave.
"They were separated when they made their escape," she responds. "From what she told me, he never came, she waited and came back to the spot many times after, and he never came."
There is a thought though. Never seeing either of them, there is a longing to know, to know them both. Looking back towards the grave, I walk back and kneel to the marker. Taking two fingers to my lips I place them lightly on the edge. It is then that I make a promise to her, to myself.
In my mind there is only one thing, only one thought. I have to go back. I need to see it for myself. It was what was going to happen all along. Sooner or later, after I found out, I would go and seek out my own answers. The thing that is left before me is how to do it.
The only way that I am going to be able to go back is through the resistance.
Walking back it is not enough to have some sort of fear in my heart. The stories that you hear about the cities, how everyone act like zombies, well that is the common story. Whenever people in our community start to talk about the forgotten years, the stories that you hear about medical procedures to remove parts of you.
For every city that is enclosed in a fence, there is always a resistance inside it. People that go against the new world order, that question what they are told. All we have is the memories of a life before, and if they can get them to forget it, then the wilds, the people who live here don't exist.
It will have to be in the next couple of days. I heard that the resistance has a camp about a day or two south of where we are. If I am going to get into Portland they are the only ones to do it. I try and not make any more problems for the woman who is taking care of me. After all, in a few days I will leave this place and I don't know if I would ever be able to come back.
As we walk back, I see that Christine is walking more comfortably than she has in the past. It must have been hard to hold this secret in for so many years and pretend to have a connection with someone that really is a complete stranger to me. The trees look almost to come alive in the moon light. The outline of the branches almost looks as if they move like arms dancing in the wind. The soft snow seems to be less and less every day, and everyone back in the community is anticipating the coming spring. It has been a hard winter and food has been scarce but by sharing our food we have been able to make it through.
In the distance I see the community park. It seems that someone has kept a fire going. The shadows dance with the small fire going.
"I see you have found him," I hear someone says.
Turning around I see it is Grandpa Jones. Out of all of us here in the community he is the oldest one, in both age and amount of time here in the Wilds. Once I heard that he was around eighty years old, and was there for first bombings. He doesn't really talk about it, though, everyone suspects though as sometimes his nightmares are about bombs and people being burned alive. Many of the people here have seen things that we keep to ourselves. He stokes the fire with a stick and as we walk by Michelle nods.
I stop in front of Grandpa Jones. He looks up and when the fire catches his eyes it is almost as if the past is re-kindled.
He taps the log that he is sitting on and motions me to sit.
Christine turns around and tells me that it is okay, that she will wait for me back in our home. Sitting down next to him, I can smell the burning fire next to him. Grandpa Jones may not look it, but he is in great shape. Looking at his hands and I know that probably in his previous life, he did manual labor.
We just sit there for a while, looking at the fire. Time is relative here in the Wilds, so who knows how long we actually just sit there in the silence. Finally after a while, he clears his throat.
"So you know," he says.
"Yes," I say.
"Understand that she did what she believed was best for you," he says. "What your mother would have wanted."
"I know," I say.
"Now there is a question," he says. "Are you satisfied with knowing what you do?"
I have to stop and think about it. Am I satisfied with knowing that my mother died a while back, and that my father may be still alive but more than likely is dead? It is hard to say, because inside of me there has always been a hole, and I never knew that it was because I didn't know the full story.
"Honestly," I say. "No."
He continues to move the fire, keeping it from going out. Then he just stops and places the wood branch into the fire. He turns to the side and grabs something from the backpack. He hands it to me and there I see his facial expression. It is one of compassion and understanding.
"Blue brings you back here," he says. "Green takes you to camps. It is a day journey; you would have to get up at the crack of dawn which should be in a couple of hours from now if you are going to make it by sunset."
I look at the paper that he had handed to me. Opening it, I see that it is a rough map of the area. One has labeled blue and another green. One says in blue, "home" and the other location says "camp."
"Camp?" I say with a question. "What is there?"
"The rebellion," he says. "When you get there, just tell them 'Trojan horse.' They will know what that means."
He speaks in code, almost as if there are people around us that might not approve. He looks around as if to see if anyone is looking at us. I follow his eyes and making sure that there was no one there looking or overhearing our conversations. After a couple of seconds he turns and looks at me in the eyes.
"She can't know," he says. "If she knew, she would stop you."
Just like that and I know who he is talking about. So if I am going to go anywhere it would have to be with no one knowing.
I nod that I understand and stand walking away from him. Once getting to the trailer, I look back and see that he has already begun to kick dirt on the fire essentially putting it out. It may not seem like but Grandpa Joe has done something for me that no one else did, he treated me like my ideas mattered, like I wasn't some child.
"If anyone can get you any answers, it would be there," he says.
"She won't understand," I say, knowing full well that my concern now has changed from me to her.
"No one would," he says. "But could you honestly live your life knowing that you never got the answers you were looking for?"
The idea of growing up, finding someone out here to settle down with and then never really knowing, I don't know if I could.
"Well how could the rebellion help?" I ask.
"It is the only way you can get into Portland," he says. "That is what you want to do no? They are the only ones that know how to get in, safely, and how to blend in."
Christine stands there waiting for me at the door of the trailer. Her arms are crossed and a look of relief and worry are both on her face.
"Did it help?" She asked. "He asked me to talk to you privately about what had happened."
"It did," I say walking inside.
She follows me in and waits for me to get into bed. She sits on the edge of my bed and looks at me.
"You know that although I may not be your mother, I care about you very much," she says. "You know that right?"
It is sweet and I know that she truly means it. I wonder though how my mother was. Obviously I cannot ask her that, without hurting her feelings, so it will have to be something that I learn all by myself. It has been a long road for her, she has struggled through having to raise me, without knowing how to and for that I must be glad that she was there.
"I know," I say grabbing her hand. "I care about you as well. Thank you for telling me the truth."
She clears her throat and stands up slowly. Once up she lets out a sigh and walks over to her bed. She sits on the edge of her bed and then lies down on her man-made pillow. She lies there on her side looking at me. We just lie there looking at each other from the ends of the trailer. Silence is all we have that night and I know that tomorrow night, if all goes well, then I will probably never see her again.
I close my eyes for a couple of minutes, and then when I open it, I see that her eyes are still closed. Sitting up, I make as little noise as possible while walking towards a backpack that I use sometimes while out setting up traps. Placing a change of clothes, my hunting knife, flash light, I hide the pack as my pillow. It is not as softest as my pillow of folded clothes but it does keep me from forgetting anything.
Finally letting out a deep sigh of relief, I think about what I will find tomorrow. I haven't really been away from the community longer than a day and that was because I had gotten lost and was younger. All that keeps coming in my mind rattling like a can in a room is he still alive?