They would have killed us. They would have killed Andrew.
Harvey’s patchy beard isn’t even part of his face anymore.
I go find my own bag and my clothes and we get dressed in silence. I’m still wearing Andrew’s shirt and it’s way too tight for me. It also has Harvey’s blood on it. I take it off and use it to cover Harvey’s face, then pull on my own shirt.
“We should get moving,” I say. There’s no need to stop and bury Harvey like we did the Fosters. There was a reason for that; Andrew did that all by mistake. This was the wrong place at the wrong time, but it wasn’t a mistake.
“Hey.” Andrew takes my hand and pulls me toward him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. We just need to...” My words die and I turn away from him to vomit into the grass. My breakfast mingles with Walt’s blood trail and it makes me throw up again.
Andrew
ONCE WE’RE DRESSED AND PACKED, WE MOVEquickly. I can see Walt’s trail of blood moving one way in the forest, so we go the other direction. Jamie still doesn’t talk once we reach the highway. It’s hot and humid and taking breaths is difficult, but we don’t stop.
We keep moving until the sun is a red blob in the western sky, then Jamie finally turns to me.
“Should we stop here for the night or keep going?”
“Stop.” I mean it more than “stop here for the night.” “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Jamie, seriously, stop.” I reach out and take his hands. He squeezes mine tightly and I lock eyes with him. He looks like he’s going to cry. “Talk to me.”
“They were going to kill you.”
I want to tell him it’s fine that he did what he had to, but I know it won’t mean anything. It didn’t to me. Instead I pull him close and for the first time he shrinks against me. For once, big, strong Jamie feels small in my arms.
Jamie continues, “I had to do it. I’m sorry. It was thewaythey said it. They would have killed us.”
“We’re okay.” I rub his back as he cries against my sweat-dampened shirt. “We’re going to be fine.”
Are we?
We set up camp off the road but don’t light a fire. I try to get Jamie to eat but he barely touches the can of cold soup we open. After he falls asleep next to me, I stay awake listening to him breathing.
I want to be here for him, awake. I remember the nightmares that came after I killed the Fosters. They lasted weeks.
Until I met him.
We’re both killers now, and I’m not sure what kind of people that makes us. A gender-bent, postapocalyptic Bonnie and Clyde, maybe? I want to tell him his reason for killing was much better than mine. Mine was panic in the heat of the moment.
He was saving me. Us.
Jamie lets out a whimper in his sleep and his breathing speeds up. I reach out and grab his hand. In moments his breathing returns to normal and he’s asleep again.
Taking one of Cara’s detours, we get off the main road, and two days pass without us seeing another person. Each night I stay awake, listening in the darkness for more people from Fort Caroline. Listening to Jamie’s cries as he wakes from a nightmare. I reach into the darkness and clasp his hands and he clenches back. I whisper that it’s all right. He lies down again and I put my hand on his back.
As much as I want it to be, it’s not cute and it’s not romantic. Because he’s hurting. And there’s nothing I can do to make him feel better.
Day three and we still skirt Cara’s main route.
Day four is the same. I tell Jamie about movies but he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile. I’m trying so hard not to cry because he needs me to be strong, but it’s hard. Every time I feel tears burning at my eyes, I tell him I have to pee, then go behind a house or store. Somewhere out of sight so I can cry quietly.
I don’t know what else to do.
That afternoon we come to a small, zero-stoplight town. There’s a gas station and a diner on the main road and I tell Jamie we should stop. It’s still early, maybe four in the afternoon, but the diner looks like it could be a good place to sleep. Also, my leg aches. Rain is coming.
