The Last One(64)

“I’m fine.” I set my blurred gaze to the ground, start walking again.

“Mae, what’s that?”

He’s looking ahead. I try to see what he’s seeing, but the horizon is a fuzzed mass. I thumb my glasses lens, harder, creating heat. “What’s what?” I ask.

Brennan looks at me. His eyes are huge. He looks terrified. I feel my chest tighten.

Whatever’s up there, it’s not real.

But even if it’s not, it is, and contradictions can be dangerous. Remember the fine print. Remember the coyote. Teeth and gears and blood and fear. The doll’s pursed lips crying for Mama.

I pull the lens from my pocket and wipe it on my shirt. I close my left eye, hold the lens up to my right.

Suddenly, the trees have leaves. Crisp, singular leaves. The guardrail to my left has dings and dents and dots of rust. There are lines of white paint edging the road, faint but there, and a squashed frog has dried to jerky not three feet from where I stand. How much subtlety have I missed since my glasses broke? How much roadkill?

I look at Brennan. He has freckles, and a small scab on his cheek.

I look away, look ahead.

A fallen tree blocks the road. A white sheet is tied into the branches so that it falls flat like a sign. There’s writing on the sign, but it’s too far away to read, even with the lens to my eye. Another Clue, finally. I march forward.

“Mae, wait,” says Brennan.

“Can you see what it says?” I ask.

“No, but—”

“Then come on.” I open my left eye; clarity and ambiguity mingle in my vision, and I weave slightly, adjusting. Within seconds I can begin to make out the letters on the sign, the shapes of the words. There are two lines. The first is two words, maybe three; the second line is longer, giving the overall text a plateau shape. Runs in the paint further confuse the letters, but after a few more steps I can decipher the first word: NO.

I feel as though I’ve just scored a point. I read a word; I’m winning this Challenge.

“Mae…”

I want to figure out the message before I get too close, just to say I did. The second word starts with a T. I bet the word is “trespassing.” A sinuous middle increases my confidence. The second line is harder. A V-word to start. “Violators,” must be.

Brennan grabs my arm. “Mae, stop,” he says, frantic.

And then the text clicks into place and I read the full message:

NO TRESPASSING.

VIOLATORS WILL BE GUTTED.



“Gutted?” I say, lowering the lens. “That’s a bit much.” And yet I feel my body constricting, wanting to hide. I can barely remember how it feels to be held by someone I love, but I have no trouble imagining the sensation of a blade ripping into my abdomen. The fire, a moment of frozen time, then spilling outward. I imagine steam rising as my warm guts hit the cool air. Then I imagine myself as the one doing the gutting.

“Let’s go,” says Brennan, nodding back the way we came.

The only way out of a Challenge is to say the words, to quit.

“We’ll go around, Mae.”

Gutted, I think. The sign is so extreme, so ridiculous. It’s like the flyer, meant for the viewing audience, not for me.

With the thought, a sense of extreme unimportance overwhelms me. This show isn’t about me. It’s not about the other contestants. It’s about the world we’ve entered. We’re bit players, our purpose one of entertainment, not enlightenment. I’ve been thinking about this whole experience the wrong way—I’m not here because I’m interesting or because I’m scared of having kids, I’m simply an accent on their creation. No one cares if I make it to the end. All they care about is that the viewers watch to the end.

I put the lens back into my pocket and stride forward.

“Mae!”

This is the game I agreed to play.

“Don’t!” His hand is on my arm again, but he’s not pulling. “Please.”

Yes, I think. This feels right. I bet Cooper is on the other side of that sign, waiting for me. Maybe one of the others. Probably one of the others. Complication comes in threes: love triangles, third wheels, the trinity.

I’m close enough now that I can read the sign without my lens; knowing what it says helps. Brennan is still with me, so I must be going the right way, no matter what he says. Will Cooper have a shadow too? A pouty white girl? Maybe the Asian kid—what was his name?—will be the third; that’d be fitting, a nice TV-friendly diversity. Or Randy, for a dash of drama? I doubt there will be another woman. There’s no way Heather’s made it this far, and Sofia—well, Sofia’s a possibility.

I reach the downed tree. I’m standing next to the banner. Is this a starting line or a finishing line? I don’t know, but I know it’s something. I reach forward. Touching the tree is going to be a trigger. For what, I don’t know. Bells and whistles, maybe, or flashing lights.

My hand slips into the blur, finds a solid branch.

Sirens don’t erupt. Signal flares don’t shoot into the sky. The earth doesn’t shake. The woods are unchanged.

Disappointment thrums through me. I was so certain this moment mattered.

It’s not the first time I’ve been wrong.

I climb over the tree, then take out my lens and scan the road ahead. It’s clear. Brennan hops down next to me on the pavement.