The Last One(79)

“We’re here!” says Randy.

“Who are you?” asks Brennan.

“Friends,” Randy replies.

I reach for the door.

“What are your names?” calls Brennan.

The voice I’ve been identifying as Randy’s says, “I’m Cooper.”

I fall from an unimaginable height.

I’m sinking, shriveling. Fear floods through me, filling me from my toes to my scalp and pulling me under. It’s not the presence of these two strangers that scares me, it’s that I thought I knew them. That my perception could be so far from reality.

Brennan turns to me, his victory clear on his face. For the first time he feels superior to me—and he’s right to.

My fear leaves me, floods out, and I’m empty, washed out and cold.

I can’t do this anymore.

Care. Explain. Pretend.

I walk back to the fire and take a seat.

“Mae!” Brennan’s eyes are bugged with worry. Outside, the men are yelling, or maybe just the one is.

“What?” I say. I stir the lentils. “If they’re coming in, they’ll come in. If not, they won’t. It’s out of our hands.”

Brennan fidgets. “I’ll pack.”

A few minutes later, the men grow quiet. The stew’s bubbling is the loudest sound around, and then the zipping of Brennan’s backpack as he finishes.

We eat. The home fries, the stew, it’s all tasteless. Brennan looks squirrely. He asks again about leaving. I don’t answer. Like the men outside, he soon stops trying. There’s more stew than we can eat. “Breakfast,” I say, putting a lid on the pot and removing it from the dwindling fire. I think of Cooper’s first laugh, like a gift. How special I felt as he walked away, bucket in hand.

“You really think it’s safe to sleep here?” asks Brennan.

I shrug. I lie on my towel-lined chair. The cloths beneath me bunch uncomfortably. I get up and sweep them all to the floor. I lie down again. Our fire is little more than embers.

“Mae?”

I squeeze my eyelids shut. I’m so tired.

“In the morning, let’s find a car. Let’s drive the rest of the way.”

“No,” I say.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“Oh,” says Brennan.

“Go to sleep,” I tell him.

I open my eyes. The fire’s embers are a faint orange blur.

Ad tenebras dedi. I could say it. I should. I shift in my chair, so that I’m facing the ceiling, the camera somewhere up there, watching me. If I were to say the words, would the electricity flicker on? Would the front doors slide open? Would Emery stride in and pat me on the back, tell me I made a noble effort, but now it’s time to hand over the ratty blue bandana I have tied around my Nalgene and go home? Would a car be waiting outside?

Or would nothing happen at all?

The thought pinches. I cannot give up. I cannot fail. As exhausted and frustrated as I am, I must keep going. I’ve given myself no other choice.

I turn back to the dying fire. I stare at it until my eyelids droop. Mice scuttle down one of the aisles. Their gentle patter helps me fall to sleep.

A hand on my shoulder wakes me, I don’t know when. Later. It’s still dark. I can’t see any sign of the fire.

“Mae.” A whisper in my ear. “I think they’re inside.”

“Who?” I ask.

“I heard something in the back. Listen.”

At first I hear nothing, just Brennan’s breath by my ear. And then I hear the sound of a door creaking open. Right on time.

Resigned, I say, “Get our bags.”

We head to the front of the store, then skirt the checkout lanes until we reach the mouth of the produce section. We creep from one stand to another, making our way to the back. Brennan exhales too loudly behind me.

From around the corner I hear, “Where are they?” Not-Randy’s voice. And then the other, louder, “Hello?” From the nearness of the voices, I guess that the men are standing just outside the swinging doors. We’re only about twenty feet to their left, our backs to shelves of salad dressing. This is the home stretch, I tell myself. The home stretch of a game that’s lasted far too long.

I hear their footsteps and a rustling sound. The footsteps come our way. I put my arm out to keep Brennan from moving. With my forearm against his chest, I feel his nervous breath.

The two men walk by, moving slowly toward the outer wall of the store. For a few seconds nothing but air separates us, then a rack of bagged walnuts and pecans comes between. Soon, the men are over where I found the potatoes. From their soft footsteps, I can hear that they’re moving toward the front of the store, probably planning an aisle-by-aisle search. I gesture for Brennan to follow me and inch around the corner toward the swinging doors.

Crunch. Right under my foot. Whatever I stepped on, it’s loud. Brennan and I both freeze. The footsteps across the store halt, and then suddenly they’re pounding toward us.

Fear and flight, instincts stronger than reason. I shout, “Go!” and shove Brennan through the doors. We run to the office where we entered and I slam the door behind us. Shaking, fumbling, I can’t find the lock. Brennan shoves the desk toward the window.

A sudden force against the door pushes me away. Adrenaline courses through me and I push back, slamming the door into its frame. Then Brennan is there, helping.