Malorie(20)

“Whether that list is old or not, I don’t think they’re alive.”

“Why not?”

“I mean…I mean Mom wants them to be alive. You know? And I’ve read about characters who want something so bad they believe it’s actually happening.”

“But the names…”

“I know,” Olympia says. “Like I said, I want them to be. I just—”

A hard knocking at the door interrupts her.

“Guys? Eyes closed?”

“Yes,” Tom says. He does it.

“Yes,” Olympia says.

The door creaks open, and Malorie steps inside. Right away Tom can hear the energy in her breathing. When she speaks, it’s with more urgency than he’s heard in a long time.

“How close are we?” she asks.

“I’m packed,” Tom says.

“I’m right there,” Olympia says.

Malorie closes the door. She takes the broom from beside it and begins to sweep the cabin. The door was open, after all, even if only momentarily.

“In the old world,” she says, “we had weather forecasters. People to tell us what we might expect.”

“I brought my rain stuff,” Olympia says.

“You should have packed everything I told you to pack and nothing more.”

Tom hears her close to him. She sweeps around him, then under his bed.

“Did either of you take anything else?”

The teens know better than to hesitate when answering. They might be able to hear to the gates of camp, but Malorie can hear a lie like no one else.

“Nope,” Tom says.

“Just what you said,” Olympia says.

“Okay.” Malorie stops sweeping. “You can open your eyes.”

They do.

Tom is stricken by how alive Malorie looks. Her eyes appear bright with memories, realizations, decisions. The bag beside her is full. She wears a hoodie and long pants, gloves and boots. In one hand is the blindfold she just removed.

“Listen to me,” she says. “We’ve never done what we’re about to do. We’ve never been where we’re about to go. We’re really, really going to need each other.”

It strikes Tom, suddenly, that the only thing that could trump Malorie’s safety measures, the only thing that could possibly eclipse her way of life and the life she has insisted upon for these seventeen years, is family.

“I want you both to know I’m prepared for the fact that we may not find them. That we probably won’t. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Tom says.

“Yes,” Olympia says.

“I’m ready for this to end in failure. But not in our failure. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if you do.” She breathes in, she holds it, she breathes out. She almost looks like a warrior to Tom. He lightly fingers the outside of his bag. The glasses are within. Malorie continues, “Whether we find them or not, the fact that we’re going means something. A great deal. There are people out there too afraid to attempt what we’re about to try.”

“The train,” Olympia says.

Malorie looks to her quickly.

“Are you worried about the train?” she asks. “Oh, Olympia. I am, too.” Then, “Are either of you against doing this?”

Tom can tell she hasn’t taken this into account until now. It’s all over her face.

“I’m not against it,” he says. “I’m excited.”

He looks to her bag, sees the census pages jutting out the top.

Malorie shakes her head no.

“Don’t be excited, Tom. Please. Just be alert.” She turns to Olympia. “And you?”

“I want them to be alive,” she says.

Malorie nods. Then she motions for the two of them to come to her, and they do. In the center of the cabin she grips each of their wrists.

“This is the right thing to do,” she says. “Imagine you two found out I was living alone, someplace else. You’d do the same, right?”

“Yes,” Olympia says.

“We wouldn’t let you go,” Tom says.

Malorie breathes deep again.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s go. Get the last of your things.”

She looks to Tom’s bag.

“You’re set?” she asks. “Nothing extra in there?”

Tom shakes his head no. Malorie nods.

“Okay. How many are out there?”

“Right now?” he asks.

Olympia cocks an ear to the cabin wall. Tom stands still. After a minute of silence, of listening, both teens respond with the same number at the same time.

“One.”

“Jesus Christ,” Malorie says. “There’s even one for our very first step. Let’s hope that ratio doesn’t last.”

Tom zips his bag and puts on his hoodie. By the time his head comes through the top, Olympia’s bag is beside her, too.

“Gloves,” Malorie says.

But both teens are already putting them on.

“I love you guys,” she says.

And Tom feels it.

He looks to her bag again and sees the tops of the white pages. He thinks of the story the man at the door alluded to. Tales of a creature caught.