Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Chapter Eleven

After walking several miles in the heat, Joel eventually finds a shaded spot for us to take a break. He puts his things down and walks off, leaving me by myself. Without thinking about my actions, I put my bag down and sit, bringing my knees up to my chest. What I should be doing is ripping the map out of my bag and taking note of where the other stars are located, but I can't seem to make my arms move.

A small part of my mind thinks I'm overreacting. At the end of the day, nothing happened to me, they weren't able to fulfill their twisted plans. But I can't seem to shake the ghostly feeling of the man's hands on my hips, the feeling of him trying to get my pants off. My chest can still feel the man on top of me, holding me hostage against the floor. Is this what the children felt before they were murdered? The thought of children experiencing, to a harsher extent, what I just did is an unbearable thought.

Joel walks back to me and wipes his hands on his pants. From my peripheral I can see him look down at me, but he doesn't say anything. Truthfully, there are no words he could say that would break my mind out of this foggy trance. It's almost surreal to think about what could have happened if Joel wasn't there to save me. As the thought dawns on me, I look up to him. I see dried blood on his hands and some splattered on his shirt.

I know I should be thanking him vehemently right now, but it's as if my mouth has been sewn shut. My body has weirdly shut down on me, maybe as some sort of stress response or something. His eyes tear away from me and he puts his bag on his back, probably wanting to keep going. We still have a few more hours of sunlight left and we need to make the most of it. Staying out here in the open at night is not a situation I want to be in. So I force myself up and put my bag back on my shoulders.

Our boots crunch the small pebbles on the pavement as the two of us move forward. Typically, during these bouts of silence my mind is on the killers, but only the recurring images of the men back at the town are found. With each step I try to work through the thoughts, knowing I can't allow myself to be stuck in this state of mind forever.

When I left Boston I knew that people like them were out here. I guess a delusional part of me just never thought I'd actually encounter them. It's obvious to me now that I had been completely ignorant and naive when I decided to go to Omaha. Had Joel not been there with me, I likely would have died in that town. And this trip would have been made in vain.

Instead of dwelling on what could have been, I guess I should be thankful that it ended when it did. Some people don't get as lucky as I did, if luck is really the right word to describe the situation. Those men are dead now, no longer able to prey upon anyone else who stumbles into their town, and for that I am thankful.

Joel and I walk until the sun begins setting and we find ourselves in a less-than-ideal spot. There are really no places to hunker down for the night, no houses or businesses for miles. We're passing through a part of the country that's mainly taken up by forest. By the time we find somewhere to call it a night, the moon is fully up in the sky.

There's a small campground tucked away in some trees, I can make out the silhouettes of campers through the woods. My hearing becomes hyper-aware of the surroundings, listening for any infected, or people, that may be watching us. Snapping twigs and branches are the only sounds I can hear, but that doesn't stop me from being paranoid.

We choose an average-looking camper on the outskirts and make sure it's clear before we take our bags off our backs for the night. It's arguably one of my favorite parts of the day. The camper is a plain beige in color, but alike other buildings, is now adorned with vined plants. There's a small fire pit in front of it, surrounded by run-down chairs, but it's more than enough for me.

Joel lets me in the camper as he goes about trying to find firewood. Out in the middle of nowhere it's probably safe to start a fire. Sure, there's still some risk but it's not nearly as high as it would be near a town. While he goes off to do that, I place my bag on the floor in front of the pull-out bed. There's only one bed in the camper, and I know I'm going to give it to Joel. It's quite literally the very least I can do for him, and I feel guilty for staying silent all day now that I've had time to process what happened in town.