When We Shed Civilization

Chapter 33

"Hey, Beth, wake up."

The voice chased ephemeral dream images away, leaving nothing but an aftermath of heat, flames, thirst, and a dark tunnel—all of them dwindling, except for the thirst, which stayed locked to her throat.

She groaned, her voice unexpectedly raw and dry.

"It's time to go." Burt's voice.

She opened her eyes to darkness. Unexpectedly impenetrable, like a wall right before her nose. She reached out but there was nothing before her.

The basement. She took a deep breath. Of course it would be dark here, and even darker now that it must be evening or night.

"Is it night outside yet?" she asked.

"Yes, we should be going. I wanna get out of this stupid city."

Groping for the wall behind her, she got up. Her arm hurt where it had collided with Whitesnake's bike.

The dagger! She still had it with her when she had entered here.

Stooping low, she searched the ground, almost cutting herself as her fingers found the blade.

It felt solid in her hand, reassuring.

"You're coming?" he said.

"Yes." Her voice was a dry rasp. "I'm thirsty. You haven't found any water, perchance?"

"Perchance?" The laugh in his voice had a mocking sound to it. "No, my lady."

The stairway up to the ground floor was to the right, she remembered. She turned and followed the wall, bumping into Burt just two steps in.

"Oops," she said.

She felt his hand on hers, pulling her along. His touch reminded her of his behavior the night before, yet she let herself be guided. Her head hurt, and she wanted nothing but to get out of here.

Out of this basement. Out of this city. Out of this nightmare.

Faint nightlight illuminated the hallway up the stairs and the street outside. The sickle of the moon hung in the sky. On the other side of the street, its light reflected from the river.

With its sickly color replaced by hues of black ink, the water looked almost normal, and it would have made her even thirstier if it hadn't been for its obnoxious smell.

The bridge downriver was but a silhouette silverlined by moonlight. Surreal like a dream—the promise of an easy way across the water and on towards Beth's home. The building in its center was a shade lighter than its background. Nothing moved. Nothing was alight.

"Have you seen anyone over there?" Beth asked.

"No. But I haven't exactly watched it all the time. I've slept, too." There was anger in his voice. "The night was short, and the bloody Bikers woke me before dawn. When they found you missing, they got mad at us. So I didn't exactly get a lot of sleep last night."

"Well, we'll have to try our luck, then." Biting back a retort, she descended the short to the road.

"What's your plan, then?" Burt said, at her heels.

She shrugged. "What about crossing silently? Just walk the bridge to the other side. If we're lucky, there's no one up there. Or, if there is someone, they might be asleep."

The optimism in her words had a false ring to them—in this world, nothing was easy.

"And then?" Burt whispered even though the bridge was still some hundred yards away. "We didn't have any water today. The other side of this bloody river is just as dry as this one. You said that, with the van, it takes almost two hours to get from the city to Seaside. How long's that on foot while you're dying from thirst?"

Forty miles, or fifty? An easy walk in two days, it was. If you had water and provisions.

Which they didn't.

"Any better ideas?" she asked.

Burt said nothing.

"We could, of course, return to that stadium," Beth said. "But there's that little problem of you having almost killed Leo. I'm sure he'd love to have us back."

He snorted. "And what about you abducting his daughter?"

Yes, what about that? He had a point there, what could she say? How would Leo feel about it?

"Well," he said, "we can take some water from the river and boil it. I'm sure we can find a pot or something. And you've still got that lighter, don't you?"

She patted her skirt pocket and was relieved to find the hard outline of the device. "Yes. But the way that water stinks, I'm not sure that boiling would help."

"Better try drinking it than dying from thirst."

"Let us worry about that when we have crossed the bridge," Beth said. She wasn't in the mood to discuss these technicalities, in particular because they were now ascending a ramp towards the end of the bridge.

She just wanted to get this done.

A few steps from the top, she stopped and checked the bridge that would take them over the river. The house in its midst blocked almost all of it, like a troll guarding a thoroughfare, leaving but a narrow passage at one side.

"We can't do anything but try," she said. "A chance for freedom beats the fetters of fear any time."

"Hu?"

"Forget it. Let's just go." She was impatient to move.

"Wait." He put a hand on her arm. "I'll go first. You follow behind. When anything happens, run."

He looked ahead, the moonlight failing to reveal the features of his face.

Was this gallantry or an attempt to gain absolution for the deeds of the night before? Before she could make up her mind, he took the dagger from her hand and handed her the gun instead.

"Take this." Without a further word, he strode off.

With a few of his steps, the night swallowed his face and person, leaving but a grayish specter.

She wanted to call out to him. But she lacked the words, and making noise was not called for anyway.

There he walked, like a knight riding into the battlefield. For her? For himself? Did he know?

She should have spent more time learning who he was.

She moved closer to the tall support at the end of the bridge, the one holding the cables, seeking its shadows.

As she watched him closing in on the house, she heard a noise back from the city—faint, at the edge of her hearing. It took her a moment to realize what it was.

Laughter.