No Fear

The palm of my hand had a sharp indent where I clasped my mother’s necklace in my hand. I gripped it whenever I was afraid, and even after all these years alone, I still reached for the silver heart far oftener than I should. I had wished so many times that I was reaching for her strong hand, but it had been more years than I could track since I’d last seen her face.

I knew it had been years. I knew the seasons had changed, and my hair had grown long, my body tall. On hard days, I couldn’t understand how I had survived, but on the good, I loved the quiet and solitude. I read books in broken down libraries; found food in the stores of people who thought they would last longer.

In winter, I would travel down until the air grew warm. In summer, I’d walk until I saw white peaks in the distance. Now I had a wagon attached to a bicycle. It held a pillow, blankets, toolbox, and the few field guides I’d found useful over time. I knew some people had cars still, somehow - but I stayed well clear of them. I learned, in the early days, not to trust.

I tried not to think about what might have been, so I spent most of my time trying to reconstruct my memories. I rebuilt houses, faces, and parks; repaved streets and sang old songs. To keep my language, I spoke out loud to myself when I was certain to be alone, although that was not always a guarantee.

When my mother was still with me, the world seemed a larger place. Now it seemed small, familiar, and unsettlingly crowded. My mother had wanted to stay in one place, and thought we needed to trust other people to get by. It was trust that had left us behind, and courage that had ended her.

A long highway lay ahead of me, and I tried to picture my mother’s face. I couldn’t really do it without seeing the end, but I still made a habit of attempting it - it seemed the only tribute I could give, as well as a useful reminder. When the image got too difficult, I would look straight up at the sky and try to fill my eyes with its vastness. When I came back down to the earth, I would be able to focus on the road again.

I walked past some fields and thought of road trip songs that my mother had loved. Life had been an adventure, then that faded. The highway on which I now walked was broken and full of pits and crevices. In the early days, I didn’t yet know to watch my step and my surroundings.

My mother said “keep a diary”. She’d said that I’d want to remember what we’d been through, someday when everything was normal again. I’d done it a while, but when she was gone, it didn’t make sense anymore. I never wrote again.

I approached the remnants of a town, finding a stop. The big ones sometimes had food left in them, and there were no signs of other people nearby. I waited overnight to see if anyone showed up, then went in early the next morning. Using some ladders (and putting a small one aside for my wagon), I checked on top of the tallest shelves, but there was nothing of use. The only sections still full were technology. I grabbed a box of wires and left.

Someone outside had found my wagon where I’d hidden it in the trees. It was an older woman. She looked alone, and I thought, if nothing else, I could just knock her unconscious and go. I approached quietly on the sandy lot, grasping the ladder in both of my hands. I tried to remind myself what it felt like to hit something just hard enough.

“Mom!”

A voice behind me was stark and warning, causing the woman to whirl and face me. I stood, still trying to decide if I should run away, hit her and try to escape with my belongings, or do the unthinkable and speak to another person for the first time since my mother. I waited too long and my choice was made for me.

“Mom, look out!” The voice was closer, and deeper than my own. I looked over my shoulder, still clutching the ladder. A young man was running toward us. Turning back, I saw the woman, who had looked startled, soften and begin to smile.

“It’s alright sweetie, it’s just a girl,” she said. She reached out a hand. “Hi honey, I’m Cath. What’s your name?”

I didn’t answer, and but some part of me was relieved I’d been caught. I was never sure if I would hit with the right impact.

“Do you remember your name, sweetheart?” The woman furrowed her brow, looking concerned.

I nodded, but still didn’t answer. I put the ladder down, but held tightly to the top step. The young man approached and looked at me warily.

“She looked like she was going to hurt you, mom,” he insisted, eyeing me accusingly.

“No, she wouldn’t do that, would you honey?” The woman named Cath smiled again. “Are you with anyone?”

I shook my head, then spoke, “I’m alone, and that’s my stuff.”

“Oh!” Cath exclaimed, laughing and putting her hands up in mock surrender. “I beg pardon!” The worried look returned to her face, and she continued, “you want to join us, honey?”

I shook my head, but she did the same. “No, young lady. You’re coming with us. There’s no way a pretty young thing like yourself is safe by herself. You don’t know what some men are like,” she added, as though she was letting me in on a secret. “We travel in a big, warm pack, and we’re heading south to find our own El Dorado.” Cath reached out for a hug. I shrank back.

“Oh, honey, someone hurt you?”

“No.”

“I don’t bite.”

Her son was getting antsy. “Let’s go, mom, she doesn’t want to come with us,” he said.

“No. I’m not leaving this young girl alone. We’re family, and now she’s part of it too, like it or not. And we hug in this family,” she said, pulling me in and squeezing me tightly.

When she released me, I made space for the ladder in my wagon. I held the handlebars of my bike and began to walk away, but Cath ran in front of me. “Forget it, mom,” begged her son, but she held firm.

“Where’s your mother?” Cath demanded. I answered with silence again, but my hand went involuntarily to the silver locket. “Is she in there?” she asked more gently.

Inside were the only surviving images of myself and my father I told her.

“You know, give it a little time. Join us, you’ll be safe. I won’t take her place, but I’ll keep an eye on you.”

I gave up. I didn’t think she would accept a no. I followed them silently to their encampment.

They were at an old school. Cath wanted me to share her room, but I slipped out as soon as I could hear them breathing evenly. It had been surreal hearing other people so close, and I knew I’d never get any rest.

I made my way down some stairs into what had been the gym. I climbed the bleachers on the side and lay down.

“Hey,” came a loud whisper. I wondered why someone would be so noisy while trying to be quiet, but I didn’t reply. “Hey, you. New girl.”

I peered through the bleachers and saw a hovering candle.

“It’s Nate. Cath’s son. Are you in here?” He waited again, and then insisted “I know you’re in here. I know you came down here.”

“Nathaniel!” a shriek came from farther away, and I saw the candle flicker, then extinguish. “What are you doing down here?”

“Mom, I’m just looking. I saw that girl come down, and I didn’t want her to… “

“Do not let her lead you astray, Nathaniel. You come right back upstairs, and if she’s still here in the morning, we will let her know that she should not be wandering off alone. Come on, now.” She sounded tense, rushed even, but I felt her presence for a while longer.

Cath gave me her rules in the morning, and introduced me to the rest of the camp. The people seemed happy enough, and welcoming and warm as she had described them. There was a young couple - a boisterous man and his reserved wife who was expecting a baby. An elderly man had his son and granddaughter with him, and an older husband and wife was caring for their two young grandsons. Cath had three sons, the eldest of whom was my senior by three months. Her sister was only ten years older than me and friendly, and her daughters were only five and six years old.

I found myself starting to talk to people again, sharing old stories and listening to theirs. I learned how they had come to choose their destination. They had found a small post office that hadn’t been burned to the ground in the early days. There was a letter about an island; a long coastline off the gulf. It said someone was starting a community there - they were building defenses to keep themselves safe. Something in the letter had convinced Cath and her sister that it would be safe, and the rest of the group had fallen in line.

They planned to travel ten miles or so a day. There were arguments, sometimes, about whether they should cross the river at a direct angle, or whether they should travel far enough out of the way to find a narrower section. The lone dissent in their community was the old man, who sometimes questioned the wisdom of going to an unfamiliar place with unknown people. His son would correct him, and Cath would remind him that in this world, faith was all we had.

When I spoke to the old man, he had only doubts to offer. He didn’t have any proof that their destination would not be a safe haven, anymore than Cath could prove that it was. Months passed, and Cath’s faith seemed to overwhelm the elderly man’s doubts.

When we finally reached the river, it was deafening and frighteningly quick. Along the way we had found a small boat and some rope, and now Nathaniel and the young father made their way across the water, tying their end of the rope to a tree and making trips back in forth to move our party.

At last, Cath and Nathaniel waited in the boat and beckoned me. I shook my head. The boat started to drift as they waited.

“You can’t live your life in fear!” she cried out over the sound of the rushing water. It echoed something long ago, words someone had said in passing when the end began. I found myself staring straight into her eyes, unmoving. I had, though - all this time - been living in fear. Fear was what had made me keep my grandmother’s mushroom book, and my grandfather’s hunting knife. Unrelenting terror had kept me in shadow and shelter for who knew how long, avoiding the fate of so many others.

I shook my head, cut the rope, and turned away. I heard more shouting, but I had made up my mind. In time, even the sound of the rapids faded. It was only when I was so far away that I couldn’t even hear a hum that I realized my hand was bleeding. I let go of the locket, pressed the palm of my hand to the bottom of my shirt, and let a drop of blood make its way down from the heart’s silver point.