The Outside (13 page)

I lifted the stone twice before I was able to bring myself to slam it down onto her head.

Ginger gave a small squeak, like a startled mouse. A soft exhalation disturbed the fabric of the coat. And then there was no more—she lay still.

Tears streamed from my eyes. The rock slipped from my hands and rolled down away from the tree. I staggered back.

What had I done?

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I love you, Ginger.”

Alex knelt down and turned her over. I could not bring myself to look over his shoulder as he removed the coat. I saw a stain on the dirt that was dark. Not the color of blood, but like molasses. Dark.

“She’s gone,” he said quietly. He gazed at me with a stricken expression of tenderness.

I saw the silver knife glittering in his left hand and a stake in his right. We knew what had to be done to keep her from rising as a vampire.

I knelt down beside him, shaking. I opened Ginger’s coat and the stained and soggy blouse. It took me three tries to work the buttons. Her chest was pale, and I could see that the red tongues of the infection had worked beneath her bra strap and wound around her ribs.

I forced myself to try to take the knife from Alex. His hands were frozen around the hilt.

“No,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

The stake plunged between the upper left two ribs, spilling a dark, viscous fluid on the ground.

I was glad that Alex was here, glad that he was here to take some of this terrible burden from me. The silver glinted in his fist as he brought the blade to her throat. I looked away, away until her head rolled down the little slope to come to rest beside the stone.

I stood there, gasping. The sunshine washed over me, cold and distant. Alex had his back to me. I could see his stained hands, the way his shoulders shook.

I couldn’t help myself. My whole spirit buckled and shattered. I pressed my hands to my mouth and let loose a hoarse cry of anguish, like a raven’s caw.

***

We used some of the remaining lighter fluid on Ginger’s remains and dragged her head and body to the pyre. I stripped her wedding rings from her fingers with the intention of giving them to her family, if we ever saw them. I gently removed her broken glasses from her pocket and tucked them into our pack. We sat upwind of the pyre, feeding the fire with leaves and dried branches. We were covered in blood. I’m sure that if there was something lurking in the countryside, it could smell us. I don’t think I cared much, anymore. We were open, exposed, and I felt, deep down, that we deserved whatever came for us. But Alex insisted that we burn our clothes and don the English garments we’d taken from the Animal Farm. I cast my Plain dress and apron into the fire, watching the remnants of my former life flicker and burn. But I kept the bonnet in the pocket of the loose jeans I wore.

“We can bury her ashes in the morning,” I said. I was pressed up against Alex’s side. I felt him nod against me. I covered his hand with mine. I had slipped Ginger’s rings on my right index finger. There was a simple gold band and a gold ring with a diamond in it. It was the first time in my life I’d ever worn jewelry. It made me feel closer to her.

“She is at peace now,” I said, mostly to convince myself. “It is
Gelassenheit
.”
Not murder
, I thought.
Please, not murder
. . .

He said nothing.

I tugged at his sleeve, pleading for him to affirm me. “She’s at peace . . . God’s will . . .” I whispered. It sounded like a question.

He choked and turned his head away. “This isn’t
Gelassenheit
. This is a cruel God tormenting us.”

“Don’t say that,” I said. I wanted to believe that what we had done was terrible but necessary. “I was always told that God smiles upon those who do his dirty work.”

“Bonnet, I . . . I can’t believe in an all-powerful being who would allow this . . . who wants this to happen. Screw your
Gelassenheit
.”

I shrank back. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, to try to blot it all out: the fire, the ache in my chest, the rings around my finger. And Alex’s anger. I knew that it wasn’t directed at me but at the easiest thing to blame. And that was God.

We passed the night without speaking further, watching Ginger burn from a safe distance. I thought I heard howling, and shivered. But I was determined to stay put, to make sure that the fire didn’t burn out. I didn’t have power over much, but I could ensure that Ginger’s remains didn’t fall to scavengers.

By silent agreement, we took turns on watch. Alex lay curled up on the ground, his head in my lap. I wore his coat around my shoulders.

I thought of how far I’d come. Not just in terms of miles, but how far I’d fallen from grace. I had given my heart and body to an English man. I had been placed under the
Bann
and cast out of my community. I had learned how to use weapons and how to kill. Except for the bonnet in my pocket, there was no sign of who I had been.

And Ginger was gone. I hoped that I could honor my promise to tell her husband and children goodbye for her. I hoped that the world would be set to rights and that I would be given that chance, to do something good for the woman who had loved me like one of her own children. The woman whom I’d just killed.

I sobbed, scrubbed at my eyes with my sleeve. It wasn’t fair. I felt like screaming at God, like demanding answers. But I knew that he wouldn’t answer me. He never answered me. He was just as distant and cold as the stars above.

I stared out into the night, and my breath caught in my throat when I saw a pair of glowing eyes staring back at me.

For a moment, I considered closing my eyes. Surrendering to the Darkness and letting this long nightmare be finished.

But I couldn’t. It wasn’t just me. I had to protect Alex. He was all I had left.

My hand crept down to the silver knife lying closed on the grass.

The eyes crept closer, and a creature of smoke and sinew came into the touch of the firelight.

Not a vampire. A wolf.

The animal warily approached, watching me with soft golden eyes. I recognized it from the Animal Farm—the smallest one who had just a bit too much gold on its chest, which made me think that there was some domestic dog in it. The one who had stayed behind after the others had left.

My hand moved away from the knife.

“It’s all right,” I whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”

I hoped that it wouldn’t hurt me. My father had said that wolves were shy of people and the only hazard they posed was to unguarded cattle if they were hungry. But those were different times, and everyone was hungry.

At the very edge of the firelight, the wolf slowly and deliberately lay down. He did not break from my gaze once as he did so. I could see the tension and fear in his body. He didn’t look as painfully skinny as he had the last time I’d seen him, and he looked clean.

My fingers snaked to the pack beside me. I found a fruit pie from the truck stop, one of our last ones. I had no appetite. I quietly unwrapped it and tossed it to the wolf.

It was a clumsy throw. The pie landed short, about three feet away from it, and broke apart. The wolf’s nose twitched. Without breaking eye contact with me, he sidled over to the pie, his belly close to the ground.

He gobbled it down and licked the grass for crumbs, reminding me of the dogs I’d owned and bred.

The wolf didn’t approach me. He went back to the spot at the edge of the fire and lay down. I saw that some of the tension had drained from his muscles, and he put his head between his paws.

“All right then,” I whispered. “You can help me keep watch.”

***

When dawn began to flush the edge of the horizon and the stars began to burn themselves out, the wolf climbed to his feet. He padded away into the tall grass. I wondered if I’d ever see him again. But I was willing to take his visit for what it was—a bit of comfort in the darkness.

Alex woke shortly after, and I didn’t mention the wolf. The fire had died down by then, and we went to poke through the ashes with sticks. Ginger’s bones were still there, burned black and covered in ash.

We found a couple of flat stones and set to digging a hole. It wasn’t a very respectable grave. But I needed to bury her. I set the bones inside the hole with the foot and leg bones facing east, in the Amish fashion.

Alex brought the skull, placed it on top of the burned rib cage and pelvis. I winced when I saw it. The top left portion of it had been caved in, down to the eye socket. And the mouth was slightly open. I could see the sharp teeth inside, and shuddered.

We scraped dirt back into the hole, stomped the fresh earth down to keep the scavengers out. I tied two sticks together in a cross shape with some dry grass and staked it in the top of the disturbed earth. Alex stacked rocks before it in a pillar.

We stood before the makeshift grave. I tried to memorize where it was, how many paces from the tree. Alex carefully marked the area on his map.

Plain people did not eulogize their dead. I didn’t know how to begin to do that in the English fashion. So I began in Deitsch:

“
Unser Vadder im Himmel
,

dei Naame loss heilich sei
,

Dei Reich loss komme
. . .”

Alex said “Amen” with me at the end of the Lord’s Prayer, and I felt a small spark of warmth, that perhaps not all his hope had been lost. He took my hand and we stared at the small grave. In a Plain service, there would be sermons. Someone would give the name of the deceased, her birth and death dates. I was ashamed that I didn’t know Ginger’s birth year or her middle name.

Instead, I said: “Goodbye, Ginger. We shall see you in the kingdom of heaven.”

***

We traveled fast, since there were only two of us. Three, counting Horace.

Four, counting the wolf.

Alex and I rode together on the horse, wrapped in the cloak of silent mourning. We were mindful not to push Horace too hard, with our combined weight added to the poundage of our dwindling gear. But there was something reassuring to the feel of Alex’s arms around me. He was not much of a horseman. I had to show him how to mount and dismount without falling off, how to guide the horse with the reins. But he was gentle with the horse, and Horace knew that.

We traveled across open farmland. Occasionally, Alex would point to where we were on the map. I felt the strength of winter coming and worried over our food supplies. We were down to one bottle of cranberry juice and a bag of potato chips, which we shared before a small fire. It was getting too cold to contemplate night without it. Our lighter fluid was gone, and I managed to start a fire with some dry pine, but I had been lucky to find it.

“We’re going to have to consider carrying an ember,” I said. “In pine needles or a jar or something. Some way that it can smolder and still get air. I don’t know how well I can start one once it’s wet.” I blew on the tiny orange flame I’d started in the tangle of pine, nursing it as I would a bird fallen from its nest.

“I’ll work on it.” He shared the last of the juice from the bottle with me and began to carve out a hole in the side with his knife. He stuffed the inside of the bottle with pine needles and unscrewed the cap for a chimney. I could put a spark in it and it would remain live for a long time, able to breathe and smolder.

“That’s perfect,” I said, warming my hands over the flame. We’d set up camp in an open meadow, where we could see in all directions. This land was a bit higher than some of the flat land we had left, and I could see for miles in the daylight. Now the night was soft and total. I saw no lights. No sign of humans. Only the light of the fire and the stars.

“What are we going to do if we’re the last ones?” He opened the bag of potato chips and handed them to me. I took a handful and passed the rest to him.

I shook my head. “We’re not. We can’t be.”

But I wouldn’t say that the thought hadn’t occurred to me.

“What happens if, under my brilliant leadership, we get to Canada and there’s nothing there?” He stared into the tiny blaze.

“Then . . .” I was going to give him a heartfelt platitude about the value of hope or
Gelassenheit
. But that wasn’t what he wanted. And, feeling the hollowness of Ginger’s death, I wasn’t sure that I could say it and mean it. Instead, I said: “Then we will survive there, just as we’ve managed to survive here, for as long as we can.”

“And why the hell are you following me, anyway?”

I blinked at him. I felt a stab of hurt. We’d all come together, and I’d assumed . . . “Where else would I go?”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean . . . you just agree to submit to my authority. Is that something that you’re doing just because I’m a man? Having a penis doesn’t make me infallible.” He rubbed his hands through his hair, and I could see his Adam’s apple bob as he was trying not to cry. “I got Ginger killed. You
should
question me. Challenge me if I’m making the wrong call. Not follow me out of some biblical edict or cultural force of habit.”

I placed my hand on his sleeve. “I’m not following you out of blind faith. Or love, for that matter. When I follow you, it’s because I’ve thought about it and I agree that what you’re doing is right.”

He leaned over and kissed me. His lips were warm and he felt alive.

“Thanks, Bonnet. I just . . . I’m not cut out to be any kind of person in charge.”

“You’re making the right choices.” I truly believed that.

“I’m not convinced.” Alex licked the salt from the bag. “We are now officially out of food. I don’t know how long that’s going to be, Bonnet, but . . .”

He stiffened, and his gaze was focused beyond the fire. I felt him reach for his knife at his side, but I put a hand on his arm, stilling him.

Glowing eyes crept to the edge of the campfire. But they were familiar golden ones. The wolf came within the reach of the light. His tail was low and his ears were pressed flat. He carried something in his mouth.

I felt Alex suck in his breath as I murmured, “Our shadow has come back.”

The wolf paused at the edge of the fire and laid down his burden. It was a rabbit. He backed away from us, moved to the other side of the fire, and lay down.