After surviving that beast's attack on the bridge, I nearly died once again. First, it tried to crush me with one of the enormous rocks it threw; then it tore out a tree trunk and hurled it at us. Finally, a vine tripped me, and I almost fell straight into its jaws. It was a vicious attack. It hurled thousands of rocks, and the bridge nearly collapsed. I imagine this wasn't the only time that beast has attacked someone.
She, as always, knows how to move. She knows exactly what to do and where to run. I wonder what her story is, what she had to go through to become so good at surviving a holocaust like this. She must have endured horrible things. Maybe, if I'm lucky, one day I'll be as good as she is.
I don't even know her name. How can something as important as someone's name—and especially the name of someone who has saved my life several times—become so insignificant? It's unforgivable that I wasn't kind enough to ask her or, at the very least, introduce myself. I'll keep it in mind the next time we stop.
Every so often, we stop, and she tells me to be quiet. She watches. She reads the movement of the trees and underbrush, watches how the wind shifts, and listens to every sound around us. If she decides it's safe, we take off running in whatever direction she thinks is best. She's saved me so many times that I don't even think about arguing with her instructions anymore.
A thousand questions run through my head while we race along. What are those shadows? What is the fortress like? What is there to eat, if anything is left? Do we have to kill and devour beasts to survive? Where do they get their water? Do they have a well or a river? Is it recycled rainwater? Obviously, I don't expect to find electricity, but the group we're heading toward... will they be armed like she is? Will they have enough bullets to stop every beast that comes near?
But perhaps the most important question is another one:
How long have they been here?
We reach a clearing in the middle of the forest. There's a small building. She tells me we'll spend the night there because, no matter what we do, we can't keep moving in the dark.
As we approach, I see that at some point it must have been a lovely cabin. It has only one floor, though it's fairly large—maybe four or five rooms. The pitched roof must have protected it from the rain, and the windows, now covered in dust, are large enough to observe the landscape or spot the arrival of unwanted visitors. The walls are solid. You can tell it was built with time and care.
The door is broken, as if someone or something forced its way inside.
Despite being abandoned, the interior retains a strange sense of warmth. In the center of the main room is a huge fireplace, surrounded by padded wooden benches. It seems like an ideal place to sleep near the fire and spend cold afternoons and nights.
—You can explore—she tells me—but don't make a mess. Any loud noise could put us at risk.
I agree and start investigating.
On the right side of the main room, I find what must have been the kitchen. It was destroyed by fire. Nothing remains except a few old odds and ends and ash. Putting out the fire must have been difficult, considering that almost everything is made of wood.
I cross to the left side and find a small room that served as a bathroom. I never thought I'd say this, but it sure is nice to see a toilet again. There's also a bathtub. I'd give anything for a good bath, even if I had to take it with a sponge and a little cold water.
At the back are two bedrooms. In the first, I find an enormous bed and sheets dustier than I am. Clothes are scattered everywhere.
Then I see the hole.
Where the wall should be, there's a huge opening. I step through it and look into the adjoining room. It's the same. Both rooms have been left without a wall, but something doesn't add up. It doesn't look as though the wall collapsed. The wood was cut with impossible precision: there are no nicks, cracks, or splinters. It's as if someone passed a gigantic blade through the house.
I return to the main room to tell her what I saw, but she stops me before I can speak.
—My name is Abigail—and I'm sorry I've treated you the way I have.
I look at her, not knowing how to respond.
—I know you have a thousand questions in your head. I don't have answers to all of them, but you need to know this. Three days ago, I left the fortress with five other survivors. We had to reach the S-shaped tree where I found you. The mission was to find out whether the beasts couldn't pass through it either. There's another identical tree near the fortress, and the same thing happens there.
Abigail lowers her gaze and squeezes her hands on her knees.
—Maybe it was stupid, but we're desperate for answers. We need to know if there's any way out of here. My companions and I split up when a beast caught up with us. It tore one of us apart in front of the others. We all attacked, but we couldn't hurt it. Then it attacked us. We all screamed. We all ran.
She pauses. For an instant, she becomes the cold woman I met in the forest again.
—The plan was for Tommy and me to reach the tree if we were attacked. But Tommy died, so I had to keep going alone while the others tried to stop the beast. I ran so far that I had no chance to go back and check whether any of them were still alive. I kept moving. I escaped death several times, and when I thought I was going to die, an idiot made noise with a metal bar to save my life.
She glances at me.
—It was a pretty stupid move, but it helped me recover. That way, I was able to find out what I needed to know. And now I have dead weight clinging to me.
I don't know whether she's talking about me or everything she left behind.
—I know it's been a pretty long day for you, young friend. Let's rest for now. Eat some of what I have.
Abigail takes two small flannel cloths out of her backpack, each wrapped around something. She hands one to me. I unwrap it immediately, trying to guess what's inside.
Bread, a little stale, and something green I don't recognize.
I eat it without thinking. Then she gives me some water, collected from a plant while it was trying to devour me. It's a meager dinner, but I enjoy it as if it were a feast.
After we eat, I listen to everything she tells me. Her expression changes completely. She no longer looks like a heartless woman. For a moment, she resembles a mother telling a bedtime story.
I close my eyes beside the fire.
Then I hear three knocks on the broken door.
Abigail sits up immediately and smothers the embers with her bare hands.
—Don't make a sound—she whispers.
Outside, something drags its claws across the wood.
And then a voice, far too human, says her name.