Without another word said, Sawyer walked out of the restaurant and headed straight to the Mission to collect his backpack. Once there, he knew that in good conscience he could not leave the boy and girl without the means to defend themselves, and he leaned the rifle against the wall and set the pistol on the ground. He also took out a few cans of food and a bottle of water and set them down beside the weapons. He could feel Sara watching him the entire time, and as he turned to walk way, he saw her standing in the doorway, her dark eyes following his every move. Still, Sawyer had made the choice to leave, and he nodded at her one last time before he disappeared into the trees.

 

 

 

 

Mason walked over and stood beside the girl. She turned her head away from the trees and looked over at the boy.

“Keep on walking, Hero. We’ll be just fine on our own. Isn’t that right, Mason?”

Mason only looked up at her. He did not say a single word. Sara frowned.

“Oh, you disagree. You think he’s our savior? You saw what he did to me, right?”

Mason gave her a look and made his hand into a knife. He ran his thumb from his stomach up to his chest and stuttered.

“Y-you tried to s-s-tab him f-first.”

“Whatever. How was I supposed to know he wasn’t some homicidal maniac? We both thought that he came here to kill us, remember? I was just trying to protect us.”

Mason looked down at the ground and shrugged. Sara shook her head.

“Like I said, whatever. None of this would have even happened if you hadn’t started that fire in the first place.”

Mason hung his head and turned away. His eyelid began to twitch. The boy had accidentally set a large pile of wood ablaze earlier that morning, and the two had been on edge ever since, even going so far as to set up an ambush for anyone who might come to the main gate, just like Sawyer had done. Sara immediately felt bad about what she had said, and she put her arm around Mason and apologized.

“I’m sorry, Mason. That wasn’t fair. I know it was only an accident. I’m just upset, I guess.”

Her voice softened, and she held Mason’s hand.

“Do you think he was right? Do you think it’s really too dangerous for us to stay here? Do you think we should leave?”

Mason could only shrug his shoulders again. Sara sighed and took the boy by the hand.

“Come on, Mason. Let’s get back to the Mission. We need to check on my father, and besides, it’s not like we have anywhere else to go.”

 

 

 

 

By the time they returned to the Mission, Sawyer was already well over a mile away, crossing the freeway and heading toward the foothills. Night had begun to fall, and with it came a light rain, and Sawyer stopped beneath the awning of a gutted café and pulled a plastic poncho out of his pack. He was about to put it on and continue walking when he stopped and looked back toward the Mission. He could not help but wonder about the beautiful, angry girl and the strange, scared boy. Where had they come from? How had they survived this long? Was the girl’s father truly sick and dying? Sawyer shook his head and slipped the poncho back into his pack. No matter how badly he wanted to simply walk away from the situation, there were still too many questions left unanswered, and the boy knew that he was not yet prepared to leave.

That night, he made camp inside the café, his mind racing until well after midnight. He awoke at first light the next day, skipping breakfast and following a winding path back toward the Mission. He did not know why he was going back, or even what he would say or do if he saw her again, but nevertheless he kept walking. He was still a quarter-mile away and thinking about the girl’s dark eyes when he suddenly heard a single scream pierce the cold morning air, and the boy momentarily froze where he stood and whispered a name.

“Sara.”

This time there was no deep breath or drawn-out countdown, and imagining the worst, Sawyer let the adrenaline hit him like a freight train, dropping his backpack and breaking into a full run.

Afterward, he would not remember running, or scaling the wall, or dropping into the compound, but he would remember the screams. They were coming from a small, detached house just across the courtyard, and he ran straight to it, scattering the crows as he sprinted across the open ground and came to a sliding stop just outside the front door. He reached to open the door, but it was locked, and he threw himself against it two or three times before the frame began to split. He heard her scream again, and with one final surge he lowered his shoulder and burst through the door, losing his balance as he crashed to the ground just inside the entryway.

He was still holding the Mossberg and trying to get to his feet when something heavy and hard smashed against the side of his head. Sawyer rolled away from the blow and tried to raise the shotgun to fire, but the weapon was struck from his hands as he pulled the trigger, the errant blast ripping into the clay tiles of the entryway. He dove to retrieve the shotgun, but before he could close his grip on the weapon, he took another vicious hit to the back of his head and collapsed on the floor, barely conscious.

Suddenly, there was loud popping sound, and for what seemed like a long time afterward, Sawyer hovered on the edge of awareness, everything claustrophobic and black. He could hear a voice calling his name, and he groggily forced himself up on one elbow and dragged his other arm across his face and eyes, his vision stained red with blood. Slowly, he became aware that there was something dark and heavy lying across his legs, and as his vision cleared, he looked down in confusion and mumbled.

“What the hell?”

He rubbed his eyes again and said the same thing one more time, only much louder.

“What the hell!”

Lying across his lap was the body of a dead man, a bullet hole in his forehead, a large portion of the back of his skull blown clean off. Chunks of brain matter and skull fragments were all over the boy, and Sawyer had to fight off the urge to puke as he tried to pull his legs free. Somehow, he managed to roll the body off him, but just as he did, he heard someone clear a throat, and he looked up. Standing just inside the hallway was the girl, her eyes flashing, her wrists wrapped in frayed duct tape. The smoking Beretta pistol was held fast in her hands. Her voice was perfectly calm.

“You OK, Hero?”

Sawyer nodded.

“I think I’m all right. What happened?”

Sara pushed the hair away from her eyes. She looked back toward the front door.

“No time for that now. I’m going to go out there and make sure that there is no one else we need to worry about, but after that, we need to talk, OK?”

Sawyer nodded again, his head muddled and pounding, and she turned and walked out of the room. It took him another minute before he could stand on his own, and he picked up the shotgun and looked down at the dead man on the floor. Sawyer felt the bump on the back of his head and saw that there was blood on his hand. He sighed in confusion.

“Seriously. What the hell just happened?”

Sawyer felt like he needed to sit down, but before he could even find a chair he heard the creeping of light footsteps in the open doorway behind him, and he spun around with the Mossberg in hand. Fortunately, it took him only a moment to recognize Mason’s silhouette painted jet black against the morning sun, and Sawyer quickly lowered the weapon and smiled.

“Sorry, buddy. I’m still a little cloudy over here. Your name’s Mason, right?”

The boy nodded but never looked up, keeping his eyes on the shotgun as he spoke.

“Sara s-says t-t-to tell you t-to f-follow me. OK?”

It seemed as if the sentence had to be torn from the boy’s mouth, each word rattled with anxiety, and Sawyer could see that the boy’s confidence was as thin as his body.

“No problem, Mason, I’m right behind you.”

Mason offered his version of a half-smile and waved for him to follow, Sawyer doing his best to keep up as the boy ran with notable speed across the dusty ground of the compound. The boy led Sawyer across the courtyard and finally stopped at the porch of a large, two-story house located near the east wall of the property. They had not set foot on the creaky boards of the porch for more than a second before the door suddenly swung open, and Sara grabbed Mason and pulled him inside. She looked over at Sawyer with frustration on her face.

“Hey, Hero, are you just going to stand there or what?”

Sawyer was still literally dazed from the blow to his head, and he was not sure exactly what she wanted him to do. She tapped her foot on the ground.

“Hello? Are you coming in or not?”

Sawyer nodded and stepped inside, his finger instinctively sliding down to the trigger of the Mossberg as he entered the dark room. Sara took notice, and she dropped her hand down to the 9mm on her hip and nodded at the shotgun.

“Take it easy. We just need to talk.”

Sawyer took his finger off of the trigger of the shotgun and sat down on a wooden chair that was near the door. He noticed that the boy had disappeared entirely, but that the girl’s eyes had never left his face, and he swallowed uncomfortably. Finally, Sara spoke. Her tone was not altogether friendly.

“So, Hero. What are you doing here, exactly?”

Sawyer was puzzled.

“I don’t understand. The kid told me to follow him here. He said you told him to come get me.”

Sara frowned.

“He’s not a kid. He’s almost fourteen years old. What are you, barely seventeen?”

Sawyer pictured the boy in his head. He could not have been much more than five feet tall and a hundred and ten pounds with his clothes soaking wet. Sawyer was quite literally a foot taller and more than twice the boy’s weight, and he could only shrug and apologize.

“All right. Sorry. He looks younger. And yeah, I’m seventeen.”

“Well, you shouldn’t assume so much. And just shut up for a second. I’m not asking why you’re here in this house. I’m asking you why you came back here to the Mission in the first place. You said you were leaving, and we saw you walk away. You said that you didn’t want anything from us. So why did you come back?”

Sawyer sat for moment, contemplating how to answer the girl.

“What I told you was true. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I don’t know why I came back. I really don’t. I heard you screaming, and I just couldn’t stop myself. That’s the only reason I came over the wall.”

Sara put her hands on her hips.

“Is that right? And you came rushing over to save me? Sounds like you’re trying to live up to your nickname, huh, Hero? Well, you can go ahead and look for someone else to save, because we don’t need your help.”

Sawyer shook his head.

“No, that’s not it at all. Look, I’m not trying to be a hero, so please stop calling me that. All I know is that I heard you scream, I busted through the door, and next thing I know, I come to and I have some guy with the top of his head blown off lying on top of me.”

Sara allowed a small smile to cross her lips.

“So, you don’t remember what happened at all?”

“Not really. I guess you must have saved my life?”

Sawyer was not exactly sure, but he thought he saw her eyes brighten a little.

“That’s right. I did save your life. So now you owe me.”

Sawyer laughed.

“I owe you? You tried to kill me twice just yesterday. Once with a rifle and once with your knife.”

She gave him a coy look.

“Don’t dwell in the past, Sawyer. That was yesterday. Look, I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you, but I don’t really have any other options right now, so just shut up and listen. Here is the situation.”