I shout at them so that Cillian does not have to.
“Run!”
Quick as we’re going, frightened as I am, I can make out the full spectrum of Nic’s expressions. Delight, then fear, then, admirably fast, grim determination. She tosses her stick to the side of the road and starts to back away, bringing Aodh with her by the hand. They don’t start running, though, till we’re nearly on top of them. Nic reaches out to Cillian, to touch him, as if she needs to make sure that he’s real. I meet her eyes just for a moment; her face looks drawn and dirty and happy and petrified.
I am glad, so glad, to see them.
The four of us, we run west together.
We move through a small village. It might offer some cover if only we had more space between us and the skrake. I risk a glance behind. I count eight. I throw my eyes over my left shoulder and count again. Nine and maybe more coming. Way too many.
My legs still feel strong as we run away and out from the little village, due west. I focus on my breathing. I’m going all right; I feel fit. I’m a little ahead of Cillian and Aodh now, and I check my speed. Aodh is quick but she’s small; she won’t be able to keep up this pace for long. Nic is pregnant, but she is strong. Running for two. I’m the only one of us with training.
I focus on my breathing, make it smooth and regular, get myself steady. I know how long I can keep this speed up—a long time—and this knowledge is important, it gives confidence. The others, they don’t know how far they can run and that scares them. They’re tired already and that is frightening too. They’re not used to being uncomfortable like this.
Rage burns, sudden and bright. They’re weaker than me, and they’ll slow me down because nobody trained them and because they didn’t bother to train themselves. What sort of world do they think we live in? The anger feels good. I could run all day.
I check my speed again, make sure I’m bringing up the rear, and try to keep an eye on the road ahead as well. If there are more ahead of us coming this way, we’ll have to peel off the road. We run on. Behind us, I can still see a snake of black smoke rising high into the sky. It’ll rain soon.
Aodh slows almost to a stop. Her face is coiled up in pain. She moves forward slowly, stumbling and holding her side, half doubled over. I snatch looks at the road; it won’t be long now.
Cillian throws his bag to the ground and hunkers down in front of Aodh. She climbs on to his back, and Cillian moves off, slow and working hard but keeping going. It’s nearly seamless, and I feel humbled by his thinking.
The thought of leaving her had already occurred to my traitor brain, the part of it that works through situations and comes out with an answer of what it’ll take to survive. The trained part. And in the meantime, here’s Cillian picking her up, carrying her.
Nic is stooping to pick up Cillian’s pack, but I put out my hand and snatch it from her. She has enough to carry. I get a look at her face as I pull the bag from her, and our eyes meet for a horrible moment. She is pure fear, near panic.
I start running again, but she isn’t behind me.
“Come on!” I shout to Nic. She is stock-still on the road, looking back toward what is chasing us. Frozen by it. I go back, cursing, and take her by the wrist, and I pull hard until she is stumbling beside me again, slower even than Cillian.
It takes a while before Aodh can run again. I can feel how she hates being carried, child though she is. She lets go her hold as soon as she’s able and is off Cillian’s back, and we speed up again, Nic pushing herself hard. As we run, Cillian reaches to take his bag back off me, and I hesitate but give it him. No one spares their breath for talk. What would we say? Run faster.
The road has risen on a small hill that gives a view of the land behind us. I turn and slow my pace, take two deep, shuddering breaths. Cillian is still moving but looking back at me.
“Come on!” he shouts.
“I’ll catch up, keep moving!”
They keep moving.
It takes my eyes a moment to focus. There, there is the village we passed through, in the distance, a few shadowy right angles. And there is the road leading from that point to this. I follow it with my eyes. It disappears round a bend, reappears, curves to the left. I see nothing. Can we have lost them? My eye catches on something. There is movement. Figures, moving fast, a few front-runners and then more, bunched together. More than nine now. They are still coming. They are moving faster than we are.
We don’t have much time.
I turn and run again, pumping my legs faster to catch up with Cillian and Aodh, and to feel how much strength they’ve left in them. I don’t know if I can really hear them—feet on the road, limping, dragging, pattering—or I’m just imagining it.
I take another look over my shoulder.
They are just a few hundred meters away.
It’s amazing we got this far, the four of us.
So close to the beach, and not nearly close enough.
Cillian stops suddenly, puts down his bag. He takes his knife, the big knife I lent him, and positions himself in the middle of the road. His ragged breaths shake his whole body.
“Cillian!” I shout. Aodh and I are on the road ahead of him, slowed but not stopped. Aodh is already crying beside me. She knows. Cillian turns to look. The smile he contrives for her is like a miracle.
“Be good,” he says.
Nic is screaming. She throws herself at him, grabs whatever she can grab, his arms, his clothes, and tugs hard. She’s incoherent, bawling. I feel my eyes prickle, and I move forward, take her by the wrist again and move her away. Crying, she breaks free and throws her arms around Cillian’s neck, and for a moment he is swayed. He closes his eyes and puts his arms around her, and for a moment they stay like that, silent. Then Cillian thrusts Nic from him and turns back to face the road. I grab her, and together we start moving away, Nic sobbing, me pulling.
Cillian looks at me, gives me one sure, firm nod. He is trusting me with their lives—all three of them. He is entrusting me with his own too, in a way; that I’ll make sure he’s not giving it up for nothing. He turns away from me, from us, toward the skrake.
I am so frightened.
Aodh, Nic, and I run on. Nic is running by herself now, but so slowly, with one arm over her belly. I push everything out of my brain but breathing and moving and keeping Aodh beside me. I’m sure I can smell the sea when I next hear the sound of many footsteps running behind us. I cry out, try to pick up the speed, reach for Aodh’s hand, and drag her with me. I don’t want to look behind us now. My breath is coming in ragged gasps, and Aodh is nearly done for.
I see the sign I’ve been looking for at last, a mark I made days ago—a lifetime ago—a rough M, for Mam, for Maeve, scraped into the metal. I lead us off the road and on to a smaller one, and we keep going.
We have run for such a long time.
I let myself hope a little that we’d lose them, that they might keep going straight instead of following us, but after a little while on the smaller road, working our way round trees and bushes, I hear them move behind us. Next it will be my turn to lay down my own life. I’m thankful that I have the ability to do that, the will, but even now, there is some selfishness at work too. I’m glad I won’t be the last one left alive.
We run till Nic falls to her hands and knees in the middle of the road, panting hard. Tears have made tracks in her filthy face. Snot bubbles around her nose, and her eyes are red and raw.
“Keep moving,” she says, her voice a rasp. “I can’t.”
I shake my head; she has two lives and I have just one.
“You can save Aodh,” she says. “I can’t.”
“Not yet,” I say, “not yet. Get up—we’re nearly home.”