6.

“What a sloppy mess,” I say, attempting to joke about the situation—anything to keep this vivid nightmare at bay.

A woman rushes over to Malik, babbling in a foreign tongue. She hugs him like his soul just left his body. I wordlessly question if it has. He regrets this—his aqua-colored eyes tell me everything his mouth doesn’t. 

I remember Mama and Mattie, and my feet carry me to our wagon. When I open the door, Mama’s face illuminates, tears trailing down her cheeks. Mattie’s eyes are wide. I wish he’d speak. Maybe say how glad he is to see me.

“What happened?” Mama asks; her mouth gapes open when she sees my wound.

I hold up my hand to stop her from whatever she was about to say. “The vagabonds are dead, but so are others.”

“I don’t want Mattie to—”

“He won’t. I’m going to help bury them.”

“If you need any help… I mean, I can…” She grasps for words, and I know she means well, but she’s not able to stomach this.

I shake my head. “You should stay here with him. I’ll be back soon.” Dried blood has caked itself to the shirt I have on. It takes a small amount of peeling before I can remove the top and grab another out of our bag to wrap my arm.

Outside, in the blazing heat, the bodies begin to stink. Putrid vapors waft into my nostrils, and lick the back of my throat.

I can almost taste death.

If we leave them out here without burials, the nocturnal predators will chew through their flesh and use their bones as toothpicks.

Everyone stands back and covers their faces. Nobody steps forward to help. I decide to make the first move.

“Does anyone have a shovel? I’ll start digging.” Looking at the corpses, I have no idea how I’m going to hollow out sand graves and dump their bodies.

Malik steps forward with a shovel in hand. “I’ll dig. You bury.”

“Deal.”

 The sun eyes us like a taskmaster, lashing us with its whip of blazing light. Eventually, it slides from one area of the sky to another.

We’ve cleared the bodies, dragged them into the pit. I try to block out the images of limp torsos, blood-stained sand and the odor. Most definitely the odor. 

“Thanks for the help,” I say to Malik. He glances at me quickly, nods, then begins to walk directly toward the vast desert. “Where are you going?” I call behind him, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he treks a little bit further and chucks the shovel.

When he returns, he says, “I can’t keep it with us, not with their blood on it.”

These people are his family and friends. Without them, he wouldn’t have anywhere to go. I think long and hard about that. How would I feel if I lost Mama and Mattie? What would I do then?

The gypsies have decided to move up the road. They don’t want to be near the blood and tomb any longer. I can’t say I blame them—I want to get out of here, too. Come morning, we’ll be gone, just me and my tiny family. Which means I’ll have to say goodbye to Malik.

After the sun disappears behind the indefinite stretch of desert, we’re left with air that pinches and bites at our skin, even under our clothes. Darkness is feared by many, and very few have braved it alone.

Tonight, the gypsies have decided not to celebrate with dancing, not after their terrible losses. I think they might be scared to be in the open again, vulnerable to attacks.

Mama, Mattie and me snuggle together to stay warm, even in our wagon.

“Tomorrow we’ll leave,” Mama says.

I don’t want to be reminded of how good these people were to us, and how we’ll leave them behind. They’ll continue on for another journey, never fully settling anywhere. Always learning something new.

I just pray that Mama’s right, and we’ll find Legora.

7.

The next morning we say our goodbyes. One of the women stitches my arm and gives me a healing herb. “Should be as good as new in a week,” she says. We thank the gypsies for their help, and then gather our belongings. Mama cries.

“We’re closer to Legora, so we’ll be there before you know it,” I reassure her. I don’t know if it helps much, but at least she stops weeping afterward.

Standing in the desert again, I search for Malik. He’s the one person I want to say goodbye to before we begin our trek. Maybe he’s still upset about those vagabonds. I’m surprised it hasn’t weighed on my conscience. Not nearly as much as I had thought it would…

The wagons begin to move one by one. He’s not coming, I think. The caravan of gypsies disappears into the wall of rising heat, and then out of sight. No more than a mirage on the horizon.

“Well, it’s just us now,” I say.

Mama pulls Mattie close to her waist. “We have a long day ahead of us. The sooner we get started, the closer we’ll be to Legora.”

Even after I can’t see them anymore, I gaze in the direction the gypsies departed.

Mama touches my arm and says, “C’mon. We need to get going.”

With the roasting sun on our backs, we start toward our destination. I warn Mama and Mattie to keep a strong eye for sand creatures—they burrow deep and come up when they smell blood. I call them the sharks of the desert.

We walk until the blisters on my feet have popped and oozed. My skin is burned, and tormented by an unseen fire. My legs have no energy, barely able to take another step.

But I have to fight it. This is what Mama and Mattie need. This is what I need. Our new life is about to begin, and I don’t want to be the one who delays that from happening.

Mama’s face cringes, sweat drops caressing her temples. Mattie wheezes each new breath.

“Let’s take a break. Rest for the night. We’re all exhausted,” I say. “The sun—it’s too much.”

They agree, and we return to our routine of constructing the tent. This time, though, we have enough food to fill our stomachs. I won’t have to watch Mattie crunch through two-week-old bread, or watch Mama faint from dehydration.

While I pull out the rods and tent covering, Mama and Mattie build a campfire with the stray pieces of wood we picked up in the desert. The funny thing? This barren wasteland was once home to forests. Some debris can be found jutting out of the sand, at times. We’re lucky.

“Oh, your father would’ve loved this,” Mama says, bringing my thoughts back to a bleak reality. Her eyes dance while gazing at the sky. “He loved to travel. When we were young, we went to many places—England, Italy, Japan, Brazil. They were all so beautiful in their own unique way.”

“I never knew you traveled.” They had never spoken of trips abroad.

“Ah, yes. Your father wanted to see the world. It was one of his goals in life. He had many, and few were achieved.”

I stop piecing the tent together to listen. “How come?”

“Well, after some time away from home with traveling, we learned I was pregnant with you, so we settled down. I guess life took over after that, and traveling was put on the backburner.”

“You shouldn’t have stopped because of me,” I mumble.

“Oh, honey, I didn’t mean it like that. Your father and I were very proud to have you. That was the road we were destined to take.”

I continue with the tent. Part of me feels like I crushed the dreams of my parents. Another part of me says it’s not my fault.

Mama continues. “And later, Mattie came along. Unexpectedly, I might add, but your father and I welcomed him all the same.”

I only nod to that.

Mama clears her throat and says, “Well, it won’t be much longer until we’re able to call Legora our home.” She runs her fingers through Mattie’s unkempt hair, straightening out his bangs.

“You excited, Mattie?” I ask, with an inkling of hope he might respond.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he gives me a look from beneath his full, black lashes. His eyes linger on mine for a moment, and then he redirects them. I can’t read them like I used to. I know one day he’ll reply to me.

But not today.

“Well, I, for one, am ecstatic,” Mama says. “I’m sure there are plenty of opportunities waiting for us in Legora.”

“Jobs, you mean?”

“Well, not just that. We’ll be around people, so socializing and gossiping are a given. Then there’s the prospect of men for you, Andy, and women, eventually, for Mattie.”

Mattie scrunches his face like he smells something foul. I don’t blame him. He’s too young to think about girls.

“How about friends, Mattie? Little boys that you can play ball with. How does that sound?” I ask.

The corner of his mouth moves slightly, but not a full grin. I know that excites him more. Perhaps he’ll open up if there are other kids his age. 

Once the tent is up, we slide in for an afternoon nap. The shade from the tent provides enough cover that it’s tolerable. Mama and Mattie quickly fall asleep, and I’m left keeping watch. I miss the wagon. And Malik.

8.

When night shrouds the daylight, my eyelids become heavy. I struggle to hold them open. My mind says stay alert, just in case. But my body fights against me. Winning.

9.

Something with a slimy yet rough exterior wakes me up by crawling into my ear. I immediately move my hands to keep this creature out. I don’t want my brains eaten or anything.

Then I see what it is.

A tongue. A camel’s tongue.

Its head is sticking through the tent opening. Some men outside laugh. I shoo it and crawl outside. I’m stopped cold in my tracks when I see caravans upon caravans of weary travelers headed in the same direction.

“What’s this?” I ask to no one in particular.

“They’re all heading to Legora,” the camel’s owner states.

We can travel with them. Safety in numbers—that’s what Mama always said. I go back inside the tent to wake Mama and Mattie.

“Look! Come look!” I shout.

Mama’s the first to wake. “What is it, Andy?”

“A sea of travelers headed to Legora.” I point outside. Mama ducks her head so she can see out of the tent’s opening. Her eyes grow large, and she reaches over to shake Mattie.

“Today’s the day, Mattie. We’re going to make it,” she says, rousing him from a deep slumber. “Look.” She pulls a flap of the tent back.

Breath catches in his throat. His eyes lust after the wandering soldiers like they’re forgotten pieces of a treasure.

“C’mon,” I say, pulling Mattie up. We watch the crowd parade through the sands, leaving only their footprints behind. These people are in a hurry to get to Legora, and we need to be with them.

After Mama and Mattie step out of the tent, I hurriedly take it apart. They roll the sleeping bag, hooking it to the backpack Mattie’s been carrying.

“Oh, it’s finally happening,” Mama says, unable to contain her excitement. 

We fall in formation with the other travelers to start the beginning of our new life. We’re so close, yet so far. Legora is finally within our grasp. 

 

Tonight, everyone camps together. There are at least one hundred people, all with their personal belongings—animals, clothing, painted flagons. I even see one woman toting an ornamented jewelry box; it’s covered in red velvet, and the edges are lined in gold twine and jewels.

The people are more than welcoming. Children play tag through the maze of wagons and carts. Some of the men have gathered around a campfire and drink to the exhilarating occasion. Women begin to dance around another fire like the gypsies.

And then I think of Malik, wondering where he’s at this very moment, wondering if I’ll ever see him again. I don’t know if he ever got over killing that man, or the devastating loss of his people. I’ve tried to block that memory from my mind. One day my conscience will get the best of me, but for now, I have to stay tough for Mama and Mattie. Just until we get to Legora.

“I wonder how long it’ll be before the cold reaches us tonight,” Mama says.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Some nights, I wish it wouldn’t come at all.”

She softly pats my arm.

“At least we only have until tomorrow,” I say. “Everything in the past two weeks has led us to this point. I don’t want anything to ruin it for us.”

“I don’t either, dear.”

I glance over at Mattie, who watches the crowd in awe. Does he think about the gypsies like I do?

When I look up, my eyes catch sight of a boy with rippled dark brown hair grazing the tips of his ears. Malik?

I jump up and stride over to him. He’s surrounded by a group of other boys his age. Grabbing the boy’s shoulder, I say, “Hey, Malik!” But as soon as he turns, I realize the face is unfamiliar. 

I’m greeted by laughter.

“Sorry,” I murmur, and stumble back toward my family’s small encampment. 

“Who was that?” Mama asks.

I sit beside Mattie. “Nobody. I thought he was someone else.”

“He looks like that gypsy boy.”

That boy. She doesn’t even know his name.

“Yeah, he does,” is all I say. She doesn’t pursue the conversation further. Nor I. She just whispers to Mattie promises of a time we have yet to see, a life we have longed to live, and dreams that will soon become reality.

10.

I stir when the screams and pounding of feet reach my ears.

My eyes flutter open, seeing that chaos is headed our way in the form of falling stars. Rolling over, I realize Mama and Mattie are still fast asleep. Dawn hasn’t even broken the horizon.

“Get up, we have to move!” I screech, shaking Mama.

“What—” Her eyes squint, heavy from sleep, opening at a snail’s pace. Then she sees them, too. She seizes Mattie without waking him, and begins to run in the direction everyone else is going.

The terrain far behind us explodes each time a fiery ball hits.

VOMPH. Craaacckk.

Stray fragments of the stars collide with the frozen desert ground, creating a symphony of sputtering hoarfrost as the pieces bounce across the land. More star rubble sizzles on patches of ice, melting solid sheets wherever they fall.

Someone screams, “They’re catching up!”

I run. It seems my legs won’t move fast enough, though, and they burn from overexertion. Everyone slides across the ice. Some fall down. Others try to balance.

And all I can think about is how we’re not going to make it.

Mama has Mattie clutched so close to her body I’m not sure he can breathe. He’s awake now. His head is positioned against her chest, but his eyes are watching everything unfold behind us.

“Mattie, don’t look!” I shout, but he’s so fascinated with the streaming fire it’s as if his mind doesn’t comprehend my words.

Up ahead, there’s a lone mountain; its mouth is open to let us in. I can only pray that the peak isn’t destroyed, and the cave doesn’t collapse while we huddle in our refuge.

More cracking and popping of ice sheets indicate devastation behind me. I want to see, to watch Mother Nature’s wrath, but I don’t want to see what little we have left ruined.

The hollow, black hole isn’t far ahead now. Mama slips, catching herself.

“Put him down. We can make it!” I yell over the crashing debris.

“No. I can’t risk it.” She wraps her arms tighter, if that’s possible.

We barely make it inside the opening before screams echo like shrill caws of mangals. I catch a glimpse of the destruction through the gap, but realize there are many others falling behind. They won’t make it.

I can’t watch them die.

I raise my voice a couple of octaves so Mama can hear me over the pandemonium. “Take Mattie further in. I’ll be back.”

She clutches my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. “No. You’re not going back out there. It’s too dangerous.”

“Would you rather watch them die?” I point to the civilians scrambling to make it across the thick ice. A mother slides on the glossy cover, trying frantically to coax her hysterical child to move. I can’t just stand here, powerless.

Something in me shifts my wobbly legs toward them. I trip twice on my way. Without thinking, I snatch the little boy and grasp his mother’s hand, trying with everything in my control to pull them to safety.

The stars show no signs of stopping their frenzied shower. Closer they become. Closer. Closer.

VOMPH. VOMPH. Craaacckk.

I don’t think I’ll ever get that sound out of my mind. Not ever.

A mass of people wait for us at the entrance of the cleft, wheedling us with their hands. I set the kid down just as we enter. The rest of us run to the back of the cavity, fearing for our lives, yet praying we’ll make it somehow.

Parents and children huddle together, possibly wondering if these will be their last valuable moments together, their last breaths.

The thundering collisions outside become stronger, louder. We are utterly helpless. I hold on to Mama and Mattie.

“We’re going to make it,” I whisper, but I’m not certain there is any truth behind my words.

Ancient dirt dislodges from the walls, powdering us in a blanket of ash. Whimpers of fear spiral through the air. The mountain grunts with each new hit. Our barriers are losing their defenses, cracking bit by bit.