Under the Stars (3 page)

But now that I know it’ll be used on a fellow human being, I’m having second thoughts. Can I do this without getting myself injured or killed?

I stalk behind the wagon, careful with each step, checking over my shoulder. The assailant has the poor gypsy woman on the ground, her skirt ripped to the waist. Before he fulfills his needs, I dart behind him. Down. Up. Down. Up. The flesh on his back is shredded. Blood sprays from the gaping wounds. He’s alert long enough to give me a glance, then he collapses on top of the woman. She screams, and rolls him off.

And me? I just stand there with a bloody dagger and a sore conscience, wondering how I’m going to finish off the other two. I have to move fast before they realize their cohort is dead.

I stay behind the wagons, stopping at the end of each to observe the men. They’re together, and not far. Both are tipping drinking canisters to the sky, liquid spilling over their mouths and chins, down their shirts. Like they’re celebrating the dead bodies scattered around them.
 

“How am I going to do this?” I whisper to myself.

“I’ll help,” a voice behind me says. I jump, startled that I didn’t hear him sneak up. He’s the same boy from the night of dancing.

“How?”

He flicks the weapon at his side, so it catches the sunlight. A knife. This might actually work.

I nod. “We need a plan.”

“Don’t stop until they’re dead?” He smirks.

“Yeah, that’s, uh—that’s a good plan.”

“I’ll catch them off guard by facing them, then you can come around the back. We’ll have the upper hand.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Me too. Good luck.” He motions for me to start around the backside of one of the wagons. I creep, careful not to step on anything that will notify the attackers of my whereabouts.

Laughter comes from the men when the boy steps into view. They probably think it’ll be easy to take him down, a young and naïve kid. That’s where I come in. They won’t notice me until it’s too late.

Down. Up. Down. Up.

Dad’s voice hums through my ears as if he were standing next to me.

“You gotta be swift about it. Don’t hesitate,” he had said.

Well, I’ve already killed one. What’s two more? I don’t think the realization that I murdered somebody has actually hit me yet. Maybe in an hour, but not now. I have to focus, keep my mind clear.
 

I hug the back of the wagon, getting close enough that I can peer around the side and see where the two men stand. Each of them has a machete that could slice a buffant in two. They take a step toward the boy, whose name I have yet to learn.

I slip behind them.

Down. Up. Down. Up.

One finished, one left.

He aims for me, raising his arm and the long weapon. I dodge out of the way, but not fast enough. The edge of his blade slices through my shirt and leaves a gash across my arm. I cry out. The boy gets him from behind, except he doesn’t cut like me; he jabs his knife into the man’s back over and over, mercilessly, until the attacker lands on the ground with a
thud
. Desert sand billows up in a cloud around his body, like the clouds that destroyed earth several years ago.

We both stand there, letting our minds process the past fifteen minutes worth of events. Did
I
kill someone? Did this just happen? I mean, I always knew to protect my family, but never dreamed I’d do this.

I glance over at the boy. He stares wide-eyed at the pile of bodies around us, but mostly at the man he just killed. My arm is dripping blood.

“What’s your name?” I ask roughly, applying pressure to my wound.

It takes a moment for my voice to register, but when it does, he looks up and answers, “Malik. My name is Malik.”

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.