Eliot Strange and the Prince of the Resistance

26) Running

After they get out of sight, I decide to make up some lost time and ground. Before I go, I combine the backpacks and take out anything I absolutely do not need. I leave some of the food and hide the extra backpack all wrapped up in the tarp that was to be a tent. I hide the bundle in case I need it later. Prepare for hard times, my dad always said.

I am prepared, like a boy scout. And while I'm at it, I'll cover all my bases. I pray now, and my one prayer is that I will not need this backpack on my way back because I will find what I am looking for at the end of this trip. Everything will be all right again.

I don't say a prayer for or about Torin because I am trying not to think about him at all. Otherwise, I can't go forward. Funny, I thought he would wait to leave at least until after I got back. I guess that is how well I really know him at all - not at all, it seems.

I walk for a about a half mile in the dark with only the light from the moon to guide me. I estimate I am about ten miles from home and at the rate I am going, I might make it in three or four hours. I decide to pick up the pace. I start to run.

I am not fast, but I am steady. I've never been much of an athlete, at least not in comparison to my best friend, but I am a reliable and steady runner. Before I tried and failed at making the softball team, I was a cross country runner. I never won a race or even placed in the top ten, but I always finished. Slow and steady does not win the race, but it will get you to the finish line.

I have to avoid debris and abandoned items, but weirdly there is not as many broke down vehicles as you would think. It does not look like the scene from Walking Dead where Rick is entering a zombie-infested Atlanta. Abandoned vehicles have not stopped traffic in the middle of the road. I guess that people who left my town, left early on, before things went completely to hell, or they took a different route. I bet that the interstates look worse.

Still, there are items waiting to trip me up, so I slow down from running as fast as I can to a trot. This is a mistake because now instead of focusing on my breathing, I have time to think. My first thought is that maybe I should have gone back with Cindy just to make sure they made it back. What in the world will they do if they break down? There's a baby and a crippled Steven for Cindy to get back on her own.

I think about turning around, but I have been running/trotting for an hour, and I estimate I am miles from where I last saw the golf cart heading in the opposite direction. Besides, I reason, those at the camp will be looking for Cindy for sure if she's discovered gone in the morning. Everyone loves her and wants to keep her safe and Cindy, well the truth is that she can rescue herself. She is a survivor.

Then I start thinking about Torin, and my sadness brings me to a complete stop. I feel the tiredness in my body. I'm all foggy thinking. The loss of Torin feels like a hole drilled through my heart with a rusty screwdriver. I have not slept well in days, and I know I can't take another step. I look around for shelter and notice an abandoned car with a tire missing about 100 yards ahead. It doesn't look like it has been disturbed since it was abandoned. The car tilts towards a ditch, as if it is ready to give up and slide on down.

As I get closer I see that it is an old beat up, faded gray Chevy Nova like my dad used to drive when I was younger. Not a pretty car, but reliable, which dad always said was the best quality for any car to have. I guess the tires weren't so dependable.

I go from thinking about my prince, my used-to-be prince, to thinking about my dad. More sadness to follow. Is he dead? Carli said he was the sniper slowing down the One Nation Army, and people said the sniper was blown up now.

I decide the Chevy Nova is a sign and will be safe and even if it's not, well oh well, things seem kind of all over for me now anyway. All seems lost and even if it is not lost for everyone, it seems lost for me.

I crawl in the car and make sure all doors work and are locked. I check for an exit strategy which is something my dad taught me.

Body numbing sadness has followed me. I cry.

I settle down in the back, and I'm quickly sound asleep. In my dreams, it is raining. Rain beats down on the roof of my new home, and thank goodness Steven brought this tarp for us to sleep under, or otherwise we'd be soaked. He tells me in the dream that we need this rain, and hopefully, it will finally put out the burning fire on the mountain. So much loss, says Steven. Our beautiful mountain is gone.

I dream my mama is making garlic bread, and my dad is skinning a goat. I hear the whine of a golf cart going past. I hear two men talking. English accents. Jack has found Torin. Torin has found Jack. I wave good bye to Torin who is leaving on a jet plane, which turns into a boat leaving the dock.

I sleep and dream, and I don't wake up until the sunlight wakes me up. I know I am awake because the sun is making my eyeballs ache, and they seem stuck like glue to my eyelids. There's nothing worse than an I-been-crying headache. I wonder if I still have some Advil. My kingdom for some eyedrops. I blink. I know I am awake, but I hear voices. Real voices, not dream voices. The voices come from the direction I am headed.

I try to shrink myself into the smallest ball and not move while still getting my gun ready. I am awake. I know I am because my beating heart is telling me to get the hell out of here. Th-thump, run. Th-thump, run. Trust your instincts. Run. Use the exit strategy.

I slowly open the door on the side away from the road. Creakkkk. The short creak sounds like the first crackle of a morning announcement at school, but the male voices continue uninterrupted.

I wait crouched behind the car. Hiding, but ready to run. Ready to shoot.

The voices get closer. Definitely two men, but wait. Two men with British accents. Torin and Jack. It is Torin and Jack. And suddenly, I am not sad or mad about Torin. I am just so happy he is found and headed back to me now.

I drop my guard and put my gun in my backpack and jump out to surprise them. Turns out, while it seems impossible, English accents in the deep south are not as uncommon as you might think.

I now stand exposed with no exit strategy in front of two strangers who point their own guns at me.