Two days later there is another town.
Look at the birds, the boy whispers as you approach. They are crows. They are dark green.
You are startled. He knows colors. You want to ask about it, but as you take another step the birds on the fence scream and launch themselves at the sky, up and up and up and up and up. There is nothing up there, but they need to get there.
Now they are gray. the boy murmurs.
The birds disappear eventually. You wonder where they went.
The fence at the edge of the town is barbed wire. It is tall. At the top it juts out towards the buildings. It was designed to keep people in, not keep others out. It stretches down the plains as far as you can see, until it is too small and you can't see it anymore.
How do we get in? You ask.
The boy approaches the fence. He touches it and gasps. His fingers drip blood. It is electric. It cuts on contact. His face turns dark. I don't think we should go in here.
The fence goes on forever in both directions. It even climbs over the tracks. You have a feeling you will not live long enough to go around. We have to go through, you say. We must find a way. We must get to Kansas City.
The boy is reluctant. What does the book say?
You open the book to the next page: Nothing ventured, nothing captured. The rest of the page is blank.
We must go through, I think, you say. But you do not know how to go through.
You open the book again to the same page. The words are different: Ask, and you shall receive. Seek, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened to you.
You have heard that before, somewhere. Further down the page there is another line: But push, and the door will remain closed forever.
We can't force our way through it, you say. We must ask it to open.
The boy looks at you quizzically, but he says Okay. You do it.
You look up at the fence. It is the color of command. It is imposing, unchanging, and silent. It stands before you and dares you to approach. You take a step forward. Please, you say. Open for us.
There is stillness. The fence looms.
And then the sky splits open.
The crows explode out of the sky and swing around you and screech and snap. The boy cries and clutches your arm. You stand frozen among the chaos of feathers. The wind stings your eyes and the discordant cacophony of the birds are blocked out by the endless, piercing ringing of your ears, louder and shriller than ever.
And then they are gone. The ringing in your ears fades to an echo. It stays at the edges of your senses, just out of reach but always there.
The fence is gone.
The boy is shaking. He won't let go of your arm. His nails slice into your skin. You put your hand on his head and lean down and whisper They are gone now. You are safe.
He shakes his head.
You take a few steps forward and pull the boy along with you. Suddenly you can see the houses again. They weep with tears and dripping paint. The roads are shot with potholes. Someone drew pictures with chalk on the sidewalk. A flower, bright and bursting- and a gravestone. Someone played a game of tic-tac-toe. Someone played a game of hangman and lost. The stickman's frowning face seems alive. It seems to move. You look away.
The boy has stopped crying. He looks up and around warily. His eyes have changed color again- now they are dark and shattered. I don't think we should go in here, he says again.
We are already here, you answer. Keep your chin up, kid.
He stays close to you as you tread along the street. The world is silent, but the ringing in your ears is deafening.
You check over your shoulder. You are glad you did.
A woman is standing there. You are not sure how you overlooked her. She stands and waits. You know she wants to talk to you.
No, the boy pleads. Keep walking.
He sounds so distressed you decide to listen. You turn around and keep walking, away from her. Her gaze is icy on the back of your neck and yet it burns, but you do not turn back around.
The street ends. You turn the corner. You are safe from the woman, whoever she is. You take a deep breath- and feel nauseous. Smoke is rising from the bricks of the dead houses. By the smell of it, the people are not burning wood.
The boy smells it too. Hurry, he begs. Please hurry. We should never have come in here.
You are starting to think he is right. A crow screeches in the distance.
The streets are winding. Sometimes they make five left turns. You don't know where you are. Instead of potholes, you are now avoiding piles of bones.
A door opens and slams shut. You and the boy duck around the corner of building and peer out, trying to see who left their house. There is no one. Nothing.
You relax and turn around. The woman is there in front of you.
The boy shrieks and cowers behind you. You freeze.
The woman smiles, but it is not the color of the boy's eyes when he smiles. Her smile is the color of the school bus- rotting and poisonous.
She slowly moves towards you. You have nowhere to go. You shield the boy with your arm. Who are you? You demand, but your voice shakes and the woman knows you are scared.
You know my name, she says. But my name is not what scares you.
I don't understand, you say. Stay away.
Try to understand, she implores, familiarly. You will understand. What scares you is that I know your name. And I know you.
I have never seen you before, you say.
But you have. She is so close you could reach out and touch her. You have seen me, but not here.
I have not seen you anywhere before. Stay away! The protestation is weak.
She smiles. You will remember eventually. When you leave here, you will remember. You will understand. You don't understand yet because you are afraid. You were afraid so you came here. There is nothing to be afraid about. I know you. I can help you.
She reaches out her hand but you do not believe her. You push it away. You won't help me. You will hurt me.
She narrows her eyes. You must cooperate.
Those words make you start to shake. You can't stop. You are so, so scared.
She smiles again at your reaction. You do remember.
You shake your head. No, I don't. Go away!
You step forward and push her away. Her eyes blaze and she screams- and a shadow passes over you. You look up. It is the crows, blotting out the sky, a cloud overhead. The first cloud you have ever seen.
You grab the boy's arm and start running. Through the streets. Over the bones and potholes, potholes and bones, potholes filled with bones. You are not running anywhere but away.
The crows follow you overhead, a harsh rustling, their cries acidic and coarse. They are laughing at you trying to navigate their town. The boys trips and falls- you stop and help him up. He is bleeding. You pull him along anyway.
An eternity later the street ends in a wall. It is the same color as the fence, so you think the rules should be the same. Please open! you shout desperately. It is your last chance. The crows are restless in the sky. You stopped, and they don't like staying in one place. They start diving, closer and closer to you.
And then the air flashes and shatters around you, the earth shakes and the wall ruptures down the center and the pieces break and fall, crashing to the ground. You hear the crows scream but when you can see the world clearly again they are gone. Everything is gone. Everything is still.
You push the boy through the ruins of the wall. Now, his crying is the loudest sound.
You see the tracks in the distance. You hope, you pray you didn't get turned around in the town. You pray you are still heading west.
You don't look over your shoulder. You know the birds will attack again if you do. You push the boy along.
You trudge along the tracks for hours until you are certain that if you look behind you you will not see the town. That's when you stop.
You can't breathe. Every muscle in your body stings. Every bone throbs. You sit down, and the boy sits down beside you. He is still trembling. So are you.
His nose stopped bleeding a while ago, but his face is still stained with the thick substance. You have nothing to clean it off with, but he doesn't seem to mind. His eyes are no longer shattered. They are dull- like broken glass that gets tossed into the ocean and is returned to the sand smooth. His eyes are the color of something that will never be the same again.
You wonder what color your eyes are. You don't ask, because you might get an answer.
Kansas City, you say to him. Everything will be better in Kansas City.
