Chapter 28
''I am not alone, Rand. I can't be.''
''That someone could be dead by now as well,'' he says, completely reasonably, ''You're chasing a wild goose.''
We're on our way to the next crash site we've located. It's another day long hike to it, but I'm not feeling tiredness. It's probably too much for my leg so suddenly too, but I don't care. I feel like I'm losing time already, so I press on.
''I should have left some kind of message where I've already been,'' I grumble, frustrated with myself, ''Might be we're crossing paths by a hair.''
''The ruin itself is a loud enough message.''
I'd told Rand that I couldn't go with him as long as I know there's someone else out there, as long as I know that it's possible that Bellamy is alive and well. I told him to go without me and go at once, but he said he wished to see this through with me. For the most part, I'm glad he's decided to stay a little while longer - I am learning so much useful stuff by his side, from language to combat tips. If he's right - and I am sure he is - I'll need both skills out here, especially without my people.
''Your people must be very important to you,'' he says as we walk on.
''I don't have anything else.''
''You have your life,'' he still argues.
That conversation is abruptly interrupted by the sound of someone talking. My heart jumps with joy until I realize it's Trigedasleng, then it falls right back down into my heels. Someone's made a camp nearby, probably a hunting party. A part of me tells me to stay away, the other part considers asking them about Sky People. I could easily pass as a Grounder as long as I let Rand speak, and we could just be a couple of mercenaries on a hunt for Sky-folks. It could work.
I suggest as much, but Rand blocks me with an arm as I make to walk toward the sound. ''Careful,'' he says, ''Could be outlaws. Bandits.''
The fact that I only hardly considered that somewhere in the back of my mind speaks volumes of just how much I'm not yet ready for survival out here.
Rand decides to go in on his own while I stay back hidden. He said this was my test of how much I've learned. ''Stealth is your greatest friend when you're on your own,'' he's told me about a million times over the course of days. I don't know how good of an idea it is, but I obey and stay back, deciding to keep an eye on him and stand ready to jump in if anything goes wrong. I'm not a warrior, but I'll be damned if I leave him on his own after everything he's done for me.
I understand only bits and pieces of what they're saying, but I don't need to understand all of the language to know the attitudes of the three men we've found are something very akin to hostile. You can see it in their body language, the way they eye Rand up and down. One wrong move or one wrong thing to say, and every instinct tells me these men would turn on him instantly. That sort of nervousness has me even more ready to jump in - I am on high alert.
But the exchange seems to go on a bit longer without anything going wrong yet. I realize I'm sweating, and I can only assume it's not exactly because of the layers of my clothes or the fact that it's exceptionally warm this late in the year.
They seem to be answering some of his questions now, but I still have an arrow notched to my bow, and it's a good call too. The moment the exchange is done, the moment they think Rand is going to turn his back on them, they make to attack. They don't yet, but I beat them to it - my arrow flies and gets stuck somewhere between the assailant's ribs. Then all hell breaks loose.
It's over very quickly, but at the same time it feels like forever. I finish off the already wounded man with another arrow while Rand deals with the two others. It doesn't take me long to realize he isn't dealing with them very well. He's surely the superior warrior, but with two relentless attackers he can only do so much. And I can't shoot in all that mess, fearing I'll hit Rand instead.
So instead of skulking in the bushes like a coward and risking Rand dying and then the two of them coming after me, I jump right in. I use the moment of confusion and surprise well when I pull the machete off of the fallen man's back, and the moment one of the two outlaws is upon me, Rand seems to have managed to subdue the other one. I can't look exactly, with my own hands full.
Fear mixes with determination, and fear prevails even though I try to push it down. I'm not stupid - this man is a warrior, and someone who's probably been in countless fights far worse than this. I'm not even close. It's one thing sitting perched up on a tree and shooting arrows, and quite another staring the enemy right in the face, and fighting him hand to hand. This man is so much bigger than me, he wouldn't even need skill to win over me, just a couple of forceful enough slams.
All I can do is evade. He swings, I jump aside. He lunges, I turn. I lunge at him only once, and he elbows me in the back of my head so hard he could have cut me down too if I hadn't moved away quickly despite the moment of pain and disorientation.
I manage to keep up and keep alive long enough for Rand to come in and help. Once he's done with his assailant, he's knocked mine on the head with a rock large enough to put a man to sleep for a week.
It's pure instinct, I'm not really thinking when I make to cut the man on the ground, tip of my machete right on his neck. It's probably the adrenaline, the haste of it all - I don't quite seem to realize that the fight is over. Breathing fast, heart racing - I want to kill the man. And I would have, hadn't Rand stopped me, his hand on my arm.
''It's over,'' he says, but I can hardly move, my machete still close to the man's throat, still staring him down, half-expecting him to wake, half-wanting him to wake up and just give me a reason.
This has to be what people mean when they say one ''sees red''. My blood is boiling. I hate this man, whose name I don't even know. The irrational hatred doesn't seem at all irrational in the moment. One move and he'd be dead. And a part of me really wants him to make that move.
''Natasha,'' Rand calls, bringing me slowly back to reality, ''It's over. Let's go.''
''They could track us down, follow us,'' I insist, not moving my arm from the potentially fatal position yet.
''They won't,'' he says, voice level, calm, as though afraid to set me off and push me back over the brink, ''We killed one. This - this would be unnecessary.''
I stare at the unconscious man, then glance at the other sprawled three feet away. They're out cold, but breathing both. I glance at the third one, lying in a small pool of blood. Suddenly, it hits me.
''We didn't kill him. I did.''
''You did what you thought you had to do. You don't have to do this.''
I want to cry - I really feel like crying - still almost physically unable to move my arm and move the machete away from the man's throat.
''He moved toward you,'' I start explaining myself - trying to justify it to myself more than anyone, I know - ''They were bandits, they were ready to kill for your pack, I saw him move, he would have killed you, Rand, I saw him, I- I saw-''
''Hey. Hey,'' he calls again, this time turning my face with his hand so I look at him, ''I believe you. You did what you thought you had to do. Now let's go.''
The machete falls out of my hand and clatters next to me feet, as though it's fallen out of someone else's, hardly any control of it. I feel almost dizzy, light-headed as though I've been holding a breath for an hour and I've just now inhaled again, blood rushing through my skull, heart bursting with tears I want to but can't cry, everything that's ever been wrong looming above my head. Rand must think I'll crumble when he hugs me, physically if not emotionally. And I think I would have, if he hadn't hugged me - right on my knees.
''First kills are never easy,'' he says, almost hums it, as though to calm me. I feel weak as I hug him, leaning on him more than anything.
''That wasn't my first kill,'' I say.
''No, but that was different. There is a certain distance in battles of war.''
''What am I becoming,'' I ask, but not Rand, not even myself - maybe God, though I'm not sure I still believe in God. It's a breath, a prayer, a cry in fear of my own self. I am so afraid, so awfully afraid. I really can't recognize myself anymore - the person I used to be and learned to love is nowhere to be found in this body we share. I want to cry for the loss, but I can't still; I want to run but know I can't run away from my own damn self. I wanted to kill that man. Wanted to. I hated him so much in that moment, and that hatred was real. Real, and raw, and furious. And I wanted to cut his throat. Even though he didn't kill Drew or wounded Miller or tortured Murphy and turned him into a monster. Even though he didn't shoot a poisoned arrow into my leg. Even though he didn't rip away Finn and Bellamy from me. Even though he didn't take Monty, or speared Jasper. Hell, maybe they didn't even want to harm Rand and I'd fired without thinking straight - but I wanted him to pay.
''Pick it up, let's go.''
''I can't,'' I say, my hands feeling so dirty - so so dirty I want to rub them clean until they bleed. I look at the machete, the same machete I couldn't let go of just a few minutes ago, and the same machete I can't bring myself to pick up just now.
''You have to,'' Rand says, ''This road you've taken, you've taken it because you had to, not because you wanted to. And you have to see it through.''
''I can't.''
''Our warriors start training as children, that is our way. You have started just now. What you feel is normal,'' he says, ''But you know you will have to kill to survive.''
''I don't want to.''
''It doesn't matter.''
And it doesn't matter. Kill or be killed. The remorse and guilt and disgust I feel will be gone with time, and the next time it's kill or be killed, I won't even think twice. I won't even hesitate. I know that. It doesn't matter what I want, or that I want it all to stop. It doesn't matter at all. I can either be prey, or not allow it. It's beyond me, out of my control - this world wants to kill me whether I want to kill back or not.
I pick up the machete.
I walk over and tale the sheath off the man's back as well, so that I'll be able to carry the machete. I check to see if I can salvage the arrows I killed him with. Only one is still usable. I take it out of the man's neck, ignoring the new small gush of blood as I carefully pull it out, clean it, and put it back in the quiver. I take some of the meat they roasted on the fire, leaving some for when they wake up. Our meat snacks on two small wooden canes, we go on.
*
We don't make it to the next crash site on planned time. The exhaustion has caught up with us, and we decide to leave the other half of the hike for the morning. We set up camp and decide to get up at first light.
Back against a tree, knees drawn up, I play with my own fingers and fingernails and stare at the flames of our campfire. We don't want to risk anything big, but the warmth is comforting. Watching the flames lick and dance is hypnotizing, almost calming. After the days I've had, I need this emptiness of mind.
''What happens if you find him? If it's him,'' Rand asks, meaning Bellamy.
''When I find him,'' I correct, ''Or them. Finn and Bellamy were together last I saw them. They could have both run away together.''
''Say they did. Then what? You break into the mountain, the three of you?''
''Well, for one, I hug the life out of them. Then we think about the mountain.''
He doesn't say anything to that.
''You know,'' he starts after a while, ''Today has made you stronger.''
''Today has made me less human,'' I retort - still a bit angry, though hardly at Rand - eyes still trained on the flames.
''There aren't many things as human as eagerness to survive. The anger and hatred for the enemy,'' he says, ''Ugly, sure. But very human.''
''I am not a Grounder,'' I shake my head.
''You're on the ground.''
That sparks up a few thoughts. Are we becoming Grounders? Most of us have killed. Some of us have tortured. All of us have fought. All of us now obey the laws of the ground. What really makes us so different from the Grounders at this point? Hell, I even look like one now. I am learning to speak and fight like one. I have to, if I want to be back to my people. I have to.
''You want the first watch, or should I?''