Read The Deadly Nightshade Online
Authors: Justine Ashford
And such is the way of the world.
After I have reloaded and holstered my handguns, I begin to search the bodies for supplies. Altogether I collect the three cans of beans the woman gave up her life for, two bottles of water, and two cans of mixed vegetables. I take The Leader’s machete, too, because the blade is more beautiful than any I have ever seen, with its sickle hook, black finished steel, and some kind of silver design etched into it near the handle. After placing the trophy in my belt, I cut open one of the cans of beans and take a seat on the ground a few feet away from the pile of bodies. I do not worry about someone trying to attack me for now—though there is a possibility that the sound of the gunfire may attract other people, soaked in blood and sitting alongside five dead men, I am pretty sure no one will bother me.
However, as I eat I become aware of a human presence nearby. I am being watched. Slowly, inconspicuously, I place my right hand on my gun. The low rumble of a stomach growling—a far too familiar noise—sounds from behind a building a few yards away. I get up cautiously, waiting for someone to come blundering out waving a weapon, but no one does.
“You might as well come out,” I call to the lurker. “I know you’re there.”
There is a long hesitation, and at first I am not sure if the person will reveal himself, but after a few seconds a boy walks out into the open with his hands up in a gesture of submission. He appears to be about my age—maybe a year or two younger—and lean. No, not quite lean—skinny is the more appropriate word, or emaciated. His raggedy clothes barely hide the ribs that poke through his skin, and it is a miracle to me that the chilly autumn air has not killed him yet. His face is ashen and sallow, almost bloodless, without a hint of red in the cheeks whatsoever. His dark hair, half-covered by a woolen cap, is dusty and unruly and hangs limply against his face. But his eyes shine a brilliant blue, the likes of which I have never seen before. They are the only beautiful thing about him.
This weak, haggard creature seems to possess no perceivable threat to me, though I can’t be completely sure; during this day and age, anybody can be presumed dangerous. But as far as I can see he has no weapons, not even so much as a knife. I decide he is harmless and remove my hand from my gun, sit down, and continue eating, ignoring his presence.
The boy approaches me slowly, and I can almost feel him staring at the can of beans in my hands. Maybe if I don’t look at him he’ll go away. I keep my eyes fixed on the pavement in front of me as I stuff my face, but he just stands there, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
No, this is
my
food. I earned it. You can’t have any.
He continues to stare, as if trying to force me to acknowledge him.
His stomach growls again, louder this time, and as much as I try to ignore his pathetic silent pleading, I give in, removing a can of vegetables from the rucksack full of food and throwing it at him. He catches it with a look of surprise, then peels back the lid, takes a seat, and begins to devour its contents ravenously, like a starving animal. I watch him eat with distaste. Noticing me staring, he looks up with a smile.
“Thanks for the food,” he says with his mouth full, spraying half-chewed carrots, corn, and green beans in my direction.
“Don’t mention it,” I reply with a grimace.
“What’s your name?”
I glare at him in response. Great, a chatty one. I think I would’ve preferred if he had tried to kill me.
Seeming unperturbed by my intentionally obvious hostility, he continues cheerfully, “My name’s—”
“I don’t care what your name is.”
“Oh. Okay . . .” Taken aback by my tone, he goes back to scarfing down his vegetables.
We eat our meal in silence. Although we sit about ten feet apart, he feels too close to me for comfort and I have the urge to scoot away from him, but I don’t because I was here first so if anyone should move it’s him. He is still looking at me, and I am about to ask what the hell he is staring at when I remember I am covered in blood and sitting next to five dead bodies, so I guess he has a right to stare. After a few minutes, he dares to test my patience by breaking the silence again.
“I’m Connor.”
“What part of ‘I don’t care’ don’t you get?”
“Are you gonna tell me your name or not?”
“I don’t have one.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’ve got a name, you just don’t want to tell me what it is.”
“I see natural selection didn’t do its job with you.”
“Would you just tell me what your name is?”
“Why does it even matter?”
“Because I want to know.”
“Will you stop talking to me if I tell you?”
He considers this proposition for a moment. “Sure,” he says.
With a sigh, I grudgingly mutter, “Nightshade.”
“
Nightshade?”
he scoffs. “What kind of name is
Nightshade?”
“You got a problem with it?”
“There’s no way that’s your real name.”
“It’s the name my father gave me and I happen to like it.”
“Alright, whatever you say,
Nightshade.
”
I am sure he is about to get up and leave—finally—when he turns back to me and says, “You’re pretty good with those guns, you know. I saw what you did to those guys. I heard the commotion and decided to check it out—from a safe distance, of course—and I was sure you were done for, but you just . . . That was really impressive.”
“Impressive?” I scoff. “For all you know I could be just as much of a monster as them.”
He shrugs. “You? Nah, I can’t see it. You don’t seem like the kind of person who kills just to kill. You’re not like them—you don’t get off on it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Well, you haven’t killed me.”
“Oh, believe me, there’s still plenty of time for that.”
But he doesn’t seem to hear me; his attention is on the five dead bodies lying a few feet away. He gets up and begins to examine them, tugging at their clothes and touching their shoes. I am about to ask what he is doing when he turns toward me and says, “I saw you search them before, so I’m guessing you don’t want anything else on them. Would you mind if I took some of their clothes? Mine are practically rags.”
“Yeah, sure, do whatever you want,” I say.
He spends the next few minutes pulling off and inspecting each of their shirts. After removing his own tattered sweater to reveal a bone-thin frame, he tries the clothes on one by one, but only a gray T-shirt and a beige jacket are even remotely close to his size. Next he removes a few of their shoes and tries those on too until he finds a comfortable pair.
At this point, my desire to leave is stronger than ever. I hurry to finish my food, scraping the few remaining beans from the bottom of the can and swallowing them quickly. While he is distracted with the gang’s garments, I silently pick up my belongings, get up, and begin to walk away. I have not gotten twenty feet when I hear him call after me.
“Whoa, whoa, wait! Where are you going?”
“Away,” I call back.
“Well I’m coming with you!” He bounds toward me, eager to catch up.
“Like hell you are.” I begin to walk faster now, hoping he will fall behind, but he matches my pace. Determined to shake him off, I begin to run, knowing his hunger-weakened body will never be able to keep up. He shouts after me as I sprint away and I laugh with satisfaction, sure that I’ve finally lost him.
Hoping to place as much distance as I can between us, I run until my calves ache. I have just begun to slacken my pace when the sound of approaching feet pounding the ground startles me. I curse under my breath as he comes up beside me, an idiotic grin plastered on his face. With one last ditch effort, I force my legs to move faster still, but it’s no use; I can’t outrun him. This kid must’ve been a damn track star before the War. I stop sprinting and he does the same, turning to face me with that stupid smile, barely even out of breath.
“Fuck the fuck off!” I shout, feeling the urge to draw my swords and thrust them into his stomach. “Leave me alone! Do you understand what I’m saying?
Leave. Me. Alone!”
“Why? Aren’t you tired of being alone? I am,” he says with grim seriousness, the stupid playful look on his face disappearing. “You’re the first person I’ve seen in months who isn’t part of one of those gangs. You’re the first decent person I’ve met and you’re all by yourself, just like me. I am
tired
of being on my own, Nightshade. It’s exhausting, and I know you’re exhausted too. Don’t you think it would be better for both of us if we stayed together? We could help each other survive.”
Snorting in contempt at the idea, I look him up and down again, trying to decide whether or not he would be able to hold his own in a fight. Doubtful. He’d snap like a twig if a man like The Brute were to get a hold of him. Then again, there
is
something promising about him. The shape of his body indicates he used to be in decent physical condition before all of this happened. Starvation probably ate away most of the muscle, but there are remnants. With a little food to strengthen him, he might not be completely useless . . .
I disregard the idea immediately, unsure of what imbecilic crevice of my mind it seeped from. How could I be so stupid? I have no reason to keep him around. He is nothing more than dead weight; all he will do is slow me down and eat my food. He will never be of any use to me.
“Get out of here,” I order. “I’m not some kind of charity. Go find someone else to leech off of.”
He shakes his head. “No. You can’t make me.”
My patience running thin, I whip out one of my katanas, grab him by the back of his neck with my free hand, and press the blade to his throat. His eyes widen in alarm, but he does not struggle against me or make any promise to go away. I stare him down for a minute to let him know that I am serious, that I will kill him if he keeps trailing after me, and when I am sure he has gotten the message I thrust him away nearly hard enough to knock him off his feet. Though he stumbles, he keeps his eyes locked on me, his disappointment visible in his knit brows and the downward curl of his lips. I disregard the disheartened boy, continuing on my way again at the same brisk walking pace, sure that he has finally taken my hint.
But the footsteps still follow.
I continue to ignore the boy as he trudges behind me, his feeble body somehow managing to keep up with my quick strides either out of sheer determination and strength of will or complete stubbornness—I cannot tell which. For three days he remains my ever-present shadow, lurking behind me every time I decide to sneak a glimpse. When I stop to eat he is there, when I scavenge for food he is there, when I hunt he is there, when I pause to rest he is there, and when I go to sleep he is there. I chase him away every chance I get, threatening him with the blades of my katanas, but it only keeps him at bay for a little while and then he is back in his place trailing a few feet behind me again.
I have tried everything I can to lose him short of violence—running, sneaking away in the night when I am sure he is asleep, and attempting to frighten him with threats to his life. But no matter how fast I run, he moves just as fast. No matter how quietly I creep, he wakes up and catches me. No matter how intimidating I am, he just shrugs it off. My patience for this boy is beginning to run very, very thin.
On the fourth day, I decide to see what game I can catch, because although I still have some canned food in my rucksack I am craving fresh meat. As I set up my snares, I hear Connor’s loud tramping behind me as he blunders about on lead feet, not seeming to care who or what hears him. Startled by the noise, a flock of small birds scatters, cawing out their warning call to alert every animal in the area of the present danger. Finally, I have had enough.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout, drawing both of my swords and advancing toward him. For the first time, he seems a little afraid of me. Good. “How can anyone walk that loudly? Do you realize you’ve cost me an entire day’s worth of food?”
“I-I’m sorry. I’ll try to step a little lighter next time . . .”
“
Next time?
Are you
kidding?
You know, ever since you trampled into my life you’ve caused me nothing but difficulty. I’ll tell you one last time:
stop following me.
If I turn around again and see you there, I’ll cut your head off, I swear. Do you understand?”
He stares at me with his mouth agape, as if about to say something but debating whether or not he should. Figuring he has gotten the hint, I turn and begin on my way again. I have taken three steps when I hear him speak.
“I can’t just stop following you. I’ll die if I do. You know it and I know it. I’m defenseless, Nightshade—I don’t even own a knife, or a gun, or anything. All I’ve got is you. You can try to get rid of me all you want, but I’ll never stop following you. You’ll have to kill me, and I know you won’t do that, so face it—you’re stuck with me.”
“That’s what you want, a weapon?” I almost laugh as I sheathe my katanas and remove Angelica’s knife from my belt. I hold it out to him, realizing as I do so that this is probably the unluckiest weapon in the world. Connor studies it with distaste. After a moment, he takes the knife and examines it in his hands.
“Maybe I should have been clearer. When I said I don’t have a weapon to my name, I also meant I don’t have the skills to use one.”
“What are you talking about? All you have to do is slash or stab, it’s simple.”
He sighs. “Look, I watched you effortlessly take down five grown men in a matter of seconds. I couldn’t even do that in my dreams. Chase me away all you want, but I’m not going anywhere.”
“And what about me? What do I get in return, since you seem completely incapable of doing anything even remotely useful?”
“My constant company,” he says, grinning wryly.
“Lucky me.”
I allow him to stay as long as he promises not to annoy me anymore, which he agrees to. After that has been dealt with, I decide there is still a chance I can catch something in another area as long as Connor doesn’t start a damn earthquake. He somewhat successfully attempts to tread a little lighter, being careful to avoid the twigs and crunchy dead leaves that litter the ground. I find his caution as amusing as it is pathetic, but at least he is trying.
I have barely had five minutes of silent peace when he starts up again.
“So what’s your real name?” he asks.
“You don’t know how not to be annoying, do you?”
“Come on, I told you mine. It’s only fair.”
This kid just doesn’t know when to quit. If he keeps talking to me, I am going to lose my goddamn mind. I just want him to shut the hell up for ten minutes, that’s all—ten minutes of no stupid questions, no pointless gabbing, nothing but complete quiet. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for him to
stop talking.
“Alright, you clearly don’t want to tell me. That’s fine. But I think you should at least tell me
something
about yourself. I mean, if we’re going to be together for a while we should probably get to know each other a little. Here, I’ll go first. I was born in—”
“Connor, I don’t care. Please shut up. You’re going to scare all the game away.
Again.
”
“I was born in Pennsylvania,” he continues. “Lived there all my life, just my parents, my two brothers, my little sister and me—pre-War, of course. We only lost my sister in the bombings. Disease took one of my brothers and both my parents. After that, it was just my brother Alex and I. He was a few years older than me, so he kind of took it upon himself to be the provider. I mean, it made sense; he had the only gun and knew how to use it better than I did. We spent the past few years raiding shops and eating things we found growing in the woods mostly, but after a while it became a lot harder to find a stocked food store, and a lot more dangerous—you know how it is. We started eating less and less until, basically, we were starving.”
I keep trying to tune him out, to focus on each step that I take, on avoiding the twigs and crunchy leaves, on the sound of the birds chirping merry tunes and the animals scurrying about in the brush. But his words refuse to be ignored and his voice penetrates my mind, demanding to be heard.
“We went for months like that, in this state of near-starvation. We would go days on end, sometimes, without a single thing to eat. It did weird things to me, you know, and it did weird things to him too. Every now and then one of us would become hysterical, or delusional, or have these fits of rage or episodes of depression. We were like walking corpses, really, just struggling to stay alive until our bodies couldn’t handle it anymore. Anyway, one night I woke up to Alex sitting in front of me, playing with his revolver, removing and reloading the bullets into the cylinder—there had been six once, but we were down to only two by then. I asked him what he was doing, and he just smiled and told me he was “returning to life” and that I should do the same. He blew his brains out right in front of my face, I mean literally two feet away from me. It was the hunger that got to him, you know? He just couldn’t take it anymore . . . That was about a week before I found you.”
I stop for a moment and turn to look at him. He isn’t crying. There is no flushing of the face or quivering of the lip, not even a slight twitch; only a dull, melancholy acceptance is evidence of his feelings on the matter. It is not the reaction I expect from him.
“Why didn’t you do it?” I ask.
“What, kill myself? Believe me, I thought about it. I put that gun up to my temple and I cried and I prayed to be back with my family, but my fingers just refused. I sat there all night long just struggling, but I couldn’t. I don’t know if I’m too much of a coward or what, but I covered my brother with his blanket and left the gun next to him so I wouldn’t be tempted again. I figured I might as well see how long I could last, you know?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
He smiles faintly, shrugging. “Why not? Someone ought to know, right? Besides, you might be the last person I ever talk to.”
No doubt about that. He isn’t going to last long out here; he can’t hunt, he can’t fight, and he’s got no survival skills whatsoever. And if he thinks I’m going to feed and protect him, he’s got another thing coming. He can follow me around all he wants, but I’m not going to give up any more of my food for the sake of his nourishment, and if we happen to run into any trouble he’s on his own. No, I doubt he will be a nuisance to me much longer.