The Walk

I don’t know why I asked to come. It was stupid, stupid. She’s watching me with hawk eyes now, causally glancing back every once in awhile. There’s no chance to escape, even if I wanted too. Why did I ask? I’m probably going to be killed, or tortured to death. She’ll probably turn around in a minute and shoot me.

(Stupid, stupid.)

Rows of squat grey houses pass by us as we walk on brown cobblestone. There’s no one around, just us. Rows of trees planted on the edge of the sidewalk, surround by a square of grass, rustle in the wind. The faint scent of yeasty bread fills my nostrils, but there’s no sign of life, everything still.

None of those things either. The Thems (is that what she meant when she said that?); the whatevers-they-were. I glance to the girl, and she turns her head to slightly to look at me. I looked down, staring at my hands. Am I a . . . Them? Was she right? Is that why my hands do whatever it is they do now?

If I’m a Them, then what was that thing? That thing that was me and changed into a . . . wolf? Is that the future me? Am I going to turn into that wolf? Have those rabid eyes that scream of madness?

I look at the girl again. I could ask her, maybe prove to her I’m not whatever she thinks I am. (But maybe I am!) Then, when we arrive wherever we're going, I'll be accepted. I can--I can have shelter, somewhere to rest for a little bit. Maybe find out what happened to the world. That’s why I asked to come, isn’t it?

“Um . . . ”

The girl looks at me, eyes full of hostility. “Yes, Daniel?” She spits the word Daniel like rotten meat from her mouth, desperate to get the taste out.

I rub my hands together. “What’s a . . . Them?”

The girl smirks, eyes narrowed. “You're joking, right? Where have you been living?” I start to open my mouth, but she raises her hand. “I can’t figure you out, Daniel. You could be a Them . . . except there’s something different about you. Something that makes me think you're not. I guess we’ll see at headquarters.”

I rub my hands harder, squeeze them, squeeze the fear out. “What are you going to do to me?”

The girl shrugs. “Lock you up. Exterminate you. Depends.”

“On what?”

“If I can figure you out.”