I watch, awestruck, as we weave in and out of the islands. I can’t even begin to imagine the sort of community that would have lived here, needing a boat to get to their neighbor’s house, or to the mainland for school and work. The houses are very plush, making me think that they must have been inhabited by rich people.
We pass a house that would have been a mansion in its heyday. It’s covered in thick ivy that strangles all the windows, turning it into something out of a children’s fairy tale. For a moment, I wonder what it would be like if we all pulled over and moved into one of these mansions, lived out our days here, in crumbling opulence. I wonder if anything inside is still intact. Chandeliers? Marble fireplaces? Priceless rugs? Antiques?
All of that, if not looted, would surely be ruined by now. We’d be living in a hull of a mansion, unheated, without food or running water. I shake my head. It is a mirage of opulence, a dream from another era.
“This is where the others should bring the survivors,” Molly says with a laugh. “Can you imagine?”
I cast my mind back to the moment we were rescued in the Hudson River. After our horrendous ordeal, finding Fort Noix was like stepping into paradise. But finding this place would have been like stepping into another world, a dreamland.
“Too bad we can’t go back and tell them about this place,” I say, with a hint of bitterness in my voice.
Molly picks up on my tone. “Are you pissed with the Commander for saying we can’t go back?”
I shake my head. For all his faults, the Commander really came through for me in the end. Without him we wouldn’t have the map or the boat.
“It’s not that,” I say, gazing out over the crystal blue water.
“Is it Bree?” Molly probes.
My heart squeezes at the memory of her watching me silently from the shoreline. She truly believes that I’ve left her forever. She has no faith in me to find our dad. In my mind, I’ll make it to Texas and send a radio transmission home, calling to her. Or drive one of the military tanks up and collect her myself. But in her mind, I’ve left her behind, just like I left Mom. Just like Dad left us. What she thinks I’ve done to her is unforgivable.
When I don’t say anything, Molly puts her arm around my shoulder. She holds me like that, not saying a word, just letting me be present in my pain.
Just then, the clouds start to darken.
“Looks like rain,” Zeke says, gazing at the sky.
We all look up at the graying clouds starting to crowd above us.
The boat is completely exposed. Depending on how bad the storm is, we could be soaked to the bone if we keep going. But I don’t want to have to stop so soon after leaving.
“Why don’t we stop off there?” Molly says, pointing up ahead to where an amazing castle stands on one of the tree-covered islands.
My mouth drops open. “It’s beautiful,” I gasp.
Ryan, at the helm of the boat, looks over at me and raises an eyebrow. “Well? Time for sightseeing?”
Just then, the rain begins to fall. It’s a cold, hard rain that lashes us.
“Pull over,” I say. “Let’s shelter in the castle.”
Molly pulls the line on her side, and we all duck as we tack and the boom swings, while Ryan steers us toward the little island that houses the castle. He steers us expertly to a stop by the small jetty.
Jack’s the first off the boat, jumping off and running onto the steady ground and barking his excitement. He pees, then rushes off toward the castle, taking in all the new smells of grass, mud, and stone.
Molly and I leap off while Zeke ties up the boat. As soon as he’s done, Ryan follows, and the four of us race into the castle.
We’re soaking wet by the time we’re inside. The castle has seen better days, and parts of the ceiling have caved in. Water drips down, pooling in the middle of the large, marble floor.
There’s a spiral staircase leading up, a broken piano in one corner of the hall, and a grandfather clock that’s no longer ticking. Black mold spots the walls and there’s a dank smell.
So much for my fantasy of opulence.
“Where’s Jack?” Ryan asks, peering through the gloom.
“He ran off that way,” Zeke says, pointing down one of the corridors.
We begin to walk down the corridor, our footsteps echoing across the marble tiles.
“Jack!” Ryan calls. “Where are you, boy?”
There’s the sound of barking from far in the distance. We head toward the sound.
“Hey,” I say as we go. “What’s that up ahead?”
Everyone looks, peering through the darkness. There seems to be something glowing in the distance, like some kind of source of light. But it’s too yellow to be daylight. It looks more like a flame.
“A fire!” I gasp, suddenly alerted to the fact that someone else is here.
Immediately we draw our weapons. My mind races. Who could be here? A crazy colony? A group of slaverunners camping out on their way to the cities?
A lone survivor?
Suddenly, Jack emerges from the shadows. He leaps up at Ryan, licking him.
“Whoever it is,” Ryan says, “Jack seems to think it’s safe. He’s usually a good judge of character.”
“Who is there?” a voice calls from the darkness.
We all freeze, our guns poised, ready to fire. Shadows leap across the stone walls as a figure slowly shuffles toward us. As he gets closer, I see that it’s a young Hispanic boy, maybe fifteen. He’s thin with a baby face.
“Don’t come any closer!” I shout, jabbing my gun forward for emphasis.
The boy holds his hands up. “That’s not a very polite way to treat your host,” he says. “You are in my home, after all.”
My eyes dart right and meet Molly’s. She’s pulling a bemused expression.
“You live in this castle?” I say to the boy. “Alone?”
“All alone,” the boy replies. “You’re the first people I’ve seen in four years.” He looks away as though pained. “I’d started to think I was the last.”
“The last what?” I ask.
“The last human on earth.”
My heart aches for him. To have spent all those years alone, thinking he was the only one left. It’s a thought too horrible to bear.
I lower my gun.
“I’m Brooke,” I say, holding my hand out to shake his.
He looks at me, guarded, unsure whether he can trust the girl who moments earlier was pointing a gun in his face. In the end he takes my hand.
“Emmanuel,” he says.
He peers over at the others, their guns still trained on him. The rest of the gang take my lead and lower their weapons.
“You got any food in there?” he asks, eyeing my bag.
“If you’ve got a fire we can dry ourselves by,” I reply.
He nods. “This way.”
We follow him down the corridor and into a large hall that resembles a ballroom. The mold smell is even worse in here. There’s a large marble fireplace in one of the walls with a small fire burning in the middle. We all rush over and begin to warm ourselves.
I notice that Emmanuel is eyeing my satchel.
“Help yourself,” I say, knowing there are enough rations in the boat to last us for weeks.
He opens up the bag and pulls out some dried meat strips, then starts to eat them ravenously. The sight of him gorging reminds me of the hunger that was a constant fixture in my life in the mountains. Thanks to being regularly fed in Fort Noix, I’d let myself forget what it felt like to starve. I feel a sudden pang of empathy for the boy.
“How did you get here, Emmanuel?” I ask him.
His mouth is stuffed with dried meat, but he speaks anyway.
“I’m from Toronto,” he replies. “When the rebels came and took it over, my family and I had to flee the city. There were loads of other people with us, maybe a thousand. Maybe even two.” He pauses, swallows, then takes another huge mouthful of meat. “We had to go on foot. It was a long journey. We were following the river because we didn’t have a map or compass or anything. We’d got as far as the Thousand Islands when the bombs fell. They were killed.”