Afterland (10 page)

“All right. Take a moment to examine your crossbow. This is an extension of your own arm. Shoot with intention, and you’re twice as likely to hit. In the center of a battle,
this
is your main source of survival, so don’t blow it. You can let the pressure distract you into making a foolish mistake, or you can learn how to center it into a ray of energy. When you shoot, you shoot for a reason. You shoot for your right to live, got it? So make sure you don’t shoot away your life.

“Okay. Let’s begin. A common beginner's mistake is changing your perspective to line your crossbow up with the center of the target. Don’t move your head. Hold it lightly. These are designed to minimize the amount of weight you have to hold. Let the body rest in the space between your thumb and forefinger. As so. Yes, good. Now take a deep breath and pull the trigger. With practice, that should land you every time. Let me repeat:
with practice.
You practice the crap out of this crossbow, because for now, this is your main weapon of offense and defense. When, and let me repeat,
when
, you have to fight someone, you better be ready. You got it?” I nod. Emily takes out her own crossbow. “Good. Watch: keep your arms steady and bent at a right angle. Then…” She breathes out and presses the trigger, landing the bolt with a solid thump straight in the center of the target, scarred by the groove left by previous shots. “...Release,” she finishes.

“You got it?” I nod. “Well, I hope you were paying attention. Now it’s your turn to shoot. Shoot it hard.” I shoot. The bolt hits the right edge, embedding itself in the wood.

“Not too bad. If you had skimmed someone’s side with that strength, you might have caused them damage, but they probably would have lived. Which means they can still kill you. Using a weapon is an art and a game of intuition. You’ll never get the full experience until you depend on it to save your life, of course, but since I’m not going to try and kill you, you’re going to have to use your imagination. Try again.” I shoot once more, moving my crossbow a little more to the left. It hits the board a little closer to the center. Emily nods.

“Good. Before you shoot again, any questions?”

“No. Actually, yes. Why crossbows?”

“Good question. Crossbows are the most efficient weapon, because they’re easiest to learn, relatively cheap, easy to transport, and most effective at long range. I’ll teach you how to use a bow and arrow, of course, as well as sword-fighting
—
which is really most valuable for its aesthetic appeal, but it’s still good to know
—
and how to shoot a gun. But ammunition is
seriously
expensive, so we avoid using guns unless it’s a very important raid. Mike will teach you hand to hand combat, so between me, Rebekah, and Mike, in a few months, you’ll be all set for basic combat situations. Most people don’t have guns, so if you encounter trouble on the road, you should be able to deal with it with a crossbow and a well placed kick. Now shoot another bolt.”

I shoot again.

“Good. Remember to breathe.”

I spend the next several hours with Emily perfecting my shooting technique. My arm goes from being enveloped in a dull ache, to feeling like it will fall off, to just numb. Most of the time, I manage to get the bolt to hit or at least skim the edge. Five times, I hit within the painted target, but most times it only hits the sides.

“Practice and more practice,” Emily keeps repeating. “In your free time, practice. You might not be able to feel your arm, but you’ll have more a chance of surviving. Never assume that you’re good enough. You can hit this target smack in the center every single time? That’s great. What about a moving target that’s also trying to attack you in the center of a high-stress attack? Even if you know for certain that you can do
that
every single time while also avoiding anything else that might be trying to kill you,
don’t assume that you’re safe
. If you assume that you’re safe, you’re as good as dead, you got me?”

“I got you,” I say, massaging my arm.

“You’ve done well. What are you going to do a lot of from now on?”

“Practice.”

“Yup, exactly. I hope you survive.”

“Um, thanks.”

“Thank me if a weapon saves your life.”

Apparently, thanks aren’t taken lightly here.

__              __              __              __              __              __              __              __              __              __   

My training tomorrow will begin with hand-to-hand combat with Mike. The second half of the day will be more crossbow training with Emily. I lie in my tent, letting the night air run through my body and wash away the ache of the first day of ‘practice’. The air smells so clear here and feels lighter in my lungs than the heavy, contaminated air of Hopetown. I let the night take me in its embrace. Tonight, I don’t fight it, although letting myself succumb to sleep is still a scary concept to me.

But I am not disappointed.

This night, my nightmare doesn’t...weigh on me as much. Part of me
knows
that I am safe. Instead of sinking deeper into the ground as I had every day before, I wake up earlier, with a full breath left before the mud swallows me.

              When I wake up, it is already light and I feel rested for the first time in ages. I don’t know if it’s the mountain air or the fact that I have a reason to live up here, but I’m okay.

I’m really okay.

When I exit the tent, Big Sal is already up.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Good morning, Molly. How are you?”

“I’m good. Do you want help?”

She smiles broadly.

“Yes, yes I do. You know,” she says, “I really like you. The Rebellion should have more people like you.”

“Oh.”

To my agitation, I blush. Her words warm me up on the inside. I guess I’m doing things right.

“The world needs more people like you,” I respond, but Big Sal only snorts.

“If everyone was like me, we would all be eating porridge.”

“Exactly,” I say, and the shadow of a smile appears on my face. “That’s a good thing.”

“Yes, well...maybe it is. And maybe it’s not. But who are we to decide what’s right and what’s wrong? We know nothing, Molly. We really know nothing.”

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After breakfast, Mike takes me up to a smaller clearing approximately half a kilometer away from camp. Approximately half a dozen wooden, roughly human-shaped cutouts are stuck in the ground several meters apart. Most of them are scarred with cracks and holes from various weapons.

“This is the Field of the Fallen,” Mike says somberly, spreading his hands in an encompassing gesture. “It is the smallest of our training fields. There is also the Field of Hope and the Field of Creation.” I raise my eyebrow slightly at the names, but if Mike wants to have these pretentious titles, who am I to stop him.

“The Field of the Fallen is meant for one-on-one training, so most of our training will be here. All right then, let us begin. Have you ever fought anyone before?”

“Um…” The Hopetown drunks that could still stand loved to pick fights, but a good push would almost always end it. “Let’s go with no.”

“I see. In that case, let’s review the basics. Choose the board you like least and try to kill it.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

I glance at Mike sidewards, walk up to the closest board, and, very conscious that Mike is watching and judging me, punch it where its chest would be. The board vibrates.

“Your form is okay. Turn your hand out more near the end. The chest is not a good place to hit. It is protected by the ribs, and human bone is surprisingly strong. Hitting your opponent in the stomach will do a lot more damage. The face is a good place as well. People aren’t used to any contact there, so their bodies can’t respond as quickly. This is Bob, by the way,” he tells me, patting the board. “And Bob is still alive. So unless you want to be killed by Bob, kick him.”

He named the practice boards?
I think, giving Bob a kick in the abdomen area and watching him vibrate.

“What are you waiting for? Kick him again. He doubled over a little, but he’ll recover soon.”

I kick him in the head.

“Bob pulled out a knife,” Mike says. “What do you do?”

“I disarm him?”

“Yes, you don’t ask me questions. In the time you asked, Bob recovered and you died. On the bright side, you do have good form. On the not-so-bright side, if you kicked someone with that strength, you wouldn’t kill them. So let’s replay that fight. Hit Bob as hard as you can this time.”

I give Bob a solid roundhouse kick. He makes a suspicious noise but doesn’t crack. The strength that I put behind the kick, however, causes me to lose my balance. My left foot slips a little. Mike pulls my coat and I slip entirely, landing on my back.

“You’re dead,” he says, helping me up.

“Does everything I do kill me?” I ask, trying to hide my irritation.

“No. But every mistake, every wrong move, every time you screw up
—
that’s what’s going to kill you. The moral is, don’t screw up.” I brush myself off.

“All right, then. Why don’t you teach me how to do it right?”

“There really is no way to do it right, unfortunately. You need to get it less wrong than your opponent. So let us try again. Keep your balance. Keep your knees bent. Make sure that if you lift one of your limbs, you will always be able to get it back. Don’t throw a punch or a kick so hard that it throws you off balance. Take a moment to get on balance. When you think you’re ready, kick him again.”

I bend my knees, distributing my weight evenly between my feet. I lean back and forth, grounding my feet.

“You think you’re on balance?”

“Yes.” I kick him again, focusing on my balance. I feel balanced all the way through, but Mike pulls on my coat and I fall again.

“Apparently you weren’t. Do you know what you did wrong?” .

“I think you pulling down all the time might be the problem.”

“If you were on balance, I wouldn’t be able to make you budge.”

“Fine. What did I do wrong?”

“Balance, in a battle, isn’t purely physical. Your psychological balance is equally as important. You were focused too much on Bob’s death that you forgot about your own survival. Never forget about yourself and never forget what you’re fighting for. You have to look forward, but always watch your back. Remember who the enemy is. Remember that they have a purpose too. This isn’t about right and wrong. This is about what happens when they meet and everything becomes gray. Balance is about understanding. Understand your enemy. Understand your allies. Understand the ground you’re standing on. Understand yourself. Take a deep breath and balance yourself again.”

Or maybe I just don’t kick well, Mike, but okay. Whatever you say.

              I close my eyes and breath deeply, planting my feet deeply in the ground. I take a few breaths to internalize the feeling of balance that Mike keeps preaching about.
There’s Bob, and there’s me. After this, there will be only me.
I throw my foot at Bob...but end up on my back. Again.

              “You want me to go again?” I ask in irritation.

              “Until you get it right.”

              I narrow my eyes.

Me. Bob. The ground. That’s all there is.
I plant my feet firmly again and throw a punch this time; that way I have both feet planted on the ground.
This time, I’ll be ready.

However, with a little more force, Mike manages to pull me down before my hand even makes contact.

              “If you keep pulling me down, how do you expect me to get him?” I say. But Mike only shrugs.

             
All right,
I think.
Challenge accepted.
I breathe deeply
and try to find a feeling of balance again, but the only thing filling my mind is how much I want to kick Mike.

Actually. Why don’t I kick Mike?

Mike is my enemy in this scenario. I had never considered him as a threat, even though he was the only thing preventing me from hitting Bob, an inanimate board. Mike had practically given me the answer, or, as I decide to interpret it, an endorsement.
Remember who the real enemy is.
The enemy was never Bob and the problem was never my balance.
Look forward, but always watch your back
.

              The problem was that I was looking in the wrong direction all along.

              I get into a balanced stance again and begin to throw a punch at Bob, but instead of following through, I turn around and kick Mike’s hand before it can pull me to the ground again.              

              “The force there was a little unnecessary,” Mike says, with what I think might be a tinge of humor.