Desert Wake ✔

Ch. 3, pt. 2: Partygoers' Luck

Stuart waits fer him by his house, practically scares Ro out of his skin when he calls Ro's name and invites him into the alley to speak.

"You've got to leave the city." Stuart grips Ro's shirt. His eyes are wild. Frantic. "They'll be here soon, Rordan. You'll never breathe air outside a prison cell again if they catch you."

"What?" Ro's eyes dart to and fro. "How do they even know I'm involved? And Stuart, how do you know they're on to me?"

Stuart, he cain't hide his guilt. He don't even need to say one more gods damn word.

"You sold us out," Ro just cain't believe it. Stuart's the one who brought him in, made him a part of this. He thought his friend was tried and true. "Amos and the others are dead because of you."

Stuart hangs his head, but Ro makes him explain himself. "I had no choice," Stuart claims. "They found out I'd funded the first run. Said they'd pin it on my father. He'd be arrested, maybe even executed, and our family would be ruined."

So there you have it. Fer all of Stuart's grand ideals, when it looked like his own good times were over, he let every well-intended notion slip away. One more dance at the party fer Stuart, but the jig is up fer everyone else.

"I tried to buy you some time." Stuart's shakin' now, but he manages to smile. He truly believes if he cain git Ro to safety, it will make up fer their dead companions, fer the dismantling of their press, fer the end to their quest to enlighten the world. "I told them you were drinking at Mattie's tonight. They'll check there first before coming here."

Ro has just enough time to pack his bag, into which he slips his last ten copies of Why the spread of the Desert Should Matter to You. His parents and his little brother are asleep. He don't wake them to say goodbye and he don't leave a note. He cain barely keep movin' when he thinks of the grief he's 'bout to cause 'em. By the time he gits back out of his house, Stuart's gone, which is just as well, considerin' he never wants to catch sight of that traitor's sorry face ever again.

Ro is only a block away when a whole charge of lawfolk come up from the opposite direction. He hides himself and listens to the rhythmic stomping of their boots as they march towards his house. Soon they're at his stoop yellin', beatin' on his front door, and then there's only the poundin' of his own feet, runnin' away from the law, away from his family, from his life, lucky, unlucky, lucky, unlucky. I imagine, the distinction 'tween the two don't carry much weight fer him no more.

He leaves the city, heads east, stickin' to the Regions, but this ain't safe. Too many lawfolk in the Regions, and too many folks of the law—people who would turn him over soon as they figured out who he is. And he's got the proof of himself right there in his bag. Ten copies of his book. Ten reminders of who he wants to be, not who he was born to be. It's a terrible risk, keepin' them books with him, but he does it anyways. He don't wanna die, he wants to find a new place to set his principles flyin' out into the greater world again. But if he is caught, he ain't gonna turn coward like Stuart did. Those booklets are his insurance that his sense of self won't vanish along with everything else he's lost.

Despite the hardships he faces, Ro endures. He keeps himself fed, upright, and movin'. Several times he almost succumbs to despair, but he just has to believe in himself, believe that he survived and escaped so he could continue his mission. He heads through the Northern Region, then gits to thinkin' that he ain't doin' his mission no good if he cain't face the desert—learn what it's like firsthand. If he cain't brave it, then he'll never be anything more than a hypocrite, and a hypocrite's what Stuart is. That comparison turns his stomach and spurs him on.