Song: Fix You by Coldplay
***
Brooklyn and I gently cover the boy's body in a fresh blanket of snow. Unceremonious, perhaps, but the best we could do nonetheless.
After clicking it shut, I shove the knife belonging to the taller boy into my pocket. "He was a Hunter. I found out while I was talking to him," I say, gesturing to the larger boy.
"It's so unfair," Brooklyn says, still staring at Nathan. "This isn't the best way to control overpopulation. In fact, this is probably the worst way." She folds her arms across her chest, shuddering.
I turn to look at her. "Then why didn't you want to help right away?" I ask.
She circles a toe in the snow, staring at it. "I was scared. I didn't know what to do," she admits with a shrug.
I purse my bottom lip and nod. Her answer is reasonable amd makes sense, in my opinion. "He would have died alone if we hadn't tried to save him," I reassure her.
And I think I did a pretty good job until she bursts into tears again. You didn't even know the kid! I want to shout. So why are you so upset?
But I say nothing. Instead, I move closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. To my surprise, she doesn't shove me away; she just sits there and sobs into my shoulder.
I understand Nathan's death was gut-wrenching because he was just a child. I understand how the Hunter Mission is dumb and unfair. What I don't understand, however, is why all of this is upsetting Brooklyn so much, and I decide I'm better off not asking about it.
After a few minutes, Brooklyn finally composes herself and steps back. "Where did you learn to throw knives, anyway? The Hunter Academy?" she asks.
I chuckle light heartedly. "There's no 'Hunter Academy'. And I never learned, I just went for it and it worked out," I say, shrugging.
Brooklyn nods, impressed. "On a more serious note, what are we really gonna do with the bodies? I mean, it's not like we have a shovel to bury them, and my finger prints are all over Nathan," she says, gesturing to the two boys.
I bite my bottom lip. "I was gonna suggest burning them, but that seems grossly inhumane."
Brooklyn wrinkles up her nose. "Um, yeah. Not to mention we could never build a fire big enough and remain unnoticed."
"Good point," I say. "We could put them in a tree, but that just seems. . . odd. We're also deep into the woods, though, so there's a good chance they'll never be found even if we don't do anything with them."
Brooklyn raises an eyebrow at me, crossing her arms. "You really want to take that chance?"
"What other option do we have?" I sigh.
Brooklyn juts her head forward, flipping her wrist. "Leaving?"
I raise my eyebrows. "You got gas to get the car running again?" I ask her, folding my arms.
"Nevermind," she mutters. "Then fine, I guess we just leave them for now."
"Glad we're on the same page," I say with a nod. "Now let's get back to the car, it's probably around ten by now."
The trek back to the car is long and tedious, and my feet ache by the time we finally get back. I groan as I climb into the car, feeling about twenty years older than I really am. The cold really does a number on the joints.
Brooklyn settles in beside me. I pull the thermal blanket back over my lap, and she does the same. She grips the blanket tightly, staring blankly out the front of the car, and I can tell something's on her mind.
"Brooklyn?" I ask, "What are you thinking about over there?"
"Huh?" she says and turns to me.
"You've got this vacant expression and you're staring out a window. Nine times out of ten that means you're thinking about something," I say, grinning.
She doesn't grin back this time. "Mitchell, I need to tell you something," she blurts.
Just those seven words and my heart begins to race. "Oh, uh, go for it," I say, pretending like it's no big deal when in fact, I'm panicking.
She takes a deep breath. "I've been meaning to tell you, but I never realized how important it is until now, until I realized that if I was killed and you didn't know what I'm about to say, I'd hate myself for all of eternity for not telling you," she says.
Crap. Crap, crap, CRAP, I think to myself. This isn't good.
I wait for her to tell me that she's actually a mass murderer or that she's lesbian or something. Beads of sweat form on my face, and I pray she doesn't notice.
"My name isn't Brooklyn Bell. My name is Ally Brennan. I changed it when I ran away from home," she blurts.
I release a breath a didn't know I was holding. A part of me wants to shout, "WHY DO GIRLS MAKE SUCH A BIG DEAL OUT OF EVERYTHING," but I restrain myself.
I playfully punch her arm. "Ten points to you for being smart and thinking ahead, Ally," I quip, earning a tight lipped smile from her.
"Well actually, it was my best friend's idea. Not mine," she adds. "She was the one who gave me a makeover, money, and her car."
"Dang," I state, shaking my head, "wish I had friends like that."
Ally laughs lightly. "Yeah, well. I'll never be able to thank her enough. I mean, honestly, how do you repay someone for saving your life?"
"I guess you save their's, when the opportunity presents itself," I suggest, shrugging.
Ally nods, turning her head to stare out the window once more.
"Mitchell?" she turns back to me and asks.
"Yeah?" I say, looking back over to her.
She smiles lightly. "Thank you." Then she turns back to the window, staring out of it.
"For what?" I ask, but she doesn't answer. She just smiles.
I never realized how much I love seeing people smile until now, after I've seen someone so broken down. I never noticed how her smile in particular could light up a room and make me feel so happy after such a dismal day. She deserves the world, and I hate that she's now stuck with this crappy life. And that part of it is my fault.
I yawn, running a hand through my greasy hair. Tiredness seems to suddenly hit me out of nowhere, and I lean back in my chair and close my eyes.
Sooner than I would have expected, sleep washes over me.
***
