A Million Roads to Nowhere

Nearly There, Can't Stop Now

In his dreams, the moon hangs high in the sky, full and shining like a silver coin. Moonlight glints off the black water sloshing about the boat, lighting up the sky, but providing no insight to what lives beneath the waves. A vulture sits perched on the top of the oar's handle, cocking its head and looking down.

Patrick leans over the edge of the boat, peering into the water. He feels the urge to reach down into the inky sea, but the sharp sting of fear holds him back. When Patrick sits up, he finds Lena standing on the other side of the boat. Her face glitters gold. The bottom of her dress is soaking wet, dripping water through the cracks in the wooden paneling. Her black hair is plastered to her cheeks and neck.

She smells rotten.

"Lena?"

Lena seats herself on the edge of the boat and the vulture hops off the oar and lands on her shoulder. She doesn't seem to notice.

"Lena?"

If she hears him, Patrick can't tell. The vulture starts to nibble on her ear.

"Lena?"

Patrick stands up and the boat rocks. He loses his footing on the slippery boarding and scrambles for purchase, hands flying out to steady himself against the side of the boat.

"Lena?"

Patrick is faintly aware that his voice is getting louder.

"Lena?"

He's screaming.

Patrick wakes up, voice catching in his throat. Suddenly, he feels all the food from supper rise up and he kicks off the blankets wrapped around him and slides out of the tents in a frenzy. He falls to his knees and vomits in the snow. Cold tears drip down his cheeks and he tastes salt in his mouth amid the burn in his throat.

He sits shivering in the snow and it takes a few moments for him to regather his senses. The first thing he notices is the cold and the second is the pressure of a hand laying gingerly on his back. Patrick coughs and sits up, noticing the hand move to his shoulder, touch still feather-light.

"Patrick?" William's voice is quiet.

Patrick lifts his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Are... are you better?"

"Aye."

William stays silent and Patrick hears the squeaky crunch of snow under his boots as he shifts anxiously behind him. Patrick feels the need to reassure the boy, so he pushes himself up and offers a crooked smile.

"It was just a nightmare," he says. "Got me all shaky, is all."

William's frown softens and he nods.

He always looks like such a child, even though he's two years older than I am, Patrick notes. He doesn't act like one, but he's so small, like he doesn't take up any space.

"Oh," William answers, still sounding half asleep. "I'm up because of that, too."

Patrick rubs his eyes. "I don't think I'm going to be able to go back to sleep."

"Me neither."

"Do you want to go sit by the fire?" William asks shyly.

Patrick nods. "It's getting damn cold."

The two of them gravitate toward the campfire and sit next to each other on the ground. Alexei, who's on guard outside Clementine's tent, offers them a brief nod and then returns to writing letters by the light of the lantern on the floor next to him.