Chapter 26
Thomas
I wake up to find we’re gliding down a single-lane gravel road that I soon discover is someone’s driveway. I can see a medium-sized camper trailer up ahead; it’s silver, made from what appears to be an old-style airplane fuselage. I can’t recall the name of the company that makes them.
As we come to a stop, Veritas wakes up as well, slowly opening her eyes and looking around. “Where are we?” she mutters.
“We’re going to spend the rest of the night here,” Trillian responds. “We’ll be safe. No one probably even knows you’re missing yet. Oh, and remember, you’re Jack and Jill. Don’t tell the people you’ll meet anything personal. Everything from here until we reach Freetown is on a need-to-know basis.”
Trillian knocks on the trailer door, and it’s answered by a middle-aged man wearing no mask. He appears to be a Native American and wears his black hair in a ponytail that’s draped over his left shoulder, resting on his chest. After a short exchange between the two, Trillian motions for us to come inside.
“Welcome,” the man says. “Are you hungry or thirsty?”
“I’m thirsty,” I reply. Veritas is shaking her head ‘no’ and has her arms crossed in front of her in an apparent attempt to keep warm. It’s cozy inside, but a draft of cold air came in when we entered, followed by another as Trillian just went out again.
“There’s not much room in here, but you should be comfortable. I’ve made up the two beds in the back for you both,” he says, pointing to the back of the trailer with one hand as he offers me a glass of water with the other.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Veritas asks.
“Over here,” the man says, opening up what appears to be a small closet but is, as indicated, actually the bathroom. “Have a seat,” he says to me, motioning towards the chair beside the door we’ve just come in.
“No, thanks. We’ve been sitting down for a while. It feels good to stand.”
“I understand. Don’t get many visitors out here.”
As he continues to deliver a polite monologue, I see Veritas exit the bathroom, heading directly to the back of the trailer where the promised sleeping accommodations are. I finish my glass of water, only half-listening to our host, before excusing myself to go to the bathroom. By the time I return, Trillian and the man are seated around the kitchen table, engaged in conversation.
“Thanks for letting us stay here,” I say when there’s a break in the dialogue.
“You’re welcome, young man.”
“I’ll wake you up in a few hours, then we’re back on the road again,” Trillian adds.
“Okay,” I say, then head back to bed. The sleeping area is separated from the rest of the cabin by a curtain. When I push it aside, I see two single beds, one on each side of the entryway. Veritas is in the one on the right, sound asleep, not even bothering to get under the covers. I lay down on the empty bed and wonder where Trillian is going to sleep. It isn’t long before the cadence of the easy conversation floating to my ears from the next room lulls me into unconsciousness.
As promised, a few hours later, Trillian wakes us up, and we’re on the road again. For the next ten hours or so, we stop only long enough to charge up the hovercraft’s fuel cell at some remote charging station or make a pit stop so we can go to the bathroom or grab a bite to eat. When we finally stop in the afternoon, we’re informed it will only be for about eight hours. This time it’s an actual house, and we have the opportunity to take showers, which both Veritas and I take advantage of. We have a real home-cooked meal, which makes me think of my family back home, and I wonder what they’re thinking about right now. They’re probably worried sick about me and mad at me for leaving.
After a shower and a good meal, I’m sleepy again and take what turns out to be a four-hour nap before Trillian wakes me up again, and we get back on the road. Hours later, sometime in the middle of the night, he wakes us up.
“We’re here.”
Veritas stretches in the seat beside me, asking the obvious question before I do, “Where’s ‘here’?”
“Freetown.”
* * * * *
We get out of the car, and the cold air hits me hard. The hovercraft is parked in front of a small cabin. It appears to be some sort of duplex with a small porch on each end. The outside lights are on, and there’s a man standing on the porch of the right-hand unit. Down the gravel road to our right, I can see five or six similar cabins before the road curves out of sight. By the time I finish retrieving my cane from the car, the man from the porch is walking towards me, smiling, hand extended.
“Welcome to Freetown, Thomas. My name’s Benjamin, but most people call me Ben.”
“Hi, Ben,” I say.
By the time he’s finished shaking my hand, Veritas is standing beside me, and he shakes her hand as well.
“Welcome to Freetown, Veritas.”
“Thanks,” she responds. Her voice has that just-woke-up gravelly sound to it.
“I know you’re probably tired, so I won’t bore you with a long speech. These are your cabins,” he says as he extends his arms to indicate the building in front of us. “Thomas, yours is on the right; Veritas’ is on the left. We’ve put some toiletries in the bathrooms, and there’s bottled water on the bedside table. I’ll be back tomorrow morning around 9 a.m. to collect you for breakfast. You’ll get a complete tour then.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“You’re most welcome.”
“Guys,” Trillian says, “it was a pleasure.” He shakes both of our hands.
“I can’t even begin to say how much I appreciate what you’ve done for us,” I say.
“Just my little part in the fight for freedom.”
“Thank you, Trillian,” Veritas says.
I give Veritas a hug. “See you tomorrow morning.” She looks at me with concern on her face. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? The nightmares?”
“Oh, yeah, forgot about that. I’ll probably sleep straight through; I’m so tired. Don’t worry about it.”
“If you need anything, come over and knock?”
“Will do. Thanks.”
The accommodations are of the log-cabin variety, the inside walls looking much the same as the outside, with the exposed logs giving an authentic rustic look to the place. There’s a small kitchenette along the wall to the right, with a table and two chairs by the front window. To my left, there’s a small sitting area with two cushioned seats and a beautiful coffee table made out of a three-inch-thick cross-section of a tree. In the back-left, I see the open door to the bathroom, and the bed is in the main room just to the right of it. The whole cabin is about twenty-five feet square.
I’m exhausted from everything that’s happened in the past few days. I brush my teeth and go straight to bed. Thankfully, I do indeed sleep straight through the night without waking up screaming.
The next morning I shower and change into some fresh clothes. I’m just tying my shoes when I hear a knock on the door. I open it up to see Benjamin’s smiling face.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Good morning to you.”
“I hope you slept well.”
“Pretty good, actually.”
I notice the golf cart in the little parking area in front of the cabin. Veritas is already seated in one of the passenger seats and smiles at me when I see her.
“Ready to go get some breakfast?” she asks in a chipper voice.
“Sure, let me get my cane.”
I limp-walk back to where my cane is leaning against the wall beside the bed, and as I turn towards the front door and see the world beyond, my chest begins to tighten. The closer I get to the front door, the worse I feel. By the time I get to the threshold, the thought of stepping across it and out into the big unknown suddenly seems like the worst idea in the world.
“You okay?” Benjamin asks.
“I, uh . . . I’m not sure.”
I back away a few steps and feel better. The tightness in my chest lessens, and I take a deep breath. When I look up, I see Veritas standing at the door.
“Thomas? Are you alright?”
“No. I don’t think I am.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m not sure, really. All I know is that when I think of going out that door, I start feeling panicky. I . . . I don’t think I can do it.”
She comes inside and walks up to me, putting her hand on my arm and squeezing reassuringly, a concerned look on her face.
“Give us a minute,” she says to Benjamin without turning to look at him, her eyes fixed on my face.
“Sure, take your time,” he says and then ambles back to the golf cart to wait for us.
“Let’s try it together,” she says, looping her arm around mine and facing the doorway.
“Sure,” I nod. With my cane in one hand and Veritas on the opposite side, we begin the three-step journey to the open door. Step one—my grip tightens around the handle of my cane so much that I feel my knuckles pop. Step two—my breathing has become labored again like I’ve got a hundred-pound weight sitting on top of my chest and pressing inward. We’re almost at the threshold now. Step three—I stop.
I can’t take step three.
Veritas senses my hesitation. It’s not like the heavy breathing and the tension in my body is some big secret or something. That, combined with the fact that I’m standing immobilized two feet from the open doorway, is a pretty good giveaway.
“Hey,” she says after a few seconds in a this-is-completely-normal-and-I’m-all-cool-with-it voice that she is totally faking, “it’s fine. You don’t have to come out right now if you don’t want to. Alright?”
She offers a weak smile that’s probably meant to reassure me, but it doesn’t. This is so not okay. But I nod my head up and down anyway, not sure what to say. I wonder what’s going on inside my brain, why it’s rebelling against me, fighting to keep me from leaving.
“I’ll go and get us some breakfast and bring it back. Then we can eat in here, together,” she continues.
“Sure. That’d be great. Thanks.”
She stands on her tiptoes and gives me a peck on the cheek.
“Look at me,” she says, and I turn to stare into her eyes. “It’s gonna be fine.”
“Really?” I ask, starting to breathe hard again with the thought of her walking out that door.
“Really.”
I’m still breathing heavily as I watch her go. Part of me wants to call out to her and ask her to stay—to not leave me alone right now. But I don’t. Instead, I watch her leave, exhaling in relief as I hear the click of the closing door shutting me off, protecting me once more from whatever waits for me on the other side.
