کتاب 09-29

29

They were perhaps fifty miles from Machias the morning they found the crutch.

It was, by then, two days since John had woken and asked for a glass of milk. Allie had gone on hauling the drag sled—there was no other reasonable option—and John had rediscovered his voice, which he used to complain about being shaken and bumped. He kvetched about itches he couldn’t reach, a sore back, and the sun in his eyes.

“I liked it better when you were dying,” Allie said. “You didn’t bitch so much.”

“Look sharp, Allie. I think you missed a pothole back there. You don’t want to break up your streak of dragging me over every one.”

Allie slowed, straightened up, and stretched her back. “You want a break from me? Be careful what you wish for, smartass. You just might get one. Is that what I think it is?”

It leaned against the trunk of a great old oak, with a red bandanna tied around it so it would catch their eye: a stainless steel crutch with a yellow foam armpit pad. No note, no explanation. A white cottage stood behind a picket fence nearby, but the windows were dark. If they were being watched—Harper felt sure they were—she couldn’t tell from where.

Nick undid the bungee cords that held John to the travois and helped him up. Allie supported him while he fitted the crutch under one arm. He was testing it out, hobbling in little circles, when Harper noticed Renée blinking at tears.

“So much kindness,” Renée said. “So many people looking after us. They don’t know a thing about us except we’re in need. I read a Cormac McCarthy novel once, about the end of the world. People hunting dogs and each other and frying up babies, and it was awful. But we need kindness like we need to eat. It satisfies something in us we can’t do without.”

“Or maybe they just want us to hurry up,” Allie said. “The sooner we go on our way, the safer they are.”

“It’s hard to imagine a sinister agenda behind the food they’ve left out for us. The soup, the pitchers of milk. I just can’t imagine a secret wicked purpose behind supplying us with endless goodies.”

“Neither could Hansel and Gretel,” the Fireman said. “Shall we limp on? I think I’ll stretch my one good leg for a while.”