The Farther Shore by Matthew Eck (books for students to read TXT) 📕

“I didn’t say that,” I said. It was far too late for a joke.

“We’ll be fine,” he said. He put his fist out toward me and I touched it with mine. “Just get some sleep.”

Back in my corner, all I could do was stare at Cooper. I couldn’t turn away from him. Each time I closed my eyes I imagined him springing to life. After some time I forced myself to stop, and my thoughts turned to times when I hadn’t done enough to save others as they went down into the swell and disappeared beneath the waves of this world. And there I was standing on the farther shore, hoping they would surface again.

Then I opened my eyes and Santiago and Zeller were there. But poor Cooper truly was somewhere else.

FIVE

ON MONDAY MORNING I SUDDENLY WOKE UP TO FIND Zeller on top of me, kneeling on my arms, hitting me in the face and neck. I struggled, but I couldn’t shake him. Finally, Santiago dragged him off me. My face felt like it was on fire. I was sure that my nose, my cheeks, and my eyes were all broken. I rolled toward Cooper for protection, not knowing what I’d done to bring this on.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Santiago shouted at Zeller. But Zeller didn’t know. He couldn’t remember what had happened. He said I’d been tearing at the waking world again in my sleep, writhing around like a madman. Before he knew what he was doing, he was trying to kill me. The sight of me sickened him, he said.

“Fucking asshole,” I said to him. My head hummed like a hive of bees.

“Fuck you,” he said.

“I’ll tell them you shot those kids,” I said, angry.

Zeller lunged for me, but Santiago had him by the neck. “Don’t touch him,” he said. He shoved Zeller hard into the wall. Zeller tried to break free, but Santiago had him in a hold, and he couldn’t breathe. Santiago held him there, letting him suffer.

There was a weak knock on the wall beside the doorway. The owner asked us from the hall, “Maybe you kill yourselves in there?”

Santiago trained his M-16 on the man as he walked in and looked around the room. A trail of Cooper’s blood ran from the doorway to the mattress, and there was a mess of gear on the floor. Santiago checked the hall, then took a seat in the doorway so he could watch the room and the hall at the same time. The owner sat on the bed next to Cooper, his back to Cooper’s body. I heard the dull roar of a plane high overhead.

“All it takes is for one of these people to go tell one of the warlords that you’re here,” the owner said. He looked at me as he spoke. “You don’t look so good,” he added.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” I said.

“Very interesting,” he replied. Then he told us that his American name was Michael and that he’d wanted to be a banker. That he’d wanted to make some money.

“Who doesn’t?” said Santiago.

He told us he liked Americans. He’d try to help us. He promised us water and a little food. “But things are so difficult and expensive here.” He looked around the room at our gear. “A weapon might be worth something. Or maybe a watch or a Walkman. You need to leave. The monsoon rains are coming.” He leaned forward onto his knees. “Soon it’ll rain for a month. The roads will close and the desert will turn to mud.”

“So we’ve heard,” said Santiago.

The Army had never said it would rain. Not in one of our briefings. They had talked about fire and famine. They said this place represented the future of the world unless we took steps to stop it. The briefings themselves came to serve as their oracle.

“You need to leave tonight,” Michael said. “Once the word gets out, you’re worth nothing more than the reward.”

“We’re leaving soon,” I said.

“How much are they offering for us?” asked Santiago.

“Enough,” Michael said.

“We’ll leave after the sun goes down,” said Santiago.

“Just remember,” Michael added, “they’ll kill you if they find you. Everyone knows by now that you killed those boys. And once they know you didn’t make it out of the city they’ll hunt for you.”

He stood up and stretched, then lingered, waiting for a payment. “The warlords buried those boys in their cemetery, where they bury no one but themselves and their own families.”

He walked to the window and looked down at the street below. I wondered about the sniper across the street, but I didn’t say a thing.

“This used to be a nice city,” Michael said, “and I’m sure it will be again. But now everyone is a criminal. People are robbed of their houses and their families, their children and their wives.” He fell silent for a moment. “And then there’s the rape.” He turned from the window and looked down at Cooper, then up at Santiago. “And you think you can make it better?”

“Why haven’t you turned us in?” asked Santiago.

“Why would I?”

“Because you like Americans,” I said.

“I really don’t care who is ruining this place,” he said, “I just don’t like to see people die.”

“Can you help us find a car, or at least a ride out of the city?” Santiago asked.

“That is impossible,” Michael replied. “You will have to take a truck or a bus like the rest of us. I’ll help you find some food and water, and money for bribes.” Then he walked over and looked down at my books. Santiago had left them on the floor next to Cooper’s stuff.

“You can have them,” I said.

“They’re not worth much,” he said.

“They’re dead weight to me at this point,” I said. “Take them.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Santiago walked up behind him. He reached into Cooper’s bag and took out his 9mm. He pushed the release and the magazine fell out. Then he dislodged the chambered round and checked to