Page 9 of Semi-Human

“I could’ve escaped,”

I say as we walk across Interstate 25, the burger resting nicely in my stomach.

River glances at me. “What?”

“I could’ve used the opportunity to escape when you asked me to get the water. Weren’t you concerned?”

He seems puzzled, a small crease between his elegant brows. “Why would you escape? We have an important mission, and I’m very good company.”

I don’t know what to say since he’s right on both accounts. Embarrassed, I switch the subject. “It was a good burger.”

“Better than the rabbits I cook?”

“Well, they had bread. Bread makes everything taste better.”

“Then I’ll try to hunt for bread, Josh Bennett.”

“Do your people have last names?”

I regret the question the second I say it. If his people weren’t born to human parents, why would they have last names?

“Each of us has a unique name, so one is enough. What last name do you think will suit me?”

“Not sure. Maybe… water?”

“River Water?”

“Okay, that’s bad. River Ocean? River Drops?”

He laughs. “You’re horrible at this.”

“River Trickle?”

“Stop! I never want a last name if these are my options. Maybe you can lend me yours.”

“River Bennett? Hmm, I guess it has a nice ring to it.”

“Better than River Trickle, at least.”

We reach a part of the road that is too packed with rusty cars, so we walk through the woods instead. Minutes later, River stops and pulls me back. “People,”

he says, but I can’t hear a thing.

“Raiders?”

He shakes his head. “Someone else. Let’s go see.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Wary, I follow him deeper into the woods. It takes almost ten minutes before I hear the sound of people, making me realize just how strong River’s hearing is.

“You think they’re dangerous?”

I ask quietly, once again wishing he’d let me carry a weapon.

“No, they’re scared.”

We walk on until we reach a clearing in the woods, where around fifty men, women, and children have made a makeshift camp. They look tired, dirty, and, yes, scared. Some of the men jump to their feet when they notice us, holding improvised weapons. Only two have rifles.

River and I raise our hands. “We’re not enemies,” he says.

A young man with a bandage over the side of his face asks, “Are you a Semi?”

“Yes.”

More people stand up, picking up whatever they can.

Well, shit. “I’m Josh,”

I hurry to say, drawing most eyes to me. “I’m a Private of the Defenders from the Hive called Unity. We wish you no harm.”

“Why are you walking around with one of those?”

the bandaged man asks.

“We’re on a mission. Official business of the Hive.”

Someone from the back calls, “Do we really want to fight a fucking Semi right now?”

Gradually, they lower their weapons, but suspicion lingers in their eyes.

“What happened?”

I ask, taking in their pitiful state. “Raiders?”

The man with the bandaged face steps forward. “I’m Tom. We used to live on the border between Nevada and Utah, in a town called Prosperity. We were attacked a few weeks ago, but those were no Raiders—it was a goddamn army. They had huge vehicles made of metal.”

“Tanks,”

someone calls. “Those were fucking tanks!”

I know what he’s talking about because I’ve seen tanks in old photos. I exchange a look with River before asking, “What do you know about that army?”

“They killed anyone who tried to fight, then rounded up the rest, claiming they were taking them to Vegas. The fuckers acted like it was a great opportunity.”

He looks around. “Whoever you see here managed to escape through a supply tunnel, but almost everyone else is either dead or in Vegas.”

I glance at River again, and he nods for me to ask what we both must be thinking. “Did you happen to see anyone who looks like a giant?”

Tom’s face pales. A girl, who can’t be more than ten, steps forward and says, “I saw two giants, sir. They were standing back from the army, but they were watching. I thought they weren’t really big at first, but then soldiers went to talk to them, and the soldiers looked like children.”

“We thought she was just scared and imagining things,”

Tom says. “But if you’re asking about that…”

“It doesn’t matter now,”

River says. “You all need to reach Blue Moon. They’re the closest city. Do you have a map of this area?”

“No,”

Tom says. “We left in a hurry, and the settlements we came across weren’t much help.”

River removes his weapons and backpack, then fumbles inside until he finds an old map. He spreads it open and takes a step closer to Tom, who tenses but doesn’t step back. River shows him where Blue Moon is and which routes they should avoid because of Raiders, though no one can predict where Raiders might be. Tom takes the map carefully, like a precious gift.

“Do you have enough food?”

River asks.

“We’re managing,”

Tom says, but some of the others shake their heads.

River turns to me. “Can you wait here until I find something?”

“Yes.”

Once he disappears among the trees, Tom leads me into the heart of their little camp. They don’t have a campfire, likely to not attract attention. None of them appear badly injured, but the trauma is visible on each and every tired face. I can’t help but remember my own people after Skyfall, looking as though they were waiting to wake up from a nightmare.

I don’t have much to say, so I listen as an old woman tells me about their ruined town. She lost her husband and two sons, while her four grandchildren were taken by the army from the west.

By the time River finally returns, I feel grief all around me, pressing against my chest. He places eight rabbits on the ground, then pours out dozens of fruits from his backpack. People stare in disbelief, and even I am in awe.

“I’ll start a fire for the rabbits,”

River says.

“No.”

Tom steps forward. “I’m grateful for all of this, but we can’t risk Raiders noticing us.”

“We will stay here tonight to protect you.”

“Listen, no offense, but—”

“You don’t need to worry,”

I say. “River can protect your camp. I swear.” I deliberately use his name because I don’t want them to see him as just a Semi-Human.

“I want to eat rabbit,”

someone calls, and more voices follow.

Tom sighs. “Alright, then. I guess we’re having dinner.”

*

The children are the first to talk to River, then some of the adults join. By the time the rabbits are cooked, he’s no longer looked at as a threat. I sit with my back against a tree, wrapped in my new jacket. The night is cold, with most of the refugees huddling around the campfire. I’m comfortable looking from afar, my head filled with concerns. I wonder how many more refugees are heading to Colorado, hoping to find a new home without knowing that this land is far from safe.

I’m startled when River suddenly crouches next to me. He whispers, “A group of Raiders is heading this way; about ten of them.”

I start to stand, but he holds me down. “Stay here with the rest. I’ll be back soon. If you hear gunshots, don’t let them panic.”

“I can help. Ten Raiders are no damn joke.”

“I’ll just need to take out a few for the rest to run away. I’ve done this before.”

Some people are watching us with suspicion. Not wishing to cause panic, I quietly say, “Fine.”

River glances at the refugees. “Do you think they would like to hear me play the harmonica?”

I don’t get how he can think of that when Raiders are approaching. “I… yes. I’m sure they would.”

He reaches behind him and pulls out a pistol. “In case something happens.”

Surprised, I take the weapon. “I might still shoot you later.”

He smiles. “You won’t.”

He disappears between the trees with only a rifle. I sit still, though I don’t feel stable. I’ve seen him fight, and those Raiders are not expecting to be on the defense, but I’m still scared, hating feeling useless when there’s danger.

At the sudden sound of gunshots, people shout and grab whatever weapon they can. I jump to my feet, cursing my bruised ribs. “It’s okay!”

They watch me as if I’m crazy, but at least they’re listening. “River is handling this. Let’s keep our voices down and—” More gunshots. Children begin to cry. “It’s okay!” I shout louder. “Just sit and wait.”

They follow my instructions, but they seem ready to flee. Some are looking at me with anger, since it was I who claimed they would be fine starting a fire. I’m about to sit down as well when I hear movement from the north. Heads turn toward the noise, and I know in my gut it isn’t River. Either the Raiders have spread in advance, or they have spread after he encountered them. I can’t bet on River reaching them in time, and there are still occasional gunshots from the south, meaning he’s occupied with the fighting over there.

I tighten my grip on the pistol, but I can’t wrap my palm around the handle comfortably without painfully tugging at my burn. “Stay here.”

I hear the Raiders clearly once I’m swallowed by the darkness of the woods. There are two of them, and one whispers, “Who the fuck attacked them?”

“Doesn’t matter,”

the other answers. “We have our orders.”

“Maybe we should head back.”

“I ain’t getting skinned for being a fucking coward.”

Their voices grow louder as they continue to advance. I’m hiding with my back against a tree, keeping my breathing quiet. Being a sniper, distance is my friend, but I don’t have that privilege now. I tell myself I only need to take down one to scare off the other, and there's no reason I shouldn’t succeed, even with a wounded arm.

I wait for the two Raiders to walk past me. They’re both tall and skinny, focusing solely on what’s in front of them. From here, I can see the light from the campfire about two hundred feet away. I won’t get a better chance than this. I straighten my arm, take my aim, then squeeze the trigger. The muscles in my arm clench, and what was supposed to be a clean shot ends up hitting my target in the shoulder. I shoot again, but they’ve already jumped into the shadows.

Knowing that I’m fucked, I dash to hide behind another tree. Barely three seconds pass before they start firing in my direction. Pieces of wood fly around, and the air fills with the strong scent of gunpowder. I pray they’ll be reckless enough to use all of their ammo.

“Take the right,”

one of them hisses once they stop shooting.

I look around in growing panic, searching for another place to hide. The dark might play in my favor, but I’m big enough for any movement to get their attention. I crouch slowly, holding my pistol in my shaking hand. If I’m lucky, one of them will move ahead of the other, giving me a chance to shoot before I turn to handle the other one. But it’s unlikely to happen that way.

I can’t control my breathing; it’s shallow and rapid. I’m sure they can hear it.

They’re crunching branches from both directions, moving in unison to close in on me. I tell myself this isn’t where I die, but how many have said the same before their death?

“Who’s there?”

the Raider on my right asks, then he shouts in pain.

My instincts kick in. I turn to my left, aiming my pistol and firing three shots. I hit the Raider in the chest. He fires as he falls, but the shot goes wild before he hits the ground, blood splashing from his wound.

“It’s me,”

River says. “Don’t shoot.”

I let out a deep sigh of relief and wait for him to emerge from the shadows.

He crouches next to me. “Are you hurt?”

“No. It’s just my damn arm. You okay?”

“Yes.”

He helps me up. I can’t clearly see his face, but his concern is hard to miss, and it feels good knowing he cares.

“I’m okay,”

I say. “Useless, but okay.”

“You’re not useless. You’ve got one of them.”

“Because of you.”

“So? Aren’t we a team?”

I don’t know how to respond, but I like the sound of that.

“Aren’t we a team?”

he asks again, sounding as though my answer is important.

“We’re a team.”

We head back toward the camp, and River announces our arrival before we enter their line of sight. They quickly get over their shock and cheer for us. There’s Raiders’ blood on River’s windcoat. They help him clean up while offering me water. I feel bad for using their supplies, but my throat is parched.

With the danger behind us, we finally eat. Even with eight dead rabbits, there isn’t much to go around, but they also have some food of their own.

Once we’re fed, River pulls out his harmonica and starts to play next to the campfire. The survivors of the town once called Prosperity gather to listen. I stare in surprise when an old man sits next to River and pulls out a harmonica of his own.

River gawks, and when the old man begins to play, he wipes his eyes. They don’t know the same songs, so they switch, each keeping a similar rhythm to the other’s. Despite the grief surrounding the people of this camp, the music makes the children jump and dance. When they finish playing, we give them a standing ovation. I almost forget that I was close to dying in the woods not long ago.

When it’s time to call it a night, River assures Tom that his people don’t need to keep watch. After a short hesitation, Tom agrees.

I set up a place to sleep farther from the rest, arranging my bag as a pillow. River comes to sit next to me, his blue windcoat clean of blood. “Did you hear how well we played?”

“Sure did.”

“He was better, but I picked up some of his moves. I’ll practice. How’s your arm?”

The pain has subsided, but I’m less optimistic about ever fully regaining the range of motion I had. “It’s better. We can wait until tomorrow before changing the bandage.”

“Okay. I’m going on patrol.”

“Wake me up later for a switch.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need much sleep, and you had a long day.”

“We had the same day.”

“I’ll sleep more tomorrow. Promise.”

I don’t like the thought of him wandering alone at night with no one to talk to, but hasn’t he been doing that for years?

He stands up and looks at the camp, where most people have gone to sleep. “I want them to feel safe.”

“They are safe.”

“Yes, but for how long?”

With a sigh, he turns to leave.