The Knife of Never Letting Go

“You were just go

“No, Todd–” He moves forward, the book still in his hand. I step back again. He makes a gesture like, okay.

And he closes his eyes and opens up his Noise for me.

One month’s time is the first thing it says–

And here comes my birthday–

The day I’ll become a man–

And–

And–

And there it all is–

What happens–

What the other boys did who became men–

All alone–

All by themselves–

How every last bit of boyhood is killed off–

And–

And–

And what actually happened to the people who–

Holy crap–

And I don’t want to say no more about it.

And I can’t say at all how it makes me feel.

I look at Ben and he’s a different man than he always was, he’s a different man to the one I’ve always known.

Knowledge is dangerous.

“It’s why no one tells you,” he says. “To keep you from ru

“You wouldn’t’ve protected me?” I say, mewing again (shut up).

“This is how we’re protecting you, Todd,” he says. “By getting you out. We had to be sure you could survive on yer own, that’s why we taught you all that stuff. Now, Todd, you have to go–”

“If that’s what’s happening in a month, why wait this long? Why not take me away sooner?”

“We can’t come with you. That’s the whole problem. And we couldn’t bear to send you off on yer own. To see you go. Not so young.” He rubs the cover of the book with his fingers again. “And we were hoping there might be a miracle. One where we wouldn’t have to–”

Lose you, says his Noise.

“But there ain’t been no miracle,” I say, after a second.

He shakes his head. He holds out the book. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry it has to be this way.”

And there’s so much true sorrow in his Noise, so much worry and edginess, I know he’s speaking true, I know he can’t help what’s happening and I hate it but I take the book from him and put it back in the plastic and into the rucksack. We don’t say nothing more. What else is there to say? Everything and nothing. You can’t say everything, so you don’t say nothing.

He pulls me to him again, hitting my lip on his collar just like Cillian but this time I don’t pull away. “Always remember,” he says, “when yer ma died, you became our son, and I love you and Cillian loves you, always have, always will.”

I start to say, “I don’t wa

Cuz BANG!! goes the loudest thing I ever heard in Prentisstown, like something’s blowing right up, right on up to the sky.

And it can only be coming from our farm.

Ben lets me go right quick. He ain’t saying nothing but his Noise is screaming Cillian all over the place.

“I’ll come back with you,” I say. “I’ll help you fight.”

“No!” Ben shouts. “You have to get away. Promise me. Go thru the swamp and get away.”

I don’t say nothing for a second.

“Promise me,” Ben says again, demanding it this time.

“Promise!” Manchee barks and there’s fear even in that.

“I promise,” I say.

Ben reaches behind his back and unclasps something. He wriggles it for a second or two before it comes unlatched completely. He hands it to me. It’s his hunting knife, the big ratchety one with the bone handle and the serrated edge that cuts practically everything in the world, the knife I was hoping to get for the birthday when I became a man. It’s still in its belt, so I can wear it myself.

“Take it,” he says. “Take it with you to the swamp. You may need it.”

“I never fought a Spackle before, Ben.”

He still holds out the knife and so I take it.

There’s another BANG from the farm. Ben looks back towards it, then back to me. “Go. Follow the river down to the swamp and out. Run as fast as you can and you’d better damn well not turn back, Todd Hewitt.” He takes my arm and grips it hard. “If I can find you, I’ll find you, I swear it,” he says. “But you keep going, Todd. You keep yer promise.”

This is it. This is goodbye. A goodbye I wasn’t even looking for.

“Ben–”

“Go!” he shouts and takes off, looking back once as he runs and then racing off back to the farm, back to whatever’s happening at the end of the world.

“C’mon, Manchee,” I say, turning to run, tho every bit of me wants to follow Ben as he’s ru

I stop for a second when I hear a bunch of smaller bangs from the direkshun of the house which gotta be rifle shots and I think of the rifle that Cillian took from Mr Prentiss Jr and all the rifles that Mayor Prentiss and his men have locked away in the town and how all those guns against Cillian’s stolen rifle and the few others we got in the house ain’t go

All this for me to get away.

“C’mon, Manchee,” I say again and we run the last few metres to the river. Then we take a right and start following the river downhill, keeping away from the rushes at the water’s edge.

The rushes where the crocs live.

I take the knife from its sheath and I keep it in my hand as we move along fast.

“What’s on, Todd?” Manchee keeps barking, which is his version of “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Manchee. Shut up so I can think.”

The rucksack’s banging into my back as we run but we keep going as best we can, kicking thru river shrubs and jumping over fallen logs.

I’ll come back. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll come back. They said I’d know what to do and now I do know. I’ll go to the swamp and kill the Spackle if I can and then I’ll come back and help Cillian and Ben and then we can all get away to this somewhere else Ben was talking about.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

“Promised, Todd,” Manchee says, sounding worried as the ridge we’re going along is getting closer and closer to the rushes.

“Shut up,” I say. “I promised to keep on going but maybe keep on going means coming back first.”

“Todd?” Manchee says and I don’t believe it either.

We’ve gotten outta hearing distance from the farm and the river veers away east a little before it enters the top of the swamp so it’s taking us away from the town, too, and after a minute there ain’t nothing following us as we run ’cept my Noise and Manchee’s Noise and the sound of the ru

I’m breathing heavy and Manchee’s panting like he’s about to keel over but we don’t stop. The sun is starting to set, but it’s still light as you please, light that don’t feel like it’s going to hide you. The ground is flattening out and we’re getting down closer to river level as it all starts turning to marsh. Everything’s getting muddier and it’s making us slow down. There’s more rushes, too, can’t be helped.

“Listen for crocs,” I say to Manchee. “Keep yer ears open.”

Cuz the water from the river is slowing and if you can keep yer own Noise quiet enough you can start to hear them out there. The ground’s got even wetter. We’re barely making walking pace now, sloshing thru mud. I grip the knife harder and hold it out in front of me.

“Todd?” Manchee says.

“Do you hear them?” I whisper, trying to watch my step and watch the rushes and watch out for Manchee all at the same time.