Chapter Thirty-five
AFTER A FEW HOURS WE CROSSED AN ENORMOUS GRAY bridge and into the ruined city of San Francisco. Old, ornate houses rose around us, their colorful facades covered with ivy and moss. Cars stood abandoned in the middle of the road, forcing us onto the wide sidewalks, scattered bones crunching under the Jeep’s tires. Caleb held the map, directing me over the steep hills. He coached me through each turn, each acceleration, until the road rose up and there was only a stretch of blue beside us.
“The ocean,” I said. I pulled over just to look.
Below us the waves collided into one another, sloshing with white. The ocean was an expansive thing, a great reflection of the sky. Sea lions slept on a dock, their bodies slicked wet. A flock of birds circled above, greeting us with squeaky cries. You’re here, they called to us. You’ve made it.
Caleb ran his hand over mine. His palm was still caked with dried blood. “I haven’t seen it since I was a kid. My parents took us here once and we rode a cable car. It was this giant wooden thing and I held onto the side of it . . .” he trailed off.
We sat there, hand in hand, scanning the horizon. “That’s it,” I said, pointing to the red bridge less than a mile in front of us, stretching over the vast expanse of blue. “The bridge to Califia.”
Caleb checked the map. “Yes, that’s it,” he said, but he didn’t smile. Instead a strange expression passed over his face. He seemed sad. “Whatever happens, Eve,” he said, squeezing my hand, “I just want you to—”
“What do you mean?” I glanced down at the wound in his leg. “We’re here. It’s going to be okay now—we’re going to be okay.” I leaned closer, trying to meet his gaze.
When Caleb looked up, his eyes were wet. “Right, I know.”
“You’re going to be fine,” I said again, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, the back of his hand. “Don’t worry—we’re here. They’ll help you.” He offered a weak smile, then let his body fall back into the seat.
I pressed the pedal down, and we didn’t stop until the sidewalk ended, every inch of the pavement now covered with cars. Caleb lowered himself from the Jeep. The color had returned to his face, but his walk had transformed into a pained shuffle, his left leg hovering just above the ground.
We started up the hill, past condemned houses and stores. Caleb’s steps were tentative. He put more and more of his weight on my shoulder. I shuddered as a dark thought consumed me: what if he wasn’t going to be fine? I pulled him closer to my side, as if my grasp could tether him to this earth, to me, forever.
Finally we came to the place where the bridge dug into the cliff’s edge. A large park had grown over the entrance, grass and shrubs and trees spreading over the red metal opening. I pulled back a cluster of vines on the wall, exposing a plaque, greened by the years: GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE, 1937.
We reached the bridge’s terrace and my heart beat faster. There was only a low guardrail between us and the three-hundred-foot drop. We maneuvered through old cars, stepping carefully onto the weeds and moss that covered the bridge.
The charred vehicles still held skeletons strapped to the front seats. A truck sat on its side, spilling out the moldy remnants of someone’s apartment—broken frames, scattered books, a mattress. I kept moving, one foot in front of the other, listening to Caleb struggling for breaths.
Just as exhaustion threatened to overcome us, I looked up. There, on the other side of the bridge, high above us on a ledge in the mountain, was a stone pillar with a lantern on top. The same signal I’d seen that night in the woods when I was running from Fletcher. I heard Marjorie’s voice: If the light is on, there’s room for you.
It was the end of the Trail.
“Just a little farther,” I promised, helping Caleb around a fallen motorcycle. “Don’t worry.” I squeezed his side in an attempt to bring him back. “Just think about how we’ll be there soon. You’ll be able to lie down. There’ll be food. We’ll eat candied potatoes and rabbit meat and wild berries, and you’ll feel better after a night of rest.”
Caleb held his ripped T-shirt around him, steeling himself against the wind. He nodded, but his eyes still seemed sad. I wondered if his thoughts might have taken the same dismal turn mine had.
The bridge spilled out into a thick forest. We climbed the beaten path carved out of the hill’s face to where the lantern glowed through the low trees. Before us was a short stone wall. As we neared, a figure stepped out, aiming a bow and arrow at our chests.
“Who are you? What do you want?” a young woman called out. She was only a few years older than I was, her blond hair tied back. She wore a loose green dress, caked with dried mud, and tall black boots.