Brooke ‘Bookeeper’'s Arc

Chapter 3 of 32

Brooke shouldered her pack at dawn and found the boy already on the road, boots laced, a small bag at his hip. She told him no. He did not move. She told him again, sharper, and pointed back toward the library. He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded square of paper. She took it because she had to. It was a child's drawing, bright crayon and pencil, a winding line marked with suns and trees and tiny houses. But the line was right. She knew the first three days of road by heart, and his shapes matched. A blue square sat where an old armored cruiser had rusted out by the ditch. A gray block with a flag marked a checkpoint shack she'd heard travelers curse. Someone had walked this route. Someone had told him. "Who gave you this," she said. He did not answer. He only looked at her, steady, the way he looked at books she set in front of him. Footsteps behind her. Webster Daily, notebook under his arm, breath short from catching up. He glanced at the paper and his face went still. "I drew parts of that," he said quietly. "For a story I never ran. He asked me what was out there. I told him. I didn't think he'd keep it." Brooke folded the map and put it in her pocket. She looked at the boy, then at the road, then at the two weeks waiting in it. "Stay close," she said. "Do what I say." He nodded once. She started walking, and they followed.