George the Long-Legged Fly's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

By the second morning, George knew his wings would not be enough. The river ran east the way the map promised, but the map did not care about wing size. George beat his small wings until his back ached, and the bumblebee flew low beside him, still drying, still slow. They rested on a stone by noon. George counted the bends of the river ahead and did the math. Five days left. Too many bends. He had chosen the direction. He had not chosen a way to cover it in time. He searched the bank for anything that floated. Twigs rolled and sank. A leaf turned to pulp when he pressed it. Then he saw a broken walnut shell caught in the reeds, one half split clean, the inside dry. He climbed in and rocked it. It held him. It would hold the bumblebee too. He pushed it into the shallows and the current took hold at once, faster than his wings had ever carried him. The bumblebee climbed aboard and gripped the rim. George crouched at the front and read the water the way he read it above his pond at home. He called out ripples before they reached the shell. Left. Right. Steady. The shell slid past three bends before the sun moved a finger's width. For the first time since the tavern, George felt ahead of his own days. Then he heard wings above him, wings much larger than his own, and a shadow crossed the water. A dragonfly landed on the reeds ahead, blue-bodied, wings long as George was tall. She said she was flying east along the river to her winter grounds and had seen the shell from above. She asked what two small flies were doing in a nut. George told her about the map, the flower, the days he had left. The dragonfly listened. She said she could carry one passenger on her back, no more, and she was leaving now. George looked at the bumblebee. The bumblebee's wings were nearly dry. She could follow the river on her own from here, slowly, and meet him at the last hive on the map. George climbed onto the dragonfly's back and gripped between her wings. The bumblebee pushed the walnut shell back into the current for her own use and lifted a leg in farewell. The dragonfly rose. The river unrolled beneath them faster than George had ever moved in his life. He had traded a partner for speed, and he had bought back his days.