by Anna Dove
Haley woke up to sunlight pouring through the window and the sound of a frying pan clinking on the stove and the smell of bacon. She inhaled sharply and sat up, confused for half a second before identifying her surroundings and remembering the events of the night before. Carlos and Elizabeth were still asleep, and Haley delicately lifted her weight from one side of the couch so to not bother Elizabeth on the other end.
In the kitchen, Junetta stood in her white nightgown, frying bacon in a pan over a charcoal grill. Next to the bacon sat a wooden bowl of fresh chicken eggs ready to be cooked, and the plate of toast and spread lay on the kitchen table.
The kitchen of Junetta’s farmhouse was the most magnificent place in the world to Haley. There was a large window facing the backyard vegetable and flower garden, and as a child she had spent hours watching the various species of birds flit to and fro, landing on the birdbath and the fence and the beanpoles. Cardinal, Junetta would say. Hummingbird. Raven. Bluebird. English sparrow--too many of those! They chase away the other birds. Goldfinch, and once in a while, a woodpecker, with its persistent rat-a-tat-tat-tat on the nearby tree branches.
To the left of the kitchen stove, on the wall, hung bunches of dried herbs, so that one could barely see the wall behind it. Rosemary, an intoxicating aroma, lavender, patchouli, thyme, lemongrass, bergamot, lemon verbena, fennel, and others that Haley could not name. Their scent wafted through the house at all times, and clung to Junetta’s clothes and person so that when Junetta entered a room, the most delightful sensation of being in a garden of wild aromatic herbs came with her.
Haley went to her grandmother and wrapped her arms around her. Junetta returned the embrace, kissing her granddaughter’s cheek.
“My brave, brave girl.”
“I’m not brave, I’m really terrified of all of it,” murmured Haley, clinging to Junetta.
“Sure, sure you are, and that’s okay. You don’t need to pretend that you’re not afraid. We just need to put one foot in front of the other.”
“Yes,” said Haley, but did not let go.
“Haley?”
“Yes?”
“Honey, the bacon is burning.”
“Oh,” said Haley, and took a step back. Junetta flipped the bacon pieces, which sizzled and spat from their fat submerged state.
“Haley, when you were little, you told me something that I’ve never forgotten. And that I’ve told you back many times since. What do we always say?”
“That we are...we are natural and resourceful.”
“You were very young when you said that, but is this any less true now?”
“No.”
“Well then, we must continue being natural and resourceful. We will not let this get the best of us, emotionally or physically or mentally. We are better than this. Fear, well fear we may have, and rightly so, but bravery cannot exist unless there is something to fear. And you, my dear, are brave whether you think so or not. Now, pour everyone some water, breakfast will be ready soon.”
That morning they all feasted until their stomachs could not bear another bite, on thick bacon slices and fresh eggs, canned cherries from last fall’s harvest, generous pieces of crisp toast with butter and apple butter, hot black coffee and thick cream. Haley thought she might have never tasted anything as delicious, and she only stopped eating when she literally could not swallow another bite.
“Today,” said Junetta as they all finished their meals, “today I want you all to rest. We can’t travel until night anyway. You are safe here; I am miles away from anyone, and all of my neighbors live the same way as I do. There will be no intruders. Breathe easy, take naps, read the books I have, do whatever you like to pass the time in a pleasant way. We will leave for the Harbor at dusk, but until then, push it from your minds. Think of today as if you were paying me a visit. It will help you unwind. I’ll be out in the gardens and around the farm, preparing food and setting up the animals for my absence. You’re welcome to join, but also I advise you to rest.”
For the most part, they heeded her advice, after availing themselves to help clean up the breakfast mess. Junetta had compiled over the years a massive array of books, and in fact they were so numerous that they refused to be contained to one large oaken bookshelf, but rather spilled out--it wasn’t their fault, they couldn’t help it--onto tabletops and counters and shelves and in between the railings of the staircase. Carlos buried himself in a history of British economics in the nineteenth century; Elizabeth perused Gone with the Wind and Haley found one of her favorite childhood books, Little Women.
Junetta was right; the atmosphere of safety and leisure did help them to relax a little after their escape from Arlington. In the afternoon, Haley joined Junetta as the older woman laid out bales of hay in the barn that adjoined the pasture, as supplemental feed for the horses. They tossed down hay bales from the top of the barn, and then hauled them onto the floor and separated the sections. Only a few bales of hay, stipulated Junetta--they would mold in a week or two, but the seventy six acres of grass would be enough to sustain the horses through the summer. The two women walked the perimeter of the fenced field, opening the gates that led to the pasture and tying them open with twine. The pasture bordered a stream; the horses would drink at its banks.
“I hope I’m back before the apples rot,” said Junetta.
“Won’t the chicken eggs rot too?”
“No, in a few days the snakes will find them. I’m always battling blacksnakes for egg rights.”
They finished preparing the barn, and opened the stalls of the two horses (a Palomino and an Appaloosa) that Junetta kept, and the three that had arrived the night before. The horses trotted out into the pasture, high spirited and whinnying in the fresh April breeze. Junetta’s eyes followed them woefully.
“Horses are the most beautiful creatures,” she said. “Just the most amazing.”
With that, she turned to her granddaughter and they trekked back up to the farmhouse, where Carlos had stretched out for a nap and Elizabeth was reading absorbedly.
Junetta prepared another meal. They ate in the late afternoon and then all took a long nap.
When they awoke, the shadows were long. Junetta got up and prepared food, and packed it in burlap bags. Carlos and Elizabeth cleaned out the trash and old food from their packs, washed their knives, loaded the group’s firearms, and replenished the supply of matches. Haley cleaned all the water bottles and filled them with cold well water.
When darkness fell, they made their way out of the house, and Junetta locked the door and pocketed the key.
The half-moon had thinned ever so slightly from the night before, and the sporadic cloud cover cast into obscurity the usually bright stars. It was darker than they had yet experienced, and their eyes strained somewhat, only able to discern fifteen or so feet in front of them. Their bags and packs strapped to their backs, they walked in silence, for as sight decreased, sound became of the utmost importance. The trees rustled softly, and the bugs whizzed by, and their shoes occasionally snapped a dead twig or crackled a stiff leaf.
Making their way southeastwards through farmland and woodland, they passed dark farmhouses and climbed under white fence rails to walk through pasture. An occasional cow raised its heavy head to regard them with apathetic observation, before returning to graze.
After a period of time that seemed much longer than it actually was, they arrived at the outskirts of Annapolis, on Jennifer Road. Junetta waived them to a halt.
“Now we go quickly down Admiral Drive to West Street. There is no other way—so we must be as quick as we can. Stay to the right side.”
As they entered the street, the familiar scene of abandoned, crashed automobiles met their eyes. Rapidly they moved past the twisted metal frames and frayed rubber, their eyes and ears tuned for any movement or sound on the street. Junetta led the front and Carlos brought up the rear.
Abruptly Junetta stopped, and Haley almost collided with her. Junetta was stone still, watching something, and listening.
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“Everyone, fall back against the wall,” murmured Junetta, motioning to the brick building to their right. Quietly, speedily they stepped towards it and flattened their backs against it. Haley grasped the handle of her handgun and drew it out slowly, clicking the safety off with her thumb.
Through countless trail rides at night, late nights feeding farm animals, and lack of exposure to electronic light in cell phone or computer screens, Junetta had developed a remarkable night vision. She could see twice as far as the others, and her eyes were particularly tuned to movement that would threaten her. This skill was invaluable in the current moment and the others waited for Junetta’s command, knowing that they were best off listening to her.
They held their breaths, as a lone figure came into view in the middle of the street, a young woman, crying quietly. She did not notice them but passed them slowly, her shoulders stooped and her hands raised to her forehead. The woman approached one of the wrecked cars fifteen yards from where they stood watching. She sat down on the road next to it and rocked back and forth, weeping and muttering something unintelligible. She stayed this way, oblivious to the world around her.
Haley felt a hand on her arm; it was Junetta, tugging for them to move on. Haley touched the shoulders of the other two and beckoned, and they crept from the scene, gingerly stepping over metal fragments on the side of the road.
The tall hotels, restaurants and businesses of West Street loomed high all of a sudden in the dark without much warning, and they found themselves at an intersection.
Keeping out of the street as much as possible, they passed the darkened windows of restaurants and insurance companies, attorneys-at-law and financial managers. As they reached the heart of the city, the State Capitol dome stood faintly glowing in the dim moonlight like a less ostentatious copy of its Washington counterpart, as if it had taken a hard look at the architecture fifty miles south, and had decided it a little too much marble. Down past the governor's mansion, passing the government buildings they crept towards the Harbor. Haley recognized restaurants and shops that they had visited before; the windows were dark, and a distinctly ominous nature hung about them. Passing the darkened Starbucks on the left, they came into view of the Harbor.
“Hey, you all, stop!”
Haley’s heart sank.
All four turned slowly as the gravelly, deep voice echoed around the empty Harbor. Their eyes searched the shadows, looking for the man from whom the voice had come. Their hands moved to the holts of their guns.
“Hands in the air, or I’ll shoot,” said the voice, with a calm that sent a chill to Haley’s very bones. She removed her hand from her gun and slowly raised her palms above her head. The others did the same.
For a moment, nothing moved; and then, from underneath the shadow of an awning stepped two men, tall, lean, and holding black glocks at their sides with their fingers on the triggers. They approached the four with deliberate steps, like that of a cat as it eyes its prey.
Haley saw Junetta out of the corner of her eye, with her wrinkled hands raised above her head and her eyes fixed on the approaching men.
“What supplies do you have?” questioned the other man, who had not yet spoken. His voice was nasally and less calm than the other.
“Not much,” responded Haley, her voice sounding strange in her own ears.
“Hand them over. You. Step forward.” The man pointed to Haley. “Keep your hands above your head!”
Haley acquiesced. She heard Elizabeth breathing heavily.
“Give me your gun. Careful now, if you try to shoot you’ll be dead before you can take it from your hip.”
Slowly, Haley took the gun from her belt and handed it over, clicking on the safety lock. The man took it; her eyes met his, and she saw them glint in the moonlight.
“Now take those backpacks from the others. All the supplies.”
Haley turned, and took the supplies and food from the others, laying them carefully at the feet of the two men. She opened the bags so that the men could see the food inside. For a moment, as the attackers saw the food, they let their eyes rest hungrily for a moment too long on the bags.
“Drop your gun,” barked Carlos, and Haley turned to see that in that moment he had drawn his own, and was pointing it at the man who had first spoken. “If your friend so much as moves his pinky finger, I’ll put a bullet through your brain.”
No one moved; it was as if time had frozen and they were suspended in its grasp.
“You’re bluffing,” finally said the first man, in that cool, chilled voice. “You’ve never held a gun before in your life.”
“You’re wrong,” spat Carlos. “I’ve put a man in the ground before, and I’ll do it again.”
“Oh, have you now?” sneered the first.
“Yes,” said Carlos, in a low tone.
“Let’s go back,” said the second man, to the first.
The first man seemed to be deliberating, and in a wonderfully calm way considering that he was standing facing the barrel of another man’s gun. After a few seconds, he turned to his partner.
“Alright,” he said.
The two turned their backs, and began up the cobblestone street. Carlos remained with his gun trained on them. Haley began to tie up the bags again.
Then two sharp cracks split the air, and Haley flattened herself to the ground. Looking up, she saw Carlos with a smoking gun, and the hot metal shell of the bullet fell to the street before her eyes. She looked up towards the retreating men.
One lay on the ground, the other knelt beside him. Carlos was running up towards them, Elizabeth following him, their guns trained on the kneeling man. Haley rose to her feet and, taking Junetta’s hand, made their way up to the others.
“You shot my friend,” said the second man, looking up at Carlos. “He’s dead. You shot my friend.”
“He pulled on me first, as you both were walking away.”
“I know, I know,” said the man, “but you shot him, and he’s dead.” He spoke with a choking in his voice. “I knew I should have never come with him. He said that he knew how to get food. He has three children, young kids--kids! Young...and he goes out every night and comes back with food--and I never questioned how, but see I’ve got two kids of my own, and so I figured, if this guy knows how to get food, I should stay with him. It’s one thing to talk about morals and principles but it’s another when you see your five-year old daughter starving in front of your own eyes. I came with him because of her. Because of my wife and son and daughter. I’m a real estate agent,” said the man, looking up at them, and sitting back on his haunches by his dead friend, “I sell houses.” His tone was one of shock, and Haley could see his pale skin sweating and his wide eyes. “I sell houses.” The man shook his head, and looked back at his friend, whose chest was now a pool of blood. “I can’t take this, god, I can’t take this. You all are people. You’re real people. I can’t take this, I can’t do this. To watch a child suffer makes you wish you were dead; to watch your own child suffer--it is--it is--I” and he covered his face in his hands and rocked back and forth. “She depends on me, she looks up to me and asks me why, and I have no answers…” he abruptly stopped, and looked up at them.
“Go!” He cried. “Get out of here!”
Haley took a sleeve of crackers from the backpack and a jar of peanuts, and laid them by the man’s feet. He looked at them, and then up at her, with a look that she would never forget, one of desolate despair, a man who is lost.
Carefully they retraced their steps down the hill, Carlos keeping his gun trained on the man, who sat as if in a daze. Around the corner and into the shadow of another building, and they stood facing the Harbor.
“A boat, quick,” said Carlos.
“That one,” said Elizabeth quietly. “I can sail that one.”
A sleek white vessel, with tall mast reaching up proudly and furled sails tied up neatly. She rocked lightly in the water that lapped against her hull, on which was written in sprawling cur
sive lettering, The Jennifer.
The four travelers filed in quickly, stepping over the bow to sit on the edge. They had just seated themselves when another single shot rang out, splitting the air. Instinctively they ducked, but there was no sound, no returning fire, no shouts or screams, only an awful silence.
“Did that man…” began Haley in a whisper, but then stopped as her throat tightened.
Elizabeth drew out her pocketknife and sawed apart the line that was curled into a mass of knots securing the sailboat to the dock. She pushed them off, and running up the mainsail and the jib and the sailboat began to ease away from the Harbor turning away from the wind, cutting smoothly through the dark water as the sails filled.
“Get down, everyone, until we get out of the Harbor,” Elizabeth said softly, and the others lowered their bodies below deck visibility, sitting on the boat bottom. Carlos kept his gun in his hand, as did Elizabeth.
Sailing was second nature to her. Having grown up in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, Elizabeth had spent hours, days, weeks flying across the surface of water in sleek boats, learning to read the wind. She had sailed at night before, navigating by the natural lights in the sky.
Out they moved from the mouth of the Harbor into the Bay, and Junetta, Carlos and Haley moved from below the deck to the thwart, the board that spanned from port to starboard. The wind filled the sails gently from the southeast and Elizabeth directed the bow due east by her compass, guiding them further out towards the middle of the Bay. They all sat in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts.
The moon had sunk behind the clouds, and the visibility continued to decrease as the cloud cover thickened. Elizabeth estimated that they had gone far enough east, and then shifted north, and the boom swung around in the dark over their heads as they all ducked at her verbal warning.
They had sailed for perhaps half an hour when their speed slowed. The wind had lulled, and the sails struggled to catch it.
“Wind is dying. Might be rain coming.”
“Should we try to go nearer to the shore?” murmured Haley.