Ashes Remain

by Alethea Stauron

  Instantaneously, she pivots her jawline toward him, parting her lips to brush over his. Under the rocky crevice for a few minutes, they kiss several times throughout a long-awaited greeting.

  “Josephine…” mumbled against her soft skin, “It’s not safe here. This isn’t a good idea.” He slides out of the hole and places a palm up, beckoning her to stay hidden. He treks over the short ridge, securing the area before signaling her to climb out.

  Josephine sees his back facing away from her. She remembers the last time he vanished. His hand was held up like that and he ran out. He told her to stay and he ran off. She runs to his side. “No, you don’t.”

  He glances down toward the tugging on his arm. Quickly sensing her fear. Grief and guilt are almost palpable through his veins. He places his warm hand over her grip. “Baby, I’m not leaving you. I can’t anymore. Not anymore.” A relaxation rushes like warm water through her. “Peace, Josephine. I was just checking to make sure they’re gone.” His voice deepens, “I’m not leaving your side. Not anymore. Not as long as you want me.”

  “You left me once,” her voice squeaks, “I couldn’t handle it if you did it again.”

  “It’s hard to explain,” speaking against her neck, “I’m always kind of around you.” Their eyes meet, “I can’t be with you outside or in public.” He looks up, scanning the horizon before looking down at her, “It increases your risk for abduction.” He nods, “We’ve been out too long,” escorting her with a nudge, “We can’t be seen.”

  The sky grows purple with a maroon haze of morning announcing a soon dawn. Josephine stumbles over loose rocks, “How can you see everything?”

  “Grab my hand.” He helps her to keep up pace with him. His eyes constantly scan with every new visible trail around them.

  She says, “I saw your engraving you left for me. That was my birthday. Why didn’t you come in and talk to me?”

  “I can’t explain right now. We need to get you home. Indoors.”

  “Camo pajamas,” she giggles, “You wrote, Camo pajamas.”

  Lucius stops. He stares down at her and brushes her cheek. “I’m in love with you and I’ve never stopped loving you. I never will. But we can’t speak right now.” He turns toward shadowy ridgelines and heavy forest areas, “We gotta get home.” He glances back down toward her, “We can talk indoors.” His breathing intensifies, looking at the sky threatening an issue he’s not willing to invest in. “We’ve gotta hurry… before sunrise.” He picks up speed, helping Josephine not to trip from his long strides.

  They climb up a hill, greeted by the shoulder of a country road. He opens the passenger door for her, “Get in, Josephine.”

  “The truck isn’t working,” she said while climbing in.

  “Baby, give me the keys. Let me drive.”

  Her head wobbles, “It’s not… I broke down here. Something’s wrong with it.”

  “Pop the gas. I’ll fix it.” He nudges his chin toward the driver’s floorboard, holding his hand out for the keys. “I have magic hands for this sort of thing.”

  She smiles beneath her hoody, “Okay, you’re the boss.”

  He takes the keys, “Smart woman,” and circles around the back as she pops the gas tank. He opens an interdimensional space beside the sole of his shoe and grabs a tiny item — no bigger than a AAA battery. Lucius plops the device inside. The sound of gushing echoes through the gas tank and he closes the flap.

  Lucius hops into the driver seat, and Josephine says, “The truck won’t work.”

  He says, “Ye of little faith,” and turns the key.

  Rumble

  She yanks a stunned glance over, “How did you —

  “Do you trust me?”

  “With my life.”

  Lucius smiles, “That’s all I needed to hear.” He puts it in gear, and circles back over the ridge. The threatening sky cuts any looming conversation short. And grimaces toward his skin catching light from the dawn threatening just over the horizon. He glances over, Josephine’s eyebrows are raised in his speeding around corners. He gestures at her buckle, “Put your seatbelt on,” quickly turning his gaze toward a countdown of sunbursts about to expose him. Josephine clasps her belt, and he asks, “Um… do you remember when I asked if you trusted me?”

  “Yeah… that was only a few seconds ago,” she said.

  His nervousness is obvious and turns toward her, “I know a shortcut to your house. You can’t watch me take it.”

  “Wait… what?”

  “I would get in big trouble if you knew about this kind of shortcut. I wouldn’t know how to explain it.”

  She asks, “You want me to close my eyes or something?”

  “Yes! Baby… hurry. The sun is coming up.” The pink of sky is vastly turning orange. He’s wide-eyed, staring at the road, “Josephine… baby… can I get you to put your head down and close your eyes? You can’t open them until I tell you. Okay?” He glances over at her, “Please lay your head down for me? Right now, Josephine!” He touches her hoody covering and she lies down against his thigh. “I’ll tell you when you can look.”

  He gently rubs a trinket under his shirt. His key. His head is shaking from the risk, but he’s gone too far now. He commands the key with his DNA. His Gamerin blood activates his command and… several yards in front of him, a big hole forms adjacent to the pavement.

  On the other side of the portal is the back of her property. Her driveway.

  “Here we go,” carefully driving her truck through an opened doorway. As soon as the truck is safely through, he waves his hand. The portal swiftly closes behind them. Rough terrain of her back-yard area gives the shocks of her truck a workout. She grunts, “What are you doing? Driving off a cliff?”

  “Not quite.” He eases on the brakes, pulling from the backside of her driveway and parks the truck. Her truck is facing her sedan and private road. In a single breath, he jumps out, racing over to her side. Lucius gently taps on her shoulder, “We’re here now. Baby, hurry.”

  Her head pops up, completely confused from looking at her mailbox. Her shed. Her driveway. She turns her head, “My house? What’s my house doing in Kerrville?”

  “We’re not in Kerrville anymore.” He jostles his hand toward him, “Come on, Josephine,” as the canopy of trees glow with daybreak screaming at him to get indoors. “We can’t dawdle.”

  She slowly looks around through her hoodie, “How are we here already? But it’s fifteen minutes just to get across my property. We were almost two hours from here.”

  “Please, Josephine we’ve gotta get into the house. I can explain later.”

  She slowly climbs out, Lucius is almost bouncing on his toes for her to pick up pace. “Baby, let’s hurry.”

  “My goodness. Mr. Ants in his pants,” she said, digging through her pocket, “Never rush a lady.”

  Lucius curls his lip and twiddles fingers, trying to patiently rush her casual nature into the house. The light of morning shrinks across her lawn, caressing the tree trunk feet from him. “Oh… oh… baby, hurry.”

  Josephine’s shoulder sink. She turns toward him, “You have the keys.”

  “Augh…” giving up. He touches the doorknob to open it. The door swings open, just as light rushes across her porch. He shimmies through, pulling her across the threshold and shuts the door mere seconds before daylight reveals his identity.

  Lucius moans a sigh of relief, sliding to the floor, “Whew.” His chest falls. His skin tingles, realizing he had no explanation that would’ve covered his tracks. He wouldn’t have an excuse, except, the truth. She would know in the worst way. Under the worst circumstances. She would know and he’s afraid she would run the other way — away from him. He needs more time. More time think of something. He needs her to read the journal. His head falls into his hands, kicking his knees up to rest his elbows. He’s squatting against the door and gathering breath.

  “What’s wrong,” her hands fan out as she swivels, “How did we get here in… like… two
seconds?”

  Lucius stays hunched below the sunrise of her kitchen doorway and blows through pursed lips. “Can you close your curtains over there?” She does, but Josephine squints at his movement. His odd movement and watching him scurry through shadows in order to make it to the couch. He walks to a safe area in the living room and gathers a cushion. Josephine steps cautiously over, eyeing his behavior. He’s already reading her mind. He knows what it looks like, and says, “I know what you’re thinking,” resting his head back to look at her with her arms crossed. He continues, “Someday it’ll make sense. I couldn’t tell you right now. Believe me. This is better than the alternative.”

  She boosts one brow, making him shrink in his seat. Her crossed arms send no comfort his way. He tries to think of something honest. Something clever to say. But nothing comes to mind. She asks, “What is wrong with you,” breaking the dam holding back questions. “Where have you been? Who were those men? How did you fix my truck? How did you know where I was? How did you get there?” Her arms flare out as if grabbing down her ceiling, “And how did we get here?”

  He exhales a rather large breath, dropping his head between his shoulders. “I can’t answer all of what you ask.” He gazes back at her. “I’m not authorized without natural exposure. And I don’t wanna be the one. The reason. The reason you… I don’t want you mad at me.”

  “What does that mean,” her arms dropped.

  “I’m a soldier…” he raises a brow, giving some conclusion of what she’s after, “remember? I’ve been tailing those guys and Drake. That’s how I knew. I’m trying to keep you safe from abduction.” His head and brows sink, “I know you wanna know more. But believe me… you don’t wanna know more.” He looks into her pleading green eyes, “It’s already too complicated and dangerous to explain. You’re just gonna have to trust me, Josephine. I won’t lie to you. I never have. I never will. I’m protecting you by this.”

  She paces a few times and digests what he said. Something he said. A name. Drake. As if a bomb went off, she stumbles backward from the loft stairwell, panting a yelp with furrowed brows.

  Lucius embraces her from behind, “It’s okay. Don’t be troubled.” He holds her close, calming her. “He’s not here right now. But he might come back.”

  She exhales several times. Nearly hyperventilating, “He’s bad, Lucius. He’s so bad —

  “I know,” whispered against her hair. “Maybe he won’t make it back.”

  She swivels toward him, locking each other in a tight embrace. She says, “He’s dangerous. Protect me, Lucius.”

  Her voice echoes across his mind along with his orders. You’re not to lay a hand on him, they told him. Lucius’s eyes polish over, staring up through the wall into a dark and empty bedroom. “I hope he doesn’t come back.” He glances over at the front door, “One can only hope he won’t come back.”

  Just before daylight, Drake drove out where he had flagged barbed wire a day earlier. His car’s high beams light up several miles down the road through an early twilight sky. His eyes are fixed, watching the left shoulder, studying for a black t-shirt, wishing he had worn white or some other bright color that day.

  Finally

  wadded up by wind, a black entanglement causes him to slow down. Drake makes skid marks of rolling dust in the dirt, spinning off the shoulder, and shooting his car back around after passing the mark. He totes off the road down someone’s land in the distance, shifting his lights off. He opens the cattle ranch gate, and pulls behind a thicket of a dried-up creek. By this time, deep colors of the sky soften, as stars swiftly camouflage behind disappearing night. He gathers tumbleweed in several areas caught along fence posts and toppled over branches. He hedges them around his wheels and hood. And lays the gate adjacent to its secured post. Drake stoops in a gully behind layers of sage, as a motorhome passes with headlights illuminating several yards from him.

  As soon as the road is clear of any traffic, Drake darts over light gray, aged blacktop infested with black tarry lines filling in cracks. Across edges of yellow paint, and over breaking divots in the road, signifying where the shoulder is for sleepy drivers. The weeds mingled with dry hay crushes under his boots. He navigates clear of any mounds or ant piles of deep color on the ground with morning maroon sky, burning into auburn. He pulls barbed wire apart and slides through like he did the day before.

  His boots hike up through cedar and along thick sage over rocky passes on an incline, until, he reaches a pinnacle. The sun whispers over the horizon. Beneath un-pruned leafy undergrowth, he pins himself between a rock crevice and green stems. And lines up his sight overlooking a cubicle of overgrown brush where a sack still hangs from branches. The white sack waves at him. He squeezes his tongue between his molars, fixing the position of his cast, propping his weapon in place. Everything is sturdy and adjusted for a split-moment fire. He unclips the safety and waits. Shadowy sage branches and crate myrtles disguise Drake from view. But confidence is on his side. Nothing stands in his line of sight with a shiny silencer and pinpoint accurate high-tech scope ready. Ready and aiming at a tracker that was in his forearm less than twelve hours earlier.

  He stares a while, memorizing every bird and lizard through the scope. Several vehicles pass, noting a half-dozen motorhomes, four double-cabbed large trucks with cattle guards attached. None of them matter to him. He knows the vehicle. The bulletproof windows. The nearly blacked-out UV tint job. He’s been locked inside several times with windows hiding what’s done in the back — against his will.

  He plays several scenarios in his mind, camouflaged perfectly within the topography. He sneers with his thoughts revolving around their plans. He knows he’s overstayed his welcome with whatever cartel’s hospitality offers. He knows Mr. Estevez, and how he deals with those he’s tired of. He knows how they work. Leading you along, earning your trust and never letting the victim know any different, until, breathing stops. He’s learned well from those who have taught him from an early age when he himself was groomed as someone’s property. Drake knows being property ends today. And all of his slavery past ends — with bloodshed. “I’m not gonna die for these pedophiles,” his jawline flexes, “I’m never going back.”

  An hour after sunrise. A dark off-roader vehicle marks territory over the road. The speed limit is fifty-five miles an hour but the vehicle slows well below that.

  Until…

  large wheels stop. Halfway on grass and partially on the shoulder. The oversized black vehicle sits for a moment. Only sitting. Engine still purring. No one climbs out. Parked in the distance. Apprehension rushes through Drake’s veins, realizing he has one shot. A good one from his vantage point. All they have to do is get in position, if they would just get in position.

  Suddenly, two cars pass on the road.

  Something Drake didn’t notice with his mind swirling. He waits a moment. And just as suspected, once traffic has cleared, Mike and Eddie exit the vehicle. They wear rancher’s outfits. Suited for the area. Drake grumbles, “Sons of bitches,” knowing they’ve researched where they’re going to find him. He ducks down lower, making little of his hairline visible within less than an inch of an opening with heavy shrubbery over him.

  They cross a makeshift threshold, lifting up on a black t-shirt with one hand and crawling through barbed wire with boots and blue jeans. Drake’s Adam’s apple thumps, realizing it’ll be a matter of time before they come to knowledge. The knowledge he doesn’t live in scrublands.

  “Come on out, you piece of cow pie. Both of you. Come get his little toy back.” He aims his gun faithfully to shoot anyone who rotates around where he hung the plastic bag. Away from the eyes of the road.

  They stop just shy of a damp creek bed, twenty feet from heavy shrubbery. Shrubbery leading into the isolated cubicle of bushes. Mike gestures at Eddie silently and Drake watches through his scope. “Come on out, Drake,” Mike shakes a pill bottle, stepping over limestone with trickling water around it. “We have your prescription…” and pla
ces the bottle back in his pocket, “And the girl. We’ve checked her.” He stops. He lines himself up at a shady area behind cedars just out of Drake’s vision. “Mr. Estevez wants you back on the walk. He’s got a little bonus for you after finding this girl,” and signals Eddie to draw nearer. “You’ve paid your debt.”

  When Eddie lines up beside Mike, Drake sees them. Both of them. They carry two distinct silencer pistols hiding under the shade of each cowboy hat. They haven’t aimed from around the corner. Barrels still tucked behind their ears.

  “I knew those dogs were gonna try and kill me,” Drake mumbled. He lines his target, pointing at the fastest shooter — Eddie.

  They wheel around an embankment of thick cedar brush, sneaking into the cubicle of brushy alders. Eddie reacts around the corner first, mere milliseconds before Mike, pointing and shooting at a plastic bag.

  With his adrenaline pumping, Drake focuses on his shot. He wastes no time, sending his first bullet blazing through Eddie’s back and blasting cardiac tissue out the other side of his chest.

  Instantaneous. Swift and soundless. The ricochet broadcasted more like burping indigestion rather than a gunshot. Eddie’s head wobbles down, wondering why his heart had stopped pumping. Blood pours from his chest, dampening his plaid shirt. Pouring over his light-brown jacket.

  Mike is sifting through a plastic bag hanging from the tree. He un-mangles the knot on the branch and pulls plastic handles down entirely. He reaches in for the tracker…

  Drake aims his gun directly at Mike’s head.

  Mike unlocks his lips in shock by what he found. A tracker with dried blood and tissue over it. He twists back toward Eddie.

  Slit

  The sound was louder in Mike’s ears, having his skull cracked between his eyes. A bullet dispersing his brains like concentrated paint, and stretched across white plastic and branches behind him. Mike drops first. Rearward. Drake hears the smash of his already split skull against limestone.