What do we do? What do we do?
Zander’s bow would’ve been nice. Why did it have to break?
I brought both hatchets with me, because those are good for more than fighting. Cutting meat if need be, chopping down saplings to build tents, hacking through brush—they’re all perfect reasons to have hatchets handy. However, they’re useless for long-ranged combat. They’re a waste of space in my backpack unless he comes close enough for me to sling one at him from ten yards away. At that distance, I’m fairly accurate. Beyond that, I’d do just as well blindfolded, maybe better.
I also have a large knife, approximately eight inches long, that I found in the General Chief’s basement. It was lying in the open, on top of a box of dried apple chips.
My last option, and one that won’t do much good against a rifle, is the slingshot I found in poor Elder Blount’s back pocket, one of the few things that hadn’t been looted by the blackcoats on their way through.
We’d heard tales of metal pellets back in the Olden Days, large bags of them that were perfect for shooting small game. They traveled cleanly through the air, unlike a lopsided rock. Right now, I want nothing more than a pouch of them at my side, but they were all used up a hundred years ago, if not longer. The best I can manage is using the handful of stones I shoved into a pocket of my satchel. I picked the best ones I could find. They were rounded smooth by river water and will have to do.
These stones won’t be terribly accurate at the distance he is away from us, but maybe they’ll provide a distraction so that we can slip away. It’s all highly unlikely; we don’t have any other options.
Pow!
Pow! Pow!
A bullet ricochets off a rock close to Merrin’s ankle. She whimpers and scoots closer.
Our best option is to wait him out. He doesn’t have an endless supply of ammunition. Although, there’s no way of knowing how much he’s carrying. He could have hundreds of rounds with him. Eventually, he will realize what we’re doing and he’ll ease up on the number of shots, trying to conserve his ammo. We could be here for days.
Merrin and I could wait him out. We brought enough food to last us for a month.
Yet, there’ll be cold, rainy nights to deal with. I wouldn’t be able to sleep for fear of him sneaking up on us. Merrin could keep watch, but she’s too young. She won’t have the resolve to be patient and watchful for hours on end. I did it for ages as a scout. I’m trained in the skill of silent observation. Merrin isn’t.
It won’t do. At most, we can remain hidden under the cover of this pine tree overnight. Beyond that, it’d be too dangerous for too many different reasons to count.
“Merrin?”
“Yes,” she says, face buried in the dirt, sniffling and trying to hold back tears.
“We’ll wait here, for now, but I’ll need your help.”
“How?”
“I need you to scoot up here beside me—no, no, don’t get up, stay low. Crawl on your tummy. Yeah, like that, just like that.” When she’s beside me, I pull her closer. “Don’t stick out from the tree so much. Not unless you want your arm shot off.”
She whines, wordlessly, and tries to make herself smaller than she already is.
“Sorry, I—I didn’t mean that.” Idiot. I don’t need to frighten her further. “The only thing I want you to do is peek—peek, Merrin, just barely—around your side of the tree and keep an eye out for him. Can you do that for me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m going to do the same on this side.” She reaches for me, takes my hand and squeezes. She’s shaking. “It’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll be a foot away, that’s all.”
“Okay.”
“Time to be a big girl. Remember how you always told Brandon and me that you wanted to be a scout?” She nods, bottom lip trembling. “I’m officially promoting you. Welcome to the team, Forward Scout Merrin Lowell.”
“You can do that?”
Pow! Pow! Tree bark scatters and rains down on the other side of the trunk.
I smile at her, trying to be reassuring. Now that there’s nothing left of the People’s Republic of Virginia, who’s to say I don’t have the authority? “Our whole army was taken as slaves, which means I’m the only one left, which means what I say goes.”
And, honestly, that’s probably not far from the truth. I saw Mosley in my dream, so he might be dead. The couple of soldiers who remained behind with him, digging graves, are likely now part of the trudging horde heading for Blackvale.
So, yeah, it’s a very real possibility that I’m the last free member of the PRV army.
“Be sure to do your best, Forward Scout, that’s an order.”
“I will.”
I drop the formalities after that because it’s too much trouble to maintain while some lunatic is firing at our heads. I give Merrin orders, though, allowing her to play along, and it’s working like I had hoped. Her bravery seems to have grown and increased her vigor. She obeys every order with a hearty, “Yes, ma’am,” until she gets too adventurous and pine bark bursts into shards six inches from her forehead.
She screams and flings herself behind the tree again.
And in an act that completely takes me by surprise, she giggles. “That was too close.”
I strain hard to hold back a grin. If those weren’t real bullets, this would almost be a fun training exercise. However, as it stands, we’re one lucky shot away from joining the rest of the ghosts in my dream. Instead of smiling and encouraging her, I give her a curt reprimand and remind her that this is serious. “We could die, Merrin. Really truly die, like all those people back at the encampment. You understand that, don’t you? It’s not a game.”
Her voice goes soft and apologetic. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Then get to your post, soldier. Do your best to find him.”
Merrin salutes me and shimmies back over to her side of the pine trunk and hesitantly peers around it.
The worst part about it? We haven’t found him yet. I haven’t been able to spot where he’s hiding. You’d think he’d be easy to find because there’s only so much forest here, but yet, his black army jacket serves as decent camouflage against the backdrop of soaking wet tree bark. The sun, hidden behind the clouds, has also dipped entirely behind the top of Rafael’s Ridge to the south, so while there would be daylight left in the encampment, here, the darkness has all but descended.
From now on, unless we get lucky, and he makes a mistake, we’ll be waiting for him until first light. Our main disadvantage is that he knows exactly where we are, so slipping away in the dark of night won’t be possible. The moment he spies movement from around the tree, boom, we’re dead. I don’t want to risk it. Not until I can come up with a better plan.
Or any plan, rather.
It’s going to be a long night.
We made it. Thank you, Lord, we made it through the darkest hours. While the first muted light clawing through the rain clouds, from the sun rising over the eastern hills, isn’t bright enough to show all of the world in its drenched state, I can see across the way again.
If he dares to make a bold move, I’ll be able to spot him. I hope.
I’m not so sure that he didn’t adjust his position in the middle of the night, because I was certain I heard the unnatural snap of a branch over the thrum of falling rain. The downpour had grown in strength sometime after midnight and didn’t let up until a few minutes before dawn.
These rains have been a constant source of drenched misery for ages—I’ve forgotten how long—but last night was the heaviest wall of water I’ve ever seen.
Little rivers ran down the pine trunk above our heads, collecting in pools under our arms and chests, yet we dared not move because to do so would’ve meant granting our shooter a target. So we lay here, all night, in puddles, hoping for a break that came hours later, after we reached the deepest point of our misery.
Merrin and I are soaked to the bone and shivering. In never-ending rain like this, you’re nev
er really dry, no matter how many times you change into your one extra pair of socks or a different shirt.
My skin is a mess, wrinkled and white, particularly my feet, and Merrin’s will be before long. I taught her the plastic bag trick before we left the encampment, and that’ll help for a while. I need to remember to check them for her now and again so the rot doesn’t take her. The last thing I need is a seven-year-old who can’t walk to find treatment. There are so many things to think about when you’re in charge of someone else’s life.
Strangely enough, though, I find that I’m taking to it like a young mother should.
I already have a purpose, but she gives me motivation.
It seems as if that motherly instinct can develop even if your belly hasn’t been full and round for nine months. Merrin is barely half my age, but I feel it, I feel that responsibility inside me.
During the night, she had insisted that she could hold out, that she wanted to keep watch on her side, and I let her. It was only when she nodded off and hit her head on an exposed root that I made her retreat to the full cover of the tree and get some rest.
Merrin breathes softly beside me, lying on her side and out of the shallow puddle forming at the base of the tree. When I nudge her and whisper her name, she opens her eyes and smiles briefly until she remembers where we are and what we’re doing.
“Did you find him?” she asks in a sleepy voice.
I shake my head and put my finger to my lips. “Not yet. He’s out there, though. I can feel him.”
“Now what do we do? We can’t stay here forever, can we?”
I had been thinking about this all night while I watched and waited, while Merrin slept. If it were just me, I’d run. I’d take my chances. I’d run through the trees behind us, cutting left and right, bounding from hiding spot to hiding spot. His rifle would be accurate at a great distance, but I’d be so swift of foot that he wouldn’t be able to anticipate my next move. I could make it. I’m sure I could.
Not with Merrin—she’ll never keep up.
I am free, but I feel more trapped than the PRV citizens shuffling along miles from here, bound by the chains of slavery.
I’m able to exhale a single frustrated sigh before the booming sniper rifle comes to life once more.
13
“I have an idea,” Merrin says as we duck another volley of shots from the relentless blackcoat. “Brandon told me in a dream what to do.”
“Merrin…”
“What? I’m serious. I saw him, and he said he knows what to do.”
I stop shy of rolling my eyes because at this point, we’ve been here since the night before, and I haven’t had a single decent idea since sunrise. That involved sticking a piece of white cloth on the end of a hatchet and holding it out to the side, while Merrin tried to spot the shooter. When his bullet slammed against the blade and tore the hatchet loose from my hand, I yelped and recoiled to safety.
Merrin actually spotted the muzzle flash, but now we think he’s moved to a new location because the bullets are ripping bark loose from a different angle.
The way I grew up, everything that didn’t come from the land was a precious resource that we might never see again. The part of me that’s used to conserving everything because of its limited supply wants to throttle this moron simply for wasting ammunition. He should know by now that trying to flush us out with repeated gunfire isn’t going to work. At the same time, I’m glad he’s doing it because each screaming bullet that misses is another one that won’t carve through the flesh of two young girls if he gets a clear shot.
I relent because I’m out of ideas. “Okay, Merrin. What did Brandon say?”
“He said it’s been easy this whole time. All we have to do is distract him so you can get close.”
As if I hadn’t thought of that.
“Honey, no… I’ve told you already. I’m not sending you out into the open as bait. Not like that. No way.”
“Not me, silly, him.”
“Brandon?”
“Yeah.”
“You think Brandon’s ghost is going to show up here and distract the sniper?”
She shrugs. “It’s what he said.”
While it may not be exactly what I had in mind, it gives me an idea. “Hang on a second… Yeah, Merrin, that’s perfect!”
“It is?”
I throw my backpack open and pull out a roll of twine. We had brought everything with us that we could think of, just in case something happened to our supply of food from the General Chief’s basement. Always be ready for anything, especially when you’re trekking miles and miles from the world you’ve known, heading into the unknown, heading into battle.
We’d brought along the roll of thick twine in case we had to set game traps and snares to snag the legs of little creatures.
I’m praying with everything that I have that it’ll be able to trap the blackcoat across the way, but not with that kind of trap.
Dirt cakes under my fingernails as I dig out the largest rock that my slingshot can propel for some distance. I tie the twine around it, wrapping it a number of times so that it won’t slip off.
Merrin holds a stick through the twine’s spool enabling the thread to easily roll off. I say a short prayer and aim for an unobstructed tree branch roughly twenty yards distant. I let go. The rock sails through the air, twine unspooling at a rapid clip beside me…and I miss. It lands short, bounces off a stump and comes to a stop. “Reel it back, Merrin, hurry.”
While the blackcoat will have no idea what we’re up to, he’ll see that something is happening over here on our side of the divide. Every time I reach out to shoot this thing is another chance for me to take a bullet in the arm.
When the rock tumbles within reach, I snatch it off the ground and aim higher, pulling back farther. I let it fly…and I miss.
I curse out loud in a sharp whisper and Merrin gives me an astonished look—the surprise of a child hearing an adult mutter a bad word. I order her to reel it in again. The rock may be too heavy to get where it needs to be.
The idea is to get this strand across that far limb, pull the twine and swing the rock until it wraps around and secures itself, then tie our end against the reachable branch above. Then, we’re going to take my spare set of clothes, slip them on the flimsy collection of limbs we’ve tied together to look like a person, and use some clumps of moss for hair. In a way, we’re building a scarecrow.
The final step is to hang it from the twine stretched from tree to tree, and then slide it out into visible territory. The tree I’m aiming for is downhill at an angle, so it should be no problem for the scarecrow to slide along underneath one of the smooth river stones in my backpack. We’ll sling it out as if I’m running, he’ll fire a short burst of shots at it until he realizes he’s been fooled.
During that time, I’ll launch myself across the treeless pathway and get within my slingshot’s range.
With the sniper’s careless shooting at the dummy, thinking he’s got me in his sights, I’ll be able to peg his location easily.
The problem with this plan is, it’s horribly risky and dangerous, and will leave Merrin alone and unguarded for a short period of time. The good thing is, there’s only one of him so if I can keep an eye on this blackcoat bastard at all times, I’ll know where he is in relation to her. As long as I can get off a clean shot at his head, we’ll be fine.
I hope.
What other alternative do we have? We have to fight back. There are no other options that make sense. We can’t outrun him. He’s bigger, faster, and stronger than us. He has a rifle; we’re fighting like savages. Truly, we’re fighting like Republicons with sticks, stones, blades, and slingshots. If we were fighting as if we lived in the same century, this would be an entirely different situation.
As it stands, I have one single shot at this man, and it’ll have to be the shot of my life. I’ve chosen the smoothest, roundest stone possible. While Merrin makes sure the scarecrow’s hair looks as real as s
he can, I hold the last-chance rock in my hand and feel its weight.
I study it. I don’t know why. This feels like the right thing to do, as if my paying attention to this stone, the size of a robin’s egg, will somehow make it special, will make it understand that it has an important job to do. It needs to fly straight and true. It needs to find an eyeball, a temple, or the bridge of the blackcoat sniper’s nose. Something important enough to stagger him, disarm him, maybe even maim him.
I tell it these things inside my head because I know Merrin would think I’ve lost my mind if she sees me talking to a rock. I hold it between my thumb and forefinger, examining our would-be savior. It’s a muddled black color with flecks of white and dark gray clustered throughout. Years in the riverbed have rubbed it smooth as skin—as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
It’s slightly lopsided, and I try to picture its flight in my mind, thinking I’ll need to compensate for it when I aim. I can imagine all I want, but that won’t change the fact that its route to the man’s head can be affected by things too numerous to count.
Wind, rain, rotation, my release, all of these factors can prevent a successful strike, and I’m already starting to lose my nerve.
Merrin sits back from the scarecrow with a satisfied look on her face. “There,” she says. “Your hair’s not green and white, but that could be you. I think so. Except for maybe she doesn’t have a face. Should we make her a face?”
Children.
However, I agree, if only to stall for another five minutes to get my breathing under control. I watch while Merrin uses one of the small hatchets to chip a large piece of bark away from the trunk. She ties it to the head region and faces the interior of the bark outward, so the lighter, fleshier part resembles skin. “I wish we could draw a face on it.”
“Me, too, but that’ll have to do, Merrin.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And only because we need to do this before I chicken out.”
“You scared?”
The Light of Hope Page 9