The Leftovers of a Life

by Anna Oney

  With Stella trailing loyally behind her, they submerged into the depths of the basement. There was a small window located at the far corner, allowing a minimal amount of light to shine through. Cobwebs and dust lined every inch of the place. The air was so thick that Emma was forced to fan it from her face.

  Familiarizing herself with their new environment, Stella sniffed everything in her path.

  "Calm down, Stella," Emma said. "It's just another dusty room."

  Shelves stocked full of canned food lined the walls. There were two black storage boxes containing seasonings, jugs of water, pots, pans, and all sorts of other cookware.

  In the opposite corner, a longbow leaned against the brick wall. Holding it, Emma noticed Pete's initials engraved on the curved side. The pattern of carvings and shellac dressed the bow up quite beautifully. Pete used to boast about his handmade bows, but she'd never believed him because he'd always had an excuse as to why he couldn't show her one of them that day.

  Since the bow was handmade, it wasn't equipped with an adjustable draw weight. Emma tried pulling the bow string back as far as she could, but two inches was all the progress she was able to make.

  "I'm just not strong enough," she whispered, glancing Stella's way. "This thing sure is neat, though." She sighed, carefully placing the could-have-been-useful weapon back in its designated corner.

  Emma sifted through the canned goods on the shelves, and picked out three cans of baked beans, two fruit cocktails, and two of her favorite brand of canned tamales. She set them to the side, and Emma began searching for something she could use as a pack to carry all of the bounty. The closest thing resembling a tote was a package of extra-large trash bags placed on one of the top shelves.

  To strengthen her new carry-on, Emma stuffed four of the bags into one, creating a quadruple-lined garbage bag. She prayed the plastic would hold out until she found a suitable replacement. Lining up the yellow tops of the bags, Emma began packing.

  A bright light piercing through the tiny window stopped her arm midway through placing a can of tamales into the bag. Shielding her eyes from the shimmering light, Emma saw it landed upon a reflective, circular piece of plastic in the corner by the stairs. At first, she thought it might be a pair of binoculars; investigating further, her sight adjusted to the stock of what could be a new weapon.

  The stock belonged to Pete's prized crossbow. The scope glinted in the sunlight, beckoning Emma toward an alternative way to defend herself. Every inch of it was covered in the deep greens, browns, and yellows of the woods. His initials were carved into the stock of this bow like they'd been in the longbow.

  "Arrows, arrows, arrows," she whispered, turning over everything in her path. "Where are you, ammo?"

  After searching impatiently, Emma caught sight of a dark-brown, ten-gallon bucket. The nearly see-through plastic of the fletching stuck out from the opening, displaying the green-and-white feathers attached to the end of the bolts.

  Along with the bolts, she stuffed the food inside of the bucket, and looped the compound crossbow over her shoulder. As Emma climbed the steep staircase, she realized Stella's jaw was latched to the handle of a gardening shovel. Prying it from Stella's mouth, no matter where Emma set it down, she would pick it back up again.

  "Whatcha want that for?" Giving in to Stella's pitiful, persistent cries, Emma placed the shovel inside of the makeshift pack. "All right." She shrugged. "Whatever." Only then did Stella seem to agree to follow.

  "Let's see if we can get ourselves some target practice." Emma breathed in deeply as they exited the depths of the clouded basement.

  She stepped over Pete's body, and retrieved the revolver and spear tip. The pawprints belonging to the invisible dog that had been following her were still there. As Emma looked Stella's way, the pit bull tilted her head as though asking what was troubling her owner.

  "It's just strange, is all," Emma said, forcing a few stubborn strands of hair behind her ears. "For a couple of days, I thought that was you." Shrugging, Emma gave Stella a quick wink, and said, "I guess I'm not the only one round here with an invisible friend."

  The moral thing to do, Emma believed, was to place Pete beneath the ground, but she lacked the manpower to do so. She would have to settle for saying a prayer over him instead. Kneeling beside him, Emma tucked the stained sheet around his body as if she were putting him safely to bed.

  "Please, Lord," she prayed, "help him find his family. Put him where he needs to be. Give him peace, Lord. In your name, I pray. Amen."

  On her feet, Emma searched through one of the kitchen drawers and found a black marker. Emma pushed through the back door, and walked over to the broadside of the house. As she drew a target, Emma made a pact with herself: "The good people, I'll save. The bad, I won't."

  Never having fired a crossbow, it took an unnecessary amount of time for her to figure out how to load it.

  "Well, that took forever, didn't it?" Giving Emma a signature dip of her snout, Stella seemed to respectfully agree. The rack on the crossbow held up to five bolts at a time. Emma carefully stowed the extra five in her pack.

  Distancing herself yards away from the target, Emma focused on the dot drawn in the middle. She missed, of course, hitting outside of the circle. Emma sensed Stella was not enthused by her lack of skills, and she imagined her dog shaking her head in disgust. After the fifth shot, though, Emma began making progress, and with each attempt that followed, the bolt inched closer and closer to the target. She worked her way from hitting the center to making contact with every line drawn around it. In a surprisingly short amount of time, Emma became a master at target practice.

  It was then that she made the difficult decision to draw the outline of a man. She started out aiming at the chest, then worked her way to the smaller, more lethal areas. First, she attempted to hit the arteries Tom had taught her to focus on. Making contact with every one boosted Emma's confidence.

  With the sun high above her, Emma decided it was time to move on to a more troublesome task: shooting a moving target. Settling her back against the trunk of a massive pine tree, Emma prepared to fire at anything that moved.

  Her eyes laid upon a tiny face attached to a body with a furry tail and paws, scurrying up the tree ahead. Aiming her weapon, she bit down on her lip and breathed slowly in and out. Pulling the trigger, the bolt left the crossbow and pierced through the animal.

  In a strenuous and not short amount of time, Emma managed to shoot three squirrels. Pulling the bolts from the squirrels' limp carcasses, Emma proudly carried them by their tails. Afterward, she roasted them over the fire, and ate one for lunch. The rest she planned to save for supper.

  Before setting out, Emma made sure all of her supplies were packed. On that particular bloody afternoon, Emma was surprised the day was still young. With the thought of all the ground she had left to cover, Emma gave Stella's belly a good rub and began trudging forward.

  Despite the sin she had committed, she had been rewarded by being reunited with her hairy best friend, and she couldn't help but think, God sure does work in mysterious ways.

  Chapter 31:

  Emma

  Yes, she was alive, and Emma felt she should be relieved after the situations she'd experienced, but she cursed herself for all of the idiotic mistakes she'd made. Most were due to not having been observant, and how lame was that? So far, Emma had managed to be kidnapped, beaten, and almost killed not once, not twice—no—three times!

  To say Emma's conscience was eating away at her was an understatement. Along with her stupidity, there was the overwhelming reminder of Pete taking his last breaths in her arms. The image of his eyes being closed kept flashing in her mind, and Emma's photographic memory only made forgiving herself more difficult.

  Originally, Emma had aspired to bring kindness where it was needed. To bring Griffin and Robert home was at the top of her list, but she hadn't come close to finding them. So far all Emma had managed to accomplish was to bring death in her wake.

/>   The layout of the sky suggested the time was around five thirty or six-ish. It had been roughly six hours since they had anything of real substance to eat. As they listened to the soft growls residing deep in the hollows of their stomachs, Emma and Stella settled by a small stream that overlooked a bushel of wild daisies and a nearby tree, which harbored a cardinal's nest.

  The beautiful creature soared to the forest floor to gather what would seem to be meaningless twigs and brush to the likes of Emma and Stella and then darted back up the tree to strengthen its new home. The cardinal seemed to pay no mind to the intrusion, and mesmerized them with the task at hand. Emma was thankful for the distraction. As a child, she'd been told cardinals were spirits in disguise, and she couldn't help but wonder which one of her loved ones was spying on her now.

  Using the bow drill, Emma conjured a fire small enough that the smoke wouldn't display their position to anyone. The road was only a few yards away, so being spotted was definitely a possibility.

  After finishing their supper, the sun had finally set. Its swirl of oranges, yellows, purples, and blues coaxed Emma to rest.

  The fire crackled as the wind whipped freely through the trees and rustled their leaves. Exhausted, Emma's eyelids grew heavier and heavier by the minute. She fell in and out of a restless state until finally Stella's soft snores steadily humming were enough to render Emma fully asleep.

  Thrown into a world of black and white, Emma stood before a cabin. To her right was a well, along with two horses that were tied to a fencepost next to a poorly built barn. The barn sheltered a bundle of hay and a rotund milking cow, busy chewing on cud.

  Arriving at the door, Emma saw a broom made of twigs and thick grass leaning against the outer wall. The most peculiar thing she spotted was a shelf littered with handmade children's toys. Wooden whistles, marbles crafted from stones and clay, and toy animals carved from wood and discarded corncobs suggested she was in a decade not of her century.

  Suddenly, the door to the cabin opened by itself, inviting her in. There was no doorknob, only a latch to keep it shut. Entering the house, Emma noticed there was no floor, only dirt. A small cradle rocked all on its own in the far corner. Back and forth, back and forth it went, creaking and cracking.

  "Hello?" Emma whispered, tiptoeing toward the cradle. "Anyone here?"

  Suddenly, the cries of a hungry baby filled the room. The high-pitched screaming forced Emma to cover her ears, but the wails only grew louder. Striding toward the cradle, she found a naked boy with dark hair staring up at her.

  "Hey there, little man," she whispered, picking him up. "It's okay, sugar. It's okay." The child seemed to give in to the slow, steady movements she made. Swaying back and forth, she cradled him in her arms. "Shhh . . . shhh . . . shhh . . . sweet baby," Emma softly began to sing. "Shhh . . . shhh . . . sweet baby boy."

  Locking eyes with his, Emma was caught off guard when he raised his small hand and rested it on the side of her cheek. She draped her hand over his, and the boy's hand grew larger. It all happened in an instant: Instead of holding a newborn baby, Emma found herself holding a toddler.

  Startled, she gawked at his miraculously fast-growing body, and he began wailing again.

  "No . . . no, no, it's okay," she said, placing his feet on the ground. Standing up, the boy rubbed his eyes and coughed lightly. Holding his hand, she whispered, "Stop crying, sweetie. Everything's gonna be all right."

  Emma kneeled before him, and embraced him. As he wrapped his arms around Emma's neck, he sobbed into her shoulder, and his body shot up again. The change forced Emma from her knees. Holding on to him, she took in the growing body of a tall, bowlegged teenager.

  The weeping boy moved his cheek from her chest and raised his chin. Emma brushed the wild strands of hair from his forehead, and the young boy's grip around her waist grew considerably tighter as he looked up at her, and sobbed, "Momma, wake up."

  Emma was woken by the cries of a child nearby. The full moon above singled out a small group of people walking a few yards away, down the paved road. The fire was reduced to nothing but burning embers, so Emma didn't think they'd be able to sniff out the bitterness, but the fear was still there.

  As Emma peeked around the tree, her stomach dropped as Stella raced toward the road.

  Emma shouted, "Stella, no!" Scolding the dog, she fetched the crossbow and growled. "Get back here, damn it."

  Inevitably, the strangers had become aware of their presence, as the rattled voice of a man shouted out, "Who's out there?!"

  Moving closer, Emma took refuge behind tree after tree. Arriving only a few feet from the road, she saw one black man who stood as a shield, guarding who Emma assumed to be his wife and daughter, the latter of whom balanced a seemingly distraught child upon her hip.

  "That baby's hungry!" Emma yelled, clutching at the crossbow. "Are you good people?"

  "We're all hungry!" the father replied, agitated. With Stella snarling at their feet, he raised his 22-gauge shotgun. "I've got a gun."

  "I figure if you had any shells left in that shotgun, you'da done shot my dog dead by now, but you don't, do you?"

  Taking a step backward, he asked, "Your dog, does it bite?"

  "She can be nice." Emma shrugged, mulling it over. "Sometimes. That is, if she wants to be." Resting the butt of the bow against her shoulder, she called out, "I can help if you're willing to accept!"

  "You any good with that weapon of yours?"

  "Good enough for target practice in the moonlight." Total bullcrap, she thought, but keep it going.

  "Oh yeah?!" he scoffed. "Our skin is as dark as this night surrounding us! You won't be able to hit shit once we start moving."

  "Yeah, but the white in your eyes and teeth sure ain't. And as racist as that may sound, it's the truth. But alls I'm looking to do is help that baby."

  "Why?" Confirming what Emma knew to be true, he lowered his useless weapon and gathered his family behind him. "Why would you want to help us?"

  "Because you need it. And you'll only be killing yourselves quicker if you choose not to accept what I'm offering." Running out of convincing things to say, Emma took in his attire, and quickly added, "I see you've got a Dallas Cowboy star on your cap there."

  "You a fan?"

  "Me?" she chuckled. "Not so much, but all the men in my family are."

  "Nell!" his wife shouted from behind. Grabbing hold of his forearm, she pleaded, "The girl wants to help, so let her. We have no food. We don't have anywhere else to go."

  "The last people we ran into promised the exact same thing," he argued. "And now we're short three of our group."

  "Please, Dad," his daughter begged. "Oliver's starving."

  "Call off your dog," he whispered, "and we'll come along freely."

  "Lay down the shotgun," Emma commanded, "and then I'll call her off."

  "It's been empty for days now anyhow," he said, lowering it to the ground. Holding his hands out in front, he asked, "Okay, now what?"

  "Start walking into the woods," she said. "Go straight from where you are now. We'll stay behind."

  "Don't we need to get acquainted first?" Nell asked, glancing from where he thought Emma to be, and then to Stella.

  "Introductions can come later. Keep walking till you smell smoke," Emma said, moving from cover. "Stella, back off." Immediately, the pit bull's frightening demeanor was replaced by a wagging tail and side smile. "Stay by me, girl," Emma whispered, focused on their new guests. "Go on, start moving."

  The fifty-something-year-old married couple and their teenager-looking daughter trotted through the woods, tripping over anything and everything in their path. It didn't take long for Emma to learn these people were the furthest thing from country folk she'd ever seen. A hunter knew how important it was to be silent, to move without being seen, to be able to bring a silent death upon its oblivious prey. Emma was certain these people had never hunted a day in their lives.

  The daughter proved that theory as she nearly dropped her so
n to the ground as she walked through a spiderweb intertwined in a lower limb. The wife was no better. Her arms went skyrocketing as a locust landed on her shoulder. Emma's annoyance with them grew with every obnoxious step they took.

  The scent of the burning embers seemed to cross their path.

  "I smell it," Nell said, turning on his heel. "Now what do you want us to do?"

  "You and your wife—umm, what's your name?"

  "Danisha."

  "You and Danisha gather some wood. Don't stray too far. You don't want to get lost out here."

  "What about me?" their daughter squeaked. "What should I be doing?"

  "What's your name?"

  "Tempest."

  "Temp, you just stand there and love that baby."

  Nodding in response, Tempest held the toddler in her arms and stood quietly to the side. Moments later, they spotted her parents carrying bundles of twigs and a couple of thick branches. They laid the wood at Emma's feet, and she motioned for them to be seated. Once they were settled, Stella stood guard over the crossbow lying beside her as Emma breathed life back into the fire.

  Flames roaring up to her knees, Emma sat next to Stella and began rummaging through her pack, pulling out the final squirrel and a large can of baked beans. Emma used the Swiss army knife she'd found in Pete's pocket to open the can. Setting the beans close to the fire, she handed Tempest the squirrel.

  "Thank you," Tempest said, peeling off a piece of meat for her son.

  Stella had always seemed to love small things, so Emma wasn't the least bit surprised when the dog left her to sit next to Oliver. Tempest attempted to shoo Stella away, but it didn't do her any good. Emma's friend had found a comfortable spot next to the boy. It wasn't until Oliver began loving on her that Stella lay down, allowing him to rest his head on her soft, pink, spotted belly.

  "Don't worry—she likes kids for cuddling purposes." Emma smiled. "Not for dinner."

  "That makes me feel loads better," Tempest sarcastically replied, rolling her hazel eyes.