by Anna Oney
Ayita parted from them, and rested her hands on the tops of their adorable heads, running her fingers through their hair contentedly.
"You saved my brother," she said. "You brought him back to us. I am grateful."
"We saved each other."
Lovingly, she twirled her fingers through Emma's hair.
"You have my son's shade. Suits you well."
Ayita's lips moved along with the rhythm of Emma's as they conversed. It was as if Ayita wished to tattoo what was said to her memory so she could save the moment for later. At times, Emma thought Ayita was mouthing a secret message to her as they spoke. But soon it became clear that she was simply reciting the words silently back to herself.
She's a peculiar one, Emma thought. Very peculiar indeed.
Tom was knelt before Farrah, who was sitting on a stump, alone. Joining his side, Emma rested her palm upon Farrah's knee and shook it gently.
"Cousin," Emma whispered. "Listen to me, Farrah." She held Farrah's face between her hands. "Did you see anything? Anything that might help us take it back?"
She avoided Emma's gaze.
"I couldn't help them!" she cried.
"It's not your fault. Can you tell me if they've got guns at least?"
"Do you think they'd be able to take over without them?" she asked. "Yes, yes, of course they've got guns!"
In an attempt to ease her mind, Emma replied, "It's gonna be okay."
"No, it isn't. And the only people who say that are the ones who know it isn't."
Rising from the ground, Emma tugged on Tom's shirt collar for him to follow. Leaving Farrah behind, she asked him, "Were you able to get anything of use out of her?"
"Not much. Got about as far as you did," he answered.
After speaking with her comrades, they made the decision that only Tom, Nell, and Emma would push forward. The rest of the women had no skills to speak of when it came to firing a weapon, especially toward another human being.
"How many rounds you got left?" Emma asked Tom, who was gawking at his rifle discouragingly. "How many?"
"I'm out." He paused, leaning the gun against the rotting pile of discarded trunks from years past. "I didn't want to tell you. I figured after we'd escaped that nightmare, carrying it around would help scare people off . . . but not anymore."
"What about Roland's?" she asked. "We still have, what, like ten rounds, don't we?"
"Yeah, but what's he"—Tom glanced in Nell's direction—"gonna use?"
"Nell isn't coming."
"Oh, now, just wait one minute," Nell argued. "I can help. I know I can."
"You're gonna get yourself killed. The only reason I agreed to it before is because I thought we had enough ammo." Looking him in the eye, Emma sternly went on. "But we don't. Even if we did, you wouldn't make it."
"You don't know anything about me. I let you take that bow out of respect. Just because you wanted it doesn't mean you know how to use it. Girl, do you have any idea what they call me in Jefferson, Texas?"
Taken aback, Emma replied, "No, I'm afraid I don't."
"I'm the Bayou River Run Archery Champion of 2012!" he exclaimed. "By God, I am."
"Bayou Archery Champion. I didn't know that was, ah . . . a thing?"
"Why, hell yes it's a thing."
"Are you for real?"
"I. Am. For. Real."
"Well, hell, why didn't you just say so?" Emma smiled, handing over the bow. "Here."
"This here is a man's weapon," he said. "A. Man's. Weapon."
"'Scuse me?"
"You heard me."
"Nell," she said, her left eye beginning to twitch. "Nuh-uh. Don't you ever say that to me again."
"Wha—"
Tom cut in, stepping between them.
"Let it go, man. Let it go."
After arming themselves for the fight, Emma and Tom allowed Nell the appropriate time to say his goodbyes. His wife and daughter were upset, with good reason. They knew him to be a kind and gracious man, not a killer. Since Emma had been generous enough to help his family, she sensed Nell believed it was his duty to help hers.
Knowing the children had at least four other living grown-ups to look after them made it easier for Emma to leave them behind. Ripley's presence helped ease the distressed beating of her heart as well. Emma knew the dog would do anything to protect them. After all, Ripley could be just as ferocious as her mother.
Each of them was armed and ready to go. Jane accompanied them down the trail, and kept a tight grip around the handle of her softball bat. To help lighten the mood, Emma asked, "So how exactly did you become this great champion?"
"Hit more targets than all the others," Nell answered while familiarizing himself with his new weapon.
"What a fascinating story," Emma replied sarcastically.
"They set up targets along the riverbank, but we weren't required to shoot them from land," he said. "That would've been too easy."
"Oh?" Emma asked, intrigued. "How then?"
"From the water." He paused, seeming to remember the day. "There were ten targets and one boat for each man. The speedboat the judges chose for me was a beauty. Red and white, with black glittered trim."
"You shot them from a boat?" Tom asked. "How fast were you going?"
"Fast. Whipped through them curvy lanes, hitting every damn one of them. The ride was choppy, but I pulled through. It felt good to be me that day."
"What'd you win?" Jane asked, dragging the bat behind her.
"Free night's stay at the finest bed and breakfast downtown," he replied. "And a gift card to Brooks Grocery."
"That's it?" they asked in unison.
"That's all they gave me. I think that bed and breakfast was haunted."
"It may have been," Emma said. "Believing in ghosts nowadays doesn't seem as crazy as it once did."
"No. No, it doesn't."
Reaching the end of the line, Emma turned away from the group and pulled Jane to the side. "Did Winston and the boys ever return from the hunt?" she asked, securing a few strands of golden hair behind Jane's ears.
"No."
"Then they need to be warned. You know which direction they'll be coming from?"
"Yes, I do, but . . . ." She paused, glancing toward the demolished fence. "I'm scared."
"It's good to be scared." Grasping her hand, Emma glided her thumbs across the top of Jane's soft skin, and continued. "You're afraid because you're aware of the situation. It means you won't risk doing anything stupid. Am I right?"
"Right."
"Make damn sure it's them before showing yourself." Embracing her, Emma breathed in her scent. Despite the blood, Jane's clothes were engulfed with the bittersweet aromas of blackberries and pine. "Stay safe, baby girl," she whispered, taking one last whiff. "Stay hidden. I love you."
Watching her walk away, Emma realized if they didn't return, it would be the end of one generation and the beginning of another.
Luckily a thin layer of fog still camouflaged the area. They kept themselves low to the ground and hidden behind the tree line, jogging a few yards down the left side of the barrier. Entering through the busted gate wouldn't have been wise. If the intruders were smart, they would have people patrolling the fences on each side, just as the Clerys had. Since the intruders had been able to infiltrate them so easily, Emma had high hopes of being able to do the same to them.
Lying flat on their stomachs, they hid behind a small hill. Grabbing the binoculars from her side, Emma began observing two armed men. They were shoving a group of Back Wood's people toward the open field overlooking the towering cornstalks and animal pens.
They'd separated the men from the women. Witnessing this reminded Emma of the Nazis separating long lines of Jewish families. Some were killed quickly, of course, but the unlucky ones were led to slow and agonizing deaths. But these intruders had no camps to torture them in. She was certain that once they had Emma's people gathered, they would execute them.
"We need to find their leader," Em
ma whispered, handing Tom the binoculars.
"What makes you think they have one?" he asked, peering through the lens.
"Because." She paused, making sure the crossbow was ready to go. "Because there's order. If they didn't, I imagine it'd be nothing but chaos."
"True."
"So what's our plan?"
"I say we play it by ear."
"Play it by ear?" she snapped. "Play it by ear?"
"Yeah, play it by ear."
"I don't like it."
"Tell me something, Emma, what is it that you do like?"
"Oh, uh-uh, don't be getting an attitude with me. You want to play it by ear? That's what you want?"
"Yep."
"Okay, fine, F it. I'm going first then."
"Emma," Tom said after her. "Wait."
Rather than all at once, Emma decided to climb the fence one person at a time. That way, she believed they wouldn't draw too much attention. Even though Emma was certain Tom was angry with her, he stood guard as she began to climb. Since they'd lived behind the barrier for months, climbing over it didn't seem like that much of a task, but Emma was wrong. The toe of her boot continuously slid down the wire, slowing her pace. Every time she lost her footing, the fence rattled. The pain in her fingers from catching herself made her regret going first.
Arriving at the top, Emma was thankful her fingers were still attached at the knuckles. As she swung a leg over the side, a shot was fired, hitting the tree beside her. Straddling the fence, Emma looked up just as Tom began returning fire. The situation had turned so quickly, Emma's brain couldn't seem to function.
"Move, Emma!" Tom screamed, wasting bullets. Reaching for her, he tried grasping her foot but nudged her instead. Losing her balance, Emma toppled over the side of the barrier and landed hard on her side. As she caught her breath, another shot was fired, barely missing Tom's chest.
"Run!" Tom screamed, slinging the rifle over his shoulder.
Emma struggled to stand, and Tom and Nell seemed to refuse to budge until Emma's strength was fully restored. Once she was on her feet, Tom again shouted, "Run!"
Taking off, Emma looked behind to see Tom and Nell sprinting in the opposite direction. They seemed to be drawing the enemy away from the person most vulnerable: her. Soon their backs disappeared completely.
Panting heavily, Emma hid behind the nearest oak, which overlooked her Aunt Mary's back porch. She was certain Tom had wasted all of his bullets. If he were to kill them, Emma believed he would have to do it the old-fashioned way.
Breathing under control, she searched for any approaching enemies. Next, Emma planned to haul herself over to Mary's house. Hers was the closest place where she could hide and remain unseen. Emma glanced to the left and right, and made a swift peek around the trunk of the tree. Nothing approached, so she took off again.
Emma reached the porch, and entered her aunt's domain. Loud stomps emanated from down the hall, followed by the muffled sounds of what Emma sensed was a person being forcefully silenced. Readying the crossbow, Emma crept toward the room where the noise was coming from. Mary's bedroom door had been left slightly open. Peering through the small opening, Emma saw a large man holding Darby facedown on the bed. Her attacker had already pulled her pants down to her ankles. Emma's blue-haired friend's uncontrollable sobs masked the creaks of her approaching.
As the man busied himself with pulling down his trousers, Emma aimed the crossbow and hurled herself through the door. Catching him off guard, she shouted, "Get off of her," forcing him to trip over his britches. When hearing Emma's voice, Darby bolted upright and began restoring her clothing. Nodding to her, Emma whispered, "Get behind me."
"Pull your pants up." Emma commanded, aiming at his chest. The man sported a sunken face with acne littering his large forehead. "It's your call, my friend," she said, looking to Darby. "What would you like to do with him?"
Trembling where she stood, Darby finished buttoning her shirt.
"I don't want any blood on my hands. Not even this piece of shit's here," she whispered.
"Fair enough." Emma shrugged, cutting her eyes toward Darby's attacker. "Rapists ain't my favorite brand of male. Scum of the earth. No soul." Allowing him to stand, Emma waited until she could look him in the eye.
"Who said you could stand, huh? Sit your ass back down."
"I'm unarmed. I, I," he stammered, seeming to refuse to do as he was told. "I don't even know how to shoot a gun."
"I call bullshit. Bull. Shit."
"Major bullshit," Darby agreed.
"So you're telling me in this cruel world we live in, you don't know how to handle a gun? Now, you see, I'm having trouble believing that nonsense. It's hard to trust a man who says he can't shoot, ain't it, Darby?"
"Sure is."
"They're either hiding something, or they're slow in the head. So which is it, huh?" She sighed. "I'm afraid it might be both."
"Fuck you," he cursed through gritted teeth.
"F me? Tell me something. Just how attached are you to your kneecaps?"
"What?"
"Cause I'd be more than happy to separate you from them and bring you down myself." As Emma lowered the bow to his knees, she caught Darby's eyes darting from him to her. "What do you say?"
"Wait! Wait!" he exclaimed, surrendering to her threats and sinking back to the floor. "Okay. I'm down."
Scanning the room for something to tie his hands with, Darby spotted ropes dangling from the silver loops next to the window. During a more civilized time, they had been meant to hold the curtains back, not to bind a man's wrists. After tying him up, they forced him to waddle on his cherished knees toward the closet. With his back resting against the inner wall, Emma knelt before him and balanced the crossbow on her thigh.
Clenching his mouth shut, he continued to stare Emma down. His eyes burned with fury, and Emma sensed that every blink was an ill wish toward them both. Beads of sweat formed on the top of his lip, forcing him to graze his tongue over the salty substance.
"How many are in your group?"
"I know who you are," he said, looking her over. "You're Emma, right?"
"How the hell you know that?"
"You've never seen me, but I've seen you." He grinned, wiping his forehead against his shoulder. "Don't you recognize my voice? The last time I saw you, you were runnin' back into the woods with that dog of yours. Pity my brother let you live," he said. "That's not gonna go over well when Dad finds out."
"Oh, God! No." Promptly, Emma rose from the floor, "You're right, you can't shoot," she said, and brought the butt of the bow down on his head several times, until he was knocked out cold. Bending his legs at the knee, Emma shoved his entire body into the closet and slammed the door shut. Emma left Darby to watch over him, and fetched a chair from the kitchen to lock him in.
"He should be out for a while," Emma said, taking Darby by the hand.
As Emma led her through the back of the house, Darby snatched her hand away.
"What's happened to you?" she asked.
"Too much." It wasn't until Darby embraced her that Emma realized her dearest aunt's bed was empty. Looking up from Darby's shoulder, Emma gazed at Mary's door. Beginning to cry, she asked, "She's gone now, isn't she?"
"I'm so sorry."
"Did they . . . did they do it?"
"No, no, she died in her sleep."
"Was she alone?"
"No, we were by her side. Shirley read from the Bible. It was peaceful."
As heartbroken as Emma was, it made sense for Mary to have passed while she was away. How else could her spirit appear to me while I lay dying? she thought. More than ever, Emma wished she had her aunt's letter, but she thought, Am I ready to read it?
"Read it when you're at your lowest," Mary had said.
Fearing she may have many lows to overcome during this day, Emma knew she would have to break the envelope's seal later.
Chapter 37:
Cooper
During Cooper's reading escapade, M
rs. Maples hurled herself through the front door, throwing off his concentration. Being a boy who always did as he was told, it only made sense for him to follow as she waved a hand in his direction.
With a firm grip on his favorite book, Cooper struggled to keep up as she stormed toward the back of the kitchen. Mrs. Maples brought him to a flowered rug, a rug he'd passed many times. When she pulled the dusted fabric from the floor, a latch that had been hidden beneath it was revealed. Slinging it to the side, she opened the trapdoor and led him down a small flight of stairs. To his knowledge, she had never shown this to anyone—not even Tom. Cooper was the first to lay eyes upon this secret dwelling.
Entering the dark basement, he felt paint fumes sting his nostrils.
Reaching into her back pocket, Mrs. Maples pulled out a match. She fetched the kerosene lantern on the ground next to a small stool, and lit it. Gradually, the soft light of the lanturn engulfed the room of a closeted artist. Beautiful landscapes of Texas wildlife were nailed to the ceiling above. Portraits of her sons lined the walls. Memories crafted into many fine works of art that depicted them growing up were plastered all around.
Taking his hands, she whispered, "Listen to me. There isn't much time; people have come."
"People?"
"Bad people, people looking to take what we got." She paused, motioning toward an emergency stash of food and water in the corner. "Stay down here. If . . . if I don't come back—"
"Wait, no, don't say that."
"If there's no one left, go to the woods," she commanded, wiping a couple of frightened tears from his face. "That's where we've sent the rest of the kids. There wasn't enough time to get you."
"But I . . . I don't want you to go. Please," he begged. "Don't leave me down here."
"I need to be there if someone gets hurt. Listen, I brought you down here because . . . because. . . ." Holding on to him tightly, she raised his chin to meet her gaze. "This room is where I can be alone with my boys. I didn't tell them I loved them enough when they were living. Because of you," she said, crying, "I remember what it's like to be a mom. Thank you. What a joy you are, my sweet Cooper. I love you, boy."
"I love you, too."