The questioning went on for what seemed like an eternity. They had heard nothing from the outside either. They were gathering what survivors they could. They already had more than 100 people at the hotel. They heard the cities were overrun. They had no idea what caused it. We weren’t safe where we were. They wanted to hit the reset button on civilization, starting over on their island.
Ethel invited the strangers to stay the night and eat with us, but they insisted they return to their boat. They promised to return the next day and asked us to be ready to go. Everyone was in an excited jitter. That night, people left the gymnasium full of dreams. Who wouldn’t have?
Back at the cabin, the girls crowded around their mother in the kitchen.
“Will all three of us stay together in one room at the hotel?” Kira asked.
“I want the hotel!” Susan yelled happily.
“I think so,” Frenchie told them.
“Do you think there will be other kids there?” Kira quizzed her mother.
“Probably,” Frenchie told them absently as she set their dinner down in front of them.
I was standing in the doorway of the kitchen listening to the exchange. Frenchie looked up at me. Apparently I was not doing a good job hiding my concerns.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Don’t go with them,” I said.
Frenchie set down the jar of peanut butter. The girls stopped their chatter and looked at me.
“Why not?”
It was a question I did not know how to answer. “It’s not safe,” I replied.
“Well, if we get another influx like the one today, we’re not safe here either,” she replied.
I shook my head.
“What is it?”
“Just don’t go. I can’t say why. It’s like an instinct, I guess. But I know it’s not safe, especially for the girls.”
Frenchie looked thoughtfully at me. “Like a Grandma Petrovich instinct?”
I nodded.
Frenchie frowned, causing lines to cross her forehead.
“Mom,” Kira called in a sing-song, knowing her dream of living in the hotel was fast fading.
“I’ll think about it,” was all Frenchie said in reply, answering both of us.
Chapter 20
On the first day of spring every year, my grandmother would go into the woods and return with a basket full of forsythia and daffodils. When I woke at first light the next day, I lay in bed considering the weight of obligations on me. I also worried about the new burden I must bear: stopping the exodus. The stress of everything overwhelmed me. How could I convince everyone to stay on my hunch that there was something wrong with these people? Instead of doing what I should do, I slid on my boots and headed over the back gate and into the woods.
I hiked into the woods and followed Spring Creek, one of the many small tributaries that ran to the lake, deeper into the forest. The soft sounds of the water trickling over the rocks soothed my mind and let me think more clearly. There was still ice at the creek’s edges. Growing in small clumps on the creek bank, I saw snow drops and the first spring daffodils. There was a clean smell in the air. I’d been hiking for about an hour when I stopped to rest on a fallen log. Mushrooms grew from the wood’s decayed crevices. I looked around and noticed that fresh spring ferns were growing in abundance, their curled fingers unfolding in the morning light which cast slanted beams as it broke through the trees. Bright green moss covered the rocks on the forest floor.
I sat still, looking at the water, when I heard rustling behind me.
I turned to find a small girl standing there. She was standing in a small grassy space between a dense part of the woods and me. She was the most beautiful child I had ever seen. Her hair was as yellow as an August sunflower. It curled wildly around her ears. She wore a green cotton tunic with a pale green top underneath and earth colored pants. She was about Kira’s age. When she saw me, she smiled. She skipped over the grass toward me.
As she came closer, my skin turned to goose-bumps.
She climbed on the log beside me, adjusting back and forth until she found a comfortable nook. I noticed she had a sort of diadem on her head. A sparkling fresh water pearl glittered on her forehead. Her eyes glittered similarly; they were the same chartreuse green of the new ferns. And I also noticed that her ears were somewhat pixie looking in shape, and the skin around the edge of her hairline was tinged green.
She whistled a sweet sound into the forest. A moment later, a spring fawn appeared from amongst the grass. Its wide nostrils breathed deeply, smelling both the girl and me.
The girl dangled her feet as she dug in her pocket. She pulled out what looked like lumps of raw sugar. She held out her hand to the fawn. Hesitantly, the dappled creature stepped forward, keeping one watchful eye on me. After a moment, it was licking the sweet morsel from the girl’s hand. She giggled.
She handed one of the sugary treats to me. I extended my hand to the fawn. It looked thoughtfully and then took the treat from me as well.
The girl giggled again.
After the fawn had eaten our treats, it trotted back into the forest.
The girl smiled at me and slid off the log. She skipped back toward the dense woody area from which she came. At the border between the small open space and the thick forest stood the magisterial forest lady I had seen that winter. She wore a pale yellow gown.
The woman motioned to the child. The girl wrapped her arms around the woman’s legs. The tall lady, holding her hair back, bent and kissed the child on the head. Then she rose and motioned for me to follow.
She took the child by the hand, and they turned toward the woods.
I was not afraid, but I was uncertain.
She stopped. Seeing I was not coming, she bent low and whispered in the child’s ear. The girl nodded and ran back to me. She stood in front of me and extended her hand much the same was she’d extended it to the fawn. She smiled sweetly.
I took the child’s hand. It was surprisingly warm.
The sweet creature smiled up at me, and we trailed behind the tall woman. We crossed the grass and moved into the dense woods. The child led me over rocks and fallen logs. Within a few moments, we reached a clearing. The tall woman was sitting at an old well. It was stone at its base and had a pitched wooden roof covering it. A short distance away was a dilapidated old cottage. I had never noticed it before, but I knew there were old houses deep in the forest.
The child let go of my hand and ran to the woman.
The woman smiled at me. “Are you afraid?” she asked. Her voice was light and sweet like the sound of a songbird.
I had wondered if they would ever talk. “No,” I replied.
She smiled. “Vasilisa was not afraid either.”
Vasilisa was my grandmother’s given name. “My grandmother feared little.”
“The old blood, the wise blood, that ran in her veins showed her right from wrong, good from evil. It helped her see.”
Again, my grandmother’s words. “And what should I see?” I asked the woman.
She looked thoughtfully at me. “Why ask me? You already know. The old blood is in you as well.”
“The men who came are not human.”
“Not anymore,” the woman answered.
“And they are a threat.”
“Yes.”
“What should I do?”
“Try to stop the people from going.”
“And if I cannot?”
She looked down into the well and motioned for me to join her.
I came to the well and looked inside. At first I saw only my reflection in the spring sunlight. After a moment, however, the image swirled, and I saw myself talking to the townspeople who looked back at me with frowning faces. Shadows appeared amongst them, whispering in their ears. The image swirled again, and I saw a massive boat docked at the end of the community pier. Everyone was walking toward it. Moonlight bounced on the water then black clouds covered the moon and everything went black. The imag
e disappeared.
“You must protect them,” she told me.
I looked at the woman. The girl had moved off in the distance and was picking flowers. The doe-eyed lady whose skin was also tinged green at the edges smiled sympathetically at me. “Who are you?” I asked.
“Vasilisa called us Leshi, forest spirits. Many years ago, a girl named Berwyn lived in that house; she called us Aes Sídhe. The old ones of this land, they have also come to you, called us Pukwudgie.”
“Why do the forest spirits care what happens to us? To me?”
She set her hand on mine. “Mankind has finally consumed itself. Can any spark of humanity survive? You must go now. And you must try. Much depends on you.”
I rose and turned to go back. Before I left, I looked at her once more. “What is your name?”
Her facial features softened. “Peryn.”
I nodded and headed back out of the woods.
“Farewell and be blessed, Layla,” she called.
When I looked back again, they were both gone.
Chapter 21
When I got to the cabin, Frenchie and the girls were not there.
I slid on the bike and headed for the school. When I got there, I found the townspeople packing the supplies.
“What are you doing?” I demanded loudly when I entered.
They stopped. Everyone looked confused. “We’re getting ready,” Summer replied.
Frenchie didn’t look at me.
“Who says we are going? We haven’t even discussed it.”
Tom set a box down. “We didn’t know there was anything to discuss.”
Ian and Jamie emerged from the back.
“Well, there is. We can’t go with those people,” I said.
Everyone looked surprised.
“Why not?” Mrs. Finch asked.
“It’s not safe. Didn’t you all see it? They aren’t right. They aren’t normal. We can’t believe their story. They want something from us.”
Jamie looked worried.
“They are shell-shocked just like we are. It’s a chance at a fresh start,” Pastor Frank said.
“Didn’t you notice it, Pastor? Didn’t you see it? You’re a man of God, after all.”
“See what?”
I shook my head. “I’m telling you all—those people are dangerous.”
Everyone looked blindsided.
“You’re just being paranoid,” Jeff informed me.
“We need to do something. We can’t just sit here and wait to get attacked again. We’re never going to make it,” Mr. Jones said.
“We made it all winter,” I retorted.
“It’s not just that. Here we are just surviving. We need to move on,” Tom told me.
“Well, I, for one, am going,” Jeff said. “No offense, but it is pretty much a sausage fest around here.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please listen to me,” I pleaded and cast a glance at Jamie and Ian for help. “Please, I’m telling you. Those people are not what they seem. Don’t you think they had too many good answers? Too many ready and easy explanations? They are dangerous.”
“Why do you think that?” Jamie asked.
The room was still. It was time to play the only card I had left. “Everyone knows what Grandma Petrovich was. I am telling you, I know, just like Grandma knew. Those people are dangerous.”
I had silenced the room.
After a few minutes passed, Pastor Frank spoke: “Many respected your grandmother, Layla. And you might be right, but we need to try.”
I looked at everyone.
“You all agree?” I asked.
While some nodded, others looked away, not wanting to make eye contact with me.
I walked to the door. “Then go without me,” I yelled, slamming the door behind me.
I had just slid onto my bike when Jamie came out and stopped me.
“I think you’re right,” he said. “I sensed it too.”
“Good, then maybe you can convince them.”
He shook his head. “It’s no use. Their minds are made up. Hell, they never even considered not going until you said something. Those men painted a good picture.”
“Well, we can stock up at the cabin. If we stay alert, we’ll be fine. Even if anything gets through, the chances of them finding the cabin are slim.”
Jamie took a deep breath and looked away from me.
“What?”
“Ian is going to go. There are doctors there.”
I stared at him. “And?”
“And I need to go with him.”
I kick started the bike. “Well, good! I guess the two of you can die together then,” I said and gunned it. Before Jamie could say another word, I was gone.
I spent the rest of the day in the barn mulling over my own survival. Would I be able to make it on my own? I sat with a whet stone sharpening my swords, reorganizing my ammo, and trying to think about hunting. What I was really thinking about, however, was how I had failed everyone. My grandmother lay buried behind the barn. Ian was dying. The woman in the forest charged me with protecting my people—and she was not the first to do so—but I had failed to convince anyone. I had even failed to make the man who loved me stay. I had failed my grandmother with my inability to see. I had failed in my ability to convince anyone of anything. As a result, I would be alone. And they would be dead.
Later that afternoon, Frenchie came by to grab her belongings. She was planning to take the girls to Summer’s and Ethel’s so she would be closer to town when the visitors returned.
“I do believe you,” she told me as she left. The girls crowded beside their mother.
“Then why are you going?” I asked.
She stood on the porch, bags in hand. “Because neither your instinct nor this life are enough,” she replied and stepped off the porch toward Will’s truck. “I’m sorry,” she added.
“Your daughters are alive because of instinct,” I called after her.
She stopped.
“Your instinct,” I added. “And what does your instinct—not your mind—tell you?”
She frowned heavily and loaded her girls into the truck; they drove away.
I stomped back into the cabin and threw my gear on the couch. I sat down at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands. After a few minutes, I heard the kitchen chair across from mine slide across the floor. I looked up to see my grandmother sitting there.
Tu-tu-tu-tu-tu, she clicked at me.
I realized then that I’d been crying. I wiped my eyes and looked at my grandmother.
That boy. He loves you, and you love him. You’ll send him off to die like that? Come now, that is not my Layla, she said.
“What can I do? They won’t listen to me.”
What did Peryn say?
“To stop them.”
Ah-hum, my grandma considered, her ghostly fingers tapping on the table. They made no sound. Are you sure?
I thought back. “Well, I guess what she said was I should protect them.”
My grandma tapped her finger on her nose and then pointed at me. You can’t hide an axe in a sack. When the truth outs, who will be there for them if you are not?
I lowered my head. She was right.
My grandmother rose. Layla, I like that boy. You know, he bandaged my toe once when I tripped at the grocery store.
Suddenly, I felt ashamed.
No, no, my grandma said as she exited the kitchen. Enough sulking. Get to work. And Layla? she called from the living room.
“Yes, Grandma?”
Don’t forget the holy water.
“Grandma?” I called.
She did not answer.
I rose and followed her to the living room. She was gone.
Through the cracks in the window slats, I saw movement in the driveway outside. I peeked through; one of the undead was standing in the driveway. I realized then that I had been so annoyed with Frenchie that I’d forgotten to close the gate.
Picking up my sword, I opened the
door. The creature, a man, turned and looked when he heard me.
He did not rush me as many of the others had but simply stood, his head cocked to the side, observing me.
My eyes darted around. He appeared to be the only one who had gotten in, but I would have to check to be sure. I suddenly felt afraid. What if there were more? What if I overlooked something? I could die, alone, in this moment, and no one would know. And I had not even told Jamie I was sorry.
“Why don’t you just go away,” I told the undead man.
He pulled himself upright, arching his back, and then turned and slowly shuffled out of the driveway back down Fox Hollow Road. I watched him go, keeping an eye out for any others. After he left, I barred the gate and did a complete sweep of the property. I found nothing, no one, alive or dead.
I sat down on the porch steps, sword in hand, and closed my eyes. What had I become? What was this new world where I saw strange things at every turn? Forest spirits. Shadows. Was I hearing the undead? Were they hearing me? I fully realized then that there was no going back. Whatever I was, whatever I had become, there was no return. I had to embrace it or run from it. If I ran, people I loved, people for whom I was responsible might die.
When I opened my eyes, I noticed the sun had set. I rose. After making a stop at the barn for supplies, I went inside and packed up my gear. I closed all the shutters and pad-locked all the doors from the outside. I then hopped on my bike. Chaining the gate closed, I headed away from Fox Hollow Road.
As I sped down the drive, I found the undead man lumbering along. I pulled out my gun and shot him in the back of the head. For some reason, it made me feel guilty.
I gunned the bike and headed to town, hoping Jamie would forgive my hasty words. Hoping I was not too late. And I remembered to bring the holy water.
Chapter 22
It was dark by the time I pulled into Jamie’s house. Though there was no wind, the leaves on the Birch trees outside had turned over and were shaking. Odd. Grandma always said the leaves would turn when a storm was coming. I looked up at the crescent moon. No clouds. No wind.
The Harvesting Page 12