by Talis Jones
It suddenly hits me that this is a place I could choose instead of the dust-choked roads and constant eye of the angry sun. Even as the thought enters my mind I dismiss it. I’d never leave Connors. Especially not for a tribe of hippies, no offence.
“A quest, huh? That sounds exciting.” She nudges my shoulder playfully inviting me to say more.
It’s not really a secret so I tell her. “He’s looking for Sanctuary.”
Something sparks in her eyes. Recognition maybe. “Sanctuary from what?” she asks.
“No not sanctuary, the Sanctuary,” I explain. “I dunno. It’s some place he’s determined to find.”
Selma nods enthusiastically but questions me no further. I glance down at the heap of clothes by my feet and that heavy stone in my stomach grows more painful now that Selma’s chitchat is no longer distracting me from what I still refuse to accept. Crouching down I carefully shuffle my fingers over the fabric of my wadded shirt and feel the cold metal frames of my glasses. One lens remains in the wire with huge cracks scattered across it. The other lens lays in broken clumps in my shirt.
“You can keep my clothes,” Selma bursts suddenly. “It doesn’t replace…but I feel awful.”
“It’s not your fault,” I mumble truthfully. Standing up I hold my filthy garments in my arms, my glasses cradled within. Gently Selma takes the mass from my hands. “Wait,” I say reaching out to fish out my ruby bandana. I tie it back around my wrist using my teeth to secure the knot. “Alright, lead the way.”
CHAPTER 20
Connors finds me sitting on a tree stump, an untouched bowl of stew in my lap.
“Who's Sofia?”
I could tell him, I think I want to tell him, but my teeth remain glued shut. Not now.
He lets out a stubborn sigh. “You gonna eat, kid?”
“Maybe.”
“You okay? When you fell off your horse—”
“Nah I’m fine,” I wave off. “Just dehydration probably.”
Connors eyes me clearly not believing my excuse but he doesn’t push me. My muscles tense for the next question. After checking my health I know he’s gonna ask about my glasses. But then he doesn’t.
“So you gonna eat, now?” he prods.
“What’s in it?” I ask.
“It’s good. You’ll like it,” he assures me.
“I asked you what’s in it,” I snap.
Connors lets out a resigned sigh. “Carrots, rabbit, beans, rice, broth, and something green.”
“What’s the green thing?”
“I dunno, it just sort of floats in small bits. You can’t taste it.”
“That’s everything?” I push. “Nothing weird? You’re not just guessing?”
“Quit being picky, kid. Just eat the damn food.”
Anger pops in my veins and I hurl the wooden bowl onto the ground and stalk off. I barely make it out of the clearing before I trip over a tree root. I punch the ground full of furious frustration and feel mortified by the tears that burn in my eyes itching to be set free. I tell them not to but they start to pour over anyway until suddenly all control is gone and I’m a sobbing heap on the earthen floor. Footsteps come up behind me but I don’t look up.
“What happened to them, kid?” Connors asks in a careful low voice.
I gather myself enough to utilize speech. “It was an accident. Just a nothing accident,” I tell him. “Some kid stepped on them and just like that I’m finished.”
“I told you to hold onto something, now didn’t I?” he chastises. “Or did I do all that talking to a brick wall? I believe that God will provide, so I’m not worried. But now you gotta make up your own mind on what you believe, what you’re gonna hold onto, because if ya don’t then you’re sure as dead.”
“Maybe this is the grand gift or whatever,” I sniff. “Maybe they broke just when we’ve found this place so I can stay and live happily ever after with a clan of hippies singing Kumbaya.”
“They don’t strike me as your type of company,” Connors humors me. “But if you’re asking to stay then go ahead and stay.” He lowers his voice as he leans in until I’m forced to meet his eyes. “But if you still wanna find Sanctuary then stick by me because a little birdie gave me some news.”
“I’d just slow you down again,” I tell him miserably. “You taught me to shoot and now all that work was for nothing.”
Grunting angrily Connors snatches my pistol from my holster and shoves it into my hands. “Shoot that tree,” he commands.
Giving him a woeful look I ask, “Which tree?”
Refusing to give in to my self-pity (no matter how reasonable) he smacks me lightly up the back of my head. “Any tree. Pick one and shoot.”
So close I can see the steely glint in his gaze I lift the weapon, pick a blurry brown feature in the distance, and shoot. Someone’s plate clatters from fright in the distance and startled murmurs float towards us from the camp behind us. I ignore them. “So, did I hit it?”
Connors hoists his body to his feet and stops in front of the tree I shot. I wave my arm to let him know that I see him and wait for him to return with my results. “Almost dead center,” he grins. “But was that tree your intended target?”
Annoyance wriggles in my brain. “No. I think I was aiming for the tree to the left.”
“Not bad, kid,” he growls stubbornly. “We’ll just train ya back up again.” Leaning down a bit he holds out his hand.
“What, you’d seriously still trust me with a gun?” I ask incredulous. Maybe the sun scoured his sense.
Leaning down further to seize my hand and force me up onto my feet he whispers, “Kid, I’d trust you with my damn life. So, do ya wanna stay here or do ya wanna hit the road?”
Smiling my hopes soar a little as I squeeze his hand back and surprisingly find myself wrapped up in a giant bear hug. I haven’t hugged anyone since I was little and Hero used to rock me to sleep while Shadow hummed a tune. “Train me up, cowboy.”
CHAPTER 21
Winter came like a thief in the night. I fell asleep with my body on fire and woke with it encased in ice. A whole month Connors and I had stayed in these woods before snow trapped us here for three more. He trained me by day and met with the old man by night. I still wasn’t sure what the old man knew about Sanctuary but every time Connors returned from his visit he wore a puzzled expression that grew more and more weary until one day he’d stopped going altogether.
“Again,” he orders.
I raise my gun as he pulls the ropes, aim, then shoot.
“Good,” he praises me.
Months and months of practice have vastly improved my marksmanship far beyond even what it was when I could see. These past few weeks Connors had me concentrating on hitting a moving target by setting up a pulley system with rope and some spare wood. When he pulled the ropes the target flew between the trees like a deer on the run. He’d started me ten feet away then slowly sent me back further and further until everything was pure reflex, instinct, and dumb luck. I’d even started practicing with my left hand but clearly that was pushing the envelope and I desperately hoped I’d never have to rely on it to save me.
Almost every day I thought on Connors’ advice to have something to hold onto. He’d said to start small so I chose the gun in my hand. I’d trained relentlessly with my guns, knife, and fists, but my shotgun felt at home in my frightened hands and as I slowly learned to trust it and myself I’ve relaxed, grown confident. Perhaps I’d find something greater to put my faith in but for now brute machinery would have to do.
“When is this snow gonna melt?” I ask breathless from the cold. Deep and heavy it had been pointless to try and forge our way out. At first I’d been dazzled but now I was sick and tired of it.
“Just gotta wait,” Connors councils as he stomps his feet to return feeling to his numb toes. “Now let’s get something to eat.”
I agree readily and follow him back to the small tent city. No longer did I walk on the wobbly legs of a newborn
deer, I’d taught myself how to walk with confidence, shoving aside over a decade of habit where I watched the ground instead of keeping my head up focused on my destination.
Smoke and vegetable soup fill my nostrils as we stepped within the boundaries. As usual Selma is there to greet me, all smiles and vibrant energy. Shoving a bowl into my hands she leads me to where she’d been perched. The first sip has warmth trickling through me and I shiver delightfully.
“So how’s it going?” she asks brightly. “Anything new?”
I open my mouth to assure her that nothing exciting has occurred when a thick coating of unease slides through the gathered. “What’s happened?” I murmur to Selma who sits slack-jawed.
“I don’t know,” she frowns. “Keep eating and I’ll go find out.”
Happy to fill my belly I devour my soup. I remain in my seat awaiting Selma’s return but she doesn’t come back. Worried that something unthinkable has happened I stand up and scan the somber crowd for the familiar shape of Connors. I only just spot him when he heads in my direction.
“What’s happened?” I ask him quietly.
“The old man is dead.”
“Wait what?” I bite my lip worriedly “How?”
Connors eyes me carefully. “He was old, kid. They think he died a day or two ago but he’s such a hermit no one noticed.”
“Yeah I know but…” But I didn’t know. I’d never met him. “Well, did you at least find out what you needed to about Sanctuary?”
At this he cracks a proud smile. “I did indeed. Took a lot of time for me to riddle the old man out but he gave me the answer on a piece of paper. When this winter fades if you still wanna leave then we got what we need.”
“Are you ever gonna spill your secrets?” I ask, hands on hips.
“Nope. Not ‘til you’re good and ready.”
“Whatever,” I sigh.
Panicked screams cut through the frozen air and we both whip around in fear. Shock glues us in place as we stare at the horror flailing before our eyes. A man has lit up like a fireball. Everyone stares, panic carving them into stone. Then the spell breaks and chaos descends.
Forcing my feet into action I bolt towards the man screaming, “Drop! Fall over into the snow! Drop into the fucking snow, man!” But he’s too consumed by panic and pain. By the time I skid to his side he’s collapsed, dead in the snow, the crystallized water putting him out with a skin-crawling audible hiss.
There’s the briefest moment of silence before chaos resumes. Snapping my head up towards the sky I see it too. Fire flurries are drifting down on us. The angry sun doesn’t just scorch our souls during the summer months, it finds us in the winter too in the form of fire flurries. I’m no scientist, hell I barely got a grade school education, but I know that the fire flurries are something we never saw coming. If you’re ready for it then you’ve got a chance, but if you’re not then it could take out a whole town before you’re even halfway out of bed.
My eyes watch the gentle flakes of what looks like burning ice drift down lazily—so beautiful but so deadly. People scramble around me grabbing buckets and scooping them full of snow before setting them around the campfire to melt. One tent goes up in flames, then another, and another. In a frenzy buckets of water are rushed in all directions being flung on everything in sight. Tents, trees, people, everything is drowned in the icy liquid.
Following suit I snatch up a bucket and help Connors put out the fire that’s sprung up in the food stores. Scoop, melt, toss. Scoop, melt, toss. Scoop, melt, toss. A rhythm sets in my limbs but this is not like beating laundry with a rock or washing dishes in a sink, my mind does not wander blissfully separate from my aching body. No there is nothing but adrenaline and immense focus gouging my bones while fire after fire is sequestered and properly smothered.
Night has fallen before the fire flurries cease their descent. Exhaustion hollows out my bones as I collapse onto a log beside Connors. We were lucky the whole forest didn’t go up in flames. An inferno like that would have killed us all. Besides wreaking havoc and delivering a gut punch to the camp the fire flurries also managed to turn most of the snow into slush.
“I’m ready to leave,” I pant.
Connors doesn’t have to ask to understand. “Even after all those nights of folk songs and thank you hugs, you still wanna leave this paradise?”
I choke out a laugh. “They’re good people, just not my kind of people. And I don’t fancy living in a cage that could trap me like an oven no matter how pretty it is.”
“Good. My feet have been itching to wander again.”
A jolt of panic shoots up my spine. “Did our tent survive? Did you lose the note the old man gave you?” I ask so fast my words tumble into one another.
“We lost the clothes and what else we kept in our tent,” he admits. “But I checked our hiding spot and most of our gear made it unscathed. And so did this.” I watch as he slides a piece of paper from inside his jacket pocket.
Relief seeps through me. “Good.” Looking down at my clothes I realize I'm wearing the outfit Selma gifted me. My own must have burned up with our tent. “Guess Selma won’t be getting these back then.”
“I doubt she’d want ‘em back anyhow. Those clothes are tougher than the floral skirts she’s always prancing around in,” he snickers.
“True,” I smile. “Oh my word, could you imagine what might’ve happened if your stash of ammo caught fire? This place would’ve died first from heart attack followed by fiery explosion.”
This sets us off on a train of laughter that causes my abs to ache and my eyes to tear up.
“We should get to sleep if we’re gonna be rested enough to find our way outta these woods in the morning,” he yawns.
“Where are we supposed to sleep?”
“I’ll grab us some blankets, you find a patch of comfy ground.” I let out a grumble of protest. “Just like old times,” he winks.
I watch him walk off then look around for a good place to sleep. It’s all dirt and ash and slushy snow. I look down at my feet and decide it’s as good a place as any so I slide off the log, wedge my guns between my back and the fallen tree, and curl up like a fox. Without meaning to my body begins to shut down and I’m only just aware of a blanket being laid upon me before succumbing to sleep entirely.
Scratching sounds prick my ears. I try to block them out and drift back into a dream but it persists. My eyes snap open and disbelief smothers my brain. Beside me lies Connors heavy in slumber but his jacket is being held open as slender fingers reach inside. It’s not until the note is pried from its hiding place that my limbs have caught up to my brain but before I can move Connors’ hand lashes out and locks the thieving wrist in an iron grip. I lie immobile and feign sleep just incase I’m needed as a surprise line of defense.
Watching through slitted eyelids I see Connors sitting up, anger plain on his face. His mouth opens to say something but inhaling is as far as he gets before someone slams a rock against his head from behind. Leaping to my feet, pistol in hand, I face down the attackers.
Confusion ripples through me. Instead of seeing burly monsters I stare at Selma, note clenched in her fist, and James with a bloody rock in his. “What the…” my words fail me leaving me full of stunned silence.
“Give that back,” I growl, gesturing towards the note Selma hugs tight. “Now!”
“No, I don’t think we will,” James sneers. “Read it, babe.”
I don’t even recognize the woman standing before me. All open friendliness has been wiped from her face and replaced with ice. Her fingers unfurl the paper greedily and I watch as her eyes dart across it drinking in the last secret of the old man. The secret of Sanctuary.
“Why’d you even steal it?” I ask trying to buy time or at least attempt to make sense of any of this. “You could’ve just asked and gone there with us.”
“It’s not just for us,” James snaps, his body keeps shifting clearly on edge. “With this I can return home. My father will ha
ve to take me back,” he says nodding to himself. “We’ll bring the whole family and smoke out the rats.”
“Fine,” I hedge. “Take it. Take it back to daddy. I don’t even know what it says, Connors never told me. So just let me go.”
“Nope I can’t do that, kid,” he apologizes. “Lucas wants it all for himself. If he found out that another living soul knew the secret to Sanctuary he’d send the wrath of all his men down on you.”
“So don’t tell him,” I shrug.
James glares at me. “Are you asking me to lie to my Pops? Do you even know who he is?” Without waiting for an answer he goes on. “Lucas Helmsworth rules The Southern Coalition, from Illinois to Mississippi. Not even the other Rangers interfere with his law.”
Before I can answer or say anything to this wholly unexpected revelation Selma breaks in with protests of her own.
“This is bullshit,” she gasps. “These aren’t the directions to Sanctuary!”
“Are you sure?” he asks angrily.
“It’s just some stupid poem. Psalm 73, whatever that is.”
Fury purples James’ face. Aiming his murderous glare in my direction he spits, “Give us what we want!”
“No,” I refuse, my voice dead as iron. Holding my gun steady I will not back down. Part of me knows that I need to check Connors’ injury soon but that will have to wait.
Pulling a gun from the back of his waistband, hand quaking desperate with frustration, he levels it at my chest.
BANG!
Apathy with a tinge of electricity fills my blood as I watch his towering form crumble. Even with only bright moonlight to guide my sight I know he’s dead before he hits the ground. Selma lets out a scream of heartache that quickly transforms into pure hatred, she lunges for his dropped weapon and in those split seconds four months of time flash past before my eyes.
Selma, always so bubbly and kind. Selma, always there for conversation and company. Selma, who always laughed at my jokes and found ways to make each day different from the last. Selma, who was after only one thing and even if her friendship wasn’t all lies it all flaked away the moment she took that note and dove for James’ gun. Selma, the bitch who played me. Everything narrows down to one thing: Selma or me?