Ophelia

by Rain, Briana

And, as it turned out, James was an awful, awful shot.

  The shot threw him against the wall he was standing by, either by the sheer force of it or because he had not the strength to remain on his feet. His legs gave out, and crumpled to the floor, hitting his head on a table edge on the way down. There wasn't even enough time to cry out. Not enough time for him to process what had just happened, what is happening, and what is going to happen.

  I screamed when I saw the bullets pierce his left shoulder and chest, otherwise known as: his heart. Clyde made some sort of strangled noise in my ear as James went down.

  I wanted to get up, but Clyde was still there. Damn him. Damn this old, violent, trigger-happy man.

  I heard yelling and rapid footsteps. I tried to push Clyde off of me when I saw Lucky running towards the man, but he was already scrambling up. My face went pale, and whatever was left of that fish in my stomach churned. I felt about seventy percent of me go numb. All of this, because Lucky, with tears running down his face, had his arm was raised, with the open pocket knife that Clyde had suggested giving to him.

  Child soldier.

  The old man, most likely confused by this small child, didn't react until the knife was in his side. Enraged, he brought the butt of the gun across Lucky’s face. The force of the blow knocked my baby brother to the ground, and I couldn't tell if he was conscious, unconscious, or something worse all together that I wasn't going to think about.

  I screamed again.

  “What the he—“ Addeline’s sentence was cut off when she got low enough on the stairs to see what was going on. Unfortunately, her words and presence attracted the attention of the old man, who pointed the barrel towards the stairs.

  Clyde got to the man and put both hands on the gun and shoved it upwards, just as the trigger was pulled. Dust and splinters rained down on the two of them. From the stairs, Addeline aimed her gun, which was Clyde’s rifle, but didn't take the shot, as Clyde stood between them. I scrambled up, reached for my pack, which still remained unzipped in the middle of the kitchen, just a few feet away. With it still unzipped, I kept it closed with my hand, and swung it at the man as I ran behind him. Up until that point, the old man and Clyde had been wrestling for the gun, but with my interference, Clyde kneed the burnt man in the gut, wrenched the gun out of his hand, and threw it across the kitchen floor.

  I was able to get past the two, just as the man threw all his weight onto Clyde, sending them both tumbling onto a side table. Clyde’s back broke it, which I know must've hurt, given his fall from the school ceiling and the scratches on his back.

  Addeline screamed his name. He yelled something inaudible, most likely a string of swear words, most likely from the pain.

  “Lucky. Lucky, get up.”

  I heard shrieking outside, scattered throughout the woods at different distances. I knew that, soon, all of those distances will be closed.

  He was dazed, blinking hard, trying to get his bearings. He cried and held his bleeding cheek as I lifted him up. He started falling as soon as I let him go, so I had no choice but to hastily yank the zipper of my old school backpack, throw it over my shoulders, and pick him up.

  All while this was going on, the old man and Clyde were on the ground, throwing punches at each other. The man was crying, but not out of anger or physical pain. He was screaming and crying, tears rolling down his face even more fiercely that Lucky’s.

  Clyde pummeled the guys face, and the guy returned a knee to the gut that he apparently owed. The southerner screamed at us to go.

  So I did. I picked up my baby brother, and ran towards the door we came in through.

  James… James was laying by the door, with Viola pressing her hands, her two, tiny hands, over as much of his upper chest and shoulder area as she could.

  She looked up at me, tears and snot dribbling down her face, and said, “He won't wake up.” I went to set my brother down, but Clyde came up behind me, Addeline holding him up. They both screamed at me to leave.

  So I grabbed Viola’s hand, and dragged her out of the door behind me, leaving James, my mother, and the old, burnt man behind.

  Chapter 46: Juliet

  Clyde seemed to be in bad shape as Addeline thrust my bat into my hands after I put Luck down. Vi supported him by holding one arm over his shoulders, and one hand around his waist. I guessed she picked that up from how Addeline was carrying Clyde. Addeline and Clyde had switched weapons, with the rifle being back on Clyde’s shoulders, and the shovel in Addeline’s hands. Now that we were outside, Clyde would be forced to walk and run on his own.

  From inside the cabin, the old man screamed in rage and torment. From outside, Crazies closed in on us. One came sprinting at us from the tree line that I was hiding in with the others, not too long ago. I had stood guard then, and I’d do the same now.

  I lifted the bat and swung, the swing itself was probably incorrect, but the aim was spot on. I remembered to keep my mouth closed, which was good, because a string of its drool went from hanging out of its mouth, to splattered horizontally across my face.

  “Let’s go!” I grabbed onto the sleeve of one of the twins, not looking at which one.

  I was surprised, and felt my own rage growing, mostly fueled by panic, when I was met with resistance. The southerners stopped their sprint short when they realized we weren’t with them, but several yards away.

  “I can’t.” Lucky, whose sleeve I was holding onto, told me when I turned around. I don’t know if he meant physically, or emotionally.

  “We can’t leave without Mommy.” Vi elaborated for him, crying just a bit less. She was able to get more words out.

  “Kids, listen,” Clyde had walked back, thankfully, and started to help me, when an engine of some sort started, not too far away from us. It was undoubtedly that man, coming for us.

  “This man will kill us! We need to leave, now!” Clyde threw what little gentleness and understanding he had left out the window, grabbed my arm, then Lucks, and yanked us into the trees.

  “Run!” He ordered, letting go of me.

  Behind me I saw that he and Addeline had the twins, so I kept my speed at the front of the pack. A Crazy came out of nowhere and tackled me, much like what happened this morning.

  I shouted for the others to keep running as I straddled the Crazy, and smashed my bat downwards, not caring how much its nails clawed up my sides and arms.

  It quickly stopped moving after two hits, and after that, I propelled myself towards the direction that the others went in, much like I had actual rockets in my shoes.

  Unfortunately, before I could get very far, that engine got closer, the old man revving it, as if he wanted to make it louder.

  For a situation that desperately required flight, my response was to freeze. I guess my logic was that if I was running, I would be making noise and the movement would be easier to spot.

  The engine got very close, very fast. I couldn’t outrun that thing, even if I had no injuries and completely full stamina.

  The old man sailed past me on a… on some sort of caged ATV thing. It hit a root or small hill of dirt or something and caught some air as it sailed passed me, with about four or five Crazies trailing not far behind him. Much more than I could ever take out alone.

  With the engine came a sound that brought me an even stronger concern.

  “LETS GOOOOOOOOO”

  There was music coming from the man and his vehicle, an older song that I didn’t know with a lot of drums.

  A gunshot rang out from up ahead, one that I knew all too well. Even over the music and the engine and the shrieks, the old man heard it too, and violently switched course.

  I went after them, full sprint, making sure to stay close enough to still hear and follow the music, but far away enough so that we couldn’t see each other. It wasn’t too difficult, considering that I was slow and out of shape, and he was driving through trees that he probably knew like the back of his hand.

  Another two shots to my right. The music w
as on my left, and running away from it had my legs and lungs burning. The rock music was slowly edging toward the line between somewhat close and far away, but now came closer at an alarming speed. The shrieks oddly complimented the chaotic vibes of the song.

  I flattened myself against the largest, closest tree as the noise was right on top of me. It stopped on the other side of the tree, where my back was turned too. I dared to peek out, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

  It was a clearing, in it held the man, the off-roading vehicle, which had a large speaker in the back tray, and the Crazies. With all the commotion in the stunt that the old man was pulling, none of them paid any attention to me. The man had one hand on the wheel, turning it as far as it would go one way, undoubtedly making himself dizzy by doing donuts, and with the other hand, he held up a bottle of something, presumably alcohol, and finished it off. Once he was sure that every drop was consumed, he stood up, still doing donuts, and whipped the bottle into the growing hoard of Crazies.

  Then, with his free hand, he reached over and grabbed a gun. One that I was somewhat familiar with.

  It was James’s gun.

  He fired it up into the air, then stopped driving and fired into the hoard of Crazies.

  The shrieks, combined with the thuds of them dropping and the shots, no longer complemented the lyrics about a ballroom blitz very well.

  I thought about leaving. Now, during the target practice with my dead friends weapon, his back was semi turned away from me. According to the gunshot I heard, they had to be somewhere around here.

  But then a Crazy came up from behind me, and almost knocked me over. The man turned his attention from the dwindling crowd, to the fresh, fast Crazy. He turned towards me and pulled the trigger, spraying this entire direction with bullets. I ducked behind the tree, squeezing my eyes shut so hard that it hurt. I was sure that I would either be shot, or even worse, be spotted.

  It could be considered a stroke of luck, if not for what happened next.

  “Ophelia! Puck! Viola!” It was my mother. Now, she wasn’t yelling it, but being so close, like, just on the other side of this small clearing, she might as well been. The whispering in the sudden silence of a break in the song… with all the Crazies taken care of… I mean, I could hear her all the way over here.

  As much as I hoped the old man was hard of hearing, I knew that this wasn’t the case. I knew he’d heard my mom.

  “Get out here!” The man demanded and turned off the engine, with his— James’s— gun pointed in the general direction of where the voice came from. At my mommy.

  Unfortunately, she emerged from the trees, hands raised next to her head. She whispered something to him, and he also lowered his voice. They were talking, and no matter how much or how hard I listened, I could only make out a few words. I knew that they were both talking about their children.

  A hand smothered my mouth.

  My immediate reaction was to scream through the hand, even though the man with the gun was within eyesight, and squirm. Maybe even bite it. But at the same time, a familiar voice said, “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me,” in my ear. All of those possible reactions were cancelled in my mind, and replaced with shoving him away from me.

  I turned back to my mother, who was now on her knees, her hands still raised. The whisper conversation was still going down, and I still couldn’t hear what was going on. Not enough to make sense, anyway.

  I needed to do something,

  “Clyde, shoot him!” I said.

  I didn’t notice until now that instead of the rifle being over his shoulder, he was holding it like I did with my bat.

  “I ran out of bullets back there, Ophelia… I can’t.”

  My chest hurt, and my breathing got too rapid for my lungs to handle, and they started to hurt too.

  I know. I know what to do. I’d get the handgun. I’d say that I’d shoot him, and at least be an enough distraction for Mom to get away. Then, I’d shoot, and dive behind the trees and just run like hell.

  I took off my backpack. Yes, I was sure that the gun was in here. This was going to work.

  Before I could even unzip the pack, I heard a single gunshot. This sound was unfamiliar, loud, and harsh.

  I almost couldn’t process anything after that. When my head whipped around to the clearing, I thought I had been shot. The pain in my chest invited tears into my eyes.

  I saw the man, still standing on his— whatever it was— but now his arm was extended towards my mother, and in the hand that was attached to that arm was a gun. A handgun. I think it might’ve been Harrison’s.

  I saw my mother, hit the ground. There was blood, and it was hers. There was a hole in her forehead that wasn’t there before.

  “No.” It came out as a barely audible squeak. Behind me, I heard Clyde curse.

  You have to say goodbye. You have to accept it, and say goodbye, or else it'll eat you alive.

  I didn’t get to say goodbye. What was the last thing I said to her? When was the last time I gave her a hug?

  I heard Clyde behind me putting on my backpack. I was still trying to process. It. Process everything.

  My hands started shaking. Wildly. I started hyperventilating, but it was drowned out by the newly arriving shrieks. I stared at her, and couldn’t take my eyes away.

  “No… no no no no no no no…” I squeezed my eyes shut, tucked my arms in, and balled my fists. I couldn’t control my breath. I couldn’t stop shaking. In fact, it was then when I started crying. I mean, sobbing my literal heart out.

  “Ophelia, I’m so, so sorry… but we need to go.” He tried to tug on my shoulder, on my arm, and then my hand… but I just couldn’t move. If he only knew just how much of my strength I was putting into my knees not buckling. At this point, if I tried to do anything, I would crumble.

  “C’mon.” He hurried to pick me up, and rushed away from the clearing, and what was in it.

  “Ididn’tgettosaygoodbye. I— I did— didn’t get to…” The rest of my sentence was drowned out by my crying. I clenched my teeth together, and breathed rapidly through them.

  I didn’t get to say goodbye.

  Chapter 47: Lost

  I wasn’t the one to deliver the news to the twins. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. So, after some conversation by the two southerners, Addeline took them aside, and told them. The remaining Astor’s just kinda sat and cried after that, with the Salmons comforting and protecting us to the best of their abilities.

  I’d just woke up from crying myself to sleep. I finally get where that expression came from. I had cried so much, that I literally had no energy to do anything else. I had expended it all, and needed to “recharge”. I looked over and saw that the twins had followed the same pattern, but were still asleep. Lucky was clinging tightly to Vi’s bunny.

  They were asleep on top of Addeline, who had also given in to the idea of a small snooze.

  Clyde, however, was nowhere in sight, not that I could see much, with the time being just after dusk.

  There was a sound ahead of me; a rustling of some sort. Panicked, I grabbed around for my bat, praying that my eyes would quickly adjust to the darkness.

  “It’s leaning against the tree behind you.” Clyde’s voice came from the same direction and distance that I’d heard the noise, soft and gentle.

  Found him.

  Slowly, so that I wouldn’t knock it over, I reached on either side of the tree and felt the familiar grip brush my fingertips.

  Fortunately, I didn’t knock it over.

  I also noticed that my backpack hadn’t found its way onto my shoulders, given how much more mobility I had. Clyde must’ve still had it, or it was against one of the many trees around here.

  When I looked back at Clyde, I noticed that I could kind of see him. He had a glow stick, either just now broken or I didn’t notice it earlier.

  I stood up, my goodness did my bones ache. My bones, my muscles, my skin, and my heart. Well, the heart was technically a muscle, but you
know what I mean.

  “How are you… okay. Okay, um, well I went through yours and Viola’s packs. To see what resources we had. I… I really hope you don’t mind.” He was about to ask me how I was doing, but I quickly shook my head, and was glad that he saw and changed the subject.

  I just shrugged my shoulders, not really caring about supplies right now, and sat down next to him. He had laid out all of the supplies, and was starting to repack the things.

  It wasn’t much.

  “This is yours— well, technically it’s all yours, but— you know what I mean.” He handed me the small handgun that I’d taken from the creep that first day out of the basement. The last thing I remembered about it was that I unsuccessfully tried to pull it on the Frenchman who jacked our car, a few nights ago. It fell on the ground and… and Mom picked it up.

  “Ophelia… you know that it was empty… right?” Clyde went ahead and loaded it, and I lost it. I snorted, and laughed, and hissed through my teeth, and giggled silently until tears poured down my face.

  I mean, how many times had I pulled this thing out and aimed it at someone? How many times?

  It was just a really funny concept to me.

  I calmed down soon enough, the humor in the situation quickly wearing out.

  When I looked sad again, Clyde, looking blatantly uncomfortable and worried, continued with his presentation.

  “And there was this. I didn’t look at it, though.” He handed me the glow stick, and an all-too-familiar looking piece of folded paper.

  It was the map that Mom had insisted that I take. I had rudely refused, insisting that I wouldn’t need to even look at the thing, because she would guide us.

  As it turned out, mother was always right.

  I put the glow stick down, and got out my flashlight. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Clyde had turned away, but was no doubt curious, and would probably try to steal glances.

  I unfolded the map and clicked on my flashlight. It was a map of the state, Washington, with maybe an inch on all sides containing the things that bordered it, like Canada and Montana.