by Anna Oney
What would you think of me now, Dad? he asked himself, envisioning his father’s suffering gaze as the executioner had shoved his hands into a basin filled with hot, glowing coals.
Shuddering at the image, Blythe realized he’d been crying, and swiped a finger over his cheek.
Wipe your tears, his father would say. There are more important things to cry about.
Quickening his pace, a cardinal darted past his left. The voice of a woman came to him from above.
“Help,” the voice said, turning the skin on his arms to gooseflesh. “And you’ll rediscover something you thought was dead.”
The voice came and went fast. Blythe slowed his pace, looking about.
“Um, ma’am?” he said. “May I ask who’s speaking?”
“Go,” the voice replied. “Go now.”
“But—” he began.
“I said, GO!” the voice exclaimed, seeming to thunder around him, casting leaves from the trees and dirt from the ground afloat. “GO!”
He jumped, casting his hands above his head.
Jesus Christ! he inwardly shouted.
As he sprinted, the same cardinal that had darted past him flew over his head, leaving a trail of white excrement down the back of his neck. Focused on the trail ahead, he never felt it.
“And don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” the voice said, fading quickly. “I mean it.”
He ran up the trail with mixtures of greens and browns flying past either side of him. A stitch in his side surfaced, along with an aching in his legs, but the thought to stop and rest never crossed his mind. The woman’s voice had said to go, and he wasn’t going to disobey her. As far as he was concerned, if he didn’t ever hear that voice again, he’d die a happy man.
Coming to the top of a hill, he heard a man scream, “Let it go!” He remembered what the woman’s voice had said first.
Help, and you’ll rediscover something you thought was dead.
Whoever the man was, he was in distress. Rushing down the hill, Blythe swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, which was beaded with sweat, and quickened his pace. A gust of wind rocked the trees on either side of him and ruffled the back of his shirt, sending a welcomed chill up his back that was slicked with sweat.
I’m coming, he thought, experiencing a hitch in his breathing. I’m coming.
He came to a skidding stop, sending his arms swaying at his sides. The towering double doors of Back Wood’s rear entrance stood gaping before him. Noticing a trail of footprints leading to the right, he tried catching his breath. Folding his hands at the top of his head, he began breathing through his nose. He noticed a set of four pawprints trailing behind the others.
A stray, six-inch-thick branch lay next to a weathered pine tree with jutting limbs. Figuring he could use it as a club, he bent and grasped the branch when a blood-curdling scream ripped through his body, sending the branch from his shaking hands. He hadn’t heard a scream like that in quite some time — sixteen years, to be exact. The only difference was his father’s scream had lasted longer.
The woman’s voice he’d heard on the trail returned. This time, however, her words were barely a whisper.
“Make your father proud,” the voice said. “Give aid to those who are in need.”
Fetching the branch, Blythe peered ahead, locking his eyes on a descending cloud made of dust. He ran out ahead, witnessing Fawn on her knees. She reached a trembling hand into the thinning dust. He took a cautious step forward, turning his attention to what had made the pawprints.
It’s a cat, he thought, raising the branch. A big one.
The animal wasn’t skittish of Fawn. It seemed to gravitate toward her as a friend. Shaking his head at the impossible image, he rushed forward shouting, “Go on! Get away!”
***
“We have to get rid of the body.”
He couldn’t believe he’d said it. Since the McCord woman hadn’t said anything, he said it again to confirm he had, this time with more bravado, involuntarily adding a twitching eye and jerking hand.
“We have to get rid of the body.”
Fawn gawked at him, seemingly dumbfounded with her eyebrows squished together.
“What do you mean, ‘get rid of the body’?”
“You don’t want Big Sneed as an enemy. You won’t survive the night if this gets out.”
“Where do you suggest we ‘get rid of him’?” she asked, placing a hand on her hip. “It’s not like I have some pit nearby that’s designated for dumping bodies.”
“We can’t bury him.”
“Why not?”
“Because of the ser—” he began and shook his head. “We just can’t. That’s not an option.”
They’d locate Tye’s body within two hours, he thought, remembering Dr. Wenze’s presentation on the location device’s capabilities. Can’t bleed him out either. It doesn’t matter how much blood a person’s lost. He brought the bottom of his fist to his forehead, and gently pounded his head. Eventually, the device embeds itself within the host. The skin . . . everything. In around three days’ time the device and the host become one.
Not long after he’d begun assisting Dr. Wenze, Blythe had secretly injected himself with a controlled pathogen designed to deactivate the location device that had been pumped through his veins. He’d done it so if the opportunity to help someone ever arose, he could do so without the NWA being able to catch him in the act on the tracker monitor. He’d blamed the high fever and mild vomiting he’d experienced afterward on a virus he’d contracted from one of the soldiers he’d been treating earlier that day.
“Let’s burn him then,” Fawn suggested, folding her arms across her chest.
“No, the smoke would draw too much attention. The smell is too distinctive.”
Whispers, coming from nearby willed him to pick up the branch he’d dropped to check on Fawn. He planted himself in front of her to block her from harm. He felt her breasts brush up against the middle of his back as she struggled against his body, nudging her backward.
“Cut it out,” she said, trying to wriggle away from him.
“Quiet,” he replied, turning toward her. “Someone’s coming.”
Together, they darted into the thick of the woods, crouching behind the nearest thicket of briar vines and shrubbery. Away from the trail, they sat frozen, shoulder to shoulder, peering through the limited spaces of their cover. An uncomfortable squeezing of Blythe’s right hand drew his attention downward. Fawn’s hand was latched tightly to his, reminding him of the grip he’d had on his father’s hand when the NWA had tried taking his father away for questioning. At the time, Blythe and Plath had known what that meant, so they’d refused to let go of each other. When the NWA’s words couldn’t convince them to part, they’d tried pulling and, later, resorted to beating them apart.
Because of the adrenaline, Blythe hadn’t realized she’d grabbed his hand when they’d crouched behind the brush. Once she realized their hands were locked, Fawn detached from him.
“Sorry,” she mouthed, wiping her sweaty palm against her thigh.
He stared at her, both wishing she hadn’t let go because of his attraction to her, and thankful she had because of the distressful memory. Fawn was six years older than him, but age was just a number. She’d been on his mind ever since he’d given her the physical exam. It hadn’t mattered how they’d parted, the attraction was still there, and he sensed she felt it too.
He peered back through the shrubbery, watching a black dog sniffing the ground as it approached Tye’s body.
“That’s Gooner,” Fawn whispered, and sighed. “Amos is probably who you heard. I bet he’s right behind Gooner.”
As soon as those words escaped her lips, Gooner began licking Tye’s ravaged neck. Behind the dog, Amos came limping with his cane, and stopped in front of the body. The man wore baggy clothing, with a belt wrapped tightly around his waist to keep his pants up. Blythe had only spoken to Amos once in the mess hall. Amos had been slopp
ily eating his meal, and purposely dropping scraps of food beneath the table for Gooner to gobble down. Blythe had given the peculiar fellow a simple nod and a, “good morning,” before making his way to the breakfast line.
Children ages twelve and under, Amos, and Fawn were the only people of Back Wood who hadn’t been injected with the location serum. Remembering Asher’s exact words made Blythe sick to his stomach. He’d said, “I don’t care to know where that limping retard is. What possible damage could he do?” The children were injected with actual vaccines to stave off diseases. To Cdr. Asher, the children were the most important as their minds could be easily molded to fit the NWA’s standards.
Fawn bolted from the bushes, catching Blythe off guard. He stretched out his arm, trying to stop her, but only grazed the back of her left moccasin with his finger. A random thought whooshed through him. They’re soft. He’d believed her moccasins would feel grimy.
Rising from the ground, his knee was nicked by a tangled briar vine.
“Wait,” he grumbled, feeling the blood trickling down his shin. “Jesus—” he began, but then remembered the phantom voice’s command.
Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.
“Get back,” he whispered after Fawn.
Staggering a couple of steps, he made it out of the bushes. Through the woods, he caught sight of Fawn’s athletic form blocking Amos from Tye’s body. The dog stood by his master’s side, mouth open, tongue flailing, delightedly looking up at Fawn, and wagging his tail. Blythe assumed Gooner’s attention had been averted from nibbling at Tye’s upturned skin by Fawn’s sudden appearance from the woods.
Stepping from the edge of the woods, Blythe cut his eyes toward Tye’s bloodied form. He then locked eyes with Amos, who gave him a crooked grin.
“I’ve seen him before,” Amos said to Fawn, waving a cheerful hand in Blythe’s direction. “He told me, ‘good morning,’ one time.”
“Is that right?” Fawn said and smiled, giving Blythe a wide-eyed look. “Come here,” she mouthed, waving him over.
Easy, he thought, stepping toward her. I’m coming.
“Did you see the pigs?” Amos asked, pulling Fawn’s attention from Blythe back to him.
“Pigs,” she repeated, just as Blythe made it to her side. “You mean the pigs back at the barn? Larry and Nancy?”
“No,” he replied, gingerly pointing behind him. “The pigs,” he said again, his lips thinning. “The pigs that ate Mr. Primous in the woods that time.”
This guy is out of his mind, Blythe thought, taking a step backward. Out of his damn mind.
“Yes,” Fawn finally answered. Turning toward Blythe, she whispered, “I know how we can get rid of the body.”
CHAPTER TEN
Fawn remembered the day two Christmases ago, when Mr. Primous’ remains were found. That foggy morning, Amos had refused to be left behind during the search for Mr. Primous. Pete had insisted that Amos accompany Fawn and Fenton for protection. Fawn hadn’t voiced it, but she didn’t expect to find Mr. Primous alive. It was known throughout the community that he had heart problems, and his love for Mr. Gamby’s moonshine hadn’t done much for his health.
The three of them had started the search by checking the places where Mr. Primous set up hog traps, but they hadn’t been prepared for what they stumbled upon. The hogs had failed to finish him off, leaving a hand with only a thumb and index finger attached at the knuckles, and half a face missing an ear. Apparently, the hogs had held a murderous vendetta against him for taunting their fellow comrades with his metal poker after he’d caught them in his traps.
Everyone of Back Wood assumed Mr. Primous had had a heart attack, leaving himself defenseless against the hogs’ wrath. During her travels, Fawn had run across her share of dead bodies, so one more mangled form didn’t faze her. Plus, Mr. Primous wasn’t a man she would miss. He was a grouchy, belligerent old fart, who became even grouchier with five swigs of Mr. Gamby’s moonshine.
What troubled her, though, as she stood peering into Blythe’s stumped expression, was why Amos had thought to mention the hogs at all. And better yet, how had he managed to exit the community and find the two of them by himself?
The unmistakable tweet of a bird and flutter of its feathers came from above them. A cardinal, that Fawn assumed to be the same bird she’d spotted seconds after her altercation with Tye, was now perched on a limb of the pine tree next to them.
“Amos,” she said, taking her eyes from the bird. “How’d you come to be outside?”
“The cardinal,” he replied, scratching his head. “The cardinal showed me to you.”
“The cardinal,” she repeated, her heart racing.
Where’ve I heard that?
“We don’t have time for this,” Blythe interjected, stepping between them. “We need to get this done by the time Commander Asher and Big Sneed return from visiting the other communities.”
“We need Juniper to do it. Tye had Vance take her to the stables.”
“Vance is a good guy. I’ll talk with him and see if he’ll help us out.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Just wait here. I’ll be back soon.”
Blythe took Amos and Gooner with him, leaving Fawn by herself with Tye. Tye’s automatic rifle lay inches away from his trigger finger, coaxing Fawn to pick it up. She didn’t know much about guns, except she should try not to find herself at the wrong end of a rifle and not to place her finger on a trigger unless she meant to pull it.
It was heavier than she’d imagined it would be. She turned it over in her hands, awed by the deadliest weapon she’d ever encountered. A black button, half a centimeter from the trigger, intrigued her. Hovering her finger above the button, curiosity got the better of her.
“What does this do?” she whispered, pressing down.
She jumped as a slightly curved rectangle was released from the bottom of the rifle. Upon impact with the ground, the rectangle birthed a gold tube with a pointy end, no bigger than her pinky finger.
She knelt down, resting the length of the rifle on her thighs, and picked up the gold tube.
“So, this is what we’re up against,” she whispered, raising the tube above her nose, studying it. “It’s almost pretty.”
She lowered the tube, and duck-walked toward Tye’s body.
What else can I steal?
The bottom of his left pant leg had folded back during their struggle for Fawn’s hatchet. Leaning forward, she was taken aback by something black strapped to his ankle. She pulled his pant leg past his knee, unveiling a holster carrying a 9mm pistol. The same type of pistol Gran had mentioned in her memoirs. Gran’s father, Doolie, had gifted the pistol to her for her eighteenth birthday.
Fawn placed the rifle beside her on the ground and unbuckled the strap of the holster.
“Vance said he’d help us out,” Blythe called, walking up the trail behind her.
She grabbed the handle of the pistol and pulled it from its restraint. She hid it behind her back as she stood up.
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “That’s good news.”
She was relieved to see Juniper’s reins wrapped around his right hand as they made their way toward her.
“He’s never liked Tye much anyway,” Blythe said, reaching her. “Before we made it to Texas, Tye killed Vance’s dog for barking too loud. Vance has seen Tye do a lot of things he doesn’t agree with.”
“Where’s Vance now?”
“Back at his post.”
“Where’d you leave Amos?”
“Oh right, yeah,” Blythe said. “He got distracted by some dragonflies near the dance hall. I didn’t even have to say goodbye.” He handed her Juniper’s reins. “Once we finish this bad business, Vance will take you to the holding cell.”
“But—”
“Tye here, he already communicated to Johnny over the radio that you arrived. There’s just no getting around that.”
“I don’t like it,” she replied, stroking Juniper�
�s neck. “Not at all.”
“Once Vance drops you off with Johnny at the holding cell, he’ll tell Johnny that Tye ordered him to take you there. Which will leave Tye by himself outside the barrier. Anything could’ve happened to him during the time it took Vance to leave you at the cell.”
“When did y’all build this cell,” she retorted, her rising blood pressure pulsating the veins in her throat.
“About a week after we arrived,” Blythe replied, squinting his eyes as he looked to Fawn’s arm tucked behind her back. “No one knows about it but us . . . and Pete.”
Of course, she thought. Jackass would agree to anything they proposed.
“You hiding something back there?”
“I’m keeping this,” she said, taking the pistol from behind her back. “I can’t sneak something as big as the rifle around.”
“Okay,” he replied, surprising her with his lack of concern.
“I mean it. I’m keeping the pistol.”
“Okay,” he repeated, shrugging his shoulders. “Go ahead and take the holster from his ankle since you’re dead-set on keeping it.”
“You’re not going to try and stop me?”
“No,” he replied, brushing past her shoulder to get to the head of Tye’s body. “You’re not going to try and shoot me with it, are you?”
She squatted at Tye’s feet and unbuckled the holster from his ankle. The smell of iron from Tye’s blood was overwhelming.
“Only if you try the same crap as Tye, here,” she said, bringing the back of her hand to her nose.
“I would never do that,” he said, shaking his head. “A man who forces himself on a woman has no right calling himself a man.”
“My, my,” she replied, leaning her forearm against her thigh. “Them are my thoughts exactly.”
“Come on,” he said, motioning for Fawn to hurry up. “We need to get Tye on the horse. You get his feet. I’ll get this end.”