A Broken Time

by Anna Oney

  A question arose in Hunter’s mind and was asked through his chapped, cracked lips.

  “How come my grandfather didn’t show?”

  “Reed’s busy at the moment. He’s with your father now.”

  Sniggers coming from around the corner forced them to pause. Tom eased Hunter’s side to lean against the barn and brought a finger to his lips, signaling for Hunter to stay quiet. Two soldiers emerged from the other side of the barn, their backs turned toward the silent men crouched behind them. The soldiers expressed their excitement for Hunter’s execution, which, unknowingly to the latter, was to take place upon Fawn’s arrival at the Bogan Farm the next day.

  “Stagecoach is about a day and a half’s ride from Back Wood,” the bulkier man said. “Commander Asher’s supposed to be fetching her sometime tomorrow in one of the Humvees. I heard he’s going to make her sit through her man’s execution for killing Big Sneed.”

  “I still can’t get over how a woman as small as her could take down Big Sneed,” the other man replied, shaking his head. “I mean . . .” He chuckled. “The guy’s six foot six and made of muscle. Have you ever seen the man lose a fight?”

  “No,” the bulkier man replied and spit at the ground. “She must be tough.”

  Around twenty feet stood between them and the two soldiers. Mouth gaping, Hunter stared after Tom as he cleared that distance in less than two seconds, sending a trail of dust afloat in his wake. Tom lodged himself between the men, resting one of his hands on each of their shoulders.

  “Gentlemen,” Tom whispered, leaning forward. “Lights out.”

  Wide-eyed, the men froze with their heads turned toward Tom. Hunter recognized them as the two soldiers who’d strapped him to the post. He peered over his shoulder at the stilled forms of Dwight and Brody bathed in the moonlight.

  “Why not just kill them?” he asked as Tom made it back to his side. “Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

  “We’re not allowed to shed blood without Father’s say so. Just cause is a big thing with Him.”

  Tom hooked Hunter’s elbow around the back of his neck and resumed their trek.

  “A good example of Father’s, ‘just cause,’” Tom continued, balancing Hunter’s weight, “would be Fawn’s situation with Tye. He was trying to force himself on her. A person’s free will can’t be tampered with unless He says so. The vicious act that was embedded within her soul to survive had already been suffered, therefore, Father gave me permission. No reason to put my oldest granddaughter through the wringer a second time.”

  Hunter’s breath caught in his chest, causing him to cling to the base of his throat. The throbbing ache traveling throughout his body worsened as he was given the news of Fawn’s tormented past.

  “I . . . I never knew,” he whispered as they cleared the distance to his cabin. “Makes sense now that I think about it. I can’t remember a time when Fawn hasn’t been on edge. It’s like she’s always waiting for a disaster to strike.”

  They approached Hunter’s cabin door, which now hung from its hinges since Dwight and his goons had kicked it in.

  “It seems cruel, I know,” Tom said. “Not preventing the first assault from happening.”

  “Yeah, it does,” Hunter replied, anger building up inside of him. “I always considered God to be this merciful, supreme being of great understanding, who tried His best to prevent anything bad from happening to His children.”

  They came to an abrupt stop before the cabin door. Biting his lower lip, Tom lowered Hunter’s feet to the ground.

  “Hunter,” he said, shoving the door open and stepping inside. “This is the same God who sent His only begotten son to the cross to die for our sins. No matter how hard I pray for you to understand His ways, you’ll never fully grasp them until you pass through those Pearly Gates.”

  Hunter avoided Tom’s glaring gaze, and took in the familiarity of the cabin he’d inherited from his grandfather, Reed. He scanned over his poorly made bed, with its blanket tousled and bunched up at the corners, the top and bottom drawers of his dresser left slightly open from the last time he’d gotten dressed to meet up with Fawn, and the crack in the small window that allowed wind to whistle through.

  Wishing he could go back to a simpler time, Hunter sighed and limped forward.

  “Why’re we here, anyway?” he asked.

  “To get some clothes on you,” Tom replied, grinning as he leaned back against the wall beside Hunter’s dresser. “You’re as naked as a jaybird.” He laughed, folding his arms across his chest. “Fawn’s due back here with her friends any time now. I know she’s seen your junk. Do you really want to subject them other two ladies to your nakedness?”

  “You do have a point,” he said, looking himself over.

  Hunter busied himself with getting dressed while Tom stared out the window with a hand on his hip. A distant howl, which Hunter assumed had come from a coyote, stalled his arm midway through one of the sleeves of his shirt.

  Tom turned his head, brushing his chin against his shoulder, displaying his profile and the sharpness of his jaw.

  “You hear that?”

  “Yeah,” Hunter replied, buttoning his shirt. “Sounds like a coyote.”

  Hunter followed the movement of Tom’s full lips as he softly said, “That’s Ahanu.”

  Hunter remembered Fawn telling him the story of Wakiza and his shaggy dog, Ahanu.

  “Ahanu initiates the countdown,” Tom continued. “I’m afraid you have less than twenty-five minutes before those men outside wakeup.”

  Hunter winced at the sensation of fabric brushing against his blistered skin.

  “Excuse me?” Hunter asked.

  Tom took his eyes from the window and turned around to face Hunter.

  “Before I go, you should know,” Tom said. “Fawn’s going to want to stay with you, but it’s your job to make sure she doesn’t.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The area surrounding Fawn was shrouded in black and white. She stood before the guarded front entrance of Back Wood. Fifteen soldiers wearing bulky plastic suits topped with hoods stood side by side, cradling their automatic rifles. The metallic smell of blood and tainted earth ensnared her nostrils. She pushed and shoved against the guards’ unwavering stances and shuddered at the image of their expressionless faces.

  Staggering backward, she expelled a defeated cry and let her arms drop by her sides. She peered upward, begging for God to intervene. The only source of color came in the form of red smoke descending from the cloudless sky. Screams of agony and loss broke out within Back Wood’s walls, prompting Fawn to charge at the soldiers again. Two of the guards stepped aside, allowing her to pass through the screeching, towering doors of her community, which opened all on their own.

  Warily, she looked over her shoulder at the stilled soldiers’ backs, taking her first steps within Back Wood’s barrier. She came to an immediate halt as warm blood rose to the back of her throat, causing her to cough into her palm. Red was the only color that existed in this alternate reality, otherwise doused in black and white. She brought two fingers slicked with blood to her lips and stared at her other hand, which was equally as drenched. Crimson tears trickled over her cheeks and dripped from her jaw. A bubbling, burning sensation traveled beneath her skin, forcing her to scratch. Scarlet markings appeared on her forearm from her fingernails digging into her irritated flesh.

  Pete’s voice broke the silence and reverberated around her.

  “The bunker. I-I never told them about the bunker.”

  “Brother,” she gurgled through the blood spilling from her mouth. “Brother . . .”

  Fawn woke with a deep-seated gasp exploding from her lungs. A tingling, searing pain in her left shoulder brought back memories of her first failed horseback ride as a child. A groove in the lateral muscle conveyed to her that her shoulder had been dislocated. Breathing heavily, she winced as she brought her right hand to the source of the ache. Swelling and bruising had already developed on her sh
oulder, which hung lower than her uninjured side. A numbness had spread from her elbow to her hand.

  Peering upward, she lay there, trying to piece together her strength. Above her, the latch of the pit had been shut. Thin rays of the descending sun shone through the cracks of the wooden pallets Clancy’s townspeople had used to construct the cover.

  She sat up, telling herself to relax. Okay, okay, okay, she thought, blowing air through her teeth. You’ve gone through this before. No big deal. She eased her hand over her head and reached for her opposite, uninjured shoulder. It’s no big deal! Breathing in, she reached farther and exhaled. Stretch, inhale, stretch, exhale, stretch, inhale, stretch, exhale. A clunk emanated from her injured shoulder. Relief passed through her as the pain was reduced considerably. For her to heal properly she needed to construct a sling.

  “How’d you do that?” the crisp voice of a younger woman asked.

  Fawn peered to the right, discovering a girl leaning against the cavern wall. Through the dim, hazy light, she could make out the girl’s bruised eyes and raw, bloody fingertips. Frizzy waves of icy blonde hair were swooped over the girl’s shoulder. It took Fawn a couple of seconds to recognize the girl as Noelle. The girl Big Sneed had been rough with at the hamburger lunch.

  “Do what?” Fawn asked as she managed to hobble toward the beaten girl.

  “From where I was sitting, it looked like your fall was slowed,” Noelle replied, looking her up and down.

  “Not slowed enough,” she said, grimacing at the dull pain lingering in her shoulder. Fawn eyed the ends of a red shawl dangling from both sides of Noelle’s neck, and asked, “Can I borrow that?”

  “Sure,” Noelle replied and pulled at one end of the shawl, slipping it from beneath her icy blonde waves. “Clancy had his men force me down here on a ladder. I know what I saw.” She pointed upwards. “We shouldn’t even be having this conversation. That’s a fifteen-foot drop. You should be severely incapacitated or dead.”

  “Well,” she said and sighed, gingerly lifting her forearm to the height of the middle of her torso. “Stranger things have been happening lately.”

  Fawn managed to fasten a sturdy sling out of Noelle’s shawl with the girl’s help. Survival mode kicked in as Fawn’s arm became secure. She scanned the wall, focusing on the closed hatch Clancy had pushed her through. She jumped and jumped, dragging the fingers of her right hand down the impeccably straight wall.

  “Don’t bother,” Noelle said. “I’ve already tried.”

  “How long have you been down here?”

  “Couple-a weeks,” Noelle replied and shrugged. “I think.”

  “What’d you do to end up down here, anyways?”

  “After you stood up for me against Big Sneed that day, I decided I should stand up for myself. The NWA haven’t been able to pass me from man to man as easily as they used to.”

  “I would say, ‘good for you,’” Fawn replied, taking in Noelle’s starved, sunken-eyed appearance. “But now look at you.”

  Noelle leaned back against the wall, crisscrossing her feet in front of her.

  “I’d rather be down here suffering than up there. Besides, there’s no men down here to deal with. I’ve never understood why people took to calling Logan, ‘Big Sneed.’ He’s always seemed so small to me.” She paused, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. “But he’s good at reminding the meek of who the dominant sex is. The truth is, the only big thing about that man is his ego.”

  “‘Was,” Fawn corrected. “Logan, a.k.a. Big Sneed, met his end at the hands of my niece less than a week ago.”

  Noelle’s hands trembled at her sides as she turned her body to face Fawn’s.

  “Really?” she whispered, in a breathless, astonished voice. Teary-eyed, she seemed to take Fawn’s nod as confirmation. “My God,” she smiled and shook her head. “And I thought justice was dead.”

  “Not quite, just Big Sneed,” Fawn replied, noticing Noelle’s hipbones jutting beneath the front of her flowy, knee-length skirt. “Have they been feeding you?” she asked with remorse.

  “Scraps mostly,” Noelle replied, with a pensive, unmoving expression. “But there are three of us.” She tipped her head far to the left toward a curved corner of the wall. A heap of a woman was illuminated by the dim light seeping through the cracks of the wooden pallets above them. “Scratch that, there’s four of us now.” She motioned toward Fawn. “I don’t see how we can survive for much longer.”

  Fawn closed the distance between herself and the mysterious mound. Her breath caught in her chest as she realized it was Davlyn lying unconscious on her side, spooning an older woman with long, gray hair. She came to her knees before Davlyn’s unmoving form. The rapid beating of her heart became normal as she took note of the slow rise and fall of her cousin’s chest. Davlyn’s breathing was labored, but that was far better than the alternative.

  “Cousin,” Fawn whispered, gently nudging Davlyn’s shoulder. “Davlyn, wake up.”

  Leaning forward, Fawn recognized the wrinkled profile of the elderly woman snuggled closely to Davlyn. Fawn brought a trembling hand to her mouth as she realized the woman was their aunt Claire. She wore her housedress embroidered with bulbs of purple tulips along the hemline. Fawn lowered the back of her fingers to her kin’s cheek and immediately jerked them away. Claire’s flesh was clammy and cold to the touch. The beginning stages of decomposition had settled in. Through her heaving chest and tears flowing from her eyes without restraint, Fawn struggled to move Davlyn from Claire’s side with her good arm. A sharp twinge in Fawn’s recently mended shoulder had her clenching her jaw and baring her teeth.

  “Help me, will you?” she called to Noelle behind her. “I can’t do it by myself.”

  Fawn and Noelle managed to move Davlyn and situate Claire’s body so that she lay flat on her back. Fawn glided her fingers over the lids of her aunt’s pale, lifeless eyes, hoping to close them. They wouldn’t fully shut, so the bottom half of her faded, baby-blues peeked through her long lashes. Fawn folded Claire’s soft, wrinkly hands on top of her stomach, wishing she could’ve given her aunt a proper burial.

  Funerals at Back Wood weren’t altogether sad occasions. The community’s people were comforted by the belief that their loved ones were safe in the hands of their Lord. Gran’s memoir had given them hope that one day their loved ones would possibly reappear to them in a time of need.

  Quietly weeping over Claire’s slowly decaying form, Fawn remembered the day her aunt had sat down with her after the deaths of her parents and sisters.

  “It is appointed onto everyone to die,” Claire had said, rubbing Fawn’s back. “Some sooner rather than later. But to die is like receiving an award for living our lives with Christ in our hearts. You’ll see them again,” she had tried assuring Fawn. “I’m certain of it.”

  ***

  Three hours later, they were well into the night. The beams from the full, neon moon pierced through the cracks of the pallets above them, showering them in a soft fluorescent light. The atmosphere was chilled in the depths of the pit. Shivering, Fawn sat near the wall with her shoulders hunched over. She stroked the back of Davlyn’s head as it rested in her lap. Sometime within the second hour, Noelle had fallen asleep beside them.

  Fawn’s stress over whether Davlyn would wake pinned her eyes open. One thing was certain: Noelle and Davlyn needed food and water — Davlyn more urgently. They were desperate for sustenance, which worsened the helplessness embedding itself within Fawn’s inner being because she’d been stripped of ways to supply it to them. Tension in Fawn’s upper body made the gradually receding pain in her shoulder return with more gusto.

  A calmness came over Fawn. She expelled a sigh of relief at the sight of her cousin’s dark brown, heavy-lidded eyes fluttering open. Tears puddled in Fawn’s bottom eyelids as she stared down at Davlyn. She graced her cousin with a shaky smile and ran her fingers through Davlyn’s chin-length hair.

  “Fah-Fawn,” Davlyn hoarsely whispered
and swallowed as if her mouth was dry.

  Pecking Davlyn’s forehead, Fawn grasped the girl’s hand.

  “Davlyn,” Fawn replied and sniffled, swiping her drenched cheek upon her good shoulder. “It’s Aunt Claire. She’s—”

  “I know,” Davlyn said, her bottom lip trembling. “She died sometime last night. I just couldn’t let her go.” She tried sitting up, but her lightheadedness caused her to stay put. “I must’ve passed out soon after.”

  An hour or so later, Davlyn had rolled over on her side and fallen back to sleep. Contemplating their next move, Fawn stared at the opposite wall until her eyes stung from exhaustion. She blinked rapidly, trying to diffuse the burning when the bottom half of the wall seemed to shift slightly to the right, like the curtain of an open window being swayed by a gust of wind. Shaking her head at the impossible image, she figured her lack of sleep had begun playing tricks on her mind. But curiosity got the better of her as she found herself creeping upon her knees toward the wall.

  In the depths of the pit, she had a sudden urge to move her hand through the air. She brought her hand forward, immediately taking it back. A distant memory of see-through walls and shimmering light clouded her thoughts.

  Two quick knocks came from behind the wall.

  “Knock, knock,” the recognizable younger, chirpier voice of Joy whispered.

  “No way,” Fawn softly said, licking her lips. “Joy?”

  “Ugh, you’re no fun,” she grumbled. “You’re supposed to ask who’s there.”

  “But,” Fawn whined, glaring at the wall. “I already know it’s you, so what’s the point?”

  “Fiiine, whatever,” she replied, bellowing out an exasperated breath. “Go ahead and follow through with what you were compelled to do a second ago.”

  Shakily, Fawn rose from her knees and stepped forward, tentatively bringing her hand in front of her. She moved her fingers through the air, unveiling a cave-like passageway lined with multicolored jewels that reflected off each other. The welcomed smell of a campfire and the aroma of food wafted toward Fawn’s nose. Twinkling swirls of emerald green, violet, amber, and turquoise danced across Fawn’s face, peeking through the tunnel of distant whispers that beckoned her inside.