by Anna Oney
Three weeks’ worth of supplies took up six shelves within the bunker. Deer jerky, dried fruit from Griffin’s orchard, canned meats and peaches, and ten barrels full of water were kept stocked for emergency situations. Depending on how many people had made it to the bunker, they could survive for weeks if they were smart with rationing.
By Thursday of the second week, Fawn had gained enough strength to venture from the bedroom. Laken provided her with a long, flowy brown skirt and an off-white, long-sleeved blouse. The skirt was a size too big for her. Laken borrowed a belt from Griffin, but extra notches had to be made before it could be secured around Fawn’s slender waist. The belt’s tail hung at an angle above her thigh. Laken gifted a pair of shoes to Fawn who, luckily, wore the same size. Fawn French braided her auburn waves and let the plait hang down the side of her neck.
Fully clothed, Fawn studied her appearance in a blurry looking glass. She didn’t recognize the woman in the reflection. She looked like a “supper is on the table, come and get it while it's hot” housewife. Not that there was anything wrong with being a homemaker. Fawn’s mother had been one. So had her sister, Marie, and her sisters-in-law, Audrey and Polly. Their selflessness and willingness to care for their loved ones — who often took them for granted — was something to be admired. It took a great deal of sacrifice and patience on their part. Fawn simply couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She had come close once to understanding when she’d been pregnant with Joshua, but it wasn’t meant to be. The open range of the outdoors and an independent lifestyle called to her. Dressed in these clothes, she felt stripped of everything that was herself.
Laken came up behind her and looped a chain around her neck. The weight of it reminded Fawn of the feel of Gran’s cross. She brought a hand to the base of her throat. Smiling, she grazed her fingers over the cool silver of the cross.
“There,” Laken said, fastening the chain at the back of Fawn’s neck. “That looks much better. Blythe said it was safe to return to you.”
Making a fist around Gran’s cross, Fawn turned to face Laken.
“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
“Don’t even mention it,” Laken replied, pressing a palm to the side of Fawn’s face. “We may not be blood, but, by God,” she said, patting Fawn’s cheek. “We’re family.”
During that week and a half, Fawn prepared herself to tackle the heartache adorning each of her nieces’ and nephews’ faces. She stood in the bedroom doorway and looked at Laken, waiting for her at the top of the stairs. She cleared the eight steps to Laken, who held out her hand.
“You ready?” Laken asked, grasping Fawn’s hand.
Fawn peered down the steep set of stairs and gulped.
“I got you,” Laken said, clearing the first step.
Tentatively, Fawn closed her fingers around the handrail and descended the steps beside Laken. Midway down, a rush of lightheadedness came over Fawn, forcing her to slow her pace. Disappointment in herself clouded her sight with fresh tears. She wasn’t as healed as she’d thought. Still, she knew she didn’t have another day to waste before returning to Back Wood. If there was a chance that she could save any of the children’s parents, she had to take it.
Taking in small sips of air, Fawn nodded to Laken, whose face became flushed and drawn.
“I’m fine,” Fawn said, swiping a trembling hand across her forehead. “Let’s keep moving.”
Thirty-eight long seconds later, they arrived at the landing of the stairs. Whispers coming from the sitting room around the corner had Fawn looking warily to Laken.
“Come on,” Laken softly said, tugging at Fawn’s arm. “Everyone’s excited to see you.”
Coming around the back of the stairs, they emerged under the archway of the sitting room. Eleven children stood before a crackling fireplace. Ally, holding the hand of a chubby-cheeked Cade, stepped forward and graced Fawn with a smile.
“We missed you,” she said, hugging Fawn’s side.
Jackson and Meadow strode up beside Ally and Cade, wrapping their arms around Fawn’s other side. Silent tears dripped from Fawn’s jaw as she draped her arms over their heaving shoulders. She rested her drenched cheek on top of Jackson’s head. Raising her chin, Fawn found Reesa standing next to Griffin, who sat in a chair in the corner with a book in his lap. In less than four seconds, Reesa took up the front of the embrace.
Reesa’s eyes glistened in the soft glow of the pulsing light from the fireplace.
“We’re strong,” she whispered, peering upward at Fawn. “Right?”
Fawn pecked the girl’s forehead.
“That’s right,” she whispered back. “Stronger than most.”
The side door opened and Blythe appeared. Fawn’s breath was taken away, as she wished it was Hunter instead. He carried a crate filled to the brim with plums, four of which tumbled from the crate when he nearly dropped it upon locking eyes with Fawn. He gave an awkward, tight-lipped smile as he realized he'd interrupted a tender moment.
“Blythe,” Fawn said, parting from her loved ones.
“You look beau—” he began, lowering the crate to the ground. He cleared his throat. “Nice. You look nice.”
“Thanks,” she replied, looking herself over. “But I feel unbelievably overdressed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
By noon of Fawn’s first day out, Blythe and Laken had returned to Caddo to make their necessary appearances at the community. Before leaving, they sat down with Fawn and explained they were in the process of gathering arms to revolt against the NWA. Since Blythe had destroyed the tracker monitor, it was easier for people to move about without being detected. Asher had taken up residence at Stagecoach while Back Wood’s homes were demolished and the land was cleared. Production of the tall buildings, which reminded Fawn of cages, was set to begin after the cleanup.
For nearly three weeks, the NWA remained oblivious to the fact that Fawn and eleven of Back Wood’s children were in hiding at her great-uncle’s orchard. Laken insisted that Fawn wear a gardening hat if she felt inclined to step outside the walls of Griffin’s home. Her auburn waves were too distinctive, and the NWA had made finding Fawn their number one priority.
By supper time, Griffin had showed his guests to the dining room. He had an oak table long enough to seat the eleven children and four adults. Two benches on either side of the table were filled with hungry kids. Clay bowls and wooden spoons sat before each guest. Fawn and Reesa sat across the table from a silent Davlyn, who stared at her hands in her lap. The news of her brother Dean and her family’s deaths had hit her hard. Beside Davlyn sat Noelle, who played rock-paper-scissors with a little boy, whose name Fawn couldn’t recall.
An assortment of faded pictures hung from the dining room walls — most of which were of Griffin and Gran playing cowboys and Indians, or swimming in the creek as children. A framed photograph of Doolie and Shirley leaning into each other on a porch sat on the first shelf of a china hutch at the back of the room. These pictures, which Fawn had never seen before, made her feel right at home.
Griffin strode through the doorway of the kitchen connected to the dining room. Using two washcloths, he toted a steaming pot of deer stew. He leaned between Fawn and Reesa to set the pot in the middle of the table. The children licked their lips as Griffin ladled equal servings into each of their bowls.
Griffin sat at the head of the table close to Fawn and offered her his hand. He tipped his head down each side of the table. Every grownup and child joined hands for a quick prayer before devouring their meals. Noelle gave Fawn a drawn, wide-eyed look as Griffin bowed his head and closed his eyes. It was then that Fawn realized praying over a meal was unheard-of in the NWA and, probably, forbidden. As Fawn bowed her head, Noelle did the same and shakily glanced to her left and right.
“Lord,” Griffin said, slightly raising his chin. “Thank you for this meal and the company. I ask that you watch over these children and bring them peace in the days to come.” He tightened his grip on
Fawn’s hand. “I ask that you mend any hearts burdened with grief and diminish any thoughts of revenge. Give us peace, Lord. In your name I pray. Amen.”
After dinner, Reesa showed Fawn where she and the children had been sleeping. Griffin had covered the floor of his cellar with feather pillows and blankets to comfort them during their stay. The entrance of the cellar was kept hidden beneath a rug in the kitchen across from the woodstove. Shelves stocked full of canned fruits and baskets of vegetables, along with barrels of her uncle’s homemade wines, lined the walls.
“Uncle Griffin trusts you kids down here with all this booze?” she asked Reesa, who busied herself fluffing each child’s pillow before bedtime.
Jerking her head back, Reesa scrunched up her nose.
“That stuff’s for grownups,” she replied, coming to Fawn’s side.
The realization that all youngsters weren’t as unruly and wild as she had been prompted Fawn to change the subject.
“Blythe told me he hid my bow,” she said as they ascended the cellar stairs. “But he never told me where. You know where it could be?”
Reesa’s eyes became slits as she cut them at Fawn. She halted a step before reaching the open latch in the kitchen. Blood rushed beneath her cheeks, reddening them.
“Why?” she asked. “Are you planning to leave us again?”
Fawn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling, she sat down on the stairs, motioning for Reesa to do the same.
“Listen to me,” she said, rolling back her shoulders. “Before he died,” she said and paused, grasping Reesa’s hand. “Your father said that he never told the NWA about the bunker.”
Tears puddled at Reesa’s bottom eyelids.
“H-how,” she began, swiping a trembling hand beneath her sniffling nose. “How did it happen? Mom and Dad . . .”
Finding the words to make someone feel better wasn’t one of Fawn’s strong points. Lying to her niece wouldn’t do the girl any good. Telling Reesa that her parents had died peacefully in their sleep would’ve been an insult to their memory. Pete and Audrey had fought hard and lost. There was honor in that. No matter how painful, the truth demanded to be heard.
“It wasn’t good, baby,” she replied, draping her arm across Reesa’s heaving shoulders. She pulled her closer, pecking the top of the girl’s head. “But they died fighting,” she continued, deciding against divulging the state in which she’d found Audrey. “They loved you kids so much.”
Reesa blinked, sending tears down her face.
“There’s a chance some of our people could’ve made it to the bunker and survived,” Fawn said, stroking Reesa’s back. “I have to try.”
Reesa jerked away.
“But you’ve already tried,” she wept, sitting up straight. “When you left us in the middle of the night! You weren’t able to get anyone out then.” She swept her arms through the air. “What makes you think this time will be any different?”
Fawn reached out, but Reesa recoiled from her touch.
“I know I failed,” Fawn replied, bringing her hands to her lap. “I know that. I’m a lot of things, but a quitter isn’t one of them. I have to try again.”
Reesa didn’t have a response as she stormed up the stairs, leaving Fawn by her lonesome.
***
Later that night, while everyone was sleeping, Fawn crept downstairs. The first place she searched for her bow was a closet at the side of the staircase. Cobwebs and dust lined every corner of the cubbyhole that housed gardening supplies and trimming shears. On the lookout for her bow, she searched the remainder of the house, coming up empty-handed.
She decided to check the barn behind the fruit trees. She snatched a hooded cloak from a hook beside the front door and exited the house. Because it was dark, she didn’t bother with the gardening hat Laken made her wear. Clearing the porch steps, she set her sights on Juniper’s swishing tail at the front of the barn.
Situating the cloak over her shoulders, she strolled between the fruit trees that had been grown in orderly rows. Pear and peach trees lined the right side, while fig and plum trees took up the left. The moon shone on the smooth skin of the plums, creating a soft glow. Fallen fruit sporadically dotted the ground around the trees. Drooping branches, weighed down by fruit, had poles wedged beneath them to help support the weight of the dangling beauties. Knobby tree roots and rocks made the ground uneven as she walked.
A breeze picked up from across the lake, rustling the branches, pressing her skirt to her thighs. The view of the lake was one she hadn’t seen in two years. Staring at the rippling surface of the water never got old. When she had visited Caddo in the past, she’d made a point to venture out in one of the canoes. She would glide her fingers through the water after picking up enough speed to coast.
Blossoms drifted on the wind before blanketing the ground. A fenced-in vegetable patch stood to the right of the barn. Behind the garden, four beehives hummed. Fawn licked her lips as the sweet smell of homegrown honey wafted in her direction. Juniper’s neigh pulled her focus from the buzzing hives.
Fawn ran her palm down the side of the horse’s face and pecked the diamond adorning the mare’s forehead.
“Are you up for another ride?” she asked, peering into Juniper’s dark brown eyes.
Juniper nickered, playfully bumping her snout against Fawn’s cheek and gave her tail a swish.
“All right, all right,” she said and chuckled. “First I need to find my bow.”
The rough, wooden walls of the barn were adorned with hooks, which held bridles and reins, leads, horse combs, and halters. Leaning against the opposite wall was a shovel, a broom, and a pitchfork. Six pigs and three goats, separated by pens, were awakened by Fawn’s rustling steps through the hay. Her movements stirred up the hay, enveloping her mouth in the dry taste of chaff.
Chicken feces and feathers littered the ground near a cedar chest at the back of the barn. The rusty hinges squeaked when she opened the box. She sifted through the supply of feed and discovered her bow and quiver hidden underneath, as well as Reesa and Davlyn’s bows, and Noelle’s automatic rifle.
She shooed away a couple of chickens pecking at her skirt and reclaimed her weaponry. Most of her arrows with the red fletching were missing. She’d have to replenish them at the Boom Hole, where she’d stowed a hundred inside a hollowed-out cypress tree.
***
It took Fawn and Juniper roughly two and a half hours to make their way around the lake and Laken’s community. The cypress trees shrouded in Spanish moss made Fawn homesick. Fireflies drifted on the breeze, making her long for a simpler existence. How great would it be to float on the wind, not having to worry about the hardships of her species? One quick slap of her hand or pound of her fist, and these insects’ lives were done. No pain. No heartache. These lightning bugs would cease to exist. How great would it be to possess a brain that couldn’t register the sting of loss or remember every scar?
Fawn rode all night, only stopping twice to give Juniper a breather and rest her eyes. By dawn, they arrived at the Boom Hole. Big Sneed’s body had been removed. She trotted past their cabin, keeping her eyes on the winding creek. Looking at the cabin would unearth memories that would turn her into a blubbering mess. Hunter had been killed because of his association with her. The men she’d killed inside the train station back at Stagecoach had been clear on the matter. For all she knew, so had Back Wood’s people. Guilt weighed her down and she refused to forgive herself.
Fawn steered Juniper down the slick slope of the creek. For two miles, they galloped alongside the murky water, kicking up mud. She pulled at Juniper’s reins, slowing her pace as they approached the hollowed-out cypress tree harboring her arrows. Ants and beetles marched up the tree, making a loop around the trunk.
Fawn dismounted, immersing her new footwear in the soggy earth. The splash sprayed muddy water across her clean blouse and face. Murky water dripped from her chin as she squatted before the tree. A gooey muck lined the bottom of her sk
irt and cloak.
So much for these new duds, she thought, removing the brush blocking the triangular opening in the cypress tree. The arrows she’d packed inside were still there, as was Big Sneed’s pistol and automatic rifle. She reloaded her quiver and mounted Juniper to continue their journey.
By sunset of the third day, Fawn and Juniper arrived at Back Wood’s rear entrance. The doors to the community were wide open. It was deathly quiet. White powder blanketed the ground within the community. She pulled on Juniper’s reins, halting a few strides before the point at which the powder ended and a perfect line of clear ground began.
All the soldiers were frozen in place within Back Wood’s walls. The one closest to the gate stood frozen as he drove the blade of a shovel into the ground. Another, standing about six yards behind the man with the shovel, had been stilled while driving a posthole digger into the earth. Their mouths and noses were covered by masks with straps that tucked behind their ears. Their stances reminded Fawn of the soldiers she, Davlyn, and Noelle had encountered at the Bogan Farm.
“You have twenty-seven minutes to get in and get out,” a man’s voice said from behind her, casting her tensed shoulders upward. “Use your time wisely.”
Shakily, Fawn peered over her shoulder, locking eyes with a sitting, yellow-eyed bobcat. She steered a neighing, bobbing-headed Juniper around.
“Bob?” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Is that you?”
“Yes, yes,” he replied, standing up on all four paws. “But I think it’s time you started calling me Grandpa Tom.”
A shwoop emanated before her as the bobcat transformed into a tall, strapping young lad with dirty blond hair and dimples. He gripped the straps of six masks like those the soldiers wore.
“You’ll want to put this on,” he said, coming up beside Juniper and reaching upward to hand her the masks. “Juniper will be safer out here. She doesn’t need to breathe in that disinfectant they’ve spread across the ground.”