by Anna Oney
“Y-you must be Reed,” she finally said, offering her hand to Hunter’s deceased grandfather. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” Reed replied, shaking her hand. Tipping his head toward his ride, he said, “This is Brute.”
“So,” she said, swallowing back a catch in her throat. “What happened between you and my grandmother?”
“Nothing,” he said, situating his hat so that it rested at the back of his head. “We kissed, but she stopped it before we could go any further.” He tilted back his head, looking to the canopy of trees. “It was for the best, really. I knew why she had come to me and it wasn’t love. She was desperate for relief. To feel something besides grief. Right after she left the farm, I rode off to confront Tom. I knew he’d been staying at a hunting cabin a day’s ride from the lake.”
“And?” she urged, gripping Juniper’s reins. “What happened?”
“I gave him an earful and told him to get up off his ass and take care of his woman. Losing that child did a number on their marriage. I’ve found that people are in their most selfish state of mind when in grief. Most folks are blind to anything that isn’t their own suffering.”
“Did you tell him about the kiss?”
“Of course,” he said, removing his hat to fan his face. “Couldn’t miss an opportunity to get a rise out of him.”
“How’d that go over?”
“Like a turd in a punchbowl,” he replied and chuckled. “I got my point across and we both got our licks in. Tom gave me a busted lip and I gave him a black eye. But afterwards, he rushed home to be with Emma.”
Silence filled the space between them. Fawn’s company remained oblivious to the goings on behind them. Reed was the first to break through the quietness.
“Aiden saw that I was heartbroken over Emma,” he said, locking eyes with Fawn. “I stayed that way for a good while. I didn’t see Emma again until eleven years later. The day I pulled her from the frozen creek.”
Soon after their discussion, Reed left Fawn and her companions to finish their journey back to Caddo. About an hour before sunset, they arrived at the Boom Hole. Fawn showed Blythe where she had stowed her arrows, and Big Sneed’s automatic rifle and pistol. Blythe was elated at the discovery of Fawn’s hidden weaponry, stating that it would add to their supply for the uprising against the NWA. They loaded the weapons into the ATV and traveled on, until they arrived at her family’s willow tree.
Beneath the shade of the swaying branches — where Wakiza and Stella had drawn their last breaths — Fawn and her companions split two Meals, Ready-to-Eat for supper. Blythe had packed the MREs in his ATV before coming after Fawn. After their meal, Marie, Dean, Basiel, Fenton, and Harland decided to rest their eyes for a bit. Fawn couldn’t bring herself to argue that they should keep moving. Neither could Blythe. Her companions had been through the wringer those last couple of weeks. The least she could do was allow them to rest.
Mounted on Juniper, Fawn kept watch. Leaning against the ATV, Blythe stared off into space, while cradling an automatic rifle. Balancing Wakiza’s spear across her lap, Fawn ran her fingers down the bowstring slanted over her chest.
“Hey, Blythe,” she said, drawing his attention. “When we get back to my uncle’s,” she said and paused, gripping the lance of Wakiza’s spear. “You mind teaching me how to use that rifle?”
“I don’t know how good of a teacher I’d be,” he replied, walking toward her. “But I’ll give it a try.”
Satisfied, Fawn roused her kin to continue their trek through the woods. They traveled well into the night. Fawn and Juniper’s path was illuminated by the pulsing red glow of the ATV’s tail lights. By the second hour, Fawn found herself drifting to sleep on Juniper’s back.
Surrounded by building blocks, Fawn stood in the middle of a young boy’s bedroom, which was bathed in black and white. She tiptoed across the floor littered with dolls made from cornhusks, animals carved from wood, and a horse pull toy. Gran knelt before a small bed in the corner of the room. She pecked along the top of Samuel’s hand as the boy slept. The only things in color were Emma’s copper curls and Samuel’s orangey locks.
“I’m sorry,” Gran whispered, running her fingers through Samuel’s hair as he slept. “I’m here now. I’m yours completely.”
Three gentle taps at the door pulled Fawn and Gran’s focus from the sleeping boy. Fawn’s eyes widened at the sight of Tom poking his head through the doorway. His right eye was puffy and swollen. A wave of sheer panic washed over Gran’s face as she met her estranged husband’s gaze. Fawn couldn’t help but feel sorry for both of her grandparents. The look they shared conveyed to her that they’d had trouble finding their way back to each other after the tragedy of losing a child.
Gran draped a finger across her lips at an angle and joined Tom at the door. She took one last look at Samuel before shutting the door behind her. Fawn passed through the door freely without having to open it. She found her grandparents in the master bedroom.
Gran sat on the edge of their bed. Tom knelt before her.
“I’m sorry,” Tom wept, kissing the tops of her knees. “I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to come back to you after . . . I-I wanted that baby.”
“Oh, I know. I know you did,” Gran whispered, choking back the tears. “You’re here now. And I’m sorry, too. We both lost a child. I-I’m sorry that I didn’t see your pain,” she said and paused, stroking the side of his face. “I’m sorry that I went astray.”
Tom joined Gran on the bed and wrapped her up in his arms.
“No, Emma,” he said, tucking Gran’s copper curls behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I gave you the idea that it was your fault. I’m sorry that I made you feel like I didn’t want you anymore. Because, baby, I,” he said and paused, engulfing Gran’s lips with his. “I very much do.”
Fawn awoke to the sensation of tipping from Juniper’s back. She caught herself just in time. As he drove, Blythe called out from the ATV, asking if she was all right. Fawn gave him a groggy, “yes,” gathering that he must’ve seen her slipping from Juniper’s side in the rearview mirror. A smile formed on Fawn’s face after having witnessed her grandparents’ tear-filled reconciliation.
They arrived outside of Caddo before dawn and rode up to the orchard just as the children inside the house began to stir. Griffin greeted his new guests at the landing of his porch steps.
“The kids just sat down for breakfast,” he told Fawn, as she dismounted. “I’m sure this’ll upset most of them. Seeing that not all their parents made it out alive. Suggestion,” he said and paused, joining Fawn and Blythe at the ATV. “Y’all hang out here while I break the news to them.”
The reunion was bittersweet as most of the children were still without their parents. Fawn, Noelle, Griffin, and Blythe spent the day consoling them and vowed that they’d always be looked after. It didn’t help much, as all the children wanted was the comfort of their actual loved ones. Davlyn tended to her sickly brother, Dean, who took up residence in Fawn’s bedroom on the second floor. It didn’t bother Fawn. She was glad to give it up. She’d relinquish anything to aid her cousin’s healing.
Emotionally drained and exhausted, Fawn sat on the top step of the back porch. The brightness of the moon drowned out the stars. She stared at the ripples over the lake, pondering the lives of the children asleep inside.
Steps from behind her prompted her to peer over her shoulder. Blythe had ditched his boots and button-down shirt. He wore a men’s tank, camouflaged britches, and thick, white socks. The bandage on his bicep needed changing as it was soaked through with blood.
“Nights are getting cooler,” he said, sitting beside her. “But I don’t mind it. I like the cold.”
“Where’re you from?” Fawn asked, turning her body to face his. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Boise, Idaho,” he replied, resting his forearms upon his knees. “The summers there are hot and dry. The winters are brutal, but I’d rathe
r be cold than constantly sweating.”
A breeze rattled the branches of the fruit trees and sent her auburn waves swaying.
“Same here,” Fawn said, savoring the sudden chill.
Fawn followed Blythe’s gaze as he peered upward.
“No stars tonight,” he said and sighed. “Moon’s too bright. Dad and I used to make camp at the base of a mountain. I can still hear the flow of the river curving around it. The stars served as a backdrop for the mountain. We used to,” he said, his voice unsteady. “We’d cook the fish we caught and lay on our backs afterwards, looking up at the stars. Dad liked pointing out the constellations. Those were simpler times. Before we crossed paths with the NWA.”
“Oh, I,” he said, turning to look at Fawn. “I meant to say something earlier. I was sorry to hear about Hunter.”
Flashes of Hunter’s face swept across Fawn’s grieving mind.
“Thank you,” she said, rising from the top step. Tears stung her eyes as she tried holding them back. She shook her head and descended the steps with Blythe trailing close behind her.
“Sorry, I,” Blythe said, grasping her hand as she kept her back turned toward him. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, no,” she interrupted, swiping a finger across her cheek. She searched her brain desperately for a change of subject. She was grateful that Blythe came up with one for her.
“I can start teaching you how to shoot after lunch tomorrow,” he said, letting go of her hand. “If you’re still up for it.”
She smiled, trying to disguise the fact that she had been crying and turned to face him.
“I’d like that,” she replied, scrunching up her nose at his bandaged arm in need of changing. “But let me help you with that before you leave.”
Blythe offered her his arm.
“You better,” he said and laughed. “You’re the one who shot me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
November 15, 2086
Yellow, orange, and red leaves blanketed the ground. Fall had arrived. The cloak Fawn had grown to dislike wearing due to the heaviness of the fabric became a necessity because of the decrease in temperature. She had developed such a deep-seated resentment toward the dead Indian’s spear, she’d stopped toting it around. Wakiza had named Gran the, “next generation’s warrior.” Gran had mentioned it in her memoirs.
Maybe I’m not meant to carry it, Fawn begrudgingly thought.
Maybe a member of her family was destined to bear the weight of Wakiza’s spear. One day, out of curiosity, Fawn had Marie clasp her fingers around the lance. Wakiza’s footprints hadn’t appeared. She didn’t bother testing it out on her nieces and nephews. They were far too young to be burdened with calling Wakiza and his army to arms.
She wanted results. An outcome that ended with the NWA’s immediate demise. After a month and a half, it was clear that she wouldn’t get assistance from Wakiza or his tribesmen. Out of sheer anger, she stowed the spear in the closet at the side of the stairs.
She’d have to square things herself. She began by learning to handle the NWA’s weaponry and acquiring information from Blythe about their ways. Blythe spoke of the chaos and the civil war that had broken out in the Northern states after the solar flare.
A few miles outside Griffin’s orchard, in the thick of the woods, Fawn and Blythe had constructed a gun and archery range. They lined up rows of targets, which Blythe had swiped from Caddo, at specific distances. Targets were also drawn on bales of hay that they stacked at different heights and distances for shooting arrows. They built an awning to practice under during sunny days. Two racks took up the left and right sides under the awning. The rack to the left housed Davlyn and Reesa’s bows, Fawn’s arrows with the red fletching, and her longbow. The rack to the right held Big Sneed and Noelle’s rifles and ammunition.
Big Sneed’s rifle had the same built-in sound suppressor as Noelle’s. The kickback of the rifle took some getting used to. For the first three weeks of Fawn’s training, her shoulder was sore. The bruising on her shoulder from the butt of the rifle had turned a greenish-brown. By the end of October, she’d become a master at target practice. As November rolled around, she and Blythe had decided it was time to try out her newly acquired skill on moving objects. Fawn shot down her first kill from a deer stand Griffin had constructed long before she and her kin had arrived. The eight-point buck she’d killed with Big Sneed’s rifle kept the household fed for several weeks.
During that month and a half, Fawn had learned more than how to handle the weaponry. She also learned what was going on across the lake at Caddo. The ammunition they used to train had been stolen from the NWA’s armory, of which Blythe had been given control. With Big Sneed and Tye gone, Asher had bestowed his last living adopted son with power by promoting Blythe to sergeant.
Along with his new title, Blythe had been given charge of Caddo. Fifteen of the NWA’s soldiers were to follow Blythe’s commands. He limited the duties of these men to either distributing food at the mess hall or training Caddo’s inhabitants to defend themselves. Blythe mentioned to Fawn that if the men were catching on to his plan to turn their teachings against them when the time came, the soldiers didn’t show it. After all, Asher had his men do the same at Stagecoach before Fawn had escaped the pit and loosened two arrows into Clancy’s chest.
Discreetly, Blythe had worked with Laken to hide the children and Fawn’s kin at Griffin’s orchard. He had declared Griffin’s small island off-limits to anyone but himself and Laken. Blythe had lied to his men, saying that Griffin was in bad health. God forbid Griffin take a turn for the worse and slip into an unresponsive state. According to Blythe, old man Griffin needed looking after by a doctor and someone who knew their way around his fruit trees.
During their practice time, Fawn had gotten used to the feel of Blythe’s hand resting in the middle of her back. She didn’t mind it. She found his hand supportive. She imagined it was his way of saying, “I got your back.”
When Fawn had awakened from her coma, her world had been turned upside down — and so had people’s dispositions. She was impressed by Blythe’s ability to deceive his comrades. The tall, skinny insecure boy that had awakened her from a nap to administer the NWA’s so-called, “vaccines,” was long gone. Blythe had developed into a confident, well-toned man with a backside that Fawn gawked at when he walked away. She hated herself for lusting after Blythe. Desiring any man that wasn’t Hunter felt like cheating. Even though he was dead, her heart still belonged to Hunter.
Sometimes, Noelle and Davlyn tagged along with Blythe and Fawn to the target practice area. At twenty-six, Davlyn seemed the ideal woman to attract Blythe’s attention, as did Noelle who’d recently turned eighteen. Both were younger than Fawn’s thirty-two years. When October 31st snuck up on her, Fawn made herself scarce. It was a relief when the household was more concerned with scaring each other than the fact that she had turned another year older.
The grievances Fawn and her kin had suffered had stripped her of her confidence. Self-pity’s winding, never-ending caverns were filled with darkness and bleak convictions — a mindset Fawn couldn’t easily weave her way out of. In fact, she discovered insecurities she’d never known she had. She believed Davlyn and Noelle were ten times more beautiful than she was, with their bright, wrinkle free skin and hair with no sign of grey. However, when they tagged along, it gave Fawn a boost of self-esteem to notice Blythe standing beside them with his hands in his pockets. Not once did he lend a supportive hand to the middle of their backs.
A longing within her had surfaced. One that could only be quenched by physical touch. A distraction from the heartache. A release from self-pity’s dark and twisting tunnels. She’d tried distracting herself from such thoughts by focusing on her training. Not only did Blythe teach her how to operate the NWA’s weaponry, he had begun exhibiting an interest in learning Fawn’s Native American ways.
Fawn had walked Blythe through how to set ground snares and gradually worked her way up to teachi
ng him how to shoot a bow. Lessons with the bow began with a demonstration. She’d nocked the arrow, savoring the smoothness of its shaft and the sensation of her fingers ruffling the red fletching. Her hand had grazed the bottom of her chin as she’d pulled the trigger back to her anchor point. A soft exhale had escaped her heart-shaped lips as she’d set the arrow loose. The drawn-out hiss of the arrow as it spiraled toward its destination prickled Fawn’s skin.
The solid clunk of the arrow hitting the target had brought an adorable side-smile to Blythe’s face. That grin had motivated her to keep firing. Multiple clunks filled the air as she’d connected with seven different targets in succession.
“I have to say, I’m impressed!” Blythe had said, clapping his hands.
“Thanks,” Fawn had replied, handing over her bow. “Your turn.” Tentatively, Blythe had closed his fingers around the bow’s limb and raised his eyes to meet hers.
“It won’t bite,” she’d said, transferring her quiver full of arrows over his back, nodding reassuringly. “Now,” she’d continued, placing her hands on his hips. “Get in the appropriate stance. Your feet need to be parallel with the shooting line and shoulder-width apart.”
“O-okay.”
“Choose an anchor point and stick with it,” she’d said, staring him gravely in the face.
“What’s yours?”
“My fingers touching the corner of my mouth.”
“Nice,” he’d replied, turning the bow over. “That’s what I’ll do, then.”
“It needs to be whatever is most comfortable for you,” she’d said. “Daddy chose the side of his nose. Whatever you do, don’t overthink it. Take steady breaths. Remember, it’s not just your arm that pulls back the trigger. It’s your back muscles as well. Squeeze your shoulder blades together. That way, you know you’re using your back muscles not just your arm and shoulder,” she’d said and paused, taking in Blythe’s overwhelmed, drawn expression. “Shall we begin?”