by Anna Oney
You got what you deserved, she thought, striding past his bloodied form.
Fawn exited the sitting room following a trail of bloody pawprints. The door to the closet at the side of the staircase was wide open. She noticed a hole had been punctured through the side of the stairs from what looked like the doorknob slamming against it. A thought came to her mind as she passed the closet.
Someone must’ve been hiding in there.
She peered inside the closet, noticing that Wakiza’s spear was missing.
She came to the front door, which was also open. Aiming the rifle, she stepped onto the front porch. A battle between the NWA soldiers and her Native American ancestors had ensued. Cardinals dove from the sky, going straight for the soldiers’ eyes. Amongst the chaos, Fawn took in the image of a soldier loading a handcuffed, beaten Blythe into the backseat of an ATV. Griffin lay handcuffed in the carriage. Fawn watched her uncle’s eyes close of their own accord, and then thrust back open.
The back of the soldier’s right calf had been bitten into. Blood coated the bottom of his pant leg. The soldier turned and fired his weapon at a speeding Stella, trying to prevent the dog from running at their ATV. The bullets passed right through Stella, having no effect. The soldier expelled a bloodcurdling scream as Stella jumped at him, sinking her teeth into his neck. The man hit the ground, revealing Asher sitting in the ATV’s driver’s seat. Flinching, Asher stared after Stella as she whipped her jaw left to right, tearing through the soldier’s jugular.
Fawn charged down the front porch steps, firing her weapon, just as Asher turned the key in the ATV’s ignition. The pressure with which Asher pressed the gas pedal jerked the ATV forward, digging its tires deeper into the soggy ground. Griffin toppled from the ATV’s carriage, landing hard on his side. The back tires showered Griffin with mud as the vehicle became unstuck. Asher sped off, swerving around his comrades to escape.
Stella licked the side of Griffin’s face, which was twisted in pain and drenched with sloppy mud. Fawn arrived at her uncle’s lump of a form curled on the ground. Stella growled and barked twice at a soldier running to attack Fawn. Fawn watched as Stella ran out ahead of her and tackled the soldier to the ground, quickly incapacitating him.
Griffin lifted his head slightly from the ground.
“Go,” he said, his eyelids fluttering. “Save Blythe.”
Fawn shot down a soldier striding in their direction, his teeth bared, and rifle raised.
“What about you?” she protested.
Stella arrived at Fawn’s side, slapping Fawn’s back with her tail. Her pristine white coat looked as though it had been dyed red. The dog dipped her snout toward Griffin and stood over him in a protective manner. Fawn nodded and patted the top of Stella’s head, turning her focus to Juniper, who was pulling against her restraints inside the barn.
Fawn weaved and ducked between her ancestors battling it out with the NWA. She came to the barn entrance, shooting down the two soldiers blocking her path. She hopped over their dead bodies and came face-to-face with a bobbing-headed Juniper.
“You ready for another ride, my friend?” she asked, slinging the rifle over her back.
Juniper gave her tail a swish and bowed without Fawn having to whistle. She mounted and grabbed the reins.
“Hee-ya!” she exclaimed, pressing her calves to Juniper’s sides.
They cut through the woods. Fawn was slow in ducking out of the way of a low hanging branch and received a laceration above her brow. Several gallops in, they came up beside Asher, speeding away in his ATV. Fawn’s focus was on Blythe in the backseat. Blood seeped from his ear, making a trail to his jaw. His head drooped on his chest. Asher swerved through the bumpy, muddy terrain. At one point, the ATV tilted as he floored it around a sharp corner, jerking an unconscious Blythe so that he now lay face down on the backseat. The ATV traveled on two wheels before smashing back to the ground.
Fawn managed to get ahead of Asher as he sped through a pothole in the road. She fired at the ATV’s front tires, causing it to spin. It came to a halt when the vehicle’s side collided with a massive pine tree. Fawn came up beside the busted ATV, taking in the image of a whimpering Asher struggling to free himself from the bent metal. Blythe lay unstirred in the backseat. The jolt of the crash had flipped him onto his back, exposing his broken nose.
Fawn grimaced at the blood from Blythe’s nose staining his shirt and dismounted. She aimed her rifle, just as Asher had managed to free himself from the wreckage. He hit the muddy ground, squealing at the sight of his busted knee. Fawn placed her finger on the trigger.
“It was my Oleander,” Asher sobbed, holding up his hands. “It was Crane.”
“What was Crane?” she asked, itching to pull the trigger.
“Aunt Fawn?” a girl’s voice came from behind her.
A wave of relief passed through Fawn upon recognizing her eldest niece’s voice.
“I—” Reesa began.
“Reesa, baby,” Fawn interrupted, waving a hand over her shoulder. “Come up beside me. I don’t want to take my eyes off the Commander, here.”
Fawn heard not one, but two sets of feet sloshing through a puddle. Asher’s unnerved, drawn gaze switched between two people coming up beside Fawn. Reesa’s copper waves stood out in Fawn’s peripheral vision, along with another person’s raven colored hair. Fawn’s flesh was pricked as Reesa and whomever she traveled with stepped fully into view.
Clasped tightly in Reesa’s hand was their family heirloom. Blood ran down the sides of the spear. A broad-shouldered, Native American man stood beside her niece. He wore beaded moccasins, tanned leggings, and a breechcloth, with furs draped over his shoulders. Secured across his chest were the bowstring of his recurve bow and the strap of a quiver of arrows upon his back.
“Wakiza?” Fawn asked, lowering the rifle. Her eyes followed his swift movements as he snatched a quivering Asher up off the ground.
“Yes,” Wakiza replied, tightening his grip on Asher’s arm.
“Reesa,” Fawn said, looking to her niece. “You’re the one.”
“The one?” Reesa cut back. “The one, what?”
“The next generation’s warrior,” Wakiza interjected. “Victory is ours. The battle for Griffin’s orchard has ended.” He jerked a limping Asher forward, who then cried out in pain. “Do with him as you wish.”
“Puh-please,” Asher sobbed, stretching his arm out to Fawn. “It was Crane who convinced me to drop the Red Rain on your people. Oleander Crane! The woman has a hold over me.”
“I have to admit,” Fawn said, tipping her head to the side. “This is mighty disappointing. You sure did build yourself up to be this stone-cold, killing-at-will commander. You’re nothing but a sniveling coward, aren’t you?”
“Y-y-ye-yes,” he wept, burying his face in his hands. “Puh-please. I’ll do anything.”
“All right,” she replied, stepping closer to him. “We’ll take you back to my uncle’s and there,” she said, directing the barrel of the rifle toward his undamaged knee, “you’ll tell me more about this Oleander Crane or I’ll take out your other knee.”
Fawn guarded Asher as Wakiza carried Blythe from the wreckage and mounted Juniper. Griffin’s orchard was only a mile away. Fawn and Reesa walked on either side of Asher, ready to take the Commander down if need be. Wakiza, with an unconscious Blythe leaning back into his chest, trotted on Juniper alongside Reesa.
“Wakiza,” Fawn said, breaking the silence. “Reesa . . . she-she’s only a child. That spear is a foot and a half taller than she is.”
“And?” he said, peering in her direction.
“How can you ask this of her?” she asked, nudging Asher’s back with the barrel of the rifle. “I’m completely prepared to take on the burden of this, ah, this next generation’s warrior.”
“I can handle it,” Reesa cut in, widening her eyes at Fawn. Stop it, she mouthed in her aunt’s direction. “Please . . .”
“You have been Reesa’s mentor, Fawn,�
� Wakiza said. “The girl’s destiny was set in motion the day she released that arrow into Big Sneed’s back to save your life. There is no going back.”
***
The sun sank slowly, bathing Griffin’s orchard in a blood-red light, making the massacre of Asher’s men appear almost beautiful. They tied Asher to a tree beside the barn and took in the view of his bloodied, deceased men’s bodies littering the ground. The fletching of arrows stuck out from the men’s backs and chests. Some had suffered stab wounds. Others were missing scalps.
Fawn watched two of Wakiza’s warriors escort a trembling Fenton with a busted lip from the woods. The severed ropes that had bound him dangled from his wrists as they cleared Griffin’s front porch steps. The snap of a twig returned Fawn’s gaze to the edge of the woods. Another warrior carried Harland’s lifeless body from the canopy of trees. The warrior gently lay Harland on the ground by the dock and began to dig a grave. The NWA had callously shot him in the back of the head.
Thirty of Wakiza’s tribesmen busied themselves with collecting the dead soldiers’ weaponry and ammunition. They piled it all on Griffin’s porch. A young woman Fawn recognized from behind the veil as Ayita, patched up Griffin’s wounds as they sat together on his porch swing. Alert, Stella stood beside Griffin with a straight tail and stiff ears pointed upward.
“Ayita is a remarkable nurturer and healer,” Wakiza said, dragging an unconscious Blythe from Juniper’s back. “She’ll have your uncle fit to defend his home in no time.”
Tied to the tree, Asher confessed that after Big Sneed had found Tye’s remains by the creek, he had been on the fence about dispensing the Red Rain. But when he and his men had found Big Sneed’s body and transmitted the news to Crane over the radio, she’d become revengeful. She’d told Asher that Big Sneed had been a loyal son to him and a good friend to her — that they couldn’t let that stand. Asher explained that he’d found Crane’s reaction odd, as she’d had a different response to Tye’s death. In fact, she’d brushed it off, saying that Tye wasn’t much of a soldier anyway.
Davlyn, Dean, Marie, Noelle, and the children returned to Griffin’s orchard two hours past sunset. Joy’s hand slid through the veil, creating another passageway in the sitting room. Thankfully, for the children’s sake, Wakiza’s tribesmen had already removed Stella’s first victim from the rug, as well as disposed of the twenty dead soldiers outside. The children smelled of sweets and dough. Powdered sugar from the funnel cakes stained the corners of their mouths. The only hint that something had gone horribly wrong at the orchard was the blood of Stella’s victim soaked into the rug before the fireplace.
Stella rejoined Joy from outside and slapped her thigh with a wagging tail. Before Fawn could drill Joy about her aunt or uncle that Gran had buried under the willow tree, Joy spoke up.
“I’ve convinced a good number of the army of The Faultless to join in the fight against the NWA,” she said, smiling up at Fawn. “Including,” she whispered, stepping backward behind the veil with Stella, “your son Joshua.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
December 12, 2086
Thanksgiving came and went with little celebration. The twenty-seven days that followed the fight for Griffin’s orchard were filled with preparing for the next battle. With help from Wakiza and his tribesmen, they had reclaimed Caddo. Laken swore her allegiance to the deceased Native and confessed to Fawn that she was forever grateful for their assistance.
Wakiza had created a barrier around Caddo that stretched over the lake to Griffin’s orchard. It resembled a cocoon. Its walls were transparent and silky to the touch. The children weren’t capable of passing through the barrier without an adult. Fawn had noticed that when Wakiza felt threatened, the walls developed a cloudy sheen, preventing foes from spying on the community.
Wherever Reesa went, Wakiza would follow. Basiel’s eagerness to be near Reesa couldn’t be warded off by Wakiza’s constant presence. Reesa and Basiel took advantage of Wakiza’s survival skills, soaking up the Native’s teachings like sponges.
The Commander was kept guarded and locked in at all times in a section of the barn they’d turned into a holding cell. Fawn had gotten word over Asher’s radio that Oleander Crane had arrived at Stagecoach after learning of the Commander’s downfall. Crane had taken charge of the NWA, plunging Asher into a deeper state of depression. There had been no negotiations or attempts to retrieve Asher when Fawn had communicated that he was alive. The Commander had learned a harsh reality — his well-being wasn’t his lover’s top priority.
The beatings Blythe had taken to his head had left him with a mild concussion. Fenton had stepped in, putting his late father’s teachings to use. He had reduced Blythe’s activity and monitored him closely. Blythe lay in the same bed in which Fawn and Dean had recuperated. After the second day, Blythe had complained of dizziness and nausea. The only form of sustenance he’d been able to keep down was the chicken broth Fawn had spoon-fed him daily. By the sixth day, his pain had decreased to a moderate headache. The ringing in his ears had ceased and his balance was restored. Fawn was relieved to see him ingest solid foods without asking for the puke bucket afterward.
When Blythe became well enough, Fawn spoke to him about Asher’s allegations against Crane. He’d been quick to reply that Crane had been pulling Asher’s strings since they’d become a couple.
Fawn had made the decision to attack Stagecoach and strike a hard blow at the NWA’s cunning new leader. Fawn and Blythe decided to ambush Stagecoach in four groups, charging at the community from all sides. Blythe planned to use the explosives the NWA had left behind at Caddo to blow open Stagecoach’s front and back entrances.
The children were to stay protected behind the barrier with Marie and Caddo’s elders, who would be sitting out the fight. Laken had gathered twenty of her finest shots with a bow — fourteen of them women — to ambush Stagecoach. Blythe and Fawn had assembled ten of Caddo’s men, who had been trained by the NWA to use their weaponry and taught twelve women how to use their automatic rifles. Davlyn and Dean had spent three weeks training thirteen of Caddo’s volunteers — who were already skilled with a bow — in hand-to-hand combat and the swiftest ways to incapacitate their opponents with anything in reach. Wakiza served as Reesa’s advisor. He and his tribesmen were at her disposal as the fourth group.
Fawn had expressed her concern about Reesa’s involvement in the fight to her ancestor.
“No harm will come to the girl as long as I am by her side,” Wakiza had assured her, resting a palm on Fawn’s shoulder. “And I will never leave her side. That, I promise you.”
Fenton had spent those twenty-seven days passing on his father’s teachings to Noelle, who had volunteered to serve as his assistant, helping the wounded during or after the battle. Because Noelle had experience with the NWA’s weaponry, she would also help Griffin — who had made a swift recovery — protect Fenton during the fighting.
One night, over dinner, Fawn, Blythe, and Griffin had discussed what should be done with the Commander. Blythe and Griffin wanted the man dead. Fawn surprised herself by not agreeing with them. Her wish wasn’t the Commander’s immediate execution, but his redemption. Asher was a sinner and a child of God, just like Fawn and her kinsmen. In her mind, everyone was entitled to absolution if they admitted their sins and put their best foot forward.
The day following their discussion, Fawn sat on a stool outside of Asher’s cell in the barn. Cowering in the corner of his cell, Asher had confessed his sins to Fawn. He even went as far as filling Fawn in on his backstory.
Growing up in his father’s regime, Asher had had one goal in life, and that had been to make his father proud. After President Treemont’s assassination, the second casualty had been Asher’s mother. Cdr. Richard Asher had shown his young son his mother’s dead body. The commander had strangled his wife to death for not adopting his views as her own. He had then brainwashed his son into thinking that his mother had had it coming. That any woman who didn’t submit deser
ved a similar — or worse — fate.
Asher strove to be the man his father wanted him to be. The only time he’d seen his father smile had been when he’d committed egregious wrongs — segregating the blacks, ostracizing and mistreating women, or killing and torturing those who didn’t agree with his father’s views. So, what did Asher do? He had continued to sin to gain his father’s love and approval, and, by doing so, Asher had begun to hate himself.
Asher was the product of a demented upbringing. Someone with whom Fawn had nothing in common because she’d been blessed with exceptional parents. Parents who had taught her the word of God, the value of life, and the importance of aiding those who could not do for themselves.
“I wish I had seen my father for what he was,” Asher said, picking a straw from the floorboards and tossing it to the side. “An evil man who got off on watching people suffer. A couple of years after Dad died, I started to step back from his views. But then,” he said and paused, shaking his head as he looked at the ceiling. “Oleander Crane came into my life. My desire to please switched from my father to that woman.”
He bit his bottom lip, clenching his fists on top of his knees.
“Your uncle is right. The NWA is nothing but a cult.” He lifted his gaze to meet Fawn’s. “I’ll join you at Stagecoach if you’ll have me.”
She leaned forward on the stool, resting her elbows on her thighs.
“You do understand,” she replied. “I’m not going there to make friends. My mission is to stop Crane by any means. The soldiers who fold during the fight will be shown mercy. A kindness I’m certain the NWA will not show my people.”
“No,” he replied, peering upward from the floor. “They won’t.” He leaned back against the wall. “The NWA are too many. Crane is smart and cunning. I made the mistake of giving her power in Austin. She enjoys killing. Let me help you.”
“Here’s the thing,” she said, rising from the stool. “You could just be telling me what I want to hear.” She closed her fingers around one of the cool bars of the cell. “I believe that if we were to take you along, you’d either bolt or give away our position.”