by Anna Oney
“I was just curious as to what he did to piss them off.”
“He started out by sneaking off to provide those the NWA considered enemies with medical care and supplies. It escalated to him providing them with weaponry and teaching them how to shoot.”
“Your father sounds like one hell of a man,” she said, squeezing her knees to her chest. “I wish I could’ve known him. I’m sorry they did that to him . . . and to you.”
“Seeing my father executed changed me forever. A day I’ll never forget. It’s seared into my memory.” He held his hands out before the fire, shaking his head. “What about you?” he asked, raising his brow. “You have any life changing experiences?”
“I can’t talk about it,” she replied, adjusting her cloak. “But it took me nearly six years before I could trust or even look at another man that wasn’t Daddy.” She stared at the pulsing flames of the fireplace, remembering her screams, which no one heard. “I always considered those years to be a broken time.” She fiddled with her hands perched on top of her knees. “Turns out,” she said, looking at Blythe, her eyes swelling with tears, “I’ve never been so wrong. There’s no time more broken than the present.”
Fawn added another piece of wood to the fire. The dancing flames illuminated the lines of concern that creased Blythe’s forehead. She pressed her forehead to her knees, feeling the weight of Blythe’s palm on her shoulder as he scooted closer to her.
“Whatever happens,” he said, making circles on her back. “We’ll make it right.”
“You know, Blythe,” she whispered, gracing him with a wavering smile. “I believe you. I’ve worked tirelessly not to let what happened to me define who I am. After the attack, the first man I trusted that wasn’t Daddy was Hunter . . . and n-now,” she stammered and blinked, dispatching tears down her face. “It’s you.”
The attraction between their souls was stifling, but her heart still belonged to Hunter. No one could replace him. Not even a handsome medic who’d saved her life. The fireplace popped and fizzed before them, just like the flames within them. Her sapphire eyes burned through the twirling embers that drifted above the blaze.
Blythe brought his fingers beneath her chin and guided her gaze to his.
“Do you know how hard it is for me not to kiss you right now?” he asked.
She lifted her skirt and crawled onto his lap, straddling him. She peered into his hazel eyes, stroking the side of his face.
“Well, then,” she said. “Don’t try so hard, but Blythe,” she whispered, tracing his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb. “I can’t harp on it enough. My heart isn’t up for grabs.”
Blythe took Fawn’s hand from the side of his face and pecked her palm.
“Your heart is what I want,” he replied, staring up at her. “But right now, in this light,” he whispered, moving her auburn waves from blocking half her face. “I want you more than ever.”
Blythe gave Fawn one small kiss on her lips then pulled away in an instant.
“Are you sure?” he asked, resting his palms on her thighs.
Fawn joined their lips more fiercely than he had. Through traumatic events, she and Blythe had misplaced a part of themselves, as well as buried people who were dear to them. They had a connection as they’d both experienced the worst kind of pain. Right then, Fawn was in search of relief and felt that Blythe was, too.
He unbuttoned her blouse and kissed along her bare shoulder, still bruised from the kickback of the rifle. Through her rattled, euphoric breaths, Fawn’s entire body trembled. Blythe lowered his body onto hers and kissed her again.
Their bodies seemed to melt together as one.
***
Bathed in firelight, Fawn lay bare-breasted on her side, staring at Gran’s picture. Blythe was asleep beside her, his arm draped over the curve of her waist. Her hooded cloak and skirt kept their lower halves covered. The heat from the fireplace kept the cabin at a comfortable temperature. She wondered if it was Griffin who had taken this photo of Gran all those years ago. The image had to have been captured long before the solar flare had sent them back to the Stone Age.
“You up?” Blythe whispered against Fawn’s bare shoulder. “Sounds like the storm’s calmed down.”
“It does,” she replied, turning to face him. “We need to get dressed and find the others. The sun will be rising any minute.”
He wrapped his arms around her, brushing his lips against her neck.
“Leave,” he grumbled. “I never want to leave this cabin.”
“Yes, well,” she said, patting the side of his face. “Keep your whining to a minimum and get your britches on.”
After they finished dressing, Fawn and Blythe put out the fire and folded up the tarp. They guided their horses through the opening in the cabin. As far as Fawn could see, the ground was blanketed by hardened snow. She and her siblings used to enjoy making the first tracks in the snow when they were children.
The temperature had dropped considerably. She was hardly able to keep her hands from shaking. The air chapped her face and cut through her knuckles as they clutched Juniper’s reins.
They rode for roughly three hours. Fawn exhaled, puffing out steam. Peering ahead, she flexed her hands and shook them. Her anxiety was piqued by a figure hanging from a pine tree about one-hundred yards away.
“Hold up,” she whispered, tugging at Juniper’s reins. “I see something.”
The figure swayed with the wind, bending the branch. Fawn remembered passing by that very tree, with its jutting, close-knit branches that stretched to the bottom of the trunk. The pine trees surrounding it had branches that stopped at least ten feet from the ground. There hadn’t been a figure hanging from the tree the day before.
Fawn slung her automatic rifle from her shoulder and turned the safety off.
“Tell me that’s not what I think it is,” she whispered, resting her finger an inch above the trigger. “Tell me that’s not a body hanging from that tree.”
She squinted to focus clearly. The person that hung from the tree was unrecognizable, the face swollen to a pulp. The eyes bulged from their sockets and the neck had been broken from strangulation. It was the figure’s icy blonde waves blowing in the wind that sent Fawn’s stomach turning.
Noelle . . .
Blythe’s gaze followed Fawn’s perturbed one.
“Shit,” he said, cradling his automatic rifle. “It is.”
Adrenaline at its max, Fawn barely felt the sting of the cold. An urge to flee flowed through her veins like the creek after a heavy rainfall. Tentatively, she looked to her left and right. A shot rang out, slapping her eardrums. She caught Blythe raising his hand below the right side of his collarbone out of her peripheral vision. From that first glance, Fawn knew he had been wounded, though he didn’t utter a word. The look on his face spoke volumes.
“Blythe!”
His mouth fell open, expelling a rattled breath. Blood seeped between his fingers as he tipped from his horse’s side. Fawn reached for him, grabbing hold of his forearm. His weight dragged her from Juniper’s back. They hit the ground, making a solid crunch in the hardened snow behind the trunk of a massive pine tree. More shots were fired, grazing Blythe’s left thigh, which stuck out from around the tree. Fawn managed to get him fully behind cover as the enemy turned the bark at the front of the tree into splinters and dust. Their horses bolted in the opposite direction of the gunshots, kicking up snow.
Fawn removed the hooded cloak from her back and balled up the material. She pressed it to Blythe’s wounds and placed his hands over the fabric.
“Keep pressure on them,” she said, noticing his blood had soaked through the sleeves of her blouse.
“Fawn, I—” he began, his eyes rolling backwards.
“Stay with me,” she said, lightly slapping the side of his face until his eyes refocused.
She turned and fired a volley of shots from behind the tree. A voice called out, halting her finger from pulling back the trigger.
“We have your people!” the man shouted. “Come on out!”
There was a nasally tone to the man’s voice. It reminded Fawn of the soldier who had shoved her when she’d tried visiting Hunter the day she’d been cast from Back Wood.
Fawn resumed her assault on the NWA, firing off her weapon. The butt of the rifle steadily bumped her shoulder, until she heard a click. She had run out of ammunition. She snatched Blythe’s rifle from the ground beside her. It jammed on the sixth shot, rendering the firearm useless. She guided her bow over her shoulder, grazing the tip of her nose with the bowstring. Taking a deep breath, she peered around the tree.
Eight soldiers clothed in white hooded uniforms had stepped out from behind the trees that surrounded Noelle’s swaying body. Their uniforms meshed well with the wintry landscape. She nocked an arrow. The NWA shot more rounds into the front of the tree that she crouched behind with Blythe. A lump in her throat surfaced as she realized they were sitting ducks. Hopeless.
The shooting stopped, and the man spoke again.
“Commander Crane supplied us with Austin’s tracker monitor. We’ll locate the rest of your people in no time!”
“Fawn, I . . . ” Blythe began again.
Fawn got on her knees, pulling the trigger back to her anchor point. She guided the arrowhead swiftly around the tree, releasing it into the nearest man’s chest. The seven remaining soldiers continued shooting at the tree, screaming obscenities. The booming of the NWA’s firearms ceased. The same clicking that she had experienced minutes ago came from behind the tree. Without marveling over how seven firearms could jam at the same time, Fawn nocked another arrow.
Blythe lay his hand, slicked with blood, upon her knee, drawing her attention. His other hand, which had been applying pressure to his wounds, lay limp on her cloak, which was now soaked through with blood.
“I-” he said, his face pale and drawn. “I-I want you to know,” he whispered and paused, taking a labored breath. “I always knew.”
Blythe’s words pricked Fawn’s skin, standing the hairs at the back of her neck on end. Her mind drifted to that day she’d nearly lost her life at the hands of Big Sneed.
“That, baby doll,” her great granddaddy Doolie had said, leading her down a dimly lit hall of distant whispers behind the veil, “is what we call the room of Forewarning. Sometimes we get a glimpse of a person’s fate and the key players it affects. We project said fate onto those people it ultimately impacts as a warning for things to come. Some people ignore the warning altogether, while others take heed. It all depends on the main players’ level of intuition.”
“So,” she’d replied, peering over her shoulder as they passed by the door. “These warnings . . . they appear as regular people?”
“Correct. We have no control over what the projection says or feels. Once the owner of the projection’s destiny is fulfilled it ceases to exist.”
“Forewarning,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
The scarred blind man, she thought, envisioning the day he’d arrived at Back Wood’s front gate.
Blythe’s hand fell from her knee, immersing itself in the snow.
“Go,” he whimpered.
A soft crunch in the snow prompted Fawn to peer over her shoulder. A cardinal had landed behind them and flapped its wings. In half a second the bird took flight and darted past them. She turned on her knees and peeked around the tree. The cardinal had grown considerably larger than its normal size. Silence spread throughout the soldiers. The men backed away, staring upward at the magnificent creature in awe mixed with fear. Chills ran up and down her spine as the cardinal spread its massive wings. Two flaps of its cherry red feathers sent the soldiers flying forty feet backward, colliding with the trees they’d used as cover.
Fawn guided her bow over her back and secured the trigger across her chest. She grasped Blythe’s arm and draped it over her shoulders to pry him from the ground.
“No,” he said, fighting her efforts with what strength he could muster. “Go . . . I’ll slow you down. They’ll be back on their feet shortly.”
“I won’t leave you,” she cut back, unaware of the tears forming in her eyes. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he replied, sinking back into the hardened snow. “And you will. They won’t kill me,” he said, grimacing. “Not here. They’ll take me to Stagecoach. Get to the others before they do. Warn them.”
“But, Blythe—” she began.
“I-I always knew,” he said again, gracing her with a wavering smile. “The cardinal made sure of that. I don’t regret a thing.” He squeezed her hand tight. “Go . . .”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Fawn had no choice but to follow Blythe’s wishes as the cardinal abandoned them. She remembered Joshua’s words at the dock.
“Father’s limited our involvement in the fight, but we’ll be able to help y’all some.”
She wondered if the same rules applied to this cardinal spirit. She willed herself not to look back as she scrambled to her feet and sprinted in front of the tree . . . and Blythe. She knew she’d never see him again. At least, not in the way she wanted to. The NWA planned to make an example of him. Whatever their plans, she prayed the consequences of his betrayal would be swift.
Burdened with sorrow over leaving Blythe behind and Noelle’s death, Fawn set her sights forward. The salt in her tears stung at her chapped cheeks as she distanced herself from the NWA’s clutches. Nearly two hours passed before she found Juniper roaming aimlessly through the woods. Blythe’s horse was nowhere in sight. Juniper stomped the ground with her front hooves when she saw Fawn.
So many thoughts rushed through her mind as she mounted Juniper. The soldier had said that they’d captured her people. Her thoughts went straight to Griffin and Fenton. Going back for them was out of the question. She had to look forward not backward. She, Davlyn, and Reesa were the only people the tracker monitor could not detect. At least they had that on their side.
Fawn took Gran’s picture from her pocket and studied the image. She breathed out, closing her eyes.
“I’m strong, right, Gran?” she asked, opening her eyes. She patted Juniper’s neck and kissed Gran’s image before sliding the picture back in her pocket.
As they trotted forward, she imagined Gran replying, “That’s right. Stronger than most.”
***
The cold air began to affect her as the adrenaline wore off. Every time she breathed, her chest tightened. Taking in the chill, dry air caused her to wheeze and cough. She’d left her hooded cloak with Blythe back at the tree. Exposed, she was now at the mercy of the elements.
There was no sign that the NWA had followed her. After the second hour, she figured she would’ve heard from them by then if they had. She headed to the cabin where she and Blythe had spent a blissful night together to search for supplies. It had been a hunting cabin, after all. She figured she was bound to scrounge up something to use against the NWA.
She tied Juniper’s reins outside the cabin. Near the back of the failing structure, tucked behind the jutting branches of the tree, she found a cedar chest with a concave, cracked lid. It took some strength to pry it open. Once she had, her eyes lit up. A hatchet, similar to her father’s, lay at the bottom of the chest. Beside the hatchet was a folded, crocheted, sleeveless pullover designed to keep a person’s core temperature warm. Beneath the pullover were thirty arrows bundled together by a stretch of rope, adding to her ammunition.
She admired the fine stitching of the pullover as she guided it over her chest. To keep her arms from being exposed, she situated the blanket she and Blythe had slept on over her shoulders and biceps, covering her back as well. She tucked the excess material under the belt around her waist to keep the fabric secure. Calling herself ready, she fed the handle of the hatchet through the belt at her hip.
Blythe had said to get to the others before the NWA. She figured the nearest group would be Laken’s. Davlyn and Dean’s had taken the route around the lake, so th
ey’d end up near Stagecoach’s rear entrance. To locate Dean and Davlyn’s group, she’d have to return to Griffin’s orchard and go around the lake. Reesa was safe with Wakiza and his tribesmen as the tracker monitor could not detect them.
Fawn and Juniper headed off in the general direction of Laken’s group, praying she’d find them soon. She gnawed on a slice of deer jerky as they entered their fourth hour of searching. A sliver of dried meat caught in her throat when she realized how close they were to Lacing Switch road. She knew they’d cover more ground if they followed the road, rather than avoiding it.
As they trotted alongside the road, harrowing memories of that fateful night resurfaced. The hollowed out remains of the traffic jam, now covered in snow, made the scenery of Fawn’s nightmare appear almost mystical and serene. That is, until she realized these vehicles would be perfect for someone to hide behind. The NWA’s wintry camouflaged uniforms would be impossible for her to spot, as she’d been easily ambushed by them roughly six hours ago.
Fawn pressed her calves to Juniper’s sides, prompting the horse to speed up. Several gallops in, Juniper slowed her pace. Fawn leaned forward, curious as to why her closest friend had halted their progress down the road. They’d ridden up on the very spot where she’d been assaulted. That day, thirteen years ago, she’d been too exhausted to bother setting her normal trigger traps to wake her if someone approached. Had she done what she was supposed to, she would’ve had the jump on her rapist. One simple mistake had caused her so much grief.
The ground was covered in snow, except for the place where she had lain attempting to recover from the vicious attack. A perfect outline of her curled form on the ground, between two hollowed out vehicles, prompted her to dismount.
Fawn brought her chilled, stiff fingers to the outline, and then immediately jerked them back. The outline had transformed into her eight-year-old self, peering upward from the ground. The bitter wind grated against the rusty vehicles surrounding them, casting the girl’s auburn waves behind her shoulders. The young girl pressed her palms to the split pavement littered with pine needles and sticks, lifting herself slightly from the ground.