“Midnight,” I say. “We want to make it to town well before dawn.”
“Sounds like it’s going to be another long night.” My stomach clenches at the sound of her voice. I expected to hear it long before now, but that does nothing to numb my worry. I chance a look at my father, her words the boot that crushes him. We would both keep her from this if we could, but I know there will be no doing so. My sister is stubborn as they come, nearly impossible to sway from the decisions she makes. Still, I must try.
“This isn’t something you should be a part of, Em,” I say, her eyes flashing dangerously at the statement. “With town the way it is, we have to keep things quick and quiet. It should just be us three. Less moving parts, less to worry about.”
“First off, you don’t have to worry about me: I can take care of myself,” she says. “Second, you two aren’t the only people who care about Felix.” She rolls up her sleeve and shows the deep scar she received on the trail. “When I was lying helpless, gripped in fever dreams from an infection, where was Felix?” Her stare is piercing. First on me, and then on Leon. “He was with you two. Risking his life to save mine. I haven’t forgotten. So if I can help him now, nothing either of you says is going to keep me from doing so.”
I nod, accepting what I should have accepted the moment I heard her voice. Besides, she makes a valid argument. My father must feel the same, for he makes no further attempt to convince her to stay. As much as he may hate her choice, he accepts it. With that squared away, I now force myself to face the girl I’ve been avoiding since I broke the news. The moment her eyes meet mine I know she has decided. The words she speaks are for the benefit of everyone else.
“If you go, I go,” Lauren says.
I don’t reply. Don’t argue. I stay still and silent, wishing I could change her mind if I just stared into her eyes long enough. The promise I made to her comes back to me, as I feel it is destined to do so time and again in moments such as this. I thought I knew then what I was promising. I was a fool. I could never have guessed it would be this difficult to keep. This isn’t lost on her either. I can see it buried in her eyes: a soft, almost apologetic glint, as if she knows exactly how difficult her decision is for me to accept. Perhaps she does.
“I know,” I finally say. I tear my eyes away from her and look around the room once more. The faces of those I love stare back at me, tense, worried. I wish I could say something, do something to alleviate their concern. More than that, I wish I didn’t have to leave them, not now that things are finally looking up for us. But it’s the way it has to be.
“You may not agree with what we go to do,” I say. “That’s ok. But please know, I didn’t make my decision lightly. Everything I do is for this family. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t believe this was the best choice for all of us.”
Slowly the kitchen empties. Both mine and Leon’s parents stay with us, as do Ray and Grace. The time passes quietly as we prepare for tomorrow: sorting food, loading bullets, discussing our options once we reach town. Felix joins us eventually, eyes red, voice hoarse. His aunt took the news worse than my father. It’s not difficult to see why. Her husband left this farm in search for his family as well. For weeks she hoped, prayed, waited until the night she and Rob were forced to flee. Now Felix intends to do the same. The fear that she might lose him too must be overwhelming. We can’t let that happen.
Conversations fall silent as I enter the living room, the subject of our departure clearly being discussed. I pay it no mind. I’ve already said all I can on the subject. Avoiding eye contact, I force a smile and enter the small bedroom in the hallway beyond. Inside is our armory, each weapon and bullet meticulously counted and sorted by Richard.
“We need another three-hundred rounds each of the 5.56 and 9mm,” I tell him as he enters the room behind me. “It’s a lot, I know, but we might need it if things go south.”
He brushes the numbers aside. “Take what you need,” he says. “I’m not here to monitor you.”
Strange. I know he’s against this move of ours. Why then is he so willing to let another six-hundred rounds of ammo walk out this door without opposition? Stranger still is the stare he fixes me with. These past months, dozens of emotions have filled his eyes as he’s looked at me, most falling somewhere between hostile and mocking. This is different. He looks troubled, concerned even. I don’t know what to make of it.
“Is it to tell me that I’m making a mistake, then?” I ask. “That only a fool would take a risk like this?”
He shakes his head. “No, Morgan. I understand Felix is like a brother to you. I know you can’t turn your back on that.” He pauses, searching my face in quiet calculation. I wait for him to continue, more curious than ever to his appearance.
“We’ve had our differences, you and I,” he says. “No sense in pretending we haven’t. And I’ll admit, a lot of that was on me. There were times I couldn’t stand you. I hated how outspoken you were, how much you challenged me. I hated the sway you had over the others—the way they looked at you, listened to you. I thought I had everything figured out better than you did, that I alone knew what was best for us, and that you were just an obstacle standing in my way. But I was wrong, I see that now. I learned that after what happened with TJ.
“It wasn’t your fault, what happened, but I was happy to let you believe so—happy to seize the opportunity to discredit you while you beat yourself up over it. I don’t know if it was because of guilt or stress or whatever, but you stopped challenging, stopped speaking your mind. It’s like you were just going through the motions, determined to keep your head down and mouth shut. Truth be told, I wasn’t all that concerned; it’s what I had wanted since the start of this after all. But things didn’t fall into place like always thought they would. And the further you retreated into yourself, the worse things became.
“Then the whole situation with Mitch happened, and as ugly as all that was, it seemed to snap you out of whatever it was you were dealing with. And what you said to everyone after he left, about family being everything? It was exactly what we needed to hear to begin the healing between us. You made that happen, not me.”
He sweeps his hand about the room. “Everything we have, everything we’ve built, we’ve done together, as a family. But you and I both know this is far from over. If this family’s going to survive the long haul, we need you at the center of things—engaging, innovating, leading. I realize that now, accept it. I need you to do the same.”
I’m lost for words. Never would I have expected Richard to admit even half of what he just did. It’s not his way. But when I look back on the past couple weeks, things begin clicking in place. The lack of hostility, the respect that has grown between us. Suddenly it all makes sense.
“That’s why you came with us to the ranch,” I say. I always knew there had to be a reason, a motive for his involvement. And now I know that reason.
He nods. “You were hellbent on going,” he says. “Didn’t matter that you had no clue what waited for you, I knew there was no stopping you then, just like I know there’s no stopping you now. I also knew what it would do to the family if the five of you rushed off and never came back. Joining you was the only way I knew how to help you.”
There’s no reason for him to lie to me right now. I know that. But what he’s just confessed is difficult for me to wrap my head around. Had I not heard it first hand, I might not believe it.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Richard says. “Just understand that I’m telling you this for a reason. When you leave for town tomorrow, make it mean something. Follow every lead, act on every hunch, flip the town upside down if you have to. Find them. Save them if you can. Just be sure you take care of yourselves first. We still have too much work to do, too many things to accomplish. This family still needs you. So whatever happens, you get your ass back here. Understand?”
It’s in this moment that the magnitude of wh
at we’re facing fully hits me. All this time I’ve been focused on the obstacles, the dangers. What fear I’ve felt has been for the lives of those who’ll accompany me, for the fate of those we search for. But there’s so much more at play. So many factors, so many variables, so many lives intertwined in this vast, cosmic web. I can’t lose sight of that.
“Understood,” I say. He searches my eyes for a long moment, more piercing and intense than he ever has. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a knife sheathed in leather.
“I’m fourth generation military,” he says. “Did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” I admit.
“This was my great-grandfather’s, issued to him during the first world war,” he says, unsheathing it. It’s a simple blade, thin and wickedly sharp, the handle bound in leather the same shade of brown as the sheath. “Four generations it’s been in my family, passed from father to son. My grandfather carried this knife as he charged the beach of Normandy. My father carried it for over a decade in the jungles of Vietnam. Twenty-two years of service I gave my country. Tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. I handled this knife every single day during that span.
“I always imagined I might give this to my own son one day. As it is, I was blessed with daughters, and after my wife passed, I knew that day would never come. Since then, I’ve raised my girls the best I knew how. Tried to teach them how to be independent, self-reliant. They’re strong, both of them. But the thought of this knife in either of their hands makes me sick to my stomach. I can only pray they never know the burdens the men who’ve carried it have endured. Which is why I’m having this conversation with you, and not them.”
I’m stunned, understanding now what he intends. To admit the things he did earlier is one thing. This is quite another.
“For over one-hundred years this knife has been in my family. I won’t see that tradition broken. You may not be blood, but you are family; may not be military, but you know what it means to fight for something bigger than yourself. If I can’t give this knife to my own son, I will at least have it passed into the hands of a man strong enough to carry it.”
He extends the blade to me, handle first. I take it into my possession carefully, the weight of its history impossible to ignore. Pressure builds behind my eyes, stunned he would give me an heirloom that means so much to him.
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s an honor, truly. I only hope I can carry it as well as those who did before me.” I’m not sure I deserve this knife, but I will not insult him by questioning his decision. If I know one thing, it’s that it wasn’t made lightly.
I extend my hand to shake and he clasps it in a tight grasp. “You’ll do fine, Morgan,” he says. “I wouldn’t have given it to you if I didn’t believe that.”
Chapter 21: (Lauren)
“I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be fine...Just promise me you’ll keep yourself safe.”
Grace’s voice trembles slightly as we say our farewells, the fear she tries so hard to hide from the world revealing itself in our moment of departure. I hate the sound of it, hate that it’s there because of me. I don’t want to leave her. But the days of staying behind while others risk their lives has passed. Whatever future we build, I will have my hand in molding it.
“I promise,” I say, squeezing her in a tight embrace. “You’re the most important thing I have in this world, Gracie. I wouldn’t be leaving now if I didn’t believe it was the best thing for us.”
“I know,” she says. “That’s why I’m not asking you to stay. Everything good I’ve ever had in this life is because of the choices you’ve made...I won’t stop believing in you now.”
I blink back the tears pooling in my eyes, desperate to maintain my composure. “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.” I hold her close for as long as she’ll let me, savoring each second with her as if they were our last. Please God, don’t let them be our last. When we part, there’s a moment where I see her not as she is, but as she once was: the little girl I have loved and protected from the moment I held her in my arms. My sweet girl. She’s grown up so fast. This world has made sure of it. I can see it in her eyes as she stares at me now, wisdom far beyond her years filling their depths. Young as she is, she understands the world as well as any of us.
“Stay safe,” I say. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I know,” she says. “I love you, Lauren.”
I squeeze her close one last time. “Love you more.”
I turn toward the rest of the group who are busy finishing their own quiet goodbyes. Most of the family sleeps in the living room. Only the parents and siblings of those leaving tonight join us. Nervous energy lingers among us, but never is it mentioned. Tears build in the eyes of many, but few are shed. Everyone does their best to keep up the morale, sharing words of encouragement and positivity. It helps to some degree.
“Take care of my son, won’t you?” Mr. Taylor asks me, squeezing me in that fatherly fashion of his. He jests, but there is no hiding the worry in his voice. His heart is big as his son’s. Like with Morgan, that heart is both a gift and a curse, the capacity of its love at once his biggest strength and weakness. Already he struggles beneath the weight of it. And I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse for him.
“I will,” I promise. I squeeze him back, putting as much love as I can into the gesture, hoping it helps him cope in some small way.
Softer hands hold me now, Mrs. Taylor’s touch warm and reassuring. Undoubtedly she has her own fears, her own misgivings about what we set out to do. How could she not? Yet one would never guess so by looking at her. Her ability to remain cool and collected despite overwhelming circumstances is one of the things I’ve come to admire most of her. Even now she remains resolute, unflappable: an island amid a storm-tossed sea. Being held in her arms I feel my fear lessen, my confidence swell, emboldened by this woman’s quiet strength. It’s with a pang I recognize the sensation for what it is. The warmth. The comfort. It’s all part of the ineffable influence of a mother’s embrace—a feeling that lingers even after we have parted.
“I was right,” she says, a small smile on her face. “My son is lucky to have you.” My breath catches, surprised at her sudden praise. She reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair from my face. “Take care of yourself. Morgan isn’t the only one who needs you.”
“Thank you, Marie,” I say. “I’ll do whatever I can to get us back.”
“I know you will,” she says.
Footsteps sound on the back staircase, their tread slow and heavy. Felix enters the kitchen a moment later, eyes red, voice hoarse. He’s only just finished saying his own private goodbye’s to his aunt and cousin. Mrs. Taylor pulls him now into her arms, whispering words of comfort into his ear. He nods, closing his eyes as she kisses him atop the forehead. He shares quick words with Mr. Taylor and Leon’s family before finally turning to us.
“If anyone has changed their mind, I won’t blame them,” he says.
Morgan snorts in false offense. “Ducks fly together, Chavo,” he says. “You know this.”
An incredulous smile splits Felix’s face. “Really?” he asks.
“And just when you think they’re going to break apart, ducks fly together,” Morgan continues.
“And when the wind blows hard and the sky is black, ducks fly together,” Leon adds in amusement.
They look to Felix expectantly, twin grins on their faces. He shakes his head once, before eventually obliging. “And when the roosters are crowing, and the cows are spinning circles in the pasture, ducks fly together.”
The three of them can no longer hold back their laughter, sharing an inside joke lost on the rest of us. Where the hell ducks and roosters and cows came into this conversation, I haven’t a clue. But it has the three of them smiling, laughing. It eases the tension hovering over our departure. That’s all I need to understand.
“And when everyone says it can’t be done... ducks fly
together,” Morgan finishes. “We know what we agreed to, Chavo. We’re with you. No matter what.”
Felix nods, accepting what Morgan is telling him. “Thank you,” he says. “All of you...it means more than I could ever explain.” He pauses, another smile splitting his face. “Excellent reference by the way,” he says. “D2: The Mighty Ducks? Probably the most motivational speech ever written.”
“It felt appropriate,” Morgan says.
“Quack, quack, quack,” Leon adds, drawing another brief round of laughter between them.
The laughter soon fades, leaving us in a peaceful silence. The moment stretches on, none of us speaking or moving. Soon as one of us does so, the moment will be broken. Our goodbyes have been said, our hugs and kisses given. All that’s left is for us to take our leave.
It’s Felix who moves first, strapping up his hiking pack and shouldering his rifle. “We should get going,” he says. The four of us mimic his action, strapping our packs and shouldering our weapons.
“Lead the way,” Morgan says.
The further we travel, the more I am reminded of why I feared the arrival of winter. The warm house and sudden surplus of food have made me forget. Removed from those walls, I remember. Each step through the snow is a battle that must be won, each gust of frigid wind a slap across the face, bringing me jarringly back to reality. To conserve our strength, our pace is slow and measured. There’s no telling what surprises town may hold for us. We need to arrive with enough energy to face it.
The back-country lanes we travel show little signs of disturbance, the snow as untouched as that blanketing the fields and forest. That changes once we reach the highway. Here there are footprints, tire tracks. They weave between the snowy mounds littering the road’s expanse, abandoned vehicles buried beneath the snow like the rusting relics they’ve become. I think of our own vehicles safely tucked away on the farm, wishing I was inside the cab of a truck, warm and comfortable. But to bring a vehicle with us would be far too dangerous. Stealth is the name of the game, and rolling through the streets with a loud, half ton target doesn’t qualify.
A Cruel and Violent Storm Page 24