“Why don’t we just leave?” I shrug with something I think should be simple.
“We thought of that once you were stable,” Paula begins. “Lawless and Marxx went all over this place looking for a boat while Rhett caused his idea of a distraction.”
“Do I even want to know what that was?” I cautiously ask.
“Nope.” Aimes quickly answers, but she smiles such a wicked smirk with her declaration.
Genny shakes her head but she, too, is at least grinning with the memory.
“No. You really don’t,” Paula rings in with their assessment. “Despite Rhett’s little act, they couldn’t find any boats. Leigh said they are kept on the lake. This way it prevents people from coming and going as they want to from the fort.”
My face contorts with my confusion. “Then how were we picked up with boats?”
“Remember when I said pro leagues? This lady keeps the big boats at the lake and only small row boats by the fort,” Aimes explains, filling in the holes for me.
“Okay, how do we get to this lake?” I ask the three sets of eyes watching me, but they don’t answer, all for different reasons. One, they don’t know. Two, they are afraid I may go alone. Three, they are afraid the men may go alone.
“Through the tunnel.”
We each jump when we hear the new voice, with Aimes and Genny adding an extra sound effect from being startled. I don’t know how long Leigh had been standing there, but there she was, standing just on the crest of a shadow watching our little debate. It concealed her perfectly with its irregular shape and her dark hair helping her blend into its embrace.
“Has someone not told you that’s how you get shot?” Aimes is holding her chest, staring at Leigh with exasperation. “There are people walking around freaking eating people and you’re all over here creeping around? That’s exactly how you get shot!”
“I’ve heard about your aim,” Leigh counters. “I’m not that worried.”
“Oh, pasty over there has jokes,” Aimes mutters. “Real funny, pasty.”
Leigh doesn’t show any concern over Aimes. She’s watching me with the same grey eyes that seem to somehow always tiptoe along the vertebrae of my spine.
“There’s a tunnel which opens at a dock behind the fort. There’s a boat there. What you do with the boat,” Leigh stalls, letting the silence fill in the gaps of her words, “that’s up to you.” She turns to slide back into the shadows.
“What’s that mean, pasty?” Aimes shouts to Leigh’s disappearing back.
From further ahead of us, Leigh answers. “You could leave, and never wonder about what really goes on here, or you could go to the lake, take a look around, and find your answers. It’s up to you.”
Leigh tosses her dare in the air behind her. It floats in her trail with the most beckoning of ways. Her voice has no weight to it, lending neither outcome any personal preference. Yet, somehow, that causes the dare to be so much heavier and almost personal, for a different reason.
“Oh, she’s good.” Aimes is overcome with her amusement. She crosses her arms over her chest with delight and admiration. “Like a fat kid and cake, Pasty knows you won’t be able to help yourself.”
“We don’t even know where this tunnel is.” I dismiss Aimes’ observation.
Genny slides past Aimes and I. There’s a pattern to her walk I recognize. It’s the same self-destructive gait I have when exploring a path of provocations, despite the slim grasp of common sense I hold.
“I do,” she tells us, without glancing to see if we are following her.
Aimes gestures to Genny’s back. “This whole related thing,” she says, “it’s possible.”
I feel my spine tighten with the thought of this teen being family. “It’s going to get her killed.”
“You’re still alive.” Paula smirks. As she follows the three of us, I can see she’s mentally praising herself for that little dig.
“At what cost?” I ask the keeper of my health.
Paula answers by pointing to the teen we are following. “At whatever cost keeps the light in those eyes from fully distinguishing. It’s not just you that she sees, Helena. She sees her aunt, your mother, and she can’t fully lose the connection.”
I don’t respond to Paula. I turn my head, shielding whatever she may see in my eyes and focus them on Genny. Throwing myself at monsters has always been so much easier than facing my truths. It’s why J.D. held such a grasp on my soul. He was my monster when monsters were only things we invented in the pitch of night, but the monsters broke him, and now I have nothing but truths to face. Throwing myself at monsters doesn’t scare me anymore.
“We are really going to this lake thing tonight?” Aimes asks.
“You have something better to do?” Genny calls to her.
“Yeah, totally possible,” Aimes hisses to me, upon hearing Genny’s retort.
Genny sweeps her hair up into a high ponytail. She pulls it tight as if she is preparing to enter a battle. Maybe she is. Maybe, like me not too long ago, she’s warring with herself over what she knows she is about to walk into. Maybe she’s already pushing past the sounds and screams of those she’s lost with fear of them tormenting her. Maybe she has her own carousel of beaten horses who circle her, as her doubts taunt her.
I watch her grow bolder with each step she takes. She settles into her gait, eyes locked forward, leading us to a place only she knows, without a care or thought about if we are following her down this bricked path of good intentions. She’s already made her mind up to what she knows she has to do, and she’ll do it, at whatever the cost, to keep some flicker of hope circling her soul. Maybe, just maybe, the whole related thing is possible.
Chapter 28
“If you fall off this dock, I will never forgive you,” I threaten Aimes, but the laughter in my hushed whisper ruins it.
I’m holding her hand as she teeters into the metal rowboat with her normal theatrics. It rocks violently in the water from her indecision, and lack of commitment, to either the boat or the dock. Genny and Paula cling to the railings of the boat’s hull. Neither are amused with the rapid bouncing nor the threat of being overturned as Aimes and I settle into our rows amid jeers and playful banter.
Freeing us from a wooden post, Paula exchanges a look warning of her constant exasperation with the two of us. Aimes, upon seeing the glare, the constant badge of maturity she is, sticks her tongue out at the other woman. Genny watches the exchange and I worry for a moment about her source of role models.
Finding the tunnel was uneventful. The door being unlocked and unguarded added another layer to Leigh’s dare. The fact we accepted it added another layer to Genny’s.
“How do we find this place?” Genny asks me, as if she wasn’t the one leading us through this whole crusade.
“They came to the beach with two boats after Leigh sent the flare.” Paula and I are already rowing away from the fort as I verbally muse. “They have to have the time to make it to the lake, get the motorboats, and head to the beach after seeing the flare.”
“Don’t stop now, Sherlock,” Aimes goads, when my words stall.
Ignoring her, I let my mind roam. “It has to be somewhere close, but not too close so she can protect the main community from whatever is on it. Close enough to where it wouldn’t be taxing to travel back and forth often to also tend to whoever is there.”
“We don’t have a motor. It can’t be too far away,” Paula joins in my musing. “And there would have to be some kind of beacon to guide people to it if there was a need to go there in the dark.”
“Like that?” Without a pause, Genny points at something to the side of our boat.
“Like that,” Aimes agrees.
To our left shines a faint, red light. It almost twinkles like a grounded star ahead of us, encouraging us to drift towards it. Paula glances over her shoulder to the back of the boat where I am sitting, steering to her pull. We share the same doubt over that flickering light. It’s etched in the furro
ws of her concerned face.
This all seems too easy. Leigh just showing up at the same time we mentioned the place. Doors unlocked when the whole purpose is to keep people away. Now, like a welcome sign, here sits a convenient light to guide us to the shore.
The dares keep mounting, luring us to them with little restraints, and we follow their crumbs with little hesitations. The question being, how long until these crumbs turn into self-ingested poison. Like moths, we glide right to the light where it hangs in the trees above us until our little metal boat wedges herself into the mud of the shore.
“It’s one of those solar-powered things people used to use around their driveways,” Genny announces her discovery with a hushed whisper and astonishment.
She’s right. It’s been tied to a thick branch of an ancient tree. The flickering was from the way the wind nudges it, casting its one-dimensional ray to shine in random directions. The ease of the solar-powered battery pack keeps the concern of tending to it at bay. It’s amazing in its simplicity.
Genny and Aimes, lost in their amusement of Marigold’s cleverness, continue to debate in whispers. Paula and I are looking for the next clue, the next mark of ingenuousness, to be displayed. We visually search for another marker, a new star to follow from this rocky shore. A blaring banner of hints of what’s located around us would even be more beneficial, but I’m not the type of girl to count her blessings.
Paula motions with her head towards a barely-there clearing among the tall trees and their surrounding brush. Under the sun, the trail may have been something spotted upon landing. Under the moon, it’s near invisible; just a part in an overgrown hairline of the forest. The thick, evergreen branches whisper neither encouragements, nor warnings with their slight sway. These trees have stood witness to things which make our short moments around them meaningless, but just the same, they watch with half-invested interest.
“Ready for this?” My eyes are for the surrounding area, but my question is for Paula.
She sighs. “We’re here. Might as well.”
It’s not the resounding vote of confidence Genny or Aimes needs right now. I let my facial expression share my thoughts with the woman these two have deemed the most logical among us.
Smiling, she corrects her statement. “It’s supposed to be a place where their old and useless reside. I think you can handle this, Helena.”
She motions for me to lead the way with a look that declares ‘tag you’re it’. Paula is over her responsibility to keep others safe. She’s passing that chore to me, the one who has let so many fall for her poor choices and pride. She may have just signed all our death certificates. For fear of being correct, I don’t point this out.
Aimes and Genny are stuck in our wordless volley. They watch us as two kids watch their parents’ passive-aggressive fights. I paint my face with my false confidence and take the lead. It’s just another day in our neighborhood and we are off to discover our new neighbors.
Once the shore is behind us, the trail becomes well-worn and gutted. Water still stands in the depths of the ruts. The collection of water and muck is as dark as oil, reflecting our lost faces back at us when we pass. The trees have stopped swaying. Their whispers are hushed, watching us trudge along the winding path. There are no markers to share secrets with us.
Genny jumps with every noise. Her eyes are wide, showing mostly white. Her thoughts project her fears. It isn’t hard to understand with her behavior, she’s mentally convinced herself that at any moment some unnamed horror will emerge from the nearest tree trunk. If it wasn’t for Aimes’ constant taunting, she would be completely undone.
Aimes tugs at every low hanging branch, letting it swing back to find Genny’s face. Aimes isn’t as rattled as our younger counterpart. With the things we have seen, a dark trail is a commercial break in the insanity, or perhaps, we’ve grown a touch insane. A leisurely stroll through a forest the Brothers Grimm would be envious to explore doesn’t even ring our warning bells.
The minutes keep rolling, turning into curve after curve of the trail. I’m preparing my speech for reasons to turn around, completely settled in my defeat.
“That’s cool.” Genny points ahead of me, pulling my attention.
Tucked to the left of us sits a once proud, southern mansion. The hidden years haven’t been kind to its crumbling porch and white, fading exterior. The many rows of broken windows seem to be missing teeth in a once-perfect smile. Pillars, which once stood as support and a welcome, have become smothered in the same vines climbing along the walls of the once grand home. With nature stretching her green fingers to reclaim it, the whole structure appears to be a footnote of memories long rotted and decayed.
Despite all of this, there are subtle hints of life among the ruins. Well-frayed lawn chairs nestle among the lawn in patterns implying small gatherings had been recently held. Curtains float from random windows, shielding neither the weather nor the space behind them. There seems to even be a glow cast behind random broken shards of glass. Someone, or something, is nestled inside.
Paula and I exchange a thousand unspoken words with our mutual glance to the other.
“Do we knock…” Aimes trails off with her question.
Genny tilts her head. Her ponytail bounces with mock cheer. “I don’t think you’re supposed to announce when snooping.”
“Not everyone is a threat,” Paula interjects.
“Better to think everyone is.” Genny doesn’t stand to listen to any rebuttals. She’s already heading through the trees, skipping the wide loop the trail would have us use to arrive at the house.
Aimes crosses her arms as we watch Genny slip silently away. “Definitely related,” she tells me with words and a glance. “There’s a whole family trait of distrust and destruction.”
“It’s like you’ve never met my father?” I ask her back, as we follow Genny’s lead.
“You’re right. The idiot genes must run on the mother’s side,” Aimes agrees. “Your father doesn’t have the balls to do even half the stupid things you two do.”
“You’re just jealous,” I tease her.
“About not having balls? Maybe,” Aimes shrugs as we continue on the path. “Apocalypses would be much easier if one didn’t have to worry about tampons and toilet paper each month.”
Paula nods silently, agreeing to the other woman’s logic. For once, she’s smiling a genuine expression of mirth, not just one of tolerance.
Genny is already climbing the porch’s steps. My stomach rolls with her boldness. My mind has already gone to a thousand dark places with as many different scenarios as to what’s beyond those wide, wooden doors.
Aimes and I wait behind the pillars to hear from Genny. She’s already crouching down to peer into the nearest broken panel. Paula is roaming to the side, examining the side of the building. She shows no care or concern about being seen. Aimes points to her, her eyes widen to express her shock over Paula’s actions.
“Leave the house,” Paula says, still staring at something we cannot see.
“Why?” Genny whispers, unaware that whatever cover we had Paula has already discarded.
Paula doesn’t answer. She slips from view, following whatever has her attention.
“At least if she gets us hurt, she can fix us.” Aimes jumps down from the porch to follow the older woman.
I wait for Genny to fall in behind Aimes before I leave our discovery to explore a new one. I want to be sure none of the things my mind painted for me will slide through the white doors when our backs are turned, as they so often seem to do. The house sits, keeping her secrets. If we had disturbed her, or anything inside of her, she shows no signs of it. She sits as she has sat for the many past unfolding years - cold, disinterested, and lonely.
Paula walks with trance-like motions. Whatever she is seeing in the large, matching white barn behind the house, the rest of us don’t, but we follow her with our own brands of curiosity. It’s just as weather abused as the house. It projects a look of y
earning to be demolished, like bones begging to be reburied. There are parts of the roof missing. Timbers can be seen peeking through, further hinting at what shambles await inside. Paula walks on, pulled by an invisible thread connected to some deep part of her. A thread no one else feels.
Aimes and Genny look back at me. Their faces wear unspoken questions, wondering if they are alone in their thoughts and confusion. They aren’t. They just want me to be the one who asks.
“Paula…” I let my voice trail with the shared unasked question.
“There’s a little girl in there,” Paula responds. Her voice is soft with a mixture of wonder and concern.
Aimes twirls her finger near her temple hearing Paula’s answer.
I cast a look of displeasure at Aimes. After all, who am I to judge people for seeing invisible little girls? Aimes rolls her eyes and continues to follow Paula’s lead.
Paula doesn’t wait for me to enter first, as she did on the trail. She pushes to test the weight of the doors, letting them bounce back with only a slight sound of protest. Pushing harder, she listens beyond the door's answer to see if there is a different sound of an answer deeper in the building. Just like the house, whatever these structures are keeping in them makes no sounds of introduction. For some, that may be a welcome change. For us, we have learned silence is sometimes more deadly than a scream.
With how they swing, there is no lock on the doors. Nothing to keep anything in or out. Paula finally commits to opening them, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness swallowing everything in our sight. My hand instinctively reaches for my knife, resting on its long handle to settle something fluttering in my stomach. I’m waiting for any hints, any murmurs of what may be watching us from the shadows, but the barn keeps her mysteries wrapped tightly in her shadow-covered arms.
The Risen Series | Book 5 | Defiance Page 19