Philip speaks in a low whisper to Sally: “Where are Marissa and my wife?”
“They’re safe. They’re with our daughters. Everyone is together,” says Sally. She touches his arm gently and I can sense the warmth and intimacy that exists between our small group of rebels. Philip exhales deeply and rubs his hand over his temples.
“Let’s get to them as soon as we can,” he says. “What are we doing with this lot?”
“Let’s put them in the pit,” I say. Rich offers a twisted smile and nods. Seeing that smile breaks me open just a little more. Soon a part of me is going to simply fall away and be gone forever.
Rich gestures with his gun at the patrols and then walks behind them to the pit.
“Use the cell on the left, Rich. The locking mechanism on the right-hand cell is broken,” I call to him, not looking at Philip.
I point my gun at Father and Spool.
“Wait,” says my mother. “Not them. We may need them tonight.”
Sally takes a rope from her pack and cuts off two lengths. She ties our prisoners’ hands together in front of them, and then cuts two longer lengths and ties one end to each of their bound hands.
“We aren’t animals,” snarls Spool.
Abigail laughs caustically and shoves the muzzle of her gun into Spool’s back.
“Keep them quiet,” I say. “I don’t trust them, especially if we are trekking through the forest. They are bound to attract attention somehow.” We wrap lengths of rope around father’s and Spool’s heads, across their mouths, gagging them.
Rich re-joins us as I’m tying the rope behind our father’s head. “Looks like we are ready to go,” he says cheerfully.
He takes the rope tied to Father’s hands and heads into the forest without looking back. He drags Father behind him and whistles. Philip takes Spool’s rope in his hands. One by one we follow them into the shadows, leaving the pit behind us.
Chapter Eighteen
I walk behind my father, who walks behind my brother. We all have the same gait, the same dark eyes and brown hair. My mother walks behind me on the trail through the forest, and when I turn back to her, she smiles, her face lit by the crisp blue light of the moon. The difference between tonight and countless others on which we’ve taken an evening walk through the forest are the ropes that binds my father’s hands, tether him to my brother, and gag him.
“Where are we going?” calls Philip quietly from behind my mother. He holds the other rope in his hands as Spool stumbles along behind him. His quiet caution reminds me that there are enemies yet in the forest. We are not safe.
“Let’s get to the others and then we can finalize our plan,” says Sally in a soft voice from the back of our group.
“The beach?” asks Rich, projecting his voice just loud enough to reach Sally.
“No, we left them at Abigail’s house,” says Sally. “I didn’t know how long we would be and our girls were frightened. We wanted them to be somewhere they could sleep if need be.”
“How will we get back in to the village?” asks Philip. He sounds worried.
“No one in the village knows what’s going on yet,” says Sally hopefully. “No one will suspect us. We should be able to walk right up to the door and leave with no problems. This will be the easy part.”
We agree with her and maintain a brisk pace. Within a couple of hours we are approaching the edge of our village. Mother has struggled to keep up, but each time she falters she finds the strength to go on. Once she tripped and fell to the ground. When I tried to help her, she seemed embarrassed and pushed me away, brushing off my concerns.
We stop close to Edgartown but within the safety of the forest. Our village can be seen through the trees now, although it is late and the villagers have mostly extinguished their lamps and candles for the night. I search for Abigail’s house and see that one window remains bright. It’s the dining area, and I sadly remember a more innocent time when I would sit there with Abigail’s family laughing and eating freshly baked bread. But now is not the time for such melancholy thoughts.
“It all looks quiet,” says Rich. “I think Chris, Mother and I should stay here with these two,” he gestures to the prisoners.
“That’s sensible,” says Sally. “The whole village knows that each of you are supposed to be locked up in the pit or have a warrant against you.”
“It’s still suspicious all of you walking around at night together,” says my mother. “Get the others but be quick, grab what provisions you can. I fear we have little time left.”
“Let’s go then,” says Philip. “I need to get back to my family.”
Sally nods and puts her arm around Philip’s shoulder. “I get it, brother. Our daughters are there too. We can do this.”
“I’ll stay here too,” says Abigail. “I think Ellie is right. If there is a large group of us walking through the village this time of night, it increases the chance someone will see us and become suspicious.”
We all agree that the wisest course of action is for Sally and her husband, together with Philip, to get the others. We watch them from our hiding place as they make their way to Abigail’s home. We are silent, barely daring to breathe until they make it to the front door and disappear inside.
“They’ll be all right Chris,” says Abigail, as much for her own benefit as mine. She pats my shoulder reassuringly. My gun is trained on Spool and Father. Rich mirrors me and we sit like that waiting for the others.
The minutes stretch out uncomfortably. My nerves are frayed and every sound unnerves me. Elder Spool stands defiantly, even with his hands and mouth bound. He stares at me, unblinking. I look past him to the village, watching for the others. Finally, my mother whispers: “I see them, here they come.”
The front door opens slowly and Sally and her husband walk out, each carrying one of their daughters and a heavy pack on their back. Even from this distance the children’s fear is obvious. The youngest, she must be only three or four, is sobbing, and she buries her face in her mother’s chest. They hurry towards us.
“Rich, you watch the prisoners,” I say moving closer to the edge of the forest to monitor the village for any signs of danger. After a few minutes, they make it back to where we wait. Sally smiles with relief and the little girl she is holding hides her face. The older girl looks wide-eyed at my father and Elder Spool, bound as they are.
“When are the others coming?” asks Abigail. Her voice sounds strained.
“We agreed to stagger our departures,” says Sally. “We don’t want to arouse suspicions any more than we probably already have. You know what it’s like in the village, especially now. People are always watching each other, gossiping.”
My mother is nodding.
“People we once counted as friends wouldn’t hesitate to turn on us now,” says Sally.
“Are my parents okay?” Abigail asks her.
“Yes love, they are fine. They said they would come last. They wanted me to tell you they love you and will be with you soon.”
“Someone else is coming now,” says my mother. We all stare as Philip emerges with Marissa and his wife. He walks in the middle holding their hands as the three of them cross through the village. They are also wearing heavy backpacks. Despite the circumstances, Philip is beaming as he holds his wife and daughter’s hands tightly.
They pass a log house belonging to one of the village dressmakers. A light is burning inside and I think the curtain moves ever so slightly as the Parsons walk past. My mother sees it too, and we exchange worried looks. I’m relieved when they step into the shadows of the forest and find our group.
Elder Spool and my father are standing close together now. Without hesitation, Rich hauls on Father’s tether to force them apart. The Parsons take in the scene with mixed reactions. Marissa smiles at the sight of the elders in such a compromising position. Her mother, on the other hand, looks nervous. Philip whispers something to her and then kisses her hair.
“Delphine should be next,�
�� I say out loud to no one in particular. I can feel Spool’s eyes on me.
“Sally,” says Rich. “What is this key you gave Chris near the lighthouse?” He pulls the key out of the leather pouch around his neck and the entire group falls silent. Rich looks around and his eyes come to rest on Spool. Spool’s face is red and there is a thick vein rising prominently on his forehead.
“Put that away now,” says Sally. Her voice is heavy with meaning. “We’ll worry about it later.”
Rich, uncharacteristically, does as he’s been instructed without question and returns the key to the pouch.
Mother has come to stand by me. “They’re coming,” she says softly, her voice breaking the tension.
The door opens for the third time. Carl saunters out first, a bemused smile on his face, and his shock of black hair hanging messily over his face. I can only imagine how Spool feels seeing his own son amongst us. Delphine follows closely behind with Ada.
They are passing the dressmakers’ home when someone inside pulls the curtain aside. I see it clearly this time because I’m watching the window closely. My mother prays softly under her breath. Carl, Delphine and Ada would arouse suspicion instantly because they aren’t from our village.
Then Abigail snarls “Get back, Elder Spool, don’t even think about moving.”
I turn to look at Spool and in that instant, chaos breaks out. Someone fires a gun, shattering the evening calm that had settled over the village, and a woman’s voice yells: “Stop! Stop right now!”
Carl and Ada freeze while Delphine, not hearing the woman, stumbles into Carl. She trips and falls to the ground. Carl bends down to pull her to her feet when the woman fires another shot into the air. There are doors opening now, people yelling.
The woman’s voice is loudest of all: “It’s them… It’s that girl. It’s the one the elders were looking for. She’s here, she’s here in the village.”
“Run,” I yell.
Carl and Ada have already taken Delphine’s hands and started to run towards the forest. I fire in the direction of the dressmaker’s home. There is return fire and for the second time tonight a vicious gunfight erupts. The two young girls are screaming.
“Go,” yells Philip to Sally. “Take your girls. Take everyone! Get out of here!”
“Where do we go?” asks Sally, her daughter still screaming in terror.
“Chris, take them to the willow,” yells Rich urgently.
“I’ll stay here,” I yell, firing again into the village. “You and Abigail take them.”
“I’m waiting for my parents,” cries Abigail. Tears are streaming down her face.
“Okay, I’ll take them,” yells Rich. He takes the ropes that bind Spool and Father and hands his gun to Marissa. “Follow me and shoot them,” he says, “if they even so much as look at you.” Rich runs into the forest, Spool and Father dragged along like animals at the rear. Marissa runs after him, holding the gun, and the others follow closely behind.
Carl, Delphine and Ada cover the last of the open space and slip into the safety of the forest. Delphine runs to my side and I wrap my arm around her. I kiss her and whisper: “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Philip hands Carl a shotgun and they unleash a broadside against a growing group of heavily armed vigilantes that is sheltering behind a log house. Bullets fly in all directions in an unremitting explosion of sound.
“Your parents are coming, Abigail,” calls my mother urgently, pointing at one of the bedroom windows. Her mother lowers herself out and lands in a crouch. Her father follows and they flatten against the log wall. She holds a black handgun, and he clenches a scythe, once used for reaping corn, now a brutal weapon.
“Cover them!” screams Abigail over the din of gunfire and shouting.
Her parents seem unsure of the best route to safety. They stop at the corner of their log home and peer cautiously around to locate the shooters. They quickly retreat as a volley of shots comes their way.
“Let’s try to draw their interest elsewhere,” yells Philip. He says something to Carl and they run deeper into the dense forest, circling around the village. They fire several times in rapid succession from their new vantage point behind a large oak tree.
The group of vigilantes shifts their focus to Philip and Carl. They fire round after round at the two of them. Philip and Carl take turns returning fire and reloading to maintain the vigilantes attention.
Abigail’s mother sees that the diversion is working and gestures to her husband. He shakes his head several times but she is adamant.
“What are they doing?” whispers Abigail. Delphine taps her on the arm and Abigail looks to where Delphine has already written words in the dirt that are just visible in the moonlight filtering through the trees.
They are going to run.
Abigail turns back to her parents, her gun out, ready. I take my place next to her, planting my feet in the decaying leaf litter.
Abigail’s parents kiss each other briefly on the lips. Then they run.
She leaves first, head down, arms pumping. He follows closely behind, the scythe still gripped in his hand. At the same time, I notice the locksmith step out from behind his home ten cubits over, his gun pointed at Abigail’s mother. Within the merest of seconds, I take aim and pull the trigger. Abigail sees him too, and she screams to her mother: “Run! Run!”
The words are still forming in Abigail’s mouth as the bullet from the locksmith’s gun tears into her mother. My bullet strikes him, but it’s too late. One moment she is running, the next a monstrous red rose blooms on her chest as she stumbles and falls to the ground. Abigail screams and lunges forward. I grab her and hold her as she thrashes wildly in my arms. It’s all I can do.
Abigail’s father stops at his wife’s body. He turns her over and knows instantly her end has come. Something erupts inside him and he runs at the locksmith, his scythe high above his head. He lashes at the man’s body again and again. Blood splatters bright, despite the darkness, on the white log wall behind him.
I can’t take my eyes off the violence exploding in front of us. Abigail’s father grunts with exertion as he continues to hack at the body. Then, holding his scythe like a surreal, blood-drenched reaper, he crawls to his wife and cradles her head in his hands.
Chapter Nineteen
Gunfire continues to roll through the village but none of vigilantes has yet seen Abigail’s father. I watch him from the shadows, stunned by the shocking turn of events. My legs feel like they’ve rooted deep into the dark, dank, rotting understory. I can’t move.
Then a voice crystallizes in the chaos. It’s my mother. “He will die, Chris. He’s not going to leave her.” Her face is stricken.
“I’ll get him,” I say to mother. “I’ll get him,” I repeat to Abigail. “Stay here.”
Slowly, inch by painful inch, I pull my legs from the depths and rise to standing. Blood flows once more.
Delphine takes my place holding Abigail and I yell at my mother to cover me. I don’t wait to see her draw her gun. There is no time to waste. I run to the nearest house and dive for the ground. Then I’m up again and running from house to house until I reach Abigail’s father.
I crouch down low beside him. Abigail’s mother is suddenly there right in front of me. Her body is so still. I reach out to touch her but pull back at the last moment, my hand grazing her tunic. “Come with me,” I say to him. He looks at me blankly as though he doesn’t recognize me.
“I mean it, we have to go now. We have to get back to Abigail.”
The sound of his daughter’s name pulls him out of the dark place he had fallen into. “I can’t leave her here,” he whispers. I have to lean close to hear him over the gunfire and I realize he is covered in the locksmith’s blood.
“We can’t take her, we can’t,” I say urgently. “We’ll both be killed.”
“Please, Chris,” he says, tears streaming down his cheeks.
I look at Abigail’s mother again. Her eyes are open, stari
ng at something far away. More gunfire erupts and we both drop involuntarily. “Alright,” I say.
I take her pale hands and he takes her feet. Working together, we carry her behind the cover of a nearby house. There is a renewed burst of gunfire from the forest. Carl and Philip are keeping the vigilante busy. They must see us and are diverting attention away from us. We aren’t alone.
We move from house to house carrying her body between us. All around us there are people shouting and shooting. But each time we run—her body held aloft between us, a ghostly apparition of herself—Carl and Philip launch a barrage of fire that keeps us safe until we make it to the forest.
We stop just inside the tree cover. Everyone stands, they’re all looking at us, but no one says a word. We place her gently on the ground. Abigail falls down at her mother’s head, struggling to breathe. Her father takes a step back. His hand is clenched in a fist which is pressed hard against his mouth.
I watch Abigail put her hand on her mother’s cheek and stare deeply into her mother’s open eyes. My heart cracks wide open. My mother has moved to Abigail’s side and the others are close by, their heads bowed. Guns still fire. Voices still shout. But in this small space between the trees, we are silent.
Then without warning, Philip and Carl come crashing back through the forest. Death does not give them pause, for a new threat is upon us. “Get up, get up now!” yells Philip to us. “We’ve just heard horses approaching.” As if he’s narrating some macabre theater, on cue a group of men on horseback thunder into the village.
“Get up all of you! Grab your bags; let’s go, let’s go! We have to get out of here before they find us!”
We scramble to get our things and Philip looms over Abigail, appraising the situation briefly. Without hesitation he picks her up and throws her over his shoulder as she screams for mother. One by one our group run after Philip as he heads deeper into the forest, away from our village.
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