The Unfolding Blackout | Book 2 | A Girl Forsaken

by Aborn, A. L.

  The fish trap has been partially successful. We’ve had to rearrange the rocks several times with the fluctuation of the water depth, but even so, it hasn’t been the goldmine that we hoped for. With the net that Joann weaved for us, we can scoop the fish out easily enough, but they’re typically pretty small. We’ve caught a variety of sunfish, bass, and trout and keep anything bigger than one hand. Today, three trout are swimming around in the trap. Only one is of decent length; we throw the two small ones back in and gut and string the largest one onto a stick to carry with us.

  The edges of the trap are covered in thin ice. I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to use it without breaking through the ice. Shay throws in some more bait before we head back up the bank to where Beau is waiting.

  The cart and our footprints make a strange sort of trail through the fresh snow. I almost want to turn back. It feels like there are neon arrows pointing out our camp. Shay is also clearly worried; her brow furrowed as she glances behind us. “We can’t let the hay sit out here any longer,” she reminds me.

  I sigh in agreement.

  Yellowed foliage pokes through the blanket of snow covering the field. It’s fairly obvious where we cut the grass down most recently. Luckily, the snow is light and fluffy and easily swept aside to reach the hay. The layer closest to the ground is almost a total loss; it must have frozen and thawed and frozen again. It’s kind of a mucky mess. The topmost layers should be okay though, as long as we can get it dry back at camp.

  It takes a few hours before the cart is full. I catch Beau trying to eat what we pile in, but I pull him over to where some of the tall stalks are still standing and let him munch those.

  We’re both quiet on the walk home. I try and remind myself that we haven’t seen anyone out here, that there’s no reason to freak out, but my hackles are at full attention.

  ***

  By the time we sit down for dinner, it’s full dark outside. Joann has her healing ankle propped up on her bed beside the table. She’s packed a few handfuls of snow around the joint. Apparently, she tripped over something when she was coming back into the shelter after tending to the greenhouse earlier in the day. I hope that she didn’t reinjure it, but we’ll see how she feels tomorrow.

  As soon as we crawl into our bunks, the flicker of the fire dancing patterns across the canvas roof above me, my body settles into the softness of my bed cushions. Meekah snuggles into her customary place at my side. Throwing a small blanket on top of her, I feel her heave a long sigh of contentment.

  The sound of Shay’s breathing from the bunk below mine lends a rhythmic beat to the night. It’s lulling me into a sort of deep calm somewhere between waking and sleeping. I’m not sure how long it’s been since we headed to bed, but I’m abruptly woken by… something. Straining my ears, I wait for some kind of signal to tell me what startled me out of sleep.

  After a long, tense moment, I decide it was nothing. Who knows?

  My eyes close; it doesn’t take long to start drifting back toward sleep.

  My heart skips a beat as Meekah jerks her head up from under the blanket. Even though she can’t see anything, she stares at the wall of the shelter over the mound that is Joann wrapped in her blankets. Petting her head, attempting to soothe her, Meekah only becomes more agitated.

  A low, throaty growl immediately interrupts the steady breathing of my friends. “What’s going on?” Shay asks quietly.

  “I don’t know. A big animal, maybe?”

  Swinging my legs over the side, I slide down until my feet hit the floor. Grunting at Meekah’s weight as I lift her from the top bunk, she doesn’t relax when I stick her in the bed with Joann. Handing the dog collar and leash to her, she seems surprised for a moment. “No way you’re going out there with that ankle. Stay here, keep Meekah with you.”

  By this time, Shay is pulling boots on over her heavy wool socks. Moving to do the same, I freeze when the distinct sound of two voices carries over the wind. My heart drops somewhere south of my belly button, instantly shooting my pulse and blood pressure through the roof. Who the fuck is this?

  Shay and I reach for our guns. Handgun in my waistband, rifle strap over my shoulder, knife in my belt. Shoving my feet into my boots without stopping to tie them, I shrug into my jacket, leaving it unzipped for easy access to my weapons. Joann has gathered her own but is still sitting on her blankets. “Get back by the fire, keep Meekah close,” I demand softly.

  Whispering, we make a quick plan. “I’ll go out the front, see what I can see. You go around the back. Stay hidden until we know how many of them there are and what they want.”

  Sliding the blanket barrier aside, Beau shuffles his feet at our sudden intrusion into his space in the dark. The lone chicken and duck ruffles their feathers in the milk crate laying boxes as we pass. Shay moves along the right-hand wall toward the canvas end. I move to the left-hand side that will put me closest to the back of the shelter and the wall. Only a vague outline of Shay is visible in the near darkness, but the movement of her nod is unmistakable.

  The cold air is like a slap in the face.

  Keeping my back to the shelter, I sidestep around our house, putting myself in the five-foot wide area between the building and the wall. The woods are silent. My pounding heartbeat thunders through me. Shay’s voice pierces the still night, “Stop right there! Don’t come any closer!” Her voice is strong, even though I know that she is as shaken as I am.

  The voice that answers is lost in a gust of wind.

  The backside of the shelter has portions of Shay’s most recent deer hanging from chicken wire hooks and covered with a tarp. Making sure to steer clear, I move as quietly as possible to reach the chimney.

  Peering around the stone fireplace, I search frantically for Shay and any intruders, but it’s too dark and my angle is off. Adjusting my rifle, I step forward to creep further around the shelter. Before I can take a second step, the distinctive click of the hammer of a gun being cocked back stops my breath in my chest.

  “Drop your gun.”

  The voice is male and unfamiliar. Turning my head to get a look at him, what feels to be the barrel of a gun is pressed between my shoulder blades. “You don’t need to move. Put your gun down.” The voice is low and calm, like he’s soothing a wild animal.

  Frantically grasping at any possible way around relinquishing my rifle, a shout from the other side of the shelter rings through the night. I don’t know if it was Shay or someone else. At the sound, the fire goes out of me. Slumping my shoulders, I pull the strap over my head and lower my weapon to the snow-covered earth at my feet.

  The barrel is removed from my back before I am roughly patted down. My knife and handgun are stripped away, leaving me feeling naked and vulnerable. “Turn around,” the voice commands.

  Slowly, I turn to face him. The light from the moon highlights the boney prominences of his face, but that’s about it. Meekah starts barking inside; the muffled sounds of Joann trying to quiet her distract the man momentarily. Taking quick steps to my right, I keep the tarped deer parts at my back. “Stop!” he shouts, turning his complete focus back to me.

  “Why are you here?” I ask shakily.

  “Our camp sent us out looking for supplies. Looks like you girls have some stuff we might need.”

  “What do you need? We don’t mind sharing. Maybe… maybe we could work out a trade or something.”

  He barks out a cruel sounding laugh. “I don’t think so.”

  Another shout and more barking from behind me.

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Here? Oh… a couple.” He smiles down at me.

  Slowly, my hands behind my back, I probe under the tarp with my fingertips. The shape of a hoof becomes clear after a few seconds. “What do you want?” I ask, racking my mind for anything that might distract him. He takes a half step toward me. “How many people are in your camp? Could they use a few more people?”

  “They might,” he spits. “Why don’t you co
me out front and ask my friends?”

  Grasping the frozen foreleg of the deer awkwardly, I press upwards to loosen the meat from its hook. It’s way heavier than I expect, immediately swinging toward the ground when it’s freed from the wall. The man’s eyes widen as the portion of deer drops below the tarp. Keeping the momentum going, I use my other hand to lend some power to my upward stroke. The man takes a step forward, quickly moving to pull his gun up toward my chest. He’s too slow as the heavy frozen club hits him under the chin.

  His teeth clack together audibly in the silent night. The force of the blow knocks him backward; he trips, landing on one knee. Not waiting to see what he’ll do next, I bring the weapon down on the back of his head as hard as I can swing it. He drops flat on his chest in the snow. Kicking his gun away from his outstretched arms, it’s hard to tell if he’s breathing. Kneeling, his pulse is weak beneath my fingers. He doesn’t have much on him; his gun and a pocketknife are pretty much it.

  Retrieving my own weapons from where I had thrown them down, I check him once more. Still out cold. Maybe he’ll freeze to death. I don’t care.

  Turning my attention back to the front of the shelter, my ears strained over the wind, I realize that I haven’t heard anything in a while. Moving back by the wall, it seems that my eyes are finally adjusting to the night. Rifle butt tucked into my shoulder, I warily ease myself around the canvased end of my home. Shay is there, face to face and gun to gun with another man. “You okay?” I ask loudly as I swing into view.

  She nods, not looking away from the other intruder.

  Moving forward, I station myself about ten feet to Shay’s right, looking around for anything else that might be out of place.

  “Where’s the third one?” He asks. At first, I don’t understand what he’s asking. The third intruder? “The pretty one with glasses?” He continues.

  Joann.

  How would he have known Joann was here? She hadn’t been outside since we’d been back. “Have you been watching us?” I practically shout.

  “Had to know what we were getting into,” he confirms. “Figured you three wouldn’t be a match for us.”

  “Well, I guess you were wrong. Now, shut the fuck up and drop your gun.” Shay’s voice is steady, calm. It reassures me.

  Lowering his gun slightly, he brings his forefinger and thumb up to his mouth. By the time I realize what he’s doing, a shrill whistle sounds through the clearing.

  From out of the darkness near the trees, roughly fifty feet away, movement becomes visible. A lot of movement. Within seconds, the shape of three mounted riders becomes more distinct. Each of them is leading another saddled, rider-less horse. Six in total? If that’s true, where’s the-

  Just then, a scream and barking sound behind me. Joann and Meekah!

  Pivoting, I run to the shelter. Shay takes advantage of the man turning to watch me and dives for him. I only catch it from the corner of my eye as I struggle to reach the rest of my family. Adrenaline is pounding through me, my breath coming in heaves. Ripping aside the thick fabric door, I’m not prepared for something to swing out and catch me in the stomach. Instantly dropping to my knees, gasping for air, the shape of two unfamiliar boots moves into my line of sight.

  Meekah is barking from somewhere nearby. The world is spinning.

  More shouting.

  Someone running.

  A gunshot.

  A scream.

  Beau, still in his area behind the tarp tries to rear up on his hindlegs in fear at the loud sound. The entire shelter is jarred with the force of his panicked movements.

  Another scream.

  JOANN!

  The blanket separating him from the living space is violently ripped down in Beau’s struggles; he tramples it in his haste to be clear of the noise and chaos. His hooves come dangerously close to me, but I’m powerless to move out of his way. The canvas end of the shelter is no match for his frantic movements as he fights to free himself from the confinement of his stall.

  The tiniest whisper of air finally reaches my lungs. Seconds later, I can almost take a full breath.

  Get up!

  Climbing to my feet, two figures wrestling around the small open space between our bunks become visible. Long, brown hair is whipped back and forth; Joann’s attacker is a woman. Meekah is dancing circles around the two, viciously barking and growling at the pair. Taking a step closer, I see that they are struggling over a single handgun. They shriek as they fight for control.

  In an instant, a gunshot blasts through the small area. Before I can tell who shot whom, something strikes me in the back hard enough to drive me forward to my knees. Another gunshot.

  My ears are ringing. My stomach hurts. My back hurts. Have I been shot?

  Planting my hands on the floor in front of me, a boot is placed on my back. Roughly, I am shoved facedown into the floor. Meekah is going crazy. I can tell that she’s torn between getting to me and trying to warn away the strangers.

  Another set of boots stomp by me. One lashes out toward Meekah, just missing her head. He kicks at her again. This one catches her in the flank. Yelping, she jumps on Shay’s bunk to get away. For the moment, he leaves her alone.

  Raising my head, I struggle to see if Joann is okay.

  The back of a man is visible walking toward the motionless pair of women in a heap on the floor. Roughly, he grabs the brunette by the shoulder. She slumps to the side. Hope shoots through me, if Joann shot the other woman, then she must be okay.

  “Bitch got Stacey before I got her. Shame.”

  The man’s voice sends dread through me. I close my eyes. I don’t want to see.

  Making his way back to me and the unseen body attached to the heavy boot planted between my shoulder blades, he makes a point to step on my outstretched fingers. “Get her up,” he says.

  The boot is removed. Before I can get my hands under me, a gloved hand grips my hair and hood in a tight grip. I won’t give them the satisfaction of a shout of pain. The speaker is standing in front of me. Without ceremony, I’m stripped of my weapons for the second time tonight.

  The hand in my hair jerks me back and to one side. Stumbling, I almost lose my footing, making the pain in my scalp amplify. As I get my feet under me, the man who seems to be in control steps past me. There, on the floor, is Joann. Her lifeless body is face up, her eyes open and unblinking. Blood stains one corner of her mouth and the single, jagged bullet wound in her throat.

  “JOANN! NO!” I try to throw off the hand in my hair. I need to get to her. Maybe I can stop the bleeding. Maybe I can save her. “Let me go! Joann!”

  A closed fist boxes my right ear, stunning me. Some of the fight drains out of me.

  Save your strength. Mourn later.

  Repeating this to myself, I turn my thoughts to Shay. As we move out into the night, I silently pray that Meekah stays where she is. No need to tempt them with the chance to hurt her further.

  Shay is on her knees in the snow and I’m forced down beside her. One of her eyes is puffy and swollen, her bottom lip split and bleeding. An unmoving figure is facedown about ten yards away. Another is nursing a bloody nose. From the looks of it, she put up a good fight.

  The man who shot Joann busies himself for a couple minutes building up the firepit. The shapes of horses milling around the clearing become a little more visible. I still only count six, plus Beau, who is farthest away from us. As for the attackers: one clubbed behind the shelter, one dead inside, one dead outside… that leaves broken nose, the one who kicked me in the back, and the leader.

  After the flames are built up, the one with the broken nose moves to the woodpile and pulls a few sticks free. Wrapping them in some cloth, he lights them. Handing them out to his companions, I get a good look at all three of them in the torchlight. They all look somewhere between thirty and fifty years old. Recently clean shaven and good hygiene.

  “What do you want with us?” I ask.

  The leader pulls Joann’s camp chair across the
ground until he’s sitting directly across from us. Pulling a hunting knife from the sheath at his waist, he slowly uses the tip to clean his fingernails. “I said-.”

  “I heard you,” he interrupts.

  The one who kicked me is standing the closest to me; his gun is trained steadily at my head. With his free hand, he digs in a jacket pocket pulling free a crudely rolled cigarette. Using the torch to light it, his buddies laugh when he singes his eyelashes. Looking around, he plants the butt of the torch beside the firepit so he can smoke and aim the gun freely.

  This?

  This is who got the best of us?

  It only makes me angrier.

  Sneaking a glance at Shay, I see her staring at the seated leader with a look of pure disgust and hatred.

  “We hadn’t intended on killing you. Maybe rough you up a bit. You have plenty of food here, plenty to share with us, at least.” Shay doesn’t blink at his response. “But you all had to come out with guns drawn and force my hand.”

  I hate this man. I hate everything about him. Why go on with this bullshit? Just to taunt us? Make us feel like this is somehow our fault? The urge to jump on him and claw his eyes out is almost overwhelming.

  He continues, but I’m not listening. Broken Nose looks up suddenly; something behind me has drawn his attention. No sound reaches me, but an urgent lick on one of my hands tells me that Meekah has joined us. The one with his gun on me shuffles forward as if to aim a kick at her. Leaning to block the kick, his boot catches me in the ribs. Again, the air whooshes out of me.

  All eyes on me, Shay springs into action.

  Rolling onto the balls of her feet, she launches herself at the man with the gun. It’s no longer pointed at me while he catches his balance after the kick. He squeezes off a shot in his shock at being tackled. They hit the ground with a loud thump. The gun is shaken free of his hand, landing not far from me.

  Jumping on the gun makes me feel like I’m being kicked in the ribs all over again. Rolling onto my back, I aim the gun at the camp chair. It’s empty. Swinging the gun to the side, I see the leader pulling my rifle up to his shoulder to aim at Shay’s back.