by Anna Oney
Four years after Sally's suicide, Tom finally agreed to see his father. Tom was living on his own in a shabby, one bedroom apartment overrun by cockroaches. He'd expected signs of remorse, but the purpose of Ross's request for Tom's visit was to confess that he'd had an affair while he and Sally were married. The woman's name was Rebecca. The reason Ross had been forced to bring her up was because Rebecca had abandoned a runny-nosed child on Ross's front porch—and she claimed the boy was his—a boy the woman had named Cooper.
***
"We gonna stop anytime soon?" Cooper had sulked, snapping Tom from his trance. "You see that sign down yonder?" Tom had asked, motioning ahead of them. "Do you?"
Squinting, Cooper had replied, "Yeah, I see it. So what?"
If the boy had truly been looking, he would have spotted the abandoned vehicle stranded directly before the sign.
"There's a car, Cooper. Could be shelter, don't you think?"
Loathing the moments Tom was right and he was wrong, Cooper knew he would never match up to his tall, handsome, and strong, older brother. "I guess," Cooper groaned. "How long you think it'll take to get there?" Aggravating Tom was the boy's only source of entertainment. When they'd left home, Cooper hadn't been able to bring any of his prized possessions. He'd been limited to two books and their father's deck of cards, which they had swiped from the kitchen table while Ross was asleep.
"Not long," Tom replied through gritted teeth.
Rolling his eyes, Cooper shrugged and said, "Fine then."
Halfway to the vehicle, Tom had commanded him to stay hidden in the ditch while he scanned the area. To Cooper, it seemed every time his brother heard a twig snap—or any sound, for that matter—Tom was ready for a fight. The twelve-year-old found it unsettling that Tom expected a brawl every time they turned a corner.
Twenty minutes was all it had taken for Tom to scope the place out and wave Cooper over. Arriving at his brother's side, Cooper found Tom setting up camp.
"Not building a fire tonight," Tom said, noticing Cooper reaching for the matches stowed in the side compartment of his pack. "Not a good idea out in the open."
"But it's freezing!"
"Would you rather draw attention from some asshole we don't know?"
"Why can't we stay in the woods? I'd rather be warm than comfortable."
Tom wasn't familiar with these woods, and getting lost in them would be detrimental. Plus, he feared being lost, especially in the woods. Years ago, during the first night of one of Ross's hunting escapades, he and his buddies had gotten hammered. The next day, they'd moved on from camp without bothering to rouse the sleeping ten-year-old in the tent opposite them. For three solid days, Tom had wandered the forest, starving, scared, and alone, until he'd randomly emerged from the woods to a busy highway. Ever since then, Tom had feared the ominous dark corners of the woods above all the horrors inhabiting the Middle East.
"You know the story," Tom replied simply. "It's not happening."
In response, Cooper begrudgingly climbed into the backseat of the 4Runner, and Tom got in front. Annoyed with each other, they'd wrapped themselves in their sleeping bags and had fallen fast asleep, cold and hungry.
The tops of the trees shielded the sky. Tom was surrounded by the woods he hated so much. Neither sun nor moon would light his path. The glowing eyes of creatures lurking about took note of his every move.
Blindly, as he stumbled through the thick brush, a spotlight shone on the oak before him. Cautiously, he approached the tree, and was startled by a ghostly figure clothed in a white gown, emerging from behind it. Gradually, the face formed with every step it took in his direction. By the time the apparition reached its destination, Tom's heart had nearly pounded itself from his chest.
Frozen in his stance, the hazel eyes of Tom's deceased mother stared back at him as coldly as they had the day she'd lain lifeless in the tub.
"Mom?" he whispered, baffled. "Wh—"
"The woods, Tom," Sally said. "That is where you'll find her."
"But I—"
"Go to the woods!"
"Nooo!" Tom had screamed, jarring himself awake.
"What?! What is it?!" Cooper exclaimed, jolting up from the leather seat.
Ignoring him, Tom thought, Go to the woods? Why the woods? Grasping at Sally's cross around his neck, he replied, "I had the weirdest dream."
"It's way too early for this," Cooper grumbled, burying his face in his sleeping bag. "Save it for the road."
"Mom was in it."
"What? Sally?" he asked, suddenly intrigued. "What'd she say?"
"She said to go to the woods," Tom answered. "Said I'd find her . . . a girl."
"Yeah." Cooper chuckled. "I figured 'her' meant a girl."
Tom's mother had always been a sensitive subject between the brothers. Tom never brought her up, and when he did, Cooper's brain just couldn't seem to communicate well with his vocal cords. The right words were always stripped from him when it came to Sally.
As the sun began clearing the trees, Cooper looked out the window, and whispered, "Maybe we should."
"I'm not setting one foot in them damn woods," Tom said as he rolled up his sleeping bag. "Not one. It was a dream. It didn't mean a thing."
"But, what if—"
"She's dead," he said, thrusting the car door open. "Dead. And if she cared anything for me at all she wouldn't have pulled that trigger."
After that, neither of them knew what to say. Not a word passed between them until around noon. The sun was highest in the sky, and it blessed them with the warmth they'd been missing. Due to the accumulation of sweat, they were forced to tie their coats around their waists, something they hadn't done since the start of their journey.
"Never thought I'd say this," Tom said, attempting to break the ice, "but I'm sweating my balls off over here."
"Same here." Cooper grinned, glancing Tom's way.
From then on, the day had gone smoothly, and by dusk they'd arrived at a string of nearly a dozen stranded cars. The vehicles' owners had likely parked there to dine at the restaurant across the street, Nance's Barbeque. The restaurant was nearly thirty miles from town, but the distance had never mattered to anyone; people had craved her home-style cooking. It had been a hot spot before everything stopped working, and an establishment to which Tom remembered bringing a couple of his unstable girlfriends.
"Barbeque sounds good," Cooper said.
"Damn." Tom made a slurping sound. "Just the thought of it's making my mouth water."
"Mine too."
"When everything was up and running, you could smell the brisket from here." Tom paused, checking the ammo of the pistol he was carrying at his side.
"What are you gonna do?"
"See if there's anything to find. You hungry, ain'tcha?"
Suspicious of the dwelling across the road, Cooper cut his eyes toward the entrance.
He replied, "Well, yeah, but—"
"Don't worry," Tom said, opening the passenger door of a silver Volvo. "Stay here. I'll be back in no time."
"But—"
"Stay here like I said," he commanded. "And keep out of sight."
Tom shut the door, and then began to make his way across the street, Cooper anxiously staring after him. Every time they'd parted from each other, Tom had remained in sight—but not this time. Cooper hated being alone. Before he was dropped on Ross's doorstep, that was all Rebecca had done with him—leave him alone. Even when he was a toddler, she'd left him alone. While she was out, to keep Cooper from harming himself, she'd strapped him to the car seat and locked him in the bedroom.
Maybe he was a little rough around the edges, but Tom was the only person Cooper had who cared about him the way a parent should. With every step Tom took, a distressed, nauseous feeling erupted inside of Cooper's stomach.
The inside was the same as Tom remembered. The only differences were the cobwebs and dust lining every inch of the place. The chocolate-colored curtains, turquoise walls, and circular tables
scattered throughout the dining room brought back memories of his fingers drenched in Nance's famous sauce, a pile of filthy napkins by his side.
What stood out the most to Tom was the chalkboard above the checkout counter, where Nance displayed quotes from several classic movies. If one of her guests guessed the title of the movie from which the quote came correctly, they'd win a free slab of her famously delicious ribs. Tom had won a record seven times.
The quote on the chalkboard read: "Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!"
"Dr. Strangelove," Tom whispered, passing under the board. "Nice try. I'll take my ribs now."
Before the lights had gone out, he'd never dared to enter Nance's kitchen without her consent, but now it looked as though many people had already. Nance's domain was wrecked beyond repair. By the state of things, Tom thought he'd be lucky if he found anything at all.
The cabinets surrounding Nance's massive stove were picked dry, as were the shelves where she'd displayed her savory pies. Tom even went to the lengths of checking inside the stove and refrigerator, though he knew if anything lay hidden, it would likely be spoiled. But there was nothing—nada, zilch—then he remembered the smokehouse out back—the smokehouse Nance had hired him to build years earlier.
After Tom exited through the back door, he began to climb the hill toward the towering smokehouse when a shriek coming from inside the restaurant behind him had him stalled. Turning on his heel, Tom had raised his firearm, and sprinted away from the smokehouse to reach the nearest window of Nance's establishment. Crouching underneath it, he peeked inside and spotted blankets and clothes scattered throughout a nook. Nance's restaurant had become a home for looters.
Staying low, Tom rounded the corner, and he heard another scream erupt from within. As he'd reached the next window, he realized Cooper had disobeyed him.
Most of the tables surrounding the bulky figure pinning Cooper to the floor were overturned. There were two other people who stood tall behind the mammoth who was holding Tom's brother down. One thing was certain: The brothers were outnumbered by three homely women who had chopped off their hair to disguise their gender. A smart move, but useless since each of them was well endowed. They weren't equipped with rifles or handguns; all they had were walking sticks that they'd sharpened to end in a point. But it didn't matter how ill-equipped they were—these women seemed to mean business.
Wildly looking about, the woman weighing Cooper down screamed, "Where's your friend, huh?! Where's he at?!"
Cooper remained petrified beneath her. There was nothing he could do; she was too much woman for a twelve-year-old to handle. The trio seemed to be running out of patience, which meant Tom was running out of time. He had to make a move.
Tightening his grip on the pistol, Tom eased around the corner and onto the porch. Clinging to the wall nearest the door, he inched his way closer.
Bursting through the door, he exclaimed, "Get off of him!"
"Oh, there he is! You gonna put that thang to use?" the woman said, grinning maliciously.
"Don't make me do it," Tom pleaded, aiming the pistol. "Don't make me."
Their intent to cause harm to anyone who crossed their paths was etched into the animalistic expressions on their faces. The two women stationed on either side of their leader raised their spears, and the lady threatening Cooper's life didn't have a chance in the world. Without hesitating, Tom fired the first round, shooting her dead in the face. Seemingly beside themselves, the other two began squealing at a volume that Tom imagined could be heard for miles, so he had no choice but to silence them as well.
Nothing had followed. No sound. It had happened so fast. In a state of disbelief, Tom had to remind himself to breathe. His only option was to pull himself together for Cooper, who lay undisturbed beneath the woman whose face had been obliterated thanks to Tom.
After securing the pistol in his belt, Tom knelt beside his brother and shoved the woman's lifeless form from Cooper's body.
"Cooper," he whispered, grasping the boy's arm. "Cooper."
His brother seemed to be in shock. His eyes were wide open, and he wasn't blinking. Teeth and pieces of skull littered his chest, along with splatters of blood that were also strewn across his face.
He rolled Cooper onto his side, and brushed the carnage from his brother's clothes. Tom then lifted him from the floor. Cradling him, Tom softly whispered in Cooper's ear, "We're leaving. It's gonna be okay. I got you."
With his younger brother in his arms, Tom had refused to look toward the three corpses, and he passed through the door without so much as a glance. In less than a minute, he had shot down three women. Seconds were all it had taken to end their lives. Only time could lessen the guilt, but no matter the situation, no matter the circumstances, Tom knew it would never go away. Three simple pulls of the trigger would haunt Tom for the rest of his life.
It was dire that Tom distance himself from the restaurant, and fast. As he cleared the steps, his gaze was pulled down the street, then toward the tree line before him. "Go to the woods," his mother had said. "Go to the woods." Judging by the state Cooper was in, it seemed to Tom that he had no choice but to do as his mother had told.
"All right, Mom," he grumbled. "All right. I'm coming."
***
The iconic movie scene from The Wizard of Oz that featured irate trees hurling apples at Dorothy had been too much for Tom's nerves to handle. To keep from worrying about the creepy, destructible forces surrounding them, Tom avoided the timber at all costs, and instead focused on finding a water source.
By the second hour, Cooper still hadn't woken, and despite his size, the dead weight left Tom struggling. As he trudged through the thick terrain, Tom had begun regretting his decision to leave the road. Everything looked the same, and the forest seemed endless. There was no sign to head this way or that, so Tom's only options were to either keep pushing forward or turn back. It was tempting. But so far, no one had attacked them in the woods, so Tom decided to continue moving onward.
It wasn't long after Tom had made up his mind that his ears perked up, hearing the soothing sounds of a rushing stream. Rounding trunk after trunk, a rattled sigh of relief escaped his lungs as they arrived at the winding stream. Kneeling before it, Tom eased his brother to the ground. He plunged his hand into the freezing water, and then ran his fingers along Cooper's forehead and cheeks.
"C'mon, Cooper," Tom said, splashing water in Cooper's face. "C'mon. Wake up."
Catching Tom off guard, Cooper jerked open his eyes. Distraught, he thrashed about, hell-bent on causing damage to whoever had weighed him down.
"Cooper!" Tom exclaimed, dodging Cooper's fist. "No! Stop!" Grasping the boy's arms, Tom shook him fiercely, and screamed, "It's me! It's Tom! Cooper, stop!"
Cooper stared Tom in the face, and his frantic state of mind seemed to disappear. As he blinked, tears streamed down his face. Shaking, he lowered his fists, and cried, "Tom?!"
"I'm here," Tom said. "I'm here. You're okay."
"Those women . . . are they . . . Di-did that really happen?"
"It did. C'mon," Tom said, helping him up. "All we can do is try to put it behind us."
"That's gonna be hard."
"It won't be easy. You live through something like that, it's bound to stick with you."
Once on his feet, Cooper took note of the towering pines surrounding them.
"We're in the woods. But you sai—"
"I know what I said."
"What changed your mind?"
"Almost losing you."
***
The brothers had spent two sleepless nights in the woods, and on the third day of traveling, they'd emerged from the trees to see the bumpy surface of a dirt road. Relieved to be clear of the forest and its spontaneous, bloodcurdling sounds, Tom had pushed forward at a brisk pace, forcing Cooper to jog to keep up.
It wasn't until well into the early hours of the morning that their persistence had paid off. A few yards ahead down the road,
they saw a sign that read, "Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again." It hung above the entrance of a gated community. A kerosene lantern hanging from a hook silhouetted three tall figures. Each of the figures was armed, but the brothers had continued to approach anyway.
As the toes of their boots reached the edge of the luminescence, Tom had looked at Cooper, and whispered, "Do as they say."
He stepped fully into the lamplight, and what followed was three sharp rings of a bell.
Chapter 3:
Emma
"I can hunt," Tom said. "I'm good with a rifle—anything, really."
"Yeah, but you see," Doolie said, "we can't be giving you a weapon just yet. We just don't know you well enough."
"More like not at all," Mrs. Maples cut in.
"Later," he snapped, glaring in her direction, "when we build some trust—then we'll see if you can join my nephews' hunting party."
"Okay," Tom replied, seeming defeated.
Facing the neighbors, Doolie scanned the crowd.
"Anybody currently need an extra pair of hands?" he asked. No one answered. "Huh? Anybody?"
Most of them cut their eyes toward the ceiling or the floorboards beneath them, which only seemed to aggravate Doolie further. By his devious expression, it was obvious he was about to point someone out. He made eye contact with those in the group who weren't avoiding his gaze, and chose Mrs. Maples to take them on.
"Georgia, why don't you teach these boys some of your gardening techniques?"
Mrs. Maples didn't have a choice in the matter. Arguing would have been a waste of her valuable time, so she behaved the same as she always did when she wasn't in agreement: She huffed and puffed and dramatically threw her callused hands upon her wobbly hips. She seemed so angry she could spit.
