by Anna Oney
"C'mon out! I won't hurt you!" a man shouted. "If you don't come out, I'll just wait till you're sleepin' and come git your ass!"
Good grief, she thought. Men and their testosterone.
"Oh yeah? I've got my own rifle. And a dog that'd gladly chew your ass to shreds!"
"So I have to deal with a crazy bitch and her dog?!"
"Looks that way!"
By the sound of him, he wasn't too bright. Emma believed whoever thought it was a good idea for him to be the lookout must have an equal amount of brain damage. Though his lack of intelligence was in Emma's favor, running back to the cover of her family's woods was still dangerous.
The sun was high in the sky. With it gleaming from directly above, it looked as though God were holding a spotlight over them. Soon, sweat began to trickle down Emma's forehead. When it hit her lips, the salty substance caused her to crave a drink of water.
Oh, if only I was as good a shot as Maddox, she thought. The idiot in that tree would be dead and we'd be on our way. But no, this overconfident fool had to catch me off guard, way up high in his special treehouse.
Due to the branches surrounding him, there was no point in Emma even aiming. She couldn't see their attacker clearly, so there was no shot to be made.
"It's not just me!" he screamed, sounding desperate. "More of my family'll come. My shift's almost over!"
"They're not gonna be happy to see I'm still alive, right? Right?!"
"Right . . . uhhh, n- no! Wrong! I don't have to kill you! It doesn't have to be that way!"
"Then let me pass! I'm not leaving till you jump outta that tree or your people make me leave! Either way, you're gonna get into some trouble, by me or them! I'd choose me. That's all I'm saying. I can be nice, if you let me!"
"You make the first move!"
"Me?! You're the one with the advantage!"
"What advantage?"
"I sure as hell ain't gonna tell you, you dummy!"
The only choice Emma had was to make a run for it. If he did have more people coming, then their whole journey would be lost. Emma was a good shot up against one, maybe two, but not three or four. If she could muster up enough courage to clear the distance back to the woods, she and Stella had the smallest chance of surviving.
Taking her eye from the scope, Emma stared into her companion's black eyes.
"You ready to run? You want to go? You ready?" she asked in an excited tone. "You want to go" had always seemed to be Stella's favorite phrase. To her, it meant they were about to go on a great adventure, but at that moment, to Emma it meant they were about to run for their lives. Due to her excitement, Stella began barking to get things moving.
Strapping the rifle tightly around her chest, Emma made sure everything she carried was secure. If only my courage was secure, she thought, my legs would be moving by now. With the sun beaming down on them, Emma took a few seconds to kiss her restless friend between the eyes.
As Emma prepared for their mad dash into the woods' cover, something pushed her from behind, knocking her face-first onto the ground. As fast as she could, Emma hopped to her knees. Slinging the rifle from her shoulder, she aimed it at whatever had struck her. But nothing—no one—stood in her line of fire.
Seeming concerned, Stella began licking the filth from Emma's face. Patting her head, Emma spat out a large quantity of dirt mixed with blood from her cut bottom lip. Now a drink of water was more than a craving; it was a necessity.
Their invisible stranger had never made contact before, but she couldn't worry herself with their intentions. Whether they were good or not, she had to move. Readjusting her belongings again, she prepared for takeoff. Now or never, Emma thought as her feet left the ground.
Emma's greatest gift from God was her ability to run. With His gift, Emma was able to run faster than she ever had before. Causing difficulties for their assailant in the tree, she ran in a zigzagged line. Only two shots were fired, and they both missed. The shooting stopped just as Emma's and Stella's figures were covered by the pines, but that didn't stop them. If he had more people coming, they would need to distance themselves from the area.
After the uneasiness in her mind calmed down, Emma realized she was literally sprinting back home. She was going backward, not forward. Her body seemed to be telling her it was time to go back, but her spirit told her not to allow anyone, especially a stranger, ruin her goals. Halting abruptly, Emma glanced behind her, expecting to see the man chasing after them, but no one was there. Deep down, he didn't want any trouble. If he did, he would have come chasing after it.
There was a log a few strides ahead. As Emma went toward it, she drank from her canteen. When she reached the log, she planted herself right on top. Sitting there, after a few minutes' rest, she realized Stella was gone. Panic, sheer panic, was all she felt.
Frantic, Emma stood up and began scanning the area for her friend's white coat to appear. Thoughts of strangers finding her first plagued Emma's heart. If someone were to find Stella first, Emma was certain they would use her to fill their likely empty stomachs.
Nothing but trees and fallen leaves surrounded her. Stella's coat would have stuck out easily in these woods. Fear of her being taken, hurt, and tortured for sport coaxed Emma to risk shouting her name.
"Stella! Stella!" she screamed, but no sound of her dog running back surfaced. Wherever Stella was, she was alone.
Emma was alone.
Only a couple of minutes passed when Emma realized she couldn't stay here looking. It wasn't safe, especially now, with new threats possibly making their way toward her. Knowing Stella was blessed with great tracking skills filled Emma with hope that her dog would come across her scent somewhere down the line.
Coming up with a new plan was difficult. Emma couldn't easily sneak through the woods without being seen. Others had already come up with that idea, so her plan had become null and void. The only logical way to move forward, Emma figured, would be to find the road and stay close to it, covered by the tree line. That way, she would be able to see potential threats on the road as well as in the woods.
With Stella's safety on her mind, Emma spent the next few hours making her way toward the nearest, and hopefully deserted, road. The scrapes on her forearms and chin Emma had received after the invisible stranger had pushed her to the ground were inflamed and burned like hell. And being uncomfortable wasn't her only problem. The swishing sounds of the canteen's contents forced Emma's dry mouth to wish to be moistened. She'd gone through desperate measures to conserve what water remained. Easy access to it wasn't a good thing. Every time she had easy access to something, the privilege was often abused. So her canteen stayed deep in the bottom of the pack, where it belonged.
The sun shone brightly through the trees above, projecting the shadowy shapes of leaves and pine needles onto the ground. Emma found them hypnotic. The wind soon blessed her with a cool breeze to calm her wounds. With every gush of the wind, the shadows of leaves and needles swayed upon the ground. Their teasing motions caused Emma to long for a good nap.
Though the breeze coaxed her to lie down, Emma knew if she did, her pestering and invisible guardian wouldn't have allowed it to last for more than a few seconds. Emma believed her injuries would have been far worse if their purpose was to harm her. A few small scrapes and bruises were nothing. Whomever it was, they wanted Emma to survive just as much as she and Stella did.
Having not heard or seen any sign of the hunter for hours, Emma found it difficult to view that as a good sign. More than likely, it was too good to be true. The only prayer she had was that he and his comrades would lose her trail and write it off as a loss. With most men, that was easier said than done, so Emma constantly kept her eyes and ears open for threats.
Not being able to let her guard down was the worst feeling in the world. Constantly looking over both shoulders and being terrified to take a few minutes of well-deserved rest were beginning to wear Emma down. It was only day two, and she had already gotten herself into a me
ss of trouble.
"Yep, this sure is a great start. I'm a natural," she whispered. "What a loser. What an embarrassing failure."
With Stella missing, Emma's transparent friend brought much-needed comfort. There was someone watching over her. And there was no need for Emma to worry about their safety because whoever they were, they were already dead.
Hours later, Emma came upon an odd tree. It was skinny with low-hanging branches. It was hunched like it carried a heavy burden upon its back. It looked as though it was whimpering, like the poor thing had finally had enough. For some reason, it intrigued her.
I feel you, buddy.
Standing before it, Emma rested her palm against its trunk. As she did so, she heard the soft whisper of a child. The innocent, unrecognizable voice of a little boy said, "Momma . . . move."
Before Emma could understand the full meaning of what was being said and why, something snapped beside her, swinging the tree upright. The slouching tree now proudly stood tall. The sound of rustling leaves reached her ear. Something began shuffling them across the ground. Before Emma could move from its path, the leaves had been cleared from the ground, revealing a rope circling her left foot. The realization that she'd been trapped quickly set in, but not quickly enough for her to escape. The rope tightened around Emma's ankle, thrusting her leg into the air and pulling her face-first to the ground.
Blood seeped from Emma's nose into her mouth. The coppery taste forced her to gag and spit. A hard blow to her head caused severe dizziness, and Emma couldn't see anything but the blurry shadows of the leaves.
The sudden appearance of a large animal carrying something upon its back frightened Emma enough to try and stand. Holding her wrist up to her nose, she watched as the figure that had once been hazy became clear.
What looked like a thirty-something-year-old man sat upon a brown-and-white horse. He had on a weathered cowboy hat, blue jeans, and a stained white shirt covered with a brown vest. It seemed as though he and the horse wore matching clothes. By looking at them, Emma could tell they shared the same close relationship as she and Stella.
"Damn it to hell!" the man shouted, dismounting. "You must be that girl my idiot brother failed to apprehend." Squatting before Emma, he placed his fingers beneath her chin and raised her head to look into his brilliant, chocolate-brown eyes. The stranger was handsome. His face was chiseled and dusted with a light beard. His hair was chestnut brown and shaggy, way more than to Emma's liking, but it suited him. As he reached out his hand, his well-defined muscles flexed.
"Gosh, girl." He let out a breath. "When you set off my trap, I thought I'd caught me one of them big black cats we've been seein' roamin' round here."
"Black cat?" Emma gurgled, spitting blood to the ground. "I ain't seen no black cat."
"Oh, they're out there. Believe me. It's sure as hell gonna disappoint some folks when they see all I caught was you." He shook his head. "Name's Reedus, but people tend to call me Reed. That handsome feller there"—he motioned toward his ride—"is Brute. You feel up for tellin' us yours?"
Wiping the blood from her face, Emma proudly stated, "Name's Emma, people just call me Emma. Not a difficult name. Abbreviating isn't necessary." The smirk forming on her face was an attempt to tell him she wasn't attracted to his devilish good looks and ridiculous name.
"You gotta last name to go with that, sweet thang?"
"Do you?" she said.
"Don't be like that. If you do as I say, there won't be a need to rough you up," he said, aiming the barrel of her rifle at her forehead.
"Jenkins," she said, knowing there were just as many of them in their small town as there were Clerys. "My last name's Jenkins."
"We've been to the Jenkins's place. I guess you're the last survivor?" He smiled, looking her up and down. Once he finished with his examination, Reed let his gaze linger at her side. "What's that you got there?"
Reaching for the spear tip, Emma proved to be too slow as Reed kicked her hand to the side. Using the heel of his boot, he held her wrist to the ground and claimed what he was after.
"Well, would you look at that?" he whispered in admiration. "I've never seen anythin' like this here."
"Please be careful with it. It's very old."
"This thing mean somethin' to you?"
"Yes . . . it does."
"Then I'll be extra careful." He grinned, winking.
From where Emma sat, she was able to get a good look at the base of the tree. It was then that she noticed the dead rabbit latched to it as bait. All of the lessons from Tom on how to be observant of her surroundings had been flushed down the metaphorical toilet. Emma would be embarrassed if he was to see her now.
Reed used some of the rope from his trap to bind her wrists and then used the rest to secure her pack to Brute.
"It's a good way to our farm," he said. "You're not gonna make me hurtcha, are you? You best not be thinkin' of a way to piss me off."
"Oh, dear," she said sarcastically, and gasped. "I would never."
"I like you, Emma. You got guts. But don't push me, girl. You'll regret it."
Emma was a big girl and couldn't see how Reed would be able to lift her. He was strong, but he didn't look that strong. But there was no reason for her doubt, as he effortlessly picked Emma up by the thighs and situated her on the back of his horse. Mounting behind her, Reed reached for something in the saddlebag. Emma wondered what it was until he placed a filthy canvas bag over her head.
"You can take it off when we get there," he said. "Sorry if it smells; I forgot to wash it out from my last kill."
"Gross."
Despite being a country girl, Emma had never been a big fan of horseback riding. Her tolerance for horses, she feared, would not improve after this experience.
As they galloped toward their destination, the rushing wind whipped the front of the bag closer to Emma's face. She couldn't see where they were headed, but her eyes stayed glued to the bottom of the bag, where it opened, until it began making her nauseous.
Keeping Emma from tipping over, Reed kept a strong hold of her side.
"Hey! Hey!" she shouted. "Hey!"
Pulling on the reins, he slowed their speed and cursed.
"Damn, what is it?" As the horse stopped, Emma's backside felt immediate relief. Leaving her struggling to balance, Reed hopped down with ease, and groaned. "What the hell is it?"
"My wrists! You tied these ropes too tight!"
He took the bag from her head, and Reed revealed a massive red barn standing a few yards ahead—a barn Emma recognized. She couldn't place who the barn belonged to, but she remembered crossing paths with the structure in the past. Most of the red paint was chipped and faded. It had metal roofing, and from a distance, Emma could tell some of the metal sheets had been blown off. The same old, rusted swing set stood beside it, but this time there were two young girls swinging from it. They seemed to be playing a game of who could launch themselves the farthest from the set.
"We're already here. All you had to do was wait a few more minutes."
Besides being tied up, something about this place told Emma this was not a good spot to be in. They crept closer, Emma knowing that whatever lay inside was hazardous to her health. She searched for anyone she might recognize, but the only people outside were the eight- or ten-year-olds playing on the swing set.
Suddenly, a distant memory clouded Emma's thoughts. A vision of her parting from her green Taurus toward the exact same barn resurfaced. Emma's red curls had been slicked back into a fancy bun, and she'd worn a forest-green pantsuit. She remembered being frustrated due to the long distance between the comfort of her air-conditioned car and the rundown house that stood beside the barn at the time. Like most of their summer days, it had been hot, and the air had refused to move. Makeup had steadily trickled down Emma's face, getting a free ride from her sweat. Equipped with her clipboard and trusted pen, Emma had struggled to put on a smiling, reassuring face for the house visit, and had carried on toward the house.
Knocking her from the past was the children's laughter upon noticing Reed's return.
"Uncle Reed!" they hollered. "Uncle Reed's home!" They soon reached him, and tugged at the bottom of his jeans.
"What took you so long?" one of them asked.
"You're lookin' at it, my little beauties."
"You've got pretty hair," the taller of the two girls said.
"Thanks," Emma replied, her gaze transfixed on the barn.
"Hey, where is everybody?" Reed asked, looking around.
"Eating lunch."
"And why ain't you two doin' the same?"
"We finished early!" the smaller girl said. "The new girl wasn't hungry again."
"She wasn't?" he asked. "Where's she at?"
"Still watching over her daddy," the other replied. "He still don't feel good."
"Well, hell." Reed sighed. "I was hopin' he'd pull through. You girls make sure and be nice to her, you hear?"
"We are!"
"Oh really, is that right?" Reed chuckled. "You two run along and tell everybody we've got ourselves a new guest."
With their leave came the screeching of the sliding doors of the barn. Emma heard laughter emanating from inside. Regrettably, they were too far away to decipher what the voices were actually saying.
"Those were my nieces," he said, "little Rosie and Grace."
"Y'all take people in?"
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
"Yeah, sometimes."
"That girl and her father. You just let them in?"
"Not just them," he said. "There were three others. Brothers."
How bad can they be? she thought. "What happened to the brothers?"
"Listen," he said, changing the subject, "lemme do all the talkin'."
Pulling on the reins, Reed forced them to come to a complete stop.
