by Anna Oney
As Emma took aim, they foolishly began heading in her direction. One of her slower assailants opened up a window of opportunity as he hesitated before sprinting for cover. Firing the bolt, she watched with satisfaction as it jabbed into the area above his right armpit, puncturing the artery. Covering the wound, he tripped over his feet, slamming his face into the tree where he sought safety.
The amount of anxiety that had manifested over making the next shot forced Emma's hands to shake. She had no control over it. The amount of time she used to reload gave the three remaining men the opportunity to gain more ground.
Without aiming properly, Emma fired the third bolt. Barely nipping the skin, the bolt ripped through the fabric of the larger man's shirt. Crouching behind the nearest tree, Emma attempted to reload as he fired his weapon. The bullet collided with the bark of the side of the tree, dousing her eyes with splinters and dust.
Blind, Emma tried clawing the debris from her sight, and the man she'd failed to apprehend had suddenly gained more ground. Standing before her, the blurry figure aimed his pistol at Emma's chest, but before he could pull the trigger, the man whose voice she'd recognized but—because of the excitement—still couldn't place, had caught up with him. Shoving the barrel of his comrade's gun to the ground, the man forced it to fire only inches from her feet.
"Stop! It's done! He's down."
In retaliation, Emma raised the crossbow to fire, but before she could pull the trigger it was snatched from her grasp. Blindly reaching for the pistol at her side, Emma remembered having foolishly given it to Nell as a gift.
"He killed two of our guys," the man argued. "And you're tellin' me to chill? Nah, fuck that, Ethan!"
Oh no. The familiar stranger was the same man Doolie had supposedly killed months earlier. Daddy, what were you thinking?
Their argument seemed to keep them blind to Emma's movements below them. The accumulation of tears drained the irritable substance from her eyes just as she made her move. As she escaped them, they fired, and screamed after her, "Son of a bitch!"
Weaponless and exhausted, Emma tired almost instantly. The pain in her jaw outweighed the aching in her legs, but the latter slowed her down all the same. Finding herself only a few yards from where she'd started, she felt a sharp pain on her calf and realized one of their bullets had grazed her skin.
The men laughed at Emma's failed attempt at survival, and she came to grips with the reality that her life was about to come to a bitter end. Accepting defeat was hard for a Clery to do. Feelings of anger, frustration, and disappointment filled Emma's chest, as her assailants approached.
Stationed yards away from them, she stood with her back turned and pulled the mask from her face, freeing her curls from confinement.
"It's a damn girl." One of the men cackled, and heaved from overexertion. "A woman did all this."
She stood alone, savoring the cool breeze, when out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of white run past.
"Stella!"
With the results of her morning hunt secured in her jaw, Emma's loyal companion and savior appeared at last. The rabbit Stella had killed for their breakfast hit the ground as soon as she laid eyes on Emma's foes.
"Stella! No! Go away! Run! Leave!"
Ignoring Emma's commands, she headed straight toward what Emma was certain would be the dog's demise. Losing her was not an option, but no matter how loudly Emma screamed, Stella kept running.
Facing their enemies, she said, "I'm not gonna let this happen." Balling up her fists, Emma readied herself for battle, and whispered, "Not today."
They fired their last bullet, throwing their pistol to the ground, and missed Stella by inches. But the echoing bang didn't seem to faze the animal. Unarmed and out in the open, Stella seemed to catch the savage and foul stenches of their inner beings, and quickened her pace. Not a one of them could seem to put the crossbow to use, but Emma knew three men would be too much for her dearest friend to handle.
Horrified with the thought of Stella being injured or killed, Emma began moving forward, as Stella jumped them from behind and collided with the smallest, most vulnerable foe. As Stella knocked his feeble body to the ground, she wasted no time sinking her teeth into what Emma knew would end his breathing forever: the jugular. Blood spurted out, drenching her pristine white coat. She tore into his flesh as though it were a steak she was trying to gobble up before any other dogs realized the prize she had.
The savagery of the scene had made Ethan and his comrade stoic, and they stood looking traumatized. Her brutality was terrifying, even for Emma to watch.
As Stella's first victim bled out, the pair was woken from their trances, and tried beating her with the crossbow, but she was too quick. The dead man lying on the ground no longer held her attention, so she began growling at the other two. The larger man attempted to reload the crossbow and was caught off guard as Stella sunk her teeth into his muscular calf.
"Get it off of me!" He thrashed and kicked, dropping the crossbow to the ground. "The fucker's got a hold on me!" he cried, but Ethan was too busy using her pack as a shield.
"Do somethin'! Please!" Stella's second victim screamed. "Help!"
Ethan searched through the pack, emerging with one of the cans of food. Winding up as though he were preparing to throw a pitch, he hurled it against Stella's skull.
Suddenly, Emma's pace began to quicken. The pain she'd felt disappeared in an instant as she witnessed Ethan's boot drive into Stella's side. Finally, Emma understood the feeling a mother got when she saw her child being bullied or messed with for sport. That feeling of pure hatred toward the person inflicting pain to her friend, her protector, her baby, overwhelmed Emma as she began sprinting toward what she imagined was her certain death.
Approaching him from behind, Emma fetched a small log from the ground. Ethan was so enraged by Stella that he wasn't aware of the dog's master creeping up behind him. Emma lifted the log over her head, and stepped on a bundle of twigs, snapping them. Wheeling about, he turned to face her just as she swung the log like a baseball bat.
The force of the blow knocked him to the ground. When Emma saw that he was more concerned with the blood spewing from his nose than he was her, she tried lunging for the crossbow, but the man whose leg Stella had devoured, was able to snatch it first. But he still wasn't able to put the weapon to use. If he had been, Emma was certain he would've shot her down.
"Just try it, bitch." He snarled, struggling to stand. "Just try it."
The stranger was wounded, but he was a large and brutish man. If Emma were to plunge herself into hand-to-hand combat, he could easily take her down. Instead of picking a fight, Emma's concern was for Stella, who lay unstirred and beaten on the ground. Hurriedly, she knelt beside Stella, picked her up, and whispered, "C'mon, baby."
After only the first steps of their escape were taken, the man who'd threatened her grabbed Emma from behind and drove his knuckles into her face. She fell to the ground, and Stella was thrown from her arms. Emma's eyes were cloudy, her head was spinning, and all she could do was lie there, defenseless.
As Stella's second victim cowardly kicked Emma in the side, she cried out, and curled into ball. Preparing herself for the next blow—which Emma believed would be the beginning of a slow, agonizing death—she heard a familiar growl coming from behind. The sound gave Emma the willpower to roll onto her side.
Witnessing Stella struggling to stand to bravely face yet another battle, Emma whispered, "Stella," a small smile forming at the edges of her mouth.
"Fuck!" the man who had punched her screamed. "It's gettin' back up."
"Here," Ethan said. "Give me the damn crossbow! Lemme try."
Looking up from the ground, Emma noticed Ethan attempting to reload the crossbow. His face was covered with blood from his busted nose, but Emma could still see his expression change in an instant from panic to sheer excitement as he pulled back the trigger.
"Nooo!" she screamed, reaching for his hand. "Please!"
But her pleas had no effect. Before he pulled the trigger, a vision of the day she and Stella had first met clouded her thoughts.
As a pup, Stella had been abandoned on the side of an old country road. That day, Emma had taken the back-way home and had come across a dog roaming the road, searching for food. Stella had been on the brink of starvation.
When Emma first tried to approach her, she had backed away and locked those dark, penetrating eyes on to Emma. She had seemed scared and untrusting, and for good reason. Scars plagued her malnourished body. But when Emma eased out her hand for Stella to sniff, the dog had dipped her snout and taken a cautious step forward.
When Emma held her for the first time, Stella's body had gone limp. Weakly, she had licked Emma's cheek, grateful and relieved for new companionship, and so was Emma.
So was Emma.
Back then, Emma had promised to take care of her—to love her, to cherish her, and to shield her from the type of scum who had mistreated her. But Emma had failed. Between her uncontrollable sobs, she could hear them cheering.
"Stupid dog," the stockier man said. "Serves it right."
"Stella!" She wept, reaching for her. "Stella . . . Stella . . . my baby . . . no . . . " Crawling toward her, Emma needed a last embrace, but before she could get to her, the wounded stranger, with the ravaged leg, snatched her up by the shoulders. Emma cringed as he placed his hands upon her breasts, feeling her up.
Taking a wad of Emma's hair, he forced her head back, and said, "He's gonna like her." He paused, twisting her curls around his fist. "Whatcha think he'll give me for her, Ethan?"
Ethan forcibly removed his partner in crime's hands from her body. "Stop it!" he commanded. "Bo, let her be!"
While they stared each other down, Emma took the chance to say goodbye to her friend. Holding Stella's lifeless body, Emma realized she had lied. All Stella had ever done was take care of her—not the other way around. They didn't know it, but they'd broken Emma's heart for forever. Nothing could replace Stella—nothing.
Emma pulled the bolt from the dog's body, and laid it beside her. She wiped their filthy blood from Stella's face, and Emma kissed her head, and whispered, "I love you, Stella. Miss . . . miss you forever," she whispered. "I have to let you go now. But I'll be seeing you in my dreams." Emma placed her on the ground, and Emma found that Ethan and Bo's argument had finally ceased, and they were staring at her. "Please let me bury my dog," she begged. "Please."
As Emma fought back the tears, she realized Ethan could at any moment decide to take his revenge on Doolie and bring his friends to Back Wood to take over, but he didn't say a word.
"No way in hell that's gonna happen." Bo said, picking Stella up from the ground. "We've been searchin' for food. A dog's mighty fine eatin' these days."
"She caught a rabbit. And I . . . I've got a few cans of food left in my pack," Emma pleaded as Bo limped away with her. "Take all that I have! But please, not her."
"I'm in charge until we get back to the house. Drop the dog, and take what the girl has." Ethan paused, reloading the crossbow. "Now, damn it!"
"Okay, motherfucker, okay, but this is the last damn time you raise your voice to me. I know you ain't gonna be stupid enough to give this bitch somethin' to dig with. She could turn it on us."
As Ethan shuffled through Emma's belongings, he cut his eyes toward her, and asked, "You got anything else in here that's useful?"
"There's a gardening shovel."
"Whatcha got one of them for?"
"I don't know." She shrugged, remembering Stella's persistent pleas to bring the shovel along. "I guess I just like being prepared. Needed it, too, didn't I?"
He used the shovel while Emma struggled against the hard ground with nothing but her fingers. They were smart not to give her any sharp objects, but the truth was, it wouldn't have mattered if they had. What little fight Emma had left had evaporated once that shot had been fired.
Despite Emma's fingers being bloody and raw, she continued to dig until the hole was just deep enough to house Stella's stocky form. Ethan insisted Emma be the one to place Stella in the grave, and she was grateful for it. She sensed that he did it out of respect. But showing her this kindness wasn't enough to forgive him for taking Stella away.
Covering Stella's white coat with the loosened soil, Emma's heart continued to sink as she came to grips with the reality that she would never see Stella again. Without caring how it made her look, Emma allowed tears to flow from her eyes without restraint.
"Ha! Kinda funny, ain't it?" Bo blurted out. "You'd think the damn dog was the cunt's kid."
Helping Emma up, Ethan met her gaze, and replied, "It was."
Taking a long stretch of rope secured around Stella's first victim's waist, Bo used it to tie Emma's hands behind her back. After inquiring about Stella's victim, Emma learned from Ethan that his name was Ray. They had gone through a rough patch, so to speak. Ray was skinny by nature, and he'd been the only one of them who had to go to the length of tying a rope around his waist to keep his pants up.
Before parting from Stella's grave, Bo allowed Ethan to cover his wounds. They used fabric from their fallen comrades' clothes. Behaving like a severely put-out child, Bo cursed Emma, Stella, God, and Ethan, who was getting the brunt of it.
Finished with Bo's patch-up job, Ethan decided it was time to leave. As they left their unfortunate friends behind to rot, Emma turned to take one last look at Stella's grave.
"Goodbye, my friend," she whispered.
When she turned, Emma felt a sharp object scrape against her ankle, something she had wrapped in cloth and placed inside of her boot for the night for safekeeping—the spear point Reed had been gracious enough to return to her. The one Stella had, Emma believed strategically, refused to leave alone the night before.
With excitement written across her face, Emma realized she might just be able to survive. Assuming the huge smile was a bit suspicious, she ducked her chin as Bo came limping up. What he didn't notice was the small grin surfacing on the side of Emma's mouth.
Thank you, Reed, she thought. Thank you, Stella.
They led her back to the willow, where they searched for supplies that might have fallen from her pack, but there was nothing left to salvage. They parted from the tree, and it wasn't long before they came to the road. As they took a right in the same direction she would have traveled, Emma was thankful they weren't leading her farther away from Griffin.
***
The spear tip cut deep into her ankle. Bo was less of a man than she'd thought, because he had to stop every hour to rest his wounded leg. But Emma refused to ask for a break.
As they went, Emma wasn't thinking of Griffin, or her parents, or even the girls. She knew Doolie was injured, but believed if anything like the situation she was in arose, she would find herself praying to see him coming to save her.
Instead, Emma was searching for Tom. With each glance she took around her, she longed to see him running to her rescue. It was at that moment, passing the vacant houses and utter hopelessness of it all, that Emma realized she'd been wrong—a complete idiot, even. She did want love and companionship, and more importantly, she wanted Tom's love and companionship. The jagged spear digging into her flesh kept what little hope she had afloat. Tom coming to her rescue wasn't going to happen. Emma knew that. This wasn't a fairy tale, and she was the furthest thing from a princess in a storybook. It was up to her.
The day dragged on just as their weakened bodies did. The heat drained Emma of energy while burning her pale skin. By then, she didn't doubt that there were blisters forming on her cheeks. Out in the open, the sun was Emma's worst enemy. In the woods, she was shielded from its fierceness, but directly in its gaze, it singed her skin.
They traveled for miles without speaking. Emma, for one, had nothing to say, but she desperately wanted to know why Ethan was still alive. Doolie had lied to everyone. Why would he do that? she thought. It wasn't for mine or anybody else's protection. Daddy let Et
han live because he didn't have the stomach to pull the trigger. All of these thoughts ran through Emma's mind as the man who should be dead kept a firm grip on her arm.
Soon, night was upon them. They were blessed with the full moon to shine a dim light on the path ahead, but with its appearance, Ethan began hurrying Emma along. He acted as though he had a deadline to keep. Trying her hardest not to trip, Emma spotted a luminescence in the distance. A hazy light that only a kerosene lantern would create. As they approached the source, Emma scanned the redbrick house of a nightmare long passed.
A young man cradling a shotgun sat on the porch swing. He had an ill-favored grin that exposed rotting teeth. His clothes were baggy and clean, so Emma made the harsh assumption that they didn't belong to him.
When they reached the steps, he aimed the barrel of his weapon at Emma's chest.
"C'mon, Ansley, it's us." Ethan groaned, shielding her. "Put that thing down!"
Lowering the weapon, Ansley cackled. "Where . . . where'd you find her?"
"Tell you later. But don't touch her," Ethan said. "I mean it."
Jarring Emma's memory were the black-framed pictures hanging from the walls of the foyer. Most of them were group photos. Each family was dressed in matching outfits.
Ethan led Emma past dumbass number one, Ansley—who began laughing as soon as she'd made eye contact with him—and on toward the living room, which had a fireplace and more brick walls covered with more photos. Smells of lavender and sweet pea filled her nostrils. Many scented candles were lit, illuminating the room beautifully, but the furniture was stained with dirt and blood.
Bo rushed past her, and recruited Ansley to help him with something located in the back of the house. Emma was grateful their attention had been thwarted elsewhere, but it meant leaving her alone with Ethan. He allowed Emma to sit on the sofa, and Ethan sat opposite her on the coffee table. But Emma didn't look his way or say a word.
