by Anna Oney
"And just what the hell were you and this 'stranger' doing in this dream?"
"Nothing. . . I swear."
Unconvinced, Tom grumbled. "I better not meet this guy anytime soon," he said. "I tell you that."
"You won't," she said, forcing him to lie back down. "It was just a dream." Resting her hand upon his chest, Emma closed her eyes, and whispered, "Besides, I doubt I'll ever see him again."
***
Morning was upon them. Emma was thankful her dreams hadn't been plagued with haunting images to come. As she rose from the cushions, Tom's arms stayed wrapped around her waist. Separating them required a sturdy crowbar and brute strength, but she made due. Brushing back his hair, Emma kissed his forehead and managed to detach from him completely. She allowed him to sleep for a little while longer.
Walking down the aisle, Emma heard the cobbled sound of hooves upon stone. Loading the crossbow, she slung it over her shoulder and strode toward the blocked double doors. Hearing the rider come to a complete halt, she turned to wake Tom.
"Wake up," Emma whispered, shaking his shoulders. "Wake up. Somebody's outside."
"What?"
"There's someone outside," she repeated, shoving him.
"Oh, you're just hearing things."
"Like hell I am," she said, kicking his rear. "Move it."
Annoyed, he rolled from the cushions, when suddenly his ears seemed to perk up in response to the noises that had Emma on alert. Fetching Roland's rifle, he sprinted toward the nearest window, Emma by his side. Kneeling, Tom peeked through the window.
"It's just a man and a kid," he whispered.
"A man?" she repeated. "And a kid?"
"Yes, a man and a kid. You know, a kid, as in a child, or smaller version of us."
Ignoring the smart-alecky remark, she asked, "Are they packing?"
"Nothing I can see from this angle."
"For the love of," she said, knocking him to the side. "Move over. Let me see."
The strangers were no strangers at all. The man and child were old acquaintances of hers. Reed, the man who had freed her days ago, was accompanied by Aiden, his son, who was seated in front of him, holding on to Brute's mane of hair.
The only question that arose in Emma's mind was: How far away is the rest of their group?
"We need to leave," she whispered, ducking away from the window. "Now."
"You know them?"
"Yes. You stay here while I get the girls. We've got to get out of here before—"
"Before what?"
"Before the rest of them decide to show up."
By the time Emma reached the back room, Eleanor and Marion were already up and tying their shoelaces. They gathered their things, and they met Emma at the door without her having to tell them to do so. The look plaguing Emma's face seemed enough to translate that something was wrong. They'd been around her enough to be able to decipher the meanings of her wide range of facial expressions.
Exiting the room, Emma waved Tom over to join them at the back door. One after the other, they eased their way through, trying not to give away their position. They emerged from the church, sprinted into the cover of the woods, and refused to ease up until they were well out of earshot of Reed and Aiden.
Panting and heaving, Tom asked, "Go on, spill . . . What . . . what's the deal?"
"The man back there . . . he . . . helped me out." Emma gasped for air, hunching over.
"Why'd we have to run from them then?"
"Because . . . because . . . " She panted, clutching at the stitch in her side. "Because the rest of their group thinks I'm dead."
"Damn it," he cursed. "You can't just leave it at that."
"We're wasting daylight." She signaled for everyone to start moving. "C'mon, I'll fill you in along the way."
Talking herself dry, Emma explained her relationship with the tall man on the horse. All the while, Tom kept his lips tucked in tight with jealousy and disapproval. To him, Emma sensed, this Reed fellow, along with his hugging son, were moving in on private territory. Without Emma pointing out the fact, Tom rightfully guessed the stranger's name in her dream had begun with the letter R.
Their company stayed a few paces behind, giving Tom the space to ask his questions.
"Did he hurt you?"
"I already told you. It wasn't him doing the beating. It was his dad."
"But he let it happen?"
"Yes, well, not exactly," she said, stumbling over the right way to put it. "He was only acting like he was gonna hurt me so he could free me later without raising any suspicion."
"He made you think he was?"
"I don't see what's so confusing about all this. Reed saved my life; that's all that matters. If the rest of his folks find out, who knows what'll happen to him."
"So you'd care if something bad happened to him?"
"Of course I'd care. What kind of person do you think I am?"
"The gullible kind," he answered. "I don't like it."
"Oh, well, would you like to know something I don't like?"
"Go ahead," he said. "Say it. Nobody's stopping you."
"I don't like the way you're behaving."
"Ouch . . . really?" He gasped, clutching a hand over his heart. "What else?"
"You're really showing your ass right now. When we get back home, I'm gonna tell Daddy what Reed did for me, and you know what?"
"What?"
"He's gonna thank God for that man being there to set me free." Locking elbows with Tom, she whispered, "The man saved my life. End of story."
Seeming to doubt his place in Emma's heart, Tom asked, "But I'm still the one you love, right?"
"Right. You are. Besides, I'm the furthest thing from a love junkie. I only have room in my heart for one love of my life, and that's you. If something were to happen to you, if I'm being totally honest, I'd be too lazy to seek out someone else to fill the position."
"Nobody has time for that," he agreed. "Nobody."
As a group, they decided the best route to take would be the same one Emma and Stella had taken from the woods. For the safety of herself and the group, Emma had to put aside her heartache for the memory of Stella's fate. With the threat of Heskill's group roaming the roads, they kept their distance from the pavement and took minimum breaks as they went.
In record time, they reached the halfway point to Pete's house. Somehow, traveling with company seemed to make the time fly. Coming up on the willow tree, Emma knew Stella's grave was just a few more steps away. The small mound of dirt marking her gravesite beckoned Emma toward it. All she could envision was pulling the bolt from Stella's side and the way her dog's skin had lifted as the bolt had been dislodged from her broken body.
Tears flooded Emma's face as she placed her hand on the grave. Instead of trying to console her, Tom headed toward the two men she'd killed and the one whose throat Stella had ripped open. He extracted the bolts from their lifeless corpses like it was nothing at all, and stowed them carefully inside his pack.
Locking eyes with her, Tom shrugged.
"What? It's extra ammo."
"Okay." She paused, wiping her nose. "Good idea."
Emma rose from Stella's grave. Tom met her halfway, and they returned to the girls waiting for them at the willow. Eleanor and Marion, it seemed, couldn't stand to see anymore dead bodies. But to Emma and Tom it was becoming a normal thing.
Securing the extra bolts to the crossbow, Emma slung it back over her shoulder, and a sudden gust of wind stripped her of her balance. She fell into Tom's chest, and he helped her regain her footing as the evening sky above was replaced by a frightful, gray one. The oranges and yellows of the setting sun were wiped clean from the slate right as a large limb cascaded from the tree, missing Tom's skull by inches.
"We need to find a place to sit tight for the night!" he shouted over the howling wind and thunder. "These trees! It's too dangerous!"
"I think there's a culvert nearby!" Emma shouted back, wincing at the pain in her throat.
"But it's on the road!"
"Don't matter! You think it'll hold the four of us?"
"Worth a try! C'mon, it's this way!"
The storm was so fierce, the wind fought against their bodies as they tried to reach shelter. Emma spotted the culvert from a distance, seeing that it wasn't large enough to house the four of them. Her hips were too wide and Tom's broad shoulders wouldn't make it through an inch. The only people capable of fitting would be petite Eleanor and her slender daughter.
Reaching the ditch of the culvert, the girls shoved themselves inside. Seeming nervous, they then looked from Emma to Tom.
"We can't fit!" Emma shouted. "We're too big!" Story of my life.
"What are you going to do?!" Eleanor shouted back.
Shrugging, Emma turned her attention toward their only option: the ditch. For the most part, the sides would cover their bodies, but it wouldn't prevent anything from being thrown on top of them.
Handing over their weapons to the girls, Tom circled his arms around Emma and swiftly threw his body over hers. He lay as a shield, protecting her from harm, all while trying to keep the back of his head covered. But he had already risked all to save her, so Emma rolled him over and protected him from the storm instead. He resisted her pull at first, but Emma watched his aggravated expression turn into appreciation.
Their faces were only an inch apart. Something came over Emma during that inopportune moment, forcing her to passionately introduce her lips to his. Roland had stolen a kiss from Emma without her having a say, but now, she was taking it back. To hell with that guy.
Despite the chaos unfolding around them, they were able to love. Emma strongly believed that if they kept their faith in each other, nothing could affect their abilities to love. By refusing to give in to the cruelties of the world, Emma knew they could pull through the bitterness of their predicaments together.
The two of them lay intertwined until, quite suddenly, the dark clouds parted. The night sky finally appeared, displaying a sky full of stars, but no moon. It was as if the moon had gone into hiding and was waiting for the atmosphere to calm itself—the same as Emma and Griffin had done when their parents fought.
Having situated themselves as comfortably as they could, each of them snacked on a package of stale peanut-butter crackers for supper. They used one of the trash bags inside of Emma's pack to cover the ground. Emma and Tom lay together, praying their clothes wouldn't be doused with mud.
During their slumber, it started raining again, but Eleanor was gracious enough to cover Tom's and Emma's oblivious bodies with one of the other trash bags. They woke surrounded by the shimmering plastic covering their faces, which the morning sun reflected off of.
A new day was before them. For breakfast they split the other package of crackers, and afterward returned to the cover of the woods to find Emma's trail. With the storm delaying their progress, Emma knew they had another few miles to go. She prayed Nell and his family still waited, biding their time. Having faith in someone was hard enough, but they didn't know Emma at all. They'd trusted the word of a lonely stranger they met on the road.
By lunchtime, most of the forest floor was dry. Their bellies begged for the squirrel Emma had shot down a day ago. The fire took some time to start, but they never gave up.
As Tom pulled the hide from the animal, he asked, "So how'd you learn to shoot that thing so fast?"
"I don't really know. The situation arose and there was some business that needed tending to, so I took care of it."
Turning the squirrel over the fire, Tom leaned toward her.
"You are aware that people don't get that lucky every day, right?"
"I am. But it wasn't luck at all. God's been looking out for me."
After stomping out the flames, they ate their lunch on the go. By the time the sun was highest in the sky, they reached the threshold of Pete's back porch. A tree had fallen during the storm, caving in the roof near the living room area. Slinging the crossbow from her shoulder, Emma signaled for the girls to wait at the bottom of the steps.
Emma knocked three times, and both her and Tom's ears adjusted to the sound of someone whispering behind the door, followed by the cry of a child.
"It's me," Emma said, pounding on the door. "It's Emma. Don't shoot."
"Emma?!" the rattled voice of Nell exclaimed from behind the door.
"Yes." Sighing with relief, Emma lowered her weapon. "Now open the door." As Emma wiped the sweat from her brow, her acquaintances welcomed them inside. But she was on alert as she realized the floor was absent a massive decomposing body. Looking from Nell to his wife, Emma asked, unnerved, "What happened to the body?"
Nell took a step forward, forcing Emma to latch herself nervously to Tom's arm. After witnessing what Roland and his gang had done with dead bodies, the image of Rudy split open on the floor clouded Emma's thoughts. Trembling, she stepped away from Nell. No, not this again, she thought. Immediately assuming the worst, she raised her crossbow and aimed it at his chest. "What did you do with Pete's body?" she asked again.
"Emma, wait," Tom said, trying to pull her back. "Stop."
"Uh-uh. No way. What have you done?" she said. "Where is it? Tell me."
Nell held his hands out before him.
"What's happened to you?" Concerned, he glanced from Tom to Emma. "We buried him, of course."
Lowering her weapon, Emma stood aghast. Launching herself on Nell, Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder.
"Thank you." His family's act proved to Emma that there was a shred of human decency left, and that it was worth fighting for.
"You're very welcome," he said, comforting her. His wife took on the responsibility of stroking Emma's back, trying to put her mind at ease.
Parting from the embrace, Emma said, "Sorry I went . . . ah, ya know . . . a little cuckoo. The cruelties you see nowadays seem to stick with you."
"We hear you," Danisha agreed, looping her arm through her husband's. "Now who is the gentleman?"
"Oh, sorry." She dragged Tom forward. "This is Tom."
"Hello, Tom. I'm Danisha, and this is Nell, my husband." She smiled, shaking his hand. "Temp!" she shouted over her shoulder. "Hey, honey, you can come on out now."
"You sure?" Tempest squeaked, poking her head from around the corner.
"Yes, baby," Nell said, walking over to her. "Here, I'll hold Oliver. You go say hi."
It was then Emma remembered Eleanor and Marion, who were waiting to be told that all was well. For a moment it had most certainly not been, but now that the air had been cleared of suspicion, Emma felt all was safe.
"Can you fetch the girls?" Emma asked.
"Oh, yeah," Tom replied. "Sure."
Introductions were made, and Marion and Tempest seemed to hit it off. It was the same story with Eleanor and Danisha. They were around the same age, so it made perfectly good sense. But both Emma and Tom bonded with Nell the most.
They decided it would be wise to bring as many canned goods as they could carry. Nell said he'd done some searching while Emma was away and had discovered a wheelbarrow out back they could use. The shovel he'd used to bury Pete leaned against the porch railing. The one thing Emma seemed to need most on this ill-fated trip was a device to place people beneath the earth. No matter the inconvenience of toting it around, she was going to make sure the shovel came along. Morbid and depressing, she thought, grasping the tool, but it's the God's honest truth.
Since her dealings with the crossbow were a success, Emma took the liberty of claiming Pete's handmade longbow as her own. None of her company disagreed, so Emma slung it over her shoulder and stored the arrows in the leather quiver meant to carry them.
Everyone pleaded to stay there for the night, but leaving as soon as possible was all Emma could think about.
Even Tom felt inclined to stay.
"Come on." He begged, pouting with exaggeration. "Please."
"You see that blood there, staining the floor?" Emma asked, motioning
toward the checkered linoleum. "That blood there, you see it?" Taking his nod as confirmation, she said, "That's Pete's blood." She paused, opening the back door. "Blood I put there. I can't stay in this house."
"All right then, boss lady." He groaned. "Lead the way."
During their journey back to civilization, each person was assigned a job. Eleanor and Marion's were to take turns handling the wheelbarrow and clearing the path. Tempest and Danisha took turns carrying Oliver and the shovel, switching every hour. Leading the way was Tom, and in the back, was Nell. They carried the automatic rifles. Everyone was on alert for new threats. But Emma had the most exciting job of all. She was the hunter.
By dusk, everyone decided to make camp. Emma distanced herself from the group, and grasped her fingers around the stock of the longbow. She retrieved an arrow, and decided to see if she had gained enough strength to wield it.
Pain, she believed, only made a person stronger, and so far, she'd experienced her share. "Learn from my mistakes," her father had always said. "Turn a negative into a positive. If you do that, then you can't hold it against yourself." But Emma felt that was easier said than done.
Leaning the crossbow against the oak, Emma nocked the end of the arrow to the trigger of the man-made bow. Taking a deep breath, she leaned over slightly and brought her hands, holding the bow and arrow, down with her. Emma bolted upright, and pulled the trigger back as far as she could, but it still wasn't far enough. Damn it, she thought. One day . . . one day.
"It's just not today."
Discouraged, Emma fetched the crossbow and scanned the area. Her eyes landed upon a rabbit peeking around the trunk of a small tree—a tree Emma recognized as the same one where her trap had failed to apprehend its prey a couple of days earlier.
"Long time no see." She took a deep breath, and released the bolt. She exhaled, smiled, and whispered, "Gotcha now, you little stinker."
Emma made her way back, balancing the longbow over her right shoulder and the crossbow over her left. Ahead, she noticed the solemn frowns of her hungry companions staring back at her. It wasn't until Emma raised the rabbit that their eyes gleamed, relieved to see fresh meat being hand-delivered.
