by Anna Oney
Exasperated, Emma shook her head, and replied, "Okaaay, I will."
Then, as though Wakiza heard someone calling his name in the distance, he turned his head and held a finger to his lips. "It is time for me to leave you now."
"What, right now?"
"Yes," he said. "They're calling me home."
"When will I see you again?"
Distracted, Wakiza turned away from her and held his hand out beside him.
"I will always be with you," he said, "but many years will pass before you see me again."
Before he could leave, Emma grabbed hold of his wrist and did something she'd been unable to do before.
"Thank you," she said, tearing up. "Thank you for saving us."
"It was not me," he said. "You did that yourself by believing in Him." As a gust of wind whipped through the trees above them, it took him along for the ride. Like leaves raked in a pile, his copper skin was swept away with his words of farewell echoing around her: "Live. Live because you must."
Flakes of the dismembered leaves of his being brushed lightly against Emma's cheek, leaving her behind with a last embrace.
Gripping the spear at her side, Emma said, "Goodbye, my friend. Until then."
With the spear, she began retracing her steps back the way she'd come. After she found the trail, she spotted the soles of the girls' shoes imprinted in the dirt. By the spacing of their feet, they must have skipped along the way. I ain't skipping anywhere, she thought. Nuh-uh, not today.
Emma followed their footprints down the curvy trail. She arrived at their fishing hole, and found Claire stationed alone in the middle of the bridge. As Emma approached, Claire cast out her line. Rambler sat beside her, focusing on the orange cork in the water. Before reaching the bridge, Emma secured the end of the spear in the ground so it stood up straight.
Strolling across the bridge, Emma noticed they had set out a chair for her.
"Hey, Claire." She paused, taking a seat. "Where are your sisters?"
"Over there," Claire replied, pointing down the bank.
As Emma waved in their direction, Lizzie and Jane gave her a quick smile and promptly turned their attention back toward their bobbing corks.
"You having any luck?"
"No," she said, pouting. "Haven't had a bite."
"Well, shoot," Emma replied. "Whatcha doing over here by yourself?"
"I'm sad," she said. "Uncle Doolie, Miss Mary, and . . . and Stella." She sniffled, reeling her line in. "They're not here anymore."
"You want to know what I think?" Emma whispered, pulling her close. "I think Stella and Aunt Mary have already found Daddy. I believe they're sitting right next to us now."
Nearly dropping her pole into the creek, Claire excitedly replied, "Really? Really? You think so?"
"I do. Do something for me. Close your eyes and listen." Holding her hand, Emma used her other to keep Claire from peeking. "Can you hear the current flowing beneath us?"
"Mmhmm."
"What about the wind blowing through the leaves and moss above us?"
"Up in the trees?" she asked, tilting her head. "Yeah!" After being scolded by her sisters down the creek for being too loud, she whispered, "Yes, I can."
"Now, do you remember how much they loved you?"
"They loved me a lot." She nodded with certainty. "Yes, they did."
"Since you know that," Emma said, securing a couple of golden locks behind Claire's ear, "then you must know they'd never really leave you. Just listen to the sounds of the woods surrounding you, baby girl. Who do you think's making all that noise?"
"You think it could be them?"
"I know it is," Emma replied, taking her hand from Claire's face. "When the ones we love leave us, it's my firm belief that they return to the place where they were the happiest."
"Then my mommy and daddy went back to work," she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
"Oh, now, I wouldn't say that. You know they loved you, right?"
Shrugging, she simply replied, "It's okay."
"You know, before Aunt Mary got sick, she would walk down here and dangle her feet from this very bridge. And Daddy, Dad," Emma stammered, attempting to keep the tears at bay, "Daddy would take me fishing in his boat after a hard day's work. He would say fishing with me always calmed him down."
"What about Stella?"
"Stella?"
"Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "Stella!"
"Well, let me tell you something 'bout Stella." Emma smiled. "She was my best friend for a long time. But you know what? She was closer to these woods than she ever was to me. But that never stopped me from trying to get her attention."
"Do you miss her?"
"Of course I do, but"—Emma scanned the thick moss and cypress trees surrounding them—"if I listen closely, I can still hear her running through the woods to save me."
"I think I can hear her now," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "Look!"
Emma turned around, for a brief moment foolishly believing it could be her, but it was only Maddox.
"Oh no, I wish it was her." Claire pouted. "I'm sorry."
"No, no," Emma replied, rising from the chair. "It's okay."
Clutching at a stitch in his side, Maddox said, "Em-Emma."
"Cousin, you all right?"
"That guy, Reed." He panted. "He's at the front gate."
"What you mean he's at the gate?" Emma said, meeting him at the end of the bridge.
"What the hell do you think I mean? He's here. And damn it, he's at the gate!"
"Is he alone?"
"He's alone," Maddox said. "But Tom won't let him through until you say it's okay."
"Girls, gather your stuff!"
"Awww, already?" Jane protested. "We haven't caught anything yet."
"We'll have to do this another time."
Since the girls hadn't caught anything for her to devour, Rambler seemed happy to hear they were returning home. The girls moped the entire time they gathered their things, but it wasn't them who annoyed Emma—it was Reed. Nothing bothered her more than someone showing up before they were scheduled to do so. I mean, she thought as she fetched the spear, get a life, dude. Seriously.
The girls chose to run ahead, but what they failed to realize was that Emma still held the key to the barrier, so no matter their speed, they were still going to have to wait for her. Being the loyal person he was, Maddox stayed by his cousin's side. But due to the manifestation of jitters in Emma's stomach, their journey remained silent.
They arrived at the barrier, and found the girls leaning against the fence with Rambler barking wildly at the gate. Her incessant howling didn't cease until she heard them approaching.
"What took y'all so long?" Jane asked.
"We're old," Emma replied, unlocking the gate. Nearly knocking her to the ground was Rambler, impatiently pushing to get through. Regaining her balance, Emma said, "And soon enough, you'll know what it feels like."
"We ain't old," Maddox said.
"To them we are." She smiled, looking back at him. Before the girls could pass, Emma blocked their path, and said, "Nuh-uh, you best respect your elders. We go first."
As Emma headed toward her cabin, Maddox caught up with her.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
"I need to change." Halfway up the steps, Emma turned to face him. "I can't be looking a mess in front of potential allies. Duh."
"Ohhh, well, excuse me, milady," he replied, bowing his head. "By all means, change away, my liege."
Horrified with the thought of Reed seeing her in her leisure-time clothes, Emma donned an old pair of ripped jeans and one of her signature plaid shirts. She fetched Tom's pistol, tucked it into the back of her jeans, and looped Doolie's hatchet through one of the belt loops circling her waist. Gripping the spear, she left her home and commanded the girls to wait for them inside.
Emma and Maddox began clearing the distance toward the front gate, where their visitor awaited her presence. Along the w
ay, Emma had her cousin hold the spear so she could braid her hair.
Emerging over the hill overlooking the gate, Maddox asked, "You have a little thing for this fella?"
"No waaay." She awkwardly chuckled, nearly tripping over her feet. "I already have one. I don't need two."
Handing over the spear, he shrugged.
"Whatever you say, cousin."
Down the hill, the figures of the three boys sitting on the ground came into view. From a distance, it was evident Tom and Winston had ordered them to sit on their hands. On the other side of the fence, Reed sat upon his valiant steed, awaiting Emma's arrival.
As they reached the bottom of the hill, no one spoke. Everyone remained eerily silent until Reed dismounted his horse. Keeping his eyes glued to Emma and nothing else, he stepped closer to the fence.
"I have your list," he said.
"He's early," Tom stated, aiming his rifle at Reed's chest.
"I can see that. We have people patrolling the fences?"
"Yes, ma'am," Winston replied, keeping watch over the boys on the ground. "Round the clock."
"No sightings of their people?"
"No, not yet."
Stepping closer to the fence, Emma held out her hand, and said, "Pass it over."
Reed folded the list in half, and passed it through the wire.
"I gave y'all a whole week to come up with something," Emma said. As she went over the list, it was made clear that her youngest, Claire, possessed more survival talents than these people combined. "You've got to be kidding me. So, what, they've been taking it easy all this time? I mean . . . cleaning, cooking, and sorting through things? What the hell is that even s'posed to mean? This is what you bring me?"
"Their skills—they just don't have any. And the supplies they have . . . Well, this road was meant to replenish their supplies. And since their men failed, they ain't doin' so hot. It left them in a tight spot."
Bet it did, she thought. They don't know how to fend for themselves.
"You got any boys fighting age?" she asked.
"Couple-a teenagers."
"They know how to shoot?"
"Yes . . . but they don't have anythin' to shoot with."
"How're they coping with the loss?"
"Why should you care?"
"Loss is loss, Reed," she said, envisioning her father's face. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
Shaking off his sudden spout of emotion, Reed composed himself, and asked, "What about them three?"
"As punishment, we had them start digging graves for their dead."
"What punishment do the people at the barn have to look forward to?"
"I believe they've been punished enough, Reed. Don't you?"
Seeming unhappy with Emma's response, Tom grabbed her by the arm.
"I need to talk to you," he said angrily.
"Gentlemen," she said, "if you'll excuse us for minute." Emma handed her pistol to Maddox, and nodded in Reed's direction. "Watch him," she commanded.
Distancing themselves from the group, Tom refused to stop until they were well out of earshot. Blocking Reed's view from reading their lips, Tom positioned himself before her.
"Emma, how did we end the war?" he asked.
Puzzled by the reasoning behind his question, Emma raised her brow, and replied, "We nuked them."
"That's right," he said. "The right man for the job was elected president, and we killed every last one of them terrorist bastards."
"They're only women and children. Women and children."
"We can't trust what he says. Besides, what'll happen when the kids grow up, huh?"
"They're innocent."
"Doesn't matter. Nobody likes to talk about it, but when those bombs fell, we killed people—and they weren't all soldiers either. But you know what? It didn't matter, because they were there. It didn't matter, because they would've grown up to hate us. And if you're going to end a war forever, you have to kill them all."
"No one could've known that for sure. No one. No one but the man upstairs. Every action has a reaction. Two weeks later. . .that same president was assassinated. And a little over two years later the solar flare hit. There were unforeseen consequences. We can't kill them. It's immoral."
"Was it moral of them to beat us and threaten our lives? Was it moral of them to kill your father?" Stroking Emma's chin, he whispered, "Let me tell you something. I love you. I love Cooper. I care about the safety of people on this road." He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I do not care about the strangers outside of these walls. And if it means killing what remains of the enemy, be it women, children, men"—he paused, grazing his thumb across her cheek—"you can bet your ass I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna do it so I can keep having you to come home to."
"You're a soldier through and through. But the enemy you faced then is not the same one we face today. I can't let you do that," Emma whispered, bringing him down from his fit of rage. "If I agreed to it, then it wouldn't be me you'd be coming home to. But to tell you the truth, I care more for the fate of your soul than I do my own."
Tom wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her closer. With a devilish grin, he asked, "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Bring a man down from his plans of murder and destruction."
"It's easy. You know I'm right."
Gawking at the spear at Emma's side, he whispered, "By the way, is that the same spear you gave your friend a while back? You know, the dead one?"
"He gave it back."
"Riiight, okay." Tom sighed, uncomfortable. "He regifted."
"Can we get back now?" she asked, smacking his shoulder. "Wakiza told me them boys have a story to tell. And I think it's time I heard it."
Upon their return, Reed looked to Emma and then glared at Tom.
"So, what'd he convince you to do?" he asked.
"I'm not easily convinced to do anything, Reed." She chuckled. "I assure you of that."
"What's your plan then? You gonna give them boys back to me?"
"I still need something from them." Turning to face her captives, Emma commanded, "Stand up." Once they did, she said, "Tell me a story—and damn it, tell it true."
Dusting the filth off his clothes, Norman said, "I've been burying dead folks all day. So why don't you just go ahead and tell us what it is you'd like to hear."
Burning with fury, Emma's face turned crimson. She took a step forward, and her grip around the spear tightened. Suddenly, the cocky youngster standing before her seemed to lose his smartass attitude.
In an attempt to calm her, Tom latched his fingers to her forearm, and whispered, "He's just a stupid kid."
"That's quite obvious, Tom. Thank you." Raising her brows, Emma stared them down. "I need to know why—why, out of all of those men, you three were the only ones spared."
Norman cleared his throat as he rolled his eyes.
"There was this guy and little girl we ran into on the road. He was hurt, but we helped him."
"You mean your brother?" Reed asked, grasping the fence.
Confused, the boy shook his head.
"No," he replied. "No, we never said he was our brother."
"Why'd you tell me he was their brother?" Emma asked
"I guess . . . I guess I just assumed," Reed replied. "Why else would they save him? He was just dead weight."
Back at Heskill's barn, she remembered asking Reed about the four brothers and little girl they had welcomed in. At the time, the news had eased the worry in Emma's mind. How bad can they be? she remembered thinking. But now she realized there was much more to the story. The fourth man who was wounded was no blood relation to them at all, and neither was the little girl he traveled with.
"But he had a girl with him?" Emma asked, looking to Reed. "Back at the barn you said he had a daughter."
"I just assumed that too." Reed shrugged. "She won't speak to anyone and refuses to leave his side."
"Why'd he need saving?" Emma asked, turning her attention back
to Norman.
"He was shot," Norman replied.
"In the shoulder," the youngest of the three, Ben, added.
"Did the man say anything?" Emma asked. "When you found him?"
"The only thing we could make out was 'I need to find my sister.' But that was it."
"What color was his hair?!" Emma blurted out, startling them. "What color was it?"
"Why? You looking for someone?" Norman asked.
"Yes."
"Come to think of it," he said, eyeing the braid of hair draped over Emma's shoulder, "his hair was just a different shade than yours."
Chapter 44:
Emma
"Oh my God!" she cried. "Griffin!"
"Wait a minute, Emma," Tom interjected. "Don't you get too excited."
"But—"
"Look, the two of you can't be the only gingers running around East Texas."
"But listen, Wakiza told me the only reason my arrows didn't pierce them was because they had a story to tell."
"Who the hell is Wakiza?" Reed asked.
"You wouldn't know him," she replied, then looked back to Tom. "What if their part to play was to save my brother?"
"Sounds a little far-fetched to me."
"After all that's happened," she said, "after all we've seen, you think this is impossible?"
"Emma, if I, if I," Reed stammered, "if I'd known he was your brother—"
"How could you have known? I never told you why I was out there."
"Yeah," he said, "but you two are the only redheads I've come across since all of this started. I just didn't think to mention we had one in the cell next to yours."
"He was next to mine? I remember you saying he was worse off than me. . . ."
"Yes. I'm so sorry."
"You see," she said, glaring at Tom. "He believes it's Griffin."
"That man there," Tom said, "don't know you. I do. And you'll believe in anything if it merely suggests that you'll get your brother back."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"If it was him," Tom argued, "and y'all were right next to each other, why didn't he recognize your voice, huh? Why didn't he speak up?"
Reed cut in. "He still hasn't woken up. But last I heard, his fever's broke."
"And you mean to tell me that your people have been nursing him back to health?"
