by A. R. Shaw
Wren handed her warm bowl back to her mother. Untouched.
37
Kent
There was no longer a reason to hide. To stalk in the shadows. There was no reason to cower in the dark. Not now. Not ever again. That made you weak and defenseless. He’d never let anything happen to them again. He promised that to himself.
“Come on, Ace,” he said as they both stood over the smoking remains of a horror house factory. Each and every day, he returned to the building that tortured so many in one community. They still showed up, either those who escaped or those looking for someone lost, and countless times, it became his job to inform them of their loved one’s final destination.
He showed up the day after he realized Sloane and Wren were too weak to flee but needed time to heal. His first plan was to get them healed and get the hell of there, all of them, but where to go? The bullet that tore through Wren’s shoulder also shattered something in him. She was already damaged, dammit. Already devastated. She was a precious young woman and he’d failed her. God knows what happened to her in there. She wouldn’t tell him. She wouldn’t even confide those horrors to the one who gave birth to her.
Sloane was no better off. The fiery, strong woman he loved so much was now just as damaged. They needed time. They needed a sanctuary and he was going to give that to them.
“No. That’s it. We’re not leaving. We’re not letting them have it. This is ours now. We’ve earned it.”
He went back then. He and Ace. Every day. They began pulling bodies out of the building one, by one. That’s when the others started showing up. “Who are you?” at gunpoint…that was the first question with the quick draw of his weapon.
“Have you seen…” fill in the blank. When no answers were found, they helped him then. “I’ll give you a hand,” they’d say. There was nothing more to do other than to wait and see if their relatives showed up or were found dead.
The dead prisoners were lined up in the courtyard, covered, in case someone came to claim them. The dead guards, they didn’t bother with. They burned them down in the hell they helped to create. The orchestrator of the madness…Rose took care of him, in her own way and gave her soul doing so.
They weren’t sure how Wren came to be in the room with Rose and Hyde or how she became free from the bonds the monster had her in. She’d been beaten, that’s for sure. Her eyes purposely taken out to cause sensory deprivation. That’s the only logical answer. From what Sloane described to him of Rose’s condition, he suspected some of the same torture was inflicted on Wren, but she wouldn’t let him near her, skittering away each time he reached out to heal her wounds beyond the obvious.
Sloane had no better luck.
He ended up leaving medical supplies near her for any wounds she didn’t want him to see, with a warning if there was any kind of infection she had to tell him. She’d closed off to him. Later, he’d checked and some of the supplies were indeed used. For now, he checked her visually for any sign of fever or infection. That was all he could do to keep from traumatizing her further.
A story began to form from the bits and pieces of either survivors or family, from those gathered in the burning. In the three weeks since the fall, they’d come to an understanding. The building was to be destroyed, utterly. Completely. They spent each day exploding the damn thing. Burning all they could of the structure. Tearing it down piece by piece. Chaining pillars to abandoned vehicles and then driving them away. Then, after a few days, the task of burying those bodies unclaimed with some shred of respect in graves marked only with a cross made of branches. These victims were anonymous and would remain so for eternity.
More questions remained though. Were there more of them? No cache of supplies was ever found. What did they do with it all? That was what most asked after they asked about their lost loved ones.
Another problem lurked out there, one that Kent kept to himself. Sloane didn’t need anyone else to worry about. At times, in the tree line, out of the corner of his eye, he’d see a man in a gown still lingering just past the trees. His dreadlocks made him stand out. The look in his eyes told Kent the man was gone. Not as gone as Rose was but he was a feral human now. That was the only way Kent could describe him. Eyes gaunt. No reflection of thought, only need, and by his physical condition, he had little time left.
It was amazing how the twisted actions of one man could wrench life out of so many.
Going to the truck he now drove freely through town, Kent retrieved the container of food he left out for the dreadlock guy every day. “I should give him a proper name,” Kent said to Ace. He thought the dog agreed. “You stay here. I don’t want you to scare him like you did the last time.”
Ace jumped up into the cab of the truck and Kent took the container of rice and meat mixed with broth out to man. He wasn’t sure what to do with him. He didn’t want another mouth to feed. He was only a few years older than Wren. It sucked that he couldn’t help him more.
“Hey,” Kent said as he neared the tree line, knowing the man watched him and where he put the food. The empty container from the day before lay on the same tree stump as last time. “Here,” he said, putting the offering down in the empty container’s place. “What’s your name?” he called out. He saw him peek out from behind one of the trees. “Hey there. Come on, it’s getting colder at night. At least give me your name so I can let the others know. There’s a list for survivors now. Maybe someone’s looking for you?”
The man just watched the container of food raise and lower to the log. Never did he acknowledge Kent’s words. One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t last the winter out there like that. He was reluctant to give him a blanket or a coat, hoping to encourage him to come out of the woods.
“Hmm,” Kent said after waiting for a response and went back his truck. “Same time tomorrow, then,” he called out over his shoulder.
On his way out of the compound, he waved at the new guardian of the gate. An old man, he’d lost his son to the fight. His son was one of the guards lost in the battle. The old man had warned his son over and over again. Kent didn’t ask more questions. The fact that the old man showed up every day answering questions was enough. That was a task Kent had grown tired of. If the old man felt some service in the effort, Kent welcomed that. There were no rights and wrongs after the fact unless you were directly involved.
He knew of many young guards who fled the scene. It seemed Hyde knew how to recruit them. They had to live with themselves now. Them and their own families. Many families had serviced out their young men for the supplies of others.
In time, just like in post-world wars, those guilty of war crimes were found out. They would pay the price in time. Justice would serve out when the time was right.
When he pulled up into the yard of what they called home now, Kent emerged to find Nicole standing guard. It was damp and cold and she shivered like a leaf. “What are you doing out here? No, get inside. I’ve told you…once you’re completely healed, then you can do your part but not until you’re well and have built an immunity.”
“I’m standing in for Mae. She can’t do it all the time by herself.”
“Mae doesn’t need to stand guard out in the rain either. Neither do you. Things are getting better now.”
She stopped in her tracks. “It’s not the same. It’s not safe when you’re gone. Sloane…she isn’t the same now. Neither is Wren.”
He pulled her to his side. He didn’t have the words to bolster the girl...or himself. It would take time. They were all lost in a way, trying to find their way again. Things will get better, but we have to stand first.
“Come on,” he said and pulled her inside with him. “Go hang out by the fire until you dry out.”
She followed his instructions and coughed. Her rattling chest concerned him always.
Sloane stood in the kitchen watching him.
He shook his head. “You can’t let her go out there, Sloane. She’s not well enough.”
“I…I di
dn’t know she left. I thought Mae was on watch.”
Her voice rose with each word. He was upsetting her.
Before things escalated, he pulled her into his chest and hugged her, tried desperately to part with some of his depleting strength to her. “How is she?”
Sloane shook her head into his shoulder. “Same. A little better. I don’t know.”
“How are you?”
Nothing…then a shake of her head.
He rubbed her back. “We’re going to get through this. All of us, together,” he said and then headed out to chop dry wood into smaller pieces of dry wood for the night fire. This was something he did to steal himself away from the misery he couldn’t prevent. Sloane left the task to him, knowing he needed this reprieve. In times past, after a hard day at the hospital, he’d run off the stress. Now he chopped wood, unwilling to leave them alone any longer than he had to.
With each whack of the axe, he said to himself, Tomorrow will get better. Each of us a little better.
38
Wren
In the silence of night, Wren left her cot. She didn’t think they knew about her little expeditions. She walked around among them, quiet as a mouse, listening to her mother’s quiet snores and Kent’s louder ones. One night, she picked up a knife. The worn wood hilt felt good in her hand. She’d seen her mother use it to filet the fish they’d pulled out of the small freshwater streams leading into the major waterway of Cannon Beach. She brought the knife back to bed with her, feeling the comfort of the blade just under her pillow. It kept the nightmares away…sometimes. The sharp edges gave her some control back over her shattered life.
“Wren?”
One hand still on the hilt under her pillow, Wren opened her eyes. Her mother stood there. The sunrise had come and gone. “Wake up, babe. Maybe you and I could take a walk today? After breakfast. You could use some fresh air.”
Day after day, her mother tried this ploy. Most of the time, Wren remained in bed all day. Other days, she’d get up and help with various tasks but never left the little home they now shared near the town of Cannon Beach.
Today, Wren heard the gulls squawking over the beach. She wondered how it would feel to have the beach air on her face. The smell of the sea in her hair. Maybe…she told herself.
Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t think so,” to her mother.
“Well, think about it,” Sloane said and then a look of horror struck her mother’s face again. Her eyes wide, her mouth agape, the tendons in her neck stood out like scaffolding.
Wren followed her mother’s line of sight and saw that she stared at scratches on her inner thighs. Quickly, Wren covered herself. She’d been so careful to keep that a secret. That was her own burden to bear. Not her mother’s. It wasn’t her fault.
Her mother turned away from her then. She heard the sob Sloane caught in her throat and tried to suppress.
“I’m all right, Mom,” Wren said. White-hot anger flooded her veins. Why did she think it was her fault?
Sloane nodded and walked away. “How about we start with breakfast and then see about that walk?” Sloane said all in an inhale, without looking at her daughter.
Sitting up in bed, Wren said, “If I’m going on a walk, I’m going alone.”
Sloane’s shoulders jerked.
She didn’t mean to hurt her mother. She just didn’t know how…not to. The words spilled out of her mouth before her conviction.
“Mom…” Wren began.
Her mother lifted a hand and nodded her head.
She was going to say something else, but Mae walked in, eyed her sitting up on the bed and then nodded to Nicole.
Their mother missed the whole silent engagement.
Wren noticed, though, and they avoided her like the plague now. She’d become ‘the damaged one’. Or that’s how she felt. Nothing was the same anymore. Everything felt upside down.
Her younger sisters also took it upon themselves to stand guard over them all, even Kent, it seemed. They came in and out without their mother knowing where they were. Wren knew. She’d kept track of their comings and goings without a word. The two of them had formed some kind of secret bond in the absence of the others. Wren had seen the secret nods between them before, when they didn’t know she could see through the healing slits of her eyes. The two girls were taking care of the rest of them in their weakened state. That was only clear to Wren. Or that’s what she thought. The adults seemed oblivious to their new heroics.
“Mom…I will go for a walk today, but I’m going alone.”
“Yes…yes, of course. Just…not far. To the end of the street and back and please take Mae with you.”
“I’m going alone and I’m going to the beach.”
“Wren, no…”
“To the beach. That’s where I’m going. If I go at all.” She cut her mother off.
To her surprise her mother only nodded consent. It maddened her. In the past her mother would have thrown darts at her and pinned her down with words to rule her by.
“Please eat something first, Wren,” Sloane said. “You’re wasting away. Oatmeal?”
Swishy, wet oatmeal? Nope. Wren stood on shaky legs and headed for the door. “Maybe later.”
Mae, having watched the exchange, grabbed a granola bar from the counter and followed her sister out the door, trailing her ten feet behind. Not saying a word.
As Wren traversed the rickety steps carefully, she said, “You don’t have to follow me. You can do what you want.”
Her sister didn’t say anything to her. She hung back, watching from afar.
The air…the cool, moist air felt so good on her face. She closed her eyes, almost without pain now, and let the wet beads caress her skin. Taking a deep breath, Wren filled her lungs with it.
“You don’t have to be so mean to them, you know. They’re hurting too.”
She had to ruin everything. Huffing out the breath, Wren darted a look back at her sister, only to find her holding out the granola bar, not as an offering but as a demand. Take it. Now, said the expression on her little sister’s face. She was beginning to look more and more like their mother each day. It was a little unnerving.
“Why do you think you can talk to me like that?” Wren said but still took the granola bar. Hunger gnawed at her day and night. She only just started to acknowledge that fact.
Her sister’s shoulders shrugged. “Someone has to.”
Wren ripped off the mylar packaging. No swishy sounds so far. Still in the yard, Wren narrowed her eyes and took in the perimeter of the property. Her eyesight was still not where it used to be. The long drive through the woods led to a trail to the beach below. It was going to be a hike. She needed a hike. She needed to feel alive. Taking a nibble from the corner of the granola bar, Wren said without looking at her sister, “What makes you think I’m going to listen to you?”
“Just walk and stop acting like a brat.”
Wren nearly choked on her morsel of food. She smiled to herself. Little Mae had gained some balls in the time they were apart.
Wren took another bite. It felt so good to quench the hunger. Heading down the road, Mae remained behind her by at least ten feet. The path wound around tall pines, ferns surrounding the forest floor. Then farther up ahead, she saw someone with a rifle over his shoulder. Stopping in her tracks she said, “Who is that?”
“He’s one of the guards. He keeps watch over us now. Kent told him to go away but he won’t. He said it’s his job now. The town has really organized. They’re protecting us. They feel like they owe us a debt of gratitude…that’s what Kent said.”
Wren pulled to the side of the winding path, out of sight of the guard. She hadn’t realized she’d dropped the granola bar on the ground.
Mae picked it up and handed it back to her. Five-second rules went extinct right along with society.
Wren’s outstretched hand shook like a leaf. She looked at her own shuddering hand and then back at the guard’s back. Shaking her head, she
passed by Mae, heading back toward the house in haste. “No. It’s him. It can’t be him,” she said and ran with Mae trailing behind her.
39
Sloane
Watching her girls walk down the narrow drive seemed so ordinary. Like something a mother would do on any given day…back in normal times. These weren’t normal times. Normal times didn’t exist anymore. No feeling of fear or terror ever entered their minds then. But Sloane couldn’t help it. Her gaze tracked Wren’s every move. She even went to the next window, to follow along, gladdened to see Wren take a bite of the granola bar that her sister handed her.
“What are you doing?” Nicole asked her.
Sloane looked back at her adoptive daughter but then returned her gaze immediately to the other girls. “I thought you were going with them. I’m…just making sure they make it to the end of the road.” Is Nicole keeping watch over me?
“They’re fine. One of the guards is on watch at the end of the road. He’ll be able to see them all the way to the beach.”
“One of the guards?”
“Yeah. He seems nice. Mae and I talked to him.”
“I don’t know that I like that.”
“Kent said they mean no harm. They’re just trying to help.”
“Hmm…okay,” she said as she watched Wren suddenly drop the granola bar. “What’s going on?”
Then Wren ran…she was running back to the house.
Sloane tore herself away from the window and pulled her Glock out while running toward the door.
“What is it?” she yelled halfway down the rickety stairs as Wren ran past her roughly.
“Not him!” Wren yelled. “He shouldn’t be here.”
“What?” Sloane asked, turning to Mae.
