From the Shadows (The Light Book 3)

by Jacqueline Brown

  “Bria?” Blaise’s mom said.

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to speak to her. Not yet.

  “We have to go. We have to get Josh and Jonah,” Blaise said, pushing past her parents.

  “Josh is here too?” her father asked, releasing Blaise.

  She didn’t answer. We ran across the empty parking lot. Bodies lay strewn about the ground, most of them women and children. Here and there, a guard lay on the ground, their body badly beaten. As we neared the men’s camp, male bodies were on the ground. My heart stopped at each one until I was sure it was not Jonah or Josh.

  Finally, I spotted them—in the rear of the parking lot, with children scattered behind them as the guys each fought two guards a piece.

  “Blaise!” I yelled, pointing to them.

  She aimed and fired. One of the guards Josh was fighting fell. She aimed again. The other fell. The bark of the giant oak tree exploded above her head. Her father turned, his back against his daughter’s. He fired, toward the building the men had been held in. Blaise fired again. The larger of the two men Jonah was fighting fell.

  Two more shots rang out, and Blaise fell against the tree. A man screamed in the distance as her father’s bullet found its mark.

  Josh ran to Blaise. “You’ve been hit,” he cried, scooping her up and holding her.

  “It’s just a scrape,” she said, touching his beard.

  “Bullets don’t scrape,” he said, kissing her. “But you’re right. It nicked your arm.”

  “See, just a scrape,” she said, kissing him softly again.

  I ran to Jonah. The guard he had been fighting was gone, fleeing into the night. Jonah and I ran toward each other. I jumped onto him, my legs and arms wrapping around him. His arms pulled me against his body, as if neither of us could be close enough.

  “This was the worst day of my life,” he said, kissing me with a hunger matched only by my own.

  From behind us, Sage yelled, “Where’s Hayden?”

  Sara pulled me from Jonah. I unwrapped my legs from his waist and my arms from his neck. His hands slid from my back, never leaving my body as his fingers entwined my own. I stood beside him and he pulled me in closer to him. He needed me as much as I needed him; he loved me as much as I loved him; and he wanted me as much as I wanted him. The realization was startling and overpowering, and I could do nothing about it as bullets buzzed my ears.

  We ducked and ran toward the side of the restaurant. Chunks of building exploded above our heads as Blaise and her father took aim. She never missed, but she wasn’t shooting to kill—only to stop. Her father also never missed. He was shooting to kill and he was shooting the guards.

  When one guard fell, another was there to continue the attack. It was as if they were multiplying, and then I realized they were, or they had. At some point during the attack, others had come. The motorcycles were there, laid carelessly on their sides.

  I scanned the area. The trucks were nowhere to be seen. That meant there were only four more guards than I had counted, and yet the numbers seemed so many more than that. All the prisoners were free now. Some were dead, but I supposed that was a form of freedom as well. Many were running through the fields, especially those with children. They simply wanted out, to get away, to allow their children to live. One of the guards ran to the motorcycles. He jumped, starting it with his foot.

  I fired and the bike exploded. I’d hit the fuel tank. The guard screamed and flailed, only fueling the flames that engulfed his body.

  As I turned from the burning man, my eyes readjusted to the darkness. Another man made his way to the bikes, but this one was cautious. He moved slowly, ducking in and out of the shadows. Even in the darkness, his curls were evident. It was Hayden. He jumped, with his foot tight against the bike, pushing against something. Nothing happened. He jumped again. The bike roared to life.

  “Hayden, I’m here,” Sage screamed above the bike’s engine.

  Hayden turned, locking eyes with Sage. Shots fired as Sara pulled Sage back, away from the open. Hayden turned and revved the bike. He never looked back as he sped down the road.

  “He left,” Sage said in disbelief.

  “Maybe he’ll come back,” I said, doubting my words.

  The guns near us stopped.

  “We’re out of ammo,” Blaise’s father said.

  Chunks continued to explode above our heads, and occasionally the earth splattered up from where it swallowed bullets aimed at us.

  “Fall back,” Jonah shouted.

  He pulled me in a crouched position to the front of the building.

  “There are still three more with guns,” Blaise called as we reached the front.

  The guns stopped. We were the main target, the ones fighting instead of running.

  “Can we run?” I asked.

  “We’ll never make it that far. They have two bikes and three guns,” Josh said, from beside Blaise.

  I glanced at my friends. We easily outnumbered the guards, but still the odds were against us. Or at least against all of us surviving. There were eight of us, and I was sure they had at least that many bullets left. If we waited, they would ambush us, or others would come to their aid.

  When I thought about breaking free tonight, I hadn’t weighed the risks. I’d thought only of my desire to be free and to be with Jonah. I realized now how foolish that was. I understood why the prisoners had stayed for so long. Fighting back involved extreme risk.

  “I’m sick of being outnumbered,” I whined.

  We had no options.

  Jonah pulled my hand from his and stepped away.

  “If you go out there, I will follow,” I said, glaring at him.

  “You made my sister a promise. Don’t break it,” he said.

  He turned and, before I could react, he had disappeared around the side of the building. A shot rang out.

  “No,” I screamed, and ran after Jonah, fighting off Sara and Blaise as they tried to pull me back.

  I stopped short in front of a man whose blood was draining into the grass. It wasn’t Jonah. It was one of the three shooters. His gun was missing. More shots were fired. I ran toward the back of the building.

  Turning the corner, I slammed into a man. I hoped for a moment it was Jonah, but even in the midst of the hope I knew it wasn’t. A large arm swung at me. I jumped back, rocking on my heels to avoid his fist. He was not one of the ones with a gun. His leg was bloody, and I realized Blaise had wounded him. I wished, as his fist swung repeatedly, that she had injured him more severely, so he could not fight. I kicked hard, hitting the wound in his leg. He cried out in rage.

  I raced away, tripping over the dead man. The man I’d kicked pulled a knife from a sheath. He plunged the knife at me as I rolled, and rolled again, trying to escape his reach, but he followed and stabbed, each time missing me by less and less. A tree blocked my way; I couldn’t roll any further. I turned, scrambling to get to my feet. The man grabbed me by the ankle, pulling me back toward him. He lifted his knife. From far behind the man I saw Josh and Blaise running toward him. They would never make it. The knife would be in my chest and I would die. I closed my eyes, preparing for the pain of ripping flesh and punctured organs.

  I felt pain, but it was not ripping or puncturing, only pressure. I opened my eyes. Astrea was there, launching off my chest, her mouth clamped around the arm of the man with the knife. He shook her, but she did not release. I scrambled backward, sliding against the dirt. The man threw Astrea across me, and she landed, whimpering, beside me. Josh and Blaise were there. Josh’s foot connected with the man’s ribs, sending him to his side.

  Blaise smashed her foot into the man’s face. Blood poured from his nose. He did not move.

  I stood, panting, still unsure of what had happened. I heard the whimpering. Astrea was trying to stand. I lifted her to me and ran, not sure where I was going but sure I needed to be somewhere else.

  Blaise and Josh caught up to me.

  “Where did Astrea come
from?” Blaise asked.

  “I don’t know, but she saved my life,” I said. She whined in pain.

  The back of the restaurant offered a moment of protection. “Where’s Jonah?” I asked.

  Sara said, “I thought you went to find him.”

  “I did, but he wasn’t ….”

  The shooting started again, and this time it wasn’t one sided. Someone was returning fire.

  When I transferred Astrea to Sage, the dog whimpered.

  “Give her to me,” Blaise’s mom said, holding her arms just so as Sage handed her Astrea.

  I ran to the other side of the building. A shot rang out and a man fell, not ten feet from me. I turned in the direction of the deserted field. I could make out the outline of a girl, a fire burning behind her, a rifle in her hands. My heart leapt as I realized it was Juliette. She was alive, and she had saved my life again.

  I turned and picked up the gun from where the man had dropped it. He wasn’t dead. I held the gun pointed at his head.

  “Please, don’t,” he begged.

  I hesitated. “Would you kill me if you held this gun instead of me?” I asked, staring at the man. His eyes filled with tears.

  “Yes,” he said, swallowing and closing his eyes to prepare for death.

  I relaxed my arm and ran toward the sound of gunfire.

  “Why didn’t you kill him?” Sara asked from behind me as we slowed, nearing the corner of the church.

  “He was honest,” I answered.

  I heard a scream and peered around the corner. A man stood above Jonah, gun in hand.

  “Please don’t kill me,” Jonah begged, pushing his body against the coarse gravel, trying to distance himself from the man with the gun.

  The man laughed and straightened his arm, aiming the gun at Jonah’s head.

  The gun fired, and my body jerked back from the force of the bullet leaving the barrel. The man fell, his blood splattering Jonah’s face and shirt.

  The night was finally silent. The guards were dead or close to it. The prisoners were gone, escaped into the woods. All that remained were the ones I loved and the two I didn’t trust.

  Twenty-Eight

  My body was fatigued, but my mind was racing, replaying the events of the dark night as the sun began to brighten the horizon. Like an instant replay, I saw Jonah begging the man to let him live. Every time I knew he was going to kill Jonah, and every time I knew I had to stop him. I wasn’t trying to kill him; I was trying only to stop him. But my aim had never been as good as Blaise’s. I was sorry for his death, but he was choosing to kill Jonah and I was choosing to protect him. I had not chosen to kill that man; it was a consequence of my choice, and his.

  Blaise’s parents showed us where our packs were. We carried them now, along with as much food and ammunition as we could find. We were each armed—even Juliette, who was, in all honesty, probably a better shot than Josh and Sara.

  In front of us, the others walked, but Blaise did not walk beside her parents. She had purposely placed Josh between her and them. I didn’t blame her. Josh’s posture was rigid and protective. He didn’t trust them, either. It’s why I wanted them in front of me instead of at my back.

  Sara carried Astrea, whose front leg was broken. It would heal. Juliette was beside them. Behind all of us Sage stumbled along. She didn’t speak and her face was blank.

  Sara left Juliette’s side and went to her sister.

  “You know you saved our lives,” Jonah said as we caught up to Juliette. “Without you and your incredible aim, we never would have stood a chance,” he said, like a proud big brother.

  “Blaise taught me,” she whispered.

  “I did?” Blaise asked, turning and walking backward with all the confidence and self-possession of East.

  “I copied you,” Juliette said softly.

  Josh said, “You did that well just by watching her and copying her? She has given me a dozen lessons and, still, I can’t shoot like that.”

  Juliette smirked. I was reminded then how little we knew of her. She wasn’t surprised by her skill; it was expected. I wondered about her life before the light. About her family. How much they must miss her. How much more she must miss them.

  “I always said you were a good teacher,” Blaise’s mom said, beaming at her daughter.

  “Don’t,” shouted Blaise. “Don’t speak to me.”

  “Don’t talk to your mom like that,” her father commanded.

  “Don’t speak to my wife as if she were a child, instead of someone who just saved your life,” Josh said, his body bowed up, ready to fight.

  “Wife?” Her parents both repeated in unison.

  I watched the emotions flash across their faces. The anger and shame were replaced by shock, sadness, and, finally, joy. They were happy for their daughter, and that awareness made me dislike them less. Though, still, I didn’t trust them.

  “What does it matter to you? I don’t even know you,” Blaise said, tears streaming down her face as she ran ahead of us.

  “Blaise, wait,” Josh called. He sprinted after her.

  Her mother started to run after her too.

  “Felicia, no,” her dad said. “She’s not ready to hear why we did what we did.” He lowered his head as we continued on, the late afternoon sun burning brightly.

  I knew I should say something to comfort them, but no words came. Perhaps they could explain why they killed, but could it ever be enough?

  Eventually we caught up with Blaise and Josh. They said nothing as they rejoined the group, their hands held tight as they forged south.

  Blaise’s mom sniffed, and her father placed his arm around her. Otherwise, they made no sound, no attempt to excuse their killing.

  “Here,” Jonah said. He had pulled a box of ammunition from his pack.

  In the chaos of leaving, I had forgotten to load the magazine of the pistol I had taken from the harvester. I took the box of 9mm cartridges from him. “Thanks,” I said as I removed the magazine from the weapon.

  “It’s empty,” I said, my mouth falling open.

  “That’s okay, just add more,” Jonah said, placing his own scavenged gun into the waist of his pants.

  Sara came behind me. “It’s empty?” she said with just as much shock.

  I nodded.

  “What am I missing?” Jonah asked, taking the gun from my hands and adding bullets to the magazine before replacing it in the pistol.

  “Oh, that is so God,” Sara said, shaking her head.

  “No part of God was in that hellhole,” Blaise shouted back at us with rage.

  I ignored them both and turned to Jonah. “Before I found you, there was a harvester that begged me to let him live. I asked him if he would let me live if the situation was reversed, and he said no. So I let him live, since he was honest.”

  “That seems reasonable,” Jonah said.

  “Yes,” I said, “but then, when we found you and you were doing the same thing—begging the harvester to let you live—the harvester didn’t care. He was going to kill you, so I shot him first. If I hadn’t let the first one live, I couldn’t have shot the second one, and …”

  “I would be dead,” he said, handing me back the gun.

  I nodded as he slipped his hand around mine.

  “I think Sara’s right,” he said.

  “Live by the sword, die by the sword,” Sara said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Something Jesus said when he was being arrested,” Jonah replied. “The guy you killed lived by the sword, or gun, and died by the gun.”

  “Violence only creates more violence,” Felicia said from in front of us.

  I felt my body stiffen at the sound of her voice and the hypocrisy of her words. Jonah’s hand squeezed tighter around mine.

  How were we going to stay with them? I didn’t want to lead them back to my father and Charlotte and JP and Quinn. I convinced myself that decision didn’t have to be made right now. We had weeks of walking in front of us, i
f things went smoothly—and that was a very big if.

  “I’m done walking,” Blaise said, slamming her pack to the forest floor.

  “You’re right,” Sara said. “We need to rest. This is as good a spot as any.” She carefully handed Astrea to Juliette.

  “We’ll hunt,” I said, pulling Jonah with me, away from my friends and Blaise’s parents.

  Deeper in the woods, he knelt to examine some scat. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “That my heart is breaking for Blaise. She loved her parents so much. She admired them and even idealized them—and to see them kill someone ….” The image of the family soaked in blood at the harvesters’ camp brought tears to my eyes.

  “That was gruesome,” he said, rising from the ground.

  I rubbed my hands across my shoulders. “That entire place was gruesome.”

  He placed his hands on my arms. “Did anything else happen? While you were away from me?”

  I shook my head. “But almost.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “One of the guards tried to attack Sage.”

  I could sense the rage within him, though his expression did not change.

  “I was going to kill him, but Sara beat me to it,” I said.

  “Sara killed him?” he said, his expression now filled with sorrow.

  “She didn’t have a choice.”

  “I know, but that’s not going to be an easy burden for her to carry,” he said.

  “No.” I thought of Trent and the harvester I’d killed. “No, it won’t.”

  He wrapped his arms around me.

  “But Sage is okay? The guard didn’t hurt her?” He asked, his arms still wrapped tightly around my body.

  “He didn’t hurt her, but he hurt others before her. I’m sure of it,” I said.

  Jonah was silent. What could he say?

  All forms of violence existed before and all forms of violence existed now. That had not changed. Perhaps the number of people willing to be violent had changed. My friends and I were an example of that. We had all killed or seen someone killed, to save us. None of us had been like Blaise’s parents and killed for no reason other than to kill. Still, not one among us didn’t carry the weight of someone else’s death.