Against The Darkness (Cimmerian Moon)

by A. M. Griffin

  She frowns and tilts her head. “You’re like what? Eighteen?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “You’re way too serious, girl.”

  Wade comes toward us, checking the perimeter for the hundredth time. No one stops him, because frankly it makes us feel better. He stops in front of us.

  “Are you okay, Sin?”

  I look up and, for a split second, I think I see something pass behind his eyes. It’s gone before I can even tell what emotion it was. “I’m fine, you?”

  “I’m good. I’d feel better once we leave this area though.” He looks around, as if he heard something or is trying to hear something. “I’m getting the creeps.”

  “Um, I’m fine too, Wade,” Shayla says, drawing his attention to her.

  He glances down to her with a frown. “Okay,” he says, elongating the word.

  “I’m just saying, there are two people sitting here,” she says, swiping her hand through the air.

  “Give him a break,” I say playfully. “He was about to ask about you too.”

  She glances over to me, giving me a “yeah, right look”. I shrug.

  “I’m sorry. If it means so much to you, I’ll check on you morning, noon and night.”

  Shayla shakes her head and smiles. “You do, you. I’m not mad.”

  Wade smiles as well. Something I rarely see him do, since he’s always so serious, but I guess surviving an alien invasion gives one reason to be serious.

  “I’ll make my bed next to you, Sin. There’s just something about this place…” He says the last sentence as he walks off to inspect some bushes.

  Shayla raises a brow.

  “What?” I whisper. “I don’t mind if he wants to sleep next to me. He knows how to kill rattlesnakes.”

  “You are so gullible it’s almost cute.”

  I lean back. “Whatever. You have MJ to kill crawly thingies for you.”

  Mia plops down by my side, interrupting us. “I can’t wait to find another house. The first thing I’m going to nab is a toothbrush. I don’t even care if it’s secondhand.”

  “That’s super gross,” I say, even though my teeth are slick with build-up and my breath probably smells like holy hell.

  “Anything will be better than this.” Mia leans to the side and spits out a piece of leaf she’s been chewing on, trying to clean her teeth. “What are you guys talking about?”

  Shayla nods to me. “Sinta getting pregnant and sleeping next to boys.”

  “What?” she chokes out, her face contorting with a mixture of confusion and shock.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  My mother is sitting on our sectional in the living room. Even though the sofa can comfortably seat eight, I’m planted in her lap, with my head resting against her chest. She’s holding me close to her body with one hand while the other is stroking my hair.

  This is how she used to hold me when I was smaller. I’ve never realized it before, but I miss sitting on her lap. With a contented smile, I snuggle closer, listening to her heartbeat through her scrubs. She’s wearing the scrubs with pictures of storks and babies. They’re pink and blue and remind me of a whimsical scene. She hasn’t worn these since she stopped working in the newborn nursery, way before she went back to school to get her advanced nursing degree.

  I take a long, languid breath in, letting her scent swirl through my nostrils. She smells of newborn babies, who, to me, smell like baby powder and baby lotion, with a hint of baby burp. I don’t question my reasoning. It’s just how I always imagined the smell.

  “Do you want me to put your hair in a braid?” she asks. She loves to brush and braid my hair. She likes to “tame” it, as she calls it.

  “No.” I snuggle deeper onto her lap, making myself comfortable. “I just want you to hold me.”

  She lets out a soft chuckle. “Sinta, your bony butt is digging into my legs, but if this is what you want.”

  “This is what I want, Mama.”

  We sit in silence, me listening to her heart and breathing and her running a hand over my hair and back. Before long, she breaks our silence with light humming. She can’t sing. She couldn’t hold a note if her life depended on it, but her humming reminds me of home and good times.

  “Is that a song grandma used to sing to you?”

  I only remember my grandmother faintly. She died from breast cancer when I was younger, but I remember her singing and cooking. I also remember how much my mother loved her.

  “Yes, she used to sing that song to me every night before I went to sleep. That was so long ago…” She lets her voice trail off, as she picks up the tune again.

  I look up to her. “Why haven’t you ever sung it to me?”

  She smiles and tilts her head to the side, as if in thought. “Hmmm…I guess because I haven’t thought about it in so long.”

  “It’s nice. It can be our song now.”

  She chuckles. “I’m dead, Sinta. I can’t sing to you anymore.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “No! You can’t be!” I scream out in pain. “Mommy!”

  “Shh, calm down,” a deep and gruff voice says. “Yer just havin’ a nightmare, darlin’.”

  I try to catch my breath. Yeah, that’s it. My mother isn’t dead. She can’t be dead.

  I wipe the tears that have formed on the corners of my heavy eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” I whisper.

  “It’s okay to me,” a man with a heavy country accent says.

  Who is this? The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “I reckon nobody worth spit can hear yer screamin’ all the way out here.”

  My eyes fly open to something black, round and hollow aimed right at my face.

  Gun.

  Panic that feels like ice-cold tentacles seizes my body and seems to squeeze the life out of my heart. My insides twist and my mind screams, “Run fool!”, but I’m rooted in place, unmoving, staring at my death.

  “I see this got your attention.”

  I flick my eyes away from the gun’s barrel to the stranger holding it. He appears as if he just came from a The Hills Have Eyes casting call. He’s white, but dark, like he spends most of his time outdoors. His shoulder-length hair is greasy, but for some reason I don’t think it’s that way because of the invasion. It doesn’t appear to have seen a comb in months. Dark, sparse stubble is spread abundantly across his chin and cheeks. His brown eyes are wild and darting to various positions on my face, seeming to not focus on one thing.

  “Like whatcha see?” he asks, noticing that I’m studying him. And then he smiles.

  Gross.

  I wish he hadn’t done that, as pink swollen gums are where teeth should be.

  “Hurry up with that one,” another voice calls out.

  I peer past his legs to see another man standing off to the side, not too far away from us.

  Danger.

  I inch my hand toward my knife. If I can just get it untied, I can stab him before he knows what’s going on.

  He flicks his gaze from my face to my hand. No such luck.

  “I think I’ll be relieving you of that little weapon.”

  Little weapon?

  Let’s see how little he thinks it is when it’s buried in his gut.

  “Are you tryin’ to find out who’ll be faster at killin’ the other? ’Cause I bet your life on it that I’ll win.”

  I stare deep into his eyes, trying to find a flicker of jest in them. Finding none, I think about my odds. If I move fast, I can untangle my knife, stab him in the stomach and then run over to the other man and stab him.

  Still wearing that unamused smile, he inches the barrel closer to my face, as if he’s daring me to make a move. “Do you need some kind of incentive, girl?”

  Adrenalin tells me I can do it, but reason keeps me from trying. I let out a defeating breath and untangle my knife. “No,” I say, handing it to him, blade first.

  “Tryin’ ta cut me?” he says, with a cackle.

  The glare
I give him should be answer enough. If I had a chance, I would have sliced off his fingers, making holding a gun impossible.

  He takes my knife and slides it into the side of his boot. I can’t help but to hope that he shears off a toe…or maybe two. But all my hopes are dashed when he doesn’t cry out in pain.

  His smile fades from his lips. “What nationality are you girl?”

  Although I don’t see the relevancy of his question I answer anyway. “I’m mixed—black and white.”

  He pulls back with a hiss. A warning bell in the back of my mind goes off.

  “You one of them mixed-race people?”

  My heart kicks up a notch, if that’s even possible.

  I’m scared and slightly pissed at the way he said it. He cocks his head to the side. “Hey Eddie, I got me one of them mixed-race people.”

  “A mixed-race?” The person I assume is Eddie replies.

  “She’s just a child,” Ms. Burgess yells at them.

  I’ve had all my attention so focused on The Hills Have Eyes men that I hadn’t wondered about everyone else. I pull my gaze away from the men to where Ms. Burgess is. She’s sitting off to the side, next to Ian and Wade. Their arms are behind their backs. I guess that they’re tied because the look on Wade’s face says that if he wasn’t bound he would be up throwing country bumpkin bodies around.

  “Please,” Ms. Burgess pleads. “They’re all children. I’m trying to get them back to Michigan.”

  “Michigan, you say?” Eddie finally comes into full view. He’s holding a rifle and has the same vibe as my assailant, except that he’s bigger…and meaner-looking. He leans over and spits on the ground and then, with his free hand, reaches into his pocket, grabs a wad of brown substance and stuffs it into the side of his mouth. “Ya’ll can mix breeds if’n you like in Michigan, but round these parts it’s a sin.”

  “Please, we’re just trying to get back home,” she continues.

  It’s then that I realize that I don’t see MJ, Mia or Shayla. Did they kill them? Are they going to kill me? I peer back up the barrel of the shotgun. It would be ironic. We escaped aliens, but we couldn’t escape humans who meant to do us harm.

  “You goin’ ta lay there all day or is you gittin’ up to join yer peoples?”

  It takes me a minute to realize that he’s talking to me and what he wants me to do. “I’m getting up.”

  He takes a step back and motions his gun toward Ms. Burgess, Ian and Wade. “Well, git!”

  I scrambled to my hands and feet. The thought of crawling to them was in my mind but, just as quickly as it came, I push it out. I will not crawl like some kind of dog or second-class citizen. Instead I rise and straighten myself. I make sure to stare directly into his eyes as I walk calmly over to sit next to Wade. While they are all on their knees, I decide to sit on my butt and cross my legs.

  “Where are the others?” I ask Ms. Burgess, pretending that I have my fear in check, even though I can hardly hear my own voice over the loud rush of blood passing by my ears.

  “Shayla and Mia are relieving themselves and MJ,” she nods to the left of us, “is over there.”

  MJ’s back is against the tree and his head is hanging low. His arms aren’t tied behind him but are stretched back awkwardly and secured around the tree.

  I don’t like this. He’s looking hurt or dejected…both.

  “What did they do to him?”

  “Nothing that a good hug won’t cure,” Ms. Burgess replies.

  And that’s what I feel like doing.

  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what these nim-wits have done. If they don’t like mixed people, then they surely would have a worse opinion of black people. The thought makes me seethe with anger.

  I squint defiantly up at our captors. “If you’re separating the races, then I should be over there with him,” I say, with a crack in my voice.

  “What are you doing?” Ms. Burgess whispers harshly.

  “You’re stayin’ right there, girlie” Eddie says.

  “Sin, we need to stay together,” Wade says.

  Had they objected this hard when these men were separating MJ from everyone else?

  I take a deep breath and rise to stand on shaky legs. “I’m going with him.”

  Wade tilts to his side and tries unsuccessfully to get up. “Help me up, I’m going with you. It’s too dangerous.”

  Eddie cocks his shotgun. The sound of a bullet going into the chamber echoes around us. “If she wants to go, she can go. But you.” He points his gun at Wade. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  I muster all the strength and nerve I have and walk to MJ. I try to clamp down on the panic that fills me to the core with each wobbly step I take. MJ lifts his head to watch me. I can’t help but think I’ll get shot in the back the closer I get. So I keep my eyes on him, thinking he will at least grimace or scream when the shotgun is raised at my back. At least then I’ll have a moment to know what’s coming.

  He doesn’t do either. With reddened eyes, he just watches in silence as I approach. As I get closer, I see the dry tear tracks on his cheeks and know that whatever they said to him had been just as hurtful as the things they said to me. By the time I reach him, I feel as though my legs will give out. Using the tree for support, I lower myself next to him and take a relieved breath. I made it and I wasn’t killed.

  “You didn’t have to come over here,” he says.

  “If they’re separating races then yes, I do.”

  “You should have stayed with them. I don’t know what they’re planning to do with me.”

  “Whatever it is, they can do it to both of us. I can’t sit back and pretend that I’m not black.”

  He flicks his eyes in my direction then back down again. “I always thought you only associated with your other half.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  He lifts up one shoulder awkwardly. “I dunno. I never see you with any of us. I just assumed…”

  “Who are ‘us’? Black people?” I ask, with my irritation lacing my voice. I’d just taken mess from The Hills people and now he was giving it to me?

  “Yeah.” He stares at me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, especially since you could have gotten yourself killed coming over here with me.”

  I don’t have to prove anything to him, but that doesn’t stop me from explaining myself. “My mom is black, you know.” I want to add that the black side of my family is the only family I know and if I walked up to any of my dad’s relatives, they wouldn’t know me from the next stranger, but I don’t go that far.

  He nods. “I’ve seen her at the band concerts.”

  We sit in silence for a little while, before he adds, “You know, I wasn’t supposed to come on this trip.” Then he lets out a humorless chuckle. “I’m not even supposed to be in band.”

  “I didn’t want to come either. My mom made me come.” And I left her without saying goodbye.

  “No you don’t understand. I play football, I was supposed to quit band years ago, but Mr. Steinberg didn’t want me to. He thought I could be this great saxophone player, he didn’t want me to give it up. So he worked out a deal with me, I’d stay in band, practice and participate in the concerts but understanding that I couldn’t play at the games or anything. He even paid off my saxophone for me. When my mom couldn’t make the monthly rental fee anymore and it was pretty much a done deal that I’d have to drop band, he stepped up and took care of it.”

  “Yeah, we all knew you and Mr. Steinberg had a special arrangement.” I shrug, letting him know that it wasn’t a big deal. “Ian wasn’t supposed to come on this trip either. His mom and dad paid for private trumpet lessons. He joined the band this year and only did that so he and Mia could spend more time together. Bet you he’s kicking himself right about now.”

  “Get out!”

  I shake my head. “Biggest mistake ever.”

  “Wow.”

  “We all knew Mr. Steinberg wanted you to stay in t
he band; he thought you were pretty special. Way better than Alex.” I let out a small chuckle as I remember Alex. He always wore sunglasses and a three-piece suit during band concerts. He wasn’t as cool as he thought he was but no one had the heart to tell him.

  “Alex wasn’t that bad.”

  “No, not really. He was a ham though.” I chuckle again, remembering some of Alex’s antics.

  “He didn’t make it.”

  The sound ceases coming out of my mouth and my smile drops away. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry that more people didn’t make it.”

  I look up at him when he doesn’t reply to find that no emotion shows on his face, as if he hasn’t heard me or didn’t want to hear me. I don’t press him. Everyone is dealing in their own way.

  “What do you think they’re going to do with us?” MJ asks.

  I glance over to where both men are talking, seeming to be deep in a discussion. “I have no clue.” For no apparent reason, the man, Eddie, pops the other man in the head. “But I feel like I’ve been caught by the Clampetts.”

  “But the Clampetts’ are a step above these fools.”

  “Sure is a lot of chattering over there,” Eddie says.

  “Be quiet, Sin,” Wade hollers, as if I needed the coaching.

  I snap my mouth shut. I defied them by coming over here. I definitely don’t want to press my luck.

  Wade is watching me. Even under the scraggly beard I can see how red his face is. His eyes are wide and fearful. I know he’s scared—we all are—but something about seeing him like this makes me wonder if we’ll escape with our lives from these people.

  I nod at him, letting him know I’m fine. He nods back, some of the fear leaving his eyes.

  Shayla and Mia come back, followed by a third man. They both make their way toward us, but the man who woke me so rudely grabs onto Mia’s arm, pulling her back.

  Mia tries to pull her arm out of his grasp, but the man won’t let her go. “Stop. I want to go with her,” she says, pointing to me.

  He vehemently shakes his head. “You don’t belong over there.”

  Mia struggles against him. “Why? Why are they over there?”

  “Mia, stop before they hurt you. We’re over here because we’re black,” I say. “It’s okay, stay with Ms. Burgess.”