by Kody Boye
He swore—a sound that cut through the daytime like a knife through tender flesh—and stamped his foot. “It figures we’d start our trip like this.”
“Calm down,” Asha replied. “We’ll just go for as long as Ana can bear it and then stop until she feels better.”
“I really think all I need is rest,” I said. “I’m sorry, guys.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Jason said. “The stress is finally getting to you. No one can blame you for that.”
Could they, though? I blamed myself for it—for not keeping a level-head, for not succumbing to my desire to sleep the night before, for taking first watch, for not trying to relax even though we’d been in a secure home. Realistically, it was my fault I felt like I did—because I knew I didn’t have a cold, or a flu, or any other kind of ailment. Besides my arm, I was perfectly healthy. Doctor Parish had even said so.
But at that moment, feeling like I did…
I expelled a pent-up breath and glanced toward the horizon—where I could just make out a farmhouse sequestered atop a lonely hill. “There,” I said, making my way onto the grass. “Let’s go there.”
“We still don’t know what we’re going to do about food,” Jason said.
“There’s a river nearby,” Asha offered.
“Yeah, but could we find our way back to the farmhouse on our own?”
“I don’t see why not. I mean… it’s on top of a hill.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
I stumbled, then, and would have collapsed had Asha not taken hold of my arm. “Ana.”
“We just have to make it to the farmhouse,” I said. “Then everything will be fine.”
I trudged along, forcing myself across the swells in the land and through the perpetual misery that was my deteriorating self. Eventually, Asha wrapped her arm around my upper body to support me as we made our way up the hill. It seemed impossibly far even though the dirt road that led up to the house was no more than fifteen feet away.
By the time we stepped onto the porch some fifteen minutes later, I collapsed. I drank heartily, and sighed as water cascaded down my dry throat.
“Can’t you get in?” Asha asked.
“I’m trying,” Jason said, slamming the butt of his gun against a nearby window. “It won’t budge.”
“Shoot it out then.”
“Shoot it?” He frowned.
“Yeah.”
“That’ll just draw attention.”
“We can’t stay outside. Not with the Coyotes.”
“We can’t just shoot the window and not expect them to come either.”
“We have to take that risk,” Asha said.
Jason slammed the butt of his rifle against it three more times, then lowered it to brace his back along one of the columns holding up the roof. Leaning back, he poised his foot above the window pane, and kicked as hard as he could.
Glass shattered beneath the full weight of his body.
Asha—by my side until that moment—stepped forward to look at the damage. “I can crawl through here,” she said. “Just get rid of the glass.”
“You’re sure?” Jason asked.
Nodding, the young woman stripped her jacket off her shoulders and waited for him to clear the area before throwing it over the window. She stepped forward, pressed her belly against the window frame, and crawled through.
Moments later, the door unlocked and opened.
By that point, I found just enough strength to stand, stumble into the house, and collapse onto a small loveseat in the den.
“This is nice,” Asha said after a moment’s consideration, spinning to admire everything from the shelving, to the knickknacks, to the kitchen, den, and stairwell leading to the second floor.
“It’s great,” I said, laying my head on the couch’s armrest.
“Ana Mia. You can’t go to sleep.”
“I need to rest.”
“Don’t do it here. Do it upstairs.”
“All right,” I mumbled. “Just let me rest my eyes for a minute.”
Asha gently slapped my face and pushed something into my hands.
I opened my eyes. Her semi-automatic rifle lay in the crook of my arm.
“Jason and I need to see if we can find us some food,” she said, lifting her head to examine the young man. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, but we’ll try to make it back before dark.”
“You can’t leave,” I said.
“We have to, Ana. You’re sick. You need food. And you definitely need more water than what you’ve been drinking.”
“We’ll find a deer,” he said. “Or try and get some fish. I’m sure we can figure something out.”
“All right,” I sighed, pushing my feet over the side of the couch and taking the gun into my arms. As I rose, I looked Asha straight in the eyes and saw her fear there—not only for herself, but for me. She forced a smile, but I knew it was fake judging from its exaggerated width. When I returned it with about as much honesty as her own, she laughed and faced Jason, who shrugged before heading toward the attached garage.
“We’ll be back as soon as we can.” She gestured toward the stairwell and the ornate carved railing that led up to the second floor. “Go. Get some rest. You look like you could use it.”
“Thanks,” I replied.
I mounted the stairs without so much as a glance back. Stepping onto the landing above, being careful not to hit the narrow passage with my gun, I opened the first door on my left.
When I saw a bed—unkempt but still bearing a blanket and a pillow—I sauntered in and collapsed atop it without even closing the door.
It only took moments to fall asleep.
Feverish sweats kept me from resting for too long at a time. Torn between the realms of consciousness, I fought to keep from throwing up as I breathed in through my nose and out my mouth. The air was cooling, the sun warm on my back, the gun always present and just within reach. I heard nothing outside but the door closing as they headed toward the wilds near the river Asha said lay nearby, but didn’t discount the fact that we could be sieged at any moment.
I tried desperately to sleep—to ignore the panic strumming along my ribcage and the delicate fibers of my heart.
When it grew to be too much, I rolled over and traced the paint on the ceiling. After a moment, I found the effect oddly calming, and soon, I fell asleep.
The next time I awoke I was exhausted, but recovered enough to roll onto my side without being in unbearable discomfort. I opened my eyes to find it was nearly dark, and having not heard the door open again, dreaded the idea that Jason and Asha might not make it back before the day was up.
After reaching for Asha’s gun, I stood and made my way to the window.
Outside—in the quickly-dissipating sunlight—I could see nothing but the distant, empty road and the grassy hills beyond.
I knew they would be okay, so long as they didn’t run into any Coyotes or were spotted by any Harvesters. Darkness might even serve them well—give them cover under which to make their way back in complete obscurity. But just because I wanted one thing to happen didn’t mean it would go that way. It could always turn into another.
With a sigh, I left the bedroom and went down into the kitchen, where I drew the curtains and took inventory of the items that remained. The candles I drew from cabinets and set them along the counter. I arranged an empty box in front of the window to block out the light and the elements. A quick-lighter that I feared might not work produced flame when I pulled its trigger. I didn’t bother with the food in the pantry or cupboards. It’d expired years ago.
My stomach growled, sending the realization that I hadn’t eaten since late the night before jarring into my brain. It brought with it the reality that Jason and Asha might not even return with food.
I hoped to God they would. Otherwise I didn’t know what I’d do.
The sound of footsteps on the front porch was enough to stir me from sleep.
Opening m
y eyes to darkness, I reached for my gun, unsure if it was my friends returning or if Coyotes were searching the now-inhabited property. I sat up—slowly, as to not reveal my presence on the creaking floorboards—and trained my gun on the door.
Shuffled footsteps sounded outside as someone—or, more like, something—reached forward and took hold of the doorknob.
“Jason?” I asked, holding my gun as steady as I could. “Asha?”
“It’s just us!” Asha called in.
The door opened to reveal my friends, both of whom held backpacks that appeared fully-loaded. “We’re back,” Asha said, a bright smile on her face. “And we brought food.”
“Thank God,” I breathed. “What is it?”
Jason opened his backpack to show several carefully-prepared slices of meat wrapped in cellophane while Asha deposited a number of peaches onto the countertops.
“Did you—”
“Get a deer?” Jason asked. “Yeah. Surprisingly. That’s why it took us so long to get back.”
“It was grazing in the peach orchards when we stumbled across it,” Asha said, passing me a peach, which I bit into with a throaty moan. “Jason took it down and prepared it.”
“We brought as much back as we could,” he said. “I guess we can make jerky out of it. Or just cook it and hope it stays good.”
“How are we going to cook it?” I asked.
Jason gestured toward the garage. “I figure we’ll be safe enough to cook in there. Want to join us?”
I did, and followed him and Asha. He dragged a grill from the nearby corner and filled it with coals before dousing them with lighter fluid. I craned my arm forward and lit it with the lighter, sighing as everything went according to plan.
“Shall we just settle down in here?” I asked. “Or should we—”
“You go inside,” Asha said, pushing me toward the threshold. “I’ll help Jason with the cooking.”
“You’re sure?”
“You’re sick, Ana. Lie down. Keep an ear out if you’re really wanting to do something.”
I wanted to contribute in some way. So, with a determined nod, I turned and stepped back into the house, where I seated myself at the kitchen island and listened to the sound of crackling flames and inhaled the scents of cooking meats.
I sighed.
How I longed for home. For Mama’s cooking. For Xiomara’s laughter. For the Guard to protect us from the creatures that lurked within the darkness. But I could have none of them. All had been stripped away in the span of one night. And there we were, the last remaining Guardsmen, making our way to Austin, Texas and the hospital that might not even be standing.
I briefly considered the idea of drawing a message in the road in case a helicopter would find us, but knew that would be foolish. Even if one from the city passed overhead to see why Fort Hope no longer transmitted—which I highly doubted—the Harvesters would realize humans inhabited the structure. We’d be done for.
There was nothing we could do that wouldn’t result in potential death—or worse.
Harvesting.
Shivering as I thought of my father and Jason’s parents, I realized, with shame and regret, I was thankful my mother and sister had died by the hands of Coyotes. I could only imagine the kind of things They did to people once they were on the ships. Though I tried not to entertain the fantasies, I couldn’t help but visualize people lying naked on chrome tables while scalpels and other advanced tools were used to dissect the human condition.
The thoughts, morbid as they were, brought tears to my eyes.
Thankfully, my father was dead. I knew this to be true in my heart only because They would’ve never kept a human prisoner alive for so long.
Those that had been Harvested at Fort Hope—they might still be alive, but they wouldn’t be for long.
The scent of cooked meat wafting into my nose stirred me from my thoughts. “Dinner is served,” Jason said, setting the plate of cooked meat on the counter before us.
“And you filled our water bottles?” I asked.
Asha grabbed the backpack that had contained the peaches and passed me a full bottle, which I took and drank from heartily.
The steak wasn’t exactly the greatest, given Jason’s inexperience with cooking. While burnt in spots, it was still food—food we otherwise would’ve never eaten had my friends not gone in search of it.
With the semblance of a smile on my face, I bowed my head and ate—knowing, without a doubt in my mind, that we could survive.
Chapter 11
The first snow of autumn began to fall that night.
It was beautiful—dazzling in its splendor and mesmerizing in that it reflected the moon’s light like millions of tiny starbursts falling from the heavens. The only problem was: it couldn’t be enjoyed—or savored, or marveled upon, or viewed in all the glory it should’ve been. Not with the knowledge that we could be discovered at any moment.
“You think we’re far enough away to where They won’t find us?” I heard Asha ask from the bed.
“I’m sure we are,” Jason replied. “We’re about an hour outside the city. What reason would They have to come here?”
No one lived there anymore—no one except us—and though the house on top of the hill seemed too good to be true, I was beginning to let myself believe we were safe here. We hadn’t made much of a racket when we arrived, and unless Asha and Jason had been followed while returning under the cover of darkness, I saw no reason we wouldn’t be safe.
“Ana,” Jason said, setting a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Just watching the snow.”
“Snow?” Asha asked. I nodded and gestured. She moved toward me, leaning forward to admire the twinkling evanescence, and she smiled. “It’s beautiful.”
“More than beautiful,” I replied. “It’s…”
I wanted to say peaceful, but knew I couldn’t. If anything, the snow was Heaven on Earth—comparable to no language written by man. I wanted to call it wondrous, fantastic, magical, even alien, yet nothing could have compared to the way I felt when looking at it.
One part scared, one part happy, another worried over what the worsening weather might bring—those were the things that dwelled upon my conscience as I looked out into the night. Though I wanted desperately to revel in its coming, I could do little but dread the possibilities.
“Go lie down,” Jason said, once more pressing a hand upon my shoulder. “I’ll take first watch.”
“You’re sure?” I asked. “I’ve been sleeping most of the day. Are you sure you don’t need—”
“You can make up for it tomorrow, when we take another day to make sure you’ve recovered.”
With a nod, I turned and walked to the bed, kicking my shoes off. Asha—who’d already crawled up into it—parted the blankets to allow me passage and tossed them over me as I settled into the bed beside her.
“Goodnight, Ana Mia,” Asha said.
“Goodnight Asha,” I replied. “Goodnight Jason.”
“Night,” Jason replied.
The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was him with his arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window.
I woke the next morning to an empty room. Not knowing where my companions had gone but knowing they wouldn’t have left without ample reason, I threw my legs over the side of the bed. Stretching my arms out in front of me, I tried to gain my bearings for what would be an uneasy morning. The air was cool, the snow still falling, the bedroom cold but for my lingering presence of warmth in the bed. I rose and, drawing the blanket around myself, turned to look at my reflection in the mirror hanging on the closet door, only to find a sad semblance of my former self.
Though I’d just woken from a good eight hours of sleep, I looked like I’d only slept half of that.
I couldn’t blame myself. My body was still recovering—was still in the throes of depression, attempting to reclaim itself from the tragedy that had occurred no more than a
few days before. It wasn’t hard to understand it would take me a few days to bounce back, if I ever did.
I sighed.
I still dreamed of Mama and Xiomara—of us running; of Xiomara dying; of my mother being cut down in front of me.
Pushing back the tears threatening to burn down my face, I stepped into the hallway. I was surprised to find a note—scrawled in fine handwriting—attached to the wall near the stairwell.
Ana Mia, it began. Went to get more peaches before the weather got too bad. See you soon. - Asha.
Content once I knew where they were, I nodded and sauntered down the stairs, the sense of relief coursing through my body enough to spur me onward. I stepped onto the first floor and looked at my surroundings—from the light streaming in through the cracks in the blinds, to the kitchen where frost had accumulated around the box holding the elements back. I shivered, then—realizing I probably hadn’t used great logic in coming downstairs—and was about to turn when I heard something on the front porch.
Convinced it was Asha and Jason returning from their journey, I started toward the doorway. It was only when I saw a flash of mangy fur through one of the blinds that I froze.
“No,” I whispered.
The figure paused and shifted, its countenance illuminated only briefly before it stalked across the porch again. I turned, then, and retreated up the stairway, only to find myself overcome with the throes of panic at the thought of the creature getting in.
Asha and Jason wouldn’t have locked the door. They needed a way to get back in—and thinking that I would be asleep, would surely not have anticipated me being up to greet them upon their return.
My foot came down on a stair.
A creaking groan resounded from beneath my weight.
The creature—whom I could just barely make out in the kitchen window—froze.
I was torn between running and fighting—between sneaking upstairs to hide in the closet or trying to find something to defend myself. The monster should have been sleeping during the day. My arm throbbed; my heart sung with panic. My chest heaved from the desperate breaths my body attempted to pull into my lungs. My legs trembled.
