"Okay, Mr. David," Tasha said, rising from the couch. “You're right, we should get going."
Violet Tiller stood as well, taking the younger girl’s cue. "Y'all please let me know if I can do anything for you," she said, her Southern charm on full display.
"Well, we hope to be on our way further south by tomorrow, if all goes well," David interjected.
"Auburn, right?" Violet questioned.
"We really don't know," David shrugged. "But, I know we’re going south; it could be Florida. I really don’t know. We’re kind of following Tasha’s intuition; she’s led us away from danger so far.”
"You know that there's reports of troop movements up through the south headed north and our way," Joshua interjected, as if the shootout at the pipeline terminal and his escapades at the water tower weren't evidence enough that they were all on the verge of being overrun.
David nodded. "I know. It's my hope that we don't get caught up in that."
"That would be bad," Tasha said quietly, taking in David’s words about her intuition keeping them safe. It was the first time that had considered how much trust David put in her ability to read a situation. She wasn’t sure she liked the pressure of their lives being held in the balance of her feelings.
“Maybe you should head towards Georgia,” Joshua suggested. “That’s where the guy is that they’re talking to on the radio.” Joshua thumbed back towards Ian and Grace at the radio.
“Huh, I hadn’t thought about going there,” David confessed. The thought of Georgia led his mind to Atlanta, where his kids were murdered. The thought brought up strong emotions in him, and he cleared his throat; willing his emotions to stay at bay.
“Well, if you change your mind, we know the guy in Georgia pretty well,” Joshua stalled, allowing David to compose himself. “He’s the one that helped Ian.” That statement surprised the small group. Mary seemed to be enticed enough to push away from the wall she’d been leaning on and to join in the conversation.
“His name is Dukes,” Mary informed. “Like Ian, he was a helping hand at the right time. If you don’t really have a place to go, and you want to run away from the shit storm going on here,” she stopped to run her hand over her hair. “I would suggest you head that way.”
“Thank you, we’ll take that under consideration,” David said, now more composed. “We’ll discuss it and make a decision by tonight or tomorrow. We’ll let you all know. Jeff, are you going to come back with us?" David pivoted the conversation back to their departure.
"No, I think I'll stay for a while,” the priest said, looking at Violet as if to ask if that would be okay. She nodded like it would be no problem. “I'll just pull my bike out of the back of the truck before you go.”
David nodded, and opened the door to walk outside. “Thanks again,” he offered to Violet.
Tasha was on his heels. “Yeah, thanks again, y’all are all really nice people,” she said, pulling the door closed behind her.
The door opened a few seconds later to depart Grace.
David continued to the Bronco, and Tasha stopped at the porch as Grace followed her outside, closing the door behind her.
"Hey," Grace said. "Sorry we didn't get a chance to get to know each other that well," she started. Grace was a good three years older than the girl, and of a social status that never would have interacted with Tasha on a day-to-day basis.
Tasha looked down towards the ground; it was something that she had just picked up over generations of being whom she was.
"Hey," Grace said, causing Tasha to look up at her. "I just want you to know that I'm really sorry about you losing your parents." Grace put her hands on Tasha's shoulders and pulled her into a hug.
“Thanks.” Fighting to hold back her tears, Tasha pulled back from the embrace. "You know," she said, looking at Grace. "I am not one to usually just say what's on my mind, but…," she shrugged.
"Go ahead," Grace encouraged.
"You seem like one hell of a leader. I mean, like, I've never said anything like that to anyone before, but, I just wanted you to know that I’m pretty good at reading people, and, well, I needed to say it.” Tasha felt almost uncomfortable voicing her mind.
Grace looked up at the sky, and then wiped a bit of tear from her eyes. "Thanks. I think we’ve been lucky,” she said, deflecting the compliment.
“Don’t do that,” Tasha said, shaking her head. “I mean it. You know, with the world what it is, and I don't know,” she rambled for a second. “With my parents gone, and this all happening so fast, that just got me thinking that there’s no time like the present to say what’s on your mind. You know what I mean?”
Grace nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I guess I do. With the world going to shit, why beat around the bush with holding something in; it may just be your last time to say it.”
“Right,” Tasha agreed with a smile.
Both girls laughed a nervous kind of laugh.
Tasha made a mental note to bottle the moment up; it would be something that she would reflect on in the future.
“So, like I said, no time like the present,” Tasha started. “I hardly know you, but there’s something about you and your family, and these people…” her voice trailed off as she watched them through the windows. “Anyway,” she looked back at Grace. “If you need support, I'm there for you," Tasha confirmed, her eyes locked onto the other woman's eyes. “I don’t really know where we will be, but just try anyway.”
"Thank you, Tasha, that means a lot. Let’s stay in touch on the radio while y’all are still in range.”
“You want us to tell you about what we see or something?”
“No, just because I think we could both use someone that can listen, and not judge or expect.” She smiled. “But, tactical reports would be helpful, too!” They giggled again.
“Hey," David yelled, from the Bronco. "You ready to go?"
Tasha nodded at David, and looked back at Grace. "Stay in touch.”
Grace watched the girl make it almost all the way back to the truck before calling after her. "Hey, I will. Okay?"
Tasha nodded and jumped into the Bronco.
“You, okay?” David asked, as he started the truck.
Tasha looked back at the farmhouse and at the horses in the pasture. Her eyes followed the fence line, where she could see a white wooden cross at the far side of the pasture. She knew that there was an orphaned boy buried there; a boy killed because of this war. “Yeah,” she said, as David drove them off of the Tiller Farm, for the last time.
CHAPTER 8
June stood in the kitchen, talking with Emma and Margaret. The tension in the house was thick because of what the interrogation that was happening downstairs. She was thankful that Penny had suggested that she take the other kids outside; she didn’t want them asking questions.
June surmised that the war had already cost her, her family and her community too much. The battle that had happened on her land had galvanized the reality of what the future held for her and her family. It wasn’t so much that she was fearful, but it was more of a sadness that ate her up inside.
June deduced that having the kids around the house gave her hope. But she was also real enough to know that kids were eventually going to stop being kids. She, ‘tutted’ a few times, thinking about the world that her daughter was going to grow up in. It was almost too overwhelming for her, and she just wished for this all to end.
Emma took a sip of her coffee. “You, okay?” She responded to the other woman’s noise.
“Yeah, I was just thinking about the kids. You know? I’m actually just worried about them.”
Harper’s mother shot a look at the other mother. “I thought you said it was safe for them to go out.”
“Oh, Margaret, I’m sorry, not that, I mean it is safe out there,” June apologized. “I’m just thinking on a larger scale, you know, what kind of life can we expect for our children? That’s really eating me up inside.” All of the women nodded, each absorbing June’s conc
ern in their own way.
Emma shared June's sense of dread concerning the state in which they were existing, but after escaping from Atlanta, she was less swayed that the kids couldn’t handle themselves in the new world. She thought that her perspective might change if she ever had her own children, but, that wasn’t the real concern, was it? The real problem was the fact that the childhoods of hundreds of thousands of children were being stolen by one simple act of violence.
“I don’t even know if I want to bring children in a world like this,” Emma blurted, her roller coaster emotions changing her mind with each new thought.
Margaret touched her arm. “You can’t think that way. If I didn’t have Harper, I don't know what I’d do.”
“I know,” Emma agreed, “but that was a different time.”
“That was just over a week ago,” June surmised.
“Mmm,” Emma nodded, while taking a sip of coffee. She then mindlessly set the cup on the edge of the counter, where it crashing to the ground.
"Oh, I'm such an idiot!" Emma tried with her hands to contain the liquid in one pool on the floor.
"Here," June said, handing her a dishtowel. Margaret picked up the pieces and put them in a plastic trashcan next to the side of the stove.
“I’m so sorry,” Emma repeated a few times, dabbing the floor as dry as she could.
"Don't worry about it," June consoled, as Emma finished cleaning up the mess from the hardwood floor.
"Really," Emma started. "I'm really sorry, it's just that so many things are broken now, and…"
“We’re all a little on edge,” June offered.
"I'll get you some more coffee," Margaret offered. She opened the cabinet and searched around looking for a cup. "June?" Margaret turned to their host with an expression of help.
"Oh, I guess we're using them all, or they're all dirty. Here, y'all follow me. I have my own stash of things," she said, waving the women out of the kitchen and to a second pantry at the back of the house. “I think this conversation needs something a little stronger than coffee.”
As the women were just out of earshot, the two-way radio sitting on the kitchen counter, crackle to life.
***
"No!" Harper screamed.
Cam breathed a few more times, his eyes searched for his master. Harper fell to the floor, flapping her arms over the dog. Blood gushed from his chest, and he tried resisting her weight to get up. He knew he needed to protect her, but he couldn’t move; and he didn’t understand.
Harper buried her face near his neck, she could hear his breathing; it was filled with liquid and not as deep as needed. "Good boy," she exhaled. "Good boy."
Cam finally relaxed with the sound of her voice. His tail flopped up and down a few times, hitting the hay-covered floor with muffled thuds. His body seemed to calm, as he listened to her voice, but his eyes were filled with a confused panic. He whimpered a time or two, his eyes looking at her for help.
"Good boy," she said again, and his tail flopped. “Good boy,” she repeated, but this time his tail didn’t respond. Cam’s entire body relaxed under her sobs, and with one final breath, he was gone.
"No! No!" Harper screamed. “You did this! You didn’t have to kill him,” she screamed at the soldier holding the six-inch knife. Blood covered the knife to the hilt. “Why did you do that? Why did you kill him?” She cried, and flopped her head back down onto the fur of the dog.
The soldier wiped the blood off the knife onto the side of a wooden post. Happy that it was clean, he sheathed the knife, and then picked up his rifle, drawing his aim at Harper.
"Put down your weapons," the first soldier ordered. “All of you. Do it, now!” He turned face to face to Penny, his rifle following his sight. “You! Take your hand out from behind your back, slowly."
Penny released her hand from the two-way radio, hoping that someone heard them back at the house. She raised her hands slowly and then unslung her rifle, placing it on the ground. She did a very quick tactical assessment, and was not happy with her results. Guard dog, dead. Two armed soldiers vs. four teens, not good.
"Do as they say," Penny ordered the others. It was her idea to come out here, she was the oldest, she had killed the most, and in her mind their situation was her responsibility; so, by default she was in charge.
Lucy removed the bow. It was the bow she had taken from a dead person's luggage in Atlanta. The bow symbolized her escape from the inescapable; it could bend, but it did not break. It was stronger than anyone actually knew from just looking at it from the outside. In a short amount of time the bow had become a source of comfort, and now she was letting it go.
“Put it down,” the Chinese solder affirmed.
Lucy hesitated, the bow and quiver suspended in her hands. She looked at the soldier with the rifle; he made some sort of threatening motion. She relented, and placed her only weapon on the ground. She looked at her brother, tears in her eyes.
Jack caught her look, his own eyes burned, but not with tears; his burned with anger. Lucy knew that look, and she made big eyes at him, as if to say, 'don't do it, Jack!'
Jack understood the meaning behind his sister's look. He had heard Penny's order to put their weapons down, but, 'damn it' he swore to himself. Jack had found himself as the person who was often caught in-between. This was something that was going to come to a head soon, at least in his mind. He fought the urge to make a move on these assholes, and then he saw Penny looking right at him. 'Damn it,' he swore internally, again. He had been old enough to go out with Clark to rescue Harper's mother. He had been old enough to kill during that night. He wasn't proud of the fact that he had shot and killed another American, especially since they weren't supposed to be the ones that were the enemy!
"Jack!" Penny's voice was thick with seriousness. "Jack," she said, again. This time her voice was measured. He looked away from his sister, and over to Penny. "Put your rifle down. This is not the time, or..." She didn't finish the sentence; instead letting it's meaning be the seeds of a future plan.
Jack checked his idea of going all Rambo on them, and reluctantly unslung the rifle and let it drape down on the floor. He held onto the strap a little too long for the comfort of the soldier that had originally ordered him to drop their weapons.
"Now, boy!" He smacked the butt end of his rifle into Jack's shoulder, sending him spinning to the floor.
Jack took the blow in stride, and landed softly, rolling to his feet. He was thankful for his years of being pummeled as a JV wide receiver. When he stood, he still held the strap of the rifle, but the scene had changed. The soldier that had clocked him had pivoted to point his rifle at Lucy's head.
"Do you want to see her die?"
Jack dropped the strap.
"The pistol, too."
With the threat to Lucy as leverage, Jack broke. Without reservation, he slowly put his side arm down next to his rifle. He looked at Penny, and with equal reluctance, she did the same.
"The radio, too," the soldier ordered her. "I saw it on your belt."
Penny reached around and was about to press the button, when the soldier took a step towards her, leveling the rifle barrel with her eyes.
"Don't even think about it," he said.
Penny's moves became cautious and deliberate. She complied, dropping the radio next to her two weapons.
The second soldier, the one bitten by Cam, said something to his comrade in Mandarin. The First soldier gave the kids their next order.
"Get into the back of the vehicle," he said, opening the door and moving behind Penny and Jack. The tip of the rifle nudged at Penny's back, and she took a tentative step towards the vehicle. Jack wished he could kill with a look, for he knew this asshole would drop like a rag doll.
Penny let the rifle bury into her back, absorbing the hard nudge; she thought about her options. She was the only daughter of a hardcore survivalist. Her father had taken the art of prepping, and woven it into the day-to-day lives of their family. She was confident in
her skills. She knew how to handle almost any type of weapon, and she was a brown belt in American Karate. But, even those two skills didn’t give her the confidence that she needed to take on the two soldiers, without someone getting killed. She caved, taking a reluctant step towards the vehicle.
"No!" Harper yelled. “I’m not leaving him!” She still lay across Cam's furry body. A pool of blood was being absorbed into the hay, turning the area around the dog, an earthen black.
Lucy turned back to get Harper, and the soldier stepped into her path. "But, I," she started to protest, and he pushed her back with the stock of his rifle. "Get in,” he said, his English thick with an accident.
"Hey!" Jack reacted, but not before Penny put her hand on his arm. She squeezed, and could almost feel the anger in the tension in his arm; he shrugged her off, and blew up at a lock of his hair falling into his eyes.
"Let me get her,” she offered, looking over at the first soldier, the one not the one blocking her path. She had figured out that he was the one in charge, and in her mind, she called him Dick.
Dick nodded, and Penny methodically moved to the other side of the vehicle. Her eyes scanning the distance of the walk for weapons, people, anything...and then, she was there.
Harper looked up briefly at the other girl, and then buried her face back into the fur of the dead dog.
Penny squatted down next to Harper and Cam’s lifeless body. One hand went to Harper’s shoulder; the other hand came to rest gently on the fur of the lifeless dog. “You’ve got to let him go," Penny whispered, her hand gave a light squeeze to the girl's shoulder. "He did his job, he was a good boy.” She stroked the fur once or twice.
“Hurry, up!” Dick yelled from a few feet away.
Penny glanced briefly over her shoulder, but she held the look of disgust she wanted to present. Instead she turned back to Harper. “We need to do as they say,” she continued, her voice still a whisper.
Harper looked up at the older girl; tears streamed down over cheeks. One of the tears fell, striking the dense coat around the dog’s ear.
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