by Talis Jones
“I didn’t. I just knew that when I left you were gonna leave with me.” Connors fixes his unusual green eyes on my own and something sings through my gut telling me that we’ve passed an important barrier. He’s not just my ally; I’d watch his back as loyally as I know he watches mine.
The next two weeks are spent with Connors trying to impart all his knowledge upon me. I learned how to start a fire, make shelter, choose a safe place to camp, how to climb trees, how to skin a squirrel, and a plethora of other tidbits he’d picked up. No matter what else he had a mind to teach me he dedicated a bit of each day towards swimming and marksmanship.
The swimming quickly set a rhythm in my bones and I caught on quickly until we only continued to help build up my muscles. When it came to marksmanship though I was a long ways from an ace. I don’t think I’m a terrible shot but in blunt honesty it’d only been two weeks with carefully rationed bullets for practice despite his seemingly bottomless supply.
Bags packed and horses stomping impatiently we left this mutilated town behind us, Connors a bit more rested and me a bit more useful. I glance behind me and whisper farewell to this sagging city. Despite its chipped and skeletal embrace I could glimpse a little ghost of the quaint charm in its eyes that surely brought people from all over to live, love, and admire right beside the great Mississippi River.
“Where to next, partner?” I ask brightly.
“Got some folks to visit.”
CHAPTER 18
Civilization clings to us in the form of dust and bones but we’ve long left them behind. On dirt-muffled hooves Lady and Horse dance through another patch of green but this one puts all others I’ve seen since Hans’ small patch to shame. Memories cling to my every sense but I push them back. Instead I allow my soul to drink in the rich earthy scent of the forest around us and shake off the small lurking feeling of claustrophobia it gives me after so many days of living on the open road.
Great wood giants rise up above us standing strong and protective of this hidden lushness. As Connors leads us towards the woods I become nervous. The edge is plagued with broken and rotten trees, gray as forgotten corpses left to ward off any others who dare enter with threat.
Dead leaves coat the ground and burst into dust with our every step like little puffs of firecrackers. As dismal as the desert road we’d just left was this is somehow worse; full of reminders of what once was. Branches, bone white and lean, reach out and snag my clothes like desperate hands with broken fingers. Sunlight even loses its orange fury here, instead becoming as pale as the death spread around us. Not even the scurry of little creatures reach my ears.
Soon enough my tension eases as death gives way to life and color returns to the woods. The autumn season still means something here. While some trees tower unchanging in their darkest green, others glow with the colors of the sun—shining yellow, fiery orange, ruby red. Even the weeds add something lovely to the mosaic of colors that dazzle my long starved eyes.
A breeze dances through the branches causing the leaves to shake and stir. I hear their whispers and feel their prayers.
“How is this place still here?” I ask, my voice soft with reverence.
“The one thing humans have never been able to control is nature. To do such would completely negate its definition,” he murmurs, his own voice tinged with the same automatic respect. “Nature puts humans in their place and the world back into perspective. People forgot that once and you’ve seen how that turned out.”
“I like how nature’s unpredictable,” I agree. “Maybe not if I owned a farm or something, but I think you’re right. It forces us to rely on something other than our selves.” I ponder for a moment. “I’m not sure I like that though.”
A hushed laugh slides through his lips. “A human’s constant dilemma.”
We ride in silence once more until I realize I never asked a very important question. “Why are we here?”
“Are you complaining?” he asks arching one eyebrow.
“Definitely not,” I grin. “It’s just we’ve been keeping near small towns and water and such then suddenly we’re detouring through a random forest?”
“Well if ya opened your ears you’d hear that there’s water in these woods and that we’re gettin’ close. And secondly, if you remember I told ya that we had some folks to visit.”
“Is this about Sanctuary still?”
Connors lets out a sigh filled with fighting emotions. “It’s always about Sanctuary,” he answers at last. “Keep your gun close though.”
His last comment confuses me because who would be out in the middle of uncivilized woods? Then again who would rather stay in a town of ash and memory versus this land of color and rebirth? And what wouldn’t they do to defend it? My fingers curl around the gun at my waist as my back arches lightly to feel the shotgun slung across it. For once my glasses feel glued in place and my long hair stays out of my face.
“What are—?”
My question is broken off by the presence of five guns raised and locked on us. We’re surrounded. Tentatively I raise my hands in the air signaling my surrender and see Connors do the same.
“I’m here to see the old man,” Connors announces calmly.
A boulder of a man jabs his gun in our direction. “And who might you be?”
“My name is Connors and this is Sofia.”
The use of my old name blasts open a door I hadn’t even realized was barricaded in my mind. Trees, tents, purple flowers, Sofia! Red, red, red, I hate the color red! Heat flares up in my head as sweat drenches my brow. I can’t hear what Connors or the big man are saying. Everything piles up too strong and too hot for the weak hinges holding back a flood of memories. Her smiling face fills my mind and I can’t stop seeing it I can’t stop seeing it I can’t stop seeing it—the world goes black as my body slides off my horse.
CHAPTER 19
Sounds of people and the bustle of activity fill my ears but my eyes remain glued shut beneath the sweaty weight of my glasses. I assess my bones to see if I hurt anything when I fell off Lady but find that they weigh like lead and refuse to budge. My efforts must have made some discernible movement however because a cool cloth suddenly dabs my face with gentle swipes.
“You’re alright,” a bright voice soothes, like lavender and citrus. “James caught you so nothing’s sprained or broken. Just a good old fashioned faint.”
I hear the friendly laughter in her words and force my stubborn eyes to open. Above me is heavy green canvas and I realize I must be in a tent. I pat the softness beneath my hands and smile at the bed I rest on. After sleeping on the ground for so long nothing has ever felt softer.
With a grunt I heave myself up until I’m sitting. I swivel my head and find a pretty young woman kneeling beside me. Dark hair shines with just a bit of grease but her bright hazel eyes cased behind black plastic glasses paired with her dimpled smile make her nothing less than lovely. “How do you stay so pale?” I ask then blush fiercely as I scold my sleep-addled brain. “I mean thank you. Thanks for,” I gesture at the bed and damp cloth, “uh, all this.”
A silvery laugh trickles from her soft pink lips. “You’re welcome. And to answer your question my skin all but refuses to tan. You wouldn’t believe the burns I had until I found this place and can hide in the shade of the trees.”
Just then boots crunch outside and the tent flap folds aside. In steps a man, full grown and likely close to thirty. My eyes document his milk chocolate eyes, desert tanned skin, and impossibly blond hair that stretches into scruff along his jaw. I recognize him as one of the five that stopped Connors and me on the trail. “How is everything, Selma?” he asks.
“She just woke up.”
“Yes she did and she’d like to thank you for your help,” I sass, a bit annoyed by them speaking as if I wasn’t sitting right here.
“I’m James and this is Selma,” the man smiles, it’s a friendly smile but I still shiver at the ice that lurks beneath it. “I gather that you don’t
like the name Sofia? Either that or just the mere sight of me made you swoon.”
I roll my eyes at his teasing yet my gut recoils at the name that was once mine. “No.”
“No what?” he asks.
“No I don’t want to be called that and no your goonish face didn’t make me swoon.”
Selma lets out another tinkling laugh at my insult. “I guess you’re still stuck with me then,” she grins.
“So what do we call you?” he asks ignoring our fun. “What does the man Connors usually call you?”
“He calls me kid,” I shrug.
“Kid?” Selma frowns skeptically.
“Yep,” I reply crossing my arms adamantly.
James doesn’t seem to care too much about what I’m called. I probably could have said my name was Goldilocks or Lil Shit for all he’d care. “So what brings you two here? More importantly how did you find us?”
I lean back on my hands, my face an unreadable mask of nonchalance. “Not a clue,” I say. “This was all Connors’ idea. Where is he anyway?”
James and Selma exchange glances. “He’s meeting with the old man,” he admits.
“Cool,” I smile. Swinging my legs off the bed I stand and head to the exit except that mister blond is blocking my way. “Am I a prisoner or something?”
“No, of course not,” Selma smiles as she hops up from her knees onto her feet. “It’s just, this place is really special and it’s a bit unnerving that complete strangers were able to find us not just by chance but by intention. And on top of that your friend is here to meet with the old man, one of the most valued but tight-lipped members of our home. His head is basically a library for everything.”
“Sorry?” I really don’t know what to say. This was all Connors’ plan, not mine, and besides that he never felt the need to give me any specifics that I didn’t ask for. “Look I can’t help you. But you can help me by returning my guns.”
“I’ve never heard of a slave allowed to hold a gun before,” James spits with smooth condescension.
My spine freezes and I’ve never felt such frigid sharpness crystallize in my eyes before. “I am not a slave,” I growl.
“Then how do you explain the tattoos on your arm?” he challenges. “You do know that The Southern Coalition requires us by law to return all runaways to the nearest Corral?”
Eyes wide I turn towards Selma. “I’m sorry,” she beseeches me. “I was just trying to check your pulse, I didn’t know…” her voice drifts off helplessly.
“I am not a slave,” I repeat.
“You don’t even have a name,” he points out gently.
His surprising shift in tone unsettles me and I want nothing more than cold steel in my hands and Connors by my side. “I am not a slave,” I say again, this time real slowly so their thick brains might get it. “And I want my guns.” Not waiting for whatever lame reply they’d puke up next I shove past James roughly and step into the fresh open air. My nose fills with the scent of pine and smoke, a smell that seems to settle me.
I weave through the camp, although it’s more of a settlement from the looks of its impressive size. Not one face belongs to Connors but neither do any of them hold signs of hostility. Curiosity yes, but they all seem peaceful, laid back, and content with stoking fires, cooking meals, carving wood, conversing with friends. A twig snaps behind me and I whip around my hand tight on someone’s throat.
Selma’s eyes bulge wide with fear and I notice those around us have tensed like helpless rabbits witnessing their fellow snap shut in a steel-jawed trap. I release her quickly, my eyes downcast. “Sorry,” I apologize in an embarrassed mumble. “Don’t sneak up on me like that though. Okay?”
Bobbing her head like a broken doll she thrusts out her hands, each holding one of my guns. “These are yours,” she says with a flickering smile, her bubbly personality slowly resurfacing. “We don’t usually allow anyone except the Watchers to have weapons but I don’t think you’ll hurt us. Or, I didn’t until…you know…ha um yeah.”
Her jest is weak but I can tell she’s trying. I smile. “Sorry again.” Reaching out I take my weapons from her gently afraid to startle her further. Tucking my pistol in its holster and slinging the shotgun across my back I feel sturdier. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Connors is, would you? Or my horse?”
“He told me to look after you and that he’d find you when he finished,” she nodded seriously (although her eyes were too childlike to see her as anything but innocent). “As for your horses, they’re being tended to. A rubdown, some food, and hopefully some rest.”
I nod. I certainly get the restful loving vibe from this place and only hope they don’t try to start any group hugs or cuddle parties. If anything like that starts up I can’t promise my weapons won’t be used. A shudder trickles down my spine as I recoil at the thought of a bunch of sweaty strangers trying to trap me in a community love hug.
“Well I’ve had my share of rest. Any chance I can get a bath or some food?” I try my best to rearrange my face into something friendly.
“You’ll have to wait to eat lunch with the rest of us but a bath would be no problem.”
Although she’s still smiling like it’s her natural setting I can’t help but feel she’s exuding a bit too much enthusiasm at the idea of my bathing. Then again… Extending my arm I invite her to lead the way.
Selma stops back at her tent for a moment and scurries out with towels, clothes, and soap. We wind down a path that weaves between trees as it slopes downhill before depositing us at the base of a waterfall. It’s not massive but it’s beautiful. Climbing onto a small boulder half-submerged in the bank Selma lays down her load except for the soap, which she tosses at me.
“Strip down and jump in!” she calls. With no further ado she slips off her flowy attire, tucks her frames carefully on top, and leaps into the aquamarine pool below wearing nothing but her birthday suit.
In a flash I’ve seen more of this woman than I ever desired to. Bodies are bodies but even so I leave my undergarments on as I step into the lightly churning waters. My muscles seize against the cold but I breathe through it until I’ve acclimated enough to start scrubbing away at the dirt that coats my every pore. Dust sloughs off of me like an old skin and I lather extra soap in my hair grateful to give it a proper wash.
Swimming lessons in the Mississippi may have helped to rinse off the road’s grime but not without leaving a thin film of its own. Not like this water that seems pure enough to drink. Selma swims over to my side and I pass off the soap before putting my lessons to use. Paddling around I explore the small falls, my eyes squinting every now and then to try and focus on the trees and rocks around us. Calm ripples through me as I flip onto my back and float, allowing the blur of colors to soothe me and allow my mind to drift elsewhere.
“So this is where you gals got to?” a male voice booms good-naturedly.
In an instant I’ve curled up my body to shield all but my face from view. Doing a quick doggie paddle towards Selma who was still rinsing out her hair near the shore my eyes work overtime trying to discern who this person is. His skin is darker than Connors’ and his voice much higher, younger. Suddenly I’m close enough to catch where he’s headed.
“Wait! Careful my—” Crunch. It was a quiet sound and yet it ricocheted through my skull and sliced my windpipe with dread.
“Oh shoot,” he gasps as he realizes what his boot stepped down on. “I’m super sorry, I didn’t mean to.” His words come out rushed, tinged with panic and roiling with guilt.
I stand, my feet sinking in the muddy bed of the small river, and want nothing but to fold up and drown. Words abandon me as nightmares constrict my lungs and black out everything else with its beating wings. Words still refuse to come even when Selma swims to my side and hugs me consolingly. I don’t even have the frame of mind to push her away.
“What did you need, Justin?” Selma asks politely, one arm still tight around my shoulders. Second by second my instinct to recoi
l from her hug, no matter how well intentioned, flickers back on in my veins.
“I just came to tell you lunch is ready,” he stutters nervously.
“Okay,” she smiles. “We’ll be out in a minute if you could please excuse us.”
He bobs his head and dashes back up the path grateful for the escape.
“Shit,” I sigh under my breath.
“Don’t worry about it,” she begins.
I don’t wait to hear the rest of her empty nice words. I shove her away then stumble and slip my way out of the water. Snatching one of the towels she brought I dry off hurriedly. Reaching for my pile of glass and cotton Selma stops me.
“I brought some clothes for you to borrow so you can wash those,” she offers hesitantly.
Shaking my head I tell her bluntly, “I’m not wearing anything I can’t run in.”
“Yeah I guessed as much,” she smiles. “Even though I’ve never had any problems running around in my skirts.”
“They’re pretty,” I assure her, “they’re just not an option.”
“Don’t be so worried,” she laughs. “Here.”
I take the bundle and see that it contains ash gray jeans, a cream tank top, black socks, and a dark green sweater. It’s long-sleeved to block out the sun but lightweight to avoid trapping too much heat. Grateful for something clean and new to wear I slip them on. “Thank you,” I say while lacing up my dusty leather boots. Jumping to my feet I slip my gun and holster around my hips and cradle my shotgun against my spine.
“Of course,” she smiles back. “It’s pretty exciting having you and your friend here,” she confesses. “We’ve had people pass through from time to time but no one as interesting as you two.”
“Thanks?”
“Are you guys like on some sort of secret mission? Is that why you need the old man’s help?”
My eyes rove over the blurry smear of her face searching for anything that might reveal an ulterior motive but find nothing besides genuine curiosity. “Not really,” I admit. “I wasn’t lying, this is Connors’ quest and I’m just along for the ride with no other place to go.”
