If We Make It Home

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  After my epiphany, maybe this is my first test. What could possibly be more important than saving my friends? Eventually this beast of a man will wear down. He has to go to sleep, and I will be ready. My grip tightens on my rock. The one I will use to exert my power. One hard smack to the head, and even a guy his size will be off to dreamland.

  IRELAND

  Blood flows from my wrists where he’s bound me and taken away my independence. I’m nothing more than a dog on a leash. Nothing more than helpless. I hate that word, helpless.

  I can’t catch my breath, can’t take a minute to center my spirit. All I’ve built my life on was stolen in a moment. I screamed. Like a child at the mercy of a kidnapper. Where is my empowered life now? There’s only prayer remaining. I’ve been stripped down to only me and God. Even the gun in my waistband is out of my reach.

  One of my boots flops more with each step through the sloppy earth. The lace is undone, making it an unrestrained weight on the end of my leg. My toe catches a rock and I’m down. The ground slams my body, my arms are yanked above my head by a tug on the rope, and the air bursts from my lungs.

  I struggle to pull my knees up, but with each inch I gain, our captor drags me another two and lays me out again. My loose boot slips off my foot, leaving my wet sock-covered foot exposed to the cold.

  “Stop.” Jenna’s plea is shrill, like the cry of a wounded animal. In the second that he hesitates, Jenna yanks me up. I stumble, but I’m on my feet.

  Every bit of me is soaked through. The core of my body aches with the chill. We can’t be long in this life. Not now, with the air frigid to the point that ice is forming on ground.

  A creek gurgles in front of us so loud even Jenna’s constant flow of consequences is drowned out by the power of the water. Surely we can rest now, get a drink, dip our cuts in the stream even if we’re already freezing.

  But he barely even slows down. His uncovered feet splash into the water, and he pulls us along with him. The cold cuts through to my bones, making them feel as brittle as kindling. The pain is too deep to stomach. I cry out, but our forward motion continues.

  As we scale the bank on the other side, Jenna slips, her feet dragging back into the current.

  The guy tugs, but Jenna can’t get her feet under her body again. He looks at me and grunts. I’m tempted to lie down next to her. What can he do with both of us flat on the muddy ground? But I see the angry blistered skin on Jenna’s wrists and how the rope tears into her flesh.

  I squat down in front of Jenna, like I’m taking a moment to catch my breath. Her intensified grunting tells me she’s gotten the hint. A moment later, Jenna stumbles up the bank and collapses on top of me. I feel the gun slip from my pants.

  When he tugs hard, Jenna gasps and I hear the splash of something heavy hitting the water.

  “No.” Jenna’s cry is so loud he startles. “No. This can’t happen.” She screaming like she’s finally lost her mind. “No. No. No.” Collapsing onto the ground, she kicks and wails, her face a fiery shade of red. “This is not going to happen.”

  He turns, his eyes flaming. Behind him dark clouds roll over the sky as if God himself feels the same rage toward us.

  “Jenna.” I plead with my eyes. “You need to get up.”

  “No. I will not. I’m not moving any farther. If he wants to kill me, let him do it right here. This is as good a place as any.”

  The man steps close. He ties the rope around his waist and glares down at us.

  I can hardly take a breath. I’m paralyzed. With his hands free, he’s ready to break our necks in half, and I don’t have much strength left to fight. Jenna still screams and cries next to me. She hasn’t even looked up. She won’t see him coming. I envy her.

  In one quick motion, he leans down and grabs Jenna. I hold onto her, begging him not to, but he rips her away from me. Throwing her over his shoulder, she hangs like a newly slaughtered animal, but her screams have stopped. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth is open but quiet for the first time since we left the cave.

  He moves forward. I stumble to my feet, a rock cutting through my sock and piercing the arch of my foot. My jeans, soggy with creek water, pull down a bit with each step. The wind picks up power; cold, icy strength. My lungs fight for oxygen but cry out with each freezing breath. Please, Lord, if we have to die out here, make it quick.

  VICKY

  I saw the gun slip from Jenna’s grip and hit the water, but I’m forced to wait until they’ve moved farther away before I can begin to search. The screaming has stopped. It’s abrupt. With Jenna and Ireland out of my view, my stomach clenches so tight I can’t stand straight. Are they alive? Is this the end?

  The way the freezing wind howls through the trees cuts off the sound of any footsteps ahead of me, if there are any. Supposing they are still moving, I only have moments to find the gun before I’m too far behind to locate their trail again.

  At the creek, I barrel into the frigid water, pressing my palms over the rocks at the edge. The gun is heavy and couldn’t have floated downstream, but the water rushes over me, taking away my bearings. My fingers go numb, like I’m searching the creek bed with a hammer rather than my hands. One after another, I yank up rocks thinking I’ve found the weapon, but each time I’m disappointed.

  Flopping onto the bank, exhaustion claims me. Every day out here I learn how much further my body can dip without actually dying. My eyes start to close, my mind begs to drift off into sleep even if I never wake up on Earth again. At least I know there’s heaven waiting. Will my mother be there? Did she really know God, or just religion?

  I think about the memorial they’ll hold in my honor. The crowds that will attend, and how many of those people really don’t know me. I hope I’ve given my children a glimpse of the person inside of me, but I have very little confidence that I have.

  Tears wash over my face, hot on my cold skin.

  How can I die without ever being known?

  When Brooklyn and Cameron were little, I was the mom I wanted to have, but then I lost my balance. It seemed like a good thing, dedicating my time to minister to other mothers and wives, to show them how they could make their homes a special place where their children and husbands could be surrounded by good food and a beautiful atmosphere.

  I put the pretty in and took the love out. Wouldn’t it be better to live in a shack and eat mac and cheese for dinner every night but have love? Jenna’s children will know what life is truly about. She goes on about them all the time, and it annoys me, but that’s because I’m jealous. She’s given them the one thing I was afraid to give. The thing that I couldn’t spare. She gave her children her heart.

  Will Daniel even look for me? Will part of him rejoice when he realizes I’ll never be back? He can go on with his life, form a new family with Cori. Maybe she can do a better job with the kids than I’ve done. Maybe it’s for the best.

  Get up.

  My eyes snap open, and I whip my head around. There’s no one here. I rub my palms over my face and blink my eyes until I see clearly. Light from somewhere in the cloud-darkened sky hits on something in the water.

  I dip my hand in and my fingers wrap around the gun’s handle. Pulling it from the water, I let it drip as I stare in amazement.

  How long have I been here? I shove the gun into my pants. The icy metal shocks me and I gasp, but I scurry to my feet and jog in the direction I saw them go. Rain starts to fall and the wind pushes hard against me. The spray hits like needles piercing my skin.

  Each step is like climbing a mountain, but I have to catch them. I have to keep going now that I have the gun. It’s the only chance any of us have for survival. It can’t be night yet, but there’s not a bit of sunlight left in the sky. Thunder rolls over the mountains and I brace myself for the lightning but it doesn’t come until I’ve relaxed, then the sky lightens, giving me a brief glimpse of their silhouettes ahead in the flash.

  We have one bullet. I raise the gun over my head, pulling back the hammer like
every western movie hero. He won’t know if I’m out of ammunition. But it’s gone dark again, and I’ve lost my opportunity. I keep moving in that direction, the gun in front of me, cocked, held tight with both hands.

  “Stop,” I yell into the wind. My legs carry me farther, until my foot hits something and I fly forward. On impact, my finger hits the trigger and our last bullet flies unaimed into the storm.

  My grip loosens, and the gun slides from my hand. I scurry around on all fours, rubbing my palms through the mud. Useless as it will be now, it still seems important to have that gun. Huge raindrops plop onto the ground and my back, water dripping through my hair and down my scalp. Sobs wracks my body, and I smack my fist down, splashing my face with filthy water.

  Chapter 23

  JENNA

  A crack breaks through the air. And I don’t think it was the thunder. The sound seemed to come from the ground. Even with the wind whizzing past my ears, I heard it. A gunshot. I lay loose on Grizzly’s shoulder, not fighting, but listening with all my strength.

  Ireland keeps moving forward, her head ducked as if she heard nothing. But I know I’m right. I know it all the way through me. Vicky is back there. And she has the gun. It’s so similar to the sound of a tree splitting or lightning hitting, but yet I’m sure it was a shot.

  The man halts and turns back toward where we’ve come from.

  Ireland runs smack into the side of Grizzly Adams. She looks up, and I see the shock in her expression. Where has she been?

  There’s absolutely no doubt now. He’s waiting for our pursuer to catch up. He must know it’s Vicky. Or maybe he knows she only had one bullet left and she couldn’t hit him even if she could see in the dark. More likely, Ireland or I would die by the weapon that was supposed to save us. It could be a blessing that the last bullet is gone.

  He drops me onto the muddy ground.

  Without warning, Grizzly Adams yanks us forward and we’re off on his path again. My ribs ache from being bumped along on his shoulder, but I’m grateful to at least move on my own feet.

  Beneath my feet the dirt has turned to slop, my boots get heavier with each step as more mud clings. I tip my head back and stick my tongue out to collect rain. It feels better than champagne in my parched mouth. Drops run across my arms and soak around the ropes, cooling my raging wrists.

  Lightning strikes again, and I get a glimpse of something in the distance.

  He pushes us down into a puddle, my back hitting against something rough, then he pulls a sharpened bone from his pouch and saws the sinew until it pops free.

  I rub my wrist and stretch my arms. Knots scream in my shoulders.

  Next to me, he frees Ireland. This could be my chance to attack, but I don’t. My back stays tight against the wood, and I wait for his next move. When he finishes, he pulls the ropes together and tucks them into his pack.

  I brace myself, but I don’t look away. Keeping my gaze glued to his shadowed eyes, I dare him to take my life while I watch.

  He scowls, scratches his head, and then turns, running away into the darkness.

  Ireland grasps my hand. “What’s he doing?”

  “I think he’s leaving us here. Maybe he thinks it funny to let us die in the storm. Or maybe this is his way of protecting his secret. We’d never be able to retrace our steps back to the cave and out him to the authorities.”

  Ireland climbs onto her hands and knees.

  “There’s more to it.” I know I’m right, but I can’t figure out what’s happening. “We have to find Vicky.” I reach back to pull myself up, my hand gripping the tree behind me, but it’s not a tree. The shape is wrong, rough and angled. Standing, I run my palms over the surface and my finger catches on a plank coming out horizontally.

  “Ireland,” I yell into the wind. “It’s a fence.” Tears run down my cold and already wet cheeks. “It has to lead to somewhere.” I turn my face toward the way we came.

  “Vicky,” Ireland yells before I get the chance. “Vicky, are you out there?”

  There’s no answer.

  “We have to go back for her.”

  Lightning strikes, illuminating a figure in the distance for a split second.

  “She’s out there.” I strain my eyes into the dim light. “Vicky. We’re here.” I pull my soaked sweatshirt off and then my long-sleeved t-shirt and tie them together. “Take off your sweater.”

  “Why?”

  “We need a rope.”

  Ireland takes off three layers and I tie those arms together with mine. We don’t have a lot of length, but it gets us out into the open. I hook one end to the fence then hand the other end to Ireland. “Hold my hand and we’ll go as far out as we can.”

  We start screaming into the storm, my hair slapping me in the face. Her voice comes to us and we yell more. I catch a glimpse of her shadow, then we’re close enough.

  Vicky runs through the slop and falls into our arms, the gun dangling from one hand. “Where is he?”

  I hold her tight. “He’s gone. It’s okay. We’re safe.”

  She steps back, waving the gun in the air. “This is not what I call safe.”

  Ireland grabs the gun. We’ll all freeze. We’re out of bullets. If we run into trouble now, we’re on our own. Lord, we need you. Well, that’s been the truth the whole time. We’ve needed God to guide us through, and he’s done just that. We’re alive, and we have the fence.

  “The temperature is dropping. Let’s move.”

  We pull ourselves back to the fence. The rain pelts us and turns to hail. Of course it turns to hail. Why wouldn’t it? It stings and burns my skin, but it’s too much of a struggle to get back into my wet sweatshirt. Hand over hand, we work our way along the fence posts. Ice collects on the ground. Talking is useless.

  The wood railing is the only thing keeping me from falling on my face. But there’s no sign of it ending, the storm or the fence line.

  IRELAND

  I have proof of civilization in my hand, but I can feel the end is coming near, and I have nothing to say for my time on this beautiful, dangerous, cruel planet. I have nothing but a stack of articles with my name as the byline as evidence I was here. Even my son won’t know the difference. To him, I’ve already been dead for years.

  Sharp pain rips through the skin on my palm. I yank back, instinctively cradling my hand at my chest.

  Vicky bumps into my back, then staggers, slipping on the mud.

  “Wait,” I yell to Jenna.

  She turns. “We can’t stop. No breaks.”

  “Vicky fell, and I have a chunk of wood in my hand.”

  She slides by me, literally, and takes Vicky’s hand, pulling her up. Without hesitating, she starts again. One hand on the fence, the other on Vicky. “We can’t stop,” she yells over her shoulder. “I’m really sorry about your hand, but it will have to wait. I’m getting home to my family, and no ice or sleet or wind or even a splinter is going to stop me. Come on.”

  I start to argue. This isn’t a splinter. But given the choice of death by freezing or a pillar through the palm, I think I take the pillar. Sliding my injured hand into my shirt, I use the other to grip the belt loop of Vicky’s pants. We’re a sorry train heading for somewhere. I hope it’s the station.

  “Hey, there’s something on the fence here.” There’s joy lacing Jenna’s words. A bit of that cheerleader is back, but we’re not going to be saved by a sign. “Can you read it?”

  I squint, my face close to the metal sheet. The letters are hard to decipher in the near dark of this storm, and I don’t have my glasses.

  Vicky leans into my shoulder, murmuring a prayer for help.

  “It’s … No trespass …” I rub the ice layer off the sign.

  Vicky grabs the placard with both hands. “Enter without permission, and you will be shot.”

  My stomach drops. I’d almost claimed a bit of Jenna’s optimism. “What do we do now?”

  “We keep going.” Jenna tugs Vicky, and they start moving along the fen
ce again.

  “Are you crazy? I don’t think that’s the kind of thing you post just for the fun of it.”

  “We’re not robbers. Anyone can see that.” Jenna’s feet trudge forward, one step after another.

  I’ve lost all feeling in my shoeless foot. The one that still has a shoe feels plenty—the pain of open blisters and wet skin rubbing against hard seams. When do we resign ourselves to the inevitable? When do we just lie down and die?

  “Here’s another one. That must mean we’re close.” Jenna picks up speed.

  “Since when is it a good thing to get closer to a gun-toting maniac?”

  “You have no way of knowing that,” Jenna says. “Maybe they’re just a nice family who’s cautious about strangers.”

  Vicky knocks the ice off the new sign. “Think again.” She points to the words. “Trespassers will be shot without question.”

  A shiver runs down my nearly numb spine. We’re in a lot of trouble here.

  Jenna presses on.

  Ice pelts my face like pebbles hitting stone. The Earth is claiming her prize. Maybe I’m growing delirious, but the picture my mind forms is of our three heads, mounted in a giant showroom. I’m slipping into the fantasy. I see the room all around me now. There are other heads, other prizes. I see what remains of corporate CEOs who leveled natural habitats for the sake of profits. I see those who lived plush lives on the backs of the oil industry. They’re all sneering at me. Laughing at what’s become of me.

  “Look!” Jenna shakes me back to our current torture. “There’s a light up there.”

  It’s dim, but I see it too. Maybe a hundred yards away, but it might as well be ten miles. I can’t keep moving. Vicky is practically being dragged by Jenna. How does she keep going?

  My bare foot slips out from under me and I topple to the ground, pulling Vicky down by the belt loop. It’s too late for me. My cheek sinks into the slush, and I close my eyes.