From the Shadows

by Jacqueline Brown

I sat, staring at the fire Jonah had built beside our lean-to. His hand rested on my crouched back. It was like the rest of him: strong and muscular, wide enough when outstretched to almost span the width of my back. Yet its weight was almost imperceptible, easily rising and falling as my lungs filled and emptied.

  “Maybe they won’t attack,” Blaise said, from beside Josh.

  Blaise, Sara, and Sage had been the last of our group to come to the fire after the helicopter left. Fear was palpable in the town. People stared at me when I had passed. I supposed there would be something wrong with them if they didn’t. I was as much a mystery to them as they were to me. They hadn’t known I killed Trent as we fled the city. But then I didn’t know who they had killed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Haz said, from between East and Jael.

  With Ash beside Jael, the four of them made an impressive wall of confidence.

  I lifted my head, though still leaning it against my folded arm. “Why?”

  After I said the word, I realized that was the first word I had spoken to Haz since the storm.

  “We’re going to attack them first,” he said, the intensity of his tone making me uneasy.

  “Attack them?” I asked, wishing I didn’t sound like a scared child.

  Jonah slid his hand up my back, his fingers gently squeezing my neck, offering me silent support.

  “It has to be done,” Haz said, his gaze jumping from me to Jonah. “It’s the only way to stop them.”

  “You want to go back to DC and attack an army?” Josh asked.

  Jael straightened her shoulders. “What is our other option? Wait here until they come for us while we’re sleeping in our beds or teaching our children? No, that is not a choice,” Jael said.

  “But there are so few here who can fight,” Sage said, her voice almost as scared as my own.

  “We will find others,” Haz said. “They are in hiding now, waiting to not be the only ones willing to fight. Once we start, they will join us.”

  “Do you know them?” Josh asked.

  Haz nodded. “I know a few. They will know others.”

  “Jael and Ash know some as well,” East said, her voice adding to my discomfort. “But it doesn’t matter. More will join once they realize they are not alone. That’s always how it is.”

  “And we will plan our strategies based on how many we have,” Jael added. “We aren’t stupid. We aren’t going to walk into DC and start shooting.”

  “You are talking about attacking the United States government and its military,” Jonah said, his arm tense against my back. “Those odds will never be even.”

  “I knew you’d say that,” East said in irritation.

  “Violence will not fix this. It will not cause less violence, only more.” Sara’s words echoed mine from a few days ago.

  When I had said them, I doubted I was right, but hearing her say them, I knew she was.

  “What else can we do?” East said, her voice pleading in a way I’d never heard it before.

  “Change their hearts and minds,” Sara answered.

  “Change their hearts and minds?” Haz repeated. “How in the world are we supposed to do that?”

  Sara smiled. It was one of the first times I’d seen her do that since her mom had died. “I have no idea, but I know that’s what has to happen.”

  East glanced at Haz, as if to say, See, I told you so.

  He rubbed his short hair. He had heard the message.

  “We will try and think of another way,” East said, her words heavy and sincere in a way that implied a promise.

  I felt relief wash over me. This was not a war that more deaths would resolve.

  “Why does this involve you?” Jonah asked, his head tilting as he studied his sister.

  He was right. Once we had finished smoking the rest of our venison, preserving it for our journey, we would be leaving.

  East lowered her gaze. “I can’t be like you. I can’t pretend things aren’t as bad as they are.”

  “What does that mean?” Blaise asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Sadness crossed East’s face. “I’m staying here. I’m not going with you.”

  “You … aren’t … going … with … us?” Jonah asked, as if he had to force the words from his lips.

  She said nothing as she kept her eyes low, focused on the fire.

  The memory of us standing in front of the old truck, Talin’s warm breath against my neck, Sara saying she was going to leave, and the rest of us saying we were going with her, flashed through my mind. Charlotte had been so angry and so scared. Had she known we would not all come back? Had she known her daughter would not return? The memory of her scooping Quinn from Quint’s arms and taking the hysterical child from the barn came next, and the pain became too much.

  “What about your mom? What about … your sister?” I begged.

  East locked her eyes on mine.

  “It wasn’t an easy decision,” she said.

  “It wasn’t an easy decision!” Jonah repeated with anger.

  East’s body tensed. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to be a coward and turn my back on what I know I need to do? Do you think I woke up this morning and said, ‘I think I’ll risk everything and stay here and fight against what’s left of the US military? That sounds fun.’ Do you think for one second I don’t understand the severity of the choice I am making? I do. And if you think I haven’t questioned my decision over and over again, and prayed over and over again for clarity, you are wrong. Dead wrong. I have done each of those things. Don’t you think I’d rather go home to my parents, and brothers, and … sister?” Her voice tightened. “Of course I would! But sometimes we are called to enter the battle, to fight for what we know we must fight for, even when we are scared and even when we know the odds are against us. And what I really don’t need is for you to treat me like a kid who has no idea what I’m doing. I haven’t been a kid since”—her body shuddered—“for a long time, and you, of all people, know that.”

  In one fluid motion she was on her feet, a moment later she had disappeared into the trees.

  Jonah’s breathing was rushed and ragged; I could sense the anger flowing like waves out of his body. Without thinking, I moved my body from his and immediately felt bad for doing so.

  Sara wept softly, her head leaning against Sage’s shoulder. My eyes burned. East and I had never been close, but she was part of us, part of our group, part of our family. To lose her was to lose one of those closest to me, and the pain was more than expected. I bit my lip and lowered my head. The world blurred as tears filled my eyes.

  “We’ll do what we can to keep her safe,” Haz said, after several minutes of silence.

  Jonah stood, his fists clenched, his body shaking. Haz stood, though his posture was calm. For a moment I feared Jonah would hit him. I was sure that’s what Jonah wanted to do as the rage within him spilled out.

  But then she spoke. “Jonah, don’t.” It was the girl, her voice soft and pleading.

  Jonah turned to her, his expression changing to one of embarrassment before he disappeared, like his sister, into the trees.

  ***

  When the night was at its darkest, Jonah came to me. He crouched through the lean-to, making his way to his place beside me. His body touched mine only slightly as he lay beside me.

  I reached for his hand, intertwining our fingers.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  With him beside me, I allowed my mind to slow and my body to fall into sleep.

  ***

  “One good thing came of yesterday,” Blaise said, as we drank our breakfast of bone broth mixed with lily pads and cattail root. “We got to hear your lovely voice,” she said, stroking the girl’s hair.

  The girl’s face turned a deep shade of red before she buried it into her knees.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Blaise said, leaning into the girl and placing an arm on her back. “It was an honor to finally h
ear you speak. Actually, I am hoping we might hear it again soon, or at least that maybe you would tell us your name?”

  The girl did not respond. She kept her head buried, and we knew that was our cue to move on in the conversation. She did better when she was not the focus of attention; we had learned that soon after she came to us.

  We had asked her many times before to tell us her name, but every time we’d asked, she’d either stare blankly at us or lower her head as if we weren’t there. She did the same now, lowering her head to the ground. But her hand moved from her lap, then returned to her lap, then moved from it, shaking as she grabbed a stick and hurriedly poked it into the dirt between her and Blaise. She dropped the stick and wrapped her arms around her knees.

  Blaise shifted her gaze onto the earth.

  “Juliette?” Blaise said in surprise. “Your name is Juliette?”

  The girl lifted her head. The tears running down her cheeks were causing streaks of dirt to form on her delicate skin.

  Blaise pulled the girl, Juliette, to her, and Juliette returned the hug, something she rarely did.

  She must trust us and be at least a bit comfortable around us if she was finally able to tell us her name. For that, I was happy. As her tears continued to fall, another thought, a much sadder thought, came to me.

  “Do you think,” I whispered to Jonah, “that was the first time she heard her name since the people she loved stopped saying it?”

  Realization of my words washed over him, and a sadness I had never seen in him filled his being.

  He put his hands in the pockets of his torn jeans. “Yeah,” he said, lifting his head, tears starting to form. “Yeah, I do.”

  Sixteen

  I lay on my side, watching Jonah in the moonlight. The steady rise and fall of his chest told me somehow things would be okay. This was our last morning here, and I was scared of the unknown world we would be entering. However, I knew it didn’t matter. If he was alive, things would be okay. In this space between night and day, I wondered what life held for us. Would we find Blaise’s family? Would we make it home this summer, or ever? Would my mother’s dream on the day she died come true—would I someday be Jonah’s wife? And within all of that, doubt remained. Yes, we were now dating or together or something, but I didn’t know his secrets and he didn’t know mine. What would happen when we did?

  Before the light I would’ve thought he didn’t need to know my past, and I didn’t need to know his. That was how Trent and I had approached things. Now I knew all things that are hidden eventually are found. We would need to have a real conversation about who we were, and I worried that afterward I would no longer be the one lying beside him, close enough to hear his heart beating.

  I could tell by the coldness in the air that dawn was nearing. I sat up and crawled from the lean-to. I woke the coals of the fire, and the flames gradually chased the chill from the early morning air. The smoke filled my lungs, forcing me to turn from the flames. Astrea bound toward me. She must have wiggled free from her spot beside Juliette.

  “Are you excited for the journey?” I whispered, rubbing her silky ears. “We’re leaving today, you know,” I said, scooping her into my arms. The warmth of her body felt good against my own.

  “I’m glad you’re coming with us,” I said. I squeezed her and then sat her on my lap.

  She was a gift from Thomas to Juliette. It was a generous gift and one that was practical. They could only keep so many of HoneyBee and Jasper’s puppies. Gus had talked about someday trying to capture a wild dog or two to create some genetic diversity. Dogs were a good commodity that would be useful in trade once they were trained to protect and hunt. We were lucky to have one.

  Emerging from the lean-to, East straightened and stretched her body. She came toward me and I was struck by her agility. Even now just waking from sleep, her body did exactly what she wanted. She never tripped like I sometimes did. And she was never startled when others came up behind her. She was made for this world: strong, independent, smart. I would miss her skills and strategies. Losing her put us at a distinct disadvantage.

  “Your head must be healed. You’re back to waking up early,” she said, poking at the fire.

  I pulled my hand from Astraea’s sharp puppy teeth. “You can’t use my hand as chew toy,” I said, touching her nose.

  “I’ve been hoping to talk to you alone,” East continued, her eyes trained on Astrea. Even now East remained nervous around her.

  “To me?” I asked.

  Astrea pushed against my hand to remind me to keep petting her.

  East hesitated a moment, and then said, “I wanted to ask a favor.”

  I blinked. “You’ve never asked me for anything.”

  “I’ve never needed to.” The flames cast an orange glow against her creamy skin that was now perpetually sunburned. “I need you to promise to take care of Quinn.”

  “Why me?” I asked.

  “I know you know she’s mine, or that I had her. She’s my parents’ child, not mine. But I know you realize she’s more than a sister to me.”

  “How did you know?” I asked, Astrea asleep in my lap.

  “I saw it in your eyes Christmas morning. I watched and waited for you to tell the others, for them to have the same realization as you did. For them to watch Quinn and me as closely as you did, but it never came. You never told them,” she said.

  I shook my head.

  “Someday, Quinn will be told and it …”—she took a deep breath—“it will cause her pain, knowing her life was started in violence.”

  “But she was born because of love,” I countered.

  “Yes,” she said with a nod, “but it is still going to hurt her. She is so sensitive and kind. I hate that she comes from such darkness.”

  “I don’t think she’ll focus on that,” I said, thinking of Quinn as a teenager. “She’ll focus on how courageous her sister is and how supportive and loving her parents and brothers are.”

  “I hope so,” East said, with tears in her eyes. Something I had never seen before.

  “But,” East said, “I need her to know how much I love her … to understand she’s the reason I’m staying here. She has to know that I am not abandoning her; I have never abandoned her,” she said, her voice choked.

  “She knows,” I said.

  “Just promise. Promise you will tell her and promise you will give her this.” She unsnapped a pocket on the leg of her pants and pulled out a piece of folded paper. “Don’t read it. Give it to her when she’s ready.”

  I took the note. “I promise,” I said, slipping it into my back pocket.

  “Are you never coming back?” I asked, lifting my eyes to hers.

  “I don’t know,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I hope I do someday.”

  “But you don’t think you will?” I asked, my heart breaking with the words.

  “I don’t know what the world holds. I don’t know …”

  “If you’ll survive,” I said from the sadness deep within me.

  She remained silent.

  “East, I want to tell you I think you are the bravest person I know.”

  “Others are joining the cause as well. I am no braver than any of them,” she said.

  “I didn’t mean only about what you’re doing now. I meant about what you did for Quinn, for having her when …”—I took a breath—“when a lot of others wouldn’t have.”

  She studied me, much like I’d studied her those many months ago when I’d figured out her secret.

  “Is that the cross you carry?” she asked.

  I hesitated, and then nodded. “I wasn’t raped, but I felt I had no choice.”

  “I understand that. The sense that your life is ending, the desire to escape, to hope it’s a bad dream, or even that your life would end so you didn’t have to deal with the reality of what was growing inside you.” She said while absently stroking the center of the crucifix tattooed on her forearm.

  “You felt that?” I asked,
wondering how this person who did what I didn’t, felt what I felt.

  “And a lot more,” East said with a sad smile.

  “I wish I had done things differently,” I said.

  “There is no one who has spent more time stuck in the past, thinking if only I’d done something differently. Not gone riding that day, carried the snake stick Jonah told me to carry, waited for Jonah to get home, left five minutes later or earlier, turned right instead of left, taken Fulton instead of Talin, seen Wrath coming, fought harder—”

  “You can’t blame yourself,” I said, cutting in. “It does no good.”

  Her gaze on the sleeping puppy curled in my lap.

  “You’re right, it does no good. Life is life. We all have a cross; we all have suffering, but we have a God who conquered the cross,” she said rubbing her tattoo, and in the firelight I could see a thin, raised line on her skin, below the ink. A scar.

  “So, what happened didn’t make you doubt God?” I asked.

  “Of course it did. I was a fourteen-year-old kid who had been brutalized. How could it not? As time went on, I realized God was there beside me, weeping with me. What happened to me wasn’t part of his plan. His plan was the Garden of Eden, but evil entered the world and atrocities happen. Yet even from that, God can bring beauty. When I look at my arm I see the darkest moment of my life, and I see redemption. When I look at Quinn I see the pure love and beauty God can create out of the darkest of evils. I understand now that truly nothing is impossible for him.”

  I was staring at the dead man nailed to a cross on her arm. Josh was right; that was creepy. “I believe in God, but not Jesus,” I said, instantly wishing I hadn’t. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” I expected her to stand and leave, to say, Never mind, I’ll ask Sara to take care of Quinn, but she remained seated.

  “You don’t have to believe in Jesus as the resurrected Lord. That’s your choice,” she said. “But be clear about what you do believe. Don’t be one of those people who don’t believe Jesus is God, but do believe he was a nice guy who told everyone to love everybody.”

  “Why not?” I asked. To deny the existence of the historical Jesus was difficult to do. To deny he was God was easy. At the same time, he clearly had an impact on the world, and his followers, for the most part, did good things. That was clear in their creation of schools and hospitals and taking care of the poor and the old. Plus, in the Bible stories I had read to Quinn, Jesus was all about love, and I appreciated that. Not enough to believe Jesus was God—a strange notion—but enough to believe Jesus was someone who had brought goodness to the world.