by T. W. Brown
They had been through so much, and to lose her this way felt wrong…unfair. But this had not been the first time that a dog had nearly cost him the woman that he loved beyond words. It was little consolation that she had been as adamant verbally as he had felt when it came to simply doing away with Rufus before they had started off on this journey.
“He almost got the girls.” Mackenzie said those words like they should make him feel better.
That was the problem with a situation such as this one. The girls were fine. He could not mourn what might have happened. He could only feel the heart-rending pain of what had happened.
“Maybe we will get lucky,” Mackenzie said with a forced laugh. “Maybe I will be one of the immune type.”
Juan heard the lie in her voice. Worse still, the light of the fire was enough for him to see all he needed to see. He could almost swear that he was able to watch the tracers as they ran through the whites of her eyes. It had been minutes, but already she was demonstrating the first telltale symptom.
The Squiggles.
That is what they had come to be called; at least by Juan and those he knew. The best way to tell if a person was immune after a bite was to watch their eyes. The black traces in the capillaries usually became noticeable within the first several minutes.
Juan’s expression gave away the truth. Mackenzie gasped, biting her lower lip to stop the cry from coming out. Tears now poured freely instead of the one or two that had fallen because of the physical pain.
“Oh, Juan—” And that was the best she could manage before her sobs overtook her and strangled her ability to speak.
Juan pulled her close and felt her sink into his chest. His mind told him to remember every detail about how she felt. He would need those memories in order to continue.
That idea struck him, and it was actually several seconds before he could break it down and truly understand it. The idea of continuing without her did not seem possible. Yet, for some reason, he would have to do exactly that.
Why?
The girls!
That thought exploded in his mind as if it had been shouted in his ear. It took him another few seconds to realize that those very words had indeed just been spoken.
“You have to take care of our girls,” Mackenzie said into his chest.
He could feel the warmth of her breath through his clothes. He wanted to absorb it and keep that exact place on his skin committed to memory. He knew that he was in shock…grasping at straws. But the truth was simply debilitating. Emotionally, it was unlike anything that he had ever experienced in his life.
“Mr. Hoya?”
It was George. Juan turned to the man, making no effort to wipe the tears from his face.
“The…animal has been disposed of away from camp so that the little ones will not have to see. Do you wish to remain here for a few days until…” The man’s voice faded, and he cast his eyes down.
“We will continue on as normal.”
Juan jerked back around to Mackenzie. She had pushed away from him enough to be able to see George.
“But—” Juan tried to protest, but she put a silencing finger to his lips.
“We will continue on. It does no good for anyone if we simply sit here and wait for me to die.” Mackenzie actually pushed away from Juan and rose to her feet.
“Very well,” George said.
The man glanced at Juan who gave a slight nod. He knew better than to try and dissuade the woman if she was set on something. Once George had walked away, Juan turned to her.
“Before you say one word,” Mackenzie said, beating him to the punch, “I have my reasons.” Juan folded his arms across his chest and nodded for her to explain. “If we just sit here, the girls are going to be a mess. If we are on the move, there will be ways to distract them. Also, it will give me time to take each one aside and talk to her. They are not like we were back when we turned seven. This is a different world.”
“Different world or not, they are losing their mother!” Juan said through clenched teeth. “No amount of time riding with them in a wagon is going to make that any easier. Especially for Denita? Did you even take a second to think what this might do to her? Already the girl does not talk.”
“Don’t you think I know this will be hard on them…you.” As she spoke that last word, she stepped into him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek on his chest. “And this is not going to be all that easy on me either.”
Juan felt his knees start to turn to water. How could he be so insensitive? She was the one dying! He squeezed her tight, wishing that he could swap places with her.
“The girls will be better off with you than they would have if the situation was reversed and you were the one dying,” she whispered as if she had read his thoughts. “You are a fighter and a survivor, Juan Hoya. You got me through this and gave me a better life than I ever knew possible. You took care of me…and you will in the end. You will do what I would not have been able to do if the situation was reversed.”
Juan wanted to argue, but he simply did not know how. He did the only thing he was certain that he could do at the moment and not screw things up worse; he held Mackenzie.
***
Gemma was nervous. Her hands kept smoothing her ragged and tattered clothing or trying to brush a non-existent strand of hair from her eyes on this windless afternoon. She knew without having to look at her reflection that she was an absolute fright.
Being alone all these years had allowed her to “let herself go” as the old saying used to put it. She had seen nothing resembling a razor in years, and while her blades were more than sharp enough, she felt no desire to continue a practice that had been pushed on society by those bloody Americans. As the boat came closer, she noticed Vix lean down and say something to the figure manning the oars. Whoever that person was, they were wearing a stocking cap pulled down tight and bundled up needlessly on what was a gorgeous day.
She considered running. After all, what did she have to say to this woman? Besides that, she still had her latest catch back in the treehouse that she called home.
She never ceased to be surprised at how easy it was to lure in and trap the human male. Even in her near-feral state, all she had to do was strip naked and splash around in a nearby creek or pond. The male passer-by could not resist…mostly.
There was a fair share that either ignored her completely, most likely writing her off as a loon. Some even warned her that her actions were unsafe. The few that offered to stand watch until she finished were usually given the option of receiving a “special” reward. She was always surprised at how many of them politely refused.
The boat was almost to her now. She had to fight the urge to run. Suddenly this felt like a bad idea. She was fine all by herself. She did not need Vix or civilization.
“Why am I here?” she whispered.
The slapping of the oars on the water began to sound like thunder. Her heart began to race and her breathing became shallow panting like she had just run all the way to London and back.
The urge to run became overwhelming. Only, her feet seemed planted to the spot she stood; like they were encased in concrete. At last, the boat came to a halt, the bottom grinding on the shore.
Vix was to her feet and hopping over the side before whoever had been rowing even managed to pull the oars in. She hurried up to Gemma and threw her arms around the younger girl in a huge hug. It took Gemma a moment before she returned the gesture, her arms coming up slowly and then making an awkward attempt at an embrace.
“I just can’t believe it is you!” Vix exclaimed through the tears. “I was certain that you had met your end back at that fort along with Harold.”
Gemma said nothing. She bit back the words she wanted to say. She would not say that she wished she had died that day. Instead, she had become England’s Black Widow. She was a cautionary tale and a story to tell children at night if they wanted a scary story at bedtime.
“You are alone?” Vix look
ed past Gemma, but only briefly, giving away the fact that she already knew the answer to that question.
“How have you managed all this time by yourself?”
Again Gemma did not speak. That question was providing more information for her to consider. Somehow, she knew that Gemma had been alone this entire time.
“You can speak, can’t you?” Vix whispered. “I mean, being alone all this time hasn’t ruined your ability to talk, has it?”
A smile curved the corners of Gemma’s mouth. But it was a smile that made Vix take a step back. It was almost evil in its appearance.
No, Gemma thought, I speak when I need to. If I need information I get much more if I just stay quiet for a little while. However, she felt that her silence had reached its tolerable level; much more of it and she would possible wear out her welcome. Not that she was looking for any sort of welcome. She had been fine all by herself, thank you very much.
“I can speak,” Gemma said in a harsh rasp. “I just don’t find much time for it since I have been on my own.”
“You must tell me everything,” Vix said. A second later, her face flushed and she quickly added, “You can certainly omit the part about Harold.”
“Actually, he plays a big part in my life,” Gemma said cryptically. “But a question first.”
“Ask it.”
“How many people are across this river on that little island of yours?” Gemma folded her arms across her chest and set her feet just a little further apart to signal she would not budge easily.
“Close to a thousand,” Vix answered. It made Gemma gasp audibly. “And there are six more island communities within a day or two from here. We all trade with each other and help each other out if the need arises.”
Gemma considered it. A thousand people? The days of being able to even remotely imagine those numbers when it came to living populations were long gone.
“And I can leave…” Gemma ended her statement with a slight uptick in her voice to indicate that this was a very important matter.
“Whenever you want,” Vix finished. “You would be coming as a guest, not as a prisoner.”
Vix’s smile grew wider when it became obvious that Gemma was going to at least let it be considered. Gemma seemed to hesitate, but at last she stepped toward the boat. When she climbed in, her heart skipped a beat.
“Chaaya?”
***
Moving as fast but as quietly as possible, Chad made his way back up the hill. He got down on his stomach when he reached the top and could hear actual voices. It seemed that the other group had come on the run when they heard the explosion.
“…smells like bad barbecue,” one of the men was practically shouting.
“And if’n they got blown up by whatever the hell that was, it is a damn shame. But going down there is out of the question,” a second voice said with unusual calm for the situation. “Somebody up this way pinned Renny to a tree with a half dozen arrows. If you go tearing around in these parts, I do believe that whoever has laid claim to this area will do the same or worse to you, Butch. And splitting up is absolutely out of the question.”
“Bidwell is right,” another voice agreed. Then she shouted, “Hey! Whoever is out there, we don’t want no trouble. All we want is Melody Whittaker. Little gal with blond hair, blue eyes, and a nasty bite on her face? We are willing to overlook the members of our group that you have already murdered. Just return the girl.”
Chad wasn’t buying it for one second. He saw no rational reason why a group would be willing to just ignore the fact that at least six of their number was dead.
The sound of rustling brush alerted Chad. From his position, he could see just a bit of Caroline from her spot up in the hide. Had he not been watching, he doubted that he would have heard the slight thrum of the bowstring as it sent another arrow flying.
“Over there!” the voice belonging to the one Chad thought to be identified as Butch shouted. That yell was followed by the crash of somebody tearing off into the woods.
“Butch!” Bidwell called.
“Let him go,” the woman said. “He is as good as dead. And we will be as well if we stay around here much more. Fall back.”
Chad could hear them moving away, but then they stopped. There was a long moment of silence. Then, the woman called out once more. “We will go for now. But you should know that the girl you are risking your lives for is evil. She infected seven of our people.”
Chad heard them resume their retreat, but he stayed put for a few minutes to be certain. Caroline had a better vantage point, so once he saw her start down, he came out from where he was hiding.
“So…” Chad let loose with a big sigh. It was never good when he had to kill the living. Sure, he had done so on more than one occasion—each time he had justified it as a necessary evil—but that did not make it any easier.
“We need to get back to the cabin,” Caroline said, shouldering her bow and drawing the twin axes she carried on each hip. “Something does not fit here.”
“You get that too, huh?”
“Why would they say she killed a bunch of their people and she say that they were trying to kill her because she was one of the damned or some such thing?”
“And then there is the bite on her face,” Chad reminded. “It is definitely old enough to confirm that she is not going to turn, but something about that does not add up with everything else we got going on.”
The two started off at a jog back up the hill to their cabin. The entire time, Chad’s mind was humming with all the possibilities. The more he thought it over, the more it did not add up in his mind.
They were almost to the cabin when Caroline grabbed Chad’s arm and yanked him back and down. Before he could protest, he spotted what Caroline had obviously seen first.
A man, presumably Butch, was creeping along the side of their cabin. He had a wicked curved blade in his hand. He had come to a halt, froze in place with his head cocked to one side as if he might be listening to something.
Caroline was already unslinging her bow. Chad watched with no small degree of amazement as she grabbed an arrow, nocked it, drawing her hand back to her cheek. Her eyes blinked slowly and she let out a long, slow breath.
Thrum-hiss.
And just that quick, the arrow was loosed. There was a yelp and Chad looked to see the man pinned to the side of their cabin with and arrow in the upper left part of his chest. It had not pinned him fast, probably due to the arrow losing some of its velocity because of the distance it travelled, so, when Butch fell to the ground on his knees, the arrow came free from the wood.
Leaping to his feet, Chad rushed the man. Already, Butch had reached up and yanked at the shaft to pull the arrow free. However, this was not a range arrow, and the shaft was barbed. The man quickly ceased his actions and threw his hands up begging for mercy.
“Y’all don’t understand,” Butch was saying through tears of pain or frustration, “that girl is not the innocent one here. She is evil.”
He could hear Caroline coming up behind him; he could also hear voices in the cabin. Still, he had one thing in mind. Chad never slowed as he approached the man and kicked him square in the chin, sending the man flying backwards unconscious.
The door to the cabin flew open with a bang, but Chad was still focused on the man named Butch, ensuring that he was out cold.
“Dad! Watch out!” Ronni screamed.
***
They had been waiting for almost an hour. The team was getting a bit restless, and Jody was having to shift around quite a bit as parts of him would start to tingle. At one point, while he sat on his haunches, both of his feet began to fall asleep. When he shifted, he lost his balance and began to fall. Margarita was beside him and actually caught Jody before he fell, flashing a dirty look as he sheepishly re-shifted his weight once more.
An abrupt shifting and creak of boards from above made everybody suddenly freeze. Most of the team unconsciously held their breath as all heads craned up.
Muffled voices could be heard. Jody’s hand went to the hilt of his saber. Another surge of adrenaline hit and his mouth went dry. He was having a hard time waiting here and doing nothing while Danny may or may not still be alive just a stone’s throw away. He shook his head.
One thing at a time, he told himself. The reality was that this outpost was more important to the big picture. They had worked very hard to create a place to live that was as safe as possible. He had been surprised more than once at how often Pitts deferred to him when it came to matters of planning the set up and merge of their two communities.
The reality was that Pitts and his people could have wiped them off the face of the earth. Instead, they had come to terms. And while he had been more than dubious when it came to the idea of exchanging women between the two communities like they were little more than breeding stock, it turned out that Pitts had been on to something. Now, a decade later, these two communities were the equivalent of a global super power.
By that logic, they could have simply come at these invaders with all their military might and hit them with a frontal assault. However, these turrets were sort of designed to counter that possibility. Thus, they had chosen this stealthy approach.
Jody still could not believe that these people had been so careless. They had made no effort to place watches with the exception of the one man who had apparently fallen asleep at his post.
This got him to thinking; he had not been to one of the turrets in a few years. Had this been how his people were taken out? Had people gotten complacent? Perhaps he would address that issue once things settled down from this event. The military had been all about drilling and preparedness.
A sharp elbow to the ribs snapped him back to the situation at hand. Once again, it was Margarita who was glaring at him.
“I don’t know what is wrong with you today, but get your head back in the game. If I die because you are spacing out, I am gonna be really pissed,” Margarita whispered.
Jody felt his face become warm. She was right. Why was he having such a hard time staying focused? He knew very well that any distraction in a situation like this could send you to the grave in a hurry.
