by Tara Brown
We hugged, a small broken group of mourners on the side of a highway in the middle of nowhere on the Colorado border. The sunset surrounded us, lighting the sky on fire, matching the tragedy in front of us. But the sun abandoned us, leaving us with nothing but darkness and stars. Maybe the darkest stars to match the darkest hearts.
If I painted this moment, I wouldn't make us faceless like an Ellis Wilson or Petrus van der Velden, where the sadness is implied by the posture and the general gloominess. No, I might have chosen something like Jack B. Yeats’ An Island Funeral. Yes, the setting was gloomy, but there was true loss on their faces. Soft expressions of anguish and sorrowful postures, but not so precise you could recognize the features of the person. And I might have portrayed us on a ship, perhaps one that was sinking or taking on water. Showing the direness of the situation the survivors were in. I would use oil on canvas and add extra sheen with a solid white to our cheeks and eyes to really make the glisten of the tears stand out. Then I’d burn the canvas and wish none of it were real.
It was the worst day of my entire life.
But it wasn't over.
Not even close.
And when it was, I would be someone new again.
We all would be.
26
That world
Zoey
The last of the embers died off, though we hadn’t moved a muscle. We stared at the spot, the charred and scarred place that would serve as a memorial for our loss. A loss I couldn't feel. My entire body was numb, the fuzzy void consuming me.
My brain wouldn't touch on where the hell Rozzy was.
Not until headlights hit us. When I saw them, I flinched, contemplating running for it. But what did I have to lose? Nothing. Clearly, we all felt the same, no one moved as the small SUV came upon us.
The light from their vehicle lit up the filth we were surrounded by.
“You guys okay?” a man asked as he pulled up, only opening his window a little. Next to him a woman held a gun on us. I didn't know anything about guns, but I knew if she pulled that trigger, she would deafen him. Seemed like a weird choice. “We don't want to hurt you, we just saw you and didn't know what the story was. We wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“No,” Milo didn't bother lying.
“We’re fine.” Celeste stood up straighter, wiping her cheeks.
“Did you know them?” the man asked, gazing at the burned ruins.
“We did,” Milo told the truth again. “But some assholes in a rig came and ran them off the road and killed them. You should watch out for them.” He glimpsed at the back seat where they had a kid and a dog. Their dog, a yappy little thing, wasn't like Stan. It barked and raced around the truck, completely unaware that it would be in charge of something precious in less than a week. Their kid wasn't even ten and they had to be in their thirties. He would be alone for two weeks. Him and a dog.
Owen was right, there was no God.
I nearly sobbed for no reason, and all the reasons, but Milo slipped an arm around my shoulders.
“A rig, huh?” The man’s eyes narrowed before he sighed, almost defeated. “Was it blue and silver? No trailer?”
“Yes,” Celeste said, not sounding quite as standoffish.
“We saw it, back that way. Ran some people off the road. We were parked closer to Sharon Springs. There’s a bunch of abandoned old blue buildings with a dirt road across from them. We parked in their parking lot, hiding so we could sleep a bit and eat.” His eyes darted to the back seat and his voice lowered, “The rig had run some people off the road. They got out with guns, killed the men and dragged the ladies away. They went down the dirt road across from where we were parked.”
“Are there a lot of houses out that way? Like could they have a base camp near there?” Celeste was suddenly lit up, feisty like Rozzy would’ve been.
“No. Maybe one or two ranches. I imagine not many folks left out this way. If they have a base camp, it’s one of those ranches. No point in going down that road otherwise.” He exhaled loudly. “But we’re heading to Colorado Springs. The air force base.”
The words “air force base” made my dull and constant heart ache a little more pronounced.
“We heard some radio transmissions saying there was food and shelter there. If you want, we could travel together. If your truck still runs.” His eyes darted to our truck, for the third time.
“Tell you what”—Celeste reached into the back of her pants—“if you stop whatever it is you’re plotting and keep heading that way, when you run out of gas, keep walking. We’ll pick you up.” She pulled her gun out. I didn't even know she had it back there.
“Okay.” He lifted his hands. “Promise me. You’ll pick us up!”
“Promise.” She stepped back. “There’s no one left to trust, but if I am still alive and driving that way, I will pick you up and take you to Colorado Springs. But right now, I have to go save my friend.” She motioned at me and then at the truck. “Get in.”
Milo dragged me around the other side of the truck and pushed me into the seat. Only Stan stayed with Celeste who was locked in a showdown with the lady who started to cry.
“Don't let us die out here like this,” the man pleaded.
“I won’t. I promise.” Celeste was earnest. She climbed in the truck, holding the door for Stan. He jumped in but spun quickly to make eye contact with the strangers again.
Celeste started the truck and drove away, maintaining eye contact with the man. He drove away slowly.
“We could have offered him some fuel,” I said after a minute.
“No, Zoey.” Milo smiled back at me. “That world doesn't exist anymore.”
I wanted him to be wrong, to prove that the world was still good. That people like Lance, Owen, and West were still here. And Helens were lurking in the darkest places, waiting to offer a hand.
But I was lost in the numbing fuzz.
There was no hand to pull me free.
No eyes to lock on mine and lift me to the surface again.
Because someone from this new world had taken them away.
And that meant Milo was right.
“What’s the plan?” Milo asked, biting his lip and fidgeting.
“Find the house they took her to, rescue her, and go pick up that family on our way to Colorado Springs.” Celeste sounded badass. The kind of badass Rozzy always was.
“But we don't know how to do any of that. We can’t fight. She’s a librarian at best. I’m a realtor. And you’re an art major. I can’t fight.”
“We have to,” Celeste snapped, turning her head to face him, lit up by the lights of the dash to make her even fiercer. “We have to because it’s what she would’ve done. She wouldn't have let us go there.”
“She’s right.” I glanced at Milo. “Rozzy would have died trying to save us. Any of us.” The idea of saving her helped me resurface.
“Okay,” Milo said after a second. “Better to die that way than to have some pathetic heart attack on the side of the road.” His voice cracked but he cleared his throat and put on his badass face too.
We were going to kill people.
I wasn't sure about it.
I wasn't confident in it.
But I was certain we would die before we left her there.
I could die for a friend.
Honestly, the sooner I died, the sooner I saw them again.
Sitting back in the seat and letting Stan nuzzle into me, I tried to come up with a plan for the various possibilities as far as scenes were concerned. I had a brain filled with ideas and possibilities. Books and years of video games with Owen based on this exact moment. I focused and lifted them all to the surface of my memory.
“If we find them at a ranch, the books I’ve read and games I’ve played always have a couple of scenarios. Either the basement, where they’re tied up and tormented. Or a barn or shed where they’re kept and brought into the house based on need.” I wasn't certain who the cold-voiced person speaking was, b
ut it was my lips moving. That scared me. “If they’re in a basement, our odds of getting Rozzy free without dying are much worse. The barn or shed is our best bet. It will be lightly guarded. No one wants to be the guard, everyone wants to drink and be in the house. We can probably attack one or two guards.”
“What kind of books do you read?” Milo asked, fighting a grin.
I laughed, unable to answer as the chuckle poured from me.
Celeste joined in.
We were in some form of demented hysterics one minute and passing the blue abandoned buildings on the left the next. Silence was sudden and scary, just as manic as the laughing had been.
A smashed-up car was on the road, right where the man had said it would be. Dead bodies were there too.
Celeste switched off the interior lights and headlights as she turned onto the dirt road to the right.
The terrain change made the ride bumpier, startling me almost as much as what we were about to do.
“I can barely see,” she whispered and slowed down even more.
It took a while for our eyes to adjust to the lack of light.
We drove down the road for what felt like an eternity but there was nothing.
My heart sank as I realized how hard it was going to be to find them.
But then, as if Owen or West were helping, Celeste swerved hard to the right for no apparent reason and accidentally drove up onto the slight hillside. “Oh shit!” she shouted. “I didn't see the hill, sorry. I don’t know what happened. The truck just swerved.” The words left her mouth as lights came into view. She turned the truck off, panicking and not even getting us off the shoulder of the road. We sat in silence, terrified as we watched the house.
We were far enough away that we couldn't see the people moving inside, but the lights in the yard shone bright enough to illuminate the rig with the enormous grill.
“Gotcha,” Milo whispered.
“Everyone grab a gun and follow me,” Celeste murmured and climbed out, closing the door silently.
Stan and I got out. I had multiple second-guessing moments before I made my way to the back of the truck. She handed me a gun. “You know what to do, right?”
“Not so much. I know the basic principles. Point and shoot.” The pain of my ripped-up fingers burned and lit fires inside me as I gripped the gun.
“Safety first.” She flicked something. “Then point and shoot.” She put the safety back on. “Rozzy told me the most important thing is not closing your eyes. I closed them the first few times. Don't do it.”
“Okay.” I gave Milo a look.
“I can shoot a gun,” he defended himself. “I’m from Florida for God’s sake. Every other headline is ‘Florida Man.’” He pulled the clip out, checked the bullets, and slid it back in, loading a bullet.
Celeste lifted her hands. “You’re better than I am. You take the shot if you need to.”
He scoffed. “Having guns and knowing how to use them doesn't mean you can kill people. My money’s on you two.” He gave us both a nod. “Let’s go get our girl back.” He started toward the ranch.
I peered up to the starry sky, certain Owen and West were watching. Owen was laughing and saying I was probably peeing myself.
He was right. A little bit came out. But I pretended I was fine, like I wasn't lost in the sludge and haze. I had to be strong for Rozzy. She had been strong for me. More than once.
27
The ranch
Celeste
We crunched as quietly as we could, Milo making most of the noise with his clumsiness. Zoey was silent. I’d never heard anyone walk with so little noise in my life. Possibly because I’d never paid attention to it before.
My entire body was pins and needles, shivering with fear and regret when we heard the noise from the house. Music, people, and trucks or engines running.
“That’s a true rancher. There’s no basement so they won’t be there.” Milo paused, crouching and whispering, “I think you’re right about the other option, Zoey. Look.” He pointed at a large barn off to the left side of the house. It was much larger than the house but partially obscured because there were no lights on and three rigs parked next to it.
The grounds between the rigs and house were lit up and the bright windows were alive as the noisy party seemed to be mainly in the house.
“If this were a video game, Owen and West would hug the left side of this yard, as far from the house as possible. They’d sneak into the barn at that corner and kill the guards. They would come back this way and flee before the bad guys knew the hostages were gone”—Zoey spoke from whatever weird coma she was in—“never going near the house.”
I assumed her strange demeanor was the fuzz she’d discussed in her journal. The way her body lifted off the ground, and she lost control of her muscles as they tightened around her. The small scars and wounds on her arms were from this, from her fingers gripping so tightly she bled. She hadn’t done it in days, many days. But she was in that same fuzzy place, evident in her blank stare. Numb. She was numb. Blood slowly dripped from her hands where Milo had wrapped a ripped tee shirt, but she ignored the wounds. Something I made a mental note to tend to when we had a chance.
Recognizing the lack of emotions, I did a basic systems check of myself, realizing I was numb too. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad place to be.
“Okay, that’s what we’ll do then,” Milo said after a few minutes of contemplating Zoey’s weird video game talk.
Then, as if he understood, Stan started the walk. He crouched low and moved to the side of the barn Zoey had pointed at. We followed him, like I had at Zoey’s.
The closer we got, the stronger the noise and smell of barbecue and diesel grew, and the tighter my stomach was. My breaths were shallow and my eyes so wide they strained. The music coming from the house had a tempo that matched my heartbeat, rapid and feisty.
Brushing the back of my hand across my forehead, I noticed the cool sweat on my brow.
Stan paused, making us all stop too. We held our breath, listening. He lowered again and continued creeping through the hay and bushes that scratched against our legs.
Fortunately, the music and the breeze made enough noise that it covered up Milo’s as he crunched on twigs.
When we finally reached the dark and ominous barn, we placed our backs against it, taking breaths of cold air as Stan watched us. I couldn’t tell if he was curious why we were doing this or wondering why we needed to pause.
Zoey pushed off the wall first, holding her gun and appearing as though she might pee herself any second. She crept forward, listening and watching before moving ahead. Stan went with her. I followed with Milo crunching along behind me.
The side of the barn wasn't so scary. It was a dark and moonless night, so we were obscured in the shadows quite well, but the moment a man shouted something, my heart leapt. Every instinct was to run as fast and as far as I could.
But I stayed still, frozen. My breath hitched like there were thorns in my throat and mouth, catching it.
I slipped past Zoey, moving forward and listening, praying to the nothingness that we lived through this.
“Grab her!” someone shouted. His voice might as well have been a spotlight on us. I was sure he meant me. “No, not that one—that one.” The guy sounded annoyed but maybe drunk as well.
“Go to hell!” Rozzy shouted, lifting my heart and forcing my feet. I came around the corner, peeking into the crack of the doorway. The barn had a flashlight on, it moved and bounced, swaying as if tied to the roof or something.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust enough to see the light was in the hands of a swaying man. He was trashed. He turned and spat on the hay-covered floor, flashing the light in the eyes of a bunch of terrified people. Mostly girls in their twenties. They were tied to the wall, all of them visibly wounded, their clothes torn and bloody.
He shined the light onto another man who was wrestling the handcuffs off Rozzy. She fought so he slapped her on the leg, ma
king her scream. The men both laughed. A blur zoomed past me, making me spin. Milo and Stan rushed the room. Stan leapt at the guy with Rozzy as Milo tackled the other man to the floor. I hurried inside, panicking and dying to get my thoughts together. Seeing something useful, I grabbed a shovel that had glinted in the flashlight’s beam. Milo shoved off the man as I lifted the shovel and brought it down before I could stop and think. The sound echoed in my mind. But I lifted and brought it down again until he didn’t move anymore.
Stan snarled in the darkness behind me, fighting the other man. I hurried to where he screamed into the white and fluffy fury. Stan jumped out of the way as I brought the shovel down on the screaming man again and again until he was silent.
“Celeste,” Rozzy managed to say weakly.
“Shhhhhh.” I lifted a finger and turned.
“Everyone be very quiet. We have to hurry before any of the others come out.” Milo had the flashlight.
I grabbed the keys that were stuck in Rozzy’s handcuffs and clicked them open. Her wrists were a bloody mess, another something to tend to when we were free of this place. As I uncuffed each person, Zoey helped them up. Then she grabbed a wheelbarrow from the wall and brought it to Rozzy, leaving bloody fingerprints on the handles. “Get in.”
Rozzy smiled, her lip split and her eyes swollen. She flopped into the wheelbarrow and Zoey took off, glancing back at the others. “Follow me,” she said softly.
My stomach was in my throat and my heartbeat mimicked the music coming from the house, which was only marginally better than the sound of the shovel hitting the men.
One of the men groaned. Stan growled. Milo grabbed the shovel and hit the man, making a small sob when he did it. He liked violence less than I did, which was saying a lot.
“We have to stop this.” I turned to where the house was, not that we could see it through the barn.
