A Broken Time

by Anna Oney

  She stared into a face so similar to her father’s, it took her breath away.

  “Grandpa,” she began. “I—"

  “Go now,” he interrupted, patting her knee. “Remember, you don’t have that much time. When you hear the howl of Ahanu you know your time is up.”

  Ahanu, she thought, peering into her grandfather’s aqua blue eyes. Wakiza’s Ahanu?

  “That’s right,” he said, smiling up at her. “Don’t forget Wakiza’s spear.”

  Fading back into the woods, Tom left Fawn to her task. Under the cover of some trees about fifty feet from the rear entrance, she tied Juniper to a tree. Tom had said that Juniper would be safe outside the barrier, but she didn’t want to risk the NWA finding her.

  She looped the straps of one of the masks behind her ears, covering her mouth and nose. Tom had given her five extra masks, conveying to her that she would leave this desolate place with five of her people. Filled with hope, she took her first steps within Back Wood’s walls. Brittle, yellow, hay-like grass stuck up beneath the thinning white powder.

  Above her, the naked branches of the trees rattled eerily against the wind. Back Wood’s environment reeked of death, when once, it had been abundant with life. The carcasses of dead dogs and cats littered the ground. Birds that had been flying over the area at the time of the attack lie motionless upon the discolored grass, their wings spread open.

  Beside the barn, a burn pile beckoned her forward. On her way, Fawn noticed the grass was flattened — like something had been dragged over it. It wasn’t until she came across a shoe that she realized what the pile was for. Arriving only a few steps away from the charred remains of her kin, she lifted the mask from her mouth and vomited. Air was caught beneath her skirt as she sank to her knees, puffing the fabric around her. Studying the blackened ribcages, limbs, and skulls mixed with ash, she wiped the bile from her chin.

  “I can’t let this stand,” she said, clutching her stomach. “I-I’ll find a way.”

  The rancid taste of vomit forced her to lift the mask again to spit. Taking a moment to mourn her loss was out of the question. The sun broke through the dark clouds that loomed over this desolate place. Her eyes squinted as she peered in the direction of the concealed bunker.

  Please, she thought, coming to her feet. Let there be somebody home.

  A few minutes later, Fawn arrived at the camouflaged door. She grasped the circular handle, remembering the thrill of the drills she’d participated in. The signal would ring randomly every month. The teens were instructed to grab a youngster and hightail it to the bunker if they couldn’t make it safely to the woods.

  When she lifted the door slightly, rust from the handle cut into her palm. Through the small opening, a putrid odor that reminded her of rotten meat emanated from the depths. The smell fought through the mask covering her nose. Oh God, she thought. They’re dead. Breathing through her mouth, she fully opened the door. The metal was so heavy, it fell back and slammed hard against the dried clay, breaking it apart.

  The smell worsened as she knelt before the large opening in the ground. Nothing but darkness stared back at her. But then, an echoing patter of feet escaped the rusted enclosure. The small hairs on her arms stood on end.

  “Anyone down there?”

  An ashen, squinty-eyed Marie stepped into the light, holding up a hand to block the sun. A drawn faced, red-rimmed-eyed Fenton came up beside Marie. Relief expelled from Fawn’s lungs.

  “Who’s there?” came a voice from below.

  “It’s Fawn,” Marie stated, her voice unsteady.

  “Who else is down there?” Fawn asked.

  “Basiel, Dean, and Harland,” Fenton said.

  Her happiness was short-lived. Fresh tears clouded Fawn’s sight when she realized Fenton hadn’t said Ezra’s name. What would Basiel do without a father? The poor boy had already lost his mother. Ezra had been a warm light that could not be replaced. A good friend, who had told Fawn the truth even when she didn’t want to hear it. He had been her first relationship after Lacing Switch road. A gaping hole now stood in the place where Ezra should have been.

  “Wakiza’s spear,” she said, shaking off her emotions. She peered into Marie’s bloodshot eyes. “Is it still down there?”

  “Well, yeah,” Marie replied. Her eyes became slits as she looked over her shoulder, and then back at Fawn. “It’s been down here since before we were born.”

  “Fetch it for me, will you?” she asked, stretching out her arm.

  They passed her family’s heirloom from one to the other until it reached Marie. Rolling her eyes, Marie held up the spear for Fawn to take. Fawn closed her fingers around the lance. Nothing. Not a tingling surge of energy. Not even the snapping of twigs or crunch of earth came from beside her. She peered downward and to the right. The distinctive pair of footprints that she’d expected to appear hadn’t broken through the white powder staining the ground.

  “Wakiza?” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Where are you?”

  “Did you say something?” Marie asked from below, reaching upward. “Aren’t you going to help us out of here?”

  Fawn hoped to experience something like what Gran had encountered sixty-three years ago.

  “Wakiza,” she said, pointing to the ground beside her. “I thought . . .”

  Fawn tossed her kin the masks so they could protect themselves from the harmful fumes of the disinfectant.

  Any time now would be good, Wakiza, she thought, holding her hand out to aid her irritated little sister.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Ignorant and frustrated was how Fawn felt. Ignorant to believe that Wakiza would mystically appear and take care of all her problems, and frustrated that he couldn’t even be bothered to help Fawn’s kin from the bunker.

  Six minutes before the timer was scheduled to go off, Fawn and her companions arrived at the tree where she had tied Juniper. Ahanu’s howl put Marie on edge as she believed coyotes were near. Fawn calmed her by telling her that Meadow, and the rest of her nieces and nephews, were alive and well.

  An hour later, night had fallen, and Fawn was adamant that they keep moving. Marie stayed by Juniper’s side as the animal toted a head-hanging, wiped-out Dean. Before helping Dean onto Juniper, Fawn had situated her cloak over his drooped shoulders. Dean had a nasty cough and a high fever. Despite his sickly state, the thought of Davlyn and Dean and Marie and Meadow being reunited returned a smile to Fawn’s face.

  During their trek through the darkness, Fawn used Wakiza’s spear as a walking stick. She kept a silent Basiel company. The young man didn’t speak until they had stopped to rest for a bit.

  “Dad,” Basiel had said, leaning his head back against the tree. Chin trembling, he met Fawn’s gaze. “After he got me to the bunker . . . he went back to help Fenton with Lizzie and Cooper. Cooper couldn’t stand on his own, and Fenton and Lizzie were having a hard time keeping him upright. Dad never made it back. I knew the smoke had got him. Lizzie and Cooper, too. Dad had told me to stay put.” Fiddling with his hands, Basiel looked to the ground, choking up. “Maybe, I-I shouldn’t have.”

  All Fawn could think to do was embrace him. Basiel didn’t vow to avenge the loss of his father. All he did was cry. The young man didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

  By the fifth hour of their journey, Fawn had gained the courage to ask Marie what had happened to Polly. The last time Fawn had seen them, they’d been huddled on the ground, Ezra trying to coax them to stand.

  “We ran,” Marie said, her eyes focused ahead of her. “I didn’t look back. It wasn’t until I reached the bunker that I realized Polly wasn’t with me. I,” she said and paused, covering her mouth. “I didn’t go back for her.”

  Harland and his father, Jacob, the cook, had been the last to make it to the bunker. Jacob had been overtaken by the smoke just before they’d reached the bunker’s entrance. Harland wouldn’t speak of it. Fenton told her that through the blood escaping Jacob’s mouth and chest pains, he’d
managed to kick them away, telling them to stay back. He’d succumbed to the poison soon after, leaving Harland a distraught mess. After witnessing what the red smoke had done to Jacob, they’d been too afraid to step outside. They had no choice but to leave Jacob’s decomposing body to rot in the corner, merely feet from where they’d been sleeping.

  A few hours before dawn, a vroom in the distance had Fawn on edge. Two orbs of light broke through the darkness surrounding them — lights that Fawn knew belonged to the NWA’s four-wheeled contraptions. The lights grew as they sped toward Fawn and her kin. She looked at a gaped-mouth Basiel and shoved him behind the nearest tree. Fenton quickly followed suit, crouching with them behind the tree. Marie guided Juniper by the reins with a hunched Dean behind a wall of shrubbery and vines. Fawn’s stomach dropped as Harland stood out in the open.

  “Harland,” she hissed, smacking her thigh. She leaned Wakiza’s spear against the tree. “Harland!”

  The man didn’t budge, as he was so mesmerized (or frightened) by the gaining lights. Fawn bolted from behind the tree, stubbing her foot on a root. Fenton’s fingers pinched the bottom of her skirt as he tried to prevent her from stepping out in the open. The lights had Harland in their gaze, casting a spotlight on his form. Fawn drove into Harland, tackling him to the ground. She knelt on his back, weighing him down. There was no time to head for cover, the lights had gained more ground.

  Fawn guided her bow over her chest and snatched an arrow from its quiver. A drizzling rain crept through the canopy of trees overhead and fell at an angle in front of the blinding lights. Grazing her tongue across the moisture that had formed over her top lip, she nocked the arrow in place. She drew the trigger back to her anchor point, aiming for the darkness above the lights where she knew the driver was located. She loosened an arrow, watching it spiral toward its destination.

  The sound of breaking glass prompted her to draw another arrow. The lights swerved and came to a screeching halt, illuminating a hand, the owner of which had leapt from the vehicle. She nocked another arrow in place and pulled back the trigger.

  “Don’t shoot!” a man shouted, as he stepped fully into the light. Blythe clutched his upper arm, where an arrow with red fletching protruded from his flesh. “It’s me, Fawn. Please! It’s Blythe.”

  Lowering her bow, Fawn held a hand over her face. The rain had thickened and begun to matt her hair to her scalp.

  “Get off me!” Harland demanded, thrashing beneath Fawn.

  “Blythe,” she said, coming to her feet. “I guess Reesa told you I left.”

  “No,” he said, wincing at the ache in his arm. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you who did.”

  ***

  Fawn and her companions sat under a tarp that had been packed in the back of the ATV. Juniper’s ears brushed against the tarp as she stood beneath it to shield herself from the pouring rain.

  A gleaming yellow pole Blythe referred to as a “glow stick” illuminated a small area, so that Fawn could tend to her patient. The arrowhead had lodged itself beneath the skin of Blythe’s bicep, making a jagged-edged, triangle impression beneath his flesh. Half of his chest was bare as he walked Fawn through what needed to be done.

  Surrounded by her exhausted, sleeping kin, she prepared herself to nurse a wounded Blythe back to health. Gauzes, stitching needle and thread, medical tape, and alcohol sat beside her, all found in a hatch beneath the ATV’s back seat. His teeth made imprints on the leather of his belt as Fawn slipped the arrowhead from beneath his skin. Blood oozed from the small, narrow slit.

  “How’d you find us?” she asked, blotching the slit with gauzes she’d soaked in alcohol.

  “I told you,” he replied and winced, clenching his jaw. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Try me,” she said, dousing the stitching needle with alcohol.

  “There’s this cardinal,” he said and grimaced. “The bird said she was a spirit. She’s been pestering me ever since that cat killed Tye.”

  The patter of rain on the tarp seemed to grow louder as Fawn stared at his wound. Blythe brought a finger beneath her quivering chin, raising her gaze to meet his.

  “You all right?” he said, knocking Fawn from her trance. “I told you it was crazy.”

  Fawn shook her head and pierced through his flesh with the needle.

  “No, no,” she replied, focused on stitching him up. “Talking birds isn’t as odd as the stuff I’ve seen lately. This bird,” she said, running the needle through his flesh. “Did she give you a name?”

  “No . . . just orders.”

  Dried blood covered the tips of her fingers as she applied the gauze and wrapped medical tape around Blythe’s bicep. She found pleasure in helping someone who had aided her. She provided further assistance to Blythe by helping him fully don his shirt. She buttoned it for him, trying not to gawk at his glistening abs, sprinkled with raindrops.

  Hunter . . .

  Fawn and Blythe spent the next few minutes confessing the strange happenings that each of them had experienced. By the time they were finished, she felt closer to him. Blythe insisted that Fawn get some shut-eye before retackling their journey. Leaning her back against the tree, she soon fell asleep. Unbeknownst to her, her cheek fell on Blythe’s shoulder as he sat beside her.

  Fawn stood before a bed, on top of which lay a weeping woman curled in a fetal position. A banging on the door behind her pulled her focus.

  “Emma!” a woman’s voice called from outside. “I’m coming in!”

  Fawn’s breath caught in her chest as her grandmother, Darby, barged through the door. Darby’s elaborate tattoos of skulls and crows made Fawn long for one herself. Her grandmother passed through Fawn as if she weren’t there and came to the bedside.

  “Oh Emma, my friend,” Darby said, lying next to Gran on the bed. “This isn’t good for you. You need to get out of this house. Samuel needs his mother. Tom needs his wife.”

  “Mother? What kind of mother am I?” she wept, turning to face Darby. “Samuel’s better off without me. And Tom . . . he can’t even look at me.”

  “Em—” Darby began.

  “It was my fault,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “I should be rocking my baby to sleep. Not visiting a grave.”

  A bitter wind pounded against the bedroom window, breaking the glass. Jagged shards swept over Fawn’s grandmothers as they embraced on the bed, transporting them to the entrance of Back Wood’s stables.

  Fawn sat behind Gran on a horse.

  “Don’t go,” Darby pleaded, reaching up to grasp Gran’s wrist. “Don’t ruin your marriage.”

  “What marriage?” Gran cut back. “Tom stays gone.”

  “Tom’s hurting, too,” Darby replied. “Everyone grieves differently.”

  “I’m just going to visit my friend. Is that a crime?”

  “What do you think going to see Reed will accomplish?” Darby countered, tightening her grip on Gran’s wrist. “Reed’s wanted you since the day he caught you in that trap.”

  “That’s,” Gran began and shook her head, looking to the road ahead of her. “That’s not why I’m going.”

  “Bull,” Darby replied. “You’re going to him because you know what he’ll do to make you feel better. Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Damn it, it’s self-destructive.”

  Gran spurred her horse into motion, leaving Darby at the stables shouting after her.

  “You’ll regret it if you do this, Emma. Come back!”

  Fawn woke to the feel of Blythe’s fingers grazing her cheek. Her auburn waves had draped themselves over half of her face as she slept. Blythe tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear.

  “Sorry to wake you,” he said, peering behind him at her groggy, roused kin. “But we need to get going.”

  Fenton, Basiel, and Harland loaded an exhausted Dean into the ATV’s carriage. Marie made herself comfortable in the front seat beside Blythe, who was in the driver’s seat. Once they’d finished helping Dean into the carriage,
Fenton, Basiel, and Harland took up the back seat. Blythe turned the key in the ignition and drummed his fingers along the top of the steering wheel.

  “You ready?” he asked Fawn.

  In response, Fawn mounted Juniper and took hold of the reins, tipping her head forward.

  For the start of their journey, Fawn trailed behind the ATV. The hum of conversation coming from the moving vehicle didn’t persuade her to join in. Her kin spoke of the joy of freedom and the crisp, fresh air of the outdoors. Her mind was occupied with her dream. She was certain she’d been close to finding out what Gran had done to Reed that had had such an impact on Hunter’s father, Aiden. She resented Blythe for waking her before she was able to unearth the truth.

  Grumbling, Fawn looked to the cloudless, pale blue sky, and then brought her gaze forward. She became mesmerized by a dry leaf, frozen midfall. She flicked it into motion with her finger as she passed. She figured the leaf had been caught in a spiderweb, but as it twirled in the same place, she realized something was off.

  Looking out ahead of her, she spotted more than a dozen leaves floating in the air. Twigs, hickory nuts, and acorns too. The life of the woods had been quieted. The flow of the creek beside her, the scratching of squirrels scurrying up trees, Juniper’s hooves snapping the sticks littering the ground. Even the vroom of the ATV’s engine and her company’s conversations had been silenced.

  “She broke my heart is what she did,” a man’s voice came from beside her. “She was the love of my life. I just wasn’t hers.”

  Juniper’s ears swiveled to the huskiness of the man’s voice. The rise and fall of Juniper’s hooves seemed to move in slow motion as Fawn looked beside her. A ruggedly handsome man wearing a cowboy hat rode a horse next to her. A light beard dusted his jaw. Taking advantage of Fawn’s stunned silence, the man flashed her a knee-weakening smile that reminded her so much of Hunter.

  “But I’ve never held that against her,” he continued, patting his horse’s neck. “I begged Aiden to let me take him before you showed up at the farm, but he was hell-bent on giving you that little speech.”