A Broken Time

by Anna Oney

  Crane clung to the brick wall, as though she wished to sink through it.

  “Stop this now,” the woman said, coming face-to-face with her daughter.

  Crane’s face went ashen. Her eyes were so wide, it looked as though her eyelids had been stripped.

  “All this hate,” the woman said, bringing a hand to Crane’s cheek. “It has to end. Free yourself of its burden. You’re only harming yourself.”

  “I—” Crane began, on the defense.

  “All the bad things you’ve done have caught up with you, my dear,” the woman interrupted. “You’re surrounded, Oleander. There’s no hope of escape. What you choose to do now will determine your fate.”

  Tears welled up in Crane’s eyes, as she was overcome by frustration and fear — feelings Fawn was all too familiar with. It was over. Crane’s short reign had ended. It was visible to Fawn that Crane knew it too. Crane blinked, turning her face away from her mother. Her cheeks became slicked with lines of tears. She stepped around her mother and reached into her pocket, shakily pulling out a small key. With a rattled breath, she freed Fawn from her restraints. The click of the handcuffs being unlocked was music to Fawn’s ears. Crane backed into the opposite wall.

  “Take your man,” Crane said, sliding to the concrete floor. “And go.”

  Fawn hopped down from the chair. Her legs felt like jelly as she wobbled to her feet. She fetched her bow and quiver from the floor beneath Crane’s chair, secured both over her back, and then helped Hunter from the floor. She peered at Crane, who buried her weeping face in her hands. Crane’s mother knelt beside her, resting a consoling hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

  Fawn opened the door. The hall leading to the exit was empty and eerily quiet. Hunter’s arm almost slipped from behind Fawn’s shoulders as they scrambled through the door to the outside.

  The bitter, fresh air kissed her cheeks as she took in the image of numerous soldiers lying dead on the ground. The scene reminded her of the aftermath of the battle for Griffin’s orchard. Gripping Hunter’s waist, she stepped onto the chilled ground, covered in snow and splatters of blood. She peered to the right. The building they’d exited had been built outside of Stagecoach’s train station.

  Fawn advanced forward with Hunter leaning into her side for support. Her pace was quickened by the sight of Stagecoach’s rear entrance being open. Hunter cried out beside her as he limped along. The NWA had damaged his knees. A worry surfaced that Hunter was destined to walk with a limp for the rest of his days.

  A queasiness enveloped her stomach. Bile rose to her throat as she led Hunter, limping, toward the back entrance. Clutching her stomach, Fawn turned away from Hunter, vomiting onto the ground covered in snow. Her vomit steamed and melted into a small patch of snow, revealing soggy earth.

  “Y-you okay?” Hunter weakly asked.

  Fawn spit out the rancid taste of vomit. She swiped the back of her wrist over her bottom lip and chin, wiping up the bile.

  “Fine,” she replied, pushing through the nausea.

  They passed through the back gate. Rattled battle cries of anger and pain ensued over the slope adjacent to the community’s exit. The burnt orange of the setting sun served as a backdrop for the empty horse corral that sat atop the hill. In other, less dire circumstances, it would’ve been a beautiful sight to behold. Numerous footprints and slide marks had been made in the snow up the slope. Curiosity got the better of Fawn as she lowered Hunter to the ground against Stagecoach’s outer wall.

  “Stay here,” she panted, pecking his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  Eyes swollen, Hunter blindly reached for her. He was too weak, and his arm dropped to his side.

  “Fawny, wait,” he said. “Don’t.”

  Drawing her bow, she turned away from him.

  “They may need help.”

  Fawn sprinted for the bottom of the slope. The cold air stung her lungs, stealing her breath. She ascended the slope, her face twisted in pain. The wind sliced through her chest like a knife. Still, she climbed on. She slipped, driving the clenched fist that gripped her bow into the frozen blades of grass. A deep-seated gasp exploded from her chapped, heart-shaped lips upon arriving at the top of the hill.

  Half a mile stood between Fawn’s Native American ancestors and the NWA, who were laying down their weapons. The army of The Faultless surrounded the backs of the NWA. Blood stained the ground where the soldiers stood around their deceased comrades. A hundred cardinals hovered behind her ancestors. The rhythmic flaps of the birds’ wings fanned the snow away from the matted grass.

  Spear at her side, Reesa stood between Wakiza and Vance. Behind them, Wakiza’s tribesmen stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Davlyn and Dean’s group. Fawn stared Vance down as he stepped forward to address his former comrades.

  Vance spoke, but his words quickly faded away. Fawn’s lack of nutrition had caught up with her. Her world became blurred and spun before her. Her knees buckled. She clutched her aching stomach, sinking to her knees. Dry heaving, she fell forward, immersing her palms in the snow. The stab of cold would’ve prompted her to jerk them back if she’d had the strength to do so.

  The sound of hooves pounding through the sloshy snow to her right piqued her interest. She tipped over but was caught an inch from the icy ground by a twenty-something-year-old woman with wavy blonde hair, who wore a coral, knee-length dress.

  “It’s okay, Fawn,” Joy whispered, stroking the side of Fawn’s face.

  Beside Stella and her wagging tail stood a brown mare with a white diamond adorning its forehead.

  “J-Juniper,” Fawn hoarsely said, weakly reaching out for her closest friend. “You’re okay.” Juniper pressed her snout to Fawn’s fingers and nickered, happily swishing her tail.

  “Hunter,” Fawn whispered, attempting to point in the direction of where she’d left him.

  “He’s safe,” Joy replied, scooping Fawn up in her arms. “You’re safe. It’s over.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  February 7, 2087

  Reesa and Wakiza’s tribesmen had spent the weeks Fawn had been imprisoned liberating those who wished to be free from the NWA’s clutches across Texas. When groups one and two were released from behind the veil, they felt as though they had been awakened from a good nap. They didn’t remember a thing of what they’d witnessed behind the veil.

  Vance had taken leadership of the NWA. Fawn heard that his presence, alongside the army of The Faultless and Wakiza’s tribesmen, had instilled fear in the NWA. The soldiers had no choice but to give up the fight and listen to Vance’s terms, which had been handed down to him by the spirits. The NWA could have their electricity, but not retain their devilish ways. As of that day, their suppression of people was to end, or they’d be forced to meet their Maker.

  Fawn and Hunter were brought to Griffin’s orchard to recuperate. Laken had her people add another bed to the room upstairs to accommodate Hunter. Their physical wounds would eventually heal. It was the emotional wounds that Fawn grappled with.

  During her recuperation, she had learned that Asher had committed suicide shortly after the four groups departed for Stagecoach. Marie had found him in his cell, his feet dangling just a few inches from the floor. He’d twisted his blanket up tight and hung himself from a beam. Fawn figured he couldn’t bare the weight of his crimes. It seemed his conscience had gotten the best of him.

  By the third week, Wakiza and his tribesmen had departed from the mortal world. It saddened Fawn that she never got a chance to thank them or say goodbye. Her ancestors had left Caddo and her kinsmen protected by the shield that resembled a cocoon.

  Fawn and Hunter had made a full recovery. The scar of Hunter’s gunshot wound to the shoulder was hard for Fawn to look at. It brought back memories of that night at the Bogan Farm when she’d first believed him to be dead.

  ***

  A full moon rose high above the canopy of trees. Shoulder-to-shoulder, Fawn’s kinsmen sat around a bonfire to honor their dead. Some of
her people wept quietly, staring up at the moon, entranced, while others consoled them. The moon had a reddish hue. She wondered if the moon was in mourning, the same as the rest of her kin.

  Reesa sat next to Basiel on the dock stretching over the lake. Fawn had tried to speak with Reesa about what the young girl had endured during their time apart, but her niece wasn’t ready to discuss it. Instead of dwelling on the past, Reesa rekindled her friendship with Basiel and got back to doing their normal teenager activities. Fawn had often caught them canoeing around the lake or picnicking.

  Fawn and Hunter sat on Griffin’s front porch swing away from the crowd. The only sound came from the soft screech of the swing’s chain as they slowly swayed forward and back. She fidgeted in her seat and glanced Hunter’s way. There was an ache in her stomach, but it wasn’t the morning sickness. The sensation was brought on by the pressure of telling Hunter that she was pregnant with another man’s child. She couldn’t keep the pregnancy a secret for much longer. Her belly was only going to get bigger.

  “You cold?” Hunter asked, drawing her attention. “Your hand,” he said, pecking her palm. “It’s trembling.”

  “I am a little cold,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest. Hunter pressed his feet to the floor, stopping the swing from swaying.

  “I’ll get us a blanket,” he said, standing up. “Be right back.”

  Limping, Hunter disappeared inside Griffin’s home. Fawn stared into space, praying for the courage to tell him. Would he curse her? Would he wish her dead? Or worse, would he wish they’d never met? All these questions ran through her mind, as she noticed a cardinal landing on the porch railing.

  “You,” she said, choking up. “I’m not in the mood.”

  The cardinal gave a light chirp, fluttering its wings. Fawn swiped her cheek across her shoulder, turning her face from the majestic creature.

  “What do you want?”

  The bird continued to stare, making Fawn feel as though she were being judged. She judged herself hard enough, she didn’t need any help. She closed her eyes, grasping Gran’s cross around her neck.

  “Please lord,” she prayed. “Make this bird go away.”

  She sighed, opening her eyes. She lifted her jaw from the base of her throat, eyes fixated on a woman with long, curly copper hair, sitting in the exact spot in which the cardinal had perched. The woman wore jeans and a green plaid shirt. Her almond-shaped, green eyes stripped Fawn’s lungs of air.

  “It can’t be,” she began, leaning forward on the swing. “Gran, is that you?”

  “Yes, baby,” Gran replied, hopping down from the railing. “It’s me. May I sit?” she asked, motioning toward Hunter’s spot. Fawn’s eyes stung as she tried keeping her tears at bay. She turned and peered at the front door, worrying that Hunter could walk out any second.

  “Don’t worry,” Gran said, sitting beside Fawn. “I hid every blanket in the house.” She smiled and winked. “We have a little time.”

  “So,” Fawn replied, swiping a finger beneath her sniffling nose. “You’ve been the cardinal all this time?”

  “Yes, indeedy. A Soothsayer’s true form can only be revealed sparingly.”

  “I-I,” Fawn stammered, shifting on the swing. “I wish I could’ve been more like you.”

  “Like me?” she said, chuckling lightly, draping her arm over Fawn’s shoulders. “Just what lies did your father tell you?” She shook her head, looking to the ceiling of the porch. “Once people die, the living have this habit of making them out to be saints. I was the furthest thing from a saint. Being human means making mistakes. But,” she said, grasping Fawn’s hand. “I wouldn’t call lying with Blythe a mistake. You believed Hunter to be dead. That night inside that cabin, you and Blythe needed each other.”

  “All those beatings they gave,” Fawn said, grimacing at the thought. “How could I have not lost the baby?”

  “The baby’s strong. She wanted to survive.” Gran brought her fingers beneath Fawn’s chin. “I’m thinking, for you.”

  “She?”

  “You’ll meet her soon enough.”

  “How can Hunter look at me now, knowing that I’m carrying another man’s child?”

  “Because, baby,” she said, tucking a few strands of Fawn’s auburn waves behind her ear. “Hunter’s one of a kind. You will tell Hunter and endure the lashings of his words. For they are just that. Words. You’ve overcome far worse.”

  Fawn nodded and looked tentatively to her grandmother.

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  Gran giggled and kissed the top of Fawn’s hand.

  “You just did. But of course, you can. Fire away.”

  “What-what’s it like to die?”

  “When I passed away, I swear I didn’t walk but twenty feet from my house. Every soul’s journey is different. Mine was walking through the willow tree by Wakiza’s side. Joy was waiting for me on the other side of the tree.”

  “And Blythe?”

  “He met his father by the mountain where they used to make camp. It was a sweet reunion. Right now, he’s being trained as a Master of Fate. Daddy tells me he’s progressing nicely.”

  Fawn thought back to the time her great-grandfather and his dog companion, Rambler, had led her down a hall of shimmering light and distant whispers.

  “With Granddaddy Doolie,” Fawn asked, smiling at the memory.

  “Yes.”

  “Is it true that Blythe knew he was going to die, and, and—”

  “And he helped you anyway.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  September 12, 2087

  Six months had passed since Fawn had given Hunter the news. She’d done as her Gran had said. He’d cried at first, and then the full gravity of what he’d been told hit him, but it wasn’t his words that had hurt Fawn the most. It was the way he’d recoiled from her touch when she’d tried consoling him. He had become sickened by her touch.

  During those torturous months, not a word had passed between the estranged lovers. Fawn’s baby bump had taken some getting used to. Her pregnancy with Joshua hadn’t lasted this long, so, she didn’t know what to expect. The women around her, including Marie, were too busy raising their own children to notice how terrified she was.

  The swelling of her feet was unbearable. Pregnant women in this era weren’t allowed the appropriate amount of time to rest. After Fawn finished helping Griffin with the garden, she snuck to her uncle’s secluded beach. She sat on the edge of the dock, sloshing her aching feet through the cool water. She rubbed her rounded belly as the baby kicked.

  Sweet, sweet, baby girl, she thought, smiling down at her stomach. I can’t wait to meet you.

  The crunch of gravel prompted her to glance over her shoulder. Hunter had stepped onto the dock and was making his way toward her with his head hanging low.

  “Hey,” he said, upon reaching her.

  They hadn’t spoken since Fawn’s confession. After that long of a separation, “hey,” was something someone said when they had no idea what to say or do. Fawn couldn’t think of anything better to say either.

  “Hello,” she replied, looking up at him.

  Hunter sank to his knees, placing a trembling hand on her stomach.

  “Fawny, I,” he stammered, as tears welled up in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Fawn covered his hand with hers and met his suffering gaze.

  “It’s me that should be sorry,” she said, choking up.

  Hunter grazed the top of Fawn’s hand with the pad of his thumb.

  “The times we’re in may be broken,” he said, smiling down at her baby bump. “But I don’t see anything between us that needs mending.”

  “How could you possibly love me now?”

  Hunter pecked her lips, taking her face in his hands.

  “Because this baby girl needs a father,” he replied, kissing her belly. “Who better to do the job than a man who can’t go on living without her mother? I will love this child as my own.”
>
  EPILOGUE

  August 18, 2109

  Vance Kodel had tried his hardest to instill within the NWA’s people a better, nobler way of life. He even brought church back into their lives, hoping that God’s word would soften their hearts. Two and a half years after the battle for Stagecoach, the communication systems and electricity had been reinstated. Ten years after the switch had been flipped on the solar flare, the NWA’s people had sunk back into their old ways and soon became unmanageable.

  Eight months ago, another solar flare had hit. Vance knew it was God’s way of punishing them. Since then, the NWA’s resources and people had been scattered. It became every man for himself. Again, they put all their faith into machines, and depended solely on technology. They’d learned nothing.

  Vance and his platoon had escaped the madness of the downfall. They sought another way to survive. A way the NWA had previously tried to wipe from the earth. It was rumored that Fawn and her people had retreated deep into the woods. For six weeks, Vance and his platoon searched every inch of what he believed to be that very forest. No one knew the exact location where Fawn and her people had sought refuge.

  One year before the second solar flare hit, Vance had a strange dream. In his dream, the Commander had been thrown into a world of black and white. There was a young girl who stood barefoot in the middle of a deserted road. She had long, braided pigtails that hung over each shoulder. He recognized her as Joy, the girl who had folded a man into himself the day Vance had joined forces with Fawn. A barking pit bull sat beside her that he recognized as Stella. The only color in the dream was the coral, knee-length dress the girl wore.

  To this day, the way her arm had lifted and pointed toward the woods sent a cool chill down his spine. The words she’d spoken were seared in his memory.

  “The time is close at hand,” Joy had said. “The world you know will crash and burn. Grab who you can. Go to the woods.”

  Vance glanced at his son, who walked beside him.