by Anna Oney
“Justin,” he said. “Head on up to the front and get an update.”
“Yes, sir,” Justin replied, nodding firmly. “Sure thing.”
The Commander watched his son run out ahead. Justin was growing to be as tall as his father. At the time of the second flare, Vance’s wife and daughter had been killed in the chaos. Vance and Justin were desperate for a fresh start. He knew everyone accompanying them was after the same thing. Slightly winded, Justin returned to his father’s side.
“Nothing new,” he said.
“Six weeks,” Vance grumbled. “Six . . . and we haven’t found anything.”
The sun had begun its descent. They needed to make camp soon. Within the first week of their quest, Vance figured they would’ve found signs of life. Here it was, six weeks later, and they hadn’t found anything. Not a trail, not a footprint, not a whisper — nothing.
I’ve led all these people to their deaths, Vance thought, clutching his automatic rifle. God . . . He shook his head. What have I done?
The shrill bark of a dog came from behind him. A rattled breath escaped his lungs.
We don’t have a dog, he said to himself.
No one else seemed to hear it as his platoon continued to move forward. Even Justin hadn’t noticed that his father wasn’t beside him anymore.
Vance took the pistol from his side and turned to face the animal. Joy was dressed in the same coral, knee-length dress she always wore. A white pit bull wearing a red collar stood beside her. Stella had dark, penetrating eyes that seemed to stare through his soul.
“You came,” Joy said.
“Yes,” he replied, lowering his pistol.
“If you’ll look above you,” Joy said, tipping her head and peering upward. “You’ll see a young lady aiming a bow at you.”
In an instant, his gaze left Joy’s. He scanned the treetops. A well-camouflaged deer stand had been placed high in the pine tree beside him. The tip of an arrow poked through the small window.
“Don’t be afraid,” Joy said. “She’s been expecting you.”
A breeze swept across Joy and Stella’s forms, taking them for a swirling ride.
“Drop your weapons,” the young lady shouted down from the tree. “And take three steps back.”
The platoon’s march came to an abrupt halt. Each of them turned around and stared in the direction of their commander who’d become distanced from them. Those who carried automatic rifles aimed them at the deer stand.
“Lower your weapons,” Vance commanded.
Nonthreateningly, he held up his pistol and eased it to the ground. He did the same with the rifle slung over his shoulder.
“Everything’s going to be fine.”
“But, Dad,” Justin protested.
“Justin, do it now.”
Once the platoon’s rifles hit the ground, the young lady inside the stand made a distinct whistle. Numerous whistles followed hers. More than a dozen people, armed with bows and arrows, stepped from behind the trees. Their clothing consisted of tanned leggings, breechcloths, furs, and tops that covered only what needed to be covered. They had the hardened look of survival etched into their faces.
Vance turned and addressed his comrades.
“Stay calm,” he said. “Nobody do anything stupid.”
A screeching from above forced Vance to turn his attention back to the deer stand. The young lady opened a latch at the bottom of the stand, releasing a long stretch of rope that touched the ground. Everyone watched in awe as the female warrior effortlessly shimmied down. The young lady was small in stature, but to have climbed down as quickly as she did, she had to have incredible upper body strength. When her feet hit the ground, Vance was tempted to clap.
The young lady stood before him. She looked gloriously surreal in her animal hides, with hazel eyes and French-braided, sandy hair.
“Who are you?” he asked, stepping toward her. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I’m your guide,” she replied, kicking up leaves as she walked to the head of the platoon. “Leave your weapons where they are and follow me.”
A few hours later, the young lady stopped and tapped her finger against something Vance could not see. In an instant, a cloudy wall appeared before them. She led Vance, Justin, and their platoon through a cocoon-like barrier. All sounds were muted. Vance felt as though he were walking through clouds.
They emerged from a canopy of trees. Birds cooed and chirped upon their arrival at the back of a two-story home with a wraparound porch. The joyful sounds of kids laughing and playing reached his ears, bringing a smile to his face. Relief passed through him, bringing tears to his eyes. It had been a while since he’d heard laughter.
A lake stretched for more than fifty miles on the left side of the house. Ducks quacked and sped across the surface of the water before taking flight. Turtles that had been sunbathing on fallen trees plopped into the water. A gust of wind swept across the lake and rippled the water, rushing it to shore.
Vance had never been to Caddo. The way the cypress trees lining the lake reflected off the water’s surface was mesmerizing. The soldiers who’d been stationed there since the NWA’s arrival in East Texas had told him it was a beautiful sight to behold. Since the battle of Stagecoach, Caddo had seemed to disappear off the face of the earth, but now, here it stood.
“Come on,” the young lady said, waving a hand over her shoulder. “This way.”
They came around the side of the house. Fruit trees had been grown in orderly rows. Four beehives buzzed behind the trees. Vance glided his tongue over his bottom lip, desiring a taste of honey. The wind wafted the fruits’ sweet perfume toward Vance. He breathed in deep, savoring the smell.
Numerous people sat around a campfire and listened to a woman, who sat on a stump. The woman’s graying auburn waves covered the length of her back, which faced Vance and his platoon. The sight of a cardinal perched on the woman’s shoulder slowed his pace behind their guide. The bird fluttered its wings, bringing its beak to the woman’s ear.
“They’re here,” the woman said, addressing the people sitting around the fire.
Vance’s knees buckled as she turned to face them.
“Fawn,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Smiling, Fawn stepped toward him, arms outstretched.
“Vance,” she said and sighed, embracing him. “It’s been a long time.”
Justin came up beside Vance, staring at Fawn.
Fawn looked Justin up and down.
“Handsome,” she said, addressing Vance. “He your son?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Vance replied, pulling Justin closer.
Fawn’s sapphire eyes shifted and glistened. He remembered a pal of his who had responded, “yes, ma’am,” and, “no ma’am,” to everything a woman ever asked him. A friend that hadn’t died well. He looked to their guide, who’d folded her arms across her chest.
“I guess you’ve met my daughter,” Fawn said, bringing their guide to her side. “Briony. Darling,” she said and paused, gliding her palm down her daughter’s braid. “Show these people to their new quarters and make sure they’re fed. Your father is waiting for them inside.”
Vance glanced at Fawn questioningly and then stared after her daughter leading his people into the house. There was no mistaking who Briony’s biological father was. The resemblance between them was uncanny. But the man he thought of had died twenty-two years ago.
Fawn widened her eyes at Vance and Justin and shook her head.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “That scowl on Briony’s face isn’t permanent. She’s just suspicious of newcomers.”
Justin spoke up, drawing Vance and Fawn’s attention.
“Ma’am,” he said, clearing his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to hear your story.” He peered into Fawn’s sapphire eyes admiringly, like he’d just met his childhood heroine. “I’ve only heard rumors.”
“We were just about to have ourselves a little story time,” sh
e replied, motioning toward her people gathered around the stump she had been sitting on. “Y’all go ahead and make yourselves comfortable. Maybe when I’m done with mine, you’ll be up for telling us yours.” She winked, bringing her palm to Justin’s cheek. “Go on, have a seat.”
Vance and Justin sat at the back of the group just as Fawn sat on the stump.
“A story must always be told from the beginning,” she began, scanning the crowd, her gaze lingering on Vance and Justin before moving on to the next person. “Mine began with three rings of a bell.”
A nudge on Vance’s shoulder drew his attention to his right.
An old friend grinned at him and tipped his head in Fawn’s direction.
“I’m glad you made it,” Blythe said.
“How—” Vance began, stunned.
Blythe brought a finger to his lips.
“No one can see me but you.”
Briony emerged on the porch and hugged the post. Vance’s old friend focused in on Briony as she looked out over the lake. The cardinal left Fawn’s shoulder and joined Briony who stood lonesome on the porch.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Blythe asked. “My daughter. Never been prouder of anything in my life.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anna Oney was always an avid reader, but it took years to finally take the plunge and write her first novel, The Leftovers of a Life. She works at VeraBank, and draws inspiration from her parents, coworkers, favorite customers, and the woods and trails behind her home. She lives on a farm in Marshall, Texas, with goats, chickens, and her four dogs, Stella, Ripley/Rambler, Rudy, and Brutus.
