Cost of Survival

by B.R. Paulson

  Chapter 18

  My fingers tightened around the leather binding of Mom’s Bible. Between the book and guns I packed into the fanny pack which detached from my backpack, I could’ve been channeling her spirit. Hoped I was.

  The cool afternoon air hinted of an upcoming storm, an occasional chill on the breeze. We were far enough north that the canopy overhead splintered the light with needles and cones.

  John smiled encouragingly at me as I approached the edge of the clearing on the far side of the drive. His plan to place Mom by the Aspen copse outside of view of the house seemed illogical until the picturesque scenery of white trunks and green coin-sized leaves fluttering in the slight wind came into view.

  Long green stalks of grass reached for the lowest branches of the trees, seed fluff bending and waving in the air.

  Dark brown dirt spotted with gray river rock had been piled neatly beside a long, three-foot deep hole. John had lined the hole with a camouflage canvas material, almost like a tarp.

  Grimacing at the place we would lay my mom to rest, I glanced toward the house. Bodey walked toward us, carrying Mom’s slight body in his arms. When had she become so small a young man could easily bear her weight?

  The sudden realization hit me that I’d missed out on a lot in the last two years, as I wrapped myself in condescension, patronizing humor, and downright disrespect for Mom and anything else resembling authority.

  Her rules had irritated me. Their constant repetition growing on my nerves with their redundancy. The more I thought about them, the smarter they were. She hadn’t followed them – at least the trusting-no-one rule.

  Oh, as well as the one which clearly stated stay alive. Couldn’t forget how she ditched that particular rule.

  What I wouldn’t give to hear her repeat those rules again. And again. And again.

  I fingered the corner of her well-read Bible. Her favorite scripture had been highlighted and tagged and even notated with her own comments in the margins. Hopeful I could read the verse over her body before we lowered it. I moved to stand beside John.

  Bodey rounded the two of us, pushing through the collection of weeds and grasses. He set her on the ground, wrapping her completely with a faded quilt, covering her face with the corner.

  “Wait.” I rushed forward, shifting the blanket from her skin to see that she was gone. I had to make sure. She looked so peaceful, even her bruises and scrapes seemed faded as the skin around her eyes wasn’t tight and her mouth wasn’t surrounded by lines.

  “Do you want to say a prayer or anything?” John’s murmur set the tone of reverence and I nodded, replacing the blanket and returning to his side. Gratitude filled me, someone else took the reins of the distasteful affair. I never attended a funeral or a memorial service before.

  Dad and Braden had died when everyone else was dying. We spoke of them in our living room, with curtains blocking out the light for two days. Most of the houses in the nation and the world had done the same as they lost one or more of their family members.

  We weren’t special.

  In the forest, we weren’t any different. Except, we were going to bury Mom. So many other people would never see their loved ones put to rest.

  I didn’t have any tears left, at least not right at that second. Mom’s passing in my arms had sucked me dry and with her face covered she almost disappeared – became less her and more absent.

  We bowed our heads and folded our hands. Was I supposed to say it? Or was he going to?

  I parted my lips, not sure what to say but certain the words would come to me. They had to, right?

  A shot echoed off the house and trees. John pushed at Bodey’s shoulder and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me down beside him on the ground. We hid behind the brush lining the clearing, catching glimpses of the backs of men as they surrounded the house.

  One of the dogs yelped as a man kicked him. His gun came up fast and he rang off another shot, dropping the animal I had been so excited to see.

  The man laughed, kicking the downed body across the dirt. That laugh. That voice. I scooted backward until the soft, newly dug dirt cushioned my grasping fingers.

  Meeting John’s questioning gaze with my own, I shook my head with short jerks and swallowed.

  Charlie had found me. How? I’d been so careful. I waited in that stupid roundabout until no one had been around. What was he doing at the Christianson home?

  The other men with him pushed doors open and stomped through the house. Bodey crab-walked to my side and gripped my hand. He murmured softer than the grass rustling in the breeze. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.”

  Another shot from inside the home.

  “They got Abigail.” Their other dog. Bodey’s words were louder, but not by much. He moved to get his legs under him and stand.

  John pressed his hand to Bodey’s chest. His whisper held more firmness than if he yelled. “Stay. Nothing is worth getting shot.” He motioned for us to sit calmly. “We’ll wait until they leave. We’re okay here.”

  We sat, waiting for the men to leave. Each gunshot brought a flinch and finally closed my eyes to wait them out.

  A whoop from the back of the shop made me look. A different guy charged from the garage toward Charlie, holding a pack – Mom’s pack – above his head.

  Charlie roared, yanking the bag from his man’s hands. “She’s here. They’re here. Find them. I want them found, now!” The men scattered like chicken, as if somehow the secret to Mom’s whereabouts lay in the front yard of the house or the deck. They searched like small children, walking back and forth.

  Brandishing a pistol, Charlie stormed through the group of eight men. “If you don’t start looking, I’m going to shoot one of you. Then another. I want them found.”

  I bit my lip. Charlie wouldn’t give up. He would search until he destroyed everything or found us.

  Smoke furled around the northern-most corner of the house. I glanced at John. His jaw clenched, his forearms tight and rippling.

  “Dad, they’re burning our home. Our things.” Bodey’s tortured gasp matched the sickening twist in my gut. His whisper hurt my chest.

  Because of me. I bit my lip, then murmured, “I can go. He might stop, if he has me.”

  John placed his hand on my arm. “No. If those men want you, they’ll have to find you and get through us.” He pushed Bodey’s chest. “Go. Get past the back corner. We’re prepared for this.” He glanced back over the grasses. “Follow him, Kelly. Let’s go.”

  He angled his head to block my straying gaze. “Don’t look back. Just go.” Sadness flattened under his resolve, his strength enabling me to move and do as he said.

  Bodey crawled past the grave and Mom. He didn’t stand until well into the forest and out of sight of the house. John passed me as I slowed beside my mom’s body. I didn’t want to leave her. I didn’t want to say goodbye on Charlie’s terms. She was my mom and I hadn’t been able to save her. She died because of me.

  John paused beside me. He patted Mom’s shoulder and then mine. Keeping his voice low, his words washed over me. “I’m not your mom or your dad, Kelly, but I promise to watch over you like my own.” He bent his head and murmured to my mom. “I’ll watch over your daughter. We need to leave though, so it’s goodbye for now.” He touched her head and met my gaze.

  Tears I thought dried up wet my eyes. I nodded at him, sniffing. Tucking her Bible into the fanny pack, I leaned down and kissed the quilt over her face. I didn’t want to see her blank expression or limp features.

  Following John, I didn’t look back. There was nothing for me there.

  Not anymore.