25
ATTICUS
“Hello?” a voice called out.
Barely conscious of it, I stirred in my sleep.
“Hey you,” came the voice again. “Ahem.”
Realization flooded me like water rushing through a dam, and I shot bolt upright into the realm of awareness; the gun I had been sleeping on was in my hand as if by magic.
“Get back!” I roared, pointing the gun at the man and woman who stood over Thais and me.
THAIS & (ATTICUS)
I woke with a start; my eyes sprang open to sporadic beams of sunshine. I scrambled upright next to Atticus and he pulled me close. The man and woman took a few steps back, their hands raised out in front of them in surrender. The strange smiles on their faces set my nerves on edge.
“We’re not gonna hurt ya,” the woman said; long, disheveled gray-blonde hair lay over her shoulders. “Not ‘less ya try to hurt us.”
“You’re on our land,” the man chimed in, hands raised. “And this ‘ere is our barn.” He wore a blue plaid button-up shirt and a pair of blue jeans. His hair was pushed back over a receding hairline in an oily series of waves.
Atticus made a movement with the gun toward the couple; they walked backwards a few more unsteady steps.
“L-Look, we’ ain’t ‘ere to do ya’s no harm,” the woman insisted. “If ya wanna leave, ya can go, but we thought ya might wanna stay for a while.” She pointed toward the wide-open barn door; sunlight spilled into the area. “We got breakfast cookin’ on the stove—”
“What do you mean, breakfast?” Atticus cut in, suspiciously; he took two bold steps forward. “What exactly are you cooking?”
The man and woman looked at each other.
“Chicken and gravy mostly,” the woman said with an air of confusion. “What do ya’ mean?”
I stood behind Atticus, my fingers clasped nervously around the fabric of his shirt.
“We live on a farm,” the man said, and pointed toward the door. “We raise chickens and even have a milk cow. My sister ‘ere”—he glanced at the woman—“has a garden back of the house; she grows all sorts of vegetables. And we got a small pond, jus’ up that way”—he pointed to his left—“on our land ‘ere, where we catch fish and sometimes get a duck or two. But I think the ducks are gettin’ smart—they don’ come ‘round so much no more.”
“Who are you?” Atticus demanded. (I really didn’t care about their farm or their land or their ducks; I wanted to know why I shouldn’t kill them.)
I stepped from behind Atticus and came around to his side. He pushed me back with his arm.
“I’m David Doakes,” the man introduced. “And this ‘ere is Emily Bass. Like I said, she’s my sister. Was married to James Bass for a while, ‘til The Fever took ‘im—best thing that ever happened to my sister, if ya wanna know how I feel ‘bout it.”
Emily shot him with a glare. He ignored her. They seemed accustomed to quarrel.
My eyes darted back and forth between the couple and the wide-open barn door. I was expecting more people, maybe armed with guns or machetes, to come storming in any second now.
“Please, sir,” the woman named Emily said. “We ain’t lookin’ for no trouble. Leave or stay or grab some breakfast and take it with ya’s if ya want, but please put the gun down. Is all I ask.”
Emily seemed like a reasonable woman, maybe even kind. Her disheveled hair wasn’t any more disheveled than mine was; her face, though rougher and lined with age, wasn’t any filthier; her dress, which went all the way to her shins, was even more modest than the one I wore. And they carried no weapons, as far as I could tell.
I placed my hand on Atticus’ wrist, urging him to lower the gun.
He wouldn’t.
“Stay behind me,” he demanded.
I didn’t.
“Atticus,” I said, “I think if they wanted to hurt us, they could’ve easily while we were asleep. Please.”
He sighed heavily.
A shadow moved along the ground, zipping through the pool of sunlight. A long-legged dog skittered into the barn, its nose canvassing the dirt. It ran right up to Atticus first, sniffed his boot with mild interest, and then came over to me and did the same. Atticus trained the gun on the dog until it moved away from me.
“That’s Trick,” David Doakes said. “He’s harmless; already made friends with ya’s horse.”
“Where the hell is my horse?” Atticus stepped up closer, pointing the gun right at David’s forehead.
David’s eyes grew wider; he raised his hands again.
“S-She’s o-outside eatin’ the grass.” He pointed in the direction. “Jus’ look out there if ya don’ believe me.”
“Atticus, put the gun down,” I demanded this time. “Please, put it down. They’re not going to hurt us.”
ATTICUS
I thought on it a moment, going over the facts in my head, and finally came to one conclusion: If they were cannibals they would’ve eaten the dog.
I lowered the gun at my side.
Keeping Thais close, we followed the brother and sister out of the barn and into the high sun bathing the landscape. David and Emily’s land was vast—forty-five acres, they explained on the way to their house—and denser with trees; the outskirts of a forest laid out before us in a horseshoe shape, hiding evidence of anymore fields in that direction. Behind us and westward, however, nothing else could be seen other than more fields and more roads and the desolate highway we had crossed to get here.
The farm could be seen in the distance, a tiny house, like a speck of yellow engulfed by the tall green and black woods behind it. A barn smaller than the one Thais and I had slept in last night sat off to the side next to a concrete storm shelter, its aluminum-foil-like bulbous fan perched on top of the roof jutting from a mound of dirt. Opposite the barn was a stable; three goats foraged in front. And just like David had claimed, chickens skittered across the front yard; a chicken coop made of wood and wire was pressed against one side of the tiny yellow house.
Okay, so cannibalism was unlikely, I decided, but that was only one box checked off a list of the many other threats these people could pose. And I wasn’t going to let my guard down no matter how hospitable they seemed. As for me, until they could prove otherwise, Thais and I were Hansel and Gretel.
I glanced at Thais. ‘Stay close to me’ my face read.
She nodded, and then adjusted the straps of the smaller backpack she carried on her back.
Trick, the long-legged dog, zipped past us and darted onto the front porch, bony tail pointed skyward, wagging excitedly.
David climbed the few steps to join the dog, reached down and scratched it between its floppy ears.
“He wants a treat,” David said, and the dog perked up, floppy ears raised.
David reached into the pocket of his slouchy jeans, and a small, wrinkled chunk of dehydrated meat came out in his hand. He put it into the dog’s view, and then slowly set it on the porch railing. The dog followed the leathery-looking piece of meat with his eyes intently, but never went for it.
“You have enough extra food that you can spare dog treats?” Thais asked. She looked at the dog and then at David in a suspicious, sidelong manner. I did the same.
Emily stepped onto the porch, moving past David and Trick, the swish of her dress stirring about her legs. “Trick is special,” she said, heading for the screen door. “Jus’ wait and see.”
David sank into a squatting position in front of the dog and looked it straight in its beady black eyes.
“Wanna treat?” David said.
A deep bark, the booming kind that only larger dogs can make, sounded once, and then the dog sat perfectly still again on his haunches. David stood; his hand jutted out, pointing toward the field. “Brin’ one back!” he ordered, and in an instant the dog bounded off the front porch, rocketing past Thais and me, and into the field. Soon, it became a gray spot amid the yellow-green grass, and then disappeared from sight over the first distant hill.
“Trick’ll bring back somethin’,” David said with a confident nod. “Give ‘im a little while.”
The hinges on the screen door creaked as Emily pulled it open. “Come on in,” she invited with the backward tilt of her head. “I’ll introduce ya’s.”
My guard shot up—if there were more people here besides David and Emily, then that meant Thais and I were outnumbered.
Emily disappeared inside the house, the screen door shutting softly behind her, while David stood on the porch waiting for us, a look of mild question on his deeply-lined face.
“Are ya comin’ in?”
Not entirely conscious of the reaction, I took hold of Thais’ hand and went to move her behind me slowly; my free hand went toward my back where my gun was tucked in my pants.
The screen door opened and two young women stepped out.
“This ‘ere is Shannon,” David said, pointing at the scowling blonde. “She’s my daughter. And this ‘ere”—he pointed at the other girl with long, dark hair pulled into a ponytail—“is Emily’s daughter, Rachel—only good thin’ she got outta that marriage with James Bass.”
Dark-haired Rachel looked me over with a flirtatious sweep of her eyes. She wore a blouse decorated by a smattering of blue and yellow flowers; it lay open, the top four buttons left undone, making her breasts as inviting as the smile she wore.
“Nice to meet you,” she said looking only at me.
I slowly moved my hand away from my gun.
The other girl turned and went back into the house, skipping the pleasantries.
“She don’ like strangers much,” David said about his daughter, Shannon.
“I can’t say I blame her,” I admitted.
Rachel’s dark eyes continued to move over me.
Thais stepped up.
“I’m Thais,” she introduced. “And this is Atticus.”
“Is there anyone else here we should know about?” I insisted.
“Not at the moment,” David said. He opened the screen door. “Shannon’s boyfriend, Lance, is out huntin’; prolly won’ be back ‘til dark. Come on in and have some breakfast.” He gestured at us and then slipped inside the house.
Rachel waited on the porch; that smile of hers I knew meant so much more than kindness, never faltered.