56
THAIS
“So, he was lying,” said a tall man with stringy red hair. He lifted his foot and pressed Atticus’ head beneath his boot. Atticus didn’t stir against the pressure; he made no sound. Was he even breathing?
I made a run for the wall where my staff was propped, but was grabbed from behind and lifted into the air before I could reach it. My arms went out in front of me automatically; I screamed so stridently I felt a pop inside my ears.
The arm tightened around my waist the more I fought, and I twisted around in his grasp, dug into his face with all ten fingers.
“Feisty little bitch!” my captor brayed as my hands tore at his head like a wild cat.
I hoped he would drop me; I even braced myself mentally to hit the hard floor, but instead I felt the white-hot bite of his open hand against my face. Black spots sprang before my eyes, and my head swayed side to side before I could gain control of it again.
As my eyesight blurred back into focus, I saw that I was on the floor, looking up at the man. I crawled on my hands and knees toward Atticus, felt the familiar ache of loss deep in my chest and in my stomach, the same feeling I felt when I went back to the village to find my father but knew in my heart he was already dead. “Atticus!” I cried, lifting his head onto my legs; I stroked his hair. “Oh, Atticus…” A stream of tears flowed from my eyes, clouded my vision. There was blood on my fingers when I pulled my hand from his hair. I stared at it, unblinking.
Boots shuffled against the floor all around me as the men made their way through every room in the cabin; I heard the clatter of cabinet doors as they were flung open, the clinking of glass bottles, casual laughter as the men carried on about the items they’d found.
I never looked up from Atticus; I stroked his blood-soaked hair; I shielded his head with my body. I thought he was dead. It made little sense for him not to be: these men were hostile, they did not come here to trade supplies, or to make friends—they were here to pillage. And kill. And rape?
I didn’t care about any of that anymore.
A rush of breath filled my lungs again, and my heart stopped beating for the briefest of moments when I felt Atticus’ warm breath exhaling from his nostrils, filling up the confined space created by my blanket of hair as I leaned over him.
Relief swarmed me, but then was suppressed by trepidation—I feared what these men would do if they knew Atticus was still alive. I lowered myself over him even farther, hoping to shield the sight of his respiring chest with my hands and my hair.
“They’re both worth more than anything I’ve brought back in a month,” a rough, grumbling voice said from somewhere above me.
“You’re right,” grumbled another man. “The man is more than fit enough to fight”—(So they do know Atticus is alive.)—“And the girl…a bit skinny, but they all are at first.”
A heavy set of boots came walking up.
“There’s no one else in the house,” another voice announced. “They’re checking around outside—looks like these two have been here for a while.”
“What all’d you find?” said the rough, grumbling voice.
“Cigarettes, whiskey, some minor medical supplies, pills—basic shit, really.”
“And a lot of fucking bullets,” said a new voice attached to another pair of boots coming from the hallway. “Couple of guns, too.”
My heart dropped when I thought about the gun Atticus told me to always carry with me. It had been so long since I’d carried it around the cabin, or back and forth from the pond. Atticus hadn’t even said anything about me not carrying it, in some time.
Complacency. We were both guilty of it, and we both may die now because of it. An uncontrolled sob rattled through my chest, drawing the attention of the men back.
“Hey, it’s not so bad,” the red-haired man said with mock consolation. I sensed him crouching in front of me; heard the faint squeaking of his leather boots as his weight crowded and compressed them around the ankles. “I think you’ll like where you’re going,” he went on. “You may even thank me later.”
It felt like déjà vu—Marion said the same thing when he took me and Sosie from the woods. My blood went ice cold.
I raised my head from Atticus and looked up at the red-haired man.
He smiled.
I scowled.
“I won’t go back to that place,” I spat, my voice full of acid. “I’ll kill him and myself before I let you take us back to Lexington City.” It stung me to say it, but it stung even more to have meant it.
William Wolf, Rafe, Marion, any of them would kill Atticus and me the moment we stepped back on Lexington City soil. Or worse—and more likely—we’d be tortured first. I would not go back there; I would not let them take Atticus back there; I would do for Atticus what he did for his mother before I ever let that happen. How? I didn’t know, but I would figure it out if it was the last thing I ever did.
The red-haired man’s thin eyebrows crinkled in his forehead. He glanced up at the men he had been talking to, then looked back at me.
“Lexington City?” he said, appearing to have no knowledge of that place. He wore a faintly amused smile. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we have no allegiance to William Wolf.” He glanced at the men again, and they all smirked.
They were not dressed in military clothes, I noted, like the soldiers from Lexington City were. These men were dressed casually: T-shirts, jeans, work boots.
The black-haired man standing to the red-haired man’s right, chuckled. “We fight for another leader.” He rose out of a crouch. “Somebody with a bigger nut-sack.”
The men in the vicinity laughed, nodded, smiled. I held onto Atticus’ heavy shoulders tighter.
“Seems we get quite a few former residents of Lexington City over on our lands,” said the red-haired man in his rough voice.
He and the black-haired man looked at one another, nodded in agreement.
“Yes, this is true,” said the black-haired man smoothly; he reached up and rubbed his short black beard. “We welcome most of them, but they have to prove themselves before we let them in.”
I didn’t care about any of this. Yet, the red-haired and black-haired men went on and on as if I was interested.
“William Wolf is a gluttonous tyrant,” said the black-haired man. “From what we understand, he takes and takes and never gives anything back to his men, or his people.”
“A fucking communist,” the red-haired man said. “Just like that bastard who rules Phoenix”—he snapped his fingers, trying to recall—“What’s his name? Vaughn-something-or-another.”
“Levi Vaughn,” the black-haired man corrected.
“Whatever the fuck his name is,” said the red-haired man. “They’re all fucking fascist pigs who like to sit on their thrones surrounded by the spoils of war, serving their men the scraps. I don’t fight for scraps.”
“Not our leader,” said the black-haired man; he lit a cigarette, and I, looking up at his face glowing from the flame, realized he was the one who’d grabbed me—there were fresh scratch marks across his cheek just above the hairline of his beard. The flame blinked off and darkness concealed his harsh features again.
“No, our leader is a fair man,” said the older man with red hair. “We take back spoils and he divides it evenly.”
While the men appeared distracted by conversation, I covertly ran my hands over Atticus’ clothes in search of a knife or his gun. But he was empty—they’d surely stripped him of any weapons he might’ve had after they knocked him out.
The front door filled with dark shadows as the men who had gone outside returned. Others still rummaged through the kitchen; some relaxed on the sofa, digging through our backpacks.
Tired of hearing them ramble on so casually as if over their morning coffee, my head snapped around. “I really don’t care about you, or your polygamist leader”—I assumed this of all men who were leaders; my hands clamped tightly against Atticus’ shoulders—“we’re not going anywhere with you, so take what you want and leave.” I knew it was a bold statement, and not one I could so easily—or at all—back up, but defiance was all the weapon I had. Even if I could somehow make it to my staff propped against the far wall, little good it would do against so many men, and I not being practiced enough in its use.
The black-haired man laughed at my comment.
“A polygamist?” he said with surprise, and then glanced again at the red-haired man who shared his expression. He took a drag from his cigarette. “Lord Maxima is a lot of things,” he said with a grin, “but that isn’t one of them.”
“No, Lord Maxima respects women,” the red-haired man put in. “Strong women.”
The two men looked at one another, nodded in agreement.
“I bet he does,” I said, pushing the words through my teeth. “I bet he respects women so much that he does whatever he wants with them, against their will.”
The black-haired man smiled, but my attention moved sharply to Atticus.
I thought for a moment I felt Atticus move. I froze, looked down into his face, but there was no change. It’s for the better, I thought. If he wakes up now they’ll hurt him, maybe worse than before. If I can just keep them talking, keep them distracted—for what, I don’t know—maybe they’ll go away. Maybe they’ll take our gear and our weapons and just go away. Maybe, but unlikely, my gut told me.
My hands shook, but I hid them; my heart beat so fast and hard I thought surely they could hear it, but I stayed calm. I was so afraid, for myself and for Atticus, but I wore my bravest face, hoping it would not falter, because every minute that passed I felt my brave face straining under the weight of that fear.
“Lord Maxima has only one wife,” the black-haired man said. “Of course, she isn’t his only…companion, if you will.” He glanced at the red-haired man. “And I can assure you his wife, if she didn’t want to be married to him, sure as hell wouldn’t be. Isn’t that right, Driggs?” He turned to the red-haired man, apparently named ‘Driggs’. Then he dropped the half-smoked cigarette onto the floor and crushed it with his boot.
Driggs nodded, crossed his bulky arms over his chest.
“That’s right, Kade,” Driggs answered, and then his eyes narrowed; he shook his head and pushed air through his lips which came out in a faint whistle. “That woman, no way in hell could any man make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.”
Driggs and Kade laughed.
Keep them talking, I said to myself. Try to relate to them; make them have pity on you, if it’s possible.
“What is her name?” I asked, my voice nearly cracking underneath the bottled anxiety. “What kind of woman is she?” I really didn’t care what her name was, or what kind of woman she was.
The men sitting on the sofa, rummaging through our backpacks, stood up and left, took the backpacks with them. Driggs sat heavily on the sofa in their place, his weight pushing the legs across the hardwood floor about an inch. He brought his arms up and interlocked his fingers behind his head, crossed his booted feet at the ankles.
“I could use a nap before he we head back to Paducah,” he said, closing his eyes.
“Ravinia,” the black-haired man named Kade answered me. “And she’s a beast of a woman; strong and lethal like most women in our group.”
“A bitch of a woman,” Driggs chimed in, his eyes still closed. “But don’t tell her I said that.” He laughed at himself.
“Ah, she’d take it as a compliment,” Kade interjected.
“Maybe so,” said Driggs, “but I’d still rather keep it between us.” He shook his feet back and forth.
The smell of more cigarette smoke became evident on the air; the men in the kitchen were helping themselves to our stash. I heard the clinking of glass again. “Cheers!” someone said as they downed the whiskey they’d found underneath the sink.
“You’re from Paducah?” I asked.
Please go away…please just go away and leave us alone…
“For now,” Kade said, scratching his beard. “We’ve been there for about a year; got quite a setup. You’ll like it there.”
I felt my intestines tie up in one big knot. My first instinct was to go into defiance mode again, tell them I wasn’t going anywhere with them, but I fought to keep a cool head instead.
“Well, this is our home,” I said civilly, never regretting the overtime Atticus and I spent in the cabin more than I did in this moment. “We’re doing well here. I appreciate the offer, but we’re going to stay.”
“It wasn’t an offer, little lady,” Driggs said, lowered his head and looked right at me. “The two of you are coming with us whether you like it or not.”
I tensed, digging my fingertips into Atticus’ shoulders. Wake up now…please wake up, Atticus. I can’t stop what’s about to happen…I can’t stop them from taking us away—Atticus please! Wake up!
I looked at the men.
“But you said…y-you basically said that people are treated equally there,” I stuttered, “that your leader isn’t a tyrant; you said that women could do what they wanted.”
Kade’s dark smile caught my attention and I turned immediately toward him.
“No, dear,” he began. “You misunderstood. Only those who prove themselves are rewarded with perks such as equality and freedom.”
I dug my fingertips deeper into Atticus. Please wake up! You have to wake up! On the inside I was screaming, on the outside I was calm, emotionless.
Driggs got up from the couch and stretched his arms high into the air; his face distorted with a lion’s yawn.
Kade pulled his backpack around onto one shoulder, reached inside. I glimpsed something plastic, thin and white, the ends poking from the top of his fist. After shouldering the backpack again, he came toward me.
I shook my head and covered Atticus’ body with my own again.
“We’re not going anywhere with you,” I said, panic rising up in my voice.
Driggs came toward us then.
“No! No!” I screamed as Kade ripped me away from Atticus, forcing my hands behind my back. “LEAVE US ALONE! PLEASE! PLEASE JUST LEAVE US!” I thrashed in Kade’s strong grip, kicked my feet behind me, but hit only air. Soon I felt the hard strip of plastic tighten around my wrists, binding me. There was a ziiip sound as Kade pulled the strip into place where it locked.
I struggled against my bonds, tried desperately to wriggle my wrists free from the zip-tie.
“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” I roared, my voice choked with emotion.
Driggs turned Atticus onto his stomach, pulled his limp arms behind his back and tightened a zip-tie around his wrists too.
Atticus stirred, and I saw his eyelids crack open.
“Good,” said Driggs, seeing them too. “I won’t have to carry you out of here, after all.”
ATTICUS
My eyes found Thais’, and it was all the sobering I needed to wake me fully to the rest of the world.
“Let her go! You fucking let her go or I’ll kill you!” I thrashed, my arms secured painfully behind my back. I got to my knees, then to my feet, and I went toward the dark-haired man and Thais like a raging bull.
“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!” I thundered, I could actually feel my eyes blazing in my head.
There was a swift crack! to the back of my legs and I crumpled to my knees; another crack! sounded as the red-haired man who’d introduced himself as ‘Driggs’ just before he knocked me out, struck me then in the back with Thais’ staff.
Thais sobbed, and fell to her knees, too. “Please don’t hurt him! I’ll do anything you want, go anywhere with you freely, just please don’t hurt him!”
“Don’t you say that!” I roared at her across the five-foot space that separated us. “Don’t you ever give yourself up for me—don’t you fucking do that!”
“Let’s go,” the dark-haired man said. He bent over and grabbed Thais’ elbow, yanking her to her feet.
Driggs yanked me up, and I stared him down with all the hate and fury and retribution I could muster. But I stood, and I didn’t fight back, and I walked forward as Driggs shoved the end of Thais’ staff into the center of my back. I’m going to fucking kill you. I’m going to fucking kill every one of you. I felt the blood circulation cutting off from my hands as I tightened my fists behind me, the unbreakable plastic almost cutting into my flesh. My teeth ground together in my mouth, breaking the skin on the inside of my cheek. My eyes flashed, the faces of every man I had ever killed moved in front of me like macabre images on a screen, staring back at me. It wasn’t guilt I felt, but rage, the same rage I felt as I killed each one of them.
I glanced at Driggs from the corner of my eye and thought I could easily take him down, swipe his legs from beneath him and choke him to death with my own legs. But I couldn’t risk it; I knew they’d use Thais against me, and that they’d hurt her.
Thais went down the last step of the back porch, walking obediently alongside the dark-haired man; I came down with Driggs at my back, steadily poking me with the staff. Our eyes met. I’m sorry, love…I’m so sorry I let this happen.
It’s not your fault, Atticus, her eyes told me. We will get out of this…we will find a way.
The rest of the men emerged from the cabin; two came from the side of the house, one of them carried the hatchet I had been using to make Jeffrey’s canoe.
“Let’s head out!” the dark-haired man instructed.
There was a strident scream, like a crazed war cry, and the bushes rustled out ahead. Everyone stopped cold, reaching for their guns and knives.
Jeffrey burst through the woods wielding his shovel in both hands.
“You let them go! You don’t hurt Thais!”
“Jeffrey nooo!” Thais bellowed.
Jeffrey went at them, raising the shovel out beside him like a baseball bat, and when he was within range, the shovel sprang forward like a whip and cracked one man on the side of the head. He fell to his knees, covering his face with both hands; blood poured from the gash, painted his fingers red, dripped down his forearms. He writhed in pain, moaned and howled like a dog struck by a car.
“JEFFREY STOP!” Thais cried out, struggling hard against her bonds. She tried to run out after him, but the dark-haired bastard grabbed her.
I turned swiftly on Driggs and kicked him in the stomach, then took off running toward Jeffrey. “Jeffrey, don’t do it! Put the shovel down!”
I heard a thunk! and saw yellow and black dots dance across my vision, followed by a crippling sensation racing through the back of my skull. I crumpled to my knees. My first instinct was to reach up and touch where the butt of the gun had struck, but I couldn’t move my bound arms. I blinked rapidly until normal vision returned.
“They are bad men!” Jeffrey exclaimed, whirling his shovel above his head. “Grandpa says it’s okay to kill the bad men! I’ll throw them over the bluff! They shouldn’t hurt Thais! They shouldn’t hurt you, Atticus!”
Jeffrey pushed forward, his eyes blazing, his mouth wide open, the shovel heaved above his head ready to strike.
Together, Thais and I watched in paralyzed horror.
No…
No…
THAIS
A shot rang out, sharp and violent in my ears. And then all was quiet; I could no longer hear the crickets or the frogs, the beating of my own heart, the blood pumping through my veins.
Jeffrey’s shovel fell first, slipping from his grasp and hitting the ground—but it made no sound. Then Jeffrey fell, his heavy body collapsing against the grass in a heap of overalls and skin—but it made no sound. And when the shock of the moment wore off, and I screamed so loudly my throat felt like fire, not even my own voice could I hear.
The last thing I saw as I was hoisted over Kade’s shoulder were Jeffrey’s dead eyes staring up at me from the ground.