Awaken (4 page)

I have to get out of here! I have to
find gra’da and Ben! Blindly I reach out, start feeling around. My
muddled brain tells me I must be in the storm cellar ‘cause I can
smell the familiar scent of damp earth mixed with dried herbs. I
move real slow, my hands out in front of me in the dark. I need to
find the steps to the hatch. I keep moving, scuffing my feet in the
dirt and finally my boot hits something solid. The steps. I crawl
up them on my hands and knees ‘til my head brings up into the hatch
creating a whole new wave of pain. I ignore it and start pushing on
the wood cover blocking my way. It don’t open. I push again, harder
this time.

Nuthin. There must be something lying
on top of it, weighing it down. I try to keep my panic under
control but the blackness is pressing in on me making it hard to
breathe. I push on it again with all my might then start ramming it
with my shoulder, putting all my weight behind it. Each jolt is
causing me so much pain I think I just may black out again. But
finally I hear something shift and the hatch flies open. I’m
instantly blinded by light and my arms go up to cover my
eyes.

Smoke! I can smell smoke. Blinking away
tears I try to see what’s happening around me. Everything’s all
hazy but I reckon it has to be ‘cause of the smoke. I crawl out of
the cellar and push the overturned water barrel out of my way. That
must have been what was covering the hatch, keeping it down. I
stand upright, sway a little, try to get my bearings. The smoke is
all around me, burning my eyes, my throat. I realize then that it’s
coming out of the shanties. Some of them are even starting to fall
in on themselves. Oh gods! I start coughing and pull my wrapper
over my nose and mouth.

I peer through the haze. I don’t see
nobody…where are they?

“
Gra’da! Ben! Hey!” My voice
is loud in the dead quiet. “Shelly! Molly! Anybody?”

There ain’t no answer. I take a couple
of steps through the ghostly wisps of smoke but I cain’t see a
soul.

“
Ben! Gra’da….can anybody
hear me?”

I’m screaming now but I cain’t help it.
I’m scared. Why ain’t anybody answering me? I stumble to our
shanty. The roof is all fallen in and there’s smoke bellowing out
the open door. No, gra’da ain’t in there, I tell myself. He cain’t
be. He and the others, they must have gone somewhere safe, I think.
I just have to find them. I run to the next shanty, and the
next….still calling out their names.

The smoke is over powering, it’s hard
to see, to breathe, but I don’t stop, I’m desperate to find
somebody.

I make my way to Lou’s shanty at the
edge of the riverbed. His copper still is knocked down, all broken
and twisted.

“
Lou’s gonna be pissed,” I
think dully.

There’s still flames burning inside the
shanty but I run right up to it anyways calling out his name,
hoping for an answer.

That’s when I see them.

They’re spread along the edge of the
riverbed like everyone of ‘em lay down to take a rest all at the
same time. All in a line so neat that maybe, I’m thinking, maybe
they are sleeping, even though the pain blossoming in my chest is
saying else wise. I don’t want to go any closer but my feet start
moving on their own as if they belong to someone else.

“
No, no, no, no!”

A miserable wailing reaches my ears and
it takes me a moment to figure out the sound is coming out of
me!

Lou is the first I see. His arm is
lying across his chest and his sightless eyes are staring up at the
sky like he was just cloud watching. There’s a dark red stain
spread out underneath his arm. My chest tightens and I start
gasping for air, but I keep looking.

I see Shelly lying where she fell, all
bloody and still. Thomas is crumpled over her, like he was trying
to protect her. Then Ben’s ma and pa. They’re holding hands but
their eyes are open. Lifeless. Dead. At the sight of them my legs
go out from under me and I fall to my knees.

I cain’t look no more! I want to
scratch my eyes out so as not to look at them anymore! But my eyes
don’t listen to my brain and they keep searching ‘til they find the
familiar face.

Gra’da!

I crawl to him on my hands and knees,
the sharp rocks biting into my palms but I don’t even feel it. I
realize I’m sobbing his name as if expecting an answer. I grab his
hands, they’re still warm! Maybe he’s okay, I think, even though
he’s got the same bloody hole in his chest like the others. I cover
the wound with my hand, willing him to be okay…just like when he
was real sick. I willed him better then, I can do it again. Come on
gra’da…wake up, wake up…..wake up damn it!

He don’t wake up.

Feels like there’s a knife twisting in
my chest….ripping me open! I ain’t ever felt such pain! Surely my
heart will burst from the pain!

“
No gra’da…” I whisper. I
rub his face, his whiskers are rough against my hand. His blue eyes
are open….staring. I close them gently, kiss his forehead. I ain’t
even realized I was crying ‘til I see my tears splash onto his
cheek.

The pain overtakes me. It hurts so bad!
I wrap my arms around him and lay beside him, hoping….wishing for
the pain to take me too. I close my eyes. I don’t want to look no
more. I don’t want to see any more dead faces of the people I love.
I don’t want to see Ben’s brown eyes with the light all snuffed
out.

Some time passes…. I don’t know how
long I laid there. I cain’t rightly say I would have ever got back
up but through the mist of pain I hear my name! It’s all low and
choky like somebody was trying to talk through a mouth full of root
wad, but I hear it!

“
Tara…”

I sit up, listening. I start to think
my mind is playing tricks on me when I hear it again. Then a slight
movement on my right…. somebody is moving! It’s Molly! I crawl to
her, reaching for her like she’s a lifeline. I grab her hand,
bawling again….so overcome that somebody is still alive!

“
Molly!”

She has the same chest wound as gra’da,
as the others. I know it’s an iron shooter that’s caused it, and I
know chances ain’t good she’ll make it…but for now she’s
alive.

“
They didn’t get….you
girl….good...” she says.

“
Shhhh,” I say to her.
“Don’t try to talk…save your strength.”

She pats the hand holding hers as if
she is trying to comfort me!

“
Don’t fret…’bout me
child…my time…is passed…” She’s gasping for air and her chest is
making this awful gurgling sound. I shake my head and try to shush
her again but she ain’t done.

“
They took…the young’uns…but
not you...” she says. She gets a coughing fit then and blood sprays
from her mouth all down the front of my tunic. I wipe the blood
from her mouth with my sleeve.

“
Molly…just stay with
me….please!” I beg desperately.

She grips my hand so tight it hurts me.
I cain’t understand how she has such strength…there’s so much
blood! Her eyes burn into mine something fierce.

“
I seen it….aye I did… I
knew you…was special, child….they’re gonna need you…to show ‘em the
way...”

That was all. She don’t talk no more.
She sighs gently and I watch as the light in her eyes just…fades
away. Her hand, so strong earlier, goes limp and I shake it
fiercely.

“
Molly!” I cry.
“Molly!”

It don’t do no good. She’s
gone.

I kiss her calloused palm and lay her
hand gently by her side. A sob escapes me. I hurt, all over. I’m so
full of pain…fear. I wanna scream. Scream ‘til my throat bursts
just to get out some of the anger and hurt I’m feeling inside! I
run my hands through my hair, look around….alone... lost. I don’t
know what I should do now. I don’t know….

Then slowly Molly’s words break through
my paralyzing grief and I recall what she said.

“
They took the young’uns.”
They took them!

I force myself to stand, to make my way
through the line of death. I look at every loved face lying there.
Everybody I’d ever known my whole life is lying there ….but not
young Thomas! Not Jane! Not Ben!

My legs go numb again but this time
from relief. They’re still alive! A strangled laugh escapes me at
the thought but right away I cover my mouth with my hand, stifling
the sound. I instantly feel ashamed for feeling any kind of
happiness. How can I feel happiness when everybody else is gone?
Dead. I stagger away from the death around me, stare at the
horizon, at the sinking sun….anything but the carnage. It’s going
to be dark soon, I think. The day is almost done. My born day…I had
forgot. I look down at my tunic, at my gift from Ben, hoping that
somehow to see its beauty would erase some of the horror burned
into my brain. Instead all I see is blood. Gra’das…Mollys…I’m
covered in it.

I bend over, grab my knees to keep from
falling, and retch on the ground. I retch ‘til there ain’t nuthin
left and the dry heaves take over. Finally, I spit and wipe a shaky
hand cross my mouth. Suddenly all I want to do is go! Get away from
the bloodshed, the death. But I know I cain’t. I cain’t leave them
like that, I think dully. It ain’t right to leave ‘em all out in
the open so as the crows and vultures can shite on them and pick
out their eyes…and worse. The thought of it makes my stomach heave
again. But I know there ain’t no way I’m going to be able to dig
graves for them all and bury them…not by myself.

I mull it over in my head. I look to
the shanties. They’re still smoking some but the flames have all
died out. Were only the things inside that could burn anyways and
none of them had much. Then I realize that one of ‘em don’t seem to
be smoking at all. In all the haze and confusion earlier I ain’t
noticed before. It don’t seem to have been set aflame like the
others…why?

The door of the shanty is all but torn
off and I can see the torch that had been tossed in lying on the
wooden table. It had scorched the table some but it never caught
before the torch snuffed out. Nuthin but luck that this one didn’t
burn like the rest.

It’s Shelly and Thomas’ shanty. I step
slowly inside and right away my eyes are pulled to the cold hearth.
I swear I can all but see us young’uns sitting there, listening all
wide eyed while Thomas tells us spook stories, making us squeal in
fright. He sure could tell a good story, I think. Then, almost
angrily, I shake my head to clear the images away. I ain’t got time
for that, not now. I stride purposefully to the hearth where I know
a candle and flint are kept and I take them both. I need to go down
into the storm cellar and I’m going to need these to light my
way.

My slingbag is lying on the cellar
floor like I was hoping, as was my crossbow and even my
hat….everything I had on me when gra’da put me down here. I check
to make sure my waterskin and knife are still in the bag, they are.
I start packing the bag with the little supplies left in the
cellar. Enough jerky and dried taters to last me a couple of weeks
maybe if I ration it, a few medicinal herbs, there wasn’t much. I
haul it all out of the cellar then go back for the last two jugs of
‘medicinal’ whiskey Lou kept here for emergencies, brewed from a
good corn harvest a few years back. I take them, one in each hand.
I was going to need ‘em for what I was planning.

I take everything I had gathered back
to the shanty and apologize in my head to Thomas and Shelly for
what I am about to do. I strip the beds in the shanty, roll up the
two heaviest of the blankets and tie them to my slingbag. Next I go
rooting through the clothes chest. I find a couple of Shelly’s worn
dresses and some of Jane and young Thomas’ things, those I put
aside with the other blankets. I find a clean tunic of Thomas’ and
exchange it for the one I’m wearing….I cain’t stand having their
blood on me anymore. I take his wolfling skin cloak too but this I
pack in my slingbag.

Done with the chest I move on to the
hearth. I find four root biscuits just sitting there as if Shelly
was planning on warming ‘em for their evening meal. The sight of
them makes me want to bawl again but instead I grab ‘em and throw
‘em in my slingbag before I change my mind. Another waterskin and
Thomas’ hunting knife are lying there too. It’s a big knife, bigger
than mine, nice and sharp. Thomas took real good care of it. I use
the big knife to cut all the clothes and blankets I had gathered
into strips. I hack at the cloth with a simmering anger, but it
don’t help to lessen my hurt none. All it does is make me feel more
guilty about what I was doing to Shelly and Thomas’ things…but then
I remember they ain’t gonna need ‘em. Not anymore. Not ever.
Annoyed at the tears that are threatening to fall again I push on
my eyelids with enough force to make me see black spots. It seems
to work. I don’t cry.

I take some of the strips and tie the
knife sheath to my thigh, nice and tight. I feel I should keep this
knife handy. The rest I start soaking in the whiskey brew. Now for
the hard part.

The moon is sitting high in the night
sky by the time I’m done my gruesome task. I had moved all my kin
…I didn’t want to think of ‘em as bodies. I had moved them all as
close together the best I could manage and stuffed the spaces
between ‘em with twigs and kindlin’ from the wood pile and the
strips of soaked cloth. Some of the bigger strips I had used to
cover all their eyes. I couldn’t stand to have to look at their
eyes while I was doing what I was doing. I take the left over
whiskey and pour it all over their clothes, glad for the darkness
hiding the worst of their wounds from me. Finally I am
done.