From the Shadows (The Light Book 3) Page 5

  “Jonah was drugged. It didn’t count,” Blaise said.

  “I was there. He wasn’t that drugged. It counted,” Josh said.

  Jonah’s body was now shaking with silent laughter.

  “Whatever. They kissed. That’s what he meant by the next level,” she said in exasperation.

  “Not that exciting,” Josh said, as if we weren’t there.

  She slapped his shoulder again.

  “Owwww,” he whined in great exaggeration. “Seriously, stop hitting me. You are way stronger now and it hurts.”

  “Did it really hurt?” she said, her tone softening as she touched his shoulder.

  “A little,” he said, trying to sound tougher.

  “I’m sorry.” She leaned toward him and kissed him.

  Jonah squeezed my hand and leaned closer to me. Josh and Blaise were a good couple. They were honest with each other, both in their irritation and their love.

  “It’s okay,” Josh murmured as he kissed her.

  Jonah cleared his throat as Josh and Blaise continued to kiss.

  “Oh, sorry. Forgot you guys were here,” Josh said as he pulled away from Blaise.

  “We brought some food,” she said, and held up a plate for us.

  I picked up a piece. “What is it?” I asked as I took a bite and struggled to chew the slimy vegetation and rubbery meat.

  “Roast frog wrapped in lily pads,” Blaise answered.

  “Mmm,” I said, drinking from a mason jar to clear what remained of the frog from my throat.

  “It’s good, right? Everyone in town loved the combination,” Blaise said.

  “Yeah,” I lied.

  “That good, huh?” Jonah was still holding the slippery wrap between his fingers.

  “I’ve eaten worse,” I said.

  “That’s not saying much.” He took a bite. “It’s not bad. A little chewier than you’d expect.” He took the jar from my hand, taking a big gulp to force the food down.

  Josh chuckled. “That’s exactly what East said.”

  “Where’s the girl?” I asked, scanning the area for our missing shadow.

  Josh said, “It turns out she is quite the dog lover.”

  “She’s been holding the furry little puppies all morning,” Blaise said. “We asked if she wanted to come with us, but apparently even you two can’t compete with the adorableness of puppies.” Blaise giggled.

  “It also turns out your sister is definitely not a dog lover,” Josh said, turning to glance at Jonah. “Even the little furry babies terrify her.”

  Jonah chuckled. “No, East is definitely not a dog lover, but”—in a suddenly serious voice he added—“she has good reason.”

  He didn’t offer further explanation and his tone made it clear that even if we asked, he wouldn’t tell us.

  Blaise asked, “Has Sara come out?”

  “No,” I said.

  “She needs to eat,” Blaise said, rising and going toward the quarantine hut.

  As I swallowed the second wrap, Blaise tapped on the wood of the hut. “Sara?” Blaise called in a loud whisper.

  A moment later, Sara pulled the blanket-door back. She had the same haggard expression her mom wore the night before.

  I offered her the plate of food. She took a wrap and forced the food into her mouth. Long gone were days when emotions kept us from eating. If there was food, we ate it regardless of how we felt at that moment.

  “How’s your sister?” Blaise asked, love and concern in her voice.

  “The same,” Sara said, swallowing the food. “And now Mom’s sick,” she said in exhaustion.

  “Your mom,” I whispered, thinking of Faith lying on the dirt floor.

  Sara leaned her head against the thin wall, as if she could fall asleep right there. How long had it been since she’d slept? At least twenty-four hours, and I was sure the closer we got to the possibility of finding her family, the less she had been sleeping.

  “After I got here,” Sara said, “she said she needed to lie down for a minute. She was asleep as soon as she hit the quilt. I kissed her on the forehead and it was like kissing fire. She hasn’t moved. I keep placing wet rags on her forehead and fanning her. She’ll moan sometimes, but that’s it.”

  I wanted to say something comforting like, I’m sure it’s nothing, or She’s just tired and there’s no way she has what Sage has, but my words would be lies and Sara would know that—even if she wanted to believe them.

  “Your mom’s a fighter,” I said, which was the truth.

  “Yeah, she is.” Sara nodded.

  “What can we do?” Blaise asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Sara said, pushing the hair back from her face. “Sage is less hot than she was, I guess, but still totally out of it. Mom is getting worse.”

  “Here, have them drink this. It might help.” Blaise handed Sara a mason jar filled with floating flowers.

  “What is it?” Sara unscrewed the lid and smelled the contents.

  “Dandelion tea. Mom used to make me drink it. She said it helps detoxify the liver. I don’t understand what that means, exactly, but it’s worth trying,” Blaise said.

  “Thanks,” Sara said, closing the lid.

  “And this is for them too,” Josh said, handing her another mason jar filled with a murky liquid. “It’s bone broth.”

  Sara’s eyes filled with tears and I wondered if she was remembering what I was remembering. Nonie with her wrinkled face and clear blue eyes forcing each of us to drink a cup of bone broth each Sunday, whether we wanted to or not. “Take it and drink it,” she would say, handing each of us a cup of the cloudy broth. “I don’t care if you like it. As long as I am on this earth, you will drink at least a cup a week.”

  I had learned not to argue with her about bone broth or Mass. She had the same response to both: “It’s good for you.” Her normally gentle demeanor was replaced by a forcefulness that no one could question.

  I missed her. I missed all of them.

  “Thanks,” Sara whispered, taking the jars and holding one in each hand.

  “Did you sleep at all last night?” Blaise asked her.

  Sara slowly moved her head from side to side.

  “I’ll take over for you while you catch a nap,” I said, moving forward.

  Sara stepped back and held up a hand, jostling the liquid in the jar. “You can’t. You heard the people last night. You heard how many this has killed. No one besides me is going in there.”

  “I don’t care if I get sick,” I said, continuing forward.

  “But I do,” Sara said, her eyes tired and pleading.

  I stepped back. “Try and rest, okay?” I said, scared by the exhaustion in my friend.

  “I’ll try,” she said, offering the faintest of smiles.

  I tried to force a smile, but failed.

  Sara stepped back into the darkness of the hut. “Thanks for these,” she said as the blanket fell, separating her from us.

  We stood there as minutes passed. None of us wanted to leave her, but each knew we could do nothing.

  Eight

  East stood at the center of an old metal folding table, Jael beside her. They were flanked on each side by men and women; some I’d seen last night, others I didn’t remember. The table had maps spread over it. Some were real maps made and printed before the light, the kind that could be folded into a rectangle. Several of them were ours, found in houses along the way. Others were hand drawn—by whom, I didn’t know.

  The scene reminded me of walking into the altered corner store, holding hands with Trent, as we met his commander and the large man who would later bounce Jonah’s body across the pavement. I shuddered at the memory.

  “Are you okay?” Jonah whispered from beside me.

  “Just a bad memory,” I said.

  “You’re safe now,” he said softly, but I couldn’t help wondering if he was right. I was fairly certain that these people, in this town, were not a threat. Did that mean we were safe? Was that even possible
in our new reality? Had it ever been possible?

  East lifted her head as we neared the table.

  “How’s Sara’s mom and sister?” she asked anxiously.

  Tears began to fill my eyes. “Her mom is sick now too,” I said.

  The understanding of what that meant overwhelmed me. Jonah must have heard it in my voice. He placed his hand around my shoulder, pulling me against him. It felt good and natural to be beside him. I sniffed and lifted my head, straightening my body. He allowed his hand to rest on my shoulder for a moment before dropping it to his side. I knew instinctively that he wanted to tell me it was going to be okay, but I also knew he wouldn’t lie. He was silent.

  Jael dropped her gaze to the maps at the table. She rubbed her nail against a spot where the paint had chipped from the table, revealing raw silver beneath.

  “Faith is sick too?” a woman beside Jael asked, her face turning pale.

  Jonah nodded.

  The woman’s hand wrapped tight around her stomach. “I’ll get some more broth,” she said, choking out the words. She went briskly to a group gathered near the large rectangular fire pit. I realized now it was an outdoor oven. Others sitting there watched her approach. She spoke and then was engulfed with arms offering support and tears.

  “Her daughter died a week after my husband,” Jael said with quiet emotion.

  I wondered how she could be that strong, to say those words. How could the woman at the oven? How could anyone?

  Not everyone who was married loved one another or even liked one another. Many of my friends’ parents were together because it made the most economical sense or presented the best picture to the outside world. It was obvious to everyone; those sorts of lies always were. But Jael loved her husband, that was also clear, and yet she was somehow standing there picking at peeling paint in the middle of a forest? How did she not die when he did, like the old man who laid down beside his wife to take his last breath? How had Nonie not done the same when Pops left the world? But Nonie had us and she loved us. We, especially Quinn, were what kept her alive. We needed her and we loved her. Perhaps it was the same for Jael. Perhaps there was a reason she did not give up and lose all hope.

  Perhaps it was the hugs and support of friends and neighbors that kept the woman at the oven alive as her child died. I didn’t know what it was like to love a child of my own. I knew how I felt for JP and Quinn and even the girl. I would offer my life to save any of theirs, but I was sure that wasn’t how a parent who truly loved felt. I was sure a parent who loved would walk through fire, knowing the flesh would be burned from their bones, if it meant even a chance their child might live. I was sure this woman had been such a parent and yet there was nothing she could do. No barter she could make. Her child had died, and she was forced now to exist in a world without her. Both she and Jael were doing it. They were stronger than I could ever be.

  Jael’s fingers moved from the paint to the map. It was hand drawn, of the beltway and the area within it. She cleared her throat. It was time to move on—beyond the past, into the present.

  “Here, this is where the tunnel was,” East said, picking up a pencil and marking the map with an X.

  “That’s good,” a man with a splotchy beard said. “It’s a nice distance from where you said the headquarters are.”

  “What are you doing?” Jonah asked. He was trying to mask the concern in his voice, but I heard it, and I was sure East did as well.

  Jael answered, “We are mapping out DC, to better understand what’s there.”

  “This area here is surrounded by houses. Once you get through to the inside, there is a parking garage that can provide cover,” East said.

  “But once you’re on the inside you’re trapped, like an animal in a cage,” I said, wishing my voice was not quivering.

  “There are plenty of places to hide and plenty of others hiding,” Jael said. “Haz was giving us that information before Momma Pryce called him in.”

  I glanced toward the hut Jael had turned to. It was in the center of the semicircle, with a window in the front, one of the few with a window. A figure paced inside … Haz.

  “Bria is right,” the man with the splotchy beard said. “The wall is a barrier. It needs to come down.”

  “Come down?” another man said. “How can we do that?”

  “There’s no shortage of military bases or airports. We can find what we need there,” he said with his arms folded.

  “Could you do that, Ash? Bring down the wall if you had the right supplies?” Jael asked.

  A confident smirk formed on the man’s face. “Yes, I could do that.”

  “So, your plan is to bomb DC?” Jonah said. He forced an expression of confusion, though I could sense the anger beneath it.

  “No, we have no official plan. We are exploring options,” Jael responded.

  “Then I suggest you explore some alternatives,” Jonah said.

  “Why is that?” Ash said, folding his arms.

  “Because that makes no sense,” Jonah answered.

  East stood straighter. “Why? Because you didn’t think of it?” She countered.

  “Please, I’m not that narcissistic and you know it,” Jonah answered.

  He was right; she did know it.

  “You can’t, with …”—he swiveled his head—“thirty, maybe forty people, attack the remains of the US military.”

  “We aren’t going to do that. At least not in a blatant way,” Ash said.

  “But DC is your target?” Jonah said.

  “Where else should it be?” Jael asked, her posture firm.

  “I don’t know, but not the center of the government’s stronghold,” Jonah said, exasperated.

  “Why does there need to be a target?” I asked, aware that my opinion in the matters of war meant nothing.

  Jael rolled her eyes, and I felt my face burn with embarrassment.

  “You were there,” East answered. “You know what it’s turning into. That can’t be what our country becomes.”

  “I was there. There were some awful people …” I forced myself to say his name. “Trent was one of them, but there were good people too. Most of the soldiers were there because they didn’t have a choice, or felt like they didn’t. And Dr. Mudd and the slaves … those people aren’t bad. Many of them aren’t even doing bad things. If you or anyone else goes in there blowing up the walls, the result is going to be death, and it won’t be the death of the people in charge. It never is. It will be death of the innocents, or those following orders. It always is.” The words were coming from somewhere deep inside me.

  After several long seconds of silence, Jael said, “What do you suggest?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, “but you won’t change the world using violence, at least not for the better.”

  “You know Jael and I are military,” Ash said, his fingertips on the metal table.

  I shook my head. I was stupid for telling people who are trained warriors not to fight.

  “And because of that,” Jael said, “we know you are right. We will continue to consider options. Attacking DC is one of them, but perhaps there might be alternatives that we haven’t thought of.”

  “What we also know,” Ash said, “is that we have a duty to our country. Our real country, not the one they are creating.”

  “I think we all have that sense,” Jonah said, “though perhaps it is stronger in you.”

  “Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t,” Jael offered.

  After a moment, I turned from the table.

  “Where are you going?” Jonah asked quietly.

  “I want to find the girl,” I said. While that was true, it was also true I wanted to get away from this gathering of warriors. I was not one and I didn’t belong there.

  “Tell her hi for me,” Jonah said as he turned back to the table.

  I was glad he stayed behind. Trent wouldn’t have. He always had to know where I was. This was a minor thing, exploring the town by myself, but it was mor
e than Trent ever would have let me do.

  A boy and a girl approached me, carrying buckets sloshing with water. They stopped at the large oven, where some adults were skinning animals and others were cooking. A man was instructing three others in pulling the skin of a deer tight between two trees, tying it every few inches with rope, to stretch the hide. They were preparing to tan it. Jasper stood near, wagging his tail. With the layers of meat and fat that those tanning the hide were about to remove, and the entrails—which I’d eaten only on our hungriest days in the coldest part of winter—the dog would have plenty. The exception would be the brain of the deer, which would be used in the tanning process. How I longed for the days when I didn’t know where every scrap of food and leather came from.

  On the ground beside the oven sat more buckets. The boy helped the girl pour her bucket into the first. When they were done, the girl lifted a muddy cloth from the bucket. The mud was placed back in her own bucket. She then helped the boy do the same with his bucket. Once they were done, they carried their buckets of mud toward two little children and a woman with a baby strapped against her chest.

  “Here you go, Jackson,” the girl said as she placed the mud into a tiny bucket that sat between Jackson and the small girl.

  “What do you say?” the woman with the baby said.

  “Thank you,” the girl said.

  “Thank you,” Jackson whispered.

  “You’re welcome,” the teenage girl said as she tussled Jackson’s blonde curls.

  “Momma, can we paint now?” the little girl said.

  “Yes, my dear,” the woman said, standing and stepping back as the two children grabbed scoops of mud and threw them at the side of the house, squealing in delight. They did it again and again until the mud was gone. Then they used their tiny hands to smear the mud over the walls.

  “Remember to paint extra good in the cracks between the wood,” their mother said.

  I glanced from house to house. Each had this mud “paint” on its walls, though only some had it up to the roof.

  “It’s a good use of their time and helps add a small amount of insulation to our homes,” a man with white hair said from beside me.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” I said, realizing I had been watching the children more closely than I had intended.