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Sandra would be twenty-one now. The oldest, a natural leader. Take charge personality, fearless. Harden by the times. By abuse. Now a self-proclaimed “regional governor” with a daughter. The father unknown. She never had the chance that day to hear the truth. The facts. Her security team, eliminated. Betrayed, now determined to find me, seeking retribution, my death, the team’s termination. Now the overseer, a governess, with a small army? Living six miles away in a secured facility surrounded by a high wall, topped with barbed wire and towers filled with armed guards. Spies nearby, hiding, observing the communities’ every movement, followed every time the Scout Team exited the Well. Agents, bounty hunters, professionals watching and waiting. And a standing ultimatum: kill anyone daring to wander about the Well. It’s crazy, people killed hustling across the campus. Innocent bystanders, collateral damage.
Once visitors invited in for an evening of rejuvenation, a meal and entertainment, a source of capital. Supplies and or silver rounds to barter in trade. The word spread quickly. Approach the Well at your own risk. Do not expect to walk away. Even our neighbors remain at arm’s length. Our most recent acquisition, vacated while folks return, increasing our numbers. We’re now look upon as pariah, the source of everyone’s misery.
Set up by her sister, Susan, a pawn, manipulated by a broken agreement, I wonder what resulted from that blotched meeting? “White flag” stained with blood, lives taken. Even I was a victim of the rouse.
What recent contact has Sandra sought with her younger? Is that relationship now dissolved? If so, the intended message, the facts, truth, any trust, if it had a chance of acknowledgment, crushed. She will continue to hold on to her disdain, her hatred and I doubt, to be honest, my demise will not, could not, remove her pain. It will be a lie haunting her forever.
And what about Susan? Nineteen now. Quiet. Thoughtful. Industries. We blindsided her by interjecting our plan, or, more specifically, Addison’s plan, the team’s plan. What happens should I appear at her doorway? Perhaps Cord should reach out. He seems to have made a connection. Seems awkward considering the age difference, a father-daughter connection.
Life is complex at the best of times. A world broken, lives broken, everyone seeking something concrete to grasp. An ideology, a community, a hope that can sustain their existence. A social calendar.
For me, a group with a common cause. We follow direction, traveling about finding scrapes. Each carrying pain that somehow by chance brought us together, escaping a past, attempting to add value to the Well, while oddly willing to crush anyone who should object to our intrusion in theirs. What are our options, our goal, survival? Addison’s word drifts to the surface. This is our family. True for now, but change is inevitable. We all live on borrowed time.
Then there is Addison. After losing my family, I had done my best to keep everyone at arm’s length. Like Emily, a warm body. But she is slipping into my heart. A warmth not felt for years, compartmentalize, but feelings squeezing under the door. This should not be. I cannot handle more loss. The storm moves closer, the wind increasing, voices from behind, concern voices reminding all to secure our possessions. Tie it down. Lightning cracks on a nearby ridge, sparks fly, the air vibrates. The smell of the creosote bush filling the air. Musky, earthy smell released from the coating on its leaves. Spanish name is hediondilla, loosely translated to little stinker. More memories.
Raindrops plop to earth as a warm body snuggles-up behind, arms reaching around me, pulling close, her voice, “we need to get inside.”
Another deep breath, sigh, “we do.”
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