Gearing Up
After leaving Wren watching the younger girls, she quickly went through the ruined house and yanked out all the supplies left useful to them. Over time, she’d collected things from the other homes, like wagons, wheelbarrows and other useful items, and used them often to transport supplies from one end of the neighborhood to the other like a train. It wasn’t a perfect method but it worked and kept them from breaking their backs with all the manual labor one woman and three girls could manage. Nicole had even devised a way to have the dogs pull the wagons, but now those days were, sadly, over. At least, Sloane thought, we still have Ace.
She cleaned herself up and changed out of her ruined flannel pajamas and into rugged gear, knowing the girls would need to do the same. She packed several layers of clothing and began hauling items out to the wagons and then went back to get the girls inside to dress for the day.
“Where are we going, Mom?” Mae asked as she ushered her inside the torn house. “What happened in here?” Mae’s voice rose a decibel when she saw the devastation inside the house.
“Why did they do this?” Nicole asked.
Sloane let them take in the scene of destruction, of all their hard work. Senseless was the only way to describe it. “C’est la vie. It doesn’t matter why, girls. It’s done. Quickly, get cleaned up and changed. It’s going to be a long night.”
As the younger girls were doing as they were told, Ace remained by the open doorway and waited with Wren.
“Why did they do this, Mom?”
Sloane shook her head. “Control…they’re trying to force us to their camp.”
“Why don’t we just go there then? It sounds like it would be better than this.”
Turning to her daughter, Sloane said, “That’s just it, dear. That’s the way they make it sound so that you’ll go along. Give up all of your rights and soon you’re not a refugee, you’re a prisoner and at their will and whim. No, I’m not submitting my children to that as long as I can help it. That’s not survival, Wren, that’s submission. Promise me you’ll never give in.”
Wren only nodded.
“Good girl. Tonight, we’re staying at the house near the entrance to the neighborhood, Old Mr. and Mrs. Bishop’s house. Then in the morning, we’re leaving through the forest.”
“It’s cold at night, Mom.”
“I know. We’ve started fires. We have tents. We’ll keep moving until we find somewhere safe to go.” One glance at her daughter told her she was terrified by the idea.
“We’re no better off than those people who travel through here, are we?”
Sloane thought about her daughter’s words then shook her head, “No dear, we’re not; we never have been and we’re in even more danger than that. But look at me, Wren, be brave in this world above all else. You must be brave.”
She nodded and then Sloane led her girls, each with a filled backpack and pulling a wagon apiece, as they walked through the neighborhood until they reached the Bishops’ house that backed up to the graveyard behind their house. Beyond the graveyard awaited the dark, cold, desiccating woods and the unknown.