Issa awoke to the sound of women stirring on the floor around her. She didn’t know when she had dozed off, certainly not before two in the morning. The antique rocking chair pressed against her back and hips, bruises already beginning to set in. Dolly, the old black southerner, had stayed up with her until just past midnight before finally curling up next to the other women on the floor.
Issa pushed up out of the chair. One of her legs tingled, and there was a painful crick in her lower back. Her cheek also ached from where one of the slavers had struck her. All in all, she’d had rosier mornings.
She brought her hands down to her stomach and gently caressed her unborn child.
“Time to get up, little one,” she whispered.
The knob on the front door turned, and it began to swing open. Issa quickly bent down and snatched up the double-barrel rifle resting against the chair. Chambered in 470 Nitro Express, the Merkel 140-2 was designed for hunting big game and had proven itself more than capable of downing a man. She swung it toward the door, ready to unleash two loads of hell on any who sought to do harm.
A young redhead came into view. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the gun.
“Issa,” she said, her voice trembling, “it’s me, Theresa.”
Issa lowered the rifle. “What were you doing out there?”
“I had to pee. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Issa motioned for her to come inside and close the door. As she did, the women on the floor began to sit up, yawning and stretching.
Dolly stood up and came over to stand beside Issa.
“You sleep okay, child?”
“Well enough.”
“Gonna be a long day today.” She looked around. “Be nice if we could find some food and water.”
Issa thought of the supplies in the back of her car. They weren’t enough to give everyone a bellyful, but they would at least take the edge off their morning hunger. Sacrificing the food would put her without supplies for the return from Mount Weather, but surely Mother or someone else in the colony would see that she didn’t leave empty-handed.
“Have them search the tavern as well as the slavers’ truck outside.” She started toward the door.
“Where you goin’?” There was a worry in Dolly’s voice. Clearly, she wondered if Issa might have changed her mind about helping to free their loved ones from the slavers.
“To fetch my car. I’ve got enough food and water to see us to Luray.”
Dolly smiled and offered a friendly nod.
Issa left the historic Yates Tavern, wondering how she had gotten herself into such a predicament. Not only had she killed three men, she’d been roped into leading a band of ill-equipped women on a rescue mission that was arguably none of her business.
She hiked back across Highway 29’s business route. The navy-blue Toyota Prius sat beside the road, where she had left it the day before. The doors remained locked, and nothing appeared to be disturbed. Issa opened the hatchback and rifled through her supplies, finally coming up with a rag, a bucket, and a jug of water. She stripped off her clothes, relieved herself in a small gully, and took a few minutes to clean herself up. By the time she was finished, the morning air had brought chill bumps to her skin. She hurriedly donned a fresh pair of pants and a long-sleeved sweater.