Yesterday's Gone: Season Six (13 page)

The image of Otis, or at least the thing that had pretended to be him, refused to leave her mind. Hacked to pieces, wet and black, flopping on the floorboards like a suffocating fish.
 

She wasn’t cut out for this. Teagan was a mom; her responsibility was to take care of Becca. Same for Brent. He had his son, she had her daughter, and they’d agreed they were safest outside The City. Thinking that Las Orillas might now offer the most security was a horror in her head.
 

“We’ll be fine,” Brent had said. “The City has Boricio, Ed, and Mary — the three people most capable of keeping us safe.”

She wasn’t sure that Brent bought it himself, but Teagan appreciated that he cared enough to safeguard her feelings. And it wasn’t like there was any other logical action beyond reaching the refuge, reporting what happened, and waiting for the Alpha Team to tell them what to do.
 

Becca leaned back and nuzzled against Teagan’s chest.
 

“I’m tired, Mommy.”
 

“Do you want to walk?”
 

“Kind of, yeah.”
 

She gently yanked the reins, and Whinny stopped. Teagan lifted Becca then planted her on the ground, feeling the burn in her muscles and wondering how much longer she’d be able to do that before Becca was simply too heavy.
 

Without saying goodbye, Becca ran a few horses up the line to where Ben was walking beside Bashful — Brent’s horse, and one of the stable’s rowdier steeds. The two children fell into chatter.
 

Becca was six. Ben’s extra three years practically made him God to the girl, though gender might have also had something to do with it. Either way, Teagan’s daughter more than adored him. Becca mimicked Ben’s every move.
 

Ben reached down, grabbed a rock, and hurled it toward a huddle of trees. Teagan winced. So did Brent, probably thinking the same thing:
don’t make any noise.
 

Though it wasn’t like a small rock hitting a large trunk made any more noise than the caravan’s tromping hooves. Or Becca’s laugh, now a guffaw.
 

Teagan smiled. Brent turned from Bashful’s back to find her eyes. Becca was lucky to have Ben, and she was lucky to have his father.

She nudged Whinny and trotted up beside Bashful.
 

“Hey,” she said.

“Hay is for the horses, or is that one for me?”
 

It was stupid, but Teagan smiled anyway.
 

“Hey for you,” she said.

“So, do you want to make small talk, or admit we’re scared shitless?”
 

Teagan’s smile turned into a laugh. “Might as well admit we’re scared shitless.” A beat, then, “I just hope we can get to Second Refuge without seeing the Reaper.”
 

Brent’s jaw set. Teagan saw him swallow. She thought he might scold her for mentioning the notorious bandit leader who’d been wreaking havoc up and down the hinterlands, and whom they had somehow avoided thus far. Mentioning him was kind of like telling the world you’re glad you’ll never get cancer: inviting disaster. Instead, he nodded toward the caravan’s front, just behind Joe, Peter, and the others who were leading the formation.
 

“She seem okay to you?”
 

Teagan followed his gaze. “You mean Marina?”
 

Brent nodded.
 

“Of course she’s not okay, Brent. You should’ve seen her trying to fight that … thing off. After she pushed me back into the room, I could only hear it … I — ”

“It’s okay, Teagan. You don’t have to.” After a few moments of clomping hooves and preadolescent laughter, he spoke again. “But that’s what I mean. That’s a lot to deal with, and she seems really shaken up. I think she needs someone to talk to.”
 

Brent looked at Teagan, waiting for her to get the clue.

“Me? Why me? She obviously doesn’t want to talk.”

“Because you’re the only person she’s remotely close to.”
 

“Yeah,” Teagan said. “The operative word is
remote.
”
 

Brent laughed. “I thought you were friends.”
 

Teagan shrugged. “We get along. But Marina’s always seemed a bit … off.”
 

Brent seemed to be choosing his words carefully. Finally, he said, “Well, you two have something to bond over, right?”
 

“And what’s that?”
 

“Overbearing religious fathers.”
 

Teagan laughed. Brent smiled.
 

“You’re right. Marina’s probably no more
off
than I am.”
 

“That’s not what I’m saying.”
 

“Well, sort of.” Teagan laughed again. “But that’s okay. I get it.”
 

“I’m just saying that out of everyone here, maybe you’re the person most equipped to understand her.”
 

Teagan craned her neck, looking up the line toward Marina, then turned toward Brent. “I get what you’re saying, but just because we both had religious fathers doesn’t mean we have all that much in common. And besides, there’s little shared between Christianity and The Church of Original Whatever.”
 

“I’m comparing households, not religions, and suggesting that there’s something about growing up orthodox anything that tempts parents to nurture a fascination with laws and control. Look, my parents weren’t especially religious, so maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about, but being a reporter gives you a front row seat to plenty of shit you don’t want to see. In my experience, people become religious for a lot of reasons, good and bad. Sometimes, it’s because their lives are out of control, morally, socially, whatever. Religion brings light to their dark, order to the chaos. It serves as inner police. Even if everything else in your lives is opposite, the two religions, and your fathers, probably have
that
in common. Just
talk
to her,” he added, nodding toward the front of the line. “Please.”
 

“Dad?” Ben appeared by Bashful’s side, with Becca just behind him. “I have to pee.”
 

Brent looked toward the bushes. “Why are you telling me?”
 

Ben ticked his head toward Becca.
 

“Ah,” Brent said. “Got it.”
 

He turned to Becca. “Hey, Becca, wanna play I Spy?”
 

“Yes!”
 

“Well, I’ll leave you all to it, then.” Teagan smiled, nodded at Becca, turned and winked at Brent, mouthed
thank you
, then nudged Whinny forward.
 

Teagan took her time falling into pace beside Marina, not wanting to seem eager, but after a few minutes Whinny and Marina’s horse, Nickel, were trotting side-by-side.
 

“It’s a nice day,” Teagan said.
 

Wow. I’m actually talking about the weather.
 

No response, not that she deserved one.
 

“Feels nice to ride outside The Farm.”
 

You know, after being chased away by alien shapeshifters.
 

“Ben and Becca seem to think we’re on an adventure. Can you imagine?”
 

I’m getting dumber by the word.
 

Marina finally looked over. It seemed like she wanted to smile, but the morning’s weight seemed heavy on her face. Her mouth rose at the corners then fell. She turned from Teagan.
 

“You know, I’m happy to talk, if you want to.”
 

Marina said nothing, gaze fixed in front of her, skin creamy against her green scarf.
 

Another few moments of silence, then Teagan tried again.
 

“I got pregnant with Becca while I was in high school. That was the loneliest time of my life.”
 

Marina didn’t respond. Teagan continued.
 

“I didn’t have anyone I could talk to. My sister was gone because she’d killed herself not too long before. And I couldn’t say anything to my mom or dad. The thought of talking to any of the adults I knew was scary because I didn’t know who might fink to my parents.”
 

Another pause, still nothing.
 

“Even if I got the courage to talk, everyone I knew would have probably tried to give me advice or help in some way. But that wasn’t what I wanted. When I thought about it — and I did each night before falling asleep, each morning when I woke, and all day long — I realized that all I
really
wanted was someone to give me their unbiased ear.”

Marina finally looked over, still silent.
 

“Sometimes, we want a stranger to listen because they’re less likely to judge us or make the wrong assumptions. And sometimes, the best advice is no advice, when all you want is for someone to hear you vent. Well,” Teagan shrugged, “I never had that. But I’d love to be that person for you.”
 

Teagan could practically feel Marina thinking. She finally said, “I guess I’m just numb to it all.”
 

A pregnant pause. Teagan didn’t know if she was supposed to listen or fill it.
 

“What’s the point in fighting anymore?” Marina’s voice dropped an octave. “At first, I thought we were fighting for something, and
that
gave me hope. I thought I was somehow going to make a difference. But how can we have hope if everything can be taken away so easily? One moment of weakness, and it’s over … why bother?”
 

“My grandma used to say, ‘When the world says,
’Give up
,’ hope whispers,
‘Try one more time.’
I used to think that was corny. Not anymore. Now I think things like that are all we really have to hold onto.”

“My dad used to say, ‘Hope is frail but hard to kill.’ But he was wrong about a lot of things.”
 

Maybe she was imagining it, but Teagan felt Marina’s voice blush with warmth despite her chilling words.

“If you knew that hope and despair were two roads going to the same place, wouldn’t you rather be where the sun
might be
shining?”
 

Marina looked at Teagan for a long moment before returning her eyes to the trail. Finally, she said, “Thank you, Teagan. Really. That — ”

Gunfire exploded up front, to the sides, and behind them.
 

Just ahead, and slightly to the left, Joe tumbled off of his horse. The brown colt whinnied, bucked, and knocked into Peter. He fell, too.
 

Marina looked wide eyed and vacant, her mouth hanging open.
 

“Marina, move!” Teagan pointed to the trees. “There! Find cover!”
 

More gunshots.
 

Teagan hoped she wasn’t sending Marina into the worst of it but saw no other choice. She turned Whinny around, searching for Brent and the children.
 

Gunshots, flying dust, screaming horses.
 

Chaos.
 

Teagan wrapped her arm around Whinny, pressed her face to the horse’s neck, and surveyed the scene, keeping low enough to hopefully miss any whizzing bullets.
 

She found Brent and the children at the edge of her vision, barely visible through the dust clouds. Between her and them, a fallen convoy.
 

Peter and Joe had been trampled; Rebecca lay sprawled with her head busted like a melon dropped on Spanish tile, a pool of blood soaking the dirt; James and Nils didn’t seem to be bleeding, or breathing. Marilyn was lying facedown, half her head blown off.
 

Only the big man, Sammy, seemed unscathed, galloping away from Brent toward Teagan.
 

She hoped Marina was safe in the trees.
 

“Come on, girl,” Sammy said, riding up beside her.
 

“We have to get the children, and Brent.” Teagan pointed through the dust.
 

“I’ll get them. You get to Marina.” Sammy nodded toward the trees. Reading her mind, he added, “And pray that it’s safe.”
 

It took everything inside Teagan to listen. She wanted to ignore Sammy and gallop toward her daughter, the only man left in this world that she truly cared about, and his son. But she imagined a volley of bullets sending her to the dirt. Sammy was a way better shot than her and far less likely to get everyone killed.

She swallowed hard, licked her lips, and said, “Okay. Bring them back to me, Sammy.”
 

Sammy was already gone.
 

Staying low, Teagan kicked Whinny and took off toward the trees, searching for Marina but not seeing so much as a hint of her scarf.