Page 128 of A Silence So Divine

Once my lungs ache, I pull back an inch. His breath mingles with mine; cinnamon and mint. Eyes shut, I relish the moment.

In the distance, a holler of profanity is followed by a demand that Cecil hurry up. A voice that sounds distinctly like Sylvie snarls at the person to shut up.

“I’ll see you soon,” Cecil whispers into the space between us.

Three words bounce around my skull, and I’m unable to stop them from spilling out. My voice is gravelly when I speak. “I—”

Firm lips silence my admission.

“I know,” he says against my mouth, pressing my hand more firmly into his chest. “I know.”

“I know,” I repeat on an exhale.

He smiles, presses one last lingering kiss to my hairline, and then he’s out of my arms.

The convoy heads south, seven of us left behind in muted anticipation: Veda, Creed, myself, an elderly couple, a woman with a cast on her foot, and her five year old son. It makes for a peculiar sight, the mismatched crew that we are. We sit gathered around the unlit fire pit, shoulders high and chins low. Excluding Veda. Her head is on a swivel, scanning the woods that surround us on an endless, neck breaking loop.

The leaves shimmer in the breeze, appearing a murky green in the overcast light. The air smells of moisture, and the cracks in the Earth gape at the possibility of rain. It’s been sunbeams andheat waves for weeks now, and it bothers me that I may never feel the delicate tapping of raindrops on my face again.

Creed snaps his fingers. All heads turn toward the abrupt sound.

“How far away is the Orphanage?”

Veda twists the face of her watch until righted, grimacing as she reads the time.

“Forty minutes. They’ll be there soon, if they aren’t already.”

Her words are a slap of reality. Until now, the plan was distant. Impossible.

Knowing that at this very moment, Cecil could be facing off against dozens of gun-wielding men…

My stomach churns. I’m grateful we didn’t bother with breakfast.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” The question comes from the mother of the small boy. Her hair is cropped short, so blonde it’s nearly white. Her son has an identical hairstyle, and it’s almost enough to conjure a smile on my lips. Almost.

“Hard to say,” Veda replies, crestfallen. “Hopefully not too long. The sooner we can get to the Sanctuary, the better. Once it’s nightfall, we’ll be at a disadvantage.”

The woman sighs, adjusting her son on her lap until he’s balanced on her knees, his powder-haired head resting on her chest. “We’re already at a disadvantage.” She shoots us an apologetic look, like she didn’t mean to say the words aloud.

It’s the truth, though. I can’t find it in myself to resent the pessimism.

So softly I can’t be sure I heard him correctly, the old man recites what seems to be a prayer. “May the paths Fate pave be just.” Beside him, his wife nods solemnly, taking his hand in her own.

The heaviness of the moment suffocates the conversation. The wind picks up and I scoot closer to Creed, absorbing his warmthin more ways than one. Absently, eyes on his feet, he drapes an arm over my shoulders.

“Well, I suppose we could get started on lunch.” Veda pushes to stand, brushing her palms along her jeans. “I’ve got lunchmeat, and leftover fruit in…”

My eyes flit over to her, and the fear that stares back at me has blood turning to ice in my veins. Silently, slowly, I reach over and grip Creed’s knee. I squeeze until his head rises.

Within an instant, every pair of eyes grows round with worry, though the threat is a mystery to everyone but Veda. Her lips part to speak, but no sound comes out. Instead, ever so slowly, she signs,

“Go inside.”

The group is paralyzed, staring dumbly at one another. My ears strain, but all that reaches them is the barely there whistle of wind and an occasional flutter of bird wings.

It’s Creed who stands first, pulling me to my feet with a firm grip. Spurred into action, the seven of us rush across the beaten down grass to Veda’s RV. As gently as he can, Creed opens the door, but ancient hinges give a creak of protest. I cringe inwardly, checking over my shoulder. The young mother hobbles along in her cast, the old man holding her elbow for support as her child clings to her neck.

I don’t breathe until we’re all crowded in the small living room. Veda makes quick work of closing the curtains. Creed whirls around, clicking the flimsy lock into place. It won’t do much against an intruder, but it gives the illusion of security. Right in the nick of time, too, because when Veda peeks outside, a blacked out SUV creeps through the tree line.