AshesAndBlood Page 5

  “Did you two do this?” Xander says, tilting his head. He and Tristan stand with their hands on their hips.

  “You women did all this?” Walking up closer to inspect Dana’s work, Tristan’s staring wide-eyed.

  Shaking his head, Xander says, “If we had more women like you, things would get done faster.”

  “Thanks. We are each skilled at something, and building is my specialty. Wait till Ciara cooks. What she made last night is nothing compared to her pork roast and homemade bread. She and Sarah are inside cleaning up the house, washing sheets, curtains, and everything. Scrubbing each inch. I went in earlier. Sarah had scrubbed half the floor and it looked like two different types of wood,” Dana says, giggling.

  I hate to bitch about my cousin’s house, but Aunt Karen would yell for hours if she saw the house in its current state.

  “Yeah, they’ve got a lot of work ahead of them. The house is almost as bad as the barn. Guess we need to order wood. Has Kevin seen this yet?” Tristan’s eyes dart from the barn to the forge.

  “Nah. Figure it will be a surprise.” I smile while walking toward the house to tell the girls we’re leaving to order lumber.

  Before long, hunger slows our work. The boys bickered back and forth till they finally decided on a restaurant. Each one was defensive over their chosen establishment and after arguing forever, they agreed on one.

  Kevin beams. “Serendipity’s is Capo’s best restaurant. Their food is amazing. Never had a bad dish, and I eat out every night.”

  Kevin informs us of his awful eating habits, saying which taverns to eat at and which ones to stay away from, beaming because we are going to his favorite restaurant. Tristan and Xander add their own reviews on other places we should try, each busting each other’s balls about their horrible taste.

  They lead us away from the smithy toward the west gate, making a left at the taverns and inns. Lightposts sit on every corner. The shops’ glow bright, inviting crowds inside to eat and relax. Damn, there are too many people. They all wear simple wool or cotton clothes. Men wear pants and loose shirts while most women wear dresses. Some wear pants, so we don’t stick out too badly.

  We hadn’t seen too many townsfolk earlier when we passed through the north gate, only a handful of soldiers and children. With the shops and markets closed, hordes of people swamp the streets in search of food.

  It’s as busy as any small city, except instead of cars, there are horse-drawn carts. Streets are narrow, only four carts’ width, so it’s rather crowded. Without sidewalks, you have to push through the mob of people, carts, and horses. Barely able to watch where my feet go, I almost step in a big pile of horseshit on our way to eat. It’s a rough walk through the congestion, being pushed and pulled in various directions from the crowd while overwhelmed by all the new sights. It feels like we stepped back in time into a Western frontier town with a medieval stone-and-mortar aesthetic.

  The nightlife is a huge part of the town. With more men than women left, they need something to occupy themselves. Whores are scattered about and they stand outside different taverns, calling out to all the men that pass them by. At first, their bright, skimpy clothes look appealing, but if you take another look, they are stained, ripped, and worn.

  Thank God for Kevin, or else we might have resorted to that work. I have nothing against them, but I could never do that myself. I would feel dirty, used. Also, I’m too picky about who I sleep with and don’t think it would please my pimp or madam.

  “Here is the best tavern in town: Serendipity’s. Now, it’s not what you’re used to. They only serve a few dishes for dinner, but you can’t go wrong. The stuffed chicken is my favorite, hope they have that tonight. The menu changes daily,” Kevin says. Opening the doors to a brightly lit tavern, he ushers us inside.

  The tavern welcomes us with folk music and savory aromas wafting from the kitchen. A string instrument that reminds me of a banjo—it has a twangy sound—harmonizes with a woodwind instrument while keeping time with a man hitting a drum. A long bar, filled with various liquors, runs along one side of the room. Thank God there’s more to choose from than just bicki. It’s not bad, but it’s not sweet. Stools line the bar, and men who sit waiting for their orders pester the bartenders. Various sized jade-green tables fill the rest of the tavern, accompanied by matching chairs. If you took a picture of the room and compared it to a frontier town during the Gold Rush, it would be hard to tell the difference. Sure, the clothing styles differ—not as modest and the coloring is different too—but overall, the tavern and people feel like an Old West town. No hoop skirts thankfully. Nothing too special or exotic worn by the average town citizen. Dye and colorful clothing must be a luxury.

  The only thing missing are guns. I haven’t seen one man wear a holster with a gun, only knives and hatchets. It’s possible they haven’t invented gunpowder yet or that the right elements or chemicals don’t exist here. Different universe, multiple possibilities of why they don’t have guns; I can’t begin to guess.

  Xander points to a circular table in the back corner, far from the entrance and rowdy bar area, almost private. We wade through the crowd and take our seats while Tristan grabs two empty chairs from another table.

  People laugh, men argue at the bar, women gossip, kids giggle while playing hand games. Drinks clink in celebration, music plays in the background. Closing my eyes, it’s easy to think I’m back home working at the pub, the sounds and smells are so familiar.

  The sound of a strange instrument that sounds like a bullfrog brings me back to this strange tavern far away from indoor plumbing, hot showers, electricity, and all the common comforts I took advantage of my whole life. Fighting the urge to work behind the bar crushes me. Yes, we can succeed and make lives for ourselves, but how hard will it be? I used to think moving to a different continent would be hard, but moving to a different universe is insane. However, with support from Kevin, we should be able to survive. Eventually we’ll find jobs. We might need to wait till the spring for the snow to melt, but at least we have a safe place to stay, with family.

  I wonder how the girls are really doing. We’re putting up fronts, trying to stay strong for one another, but if we aren’t going home, it’s only a matter of time before we break down. No one has said how they feel or expressed their brewing emotions yet.

  I think Ciara is on the verge already. Her parents depend solely on her for everything and without her, they will die faster. The three of us can’t say anything comparable.

  Yeah, Sarah has a pet cat, but it’s an indoor and outdoor cat. Even though she misses Snowy, her neighbor normally checks in on her since Sarah travels and works late hours for business and school. So she should be fine. Dana’s brothers are stupid when it doesn’t involve construction, but they should survive. Dana and I both have families but no one who depends on us to stay alive, at least not the same as Ciara.

  I worry about Mom, but she can go to rehab at any point and change her life. If not, I hope my sister will take over the accounts I set up—groceries, lawn care, Mom’s Life Alert—and continue to manage them. Besides that, I don’t want to sound selfish, but my family doesn’t make themselves missed. Mom has her hand on a bottle at all times and my sister is busy chasing the latest fashion trend.

  Chelsea will be fine. We haven’t depended on each other for years, so it wouldn’t change now. She never had time for me. I doubt either of them know I’m missing, or if they know, they’re too drunk to understand or too consumed with themselves to think it’s an actual problem worth their time.

  A waitress comes over to our table. Kevin orders a round of bicki. All of us need a drink, if not more. The waitress goes over the menu before returning to the bar. Serendipity’s has an assortment of dishes to choose from, serving three different plates a night. Tonight’s menu is chicken breast, some type of fish, and meat pie. I pick the chicken breast piled on top of mashed potatoes with roasted mixed vegetables. If this universe has chicken and mashed potatoes with butter, I�
�ll survive. I’m still praying for chocolate.

  After dinner, Kevin orders a second round of bicki for the guys and sweet white wine for us girls to sip on. Kevin takes a moment before asking us, “So, any idea what you will do?”

  “Any possibility of going home?” I ask the question on all our minds, the one answer we fear.

  “No. Tell no one. They will think you’re crazy. There is only one other person who knows where we come from: Brynjar. He helped me when I first arrived. He lives alone in the woods now. He left me the forge. You can stay with me and continue fixing up the barn—it’s yours—but I need a shed or something to store my tools. If you girls take care of the house and property, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

  Grinning at Kevin, Dana asks, “So, can we can redesign the barn into a two-story house, as long as I build you a new shed?”

  “Yes, you can build it however you want. Don’t make it too expensive. Tomorrow we’ll go to market and order more lumber. I’m sure what you got today was just a start. Can you look at the house, too? I’m sure it also needs repair. I will buy all of you clothes and other essentials at the market tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. We got this. My brothers and I flipped houses in under a month, and this doesn’t have plumbing or electric. If you can get the supplies, I will remodel, re-insulate, and make it look brand new in less than three weeks.”

  “If only you could rig a plumbing system and create electricity.” Kevin winks at Dana and takes out coin money, placing it on the table. That’s our signal it’s time to leave and go to bed for a second restless night.

  Chapter Five - Kevin

  What. The. Fuck.

  Every time my life improves, when business runs smoothly and this world begins to feel normal, there’s a curveball. Always, without fail, either Earth-shattering news or Dalya-shattering news, depending on which planet you come from. Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad to see Megan and her friends alive, but they should be living their lives happily on Earth, not here.

  Not trapped.

  I honestly thought Megan was a hallucination created by too much alcohol. Standing there in the forge, surrounded by people from both worlds, it made me panic. I was positive I’d lost it, that I either drank myself mad or that I’d gone crazy. Two distant worlds collided together, people from my past and present, from two separate places, standing in the same room. It made me freak out to a completely new level. It took a few moments to realize Megan and her friends actually stood in front of me. What happened to me eight years ago happened to them too.

  Good, I’m not insane—not yet—but it sucks for Megan and the girls.

  How could this happen to the both of us? It wasn’t the place. I came from the Pine Barrens; she was hiking in the middle of Pennsylvania. It can’t be the location since it happened hundreds of miles away from each other. I never figured out the logistics. It’s crazy how we share the same experience.

  What the hell is the connection? It couldn’t be family or everyone would be here. Megan said everyone was alive and living in various parts of Florida, New Jersey, and New York.

  Nothing makes sense. There’s no logical reason for us both to be transported.

  Shit, I will never forget that doomed night, chillin’ by the campfire. Dave was the first to notice the change in the trees. He pointed it out to Brian and me. The trees morphed around us and the normal nighttime sounds stopped. No crickets chirping, frogs or toads bellowing, or owls hooting. Even the mosquitoes stopped biting. Dave and Brian went to investigate; they left me in charge of the fire and camp.

  I should have stayed right there, but my fucking curiosity got the best of me. It forced me to follow them.

  That’s when the screaming started. Well, scream isn’t the right word. It was more like gut-wrenching animal moans. It didn’t sound human at first, so I wasn’t sure if it was. High-pitched shrills of pain echoed off the trees. Shrieks of terror, sounds I have never heard a human make, sounds I never want to hear again. I had no clue what the hell was happening to my friends or what was attacking them. I remember thinking bears never travel that far south, that nothing threatening lives in the Pine Barrens except junkies. I was certain it was a person. I had hoped whoever was hurting my friends had no weapons. Charging toward their cries, I forgot all about the strange trees and the woods transformation, and that’s when I saw them. Dave and Brian’s cries became gurgles as a pack of large shadows ate them alive.

  Goddamn nunda.

  I ran away before realizing. I ran from something my brain couldn’t categorize, recognize, or define. Fight or flight took over—and flight won. I’ve never been a coward but seeing something you can’t identify eat your friends alive makes you run the opposite way.

  Fast.

  Nothing could have saved them; they were bleeding out when I found them. Even if I fought off the nunda, neither one would have made it for more than a minute with how torn apart their bodies were. They lost too much blood. Pools of blood. I can still hear the crunching noises a nunda made while gnawing on one of their bones.

  No, neither would have survived. I couldn’t have saved them. That night will forever haunt me. Their screams accompany me every night as I fall asleep.

  We should have never left the fucking campfire.

  The past stings.

  I haven’t spoken about my family for years. Knowing that they are alive and remember me brings back too many partial, bittersweet memories. It hurts to think about them. I can’t picture their faces. It makes me sick not to be able to recall Mary, Emily, or my mom’s faces. I can remember most of their characteristics: hair, skin color, and eyes, but I can’t visualize their actual faces. A hard puzzle to put together that grows harder by the day.

  It’s all the small details, their freckles and beauty marks. My mom and sister looked a lot alike. They could be twins if not for the twenty-three-year age difference. Both have long, curly strawberry blonde hair, bright green eyes, and their faces are covered in freckles. I used to tease my sister when we were kids. I nicknamed her Spots when she was in elementary school. Funny how I can remember that, but I still can’t picture her face.

  My ex-girlfriend Mary, damn she was hot. At least that’s what my memories tell me, though I can’t recall why. I can’t remember any detail of her face, but I can remember she was short, had tan skin, chestnut hair, and was full of energy, a cheerleader. We didn’t date too long, but I had a huge crush on her senior year of high school. We dated right after Valentine’s Day. I remember a couple dates, but they’re more like fuzzy pictures rather than memories.

  Those were the good times, hanging out, sneaking beers under the bleachers, watching the cheerleaders practice, bounce, and stretch. Joking with the guys, smoking joints, not having a care in the world.

  It was only four months later when Brian, Dave, and I went camping. Damn, I’ve been here too long.

  It’s crazy. Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine having a son. He thinks I’m his guardian angel. It makes me laugh. Damn, Mary is a talented liar, and she might go to Hell for that one. Not that I’m evil, but no one has ever called me an angel. Jackass, stubborn, thickheaded, fool, ass, moron, dumbass, alcoholic, asshole, idiot, something ass, are all words used to describe me, but a guardian angel, no. Mary’s crazy for coming up with that story.

  I always wanted to have a family in the future, but finding out you have a full-grown kid is a whole other thing. I still can’t wrap my head around it.

  Does he talk to me or ask me questions when he can’t sleep?

  I’ve been contemplating talking back. Whispering things like be a good boy and listen to your mother and don’t give your grandma a heart attack. But would he hear and know that somewhere his dad is thinking of him? That I’m wishing him happiness, sending him love, missing the opportunity to be there with him, to watch him grow.

  I did that with my father when I was a kid, before Mom revealed the truth. I had talked to him late at night when I was young and as
sumed he was a good man. Mom said he went on a mission and would return. I thought he was a soldier fighting a war or a secret agent spy—I was so naïve. Two years later, she let the truth slip. He wasn’t coming back, he had abandoned us. He left her a note. It said he had to take care of something with his family and that he promised to return. She kept that note for all those years. To my knowledge, she still has it tucked away. I hope with a more realistic point of view and not a sentimental one. I still can’t believe he wrote that he planned to come back after he finished his family business.

  How sick is that? To tell the mother of your children, your wife, the woman you vowed to protect until death do you part, that you’re leaving to go do something with your family, but you hope to come back soon. How could he leave without a conversation? It would’ve been better if he didn’t leave a note. Leave her no hope to cling to. He was evil to torment an incredible woman. I don’t remember too much about my father, but it destroyed any good memories when I realized how much of an ass he was, how horribly he treated my mother.

  At least I didn’t know. I had no clue Mary was pregnant. She never hinted when we made plans for dinner. She didn’t mention she had something to discuss, gave no signs whatsoever. I never would have gone camping if I had known. It was like Mary wanted me to have one last fun, worry-free night out with the guys before giving me the news. She is an amazing woman.

  I wish I had known. I would have spent time with her, planning and building a future together. I would have never gone camping.

  It makes me sick to think my son, Evan, will never have me watch his games, teach him how to ride a bike, how to respect women or understand them, and how to be a good man. I’m not a good role model, but he needs a father. Plus, I want to see what a little Kevin can do. What mischief he’ll make, how handsome he will be, who will steal his heart, and I want to watch him build his own family.