The Escape

The bull was growing restless in his pen. I heard the nervous shuffle of hooves and prayed that the noise wouldn't draw attention to our position.

Squinting through the worn slats of the barn door, I counted four firearms—a pistol and three semi-automatics against my single shotgun.

I felt a light tug on my sleeve and glanced down through the dark into the face of my terrified six-year-old. “How much longer, Mommy?”

"I don't know, baby," I whispered, kneeling down beside him. My eyes scanned the room for an escape and settled on a small window up in the loft.

Asher clutched a plush shark to his chest, his souvenir from a trip we'd taken to the Shedd Aquarium two years before everything had gone to shit. I'd always loved the dolphin show, but Asher's favorites were the sharks. He'd spent over an hour following the movements of a zebra shark, and we'd compromised on a stuffed version when an employee sympathetically informed him that he couldn't purchase the real thing.

I could remember the blue of the water, the eerie way the light had reflected off the glass. Even then, I'd begun to wonder if humans weren't far scarier than anything the ocean had to offer.

Last I'd heard, those massive tanks were being used for public executions.

I snapped back to attention as man's voice drifted out through the open front door of the house.

"Hey, Joe, you want a piece of this cake?"

"What kind?" A second voice, closer.

"Chocolate."

"Nah, I'm good. Vanilla's where it's at."

I gritted my teeth as the soldiers started in on the virtues of different cake flavors, my fingers growing numb from the cold. I could hear others ransacking the house, the slamming of doors and breaking of glass. I gazed down at the object in my hands, illuminated every half-second by the flashing green lights of the rebels' trucks.

One thing was for sure: I wasn't supposed to have gotten this package. I turned it over in my hands for the hundredth time, examining the seamless brown paper, the perfect twine bow. There were no discerning features or indicators of its intended recipient—just a single marigold tucked under the knot. I knew, at least, what that flower meant.

Finally, four men emerged empty-handed onto the front porch, one wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The biggest of them approached a surly-looking man who was standing by the trucks and shook his head. "It isn't here, sir. And the wife's gone. Kid, too."

The officer nodded in my direction. "Check the barn."

My heart pounded. I grabbed Asher's hand and pulled him toward the ladder leading up to the loft. I quickly lifted him up and hurriedly followed up the steps after him.

I said a silent prayer and held my breath as I slowly eased open the cracked window. It cooperated noiselessly, and I leaned my head out and saw thin branches reaching up to just several feet below.

The barn door opened, and I heard Gunther, our German Shepherd, emit a low, threatening growl.

A gunshot and a loud yelp. My hand flew to Asher’s mouth, but he hadn't made a sound.

"Find them. I want that package."

I gently guided Asher's feet to the top branch of the old pear tree, waiting patiently for him to secure his balance before releasing my grip. The branches were bare, lightly dusted with small mounds of glistening white powder, the final remnants of the first winter snow. I quickly followed, carefully closing the window shut behind me and maintaining my grip on the mysterious package as I deftly maneuvered my way through the branches.

I silently descended the trunk of the tree and motioned for Asher to jump into my arms. He landed softly, his arms closing around my neck, and I gave him a quick squeeze before setting him down carefully and glancing around at our surroundings.

From the base of the tree, it was no more than thirty yards to the edge of the woods. I took Asher's hand, and we began to run.

We reached the edge of the Williamsons' pond just before dawn. It was still frozen over, and I tested the ice tentatively with my feet before slowly making my way forward. Asher followed closely behind.

We were halfway across when I heard the splitting crack.