Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1) (14 page)

I gulped down my coffee and noticed a man standing inside a swamp boat, pushing it up to the docks with a long pole.

"Bet that's our guy," I said, wiping butter and coffee from the corner of my mouth with a napkin. Theron dropped a ten and a five dollar bill on the table, and we both thanked the waitress and hurried to the door.

Somehow Theron beat me to the door so he could hold it open for me.
How did this mistreated boy learn to be a gentleman?
I wondered.

We approached the boatman and I noticed several things. Deep scars gouged both sides of his face. The long one on his left side dragged from his forehead down through his eye and to his chin. His left eye was made of glass. He was probably in his early sixties, looked strong, had midnight black skin and was very tall.

"Frankly," I said, making sure not to stare at the gashes on his face. I had a feeling he had lived through some type of war.

"My dear Scarlett, I don't give a damn," he responded without batting an eye or even looking at me.

It was a funny code, using a quote from the famous novel
Gone With the Wind
. Scarlett always did have a sense of humor. The man and I both ended up smiling at each other. His angry, gnarled skin was betrayed by his wide, friendly grin.

"Miss Freya, we been expectin' ya." He spoke with a deep southern Cajun accent with a touch of French flare. "Who this be wit'ya?" He referenced Theron.

"A friend," I offered.

"Well the way Miss Scarlett talk about ya, you's a daughter, so anythin' for you. Come on aboard," he chimed.

"Thank you so much," Theron and I both said.

Theron gave me his hand and helped me into the flat bottom boat, then climbed in himself. In the rear was a large fan-like motor. In the center were two oars and a couple of twelve-foot poles.

Theron politely extended his hand, "My name is Theron Hawk, sir."

"I'm Napoleon." He shook Theron's hand. "Go ahead and sit down and enjoy the ride. Bayou is beautiful this time of mornin'."

He was right. I was immediately mesmerized by the scenery around us. Everything was green—green Spanish moss clung to the trees and branches, draping them in dramatic tapestries, green algae floated in clumps throughout the water, green leaves, green grasses, green frogs. We ducked our heads as we passed underneath Willow tree branches that dipped down to touch the water. I couldn't help but pluck a handful of the soft, narrow green leaves into my hand.

"Is that an alligator?" I pointed off to the side of the boat where I noticed what looked like two round eyes scanning the surface of the water, waiting for prey to pass by. I shivered.

"Yes it is," said Napoleon. "A ten-footer almost got da' best o' me 'bout fifteen years ago. I was nettin' some catfish out o' the water when the devil leaped up and grabbed my face in his jaws."

So that was his war
, I thought.

Napoleon continued, "Lucky I was guttin' fish and had old Betts in my hand when it happened. I plunged her right into its innards."

What a harrowing story. "Seems you were lucky," I said.

"Yes, I was."

"How do you know Scarlett?" I asked.

We took a turn and glided through the long bayou grasses. The blades stood taller than a man and bent low in the breeze as if to worship the rays of sun that flickered through them. They seemed to stretch out and onward for eternity. I could see no end to them.

"She helped bring my Tulip into the world over a decade ago." He beamed. "Didn't charge me nothin'. My wife and I didn't have insurance and we didn't have much money either then. Good woman Scarlett is."

"She's a midwife," I told Theron. But I wasn't sure if that was a clear description. "She helps deliver babies, most of the time free of charge."

We skimmed past stately herons that stood on the bayou's edge and up in the Cyprus trees. I looked down into the water just in time to watch a water moccasin curl by. The bayou had a dangerous and cunning beauty.

"She was friends with my mother," I continued. "They attended the same university in Sweden," I told Theron.

Massive leaves (some three or four feet in diameter, supported by a single stem) hovered over the rippling waters.

"Scarlett moved out here into the bayou when her business was found out," Napoleon explained. "I help her in every way I can."

Finally, after about a thirty minute ride, we had arrived. I felt like we had sailed through time. Scarlett's "safe house" was little more than a shanty or hunting cabin. The outside was unassuming, made from rough, unfinished gray weathered slat board. Raccoon and gator skins were nailed to the walls and racks outside either for show or to dry. Surely they were a ruse to keep passersby believing the place was just a hunting cabin. Fish hung from their tails on wooden dowels. Catfish and crayfish traps were held in the water by ropes that were tied to shore.

Napoleon shut down the engine and pushed us to shore using a pole and then let us out onto the murky edge.

"You say 'Hello' to Miss Scarlett for me, now," Napoleon said as he waved goodbye, pushing his boat back into the bayou.

Theron and I walked up the dirt path to the unadorned house. On the side of the rickety porch was a rain barrel almost filled with water. An old steel ladle hung from the barrel's lipped edge. I climbed the plank steps with Theron right at my heels. I stopped at the rough wooden door, sure if I knocked I'd pull back with my knuckles full of slivers. Instead, I rapped on the bottom of the door with the toe of my boot. I took a quick step back, worried that maybe we were actually in the wrong place and would be greeted with a shotgun.

The door swung wide and out stepped a tall, regal woman with dark hair pulled into a long braid that was slung over her right shoulder. She had a stately posture. Her soft brown eyes shone with wisdom and her fair skin had been kissed by the sun. She was wearing a pair of denim jeans with a dark blue tank top, two silver bracelets on each wrist and delicate silver rings on her fingers.

"As I live and breathe!" Scarlett cried as she swept me up into her arms. "Good Lord, look at you!" She pushed me back out away from her but kept me at arms' length. "You are here, standing on my porch, all in one piece and—oh, you're so beautiful! You've become a young woman!" She clasped my face between her hands. "Are you safe?" she asked, suddenly serious.

"Yes, I'm safe. I've missed you, Scarlett."
Oh, man, am I really going to cry? Distract,
I thought. "This is Theron Hawk," I said.

"Hello, Theron." Scarlett embraced him in an easy hug. "A friend of yours?" she asked back toward me.

Um, how should I define this thing we have? What should I say?
"Companion."

She held his face in her hands as well. "It is so good to meet you."

"Thank you, ma'am." Theron smiled.

"Don't call me ma'am. I know it's proper but it makes me feel ancient
—please, call me Scarlett." She smiled. "Now, both of you come in and make yourselves at home. Freya, this place is not what you'd expect from me and I'll explain it all to you later, but at the moment I have a mother giving birth. And her little one has decided to be trouble by presenting breech. You came at a perfect time—I could use your assistance."

"I would love to assist you!" I said excitedly. I hadn't seen a baby born for a long time. It was always such a miracle.

We went through the door. The interior was just as primitive as the exterior. Scarlett's cabin held no fineries—no paintings adorned the walls, there was no proper paint for that matter, just unfinished plaster and rough un-sanded boards the color of bone. A few old nails poked their heads from the wall to hold necessities like pots, pans, a lantern, a canteen and a rifle. Etta James was playing on an old fashioned phonograph record player. I had never seen one in use before.

Scarlett walked quickly to the sturdy brick fireplace on the other side of the room that served as a kitchen/living room combination. I noticed a short hallway that extended from the far side of the room to the right. Scarlett stirred the contents of a large cast iron pot that suspended like a witch's cauldron over burning logs. It bubbled with a tantalizing aroma.

"Catfish stew," Scarlett announced. "We have to keep the mama's strength up. Of course, there's plenty for everyone. There's no electricity or running water—we have a privy and a water pump out back—and there is a generator." She looked over at me sheepishly. "All of my money has been placed in a Swiss bank account. The government moved me way out here in the boondocks so I'd be inconspicuous. My safe house for patients suddenly turned into a safe house to store weapons used by the Guardians. State and local authorities were concerned gangs and thieves would get ahold of the militia's weapons so they sent me out here where no one could get to me—or want to!" She laughed lightly. "But I've certainly had no break-ins."

She stepped up to a huge, old fashioned cast iron stove. A fire in its belly illuminated the surface burners with heat. Scarlett removed a steaming water kettle that had begun to whistle. She took down four metal cups from a shelf, dropped homemade tea bags into each one and poured boiling hot water over them. She then set them in the center of a long butcher block table in the middle of the kitchen. "Sit," she instructed, indicating the six chairs around the table. "But not you
… " She pulled me back up by the arm as I was halfway into the chair.

"We'll be back." I smiled at Theron as a female voice sounded from down the hall
— "Scarlett, I'm having another contraction!
Ooooowwwww!
"

We were down the hallway in a flash. Two bedrooms on each side of the hall were furnished with queen sized beds that took up the majority of the floor space and, although the rooms were as plain as the rest of the house, the beds were adorned with fancifully patterned quilts. The first room's quilt was arrayed with shades of purples, blues and creams. The laboring woman rested under a quilt of green, white and burgundy. The quilts and phonograph seemed to be the only luxuries the cabin held.

Quickly my mind turned to the needs of the birthing woman. She had a concerned man by her side holding her hand.

"Freya, this is Holly and her husband Blake. He's a soldier in the Guardians' Phoenix division." Blake stood up momentarily to shake my hand and sat right back down next to his wife. He patted her head with a cool washcloth that he had dipped into a basin of water on a small bedside stand.

Scarlett handed him a cup of coffee she had carried in with her. "Here, why don't you take a break and let Freya and I have a go at it."

Blake nodded and slid tiredly into the chair beside the bed.

"We are going to turn your rebel baby around," Scarlett said confidently.

Between pants for air, Holly looked up and nodded at me as I massaged her abdomen. "You know," she said with a soft southern twang, "the Norse goddess Freya blessed women in childbirth."

"Really?" I smiled. "I never knew that."

"Blake," Scarlett said. "Let her squeeze your hand.
Theron,
" she called. Theron appeared in the doorway. "We need all hands on deck. Would you please get a cup of ginger ale. It's in the cooler in the kitchen."

Theron nodded and disappeared again.

"Okay Holly, I want you to get up on your hands and knees and just gently rock your baby," Scarlett said. "Freya, help her out."

I helped Holly move until she was turned over onto all fours with her round pregnant belly suspended over the bed. Theron appeared again in the doorway, this time with a cup of bubbling ginger ale. His eyes widened in horror then met mine, and I saw something I'd never seen there before
—genuine fear. I suddenly remembered how he had been given up by a heartbroken and callous father after being blamed for the death of his mother during his birth.

Theron quickly set the cup on the bedside stand and turned to go, but Scarlett grabbed his arm.

A wail from Holly jolted me out of my thoughts and back to her.

"Baby is almost fully turned." Scarlett smiled. "Keep breathing deeply, Holly. Freya, rotate her."

I gently but firmly somersaulted the baby, encouraging her to move with the motion of my hands. Because I had stayed with Scarlett so many times, I had learned a lot about childbirth and had gotten quite good at playing midwife.

After about ten minutes of contractions, rocking and massaging, Scarlett grew excited. "The baby's head has descended into the birth canal! Freya, excellent job!" Scarlett said. "She's ready now, Holly, push when the urge comes. Theron, bring the hot water from the stove."

With my mission accomplished I backed away to give my place to Blake.

Holly's face went blue with strain, and her rough soldier husband winced with the pressure she put on his hand.

"One more push," Scarlett ordered.

Theron came back with the kettle of water. Scarlett took it from his hands and said softly, "Stick around. We might need you."

I stood next to Theron against the bedroom wall. I stole a look at him. His face was unreadable steel. It held nothing—no expression whatsoever. Even his eyes were blank. I took Theron's hand in mine, lacing my fingers between his.

Scarlett continued, "Here she comes!"

Theron closed his eyes and squeezed my hand a little tighter.

"It's a boy!" Blake announced. "It's a boy!" he said again to Holly as if she hadn't heard him the first time. She fell against the soft mattress, exhausted.

Next to me, Theron let out a long breath. I realized he had been holding it.

I gently pulled Theron out through the doorway. "Let's go outside and sit on the porch steps."

We took our cold tea mugs off the table and went out onto the porch. We sat on the top ste,p looking out at the afternoon sun and the moon reflecting on the opposite side of the sky.

"You were incredible in there," Theron mused, staring into the distance. "You were so with it. And then you turned that baby around." He turned to look at me now. "You brought a life into the world."

I blushed and found myself at a loss for words. "Thanks," I managed.

Theron got quiet for a moment then asked, "What if the baby hadn't turned?"

"He might have been born breech or we might have had to transfer Holly to a hospital." I shrugged. "It happens all the time."

"If Holly had died it would have been her own child that killed her," he stated point blank.

"No, it's not like that. Every woman's body and pregnancy is different. Childbirth is usually completely safe, but nothing is one hundred percent risk-free. Women take a chance getting pregnant—just like we take a chance every day we get out of bed or cross the street—everything we do is a choice and every choice comes with a consequence—good or bad. That's just physics." I thought for a moment. "If a mother dies in childbirth it's not the child's fault—he didn't do anything. It's the same if the child dies and the mother lives. It wouldn't be the mother's fault—it's just… a tragic happening—but no one is to blame."

Theron wouldn't meet my eyes. "Then why did my father hate me so much? Why did he give me up because of it?"

"A weakness of the human condition—we want to blame something when we hurt—in a sort of blind restitution. But if there really is nobody to blame, the hurt person sometimes throws it on someone innocent—who doesn't deserve it. You've heard of a scapegoat. That's what your father did to you. You saw that baby. He was weak and helpless." I paused, formulating my next words. "Your mother's death was not your fault. You have no blame in it whatsoever. Your father was terribly wrong for blaming you and what he did to you… I am so sorry, Theron. Please know, you don't have to live with that guilt anymore."

He finally looked over at me. "I never even had a picture of her, and I only remember him vaguely." I laced my hand through his again and rested my head comfortingly on his shoulder.

"The Internet has a lot of information. Maybe sometime we could find out who she was. She would have loved you," I added.

We sat, thoughtfully sipping our now cold tea. A moment later, Scarlett came out the door. I turned quickly to make sure everything was okay. She wiped her hands off on a thin cotton cloth. "Follow me." She hung the cloth over a nail that was poking out of a post. "I have something to show you."

She walked past us, down the stairs. Theron and I jumped up, set our empty cups down beside the steps and hurried after her.

"You did a fine job in there with Holly, Freya," Scarlett called over her shoulder to me. "You really put her mind at ease. You have a magic about you." She smiled.

She led us behind the house and up a weedy, overgrown dirt path to an old decrepit swing set. With her shoe, she began clearing the sticks, stray branches, last autumn's leaves and mounds of dirt from underneath the rusty-chained, wooden slat swings. Theron and I were a bit puzzled, but joined in since there was quite a bit of debris to be cleaned. Soon, a hidden metal hatch door was revealed. Scarlett bent down, used a key for the first lock then a combination for a secondary lock and pulled the hatch open.

"Time's wasting." She beckoned us to go through.

I looked into the pit. Steep concrete stairs descended into a deep, dark, unsee-able end. Theron went first, I followed, and Scarlett brought up the rear, shutting the hatch above us. When she did, a motion activated light turned on beneath us. We could see that the stairs led into a narrow concrete hallway which, in turn, spilled us out into a concrete basement facility.

Rows upon rows of racks holding black guns lined three sides of the room. Most looked like the types of automatic weapons I'd seen used in movies, but had never seen in real life. I noticed rifles with intricate looking scopes, high powered telescopes, a variety of pistols, grenades, knives, and cases and belts full of ammunition
—everything looked ready to grab and use at a moment's notice.

"It's the Guardian's arsenal," Scarlett informed us. "Since these altercations with the Takers have only been escalating, they didn't want the armory to be in the same area as the National Guard or the Guardian's Underground. The Government and Guardian's advisors believed it was best to keep each facility separate in case one of them was found out
—the other would still be protected." Scarlett continued, "The Government is frantic because the Takers haven't made any demands or offered any ransoms. But they want something. These people are being taken for a reason."

I don't know why her words pricked like thorns, but they did. The two young lovers and the father from the bus station were still fresh in my mind.

"Why don't I just let them take me? Maybe we'd get some answers then?"