A Doomsday Device of Plywood and Twine: Part 4

Cem strayed to the bottom of the valley while his two remaining family members walked along the ridge above. The previous night had been a cold one but he slept as if dead, insulated by the warm orange glove of his sleeping bag. If he had dreamt there was no memory of it. His father said that they would likely reach their destination in two days and that he did not know how long they would need to stay hidden. The valley floor was bisected by a small creek that seemed to have a singular purpose of transporting yellowed and fallen leaves to their ultimate resting place. Now three of the human race would sustain themselves for the duration of an illicit journey by drinking from it, this was true wilderness. Cem felt a warmth intensify on his left cheek and noticed a break in the tree canopy overhead, allowing the sun’s rays to pass through unmitigated; now those rays were in his eyes. The experience of temporary blinding light reminded him of a day in the past, not far distant, when his mother stood behind the screen door of their back porch and called him in for supper. With the sunlight in his eyes he couldn’t make her out--the screen seemed solid and opaque, dividing them. Now she was gone. Cem called his father’s words on the matter back into the grappling ring. What exactly did he mean by “God’s plan for them” or that it was their mother’s choice? On the ridge he could discern the conjoined silhouettes of his sister and old man, still tracking his own forward progress.
    “And we can trust your ... friend?” Sadie had her arms folded tightly across her stomach, focusing on the autumn colored ground before them. Dry leaves rustled and crunched beneath her feet.
    “Abner? Yeah, he’s a good man, was in the war together.” Her father adjusted the pack on his shoulders, he carried the load for all three of them. “He knows we’re coming.”
    “When’s the last time you saw him?”
    “Last year about this time, you remember I was gone for about a week then.”
    “What’s he do?”
    “He, uh, orchestrates the buying and selling of things, a broker I suppose you could say.”
    “What things?”
    “Things ... uh, you know, whatever’s in demand.”
    “Drugs?”
    “Gosh no, Sadie. Not drugs, at least. He’s an, uh, outfitter.”
    “Guns?”
    “There’s some guns.”
    Sadie stopped abruptly, her eyes still downcast but a shivering was apparent in her shoulders. “More trouble,” she said.
    “He’s all we’ve got to rely on, Sadie. He’ll help us, I promise you.”
    “How many broken promises do I need to hear!” Her voice reached down across the valley; down to Cem who froze and looked up at them. From the distance between she couldn’t make out his expression, but could guess which one he wore. When Cem was worried or frightened his eyes would open wide, his thin brown brows would furrow and his mouth would hang open slightly, like a fawn caught in headlights.
    “Shush girl! Now’s not the time to be feelin’ safe enough to yell out like that.” He looked about them as if to gain assurance that no one else heard her.
    “What is it?” shouted Cem. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing, boy!” The old man projected a whisper toward his son. “Get your butt up here!”