“If we begin to starve, what do you think we’ll be forced to do to you?” Andrew asks.
Howard shrugs again. “I suggest you come up with another plan before that happens. Because you’ll lose.”
He turns and heads toward the others. Andrew whispers to me.
“Grab the gun.”
“No.”
“Jamie—”
“No, Andrew. Just... no.” Only one of the men still has his gun on us; the others have turned back into the woods, disappearing in the foliage. If I were someone else, I could do what Andrewis asking. If I were stronger.
I can’t do any of that. And now we’re going to starve to death. I’m sure all of them would do it in a heartbeat. In fact, I know it. Howard’s eyes told me everything.
I turn back to Andrew and I’m surprised to see he’s glassy-eyed. He looks frustrated and I can see the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench. He’s probably pissed at me. Maybe now he sees how weak I am and he’s embarrassed that he was ever scared of me.
He pushes himself up, grabbing his crutch, and I watch as he hobbles into the house to take stock of what’s left and figure out how long until we starve.
We skip dinner that night, and Andrew goes to bed early. I follow shortly after, lying in my bed, thinking about the food we have. There’s enough canned food for a week. More if we can keep the venison going. And the seeds in the garden are starting to germinate, so maybe we can take vitamins until they produce crops.
I’ll hunt in the morning. I’ll do what I need to now, because I don’t have any other choice.
But more than that, there’s something else distracting me. I keep trying to come back to the food, to focus on what’s important, but my mind wanders to Andrew. My gut reaction when Howard pulled the gun.
I tried to get in front of it. It didn’t matter because the others by the trees had their guns on both of us, but my focus was only on Howard’s gun, pointed at Andrew. Most of my night is spent imagining what would have happened if Andrew got hurt, if they killed him. And if I survived.
I spiral, thinking about every possibility that could have happened.Mainly, though, I can’t figure out why the whole incident is affecting me so much. Andrew, who I met six weeks ago, is someone I was willing to jump in front of a gun for.
Spiraling again. Howard didn’t shoot, so it doesn’t matter. I tell myself that over and over. We’re fine, it didn’t happen, we’ll survive this. I’ll do what I have to in the morning.
When I wake, the sun isn’t up yet, but blue predawn light peeks through the curtains.
I get up, shower, dress, and sneak out the back door. Heading for the field I’ve been trying—and failing—to hunt in. I lie on the ground and pull a brown tarp over my back, looking through the scope of the rifle at shadows cast by the trees. Waiting for the sun to rise.
As the morning goes on, I keep telling myself I don’t need to be out here. We still havesomefood after what Howard left us.
But we’re still gonna need some protein, and that means waiting here, forsomething.
Then I hear it—the crack of twigs, the rustle of dead leaves. There’s a flash of brown and white as a large doe prances into the field from the tree line. My heart leaps.
My finger floats against the trigger as I line up the black lines in the rifle sight where the doe’s heart is. She looks around, her ears twitching atop her head.
I can do this. I have to do this. I have to,I have to. My finger applies more pressure. The trees behind the doe rustle and a small fawn hops from the woods; white spots speckle its brown fur. My finger flicks away from the trigger.
The fawn frolics around its mother with abandon, springing up and down on its spindly legs. It has no idea of the metal projectilemoments away from taking its mother’s life.
C’mon, this changes nothing. I put my finger back on the trigger as the doe bends her long neck down and nibbles at the grass. The fawn stops hopping and bends down as well, sniffing. Its tail twitches with excitement at all the new smells and sensations. I move the sight over to it, following it as it explores the new world it was only just born into.
I see my mother’s face again. This time her eyes are open and pleading with me, and I can barely hear her as she asks me, again, to end the pain.
I can’t do it. I can’t kill a mother deer in front of her baby. Not this one. I’ll get another one. Maybe tomorrow or... I don’t know.
“Goddammit,” I whisper under my breath. The doe and the fawn look up from the ground, their ears twitching. I let out a sigh and stand up, throwing the tarp off my back. “Yeah, I said ‘goddammit’!” I shout at them across the field. Neither of them moves.
“Go,” I say, waving my hand again. They remain where they are, staring at me. “Move it!” I point the gun at them and they don’t even flinch.
I hold the rifle steady. If they’re so keen to die, we might as well eat. Only this time I can’t even bring my finger up to the trigger. As the deer watch me and I watch them, I drop the rifle and crouch down, holding out my hand to the fawn.
