I stared at the bed for another moment, and then my mind switched to survivor mode.
My brother still in the closed-off living room, I grabbed my largest satchel and ran to the kitchen pantry. There were two loaves of bread that I wrapped in towels and multiple packages of dried fruit we had stored away for winter. There were three jars of fermented cucumbers that I grabbed right away and put in the satchel and a roll of butter, a block of cheese, four packages of jerky, and some dried ham. Three two-gallon canteens of water finished the stock of food.
I grabbed another satchel and grabbed five blankets from the storage closet. I turned to grab a tarp, but Echo was already holding it out to me. I took it and inserted it into the bag before I turned back to her, a questioning expression on my face.
"My father is dead, Nova." Echo said quietly. "Scoutfield is gone. They both cared for me, but now..." she shook her head unsteadily. "There's nothing for me here... so I'm going with you."
She eyed me carefully as though expecting me to deny her that right, but I only nodded. She relaxed and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around me for a moment, and then she released me and turned back to the cabinet, professional again.
"We can take the three ferrocerium rods. They'll keep us going for awhile as far as heat..." She passed the items to me and then went on. "The tarp can offer shelter from the elements, but you'll want to add some rope..."
We packed clothes and blankets for the three of us and then the final addition of an extensive medical kit completed our preparations. Finally, remembering Scoutfield's farewell, I passed the three letters to Echo.
"You're supposed to explain everything to me," I informed her, "and you're supposed to mail these if Scoutfield doesn't get in touch with you by tomorrow night."
Echo clutched the letters for a moment, looking at me suspiciously, and then she nodded the slightest bit and looked down to examine the letters. After a moment, she ripped one open and read through it carefully.
"Yeah..." she said after a moment. "Don't listen to everything Everett Scoutfield says. I'm not telling you anything right now."
Echo's stony expression settled on me and I stared back, startled. But then a mask of normalcy fell across her face and she smiled slightly, turning around.
"I brought my father's horse. He... won't be needing it..."
It was a crude statement, but true.
"We can move faster with both him and your father's mare," Echo went on. "Calix won't weigh much. We can take turns riding with him."
I went to the coat closet and opened the door, looking over my options for weapons. Knives. Knives were always good! I grabbed three, slipping one into my belt, passing one to Echo, and putting the third aside to go in the saddlebag. Crossbow: I wasn't going anywhere without that. Regular bow: definitely a must.
We went into the living room, finally, and Echo picked Calix up, quickly telling him not to talk. That we were going on an adventure.
"Where's Mama?"
Neither of us answered, and then Echo finally said, "You're going to be okay, Cal."
"I know I'll be okay," he proudly told us. "I'll never ever not be okay when you're here."
His trust in me was flattering, to say the least.
We left the house, closing the door tightly behind us, and then made our way out to the small stable behind my mother's garden where, tied beside my father's mare was a large horse I had once seen Echo's father riding.
Inca. His name was Inca.
My father's mare was Artemis.
We loaded the bags onto the horses and then we sat in silence.
A thousand thoughts made their way through my mind. A million memories, almost as though they had happened in another lifetime.
Calix's birth. Melanin's sixteenth birthday. My mother happy. My father smiling.
Melanin had a party for her sixteenth birthday, celebrating her new adulthood. Fireworks, games, cake, and gifts. Photos with our parents, so many times being told she was loved, by friends, her parents, and even boys.
After that day, I'd dreamt. Dreamt of my own birthday celebration. It would be the same way as Melanin's, except with much fewer friends and admirers. Because while Melanin was a girl always willing to be fun, I was much more volatile. I could snap in a moment, a knife always in my reach.
I was unsafe to be friends with.
Now my sixteenth birthday would be alone. Maybe with Echo, or not. Maybe I'd be alive, or not. One thing was for sure, though: I'd never hear the words: "I love you" uttered again to me. Not on a wedding day. Not from a child. Not from a father. Not from my parents on my sixteenth birthday.
When the clock chimed noon, I hoisted my brother up onto Inca and slipped his teddy bear quickly into his hands as Echo climbed up behind him, securing her arms reassuringly around his shoulders. I mounted Artemis and folded the reins in my hands, adjusting my mount and turning her toward the road. We rode in that direction, then, finally reaching the road where Echo paused, glanced around, her eyes keen. I paused, waiting for her as she scanned our surroundings.
This was where we had grown up. This was the location of our childhood, and by leaving it, we were leaving that innocence, too.
Echo tightened the reins, turned her horse, and took off towards the trees in the distance, and I followed her, feeling the past slip away behind me, and not looking back towards what I had left behind.