Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 125037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
As the next-oldest male after their missing brothers, Rubin had become the de facto head of the family just days before his eighth birthday. The expectation had been for him to run the family, to provide for them, even though he was only eight. Diego was his shadow, watching over him, honing his skills with his rifle, to better protect Rubin when they went out in the rugged terrain during every type of weather to hunt, fish, and forage for food to bring home to their mother and sisters.
Rifle skills weren’t the only thing Diego worked on. He had a close affinity with animals. He could understand them, and they could understand him. He worked hard to establish as many connections as he could with the wildlife and birds surrounding them. That led to better hunting skills and gave them an added layer of protection. His mother, a stern, religious woman, was certain he practiced witchcraft. Her punishments didn’t stop him though, not when it was for the survival of all of them.
Diego shifted the pack carrying his favorite weapons as he came upon a stream where he’d fished for trout with Rubin and his older sister, Mary. They’d laughed so much together, and Rubin had caught the biggest trout in his life. Their family had eaten well that night, Diego and Mary contributing with their smaller but tasty fish. He could not only remember his sister’s laughter, but he heard the sound of it in his mind. He could see them all so clearly, their lips pink and stained with grease from the fish they’d fried up in Mama’s old cast-iron skillet. Even Mama had been smiling, a rare thing, but she had that day, her eyes warm as she watched her children eating and laughing.
Man, that trout had tasted so good. That was a good day. He stood by the stream, a half smile on his face at the memory until he remembered the tragedy that had come a few weeks later. Diego’s fingers flexed around the strap of his backpack, knuckles going white as his grip tightened. That was the terrible truth that dogged him. There was never any good in his life that bad didn’t soon follow.
Rubin and Diego were nine when Mary left home to get married. Mathew Sawyer had been a good man, but she was barely of age. She died in childbirth nine months later, leaving behind her newborn son. Rubin and Diego dug the grave and buried her beside their father.
Diego had been particularly close to Mary, and he was devastated by her death. He knew Rubin was as well. But they were quiet about their grief, doing their best to comfort their mother and sisters.
Diego toed a large rock beside the stream and watched as several bugs crawled out from under it. Memories continued to flood his mind, and even the beetles couldn’t distract him.
The year they turned ten was a decent year. They managed to put together a generator from old parts they found in a mine. They came up with a way to bring gravity-fed running water to the house, the first their mother ever had.
Diego shifted his pack once more, used to the heavy weight of it, and began to follow the winding stream up toward Luther Gunthrie’s place. Rubin and Diego had often snuck past Luther’s homestead to get to the best fishing spots. Night fishing for catfish or bass often saved them from starvation.
Diego had begun to get very proficient at calling wildlife to him, but he felt guilty each time they had to kill a deer or rabbit he’d summoned. He didn’t feel quite so guilty when he practiced on the fish in the streams. He’d had to hide his abilities from his mother. Although his connection with animals saved his family from starvation, she believed the devil was in him and she’d try to beat the affliction out of him.
The thought of night fishing brought up one of his worst memories. That next summer, Lucy, their twelve-year-old sister, had gone night fishing with eight-year-old Jayne. Four men hiking the Appalachian Trail had run across the two girls. When their sisters didn’t come home, Rubin and Diego went to find them. Lucy was dead, and Jayne was nearly comatose from the brutal attack.
After carrying the girls home, they went back to track their sisters’ attackers. Rubin and Diego caught up with the men the following night. By morning all four men were dead. Rubin and Diego left them where they lay for the vultures and wildlife to take care of. They lived in a remote part of the mountains, and neither of them worried about the bodies being discovered.
They were thirteen when the flu took Jayne and then their sister Ruby. They buried both girls next to their father and sisters. Their mother never spoke a word after that. She sat in a chair, rocking, barely eating or sleeping. Just rocking, staring straight ahead with a vacant stare.