"Hey!" he shouted. "Get back here. You'll scare away all our food."
"Maybe I don't care anymore," I lied.
I cared. Of course, I cared. I wanted to move forward with life more than anyone in the world. Every single night I dreamt of having a family, of feeling loved and protected. But that wasn’t how things played out. I had to protect myself, and the only way I knew how was by going into pure defense mode.
When my dad caught up to me, he didn't scold or punish. He was a good man, and he meant well, but he didn't know how to ease my fears. He too had been broken by what had happened. Perhaps he felt it the most.
"Critter, I taught you well, didn't I?" he asked.
"Don't call me that," I said.
Though I couldn't remember much about my mom, I knew that was her name for me. Critter.
All I had were his stories, but my dad wouldn't tell me everything. I had to dig for the extra details and put a story together for myself.
I still didn't know how she died, but I could remember the hospital building. I remembered the federal agents guarding her door. The weapons they held were powerful and terrifying. I remembered how old she looked, despite being young and in her thirties.
None of it made sense, but I couldn't ask questions. If I did, Dad would shut off. He'd go into his own mode of defense: deafening silence.
"Over there," I said, pointing. "I think I see some tracks."
When we’d first arrived, the land was plentiful. The forest used to be overrun with game. We didn't have to do much to survive and live in fullness.
Back then, we used to sit under the stars and tell stories. We would light big bonfires and laugh together. Sometimes, he'd give me a small thimble of some whiskey he’d saved, and I'd feel the warmth flowing through my veins. That was what love felt like, I imagined. Warm, inviting, and free.
That was years ago. Now that the herd was thinning out, it meant living in a constant state of rationing. Which meant hunger. Which meant conflict between family members.
There was no more whiskey left to ease the pain. I just had to grit my teeth and take the abuse of nature, day in and day out.
Despite the hurt, I still had hope. I still waited for someone to sweep me off my feet. I prayed to the lord above that the man who found me would fix all of my troubles. Until that glorious day, I'd keep fighting to survive.
Running ahead of my dad, I climbed the top of the nearby hill, heels slipping on the wet slush of the forest floor. As I moved, the tracks grew bigger and less sparse, and I could see faint droplets of blood scattered across the imprinted soil.
The sight didn't cause me to slow down in the slightest. I was used to blood, guts, and broken animal carcasses. Dad told us people in the city were afraid of those types of things. For me, they were indicators that life was still around us.
Nature was neither friend nor foe. Nature offered all things, good and bad. We gave our thanks to the land and to the lord above every day, in hopes of a better tomorrow.
I picked up the pace, eager to track our dinner. Still, it didn't stop my father from screaming my name.
"Lilly! Get back!"
I could hear the panic in his voice. I should have stopped, but I could feel a dark force pulling me in its direction. It was a presence. Perhaps, it was an animal. For once, we could eat well.
Of course, my dad was quicker than I was. When he caught up with me, he was winded and angry.
I stopped, not because of my possible punishment—I was an adult, and he had to treat me as such. I stopped because a realization hit my heart. He was getting older.
Everything was changing, but not in the way I had anticipated. Soon, I would be the one leading the way. Without him. That terrified the hell out of me.
Wheezing, he knelt down and tried his best to regain that rugged strength he’d carried with him throughout his life. "Please, Lilly." He cleared his throat and spat on the ground. "Don't run off like that. There are hunters living on the other side of these woods. You need to be careful."
I knelt down beside him and ran my hand against his back to calm his nerves. He worked himself up too hard. I was okay. I could do this.
“Someday, I'll be the one taking care of you. You'll have to let me wander," I said.
He glanced down at the set of tracks and then back at me. Surprisingly, his stern face twisted into a smile. He fell into boisterous laughter. "Is that so, young one?"
I grabbed his rifle, stood up and saluted. "Sir, yes, sir," I joked. "It's in our nature to leave the homestead."