FERN

Tex learned about Black Raven Pirate Adventures from a brochure he'd found on one of the raids. He kept it folded around the map stuffed inside his jacket pocket. I'd gotten a glimpse of the front while he was showing some of the men, and the ship he wanted to steal was straight out of a fairy tale: dark black paint, red trim, and skull-printed sails. I had no idea how we could steal something that large and noticeable, but Tex talked about it like we'd already succeeded.

The plan was to park Lucille and float the other boat, Betty, as far as the trees offered cover. That left half a mile on foot for those chosen to attend. Willow and the children would stay behind with the injured and a handful of men, while the rest of us would divide into three groups: the lookouts, the boarders, and Croc with his gators in the water. When Tex declared who would make up these groups, my name came out without so much as a glance in my direction. No acknowledgement. No question.

I wasn't sure how to feel about that. On one hand, I wanted to go. I wanted to help. It felt like something I needed to do, for Daddy and Mama and John. For Julia. I had no objections to going wherever was necessary, but to not be asked, after we hadn't spoken in almost two weeks... Was that me now? Just another pawn in his army?

Daddy's voice echoed, warning me to stay away from the barn. To stay separate. This was no different than then. They were good people, and I was helping. That didn't mean I wanted to integrate myself into their group and risk being broken by loss later. I'd forgotten, but Julia's death and Tex's distance were more than enough to remind me.

"Grab your bow, Darlin'," Tex said.

I jolted. We'd been parked for hours, waiting for the night to deepen, and it was the first time I'd heard him acknowledge me directly since we'd fled. I picked up my bow and slid it over my shoulder; my arrows already rested on the other side.

He extended a hand, but I pulled myself to my feet without it. I wanted to take it, to feel his palm against mine and know he was still there, somewhere inside this man he'd become. But that part of us was over. Whatever had started had been brought to a jarring halt, and it felt far too much like running out of rabbits or not being able to start a fire. I'd die if I didn't eat. I'd freeze without warmth. I needed those things, and, without realizing it, I'd grown just as dependent on spending time with him.

He lowered his hand and studied my face. "You're angry with me."

I shook my head. "Not angry. I just don't think we should get too close." I focused on the shadow of trees across the river. It was the right thing to say. It was what Daddy would have advised, but that didn't make it easy. Tex wasn't some smelly barn full of all the worst chores. He was the field and the creek and all the places I'd felt the freest. I wanted to go there, regardless if it was good for me.

"I see." He leaned against the rail and crossed his arms. "I suppose I deserve that for neglecting you...after everything."

"It's not a big deal." I waved a hand as if the tension between us were smoke I could fan away. No matter the reason he'd ignored me, whether it be his loss, his way of coping, or something else, I had his full attention now. His gaze seared me, read me, and I was exposed. Could he hear the words I'd never say? See the feelings I couldn't allow myself to express? It had meant more. It was my first kiss. It was supposed to mean something; I just hadn't anticipated the attachment I would form. "It was just an experience, Tex. I never meant for it to be anything else."

He flinched, just like he had when I'd treated his wound, and I immediately regretted saying it. I hadn't meant to be so callous.

"It was perfect," I added. "Honestly. I'm thankful to have... had that. I didn't think I ever would."

He smiled then, lips thin and tight, as if his mouth wasn't meant to curve when I knew good and well that it was. "Neither did I, Darlin'."

He sounded so different: softer, patient. He never sounded like that when he spoke with his men, and—not for the first time—I imagined there were two of him: that Tex and my Tex.

My Tex stood, spoke, and acted the way this one did. And he'd always, since the first day, been a good friend to me. We'd grown close on our walks through the woods, talking about the plants and berries, going over survival techniques. "We can still be friends, though, right?"

"Always." He straightened, signaling that we needed to move. "I won't do anything you don't want me to. But stick with me on this mission. Don't get more than a foot from my back unless I say otherwise."

"Why else would I have the bow if not to watch your back?" I nudged his shoulder, determined to extinguish the darkness that had stolen him from me.

His lip twitched. "I've never felt safer."

***

Tex and his men moved like ghosts up the riverbank. Silent. Stealthy. They didn't remind me of bears when they moved like that. More like the foxes that would creep around and steal rabbits from my snares.

Tex stayed glued to my side while the men kept pace all around us. Crickets and frogs called out from the dark. Water lapped at rocks. My view was restricted to stiff backs and readied weapons. If I hadn't known what we were doing, I'd have thought it was me being stolen. They kept me boxed. Anytime I'd get a little leeway, one would stop and corral me back like dogs guarding a solitary sheep.

The ship was docked at the end of a long pier and seemed just as ghostly as the men. No lights or guards from what I could tell. Tex waved his hand one way, then another, and smaller groups broke apart to dart into their positions. They slid down the embankment and spread out on either side of the dock, belly down with guns pointed at the large building used for ticket sales and merchandise. The pier stretched on for at least twenty feet, leading to a deck full of tables and chairs too pristine to be abandoned.

Merle and Cecile—the man who seemed made of smoke—crowded my back, while Tex stayed right beside me, so close I could feel his body heat.

We waited for the owlish hoots from Reggie, signaling that the men were ready and our path was clear. The second it came, Tex motioned for us to follow him and half-crept, half-sprinted toward the ashen blocks. He picked up momentum as we cut across the yard, and Merle had to push me forward to keep pace.

The closer we got, the harder it was to see. The trees thickened on either side, blocking the moon and what little light it offered.

When we skidded to a stop at the corner of the building, I was out of breath and shaking with adrenaline.

Tex held a hand up, then froze, focusing. "You boys smell that?"

Merle and Cecil nodded. I drew a deep breath in through my nose, but all I could smell were dead pine needles.

Tex took my hand and maneuvered me closer to his back; the same position we'd had that day in camp, and I couldn't help but feel like that's what this was. Another day like the ones before. Only, this time, I'd gone looking for it.

I pulled the bow off my shoulder and readied an arrow, determined to have some say in fate. This wasn't the farm. These men weren't docile and ready to surrender, and I didn't have to be either. This wasn't then, and I wasn't the same Fern from before. I was this Fern. The Fern that had emerged in the after, and she was tired of hiding.

Tex glanced between my weapon and my face, then leaned forward to put his mouth close to my ear. "I don't care what happens, you stay behind me. And if I get shot, you get the hell out. Understand?"

The cold slipped through my jacket, reminding that it was fall.

Everything died in the fall.

I nodded, but no way would I leave him. I'd done that once before, and I'd give anything to take it back.

Cecil grunted. "I'll be dead of old age by the time he moves his ass."

Merle rumbled a low laugh. "If you were gonna die of old age, you'd have been dead a long time ago."

Tex stood and moved ahead, tugging me along behind him. He stopped at the deck, then slowed as he climbed over the rail. Soundless.

I tracked his movements, each precise placement of his foot, and my chest eased. He was hunting. My scattered thoughts formed a line as realization stepped forward to hand me back my confidence.

Tex turned to help me up, but I was already climbing. I may not have been a fighter. Daddy may not have been building an army with the people he helped, but we knew how to hunt. I knew how to keep quiet, and that was how I needed to treat this.

Merle and Cecil followed, taking their positions against the wall on one side of the double doors.

Tex pulled out his gun and leaned closer. "Remember, right behind me."

I nodded, and he crept across to take up the space on the other side.

I glanced at the heavy wooden doors as we passed, half expecting the world to burst out and trample us. A large, black sign hung above; dead men tell no tales printed in bold, red letters.

Not reassuring.

Tex shouldered the wall, reached behind to check my position, then extended his arm and gave a hard knock on the door.

"Is closed!" a man called out. His voice rolled like boulders; the deep staccato of a Russian accent. "Come back in spring. Less guns. I will give you a deal."

How did he know? Did they have cameras? The upper hand I'd thought we had disintegrated, and I fought the urge to tug Tex's jacket and demand we leave.

"I find I get a better deal when I bring the guns along," Tex called back. "Now, I don't have to use them, so long as you don't give me trouble. But I need that ship, and I'm not leaving without it."

Silence followed, and my hands sweated around the bow. We had no way of knowing how many were inside. No way to tell if officials had already been alerted and were on their way. For all we knew, this man was biding time, and it didn't feel like hunting anymore. It felt more like we were cans perched upon fence posts, waiting to be shot.

Chains rattled, metal scrubbed, then the door gave a creaking groan as it swung open. A set of large hands emerged first, followed by a man that almost seemed more bear than the men. A rounded belly pressed tight against a stained white shirt, and black hair peppered with gray coated him like wool. His hands, his arms. It curled around his shoulders, covered the bottom half of his face, extending to his collar bones in neatly trimmed angles.

Tex stood away from the wall, motioned for me to stay put, then stepped around to get a better aim. He held his gun out with both hands, leveled a clear shot on the man's forehead, then motioned with his chin toward the door.

Merle eased around the frame only to duck back as if the devil were inside. He held up three fingers.

"I don't want problems," the man continued. His eyes shifted as if counting each man and noting his position. "But ship..." He shrugged one shoulder. "This you cannot take. Is busy."

Tex smiled, but it wasn't one of my smiles. It was more like a wolf baring its fangs, showing off how sharp they were. "How many men do you have inside?"

The man smiled back. "Is wrong question. Right question: How many do I need?"

Cool metal pressed against the back of my neck. My eyes widened and shot to Merle and Cecil. They, too, stood frozen, the gleam of shotgun barrels protruding through holes in the wall behind them.