Survive

 I woke up thinking about coffee, so vividly I could smell it. It's been months since I had a cup, since I held the warm mug in my hand, steam rising and fogging up my glasses. I can even hear it brewing, the hiss and gurgle of the percolator. I force myself to open my eyes. I look around and see I'm the first one up. I'm stiff and sore, sleeping on the ground isn't something I have gotten used to. I stand up and stretch out my joints, creaking and popping as I do. I stifle a moan and stoke up the fire. 

 I stand here warming up and begin thinking about how we took for granted our life before, the ease of it.  Always complaining about how mundane the everyday tasks of life were. I'd give anything to go back to those days, days where I didn't have to put fear behind me and push on. Days where I thought I was brave, but not knowing what that even really meant. It's been eight months now, I think, that I have been living out of my comfort zone. Always moving, never staying too long and taking the paths least traveled. Our small group is learning to navigate and stay hidden like the animals we now have to hunt to survive. 

I look up and see others starting to stir. I am awake enough now to smell the pine, the rotten leaves, and the stench of dirty bodies. It's just cracking daylight, I can just see the orange through the trees. I close my eyes one more time and try to grab hold of my memories. Hoping to catch one last inhale of better days. 

Today we move on, hoping to find a new location. I mentally prepare by reminding myself I am fearless. Even though we live in hiding we aren't cowards. Instead we risk our lives being on the run. We chose to stand up against the powers in charge. Unwilling to compromise, to sell our souls to their agenda. So here we are sleeping on the earth, living off the bushes, and praying for meat to give us strength to endure this nomadic lifestyle. We have about twenty in our group. We started with thirty, but we lost some to disease and some because we trusted the wrong people. Daily we learn new rules to this way of life. Stay quiet, always move, look constantly for food, and most of all be careful who you trust.

 We gather up what little belongings we have left and round up our families, reminding them to be quiet and step as softly as they can. We only speak when absolutely necessary, hoping we can just blend in with the sounds native to the forest. When we are all together we set out, praying we can find a good location before nightfall. We don't make much progress with the children and older ones, but we try our best to make as much ground as we can. As we travel we constantly look for food to forage, storing it away for our daily meal. Today is cool and slightly damp, it makes me long for the fireplace we once had in our living room. Remembering the days our family would snuggle up together and watch tv or read. Toasting our toes by the fire, laughing and seeing how long we can stand the heat. I miss those days so much I could cry. I feel the memories in my bones, cutting through to my heart. I refocus on the path, not wanting to miss something important. As I’m scanning the area ahead I feel like I caught a glimpse of something, or maybe I’m seeing things because I am just so tired. That's probably it, so I go on not thinking anything of it.

 A little while later I caught another glimpse. I grab my husband's arm, whispering I say, “I see something up ahead, a deer or maybe a bear.”

He nods his head and with his eyes he tells me he will go investigate. It has been weeks since we had protein. We need it so badly, our muscles are weakening day by exhausting day. I say a silent prayer that it is an animal and he has success in making the kill.

 I decide to go around the other way hoping to maybe drive it more towards him. I have a bow and know how to shoot, but I have never had to make the shot. I don't mind killing, especially if it helps myself or my family survive, but the pressure of it makes me nervous. I nod to the others that I am going around the other way to help and a few others nod back in acknowledgement. 

My heart pounds as I creep around the trees, tiptoeing to be as soundless as I can. I stop because I hear something, it's very quiet and I can’t quite make it out. As I am listening closer I feel a presence close behind me. It’s not even a second later I feel a hand on my mouth and the sticky breath of a whisper in my ear. “Don't make a sound or move a muscle.” 

It's a man, that much I know. Taller than me with a tight grip on my face and around my waist. His breath is stale and sour. I inhale as I evaluate my options. I have my bow, but there is no way I can use it in this position. I always keep a knife on my belt, I think I can reach it without him noticing. He is slowly pulling me back against him, walking me in the opposite direction from my group. I have to decide what I am going to do before I am too far away to catch up. I don’t want anyone looking for me and end up in the same predicament as I am. 

I slowly reach for my knife as all these thoughts circle in my head. I think about all I have gone through to get to this point, all the sacrifices I have made to keep my family safe. Can it even be called bravery to think about taking a life? Am I considered a hero or a coward if I do what I know I have to to get back to my people?. I grip the marble handle and slowly guide it out of the sheath. I know I have to be quick or he will over power me. Before I even know what I am doing I use all my strength to spin around in his grip and plunge the long blade into his abdomen. His grip loosens around me as I pull the knife out and I shove him backward. The front of his shirt is already stained with blood. He falls and I run as fast as I possibly can. As I weave in and out of the trees and hop over fallen branches I pray he is dead or at least injured enough to not pursue me. I also hope he is alone and doesn’t have others hiding or anyone that will come looking for him anytime soon.

I don’t stop until I reach them. My husband is back, thank goodness. Gasping for air as everyone stares at me wide eyed and scared, they know it can't be something good with the look on my face. Finally, between breaths, I get out what happened. We decide to go deeper into the woods, off the path and travel as far as we possibly can until the sun completely sets. 

Before we leave I hug my kids and my husband. Words can not convey how thankful I am that I was able to return to them. My breaths are shaky and my hands tremble as we walk. I think about the knife on my side, of the man's blood on the blade. So many emotions are rolling through my body. It will take time to sort through them all, to truly have peace about my decision. I keep breathing, I put my hand to my heart feeling it beat and tears come to my eyes. I am overwhelmed by the relief I feel to be alive. There is no way to know how long we will survive, we might not make it to a year or maybe even to the end of the day. I will take every second I get with my family. I will protect them anyway I can. I knew I would kill if it meant saving myself or them. Does it make me brave or a coward that I took a life? To be truly honest at the end of the day I don’t care which one I am, I’m here to survive.