Darkest before Dawn

By William Hardy

ELIZA MATTHEWS

18th May, 2008 — 26th October, 2050

In my wake, I hope we meet again like we did on Earth.

“What will happen to us now?” Megan said, wiping her eyes on her brother’s bed blanket. “We’ll get by somehow, but you’ll eat, okay?” Jesse said, rubbing her back. 

“I love you, Jesse,” she said, pulling him into a deep hug. “You won’t leave me, right?” 

“Never,” he affirmed. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

***

After a year of grieving over his mother, seventeen year-old Jesse Matthews was too blunt and distrustful for his own good, but hard-working. He was never seen without his waxed black jacket, nor dishevelled black hair that served as his signature look.

The pair had problems in their lowly district town of Raven as wealth was unequally divided. The Uppers, a comfortable district that refused to share their supplies, while the rest of Raven suffered at their expense. Jesse had to find something that paid in food. His mother kept a bow, so he’d start there. It was part of his inheritance, along with a photo of the three of them smiling, taken at least three years ago. He set it aside and gave it to Megan, who still has the same short brown hair.

Seasons passed, and the solace improved his concentration and diligence when hunting for all sorts of wildlife, mostly deer. Now skilled with a bow, he knew how to track, and keep his sister and himself fed. It took many months, but he finally got into a routine which kept him occupied, and he even learned the best time to hunt.

Dawn or dusk proved to be most effective.

***

Today, Jesse woke up before dawn; peering out of the window and he saw it was still dark out. After putting on his jacket and supple leather boots, he slung the quiver of arrows over his back. A knock at the door startled him. 

Who the hell?, he thought, grasping the combat knife from his utility belt, and slowly opening the door.

“Woah there!” said the small moustached man, raising his hands like he’d been caught stealing. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I need your help.”

Jesse sheathed his knife, and lit the porch light with a match. “You again? What do you want?” he seethed, adjusting the leather strap around his torso. “I told you already, I don’t have any more food for you.”

McCarthy looked nonplussed at his outburst. “Please just hear me out,” he said, pulling out a slip of worn paper from his trouser pocket. “I only need some help,” he continued, as he held it for a moment before passing it to Jesse. “Your help.” 

He snatched it from his hand. It was a shopping list for meat, mostly game and sewing materials that made little sense.

Jesse squinted at the small man as his irritation slowly grew again. “I’m no charity, and some of us actually are starving,” he said, tearing the paper up. “Find someone else,” he pushed past him, and went off in the direction of the forest as he slung his wooden bow on his back; not forgetting to count the arrows in his quiver. Ten. “Perhaps I could help?” McCarthy panted, running after him. “I’m useless with a bow, but I might be able to track “You know what it’s like in town,” he said, “they’ll put me on less than half-wages in my condition. I’m begging you, from one starving man to another.”

Jesse stopped, turning to face him. He looked so innocent in a beanie and white henley, with suspenders hitching up his trousers. Hope he doesn’t freeze, Jesse thought. Mom wouldn’t turn a townsperson away. He’d made it to the perimeter of the woods, where a dozen of his tracks were freshly imprinted in the snow. “Alright, I’ll give you a chance, so pay attention. I actually have to do some work that doesn’t involve hand-holding. What’s your name?”

McCarthy gripped his satchel strap. “McCarthy,” he said. “I understand, I can hold my own. What’s yours?” 

“Jesse,” he said, as he watched McCarthy cling onto a tree and place his free hand on his knee. “You okay?”

“Tis’ but a scratch,” McCarthy said. “But if I put too much pressure on it, I may need you to carry me back!” he laughed, but he was met with a stern reproval. “That’s a joke.”

Jesse crossed his arms. “Are you done?”

McCarthy gestured with a thumbs up. “It’s been three weeks since I left the hostel because of this damn injury,” he said, scratching his knee. “If one can choose his employment, then he has won at life, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Jesse thought of his mother, she actually would agree with him, but working as the town medic brought the death of her, and he was acutely aware that hunting was just as risky. “Not if the job he chose takes away his means to find food.”

***

Soft autumnal shades of orange streaked across the sky with the golden rim ascending between the trees.

The fresh air calmed his nerves, and allowed him to deeply connect with the world to get out of his own head. Maybe this company would be nice, but he still preferred the solace of the woods more than life around people. It was just the way he was wired and he had learned to embrace his flaws. Megan was his responsibility, but McCarthy had deliberately sought Jesse out because he knew his mom before she passed, through a shared passion of dominoes. This discovery led to much conversation about the one person he’d been trying to avoid discussing. It was too painful for him to bring up old wounds, but the conversation ultimately drifted back to her.

“So, do you have family?” Jesse said. 

“I had a brother once. He died of pneumonia,” McCarthy said. 

Jesse inhaled. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

McCarthy waved it off, as a cough overtook him. “But Eliza, well, she was the first person I’d call a true friend. Sly, cunning, silver tongued, and that’s just at dominoes,” he chuckled, patting his chest. “I never knew how she did it, you know,” he paused, “looking out for both you and your sister with very little money.”

Jesse nodded in agreement. “She was a rock for us. I just wish I’d told her I loved her in the end,” he paused, stopping in the middle of the path. “That’s my only regret.”

McCarthy stroked his moustache. “You could live ten lifetimes and still make the same mistake.”

Jesse sighed, desperately wanting to change the subject. “I’m guessing they don’t employ many ex-domino players then?” 

McCarthy chuckled. “On the contrary, it’s a game of chance. Isn’t that how we play life? Some say I had it gold being a tailor,” he said, gripping onto his suspenders. “But it’s lucrative work if you know where the back-door is,” he grinned conspiratorially. “We do what we can to get by, and your mother knew that better than I.”

Jesse looked astonished. “What did you steal?”

“Silver,” McCarthy said. “More silver than that which I spent to enter their town,” McCarthy chuckled, pointing ahead into the forest. “But after a while I suppose I let my own arrogance get the better of me,” he said, shaking his head. “Quite the fall from grace, eh? Are you saving up?”

“Trying to, but I’ve heard stories and some seem hard to believe,” Jesse said, shrugging his shoulders. “Is it true that people eat three times a day there?”

They had just walked under a branch. “Yep, and you get access to hot water.”

“Wow,” Jesse said.

***

They walked on, and slowly, the conversation ceased as thick grass reached their thighs; until McCarthy spotted tracks in the snow resembling hooves. “Pronghorn tracks. Nice find.”

They walked a little further until McCarthy deadened his footsteps. “We got a live one,” he whispered.

They continued along the trail until they caught up to their prey. One beautiful Pronghorn Buck was up ahead, grazing on the short snowy grass. The antlers looked majestic and curved, but his coat was of a deep brown with speckled white dots that increased its attraction to the predators that were hunting it. 

Jesse explained the antlers distinguish a male and female apart, but their coat concealed them, where the dappled spots helped them blend in to the forest floor across all seasons. Jesse watched McCarthy absorb the beauty of the animal; he remembered that feeling when his mother took him hunting at fifteen. Meg still had a parent then. 

The thrill of reaching the arrow from the quiver, and gently pulling back the string from the bow made him feel a connection to something real and tangible; like he was the protector of his kin.

It almost made Jesse feel guilty, but he was starving, so he had to kill it. Who knew when he might catch another? Meg was relying on him. A clean kill was necessary.

Jesse inhaled and slowly pulled the string back against his cheek. He held his breath and shut his eyes, exhaling as he let it fly. In less than a second he heard a drawn-out cry echo around the forest.

He opened his eyes. It was clean and instant; straight in the neck. Jesse yanked the arrow out of the Pronghorn’s jugular.

“That’s one way to do it,” McCarthy said, sitting on a fallen tree trunk. 

Jesse knelt down, and focused on skinning the animal. Blood splattered everywhere. 

“You shouldn’t have to do stuff like this.”

“Well, it’s that or starve,” Jesse said, wiping blood off his forehead, “and next time you’re doing it.”

McCarthy nodded, crossing his arms. “You remind me so much of her, you know?”

As Jesse finished skinning, he took multiple rags out of his leather satchel and wrapped the meat up. He secured it all in his satchel, and chucked the pelt over to his helper. 

“Quite the haul here,” McCarthy said, wrapping up the pelt in his own satchel. “Are we heading back?”

“We only have enough space for the one,” Jesse said, standing to wipe the wet blood off the knife using his thigh. Afterwards, he looked at McCarthy and patted his shoulder. “You did good. With enough time and practice I’m sure you’ll make a fine hunter.”

McCarthy smiled. “Thanks, Jesse.”

“You’re welcome,” Jesse said, buckling up his satchel.

“Megan’s lucky to have you, but it wasn’t chance I knocked on your door today,” McCarthy said. “It’s about time you received your full inheritance.”

Jesse knitted his eyebrows and watched McCarthy pull out a large canvas pouch from his satchel. He instructed Jesse to open his hands, and he placed a silver coin in the centre of his palm. There must have been hundreds of them stuffed in that pouch.

“I’ve got twenty more back in the hostel,” he said, passing the pouch over to Jesse. “You need to take your sister and leave. There is no future here for you two.”

Jesse looked dumbfounded. “Really? You’d do that for us?”

McCarthy smiled. “It’ll be enough for a fresh start.”

“You told me you lost it all,” Jesse countered, as coins jingled unsteadily in the pouch. “Why the secrecy?”

“I never said that. I stashed it for your family, but I couldn’t leave The Uppers. Once I learned of Eliza’s passing through the obituary, I had to get back to her children.” McCarthy put his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “You’ve grown into a fine young man.”

***

It would take Jesse a while to process this information in the midday sun, long after he returned home to tell his sister, who was equally stunned by the revelation of their mother’s friend; who had given them a chance to start again.

Another year would pass them by from the time they left Raven, having left nothing but their past regressions and empty stomachs in the forest where they buried their mother.

William Hardy is a Creative Writing student from Cambridge, England. He lives with his parents, sister and labradoodle. His work has appeared in The National Centre for Writing’s A Life Written Anthology and he is inspired by his own experiences which led him to start focusing on a writing path. He is entering his final year of university.