Tales from the Wasteland | The No Leaf Clover

Chapter 9

"Guilt. I have so much. The weight is too much to bear. I feel it crushing me from all directions. The fear of what I've done is eating me alive."

I can take away the guilt and fear. You'll never have those feelings ever again.

"But at what cost?"

Only your soul.

Rod rises up from the shroud of sleep in a cold sweat. He pants heavily and grips his chest in pain. As he feels the bandages, Rod looks down and tries to process his last thoughts. Another sharp pang attacks his battered body, this time originating near his temple. His other hand instinctively goes to the head as he tries to rub the ache out.

A moment later, the throbbing subsides enough for him to shake the rest of the uneasy drowsiness from his eyes. His place of slumber is dark, yet comforting. He scoots over to the edge of the bed and eases to his feet, a little shaky at first. He braces himself against the wall. A familiar smell of swine and dough plug his senses. Rod knows exactly where he is now as he cautiously heads to the ladder leading to the bottom level of Rin's cabin.

Coming closer to the rectangular hole, he hears voices. Judging from the higher pitch of one, Rod recognizes it to be Rebecca. It sounds as though she is arguing with several people. He grabs hold of the ladder and descends to the bottom floor.

The aroma of pig and bread is more prominent at ground level. The voices are clearer as Rod moves to the front door. Rebecca's tone is stern and concise.

"Where do you think you're going with those guns?"

A defiant male voice responds quickly, "Papa and Enya are still out there. They need our help."

"I made a promise to your father to not follow after and put you boys into any risk. You're much too young to face the evils that are in Ain," Rebecca responds.

Rod opens the door as Rebecca stands on the edge with her arms crossed scrutinizing the two boys, both armed to the teeth with an assortment of weapons from the basement. Tyrne stands behind Dyn cowering before the cold stare of his mother. His long brown hair is tied back revealing his youthful face. He's wearing one of his father's brown jackets, which ends right above his knees, with the sleeves rolled back. His brother, a few years older, is a head or two taller. His hair is also tied back but braided. He spent the last year or so letting his beard grow out like his father. The straps of a sword sheath press over his patched leather jacket. A pistol rests on his right hip while he holds a shotgun. Though his eyes are brown, they deepen with a fiery determination to save his father and sister. Rod can see this and decides to limp out in objection.

"I'll go."

All three go silent, and Rebecca turns to face the injured hunter. The boys stand there tight-lipped until Dyn bursts out into an abrupt laugh. "What can you do? You're as limp as a dying dog."

"Tyrne, go to my motorcycle and fetch a small leather pouch from the left saddlebag for me," Rod directs.

The young boy stands there motionless until his mother barks at the boy to do as he's told. He snaps back to reality, nods to her, and takes off to the barn. Rod walks over to a rocking chair on the porch and eases into it. The old mother walks over and loosens the bandages on his chest. "Let's take a look at your wounds."

She unravels them and places her hand on the incision, applying a bit of pressure to confirm the stitches are still holding. To her surprise, the skin is healing rapidly. Rebecca adds a little more pressure and Rod gasps slightly. She surveys his face for an instant then smiles.

"The stitches are holding up nicely. Luckily, no infection is forming.

What happened out there?"