Into Ruin

Chapter 7 Left Behind

The breeze rushed past Cynthia's face, enticing the droplets of sweat to fall. The best times to hunt were also the most likely times to be hunted so Marcel agreed to only take Winston out when it was safe. Winston was adamant that they return to the same location they visited, with all the ducks and long grass. Marcel disagreed and took them to a further section in the same part of the bush.

Closing her eyes, Cynthia listened to the whoosh of the wind, the birds' chirps, the rustling leaves. Sometimes it was hard to believe that life carried on after all the atrocities that had befallen others. When she reopened her eyes, Winston ran about the bushes. He ducked into the soil to check for critters and traced the tree's bark carefully.

"Are you ready to hunt today, young man?" Marcel asked.

"Do we have to?" Winston asked without taking his eyes off a caterpillar inching its way up the tree. That surprised Cynthia

Marcel kneeled down to Winston's level. "Son." Cynthia shifted uncomfortably and scrunched up her nose. "If you want to take care of yourself, your mother, and I, you need to learn these skills."

"He's a child. The only things he needs to do are clean up after himself and stay positive."

"Cynthia," he placed a hand on Winston's shoulder, which she fought herself not comment on. "If we do not teach him these basic skills, he will struggle to support himself in this new world."

She placed her hands on her hips. "I'm his mother, I'll support him until he's ready to do this on his own."

"Cynthia, I know you want to protect him, but I assure you I know what is best for him."

"No offence, Marcel," the name snaked its way through her lips. He flinched at the harsh tone. "But when it comes to my son, I call the shots," she emphasized to get him out of thinking this was part his responsibility.

"I am just trying to set an example for him. Boys need role models and he can learn from me, because of his father's passing and all," he whispered the last part.

Cynthia chewed her inner lip to keep her choice words inside. "John was there for eight years to help him grow up. He hasn't even been gone for one now. No one is stepping in to take his place," she sniped lowly.

Marcel sighed and ran a hand over his brown hair. "I am not trying to replace him, Cynthia." He made uncomfortable eye contact after speaking her name. "You close your heart and mind to those around you so easily."

"I have my reasons and you have yours. If anything, you're the hypocrite regarding how you treat Olivia."

He muttered under his breath and took off in the other direction. Winston suddenly took interest in a pile of leaves. Shoot, he'd been listening. She knelt down beside him to find the vibrant leaves, though most were green and brown. Winston picked up a bright yellow one and placed it to the side.

"Why are you mad at Mr. M?" came Winston's soft voice.

"I think he's trying a little too hard to be someone he isn't. And I don't like him forcing you to hunt either if you're not ready."

"I..." Winston crunched a brown leaf. "There's just so much blood." His hands trembled. "On my fingers, my shoes." Cynthia wrapped her arms around him. "And his eyes, Mom, I can never forget his eyes. I see them at night sometimes."

"Whose baby?"

"Dad's."

Her chest tightened like a corset forcing out her final breath. She shook with tears. She should have known John was too good to spend much time in their world. With him mountains became hills, and he always knew what to say and do when life had her scared or furious. They would never hold each other again, they'd never stand in Winston's doorway again whispering happily about the day, and he'd never see the boy he was so proud of accomplish so many of the feats that he'd motivated his son to achieve.