A TOWN OF REFUGE

Chapter 10:

The river carried them through the night, the steady rhythm of water lapping against the boat the only sound breaking the silence. Anabel clutched her daughters tightly, exhaustion weighing on her like a stone. Marcel rowed with quiet determination, his face grim, his eyes flicking back every so often to check on them.

By dawn, the burning glow of their destroyed village had faded into the horizon, replaced by mist rising off the water. The air smelled of damp earth and distant cooking fires, signs of life ahead. Anabel's heart clenched. Had they truly made it?

Marcel pointed toward the approaching shoreline. "Ashford Bay is just ahead. There's a small refugee settlement there, survivors, volunteers, people trying to help."

Anabel nodded weakly. She could barely sit upright. Her leg throbbed from the deep wound, and her body ached from the relentless flight through the wilderness. She had no choice but to endure.

When they reached the shore, Marcel jumped into the shallows and pulled the boat in. "Stay close," he said, helping them out. "This place is safer than where we came from, but it's still a town of the lost."

The settlement wasn't much, just a collection of makeshift tents, some half-burned buildings, and people moving about with the weary look of those who had seen too much. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, desperation, and something faintly medicinal.

Anabel limped forward, holding onto Isabella and Ella as tightly as she could. The moment they stepped onto solid ground, a woman in a faded nurse's uniform rushed toward them.

"You're injured," the woman observed, her eyes flicking to Anabel's bleeding leg. "Come, we'll take care of you."

Anabel barely had the strength to protest. She allowed the woman to guide her toward a large canvas tent marked with a red cross.

Inside, rows of cots were occupied by wounded survivors, some wrapped in bandages, others too still to tell if they were resting or simply gone. Volunteers moved between them, their hands swift, their voices low.

The nurse led Anabel to an empty cot and gestured for her to sit. "You're lucky you made it," she said, carefully unwrapping the bloodied fabric around Anabel's leg. "Some weren't so fortunate."

Anabel clenched her teeth, biting back a cry as antiseptic burned through her wound. The twins huddled beside her, their small hands gripping her arms.

"Where are the other children?" Anabel asked, forcing the words through her dry throat.

"In a separate area," the nurse replied gently. "We keep them safe there. I promise you, your daughters will be well cared for."

Anabel's grip on them tightened. "No. They stay with me."

The nurse hesitated, then sighed. "We'll see what we can do. For now, let's focus on getting you patched up."

As the nurse worked, Anabel's gaze drifted to the others in the tent. Some were women like her, cradling children who wouldn't let go. A few men wandered in and out, their faces hollow, as if part of them had never made it out of the burning village.

An older woman sat on the edge of her cot, a bundle of blankets pressed against her chest. Her gaze met Anabel's, and a flicker of recognition passed between them.

"You ran, too," the woman murmured.

Anabel swallowed hard. "We had no choice."

"None of us did," the woman said, her voice brittle. "But at least we're alive."

Alive.

The word felt hollow in Anabel's chest. She thought of Johnny, his last moments flashing before her eyes. The way his body had fallen. The way she had turned and ran instead of staying, instead of fighting.

Guilt and grief warred within her, but she pushed them down. She had to survive, for her daughters.

The nurse finished wrapping her leg and offered a weary smile. "Get some rest. You need it."

Anabel doubted she could sleep, but exhaustion had other plans. She let herself sink back into the cot, her daughters curled up beside her.

For the first time in what felt like forever, they were safe.

For now.

The following morning, the settlement's leader, a grizzled man named Harlan, called for a gathering. "Children need proper care," he announced. "We've set up a safe space for them, food, clean beds, and watchful eyes. It's better than letting them sleep in these crowded, disease-ridden tents."

Anabel's grip on her daughters tightened. "They stay with me."

Harlan's gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. "You're injured, exhausted. Let them rest in a place where they can be looked after. You can visit them anytime."

The other mothers hesitated too, but one by one, they relented, placing trembling kisses on their children's heads as volunteers led them away.

Tears burned in Anabel's eyes as Isabella and Ella clung to her. "Mama, no!"

She forced a reassuring smile, even as her heart splintered. "You'll be safe. I'll see you soon."

The girls were pried from her grasp, their cries piercing the morning air. Anabel turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.

She had lost too much already. But this, she told herself, was only temporary.

That same morning, Marcel stood by the riverbank, tightening the straps on his pack. "I'm going back," he told Anabel.

Her eyes widened. "Back? To Ashford Bay?"

He nodded. "My family… I have to try. If they're still there, I can't leave them."

Anabel wanted to beg him to stay, to not risk it. But she understood. She would have done the same if she had the strength.

"Be careful," she whispered.

He clasped her shoulder. "You, too."

And then he was gone, paddling back into the mist.

Hours passed. Then a full day. Marcel didn't return.

By nightfall, a scout arrived from the river's edge, his expression grim.

"We found his boat," he told Harlan. "Capsized. No sign of him."

Anabel's breath hitched.

"He was a good man," Harlan murmured. "But Ashford Bay… it's no longer a place for the living."