Melt | Book 9 | Charge

by Pike, JJ

  HEDWIG: Whatever. I know. I’m going to marry him. I should tell him that you and I talk now.

  GOD: ::shrug::

  HEDWIG: You’re not all that, you know. You don’t tell me much of anything. I could really do with a SIGN here.

  Barb’s eyelids fluttered. Her mouth opened and closed. Hedwig shuddered.

  HEDWIG: Yeah, well, THAT’s not a sign. Not really. She could have been about to do that anyway.

  GOD: LOL, Hedwig. I mean it. L.O.L.

  Hedwig gave Barb another drop of medicine. The medicine would work. It had to. Barb had selected it, so it was safe.

  “Please, God,” she whispered. “Not Barb.”

  GOD: …

  Sean busied himself with the dogs, running his hands over their coats, inspecting their paws, and sniffing their ears. When they’d let him. Tonto, the German Shepherd, tucked his feet under his chest and turned his head away. No paw check for him. No ear inspection either. Snuffles the sheepdog took it a step further and mouthed Sean’s wrist. It wasn’t a bite, but it was a clear message, “Back off, buddy.” Mr. Popper, just the loveliest Border Collie Hedwig had ever seen—literally made of bright eyes and bushy tail and sweet, doggie eagerness—leaned on Sean, forcing him to pet his entire body while he struggled to run a finger through each of his toes and make sure there were no briars or sticker-seeds stuck in there. Rosie, the itty-bitty little pocket poodle, threw herself at Sean when her time came to be inspected, rubbing her head on his legs and demanding she be held and fussed over. She’d been someone’s beloved companion. No one leaves a dog like that behind. Her people must have died. Sean cooed and aaaahed and fussed. He was going to be a great dad. Provided that they made it there and back again; weren’t ambushed by soldiers or slathered in MELT or shot by looters or whatever.

  Don’t think about that. Think about something else.

  What else was there to think about? Everything was life-and-death. Even for the dogs. If they got a burr wedged between their toes it could get infected and septic and spread and make them lame and no one could be lame anymore because you needed to be able to run. They’d get picked off by the coyotes or the bears or each other if they had the smallest injury or illness. Nature doesn’t coddle the weak. Hedwig had watched enough of that Meerkat show on Animal Planet to know that. Once your number was up, adios. Your animal pals didn’t wait for you.

  Sheesh. The harder she tried to get her brain onto a positive track the worse it got. Now that her Negative Nellie Neurons were firing they gathered steam and forged ahead.

  Would Petra die in childbirth? Was Barb dying right now while they watched? Would she and Sean make it to the drug meet? When would Mimi die? Would she be in pain? Could they do anything about that? When was Bill going to come to his senses and get them on the road?

  Stop. It’s too much.

  Everything that raced through her brain was too much.

  “Get back in the moment. Don’t think too far ahead.” Isn’t that what Nigel said? “Stay in the moment?”

  Better if she could be on the road. Moving. Doing things. Getting her brain to quiet down. But with Barb teetering between worlds that wasn’t possible.

  Okay. Try harder. Stay in the moment. What is Sean thinking right this minute?

  He hadn’t said a word about their deadline, but he had to have the same clock ticking away in his head. Caleb and Rowdy would be there at the designated time—and they’d given themselves plenty of wiggle room; like, two whole extra days to make it to the meet—but after three hours of twiddling their thumbs or hiding from the Weekend Warrior Brigade Caleb would make the decision and they’d split.

  If the guys with the drugs split, what then? Paul died, Mimi died, the rest of them got sick and eventually succumbed to some cancer or other. They didn’t discuss it, but there had to be fallout in the food chain. The only thing keeping them safe was the potassium iodide pills. Maybe. She wasn’t sure how it worked. Or if taking it for months was considered “off label” use. Or if they were all being dumber than dirt staying in the area.

  They needed to get Barb back on her feet. Now. So they could get going.

  It wasn’t that the whole world depended on Hedwig succeeding. Just her world. The people she’d come to love. The man she planned to spend the rest of her life with. Except he wouldn’t have a life if she didn’t get the antibiotics.

  Acid threatened the back of her throat. She was “working herself into a lather” as her father used to call it. And that was even before the camp episode. (She couldn’t call it what it was. If she named it, the whole episode flashed up on the screen of her mind and that was the pits.) What would her dad make of her now, panicking and planning and looking like a badass while feeling like a failure?

  Stay busy. Stay busy. Get out of your head. Come on Hedwig. Get out of your head.

  She straightened herself. What had Sean said? Something about sheep? Were they going to have to render fat from the lamb and then strain the dregs of some wild berry or other and mix them together in a witch’s potion? Her heart flipped. That was a “yes” from her intuition. She didn’t believe in sacrifice, that was Old Testament. But if Sean said they were going to find a sheep and slaughter it and make it’s guts—oh, no! he’d said “ears” how morbid—into medicine, she’d do it. She was going to do what she needed to do.

  “So? Sheep?”

  “Oh?” It took a second for the penny to drop. “Oh, yeah, lamb’s ears. They have Vitamin K. They’re good for wounds. Have you looked at it yet? The wound?”

  She reached for the bandage.

  KC, still acting as Barb’s pillow, lifted her massive head and showed her pointy pearly-whites. The subterranean growl she released made the blanket beneath them vibrate.

  Hedwig’s hand hovered over Barb’s bound bicep. “I’m not going to hurt your momma, KC. I just need to look.”

  KC didn’t lie back down, but the blanket stopped rumbling. Hedwig took that as permission to move forward. The first layer of bandage wasn’t dry, but it wasn’t stuck to Barb’s skin either. She lifted the limp arm to unwind the gauze, but Barb’s sharp intake of breath and wincing, mashed-up face told Hedwig that it was too tender for movement.

  “I need scissors.”

  Sean hunted under the rack of drying herbs, inside the suitcase that doubled as Barb’s drawer-of-all-things, behind the pot dangling in the dugout firepit but came up empty. He brought Hedwig a knife instead. There were stains on the blade. Sean flexed his fingers a couple of times. The handle was sticky. “I’ll boil some water and wash it.” Basic health and hygiene. It meant the difference between life and death, now more than ever.

  But damn. That meant they’d lost an hour. Perhaps more. No, definitely more. Everything moved so slowly now. You couldn’t turn a knob and produce fire on your stove. Barb had been down for long enough that her fire had gone out. They needed to find the wood and stack it right and…

  How long could they wait? She counted backwards from the time of the meet. Could she convince Sean to stay with Barb and let her move on? Would Caleb and Rowdy sell to her if she went alone? She couldn’t stay behind and tend to Barb. The stillness would be too overwhelming. It was clear Barb needed a nurse; not clear that it had to be her. Damn Aggie for taking off. She’d have been perfect.

  Hedwig’s legs were twitching, her brain itching, her fingers eager to be doing something. “You sit with her and I’ll get the fire going again.”

  Sean took the porcelain cup, swished the medicine that was settling in the bottom, and traded places with her. “You build the fire. When you’re done, I’ll go get the leaves.”

  “Leaves?” She stood, brushing imaginary twigs and dirt from her trousers.

  “Lamb’s ear. They’re the thick, fluffy leaves you see in herbaceous bor…”

  Hedwig burst into tears and slumped back down to her knees. It surprised her as much as Sean. She wasn’t squeamish about eating meat but the thought of killing a lamb for its ears had pushed her
over the edge. It was like that, now. Little things that didn’t add up to a hill of peas would suddenly gather strength and bowl you over.

  Willy trotted to her side, placed a paw on her knee and waited. She petted him. He nudged himself into her lap, turning circles before he settled in a perfect cinnamon-bun shaped lump, sighing and resting his head on her knee.

  Sean laughed. “Rules are when the dog sleeps on you, you’re not allowed to move.”

  Hedwig picked Willy up, kissed him right on his boopable snout, and handed him to Sean. She dried her face on her sleeve, leaned down and kissed Barb on the cheek, then scrambled to her feet. “Let’s go!”

  Over half the dogs followed her outside. The wind was brisk, the sky clear, the trees rustling so gently they almost didn’t make a sound. On any other day—no, any time before this had kicked off—she’d have found a stream, pushed off her shoes, and let the dogs play in the water while she fished. But there was no down time. Not now. She had to be on alert. Permanently. She checked the boundary. No need to go out there and physically check. Sean would have reset the wires and traps if they’d been sprung. She didn’t need to do that. Just keep her ears open and her eyes peeled.

  There was much peeing, sniffing of tree trunks and each other’s butts, and bringing her sticks. Willy dragged a branch twice as big as him and laid it at her feet. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to throw it or chop it, but she thanked him and carried on collecting kindling. She paused. That wasn’t a half-bad idea. Barb had a wood pile, but she could add to it.

  She hunted for fallen branches, dragging them back to the clearing, much to Willy’s delight. He and Millie took it upon themselves to be her escort, romping and barking and twisting in the air.

  She found the axe. Barb kept the place spick and span. Her tools were exactly where they were supposed to be. Apart from the weapons. She’d moved those.

  Hedwig got her groove on. She found herself looking for useful chores she could complete while Sean took care of their patient. She didn’t stop chopping until she was good and sweaty and her brain properly drained of the madness.

  By the time she’d chopped a goodly stack of wood and gathered enough kindling for a decent fire even the dogs were pooped and ready to go back inside.

  Hedwig pushed her way under the flap and into the tent and dumped an armful of spindly sticks and a couple of nice, dry blocks of wood by the firepit. KC hadn’t left Barb and Lexie was still by the door. But one thing was different: Barb groaned every third breath while Sean dripped medicine into her parted lips.

  She’s going to be fine. God won’t let anything happen to her. Stay busy. Keep moving. Don’t think about death. Light the fire, boil the water, clean the wound. Do it, Hedwig. Don’t think about the time you wasted out there.

  Barb had starter in a jar and matches in a waterproof wrap, just inside her porch. It wasn’t really a porch, but the way the branches bowed and met overhead, an archway that ended in a point, made Hedwig think of the doorway to a Saxon church; so, kind of a porch.

  It didn’t take long to get the fire started. Nor to sterilize the knife. But it took a long time to clean the wound. She sat dabbing at the putrescent hole in Barb’s arm, while Sean went foraging for lamb’s ear. She had a good laugh at her own expense. Paul would love that. “Yes, I thought Sean was going to kill a lamb. Really. Yes, I told him. No he didn’t laugh. Yes, I know now…”

  Lexie yelped, still panting. Shoot, they needed a vet as well as a doctor. The longer they stayed the clearer it was that not all was as it should be at Chez Barb.

  It took Sean less than ten minutes to find some lamb’s ear and show her how to pack Barb’s wound with the leaves but it took him a whole hour to work out where the dog food was stashed and another half hour to get all the dogs fed. Sean brought a bowl and put it beside KC’s massive head but she looked, snorted, and looked away. ‘Stupid human, can’t you see I’m busy? My job is to be Barb’s pillow, not eat.’

  Sean lowered the largest of Barb’s cast iron pans over the fire. He was going to make one of his weird veggie meals. Hedwig didn’t have the nerve to send him out to hunt for protein. Not after her embarrassing little meltdown earlier.

  Sean cooked slowly. Methodically. Like he knew what he was doing. He’d collected mushrooms (she trusted him; they weren’t going to get high or die from the kinds of mushrooms he’d found) and wild onion. He’d found cornmeal (good old Barb, she always had the goods) and a couple of eggs. Whatever he was rustling up smelled de-lish.

  Watching him cook was soothing. Not like watching a show or being in an Xbox party, but rhythmic and measured and…yeah…calming.

  Better yet, Barb’s breathing had gotten easier without her noticing. Hedwig held the back of her hand to Barb’s forehead. Her temperature was down, too.

  Lexie whimpered and circled.

  “Have you checked her over?” Hedwig had no clue how to treat a sick dog, but if she was going to do this whole “faith” thing she might as well go whole hog.

  HEDWIG: God. Hey. Sorry I was so testy earlier. I took care of Barb. I know it’s not, like, tit-for-tat between us, but please, please, please. Don’t let the dog die.

  GOD: My dear…He tsked…on the contrary.

  Sean held out his hand. Lexie didn’t approach. She was usually so docile, so eager to please. None of the dogs were behaving like dogs but she was an outlier amongst weirdos. She pushed her nose through the crack in the door and let herself outside.

  Even if God was looking out for Lexie, Hedwig couldn’t let her go out on her own while she was so…so…so, what? What was wrong with her?

  She handed off what little was left of Barb’s medicine and followed the heeler to a spot the other side of the camp where she circled and circled and circled and then slumped on her side.

  “There we go, girl. You rest.”

  Lexie’s panting increased.

  Hedwig stood, helpless, and looked on.

  Barb would be awake soon. She’d know what to do.

  Lexie whimpered and strained.

  “What in the….” Hedwig had thirty seconds of blank confusion; knew she wasn’t looking at a gloppy stool; but didn’t actually register that Lexie had given birth until the heeler turned and licked her first puppy.

  “Sean!” she screamed. “Get out here. Now.”

  He was at her side by the time the second puppy was born.

  “What do I do?”

  Sean smiled. “Nothing. You let her do the work. It’d be different if she wasn’t interested, but she’s cleaning them. It’s good. All good.” He put his arm around her and gave her a short squeeze.

  Hedwig didn’t hear Sean leave. She was glued to the birthing process. Life. Happening. Here. Now. While all this death raged around them. God didn’t butt in, but He could have called her on her lack of faith right there and then and done a “told you so” and He would totally have been within His rights. He didn’t and his silence was as comforting as any words could have been.

  Lexie had six puppies. All of them breathing. Hedwig found a box and lined it with moss so they’d have a safe place to sleep.

  By the time she returned to the tent, the sun had almost set and Barb was sitting upright.

  “Lexie had her puppies?” she whispered. “Six?”

  Hedwig nodded.

  “One of them will save your life, just as you saved theirs.”

  “I didn’t,” said Hedwig. “Lexie did all the work…”

  “Sorry.” Barb’s eyes eased shut. “Sometimes events come to me out of order. You will. Then she will. God is good.” Her snores filled the tent.

  There was no choice. They were going to have to spend the night.

  Sean took the first shift.

  Hedwig lay her head on the ground next to a box of puppies, Lexie snuffling and curling beside her, and dreamed of blissful nothings.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DECEMBER 2021

  Michael Rayton did not want a bullet to the brain, so he d
id what the General and his lackeys told him to do: March until I tell you to stop; stop until I tell you to march.

  Every day since they’d left Wolfjaw Ridge—yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that, all the way back to when they’d had lives and jobs and things to look forward to—had been the same: A brutal slog downstate, avoiding all paved roads and formerly inhabited spaces.

  Alice’s diary, which he hadn’t shared and didn’t plan to, was tucked inside his jacket. It threw everything into a new light, but he had to stick with the General if he had any hope of making it out to civilization and thence the search for a cure. He had mad skills when it came to survival, but no one had trained to survive what they were facing. No one. If Alice was right and the military were experimenting on them, he had a better-than-average chance of making it out alive.

  We are the test rabbits, he thought, this is the maze. Never mind their own government had sent them on this mission.

  Everyone knew about the Nazis’ horrific track record. Some knew about the Japanese Imperial Army’s experiments on human subjects and the Russian’s clandestine trials in Laboratory 1 and 12. Whether it was attaching the esophagus to the colon, removing organs without anesthetic, or bombarding “volunteers” (or, more often, prisoners) with mustard gas, ricin, digitoxin, or curare, the list of abominable things one human being (or organization) could (and would) do to another was limited only to the imagination.

  The establishment of a code of medical ethics, following the Nuremberg trials didn’t stop medical experimentation.

  Michael had no reason to believe that his own government hadn’t gone down that path, especially given the odds. If you had an out-of-control virus and a handful of people who seemed to be immune to that virus, wouldn’t you use them? Probably. Michael knew he would.

  Things had gotten a lot worse since Alice’s untimely departure (fewer decent hunters, less fresh food for those who liked that kind of thing, rations down, people were cranky) but he was numb to the emotional implications. Not his usual, elective numbness which allowed him to do his job and sleep at night. What he wasn’t feeling was broader and deeper than the clinical precision he brought to his life. It was a lazy-comfy, everything’s-going-to-be-fine sensation that didn’t jibe with his surroundings but he couldn’t get it up for outrage, anger, or fear. Nothing mattered. He was floating on by and that was what it was.