The Mother Warrior

by Marilyn Donnellan

  Stephen nodded in agreement. “Frank is right. We are absolutely thrilled to have you home. Now, I’ll bet you are starved. Am I right? We were just going to have some supper, so you make yourself comfortable and I’ll finish things up. Frank, it looks like Brogan might need some help with her ankle.”

  Emotionally drained from the unexpected drama, Brogan could only nod as Frank helped her limp to a hand-made chair conveniently placed near the campfire. She sat, her back to Emily’s hut, with Herman contentedly lying at her feet.

  It had been a rough journey from Van Horn. She finished her stores of food a week ago. Water and whatever berries or wild rabbits she could find her only diet since. Somewhere along the way, the soles of her boots completely wore through. She finally threw them away. She had been walking barefoot for days. The bottoms of her feet looked like raw meat.

  She hadn’t had a bath in months. Her tattered, filthy clothes and stringy hair hung loosely on her lean frame. A few days before she started up the mountain for Cosala, she took a bad fall and twisted her ankle. She walked the rest of the way with the aid of a large tree branch as a crutch.

  Frank carefully unwound the dirty rag Brogan wound around her ankle. The ankle was badly swollen. She winced as he tenderly touched it.

  “Honey, this looks bad. You might have broken it. And your feet are a mess. I think the ankle and your feet need a good soak. One of the natives gave us some herbs we use for contusions. It should help until we can get the nurse up here from the village. You stay put while I get some hot water set up, okay?”

  All Brogan could do was nod wearily. It felt good to let someone make decisions for her. Although she was filthy, exhausted, hungry and in pain, nothing compared to the emotional pain from her daughter’s rejection. She heaved a big sigh and closed her eyes in defeat. She opened them when she heard her daughter clearing her throat in front of her, Mateo next to her.

  “Go ahead. Apologize.”

  Scowling, Emily struggled to say it, but finally managed a soft, “Sorry.”

  Brogan reached a trembling hand to her daughter. “Sweetheart, sit here beside me, please? I will explain to you why I have been gone so long, but I would prefer to do it when everyone is here. Okay? That way I only must tell the story once. I understand why you are upset; why you are angry. But, please believe me when I say, if I could have contacted you or been here with you I would have. And it was thoughts of you, your grandfathers and Mateo, that kept me alive in the slave camp. Can you believe and accept that for the moment, please?”

  Emily looked, really looked at her mother for the first time. What she saw shocked her. The beautiful mother she remembered now looked like an old woman. Her fingers were crooked, her feet bloody and one ankle swollen twice its size. Her body was so thin, and her face so wasted, the bones stuck out like she had been starved. Her hair was stringy and so filthy it was impossible to tell what color it was. The green eyes looking at her were like her own, but haunted and sat in deep, dark shadows.

  Emily’s normally compassionate heart finally swelled with love and concern and she threw her arms around her mother.

  “Oh, Mommy, I’m so very sorry for what I said. I missed you so much. I don’t want you ever to leave. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Both mother and daughter were crying by this time, only now they were tears of joy, not anger.

  “Okay, ladies, enough. We have to get your mother well, Emily,” Frank said gently as he untangled his granddaughter from her mother’s embrace.

  “What can I do to help, Pop-Pop?” Emily asked eagerly, wiping away her tears.

  “Well, first thing is to help your mother lift her feet into this basin. We need to soak the dirt away. I can tell we will have to change the water several times before it will be clean enough for a good medicinal soak. Maybe you can bring another bucket of water and put it on the campfire to get it hot for the next soak?”

  Emily eagerly jumped up to help. While Stephen finished supper preparations, the rest of the family worked on cleaning up Brogan. Emily found one of her own peasant tunics for her mother. After her feet had soaked for a while, Mateo helped Emily guide her mother down to the nearby creek. A convenient pool near the waterfall was perfect for bathing.

  He left while Emily helped her mother bathe, gently scrubbing off what looked to be months or years of filth. Emily struggled to hold back gasps of horror as she saw the deep scars across her mother’s back. She saw scars on her wrists and ankles and knew without asking they were from manacles. She felt even more ashamed of her initial reaction to her mother’s arrival.

  She gently washed her mother’s hair. Handfuls came out during the washing, but she guessed it was because it hadn’t been combed in a long time. She struggled to comb it without hurting her mother.

  Finally, Brogan laughed weakly and said, “Sweetie, let’s make it easy and just cut the whole mess off. I’ve had my head shaved before. Besides, who knows what kinds of critters might be lurking in there.”

  Emily avoided shaving the hair off by using a pair of scissors, cutting the hair into a pixie cut and then she gently washed it again. Because it had been so long since she had seen her mother, she could not recall if it was white last time she saw her but didn’t think so. After the cut and final wash, she could see it was now totally white.

  Brogan was exhausted by the time the clean-up was finished. Herman observed from the bank of the water hole. He refused to leave Brogan’s side since she arrived.

  “Thank you so much for your help, sweetheart,” Brogan said as she caressed Emily’s face with a shaking hand. “I don’t think I could have managed it without your help.”

  After she was dressed in the clean tunic, Emily called Mateo and the two of them helped Brogan back to the campfire, where she sat with a blanket across her bony knees, her twisted hands holding a plate of roasted chicken and vegetables. Although she was hungry, Brogan was so tired she could only pick at the food while she again soaked her feet and ankle in a medicinal brew. She intended to tell her story, but she frequently dozed off in the chair.

  “Brogan, honey. Let’s save the story-telling until another night,” Frank said quietly. “You need your rest. Emily, help me dry your mother’s feet. I found a pair of my moccasins I think will fit over the bandages I’m going to put on them. Let’s put her in my hut to sleep.”

  “No way, Pop-Pop. She’s sleeping in my hut, on my cot. I have waited twelve years to see her and I’m not letting her out of my sight. I’ll sleep on the floor,” Emily said with a big grin.

  All thoughts of the dance totally disappeared in the wake of her mother’s arrival. Brogan heard the warm words from a distance. She let them help her to the hut. She was almost asleep when she sat up suddenly. “Where’s my backpack?” she asked in alarm.

  Puzzled at her fearful question, Emily assured her mother she would bring it into the hut. She found it right where it had been dropped by the campfire. It was incredibly heavy and almost totally worn through in places. It looked like the edges of books sticking out. She shook her head at the thought of her mother carrying it a long distance. What could be so important to make her carry it with her so long? She thought about sneaking a peek, but decided she’d caused enough trouble for now. It could wait until tomorrow.

  She brought the backpack into the hut and placed it under her mother’s cot. “It’s right here, Mother. Now go to sleep.” She gently pulled the light blanket up to her chin and placed a kiss on her forehead. Her forehead felt warm. Maybe it was just the exertion of getting cleaned up.

  Emily laid a thick blanket on the wooden floor beside her mother’s cot. Before she could lie down. Brogan reached for her hand. “Sweetheart,” she said weakly, “I’m so sorry I’ve been gone so long. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you. I love you so...”

  Her words trailed off as she fell asleep still gripping Emily’s hand. Tears filled Emily’s eyes as she gently stroked her mother’s emaciated hand. How could I have been so cruel? I don�
��t know if I want to hear what happened to her. I’m just glad she’s back.

  His arthritic hips made it difficult, but Herman gingerly pulled himself up on to the cot where Brogan slept, nestling at her feet. Emily could tell he was exactly where he wanted to be. He gave a contented sigh and fell asleep. Now Emily understood why every day at the same time, Herman sat at the edge of the clearing and looked down the path expectantly. He was waiting for her mother and father to come back.

  As she carefully scooted closer, so she could lie down and still hold her mother’s hand, she felt a sudden, intense resolve to find a way to make everyone pay who was responsible for her mother’s pain.

  “It might take years, but somehow, someway, I’ll find them and make them pay.”

  Emily did not realize how much she sounded like her mother when she was fighting as the White Warrior.

  Chapter Five

  A Peaceful Military Coup

  Anyone who has studied history knows most military coups are anything but peaceful. But Major Grimes and General Hawthorne managed to take over the American Empire without firing a shot.

  After the calls from the cyborg and Esther, the two conspirators met at the bunker and briskly approached the two marines guarding the emperor’s bunker.

  Since General Hawthorne was their commanding officer, the marines snapped quick salutes. Without a word, he motioned for them to open the door. One of them entered a security code and stood aside as the two entered, the door sliding shut silently behind them.

  Neither of them realized they had been holding their breaths until the door shut. They turned, looked at each other and grinned cruelly.

  The general strode into the room, the major close at his heels. “Yuk. What is that smell?”

  “I don’t know,” the major replied, “But Esther told me several times the emperor refused to bathe. I’m guess that’s what we are smelling. It can’t be the emperor’s corpse. He hasn’t been dead that long.”

  Sprawled across the floor in front of the entrance to the emperor’s bedroom was the unmoving, seven-foot tall, cyborg. Just to be on the safe side, the major pulled the cord on the back of the cyborg’s head connecting to the energy pack on its back. “Don’t want this thing waking up on us,” she commented.

  The general grunted and continued into the emperor’s bedroom. He walked up to the bed and felt for a pulse.

  “He’s dead alright. Now what do we do?”

  “It seems to me we have a couple of choices. We can either have a period of public mourning for the bastard, or we can come up with a story about him disappearing and we are temporarily taking over until he is found.”

  Major Grimes thought for a moment. “I have a better idea. Why don’t we forge a recording from the emperor? I know someone who is good at computerized voice imitations. In it, we could have the pretend-emperor say something about he has decided to retire, or he is dying, and has decided to appoint us as his replacements.”

  The general moved away from the bed and out into the main area where an array of monitors filled the room. He looked thoughtful at the suggestion.

  “I like it. How soon can you get it done? In the meantime, what shall we do with the emperor’s body?”

  Taking charge like she always did; the major strode back into the bedroom. “Help me get the emperor dressed in his formal uniform before his body gets too stiff. I’ll bet his body will fit into the gel frig, if we take everything out of it first. We can keep him there until we need to bring him out for the official funeral.”

  It took some work, but they soon had the emperor’s body decked out in his full, formal uniform. With a little pushing and shoving, they fit his body into the large gel fridge, turning the temperature to well below freezing. They tossed the food from the frig into the recycle bin.

  “Okay, now what?” the general said, as he wiped the sweat off his forehead when they were finished.

  Major Grimes pulled out her vid-phone and called her voice forger.

  “Hey, Jaye. It’s me, Jackie. I need you to do something for me.” There was a pause. “Yeah. I’ll pay, but I need it yesterday.” Another pause. “That’s steep, but okay. I’ll meet you at my apartment at 0200 to give you the details. Bring your equipment.”

  “It’s all set,” she told the general.

  “How are going to keep him from talking?”

  “Don’t worry about it. He’ll never tell.”

  The general snapped his fingers together. “What about the housekeeper? Where is she?”

  “She’s gone for good, I’m sure. If I were her I’d disappear knowing I could be blamed for the emperor’s death. She’s a nobody. Forget about her.”

  The co-conspirators walked out of the bunker, telling the two marines to remain standing guard.

  “The emperor is doing better after his surgery and should be up and about soon,” the general told them. “By the way, did you see Ms. Longstreet today?”

  “Yes,” one of the marines replied. “She left right after her shift was over. Do you need me to locate her for you?”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll speak to her tomorrow when she comes in to work. In the meantime, don’t let anyone disturb the emperor. Let him rest.”

  “Sir, yes sir!” the marines replied with smart salutes.

  Within twenty-four hours, a broadcast went out across the American Empire in the emperor’s very recognizable voice, telling the country, “I have been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor and only have a few weeks to live. I have decided to turn the running of the country over into the capable hands of my chief of security Major Jacqueline Grimes and General Jamil Hawthorne. They will serve as co-regents. I know they will continue the fight against the traitorous Book Liberator rebels.

  “I have asked the co-regents to bury me in a private ceremony under my glass pyramid here in my beloved Boston City. Long live the American Empire!”

  That was all it took for the rare peaceful coup to occur. A few days after the announcement, the empire-controlled media reported an unidentified and badly burned body was found near the laser fence on Boston Harbor.

  Law enforcement believes the deceased was attempting to cross the laser fence and was tragically burned to death. The body was so badly burned, authorities were unable to identify the individual.

  No one bothered to try and find out who had died or why. Only Grimes and Hawthorne knew, and they certainly were not going to tell anyone.

  Chapter Six

  Doctor on Call

  At times like this, Allison Simpson-Anton certainly did not feel like a doctor – more like a typical frazzled mother. Totally exhausted, she plopped herself down on the bottom step of the long stairway leading to the second floor of the apartment. The twins had finally given up and gone to sleep for the night.

  Between chasing two energetic toddlers around all day and trying to juggle her night shift at the hospital, Allison couldn’t remember the last time she had a full night’s sleep. And, much of the time, Marco was no help at all. She scowled as she thought about his latest excuse.

  “But, honey, General Veracruz needs me to finalize the propaganda campaign today,” he stated with an innocent look on his face as he scooted out the door this morning. “I have to go to the office to finalize everything.”

  She just walked in the door from a hectic shift at the emergency room. Between still trying to understand the Spanish zipping through the air from patients and staff alike and caring for the myriad of never-ending crisis who were carried in, walked in, or stumbled into ER, it seemed like she never had a moment to even breathe, let alone sleep.

  Fortunately, she was off tonight so maybe she could get some much-needed sleep. But first, she and Marco were going to have to talk about his so-called “shared duties” plan, which was obviously not working.

  At least he had the two-year old twins, Marcus and Annette, dressed and fed this morning before he left. The apartment looked like a cyclone swept through, with toys and clean clothes needing t
o be folded scattered all over the place. Apparently, the energetic children had decided the clothes made great places to play hide and seek. It also looked like the remains of something, maybe a chocolate chip cookie or two, somehow landed on several of the supposedly clean garments.

  Between keeping the twins occupied and trying to make some semblance of order out of the domestic chaos, the day flew by. But she never quite found the time to change out of her hospital scrubs, a drab, pale-blue jumpsuit with pockets strategically placed for holding medical equipment. The scrubs fit her 5’5” frame well, showing off her voluptuous body.

  It was now 7 pm. Marco should have been home by now. She had no idea what she was going to fix for their dinner. Food was the last thing on her mind. Allison raised her weary head and pushed a few blond curls out of her face as she heard his footsteps on the porch.

  “Hi, honey,” Marco said cheerily as he walked in the door. “How’s tricks? And what are doing sitting on the steps? Are you okay?”

  Allison managed a scowl as she stood up. “Don’t you dare, ‘How’s tricks’ me, you scoundrel. Where have you been? I’m exhausted. Haven’t slept in two days and you are asking me if I’m okay?”

  Marco’s face fell as he realized he had put his foot in it. It was obvious Allison was exhausted and he was being insensitive.

  Allison tried to frown, but she loved him so much, she just couldn’t stay mad at him. As she looked at him, she noticed his black hair was starting to show some gray. She didn’t know how he managed to keep his 5’8” tall frame trim; must be his boundless energy. His handsome Italian appearance and his grin were simply irresistible.

  “Will this help, Sweetie?”

  Marco pulled a large bag of hot food out from behind his back. Allison practically drooled as she realized not only did she not have to cook, but from the looks of the bag, the food was from her favorite Mexican restaurant, Los Amigos.