by S A Ison
Beth had packed her food, biscuits with jam, cold fried chicken, which she’d finished her first night out. She had packed away a container of beans and potatoes in a plastic container. A couple of shriveled apples, and Monica had been surprised that they were still sweet. Beth had also supplied her with a roll of toilet paper. Even now, Monica felt the heat creep into her face.
“There are very few luxuries in life now, toilet paper is one of them.” The woman grinned. Monica grunted with humor at the memory. They were kind and wonderful people and it once more, restored her faith in mankind. It just seemed there were more bad people out there. She’d not regretted nor felt remorse over the two men she’d shot. They wouldn’t harass or rape another person. She was sure that had been their intent, and they had played with her. She looked around again. She saw a culvert and tucked that info into the back of her mind. There was water in them, but she was sure she could hide in one if need be.
Louis had let Holt know that she’d arrived. Her name wasn’t given over the airwaves, just that a package was on its way. Louis had contacted Monroe Pope, who was the next stop for her. She shifted her backpack and pulled the hood of the rain slicker closer. The rain was picking up and the patter on her head was louder. She wiped at her face with her hand. By the time she got to Mr. Pope’s home, she’d be soaked through. Beth had given her several sets of her old clothes, jeans and cotton shirts. They were a little loose and long in the legs, but Monica had rolled the jeans up. She had clean clothes now. She could tell the clothes were from the seventies, and she smiled. They had been coming back in style, retro.
Beth had also given her old underwear, apologizing, but she said they were clean and not used in decades. She had also given Monica socks and two old cotton bras. That was the sum total of her possessions and Monica was grateful. Her eyes scanned the landscape, she didn’t even see horses or cows. She saw buildings in the distance, farmhouses and barns, she thought. The rain beat down harder and she pulled the drawstring around her face, to keep the rain from soaking her clothing. The rain slicker came to just past her knees. At least most of her would be dry.
Once more, she shifted her pack. Louis had given her a new one, or rather an old one, but bigger and waterproof. She was glad. It held the food and clothing comfortably. It was heavy, but it balanced well on her shoulders. The rain wasn’t helping it. She slid her hand into the pocket and felt the paper. She knew the name of the road, so she didn’t take it out. She squeezes the paper, grateful for the help. She thought about all the people who had helped her. Her thoughts went to Mike and hoped he was still alive and still safe. He had taken a chance with helping her.
She shifted and moved around a mud puddle. She turned to look around, her whole body shifting since her face was locked inside the hood of the rain slicker. Her heart slammed into her chest, she saw two men behind her, three hundred feet away. They were running toward her and she screamed and took off running.
Ω
Yuma squinted through the rain, it was coming down heavier now and pounded on the metal roof of the jeep. His eyes glanced at Lydia, who was asleep with Demi in her arms. He smiled and nudged Phoenix, who was looking out the passenger’s window. The window was cracked a bit, to let the fresh air in and to keep the windows from fogging up. Phoenix looked at him and he pointed back behind him and saw the grin on Phoenix’s face. Yuma was surprised, because he saw something else there in the gray eyes. There was something soft within those gray depths that he’d thought he had seen before. Then it clicked, Phoenix was in love with Lydia. A grin spread across his face. Julian said that the two were getting cozy, but Yuma hadn’t been sure what that had meant. American idioms confused him at times.
He had picked up quite a few since he had been at the farmhouse. Alabama ass whoopin was one of his favorites. He’d heard both Julian and Phoenix use that one. Also, going medieval on his ass, was another, they’d used that term about when he’d shot the man in the meadow. Lydia had gone medieval on the man yesterday and had killed him neat and smooth. He’d been about to draw his own weapon, when she’d shot the bastard. He liked the word bastard, too.
Phoenix had woken him sometime last night to stand watch, and it had been peaceful in the barn. Yuma hadn’t been sure at the time, but Demi had woken up and started to fuss. Lydia had sent him to sleep.
“Go ahead and get some sleep. I’m awake now with her, I’ll feed her and stay up.” Lydia had urged him. He’d not argued, he was dead dog tired. He had watched her for a while, she had fed Demi some of the jerky broth and switched out with the jam biscuits. Jael had been right about them being high calorie. Eating one nearly filled him up, along with a couple pieces of the jerky. Lydia had hummed softly to the child and Yuma smiled at the memory of the baby cooing and talking gibberish. He had heard the child grunting and Lydia had taken the diaper off and balanced the child on her leg.
He couldn’t see, but he could smell the child pooping and he’d pulled his bandana over his nose. Then Lydia had covered it with dirt and had taken one of the rags and had cleaned the baby. How had she known what to do? He thought that women were amazing in that way. They seemed to know what to do. He was glad she had come, at first, he’d been so afraid to have her there. But she’d killed that man without any kind of hesitation and she was taking care of the child, knowing what it needed. He grunted and Phoenix looked over at him. He looked and grinned and shrugged. He grabbed a rag by his side, he’d been wiping the condensation off the windshield from time to time. The defogger in the jeep didn’t work, along with the heater.
He wiped the window clear and handed the rag to Phoenix who wiped his side. The old windshield wipers moved the rain, but left streaks. They couldn’t go fast, which was frustrating. It had been another exasperating day. They had come up against more road blocks, and had to keep turning around to find another route. They wouldn’t get near Seattle until sometime tomorrow. It certainly wouldn’t be today.
There was a flash of light and Yuma winced at it and then felt and heard the rumble of the lightning. He’d never seen that kind of storm in his life. Montana’s storms moved and brought down hell. It was beautiful but frightening at the same time. It seemed that Washington was the same. At least the land was flat and the fields open, though he couldn’t see much of it in the rain. There was another flash and he tried not to jerk. The thunder seemed to go on and on. He looked back at Lydia and Demi through the mirror, still asleep. The rain was coming down harder now and he was surprised that the noise didn’t wake her.
“Shit.” Phoenix barked and Yuma’s eye flew back to the road and then he saw it. Two men fighting with someone on the ground. The downed person was kicking and arms were swinging. One man over the prone person swung an arm up and came down with his hand. Yuma could see the man held a gun in his hand and had hit the figure in the face. The person stopped struggling and went limp. Pushing the gas, Yuma brought the jeep to within twenty feet and stopped. The men hadn’t heard him and he jumped out of the jeep. One looked up and Yuma drew his 1911 and shot the man in the chest. The other man, who’d been on his knees, jerked and looked up. Yuma kept walking forward and aimed his weapon and shot the man in the face; he was now just ten feet away. There was a spray of fine red mist that was lost in the rain.
He ran to the down figure and shot the other man in the face. He saw that it was a woman, she was on the ground, but the backpack kept her torso elevated. The man had been trying to get her pants off. He could see that blood was washing down the side of her face, the man had clubbed her in the temple with his weapon. Phoenix came up beside Yuma and picked up the weapons, patting the bodies for ammo. Yuma took the backpack off the woman and handed it to Phoenix and then he picked her up. She was Asian, and he thought perhaps, Chinese. Then he saw her slender wrist that ended in a stump and his heart lurched.
They had heard the reports of mutilation, and the scars were fresh, still healing.
“I think she’s from Seattle. Look, someone cut off her hand.�
�� Yuma said over the downpour. Phoenix pulled the sleeve of the rainslicker up. He shook his head.
“Let’s get her in the jeep.” Phoenix said and ran back to the jeep. Lydia moved over as Phoenix pulled the front seat forward. Her eyes were wide with fear. Yuma maneuvered the unconscious woman into the jeep. Phoenix ran around and got into the passenger’s side and helped pull the woman all the way in. It was cramped but they got her in there. Yuma climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door. He turned around in his seat and he saw that Lydia was pulling out a rag. Phoenix reached over and took Demi, who was still asleep.
“The gash doesn’t look too bad. Head wounds bleed a lot.” She said, pressing the rag down, blotting the blood. The woman’s eyes fluttered.
“You’re okay, you’re safe.” Lydia said, as the woman’s eyes tried to fix on her. She blinked several times and looked at Lydia. Lydia untied the drawstring and pushed the hood back. She kept pressure on the wound.
“You’re safe. Those bastards won’t hurt you.” Lydia said softly, and the woman’s eyes looked at her, then shifted to Yuma, she jerked a little, then her eyes went to Phoenix and then back to Lydia.
“You are with friends. We will help you.” Yuma said kindly. The woman looked at him strangely.
“You…you aren’t Chinese?” She asked. Yuma looked at her, not shocked, but not sure why she asked him.
“No, I’m from Japan. Osaka. You know it?” He asked. The woman started to shake her head, but stopped, wincing. Her hand went to her pocket and Yuma hoped she didn’t have a gun. He wasn’t sure he could shoot her. She pulled out a paper.
“Can you take me here? Please. It is only a few miles away.” She asked, licking her lips. Yuma took the wrinkled paper and looked at it, then handed it to Phoenix, who looked at it.
“You were heading there when those goons attacked you?” Phoenix asked.
“Yes, I’m… I’m on my way to… to a safe place.” She said, then coughed and winced again. “I’m Monica Wong, I escaped Seattle.” Her eyes filling with tears.
“I will take you. Don’t worry.” Yuma said and turned around. Phoenix turned around; Demi clutched in his arms. He pulled the seatbelt around himself and the child. Yuma made a U-turn and backtracked. Phoenix pointed to the road sign and Yuma turned down the road. He grabbed the rag again and wiped at the window. This woman could tell them firsthand what was happening in Seattle. She could give them valuable intel.
“Up there, turn left.” Phoenix pointed and Yuma slowed down and took the turn. The road was a dirt road, and now, was a muddy road. He eased back on the speed and ahead, he saw a low squat trailer. There was a fence around it and he slowed down even more. He saw several dogs going back and forth, barking. He couldn’t really hear them, since the rain was making sound impossible inside the jeep. Yuma pulled up near the fence and turned off the engine. A man came out of the trailer, an AR15 in his hands and pointed at them. Phoenix got out, holding Demi in his arms, to show he wasn’t a threat.
“Who are you and what do you want?” The man called.
“I have a woman, she’s been attacked. She had your address on a piece of paper. She said she needed to get here.” Phoenix shouted over the rain; Yuma could see he was sheltering Demi from the worst of it. The man said something and the dogs ran back to the trailer and he waved Phoenix in. Phoenix turned and bent down, his head in the jeep.
“He says to come in. Yuma, can you help Lydia and Monica? I want to get Demi out of the rain, I’ll come back for our things.” He said in a near shout. Yuma nodded his head and got out, he pulled his seat forward and he took Monica’s hand and helped her out, then helped Lydia out. Lydia grabbed several backpacks and handed them to Yuma. She turned and got the others and they all ran to the house. Yuma had his hand around Monica’s waist, helping her up the steps and into the trailer.
Lydia came in last and shut the door, the sound of the pouring rain abating and Yuma’s ears didn’t ring so badly.
“I’m Monica. Louis sent me.” Monica said, staggering a little. Yuma caught her and the man indicated the kitchen table. There was a hurricane lantern on the table and the man moved items away, setting them on the kitchen counter. The place was cluttered with boxes, cans and equipment.
“Here, young lady, sit down.” The man said.
“Thank you. You’re Monroe Pope?” She asked and the man smiled and nodded. Yuma and the rest stood in the small confines of the kitchen. Lydia took Demi, who was now awake and sat down at the table. The child was beginning to fuss and Phoenix dug into one of the packs and pulled out a biscuit and half a bottle of the broth.
“What happened?” Monroe asked, looking around at the faces.
“We were heading to Seattle and saw that Monica was being attacked. We stopped and I shot the men who hurt her.” Yuma said softly, his eyes on Monica. She was pale and her eyes seemed too large for her face. It looked as though the bleeding had stopped.
“I’m Phoenix, this is Lydia, Demi and Yuma. Lydia and I have family in Seattle, we were heading there to find them.”
“Oh, I’m terrible sorry about that, young man. You can’t go.”
“What?” They all said and Demi jerked, her eyes widening and looking around. Her bottom lip started to tremble and Lydia shushed her and bounced her on her knee, patting her back. She then gave the child a pinch of food and Demi settled down.
“I’ve been listening to reports all day. I’m sorry folks, the United States, at least I think it’s them, has been bombing Seattle, San Francisco, Monterey, Portland, Sacramento and other places up and down the entire west coast. They are bombarding the hell out of it.” Monroe said, looking around at the shocked faces.
Lydia began to cry and Phoenix placed his hands on her shoulders, his own eyes filling with tears. Yuma felt himself begin to crumble, seeing his friends’ sorrow. He felt the prickle of tears and took a seat beside Monica, who sat with her mouth open, tears streaming down her face as well.
“Looks like the Seventh Fleet has made its way to the west coast. I’m hearing chatter all over the place. Seems they’ve sent submarines as well, lobbing cruise missiles as well.”
“My god, what about the Americans? The innocent people trapped there?”
“Acceptable loss of life, that’s what they said. They are blowing the Chinese and the Russians off the continent and they’ll devested the entire west coast to do it. Reports are to stop all incursions at all costs. I’m sorry. I’ve also gotten broadcasts that sound official as well. They aren’t going to stop until they think that the incursion is stopped.” Monroe had a long horse looking face. His upper lip hung low and he looked sorrowful, his large brown eyes seemed kind. Yuma felt numb. If they hadn’t had delays and setbacks, they could all be in the middle of it. They were three days behind schedule, and should have been in the heart of Seattle, could they have gotten through. His heart broke, he knew that if Phoenix’s family had survived all this time and the occupation, then, more than likely, they were all dead. Lydia’s sister as well.
The room was silent, but for the weeping. Yuma wiped at his tears.
“Look kids, I’m really sorry. You all look done in. Let me fix you some rabbit stew, I’ve got it on the stove. I’ll get my first aid kit for you Monica.” Monroe said, standing up. Yuma got up and went with the older man and took the first aid kit. He went back to the table. Monroe brought over a brown bottle, it read hydrogen peroxide. He also gave him a bag of cotton balls.
“I don’t know if this will hurt. Please forgive me.” Yuma said. He took off his Stetson and set it on the table. He wiped at his face and then reached for the bottle.
“Thank you. It shouldn’t hurt, it’s just peroxide. It might bubble a bit, but should be fine. Thank you again, Yuma. You saved my life.” Monica said softly. Yuma felt his mouth wobble, he didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t have done anything different. Yuma blushed when his stomach growled, when Monroe had lifted the lid and the delicious aroma of stew hit him. As good as t
he jam biscuits and jerky were, real food was better.
“Please forgive me.” He blushed, not looking at Monica as he tipped the brown bottle. He felt the cold of the liquid hit the cotton ball and looked up to see her watching him. He tried to smile, but couldn’t, now, very self-conscious of her. He gently dabbed at her injury and as the blood was cleaned away, he saw that it wasn’t too bad.
“I don’t think it will leave a scar.” He smiled into her eyes.
“I’ve a bigger and uglier scar to worry about.” She said, sadness filling her face as she lifted her stump.
Yuma looked and tilted his head, then lifted his own hand with the missing fingers.
“Ah, maybe not so bad. I too have scar.” And he saw a tiny smile cross her face. He was glad, the world was too sad these days and had just gotten even more so for his friends.
Once the wound was cleaned, Yuma patted her head dry and placed a large Band-Aid on it. He’d put ointment on the pad of the bandage and placed it on her forehead. He gently pressed the adhesive sides down. He looked over to Lydia, who was wiping her face. Phoenix still had his hands on her slender shoulders, and Lydia’s hand was resting on his. He was glad they had each other, in their sorrow, they could understand and comfort each other.
“Lydia, may I hold Demi?” Yuma asked shyly. He was mesmerized by the child’s eyes and when he held her, she smiled at him. He thought that the child liked him. He had a nephew, but his brother lived up north, near the Aomori Prefecture and he’d rarely seen the child. He wasn’t used to children, but in an abstract kind of way, he thought they were nice. Lydia looked up at him and smiled wanly.
“I need to change her first. Bless her little heart, she’s pooping more now, getting some food into her at last. Mr. Pope, where can I change Demi, and do you have paper towels or wipes?”