Had they been ready, our new defenses might have prevented what happened next. But suddenly we heard the dreaded sounds of that war cry, the hoots and hollers we’d heard last time. The gang was back.
Tex and Richard grabbed rifles and crouched beneath the front window, the side that wasn’t bricked up. Smashing out the slit of glass that remained, they took turns rising and shooting into the gloom. The other metal shades had been lowered so that aside from that half of the front window, we were once again encapsulated in the cabin like a watertight ship.
Angel sniffed loudly. “Do you smell that?”
Something was burning and it wasn’t the woodstove. While the dogs barked madly, Tex turned to re-load his rifle, his back against the wall. Richard was still at the window. The look on his face made me rush over so that I could see what he was seeing. The horrible truth was all too evident. Shooting up into the settling dusk of the sky, coming from the single high opening in the barn—which Richard and I had painstakingly boarded over while we slept up there—were orange and blue flames and dark smoke, darting in and out.
I let out an anguished cry. “The barn’s on fire!”
Chapter 7
ANDREA
Life on the compound is perfectly normal lately—and that should be a good thing, right? No new attacks, no illness or injuries. But Roper and Jared have been gone for almost three weeks now and no one seems very concerned but me! Even Lexie acts like I’m worrying over nothing. (If it was Blake that went with Jared instead of Roper I think I’d be hearing a different tune!)
I try to go on like everyone else as though nothing is wrong. I try. But at night when I pray for them, I cry. All I have to do is remember how my dad died—it is a crazy, dark world out there! And I think of my mother—I asked Roper and Jared to try to find her, check our house—but I just know she’s dead by now. How could she not be? She’d have come back if she was alive. And now they’re both probably dead, too!
Except no one else seems ready to believe it. Are they forgetting what it’s like out there? If Roper doesn’t come back, I’m going to be one very depressed girl. But if Jared doesn’t? We’re one very vulnerable compound. Everyone else should at least be worried about that!
But everything gets me down lately, like having to use newspaper in the outhouse, or not having new clothing, and eating oatmeal for lunch. And every morning, no sooner do my feet hit the floor when I remember that my sweet guy is gone. It fills me with a nameless, vague dread that I can’t get rid of. It’s a weight. Nothing feels right without him.
Is it weird? I haven’t even known him that long—but it feels so important to have him back!
I guess that’s what happens when you love someone.
LATER
It’s getting hotter by the day and I hate it. My jeans had rips so I cut them into shorts. Lexie has real shorts. She offered to lend me a pair but I like my jean cut-offs. Anyway, as I went to get my baby sister Lily this morning, I was deep in my usual worries, wishing Roper hadn’t gone out there with Jared, of all people. (Even Lexie agrees with me on that.) I saw Mrs. Martin as I was coming back down with Lily on my hip and she gave me a smile.
“How’s the arm feeling these days?” She asked, in her mild southern drawl.
Mr. Clepps, our D.O., and Mrs. Philpot our nurse, had done a fine job of stitching my arm up after I’d been shot. It was healing well. There were hours and hours when I almost forgot I was hurt. But it still ached where the bullet passed through, especially if I did too much work. “Pretty good.”
“So why the long face?” she said, and chucked my chin with her hand. She stroked Lily’s fine blond hair and gave her a big smile.
“They’ve been gone so long…” My voice trailed off.
“Oh, Jared and Jerusha.”
I had to smile. “You’re the only one who calls him that. He hates his first name.”
She smiled back. “Well, I like it! Much better than Roper.” She leveled her gaze at me and the humor left her face. “They’re big boys. They can take care of themselves.”
I stared at her. “So was my dad.”
She looked thoughtful. “Just keep praying, sweetheart. That’s the most powerful thing we can do. Remember—we serve a mighty God.”
“Even if they haven’t run into trouble, they must be starving by now! It’s been three weeks!”
I saw a glimmer of something flash in Mrs. Martin’s eyes—worry, perhaps? But she only said, “I gave them hardtack and jerky; enough to last this long. And they’ve got water filters. And neither one of those men is a dummy. Stop worrying.” In a softer tone, she added, while stroking the side of my face, “Pray for them, but stop worrying.”
I suddenly wanted to cry. Mrs. Martin always brings out the child in me. She was just so darn...motherly. In order not to cry, I spoke sternly instead. “We’ve lost our father and mother.” I was speaking for both myself and Lily. “Don’t tell me not to worry!”
Mrs. Martin gave me an understanding, sorrowful look. “I know,” she said, nodding sympathetically. “I know. This is hard.” She went to put an arm around me but I shrugged her off and hurried away. If I had stayed, let her hug me, I would’ve cried. I didn’t want to do that while Lily was with me. I didn’t want to cry in front of anyone but especially not Lily. I want her to think everything is fine.
Maybe I wouldn’t think of Mom so much except Lily is her baby, and she’s reaching milestones, and Mom’s missing it. Yesterday Lily started to crawl! And she’s picking up new words, like “ball,” and “bye-bye.” She says “na-na” for banana. (Freeze dried banana, that is, after I’ve soaked it in water to soften it. The Martins treat freeze-dried food like gold, but because Lily’s a baby, she’s allowed a daily ration.) She loves to play with Bach and Mozart, our German Shepherd and Great Dane, even though they are soooo big. And she adores Justin, Lexie’s little brother—My mom would so enjoy seeing all this.
But her milestones aren’t all good—as she gets bigger, she wants more attention. I’ve had to switch some of my chores to spend extra time with her because she just cries and carries on unless I’m with her. Lexie and Evangeline do most of the barn chores, now.
Evangeline and I avoid each other. My mother went off with her father and when I see her, it makes me think about it. It gets me angry that they ever came to this compound! Mom would still be here if that idiot—Mr. Washington—hadn’t agreed to go off with her. She probably feels about my mom the way I feel about her father. I guess they’re both to blame. But I’m still not getting friendly with Evangeline. She’s too young, anyway.
But when I’m not worrying about Mom, I’m wishing she were here to take care of her own baby. I love Lily—but I’m not her mother. I hate having to wash diapers. I’ll be seventeen in September. I shouldn’t have to be a surrogate mother!
The only way I would want to be a mother is if Roper were the father. And I’ve got precious little chance of that happening if he doesn’t come back!
During breakfast, Lexie and Blake were sitting close together and talking. Seeing them filled me with fresh worries about my beautiful guy. I feel like I’m going to explode sometimes from all the worries in my head.
I hate that the world is like this—a war zone. It’s worse than the wild west or the frontiers the pioneers faced. Our own countrymen are as much a threat as foreign invaders.
Chapter 8
LEXIE
I was outside hanging laundry today with Mrs. Wasserman when suddenly I heard a soft nickering which hadn’t come from the pasture. My first thought was of Rhema, my missing horse. But she’d been gone since Andrea’s mother and Mr. Washington foolishly left the compound, taking her and one other horse, nearly a month ago.
Even though I knew it couldn’t be Rhema—I didn’t dare hope—I almost dropped the shirt in my hands to peek around a sheet on the line to get a glimpse, my heart pounding in my throat. And then—I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was my horse! She came from the woods, near the trail I’d
always ridden her on, saddled but with no rider, broken reins flapping.
“Rhema!” Hearing my voice she picked up speed and I had to run to keep her from swiping our clean clothing. Oh, my gosh! Tears sprang into my eyes as I grabbed the reins and hugged her. I couldn’t believe how great it felt to have her back! I praised her and stroked her head and face and mane, laughing at how she nuzzled me, almost knocking me over with her large head. Mrs. Wasserman watched us with a smile.
“Did anyone come with her?” I asked. My heart surged with the hope that Andrea’s mother might be back!
“I don’t see anyone,” Mrs. Wasserman said. “I’ll get someone and we’ll go look.” Meanwhile, I started checking my beloved horse for signs of trouble or injuries. She’d definitely lost weight and was breathing hard. I wondered how long she’d been traveling in this heat, and led her to a water trough. As she noisily began to drink, I stroked her neck. She needed a good brushing–and I couldn’t wait to give it to her. Andrea came into sight. Running towards me, she called, “Is my mom back?”
“We don’t know yet,” I yelled back, but I was worried. Surely if Mrs. Patterson had been with Rhema, she’d have ridden her. It was possible that she and Mr. Washington were trailing behind; maybe they’d come stepping out of the trail just like my horse—but I had a sinking feeling it wasn’t going to happen.
Andrea ran up to me with wide, hopeful eyes and drank in the sight of Rhema.
“What happened?”she asked, breathlessly.
“I don’t know. Rhema just came walking out of the woods!”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes turned to gaze at the tree line. “Where?”
“From the horse trail.”
She took off running towards the trail. I shouted after her, “Don’t, Andrea! Don’t go in there alone!”
“I’m fine!” she yelled, not even turning.
I wanted to run after her but I didn’t want to leave Rhema—I’d just got her back! She was still drinking but since I couldn’t let her drink her fill anyway (she might get sick if she drank too much at once after being without water) I led her to the barn, hurrying her along. I hoped that one of our lookouts was watching and would report that Andrea had gone into the woods alone. But if not, I would grab the two-way from the barn and get help from the house.
I got Rhema settled, grabbed the radio and turned it on as I hurried back outside. I almost ran into Mrs. Wasserman with my dad, who was speaking into his unit.
“How long ago?” he asked. “Right... No, stay up there... Okay, thanks.”
As soon as he switched off, I cried, “Dad, Andrea ran into the woods alone! She thinks her mom might be on her way here!”
“I know, I know, I just heard,” he said, and then glanced at the barn. “I’m glad you got Rhema back, honey.”
I nodded. “Yeah!”
He eyed me worriedly. “She came alone, huh?”
“She did.” I paused. “Do you think—do you think they might be following?” I didn’t need to say who “they” were—my dad knew I meant Andrea’s mother and Mr. Washington.
He turned to leave, his expression veiled. “We’ll see,” he said. “Get back to work, ladies. We’ll take care of this.”
As he left, Mrs. Wasserman met my eyes. Hers were sympathetic.
“I need to feed and brush down my horse,” I said.
“That’s fine. I’ll finish the laundry.” Neither of us said a word about whether the two missing adults might be coming back to us.
I got busy taking care of Rhema, removing the bridle, saddle and saddle-bags, and noting that her blanket was still there—that was something. Roper once said when people found anything worth anything, they’d take it or destroy it whether they needed it or not. It was a small miracle that Rhema was back at all, much less with her saddle and blanket.
I didn’t give the mare a big meal, though she hungrily ate up the hay and dried oats I offered. If she’d been without food—and her leanness told me she had—it could cause her to colic if she ate a lot at once. Horses are powerful creatures but also delicate. I checked her hooves and cleaned a few pebbles with a hoof pick, glad to see that nothing was stuck in the “frogs,” the part of the hooves most likely to pick up a stone and cause trouble.
As I worked I prayed for Andrea. If Mrs. Patterson and Mr. Washington weren’t on that trail, she’d be heart-broken. I almost felt guilty that my horse had returned to me whole when her mother might not.
About an hour later I heard voices outside and thought I recognized my dad’s among them. I gave Rhema a final parting hug, telling her what a special girl she was, and then tore myself from her to catch my father outside.
I halted at the barn door. They were heading to the house, my dad and Mr. Buchanan, with Andrea between them, crying. The men had rifles slung on their shoulders and my dad held one of Andrea’s arms. I knew he cared about her but I couldn’t help thinking they looked like M.P.s bringing in an AWOL soldier. Poor Andrea! At that moment she looked up and saw me.
I nodded, and she said something to the men and then veered in my direction. I felt so badly for her. If only her mother had returned along with my horse!
She said, without preamble, “I want to look at Rhema,” and she walked right past me.
At the horse’s stall, she stood there glowering, staring at her. “What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Did she come with anything on her?”
“You mean like a saddle? Yeah, she had her blanket and saddle.”
“Saddle bags?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I see them?”
“Sure.” I led her to where I’d hung up the bags. She took them down and started rummaging in one, searching.
“They’re empty,” I said, wondering what she was up to.
“You checked them both?”
I hesitated. “I think so. What are you looking for?”
“I’m just looking and being thorough.” She spoke with difficulty—I saw then a silent tear running down her cheek. She sniffed and wiped a hand across her face. She dug her hand in the second bag and ran it along the bottom inside seam.
I thought the second one was empty like the first but suddenly Andrea gasped and withdrew her hand. She held it out, brandishing a small, sparkly hair tie.
“This is mine!” she exclaimed. “I have a bunch of hair-ties like this, in lots of colors! My mom must have made it to the house!”
The fact that nothing else was in the bags and even worse, that her mother was nowhere to be found, did not bode well, so I made no reply. Even if her mother had made it to the Patterson’s home and grabbed tons of stuff, she hadn’t made it back. And neither had the stuff. Except for the hair tie.
I looked sadly at Andrea. “It could be anyone’s.”
“Anyone’s? This is your horse! Is it yours?” She handed me the little band. I took it and stared down at it. I knew without a doubt it was not mine—I never wore sparkly hair bands even though I often tied my hair back, especially in summer. But if Andrea thought it was mine, she might feel less upset. She would have no reason to believe her mom and Mr. Washington had made it to her house—but not back.
“Oh, it might be mine,” I said. “I used to put my hair in a ponytail when riding.”
“I’ve never seen you do that,” she shot back.
“Because my hair’s shorter than it used to be.” She couldn’t argue with that one. We’d both let my mom cut our hair once the heat of summer set in. It was just too hot to keep it long, and much easier to manage, not to mention it took less water to wash.
“I still think this is mine,” she said, taking back the little band and turning it over in her hands. Finally, she shoved it in a pocket. She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry. We stood there in awkward silence for a moment. I wanted to give her a hug but for some reason was afraid to, sensing she might push me away.
“I’m sorry, Andi”—I began, using her family nickname,
but she turned on her heel and stalked towards the door.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t even say it!”
I went back to pet Rhema one more time. My happiness at her return was dampened by Andrea’s loss but still it seemed a miracle to have her again. Most anyone out there would grab a horse if they could. Might Rhema have been too skittish to let anyone near her? What were the odds of her making it all the way back to us without someone nabbing her? And what had happened to the other horse? It had belonged to one of our newer families; I couldn’t remember its name. But why hadn’t that horse returned with mine? We’ll probably never know.
My mind went from one scenario to another and I got more and more worked up. What if our missing adults had ridden the animals but got ambushed somewhere close by? Or were injured? Or got trapped somewhere with hostiles surrounding them? What if we could help them? If there was even a chance of getting Andrea’s mother back, we had to take it! We had to try!
Back outside, I saw the clothes drying on the lines but no Mrs. Wasserman. I headed to the house, intent on finding my dad to see if we could look further for Andrea’s mom and Mr. Washington.
I found Dad talking to my mother in the kitchen where she and Mrs. Wasserman were making dinner. Mom was happy for me about Rhema but I could see there weren’t any plans to search further for Andrea’s mom.
“What about Andrea’s mom and Mr. Washington?” I asked. “If Rhema made it back, they may have been with her for part of the trip.”
My dad looked at me blankly. Putting his hands on his hips, he said, “What if they were? That still gives us NO IDEA where they might be now.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Or even if they’re alive.”
“Maybe they got waylaid when they were close! How far did you check? Don’t you think we should go looking?”
“Oh, here we go,” said my mother, frowning. “You’re back to wanting us to save the world.”
The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set Page 64