Mattea yelled, “I found her. She’s here; she’s okay.”
He emerged from the bush, guiding a shell-shocked Wren with him. Closer now, Mattea said, “She just blacked out there for minute, right honey?”
Wren was slow to nod, but she did nod. A faint smile flitted across her bruised face. “They won’t hurt you,” she told them, her voice hoarse. “But we need to hide the bodies.”
Mattea and Nicola exchanged cautious glances. Was Wren alright?
Olivia called out to them. “Your friend will need to be lifted back into the ATV. I couldn’t lift him by myself.”
They all turned to face her. Wren cried out first, demanding, “He’s still alive?”
“He was when I left him. I got him breathing again, threw some coverings over him, then came to help Randy, then …” Olivia’s voice failed her here, emotions bursting to the surface after being pressed down for so long out of necessity. “I-I needed to help Randy, then, he got shot …”
Wren was already running, searching around the tranny. “Where, Olivia! Where is he?”
“I dragged him into the bushes, by that speed sign.”
Wren disappeared into the brush. “He’s here and he’s still alive!” She was sobbing with joy. “Come h-help me. I want to take him h-home now. I want h-him home. Help me, Mattea. Help me bring him home.”
Nicola and Mattea found Wren holding Coru in her arms, just as Olivia was holding Randy. Nicola blinked at the love Wren had for the man in her arms — it was blinding. It was also something Wren didn’t recognize in herself — she thought she was grateful, that she owed Coru her life. Maybe she did. Maybe I’m crazy.
Mattea jogged over to Beastette and brought her in close to Coru. “Okay, ladies, all hands on Coru, then it’s Randy into the Beast. We’re running out of darkness, and I need to come back with Dan and Sean and hide these bodies and their vehicles before light. We don’t want to invite any more visitors down Drury Road.”
Nicola, Mattea and Wren got Coru into the back seat of the tranny, with Wren snugging him into place easily. She’d done this before.
“How many bodies will I be looking for?” Mattea asked Wren hesitantly.
Looking down at Coru, stroking his face, Wren murmured, “Six.”
Nicola was stunned at the number and at Wren’s demeanor. “You killed six men?”
Wren frowned and shook her head. “Oh no. Randy killed two. I killed the other four. But if you’re counting those two in Rushton, then that makes six.”
She was so calm and matter-of-fact. Nicola didn’t know how to respond. She looked at Wren for a long moment as her friend continued to gaze at Coru’s still face. Nicola let her old judgement go. She had no idea what had happened in Rushton. She’d likely have done the same in Wren’s place. Hadn’t she killed two men herself, not long ago? The world was so different now. She longed for a peaceful time, when the killing would end, and the healing began.
Mattea was back, with the Beast this time. Working together they got Randy into the back, with Olivia holding him. He’d come to, and was looking not too bad, even smiling wanly at Nicola as she and Mattea trussed both he and his wife snuggly into place. “I’d give you both a great big hug, if I could. I’ll owe you one,” he joked.
“Shhh,” Olivia cautioned him, though she was smiling as well. “We’ll do all the intro’s when we get there. We’re not there yet.”
“Just a sec.” Mattea strode over to where two bodies lay in the open, out in the middle of the road, picking them up by their feet and dragging them into the brush. He did the same with the rest, leaving the last one where it lay. For that last one, Nicola saw he’d need a shovel. While Mattea “cleaned up”, Nicola drove the intruder’s vehicles straight into the bush and left them there.
They both jogged back, with Mattea climbing into the Beast, Nicola driving Beastette. They headed back to D.O.A. as swiftly as they dared, with precious, precious cargo in their vehicles.
30
HEALING TIME
The McCalls fit in with the family down at D.O.A. as if they had always been with them. Randy’s skills as a doctor and Olivia’s as a nurse were a blessing, even if at first, Randy had to direct someone else—pretty well always Olivia—to act on his behalf while his shoulder healed. Randy healed much more quickly than Coru did, his unfailing cheerful attitude lifting everyone up.
It wasn’t long before Jarvis and Annie’s betrayal was behind them, and Catherine was back to her old self. Their winter supplies restored, all Catherine was tasked with that fall was bottling up jars of apple sauce and apple cider vinegar, which she would use for next year’s pickles and for cleaning. Then it was all about the knitting, which she did beautifully. She was always busily creating wonderful one-of-a-kind vests, sweaters, scarves, hats and mitts from her mountainous “stash” of yarns — the result of the men’s keen eyes when out on scavenging hunts. Soon everyone was proudly sporting a rainbow garment of some sort, a badge of honor that declared them to be an authentic D.O.A.’er.
Bill was back on his meds, thanks to Wren and Coru’s trip into Rushton and was thriving. His color was good, his energy level high, his outlook positive. He lived to roam the woods in search of herbs he identified in Wren’s Boreal Herbal book, bringing home all sorts of leaves and roots he wanted to dry or make into tinctures or grind up into powders. Bill’s “can do”, “I’ve got an herb for that” attitude was hard to resist. His wild rosehip tea was fast becoming the favorite late-night drink with the evenings growing longer and the days shorter. He and Catherine continued to grow close, the elders of the family, both much loved and respected.
Coru was now occupying Annie and Sandy’s room, with Sandy bunking in the utility room, using a makeshift bed she insisted was very comfortable. This way he could be nursed throughout the day and the McCalls could stay together in his place in the only bedroom with a door in the men’s cabin.
Coru wasn’t the easiest patient. He was used to being active, and laying, then sitting up in a bed was not his idea of a good time. To keep him quiet, Wren took to projecting the contents of her father’s tablets up on the wall for him to puzzle over. That was good for at least an hour of no complaining. Sometimes when she brought his lunch into him, she’d stay and stare at the numbers with him, pretending concentration, when actually, her eyes wanted to roll up into her head as her mind skipped away, hauled out of the room as if caught by a fish hook. All she could think of was the dozens of much more appealing and productive ways she could fill her time. The truth was, numbers sent her screaming for the hills.
Plus, she hated she was becoming so attached to the time traveler, knowing he would leave here, go back to his own world. There was no place for her in his life, never would be.
Coru’s fingers were slow to heal; his hand—slower still. His face was forever altered, his cheek strangely flattened, the skin scarred, marring his otherwise perfectly symmetrical features. His wounds did become infected, and there were days at the start, when everyone tiptoed through the cabin quietly, as he thrashed through the sweats of those infections without the benefit of antibiotics. His broken cheekbone was particularly inflamed, his face distorted and swollen on that side. His suffering was made all the more horrible by the pain of his broken ribs, reinjured again and again by his thrashing. He almost died from the infections, making his broken bones seem almost incidental.
It was Wren and Olivia who tended to him through the infections, bathing and redressing him repeatedly, until one morning, everything just stopped and he was up, the infections gone, his eyes clear. He was back, alert and wanting to move. Keeping him quiet through the bone knitting stage was the challenge. At first, with his broken ribs, he didn’t fight too badly. Any deep breath caused him pain, so, he didn’t breathe deeply. But once that part was over, and they were down to broken fingers, hand and his face, that was where the real battle began.
There was no more keeping him quiet. Now he roamed the property, grousing about this and that, longing to get invol
ved with the day-to-day preparations for winter. There was no log hauling in Coru’s life; no bucking, no chopping, no stacking. The barn was outfitted for winter for the animals without him. The garden’s irrigation system was drained and packed away for the winter without him, though he hovered over the whole operation, driving Dan to distraction. A pair of escaped hogs, who’d spent the summer running wild in the forest and by some miracle had not been killed by wolves were coaxed into a pig pen Dan and Sean had constructed just for them. Again – accomplished without Coru. They’d live on Missy’s extra milk and scraps and grains, then be sacrificed for the dinner table when needed.
The alfalfa was bailed up and collected, then stacked in the barn without him, then the machinery was greased up and put to bed in a shed Dan and Coru had constructed during the summer. Missing this was particularly hard on Coru, as he’d grown to love working with the machinery with Dan, drinking in the older man’s years of advice and tricks of the trade.
What he hated the absolute most was being spoon fed his meals. He was so damned ornery, that Wren made it her number one mission to be absent when this task needed to be done. It most often fell on Sandy, the most patient person living at D.O.A.
If Wren had wanted to know what had happened to Coru back in Rushton between the time he’d knocked her out and the time she’d cut him down from the power pole, the experience simply was not available to be read in Coru’s mind. This was a blessing, they decided, that he had no memory of it now. Revisiting his experience of being tortured by Curtis Mathers was not on their top ten list of things to do. She didn’t think she could survive experiencing it along with him, if she were honest with herself. She was much too fond of him now. It would kill her.
They let it go, and looked to the future. Getting through the winter was number one, along with Coru healing, and in the spring, once he was sufficiently healed, Coru would travel back to the town of Hope to return to his own time through the Bore.
Wren’s mind always skipped this part — the part where Coru left. She didn’t want to think about it. She had months between herself and his departure, so why dwell on it?
One good thing had come from the men who followed Wren home, giving her hope in a new direction. She had read in their minds that there were strong rumors of a haven down south, in the Kootenay Mountains. Why don’t we just skip this little invasion Curtis has cobbled together because he was angry and offended his latest crucifixion guy being rescued, and head on down there before winter hits. Kootenay Mountains, five, maybe six days away, Freeland, they called it. A whole modern setup, hidden inside a mountain. Better than this crap.
She learned the people who lived there called it Freeland, and themselves Freelanders. She, Mattea, Nicola and Coru spoke often about the possibility of escaping the north with the family and traveling to Freeland, to sanctuary. Someone would have to spearhead this — find out if Freeland truly existed and what kind of life they would lead in this sanctuary.
Until that day came, they would have to remain on D.O.A. as the Outlanders they apparently were now labeled, until something better came along up here in the north.
She tried the label on for size. Outlander. They were now Outlanders.
By now, as Outlanders, they loved D.O.A. But living on D.O.A. was still dangerous. Many of the Outlanders were lawless, and continued to rove around, preying on other Outlanders.
She couldn’t help wondering what the Freelanders would call someone like the very dead Curtis Mathers. Was Curtis the poster boy for Outlanders? Would the D.O.A. family be labeled as such and be rejected from Freeland? Could their possible journey to Freeland end with rejection? All that danger for what? They needed more information before they risked it.
There was so much she didn’t know.
If a small party struck out for Hope with Coru in the spring or maybe waited until the summer, so they could at least plant the garden before they went, then veered to the Kootenay Mountains, might they find a safe place for the family? And might this be the place for Charles Wood’s work to be studied and realized in their time? Would this reflect well in the future? Would it save the future? Could it mean it was not too late for Coru’s time to be saved, at least some of it?
Coru was adamant Charles’s work had to be developed in their time, not his. There was no bringing the tablets back to WEN 2341 to be studied and realized there. It had to be here, now.
Privately, Wren wondered if Coru traveled back through the Bore before the tangle of her father’s work was untied, would there be anything for him to go back to? But, if he travelled back to WEN 2341, that was hundreds of years in the future — plenty of time to work on Charles’s findings, right? Coru didn’t have to be present, here in her time for the mystery to be solved, did he?
She wanted him here. Could she make a case for keeping him here?
Now she was being selfish.
She knew too little to be sure of anything to do with Coru and his mission here in her world. She went around in circles. Time travel. Paradoxes. Move the pencil, change the future …
She was worried for Coru. Did he have a future to go back to? Did his family exist? And if they didn’t, would he cease to exist the moment he returned?
Did she want him to go? The answer was a huge no, but of course, if he did stay here with her … would he be the person she so admired for his selflessness?
She kept these thoughts to herself, especially shielding it from her inner circle—Nicola, Mattea, Catherine — and Coru himself.
The big surprise was members of this inner circle were now able to communicate with one another telepathically, something even she wasn’t able to do before now. She’d always been a listener, not a participant. It all began with her pinging them while they were in the garden, learning how to reach out herself to other minds, something she’d never attempted before. She was convinced she was successful because she’d spent so much time inside their heads, was so familiar with them and trusted them so completely. She’d let down some kind of barrier she wasn’t even aware of and had allowed herself out and them in.
Now they were all participants, chatting everything out inside their heads. It was as if they had blown through some invisible wall together, expanding Wren’s abilities and annexing some for themselves in the process. One difference: Only Wren could hear the thoughts of all other people. Nicola, Catherine, Coru and Mattea were confined to communication with one another and Wren, and were not all seeing into the other’s every thought. They were confined to communicating with another inside their group only when that person was open to the communication. They liked this — they still had privacy when they needed it.
It was scary at first — this running dialogue — but they’d adjusted quickly to their new ability and had learned to cover it when they were in the company of others. Now they viewed it, and Wren, differently. It was a treat. It was bizarre. It was funny. It was annoying.
It was what it was.
When she came in with today’s collection of eggs — lucky thirteen — she saw Coru had moved his puzzling out from the bedroom and was in the great room with her father’s math equations projected on the wall behind the wood stove. He and Bill were frowning at them, muttering about something, Catherine was pulling fresh biscuits for tonight’s meal from the oven and Deklin was coloring in a complex map he’d created of D.O.A.
“So, they let you out of your room with those things, I see,” she said, crossing to the sink to wash the eggs. “And now we’re all to be subjected to mathematical hell on earth.”
Both men looked at her grimly. Coru messaged her: You’ll never get rid of me with that attitude.
Did I say I wanted to… She stopped herself just in time. She would not pull him away from his promise to his father, to his people. … make a nice custard with all these eggs.
You’re … What? He blinked, frowned at her, then turned back to the numbers marching across the wall.
You love custard. Don’t pretend you don’t.
>
Deklin looked up from his map, glancing at the numbers on the wall, then returned his attention to the pile of crayons piled before him, sorting through them in search of the perfect shade of whatever he would color next. He murmured, “Why are your numbers all broken? You should fix them. Then you could go do something funner.”
Wren turned to smile at the boy. Deklin was such a treat. She was grateful they had him.
Bill and Coru exchanged amused glances.
Coru said, “If only it were that easy, Deklin.”
Deklin seized up a nice mossy green and went back to work.
Wren resumed brushing the eggs clean under water.
Deklin said, “It’s not like it’s hard.”
Wren’s hand froze over the egg she was brushing clean, her memory of Deklin’s inner world flashing into her head. Hopping bunny numbers, floating balloon numbers, hide and seek numbers, bouncing, flying numbers…
Catherine stopped moving biscuits onto a cooling rack, her eyes flying up to Wren’s. She’d seen what Wren had seen by reading Wren’s thoughts.
Wren slowly pivoted to face the boy. “What did you say, Deklin?”
Her tone alerted Bill and Coru. They turned to look at her, registered surprise, then followed her gaze to Deklin.
Coru messaged, What’s up?
Wren ignored him, her heart banging in her chest now, knowing what was coming. Oh, my God, how did I not see this?
Keeping his splinted hands safely clear Coru elbowed himself up from the sectional to standing. See what?
Bill was alerted and he stood as well. They all were standing and staring at Deklin.
Deklin was late to notice the room was quiet except for the sound of his crayon on the paper. He looked up at the faces encircling him, and was taken aback.
“Oh no—you haven’t done anything wrong,” Wren hastened to say. “We just wanted to know more about Coru’s broken numbers. You… Do you think you know how to fix them.?”
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 34