by A. R. Shaw
Her skin was so warm. Sloane chastised herself for not thinking of how bad it was earlier. She shouldn’t have left them.
“That’s the last of our water mom,” Wren said.
Sloane looked at the bottle and then disregarded her caution, using it all on Nicole. She soaked the t-shirt damp and then laid it across the child’s bare chest, lifted it and laid it again on her lower extremities and continued the process over and over, then redampened the cloth and repeated the process. The convulsions stopped and with what little water remained in the water bottle. Sloane coaxed two more ibuprofen down her throat in hopes of lowering the temperature further. Once she was confident the fever was lessened she held up the empty bottle and then fear struck her as she looked across Nicole’s body to Mae’s glassy eyes staring back at her in fear.
She too was sick and most likely would have the same results as Nicole did. “Lie down, dear. No blankets for you either.”
“What are we going to do, Mom?” Wren whispered.
“She’s going to be fine, Wren. Her fever was just too high.”
“I can go out and look for water,” Wren offered.
“No! No,” she nearly yelled at Wren. “We can use the liquid from some of the canned fruit we have for the next day or so. I’ll try again later.”
But later the wind picked up again and Sloane couldn’t bear to leave the sick girls by themselves. Wren pulled all the fruit cans out of their packs and drained them of their liquid. She gave her sister another fever reducer and soon she too was off to a fevered sleep.
Sloane stared at the sticky amber liquid reserved in the containers. “Only two and half bottles. That might get us through until tomorrow.”
“I don’t need any, Mom,” Wren said.
Sloane gave her a reassuring smile. Wren was known for being selfless. She patted her shoulder. “We’ll find more tomorrow,” she said.
“Please don’t leave me with them, Mom. That was so scary. I didn’t know what to do,” Wren cried.
Sloane hugged her daughter, smelled her fear as she held her close. “Wren, you’re a strong young woman. I know you are.”
Wren shook her head against her mother’s neck. “No, no, I’m not. I’m not strong like you, Mom. I’m so scared.”
Sloane held her tighter. “Yes, you are, Wren. You’re my daughter, I know you are. You’ve taken care of your little sister with no other adults around. You’ve done the right thing time and again. When I was lying in the road stabbed those months ago, you left shelter, against my instruction, because you knew it was the right thing to do. You’ve kept us safe. You can think on your own and that’s what it takes. That’s what bravery is, Wren. The ability to think in a time of crisis. You’ve proven that you’re brave. I couldn’t do any better than you, dear.” She pulled her away a bit and looked into her swollen eyes, wiped the stray fringe from her forehead and smiled. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m terrified most of the time. It’s what you do when you’re scared that counts.”
Wren nodded and wiped her eyes. She looked to her sleeping sisters, for that was how she felt of Nicole also—a sister just like her own flesh and blood. “They’re really sick, Mom. What are we going to do?”
Sloane took a deep breath. “Keep them hydrated and cool their bodies. Let them rest and keep what meds we have in them. Water is our first priority. If we’d only had time to grab that last bag…but we didn’t and we can’t dwell on it. There has to be potable water around here somewhere. This is a big farm; it must have its own well, cistern or water reservoir somewhere. If nothing else, I’ll set some pans outside and if it starts to rain again, we can gather some fresh rain water.”
“That’s a good idea,” Wren said with a spark in her eye. “I’ll gather a few containers from the kitchen.”
“I’ll set them out. We can keep an eye on the girls for today and then I’ll look around more tomorrow.”
Wren rummaged around the old kitchen cabinets collecting containers suitable for collecting water while Sloane sat between the girls, watching them as they took each breath and cooled their extremities in intervals one after another until all the moisture in the rag had evaporated with their body heat.
“I’m ready, Mom,” Wren said.
Sloane snapped herself out of her worried trance. She never thought she’d be in the position of needing water in all her days of growing up in the United States and now not only did she need it, her three children desperately needed clean water.
“I can do it, Mom. I can put the pans outside.” Wren offered.
“No, no, I don’t want you to go out there by yourself unarmed. There’s another little house built onto the barn. I didn’t get a chance to check it out but we may not be the only people here. Let’s be very careful when we’re outside. You can stand at the door and hand them to me. I need to place them where there’s no tree cover for the cleanest water catch.”
“Okay,” Wren replied.
Sloane put her coat back on and reluctantly left the girls’ side. By this time, night descended rapidly and cloaked all in darkness, coming more as a comfort than a threat. She stacked several tin pots and pans together and crept out in the dark, holding them in one bear hug and her weapon in the other; vigilance was an old friend by now.
As her boots squelched in the mud again, she watched her footing and carefully laid down the pots in hopes for rain to arrive once again. It never seemed far off this time of year.
Then she backed her steps again the way she came and retrieved a second armload from Wren, waiting by the door.
“Okay, that should be enough,” Sloane said.
And when she’d placed those containers down as well, she stood for moment in the dark, watching the night for any movement or any light. Other than a cold breeze nothing was apparent, but she felt someone there watching them. A notion passed that perhaps it was the cat, eyeing her from inside one of the outbuildings.
“Mom,” Wren said from the doorway.
She turned to her daughter.
“Nicole’s awake.”
Sloane left the watchful stare while she returned to their haven to check on the child that was now hers out of circumstance but loved all the same.
If something were to happen to any of them, she couldn’t imagine moving forward from the pain. It couldn’t happen, not this time. She would never let it happen.
Once inside the doorway, she removed her boots and locked the door, not that it mattered with the window broken.
It was freezing outside and barely tolerable inside. She opted to keep the fire down for the girls to lower their temperatures.
She went to Nicole’s side. “Hi darling.” Her eyes were glassy and barely open. “How are you feeling?”
“Throat…hurts,” was all the child could make audible.
“I wonder if it’s something like strep throat?” Wren asked, looking pained.
Sloane felt Nicole’s forehead again and though it was hot it wasn’t as warm as before. “Do you think you can sip a little juice?”
Nicole nodded, opting out of saying anything because of the pain.
Sloane lifted her head up from the pillow and held a little glass of canned juice to her chapped lips. Nicole sipped it down a little at a time. Then Sloane held out a capsule out for her to take. “You need to swallow this with the next sip,”
Nicole shook her head. “Huurts,” she croaked out.
“I know, dove, but you must. There’s no choice. Can you do this for me?”
Nicole looked as if she could cry but nodded.
“Good girl. It won’t be easy but it will help you. You trust me, right?”
Nicole nodded again.
“Okay, here you go.” She placed it between her lips and then held out the amber liquid for her again to take a big sip. Nicole swallowed and then nodded again to Sloane that it went down.
“Okay, good girl.” She laid her down on her side. “Try to sleep more. That’s the best thing for you both.”
Nicole smiled at her and closed her eyes again. Sloane hoped she didn’t remember the convulsions from earlier. What a terror to remember such a thing.
Sloane’s eyes met Wren’s and she could see how worried her daughter was; no doubt she thought the same things.
“Why don’t you go into the next room and gather the firewood by the fireplace. We’ll need it for tonight. There is some in the kitchen as well.”
“Okay.”
Sloane thought it would do her daughter some good to take a short walk away from her sick siblings in order to breathe a little and worry a little less. Doing something constructive might help her too. And besides that, every room in the house was an adventure of its own. Wren grabbed her flashlight and had her weapon on her side just like her mom. Soon she came back with wide eyes, bearing an armful of firewood. “This place is huge,” she whispered.
“It is. I haven’t even checked it all out yet.”
“Did you see all the paintings? How old is this place?”
“I have no idea,” Sloane said as she stacked the firewood.
As soon as she was freed from the first load, Wren scurried off to gather the next load. When she returned so did the astonishment in her eyes. Sloane had lost that look as soon as she discovered the girls were really sick and in the course of her worry over their need for water.
They went through the same process twice more and Sloane concluded they probably had enough for the next few days.
Then she and Wren had a small meal of peanut butter crackers from their packs and Sloane let Wren take the first watch so that she could sleep a few hours.
When she woke, Wren went to sleep, and then she took a walk to the kitchen with the knit shirt she used earlier to check and see if there was any way to soak the rag again so that she could wipe the fevered girls down to cool their skin.
Peeking out the window, she saw there was at least some snow that had fallen, so she went out and picked up one of the tin vessels and scooped up more of the snow to bring inside. As it melted by the fire, she soaked the cloth and again blotted the girls’ skin in intervals to help lower their temps. Mae, at least, had not gone into convulsions but she was still just as hot as before. At one point, Sloane was able to melt more snow and woke the child to give her more medication and helped her swallow some of the liquid.
Then they were all asleep again and Sloane was left with her thoughts, her worries and what they might do to help their predicament. And in the dark, she spotted a pair of green eyes staring back out at her. Nearly startled into screaming, she caught herself. “Hello kitty. Where have you been all day? You know, they think I’m crazy and just imagining you,” she said to the cat as he curled up into her lap. She ran her hand down his back and then noticed something new. Where there had been no collar before, there was a worn brown leather one now and it held a rolled-up piece of paper, tied on one end. “What’s this?”
She slid it out and uncurled a ripped piece of paper. On the note was written, “There is clean water at the pump, behind the barn.” It was signed, “A friend.”
She was suddenly struck with terror. There was someone here after all, and they knew of her presence here on the farm. Sloane’s heart beat out of her chest; even though it was signed ‘a friend’ it made her no less frightened.
Looking at her girls as they slept, she felt helpless to save them. At dawn’s light she would have to wake them and make them run again. That’s what they needed to do but how could she move the sick girls? It was an impossible situation and one she had no answers for. If only her Finn where here, she thought for the millionth time. He would know what to do. He would know how to keep us safe. God, I miss him more than ever.
Soon she drifted off to sleep and the cat stepped out of her lap at the first rise of dawn, padded lightly over the sick children, sniffing here and there, and then disappeared back the way he came.
30
Encounters
Early the next morning, before the girls even stirred, Sloane snuck out of the house through the back kitchen door to see that the pots were generally empty; only little rivers of water leaned in the curvature of their lowest depths. Most of the meager snowfall had long melted into the mud.
The girls were fevered and they needed more than the mouthful she could accumulate had she decided to pour each container’s worth into one glass. Determined, she gathered up all of their empty water bottles inside her backpack and grabbed one of the larger containers from the ground where it sat. With her Glock in hand, she would make this a quick and successful trip to the pump the stranger said was on the other side of the barn. Of course, she knew whomever it was would watch her every move and perhaps it was a trap, but it was a chance she had to take. The girls were sick and she had to take the chance.
She found herself running quickly and in near-panic across the hill toward the far end of the barn. She glanced back once at the house before it was out of sight. Now she was having second thoughts about having not awakened Wren before she left but it was too late for that now; there was no turning back.
When she reached the side of the enormous old barn, her chest heaved with the cold air stinging her throat. She laid herself flat against its surface and looked around, weapon raised. She peeked around the back corner ever so carefully. And there it was, a purple bucket against an old-timey pump.
She looked to the woods and thought that if there was someone there, she’d never see them. Then, terrified that it might be a trap set by the soldiers, her legs shook with fear while in her mind, she tried to calm herself, logically reasoning that it was just someone else trying to hide from them too. Her muddy boot inched forward. She made herself move slowly in case of any movement, watching as though this were her last stand, and any minute measured shift would send her into a fight to the death. Then she took cautious steps out in the early morning dawn. Footfall after footfall, her boots crunched the frozen grass beneath her. Only twenty feet away she continued to scan every possible angle until she stood on the broken concrete of the pump platform.
A large purple bucket at her feet was already half full with glorious water. Only a small circle of ice floated like a crystal island within the tiny ocean. Such a precious life source so abundant, yet so far away when desperate for a wet drop. Immediately she knelt and began to submerge the empty water bottles in her backpack while continuing to search her surroundings for any sign of an attacker.
When she was done with that task, having filled ten bottles, she pushed the bucket out of the way and then stood and lifted the lever for the pump and began wrenching the handle down once, twice and a third time then cold water gushed from the spigot into her container. Some of it splashed outside and she thought herself wasteful. Finally, it was almost too full to carry and she wondered how she would be able to hold her gun and carry the pot at the same time. There was no way to do it well; she’d have to make a decision—holster the weapon and carry the pot with two hands with the backpack on her shoulders.
She took another hard look all around her and decided to take the chance and reluctantly holstered her weapon. Then she donned the loaded backpack and knelt down to lift the full container of water. She didn’t want to have to come back for more later, so she reasoned that she only wanted to do this once today. She started hurrying down the crusty grass when she heard a male voice call out to her, “Hello!”
Startled and terrified, she slipped on the frozen grassy hill. The pot of water turned toward her in that moment as she reached to brace her fall, and two gallons of water landed on her chest as she lay on her back on the frozen ground, drenching her chest entirely.
She twisted to her side as a dark shape began to approach her and wrenched her Glock from her holster. Her damp and dripping hair covered her face so that her vision was obscured.
“I’m sor…” the voice began.
“Don’t come closer!”
“I won’t, I won’t.”
When her vision cleared, a man stood only ten feet from h
er with his hands in the air.
“I swear to God, I’m not here to hurt you.”
“I don’t care who you swear to. If you take one step toward me, I’ll kill you.”
“Look, I’ll even back up three paces. I just see that you got my note. I thought I’d introduce myself.”
“I don’t care who you are. I have sick children or we would have left already. I need to get them well and then we’ll leave, I promise. Just please give me a few more days.”
“I’m not trying to kick you out. I saw you ladies come in during the storm. You’re welcome to stay here. It’s pretty safe. No one has come around here yet.”
“Are you the caretaker?”
“Well, sort of. I’m the second cousin of the guy that haunts that house.” He pointed toward the house with a raised finger. He was trying to be funny and she sort of believed him.
“It’s not haunted.”
“Whatever you say. It’s creepy enough. Look, I’m a doctor. I came out here to check on my mom’s place on my way to Portland and just happened to be here when the wave hit. I can take a look at your girls. I’m an internal medicine doctor.”
She moved the damp hair away from her face and studied him for a moment. He was tall man with light brown hair and even in these times he wore what you’d expect to see a doctor wearing, a mildly plaid button-up shirt and through the v of his neck she could see a crisp white undershirt. His jacket wasn’t one for the rugged outdoors but one a doctor would wear over his shirt in cold weather. He was clean-shaven even still, with only a hint of a shadow on his face. He wore dark wash jeans and had on expensive leather hiking boots. She knew the type, career driven. He was handsome and said all the right things so far, but she could never trust him. She glanced at the pot on the ground but still held him at gunpoint. “No, that’s okay.” She began to move away from him and farther down the hill toward the house and her children.