by Tarah Benner
Axel didn’t do well with the constant disruptions to his sleep. He and Simjay moved in to the house next door, and even Lark was having a hard time.
Bernie was the only one who seemed to be able to handle intense sleep deprivation and the constant storm of baby spit-up. After Quinn’s traumatic birth, Bernie seemed to have adopted a “not on my watch” philosophy, and she hovered over the twins twenty-four/seven — even when they were both asleep.
As the days dragged on, Bernie got progressively more disgusting. She was always on duty with Portia, helping her nurse and change diapers and clean up the twins whenever they puked — which seemed to be all the time. She’d made several dozen cloth diapers out of everything from rags to tablecloths, which made baby bathroom business a hundred times worse.
But after Bernie fell asleep with a plate full of mashed potatoes in her lap one night, Simjay carried her off to the bedroom and locked her in for some much-deserved shut-eye. They all laughed and took turns holding the babies so that Portia could sleep, and even Axel seemed content to stare into Clara’s perfect tiny face. Both babies had their mother’s silky black hair and distinctly Thai eyes, but they had creamy brown skin and little button noses that reminded Soren of their father, Zachariah.
With all the pillows and blankets spread out in front of the fire and the snow falling gently out the window, it felt almost as though they could stay there forever. But by the next day, it became clear to Soren that their supplies were running low.
“Are you sure this is everything?” he asked Simjay, opening the cabinets to take inventory of everything that was left.
“Yeah,” said Simjay, patting Quinn on the back. He’d taken to walking around with a burp rag and a twin thrown over one shoulder — a far cry from the sleazy, smart-mouthed con artist that Soren had met in San Judas. “Are we running low?”
Soren let out a sigh. “We’ve got maybe three days’ worth of food here — four if everybody but Portia cuts back.”
“Then we’ll stretch it,” said Simjay without another thought. “The twins can’t travel yet.”
Soren glanced over at Portia, who was snoring loudly by the fire. “They’re gonna have to,” he said. “We can’t stay here forever.”
“We’ll get more food,” said Simjay hurriedly. “I’ll take the Jeep, and I’ll —”
“We’re running low on gas,” said Soren. “And I don’t know where we’re gonna find more.”
“We could go back to New Vail . . .” But he trailed off at the look on Soren’s face.
“We need to get back to Carlsbad before another storm comes.”
Simjay opened his mouth to argue, but Soren cut him off.
“Look. It’s gotten up in the thirties the past few days. The snow is melting. The roads will be drivable if we go first thing tomorrow.”
“But the babies —”
“The babies will be fine,” said Soren. “We’ll keep them warm. We’ll stop when we need to. But we need to get out of the mountains.” He glanced at Portia once again. “We got lucky last time . . . I don’t think we’ll be that lucky again.”
Simjay still looked reluctant, but he nodded. He knew as well as Soren did that they couldn’t count on the good weather holding much longer. It was nearly December, and they were still at eight thousand feet.
When Portia awoke from her nap, Soren called everyone into the living room to go over the plan. To his surprise, Portia let out a hearty “thank god!” and everyone turned to look at her.
“What?” said Portia. “I thought I was gonna go crazy if I had to stay in this cabin one more day.”
Lark and Axel chuckled, clearly relieved, but Bernie looked concerned.
“It’s now or never,” said Soren. “The weather’s only gonna get worse from here on out, and I don’t think we’ll be able to make it through another storm. Our supplies are running low. We need to get back to the farm.”
Soren could tell that Bernie wanted to put up a fight, but she knew she was overruled. He and Lark went to retrieve the Subaru, and they loaded both vehicles with all the food and water they had left. They planned to drive to Salida to refuel, stopping as needed on their way to New Mexico.
Since the Jeep was the safest in the snow, Portia and the babies piled in the back while Soren drove and Bernie slept. He didn’t trust her to drive on practically no sleep, so he planned to go the whole way.
Axel was disappointed to give up his spot in the Jeep, but he knew that ten hours in a car with two fussy babies wasn’t going to be a picnic. He, Lark, Simjay, and Denali took the Subaru with the agreement that if they got stuck, the Jeep would get Portia and the babies to safety before doubling back to pick them up.
They set off the next morning with a cautious degree of optimism. Soren was sure that the Subaru would be able to make it as long as the roads stayed clear, but there was still the looming threat of law enforcement pursuing them.
Their run-in back in New Vail had been a very close call, and Soren was sure that the US Marshals hadn’t given up. They knew the area better than Soren did, and there were only so many routes through the mountains.
Soren’s only hope was that they’d seen the Subaru stranded in the snow. If they had, they must have assumed the group had continued on foot, which meant that they might be looking for bodies rather than preparing for a chase.
To Soren’s relief, they made it out of the mountains without any encounters with the police. They couldn’t reach Salida on the fuel they had left, but they managed to find enough in Buena Vista to get them through.
They didn’t encounter a single living soul on the road, and Soren suspected that the few people who’d managed to survive in the region for that long had done it by lying low and hunkering down in their homes.
They pushed forward through the border, and again Soren felt relief that they hadn’t encountered any roadblocks. Portia and the babies slept for most of the drive, waking only to nurse, poop, and fall back asleep. The motion of the Jeep seemed to soothe them, and the babies napped longer than they had back at the cabin.
They stopped about an hour north of Santa Fe to spend the night at a place called Ojo Caliente. The town was surrounded by arid rolling hills where nothing but grass and shrubs would grow. The tiny downtown was full of festive tourist shops that had long since been abandoned, and the streets stood quiet and empty. A cluster of adobe buildings were tucked protectively among the snowy hills, so Soren pulled off the road and parked outside the largest one.
He and Bernie got out to investigate, and Lark pulled up a minute later. She, Axel, and Simjay piled out of the Subaru, and Soren sensed that the guys had just woken up from a nap.
From the looks of things, the tiny town had once been dominated by the natural hot springs resort. They were parked in front of the main building, but a quick walk around the facility revealed that the place had been shut down for a while.
Lawn chairs lay upended around the flagstone terrace, and the windows of the historic adobe hotel had been boarded up. Little stone placards around the pools gave descriptions of the healing properties of the water that had once flowed from the natural springs, but without the electric pumps to bring the water to the surface, the large soaking pools stood empty.
“This is creepy,” said Portia, wandering over from the car with one baby in a basket and the other tucked in a sling.
“What are you talking about?” Bernie groaned. “I love it here.”
Simjay raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, I would’ve loved it here. Yoga, hot springs, mud baths, massages . . .” She closed her eyes and groaned. “It sounds like heaven.”
“This place reminds me too much of San Judas,” said Portia. “All the adobe . . . ‘rustic charm’ . . . All that was missing from prison was sunrise yoga, a couple of heated swimming pools, and a good Shiraz.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Lark. “Not all of us got to lay around and smoke all day.”
Soren glanced at Portia, sure thi
s comment was about to set her off, but Portia looked too exhausted to care.
“Come on,” said Bernie, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s go find a place to crash.”
Sleep sounded great to all of them, so they unloaded the cars and began to investigate. It took Axel roughly two minutes to break into the main building. He emerged with a set of master keys and a brochure describing each of the suites.
Apparently the resort also had several cottages, so they walked around the courtyard to choose where they would be staying for the night. Portia ducked into the first cottage they came to with a king bed and a fireplace. As soon as Simjay dumped her bags into the chair by the door, she climbed into bed fully clothed with a twin in each arm.
Axel snagged the queen suite across from Portia and the twins, and Simjay and Bernie claimed the Honeymoon Cottage. Soren and Lark kept walking to the very end of the drive, where the last little cottage was tucked among the trees.
This cottage was slightly smaller than the others, but it had its own private patio and a king-size bed. Soren ran back to grab his backpack out of the Jeep, and when he returned, he stopped dead in his tracks.
From his position on the flagstone path, he could see Lark through the window bending over the fireplace. With the soft sparks dancing on her sun-kissed face, Soren didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful.
Her long dark hair fell across her cheeks, and because she didn’t know she was being watched, her shirt had slipped down a few inches in the front. Soren’s body ached with desire as he watched Lark’s chest and torso move under the thin cotton. Her tattoos shuddered in the dancing firelight, and he yearned to run his hands all over her silky-smooth skin.
Lark jumped a little when he opened the door, and Soren came up and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Sorry,” he whispered, breathing in her familiar scent. “It’s just me.”
“I know,” said Lark, trying to keep her voice light. “You just surprised me.”
“Are you okay?”
“Mhmm.”
But she didn’t seem all right. She crossed to the door and locked the deadbolt, peering out the window at the still, snowy night.
“What is it?” he asked, taking Lark’s hand and pulling her toward the bed. It was made up with fresh cream linens and looked extremely inviting.
“Nothing,” said Lark, shaking her head. She took a step closer to the bed but remained standing.
“Lark . . .”
She swallowed, and Soren knew he’d been right to think that something was wrong.
“You don’t like being this close to San Judas.”
To his horror, Lark’s eyes filled with tears, and he knew he’d guessed right.
“Hey, hey . . . It’s okay,” he said, reaching for her hand and pulling her into his lap. “No one is going to find us here. It’s been six months.”
“And they’re still looking!” Lark gasped. “They’re never going to stop!”
She made a move as if she wanted to get up, but Soren held her firmly in place.
“They will,” he said, tightening his grip and kissing the side of her head. “Trust me.”
“When?” said Lark. “We stole from them. We escaped. They want us locked up for good.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
There was a brief pause as Lark stared down at his hands on her hips. “Sometimes it just feels like a waste.”
“What does?”
“Stealing those seeds,” she said in a low voice.
“What?”
“I just mean . . . What have we really accomplished?”
“We’ve helped lots of people,” said Soren bracingly. “We helped the Baileys, for a start. And lots more will make it next year because they have those seeds.”
“But what about everybody else?” Lark murmured. “We can’t save everyone.” She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists. “Sometimes I just feel so helpless — like nothing we’ve done even matters.”
“Like nothing we’ve done matters?” Soren repeated. “Lark . . . How can you say that?”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t’ve . . .”
“No, it’s okay.”
Soren had known something was wrong. He just hadn’t realized how deep her turmoil ran.
“It’s not that I don’t think we’ve done well with what we had,” said Lark. “We just can’t do this on our own.”
Soren paused, turning this idea over in his head. “What are you saying?”
Lark didn’t respond. He could sense her brain working on a solution, and the longer she stayed quiet, the more uneasy he felt.
“You’re not talking about going to Homeland Security, are you?” Soren asked. “Please tell me that’s not what you’re thinking.”
“It’s not what I’m thinking,” said Lark quickly.
She fell back into thoughtful silence, and then a look of inspiration spread slowly across her face. She inhaled deeply, practically thrumming with excitement, and Soren could tell that she’d had an idea.
“I’ve got it,” said Lark.
Soren gave her a squeeze so that she knew he was listening, waiting for the verdict with bated breath.
“We don’t need Homeland Security,” Lark whispered. “We need an army . . . and I know where we can get one.”
26
Soren
It was late afternoon by the time they arrived back at the Baileys’ farm. Soren’s eyes were heavy from driving, and he needed a shower bad. The twins had been fussy for most of the ride, which had made for a tense and exhausting six hours.
Still, Soren felt hopeful after his conversation with Lark. They had stayed up until one working out the details of their plan, and it made him happy to see how excited she was.
The plan was dangerous — maybe even insane — but if it worked, they would have the manpower to distribute the seed all across the country, and they would never have to worry about GreenSeed again.
The latter was the reason Soren was willing to take the risk. As long as GreenSeed was after them, they would always be looking over their shoulder. Lark would never feel safe, and she’d never truly be happy.
They’d agreed not to tell the others about the plan until they got back to the Baileys’. There were too many unknowns that might not make it possible, and they knew they couldn’t do it without Thompson’s help.
As they pulled into the gravel drive, Katrina rushed out to greet them. They hadn’t had any way to contact the Baileys and tell them that they were coming, but to Soren’s relief, Katrina looked beside herself with joy.
When Portia climbed out of the Jeep, Katrina stopped dead in her tracks. Portia was almost unrecognizable. She had deep bags under her eyes, her hair was a mess, and she had Quinn nestled in her arms.
“Holy shit!” Katrina yelled.
Portia shot her a deadly look.
“I mean . . . holy shit,” Katrina whispered, inching closer to get a good look at the baby. “You’re not pregnant.”
“Nothing gets past you,” said Portia, swinging a bag of baby clothes over her shoulder and kicking the Jeep door shut.
Just then, Bernie came around the other side with baby Clara in her arms.
“Oh my god. There are two of them?” Katrina squealed. “How did this happen?”
“Oh, you know,” Portia muttered. “One fertilized egg splits into two . . . twice the diapers, twice the boob time.”
“Holy cow. How are you feeling?”
“Like I just shoved two bowling balls out of my vagina.”
“She’s a little tired,” said Bernie, throwing Katrina an apologetic look. “We all are.”
“I bet,” said Katrina, still stunned. “Oh my goodness!” she crooned, bending over to get a closer look at the baby in Bernie’s arms. “You had twins! I can’t believe it!”
“You can’t believe it?” grumbled Portia. “Talk about a sick cosmic joke.”
Bernie shot her a
“not in front of the babies” look.
“I mean, I love them,” Portia added. “They’re pretty damn cute.”
“Can I hold one?” asked Katrina.
For a moment, Portia just stared at her as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Then her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she thrust a baby into Katrina’s arms. “She just nursed, so she’ll probably need to be changed soon.”
But Katrina wasn’t listening. She was absolutely mesmerized.
“I can’t believe this,” she murmured, staring down at Quinn with a look of pure joy.
“I had no idea you were such a baby person,” said Soren as the Subaru pulled up.
“Who doesn’t love babies?”
“Someone who just spent six hours in a car with two of them.” Soren lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Hey . . . Is Thompson around? Lark and I really need to talk to her.”
“What?” It seemed to take a moment for Katrina to extract herself from baby heaven. “Oh, yeah. She’s up in the silo.”
“Great,” said Soren.
He crossed the yard to grab Lark, who seemed more than ready to get away from Axel and Simjay. He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her toward the grain silo, where Thompson’s shadow was just barely visible. He could see Walt walking down from the fields, and Soren wanted to delay their awkward greeting as long as possible.
They managed to reach the tower without anyone noticing they were gone, and Soren called up to Thompson. She responded with a civil “hey,” and Lark started to climb up the ladder.
Soren waited for a moment at the bottom. They were back at the Baileys after making it clear that they wanted nothing to do with Mr. and Mrs. Miller. He was sure that Walt had not forgotten.
Thompson was probably a little chafed at them for leaving, too, but it didn’t matter. Lark needed this. Soren could swallow his pride and beg for their help if he had to. Hell, he was willing to do whatever it took.
Bracing himself for a hearty “screw you,” Soren started the climb. He was about to ask Thompson for the biggest favor of his life, and he had no idea how she was going to react.