Crossing In Time: The 1st Disaster (Between Two Evils Series)

by Orton, D. L.

  He limps up the steep embankment and disappears into the brush.

  I roll up my window, engage the gun safety, and set the warm firearm between my thighs. “Put your seatbelt on, please.” I hear her do it, and then I put the car in gear and drive through the open gate, thankful that the cabin is still eight long miles up the canyon.

  Chapter 14

  Isabel: Right As Rain

  High above me, a peregrine falcon circles over the ravine, her warning cry cutting through the stagnant air. I take a shallow breath and release it, feeling queasy. Even after nearly two months, the gash on my leg hasn’t healed properly, and I feel like I have a low-grade fever.

  Or maybe it’s just the oppressive heat.

  God, it’s hot.

  I’m alone on the deck looking through old medical journals for studies on natural infection fighters, but the words evaporate the moment I read them. Diego’s off helping the neighbors repair their roof and won’t be home until dark, and I have something I need to tell him—something I have to tell him.

  I scoot my chair into the dwindling shade and gaze out into the forest. Pine trees stand motionless in the blistering sun, untouched by even a hint of a breeze. This time of year, afternoon thunderstorms usually break up the heat of the day, but there hasn’t been a single drop of rain since the rogue nuke detonated.

  And that’s not the worst of it. No one knows how many people were killed by the resulting tsunami, but the wall of seawater managed to make its way into the Central Valley, wiping out crops and poisoning the soil with salt. It’ll take decades for the US food supply to rebound—if it ever does—and a lot of folks will be going hungry in the meantime.

  On top of that, no one knows what happened to the Russian ICBMs—some say the missiles never made it out of the silos, and others, that they were dumped in the Arctic Ocean or even Australia. Diego has a ham radio, and he gets most of our news that way, but so far, there hasn’t been any talk of radioactive fallout. I guess we’re lucky it hasn’t gotten any worse.

  I drop the magazine and shut my eyes—and hear the lock in the front door turn.

  “Isabel?” Diego’s voice is filled with trepidation, and my heart races. “Where are you? Seamus has been hurt!” Seamus is the ten-year-old boy who lives with his grandmother in the cabin that Diego has been roofing.

  “I’m out here!” I say, wincing as I stand up.

  The infection in my leg is getting worse.

  Diego jogs out on the deck, breathing hard and sweat trickling down his face.

  The knot of dread in my chest twists tighter, pushing bile up in my throat.“What happened? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Just winded from running uphill. Seamus fell off the roof and broke his leg. I told Mrs. Malloy I’d bring you over in the car. Do you feel up to going?”

  “Yes, of course. Could you grab the box of medical supplies in the basement, please, and I’ll get my bag.”

  ∞

  Diego has been hiking back and forth to the Malloys, so it’s been weeks since we took the car anywhere, and the roads have definitely gotten worse. Between the huge potholes, the heavy dust, and the sweltering heat, I’m worried we won’t make it. But thirty minutes later, I sit down next to a red-haired kid who looks like a skinny Ron Weasley.

  “Hey, Seamus,” I say. “I hear you were playing Quidditch and got knocked off your broom.”

  “Fraid it wasn’t quite that spectacular, miss. I fell off the roof.”

  “I won’t tell, if you won’t.” I smile and then check his pupils. “How hard did you hit your head?”

  “Not very. It’s mostly my leg that hurts.”

  I glance at Mrs. Malloy, a nurse midwife, and she nods in agreement.

  “Okay if I take a look?” I ask him.

  “Sure.”

  I lift the bag of ice and move my hands gently across his cool skin. His leg is bent in a way it shouldn’t be, but no bones are sticking out. “I’m guessing it’s a greenstick fracture, but I can’t be sure without an x-ray. We should take him to a hospital.”

  His grandmother shakes her head and pulls Diego and me out into the hallway. “I spoke to a man on the short-wave a week ago. He drove all the way to Cheyenne looking for heart medication for his wife. Said all the hospitals are burned or looted. On the way back, he got trapped in a dead end by a gang of looters and nearly lost his truck—and his life. All in all, he spent four days and eighty gallons of gas and came back with nothing but a smashed windshield and a bad taste in his mouth.”

  Diego gives me a worried look. “So no x-rays.”

  “You’re a doctor. What would you do if Seamus were your son?” Mrs. Malloy asks me, her face lined with worry.

  “Straighten his leg and put a splint on it. He’s young and healthy, and I think he’ll be fine.”

  She nods. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

  “I’ll get the box out of the car,” Diego says, and I go to the kitchen to wash my hands.

  “Alright,” I say to Seamus when we walk back in, “I’m going to give you a shot that will help with the pain, and then I’m going to straighten your leg. It’s still going to hurt, but I’ll try to be quick.”

  “Yes, miss.” His face is pale. “I’ll hold real still.”

  I give him a shot of morphine and then realign the bone. It’s not as difficult as I expected, and when it’s back in place, His grandmother helps me put a splint on it.

  “All done,” I say, clasping my hands together to keep them from trembling. “You were very brave, Seamus.”

  “Ah, it didn’t hurt that much.” He smiles for the first time, his eyes glossy. “Thank you for fixing me up.”

  “You’re welcome.” I put a pillow under his leg and reapply the cold pack. “Keep it elevated and continue icing it twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off until tomorrow night.” I turn to Mrs. Malloy. “Keep an eye on his toes—make sure they stay pink. Do you have over-the-counter pain meds to give him?”

  “Yes, plenty. Thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without the two of you.”

  “We’re happy to help,” I say and give the boy a kiss on the forehead. “You’re going to be just fine, Seamus. I’ll send more books with Diego tomorrow so you have something to read while your leg is healing.”

  “That would be awesome, Miss Isabel.”

  Mrs. Malloy, who has a milk cow and chickens, insists that we take cheese, butter, and eggs, and we gratefully accept. She asks about the wound in my thigh, and I tell her not to worry. “I wash it with saline solution every night.”

  She and Diego exchange looks, but neither of them comment.

  “I’ll talk to you this evening at eight,” Diego says as we get in the car. “See how Seamus is doing.”

  “Thank you, Diego. I’ll look forward to chatting with you.” She watches us turn the car around and then waves. “Drive safe.”

  I spend the next thirty minutes attempting to tell Diego my news, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get the words to come out.

  ∞

  The sun is setting as we drive up to the cabin. Diego parks in the garage and then writes the mileage and gas level in a small notebook. I give him a concerned look and he laughs. “No worries. I just want to keep track, so I know how much we have left.”

  I do the same with the medical supplies while he takes a shower.

  A few minutes later, he joins me out on the deck. “Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Beer?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good with just the water.”

  “Okay. Be right back.” He disappears into the kitchen and returns with bread, cheese, and a glass of wine. After he sits down, he tears off a chunk of bread, sets a piece of cheese on it, and hands it to me on a napkin. He does the same for himself and then leans back, and we watch the dusk settle across the mountains.
The falcon is soaring below coral-tinted clouds.

  Tell him!

  But I can’t say it. “Who would have thought that a hundred thousand tons of volcanic ash could look so beautiful?”

  “It does make for a nice gloaming.” He winks.

  I sniff the cheese, and my stomach turns.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  I set it on his napkin and bite into the bread. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks. Just not hungry for cheese.”

  “Okay. Sure I can’t get you a glass of wine? You look like you could use it.” He shakes his head. “I still can’t believe you just bent Seamus’s bone back into place. And, by the way, that’s one excellent bedside manner you have. Seamus is madly in love with you already.”

  “He’s a nice kid. I hope his leg heals properly.”

  We sit in silence for a bit, watching the falcon hunt.

  I swallow the bile collecting in my throat and force the words out. “I have something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay.” He takes a sip of wine. “What’s up?”

  I drop my gaze and fight back the urge to cry.

  “What is it, Iz?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  He tries to set down his wineglass, but it grazes the arm of the chair and shatters in his hand. “Shit.” He looks down at the mess and then at me, red wine dripping from his open palm. “I don’t mean ‘shit, you’re pregnant’, I mean ‘shit, I broke the glass.’”

  I laugh uncomfortably.

  He stares at my stomach, his eyes big, and then he glances at his hand. “I’ll be right back.” He returns with a broom and starts sweeping up the glass shards. “How could you be pregnant, Iz? We’ve been using contraception for weeks. Months, in fact.”

  “I was already pregnant.”

  He stands there with his mouth open.

  A wave of nausea overwhelms me, and I rush to the edge of the deck, vomiting into the dirt ten feet below. I feel dizzy, and it’s all I can do not to pass out. I lean over the railing, my whole body shaking, and spit the vile taste out of my mouth.

  Oh my god, what am I going to do?

  He puts his hand on my back and offers me a cool, damp washcloth. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re sure.”

  I wipe my face and take a shaky breath. “Watch out, or I’ll barf on your shoes.”

  He laughs. “I’ve had worse.” He takes the washcloth and hands me a cold ginger ale. “You want to sit down?”

  I nod, and he helps me back to the chair and then perches on the ottoman in front of me. I take another drink of the ginger ale, feeling a little better.

  “How far along are you?”

  “Ten weeks, possibly more. I’ve been feeling sick for a couple of months.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry.” He leans over, puts his elbows on his thighs, and takes my hands in his. “I should have been paying more attention. I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea you were pregnant. Christ, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, Diego. We both wanted to try.” I choke back a sour burp. “So what do we do now?”

  He looks down at his hands, and I turn away, afraid to guess what he’s thinking.

  “Hey. It’s not like that at all, Iz.” He waits for me to look at him. “Mrs. Malloy told me there’s a flea market down at the old Walmart, first Saturday of every month if the weather’s good. She says they mostly barter for food and guns, but I’ll go check it out next month. See what I can find.”

  “I’m going with you. I don’t want to be here alone anymore.” A tear runs down my face, and he wipes it away with his thumb.

  “Okay, we’ll go together. We’ll need diapers and baby clothes and—“ He holds my gaze. “And your leg is taking a long time to heal, so we’ll find some antibiotics too.”

  I nod, my eyes filled with tears.

  A breeze rustles through the aspens and tousles his hair. We watch it gust up the ravine, picking up speed as it crests the pine-covered ridge, a puff of air transformed into a tempest.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I should have told you sooner, but I was scared.” I choke back a sob. “Scared you wouldn’t want to have—”

  “Shh.” He takes the glass out of my hand and sets in on the deck, and then he pulls me up into a hug. “I love you, Iz, and that’s all that matters.”

  I give up and cry against his chest.

  “Everything is going to be all right, Isabel.” He leans his head against mine and strokes my hair. “Mrs. Malloy is a midwife, for chrissake, and Seamus will be thrilled to have someone to play with. We’ll figure it out, hun. ”

  A minute later, a raindrop hits the deck with a spat, and we both turn toward the sound. The drop of water evaporates at once, leaving a reddish-gray stain on the wood.

  “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get inside.”

  A moment later, it’s pouring.

  Chapter 15

  Diego: Second Chances

  Isabel lies naked in my arms, both of us gazing out the bedroom window at the full moon. Between work on the cabin, finishing the Malloys’ roof, and taking care of Isabel, the days fly by. If it weren’t for the dire state of the world, I’d say I’ve never been happier.

  Still, the infection in her thigh has me worried. She insists that it’s normal for deep wounds to take a long time to heal, especially with the added stress of pregnancy, but I’m not sure I believe her, especially after three months.

  I just wish I knew what to do about it. It hasn’t stopped raining since she told me two weeks ago, and even if we could just drive down to the local clinic and pick up some antibiotics, there’s no way we could get the car out in all this mud.

  She snuggles against my chest, and I kiss the nape of her neck and then run my fingers lightly across her bare back. As we watch, the pale goddess of the night dips into the soot-choked lower atmosphere and is bathed in blood.

  Not a good omen in anyone’s book.

  “It was six months ago tonight that you saved me.” The warmth in her voice shatters my gloom.

  “Mierda, you almost killed me.” I nuzzle her hair, breathing in the scent of lavender soap mixed with sweaty sex—and feel myself getting hard again.

  I might end up being keen on this ‘nobody gets to come’ thing we have going.

  “At the restaurant?” she asks, her tone amused, “or in the fire?”

  I kiss her nose. “Both.” Her dark brown hair has strands of silver, and there are laugh lines around her eyes, but I adore every bit of her. Despite everything, the last few months have been the best of my life.

  “Well the first time around, you almost killed me, Captain America.” She rolls onto her back. “What a fiasco! We were so young and stupid.”

  She says we, but she means you.

  I bite back a quick retort and caress her hair, letting an errant curl slide through my fingertips. I’ve learned a bit about dealing with her in the intervening years, and this time around, I find it easy to manage, even enjoy, these moments.

  Or maybe my armor is just thicker.

  I lean over and kiss her on the mouth, but she pulls away. “Why were you so apprehensive the first time around?”

  “I was only twenty-four. Iz. And I wasn’t apprehensive, I was scared stiff. Painfully stiff.”

  She ignores my innuendo. “I kept trying to make things work and you kept panicking. Good grief, you were afraid to walk me to my car.”

  “And for good reason. What was that guy’s name, the one you played all the sports with? He kept trying to run me over in the parking lot.”

  “Kevin. And he never would have done that.”

  I nuzzle her ear.

  Yes, he would. He would have done anything to keep you, just like all the other guys—me included.

  “I had forgotten about him.” Her voice is wistful.<
br />
  “Yeah?” I say. “Well, if you ask me, the guy was clueless.”

  “So, why did you give up so easily?”

  I pull her back against my chest. “I tried to make it work the best I knew how, Iz, but you got so damn impatient. Big surprise there.”

  She gives me an annoyed look.

  “Now I understand what you wanted—what I wasn’t able to give you—but back then I suffered just as much as you did. Perhaps more.”

  “Wasn’t I worth fighting for, at least a little?”

  “Isabel, my beautiful and mistaken love.” I push her over on her back and trace the soft curve of her breast with my fingertips. “I fought with everything I had, and some things I didn’t. I tried to be all that you wanted, sometimes losing myself in the process. It nearly killed me when you told me you wanted to go out with other guys—and I had only just met you!”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  “I’m sure I did.” I glide my lips across her shoulder and down between her breasts.

  “No, you didn’t. I remember that specifically, because I wanted you to. I wanted you to step up and be The Guy, but you just went with the flow, until the course got too rocky and then you bailed out.”

  I turn my head to the side and rest it on her shoulder. “I did not bail out, Iz.”

  “And, in the middle of everything, you stormed into my office and accused me of high treason for playing basketball with some short guy whose name I can’t even remember.”

  Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.

  She takes my face in her hands. “If you were so jealous, why didn’t you just learn to play basketball, for godsake?” She releases me and stares out the window. “You never gave us a chance.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Even before you got on that plane, I felt abandoned, Diego. I told you I couldn’t take any more of the roller coaster ride.” She has this uncanny ability to remember things nearly word-for-word, and the roller coaster bit rings true. “I needed someone to be there, and I wanted it to be you. God, I wanted it to be you.”