The One, Species Intervention #6609, Book 6

by JK Accinni

  “Hi, Ginger Mae.” Captain Cobby and Karen passed her in the corridor, hand in hand, Cobby nodding as Karen gave her a blissful beam.

  What, I’m the only one working today? Smiling back, Ginger Mae turned and entered the chamber that held the man called Hudson.

  Dipping her cloth back into the cooling water, she finished rinsing Hudson’s now dense, long, dark hair. She contemplated a haircut but decided, why bother? Except for the occasional visit from Netty, she was the only one who ever saw him. She suspected that most in the Hive barely remembered he was here.

  As she dressed the now healed and reasonably fit man, she surveyed his body for signs that might prevent him from regaining consciousness.

  A few months ago, she had gathered from Netty that the man was in his late fifties. He certainly didn’t look that old to her now. Maybe forty five? She had come to accept that most in the Hive no longer looked their exact age due to the health benefits from the nightly tendrils.

  She brushed up against the one that disappeared into Hudson’s ear; watching it ripple as if to say excuse me. He was obviously responding well to the effects of the tendrils, yet still remained in a coma.

  Brushing the wrinkles out of his new, clean smock, she slipped it over his head, lifting him to brace his upper body with her shoulder as she smoothed it down over his naked healthy form.

  Hudson let out a sigh. She raised an eyebrow as she hadn’t heard such a sound from him before, only groans.

  Now it was her turn to sigh as she laid him back down, dropped her cloth into her bucket and lowered herself to the hard floor, overcome by a sudden wave of loneliness.

  Sitting cross-legged, she took her face into her wet hands and held her head. An unexpected tear coursed down her cheek as the memory of the two couples in the corridor flitted across her mind.

  By no means was she jealous, but she couldn’t shake the unexpected feeling that had just blindsided her. Since when have I ever felt so lonely, except for the time I waited for Daisy to be born? And even then, it had felt different than it does now. She lifted her hands to rub them hard into her scalp, then massaged the bridge of her nose while her mind searched for the source of her discomfort and loneliness.

  “Can I give you a hand with something, miss?” Ginger Mae’s heart missed a beat as she looked up to see the man she had been nursing for so long sitting upright, his feet over the side of his dais, all traces of the tendrils evaporated, and with a kind smile on his rugged face.

  She slowly rose to her feet, not taking her eyes off the man. Her mouth dropped open, astonishment muddling her senses.

  The man struggled to stand, finding himself very unsteady. She rushed to his side, slipping his arm over her shoulder as he became aware of the uniqueness of his surroundings. It was his turn to open his mouth to speak, but he became overwhelmed with the sensory strangeness.

  “What . . . I . . . miss, who . . . I don’t . . .”

  “Shh . . . it’s okay, sir. Please, why don’t you just lie back down?” She eased him back onto the dais, where he remained in a sitting position, bewilderment his sole expression.

  “I don’t understand. Where am I? Who are you?”

  His hands roamed over his body, he flexed his extremities and found himself sound. “Why am I not dead? I don’t feel . . . pain.” His eyes closed tightly. Waiting a beat, he opened them to expose her to the agony that lurked on the surface.

  “Where’s the angel? I remember a beautiful angel.” His eyes roamed over her face and body.

  “You’re the angel, aren’t you? But your wings . . . where are they?”

  His eyes rested on her forehead. “No, I guess not. She was golden with horns . . . she had horns that sparkled in the dark. Please . . . can you not speak to me? Miss? Can you tell me your name?”

  “Oh, yes . . . I’m so sorry. I just don’t know where to start.” They stared at each other as the seconds ticked away. He slowly extended his hand.

  “Well then, lovely lady, let me start first. My name is Hudson. My friends call me Hud.”

  She rose to take his hand, finding it warm and strong despite his weakened condition. She looked into his eyes as a feeling tickled the back of her stomach.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Hudson. My name is Ginger Mae Shrute.”

  *

  News of Hudson’s awakening raced through the Hive. Some were frightened, all were curious. Most of all, Netty was forced to come to terms with the finality of her former life resurfacing in the form of the cowardly sheriff who had failed to honor his badge and prevent her greedy, psychotic and unrepentant ex-husband from having them all killed.

  As much she had been touched by his plea for forgiveness when he became aware of her identity the night they had discovered Baby’s brand of retribution, she planned to weigh his every move in the Hive.

  As life would have it, Ginger Mae wouldn’t take her eyes off Hudson for months to come as he slowly integrated himself into the Hive, after first coming to terms with the fact that he was still alive and his own family long dead.

  He retained no memory of the decades Baby had held him hostage in the tiny cavern with the other two men. And he apparently no longer recognized Netty, Wil or Baby. To him, they were the rulers of the underground sanctuary where he found himself after being awakened from the dead.

  All of the survivors, with the consent of the Elders, agreed to let the past remain the past until Hudson himself felt the compulsion to inquire.

  Loading the recovered man up with just the facts of the war above, the current year of his existence, the life in the Hive, an explanation for Baby, Echo, the Elders and a huge tiger that skulked in the background without eating anyone was more than any one mind could ever hope to process.

  Even the existence of the Womb was held in abeyance until Wil decided Hudson could handle the facts.

  The dishonored sheriff naturally chose Ginger Mae to attach himself to; joining her at meals, helping her with the census, and taking delight in her daughter.

  Daisy and Hudson fast became buddies as he professed an interest in her studies at the library, joining her from time to time and gaining a growing awareness of the insignificance of man and his planet.

  The tall, quiet gentleman of wisdom and firm voice became someone to rely on as he took turns helping everyone with their projects, including a stint in the growing fields, yet always coming back to Ginger Mae and her creatures.

  It was no surprise to anyone when Hudson and Ginger Mae fell in love . . . except to them of course.

  *

  It was only one year later that Ginger Mae and Hudson, now called Hud by all, were married in the first official wedding held in the Hive.

  At the lovely ceremony, Ginger Mae was given away by a somber Dezi. The best man was none other than Wil, who had incongruously developed a great friendship with Hud. The ceremony was officiated with all necessary gravitas by a benevolent Netty. The two flower children, who preceded the beautiful bride and her handsome groom down the makeshift aisle in the great cavern of the survivors’ beginnings, as well as a few sad endings, was none other than Daisy, hand in hand with Baby tottering alongside.

  Baby considered it a great honor as he continued to be mesmerized by Ginger Mae’s position of mother to the wondrous Daisy. Privately, it was astonishing to all the survivors that Baby’s bloodthirsty streak of revenge no longer deviled him, allowing him to peacefully accept Hudson’s presence in his life.

  Behind them minced baby Tobi, adorned in a wreath of fragrant greenery picked and woven by Kenya and Chloe. Tobi stole the show as she ran from guest to guest glad-handing or, shall we say, glad-trunking?

  Crystal’s mother pig, Tulip, attended, adorned with made-over fragments of her long-discarded tutu. Caesar melted into the background with the dog posse, never taking his eyes off Scotty, who stood stoically while Chloe cast pensive eyes from her beau to the bride and groom.

  Only the Womb could tell how many women cast wishful musings towar
d the men whose arms they clung to as Netty pronounced the happy couple, man and wife.

  Needless to say, a great time was had by all as the festivities carried on merrily into the night.

  Chapter 3

  2066 AD

  Suzy carefully ran the clippers through ten-year-old Tandy’s hair, relieved to find lice. She knew some of the men in the vast camp were not above checking through the mass of discarded hair in the dirt to confirm their presence, trying to catch her in a lie to discredit her with Doc Benjamin.

  When she was lucky enough to find lice in one head, she found she could get away with claiming a dozen. The men were so squeamish about the bugs, no one checked further. She found it a great advantage in her efforts to keep the younger girls safe as long as possible from the sexual advances of the men who owned them.

  “There you go, Tandy. You might want to mention you’ve come down with scabies if you’re bothered again. I’ll speak to Doc Benjamin for you. He needs to know the men aren’t honoring his laws about the age of consent. I’m sorry they tried to force themselves on you. This should help. You have a good three years yet before you have to submit.”

  Suzy lowered her voice as a group of grungy men trudged by, their boots clanging loudly on the boards that lay on the floor of the cave, lifting them a few inches off the cold, muddy floor.

  She kept her glance conciliatory and vague, forcing her natural intelligence and bitter resentment to stay well concealed.

  She was fully aware of the festering anger against her as she insidiously influenced Doc Benjamin to the benefit of the women in camp, even at her budding age of fourteen. For her, it was all about surviving until she could find a way to escape.

  Her and Liz’s idea to shave off the hair of the younger and most vulnerable of the female children was showing encouraging progress. Little girls hardly look seductive with shaved heads, discussions of lice, nasty clothes, and surreptitious applications of feces to their shoes and the backs of their leggings.

  Whatever it took to keep the little ones safe from the perverted sexual advances of their common enemy was a necessity. The fact that she herself would be at risk if not for the occasional protection of Doc Benjamin made her more determined to give the others every edge she could dream up.

  Little Tandy scampered off after a timid hug for Suzy, looking like an emaciated scarecrow. She had felt Tandy’s bones protruding under her layers of rags, her skin shuddering with the perpetual chill of their makeshift temporary home.

  She set the heavy clippers down, shutting off the electrical connection that Avery maintained for her on Doc’s orders. She dropped her aching arm down across her lap to rest as she struggled to massage the tired muscles. Tandy was her fifteenth cut today. Not all new shaves, some just touch ups, but holding the heavy metal razor was very tiring nonetheless.

  She breathed in heavily, feeling a hitch in her chest even as she sucked in the too-common stench of feces and sweet, ripe sweat.

  Most of the tribe only bathed occasionally. There was only so much you could do with one bucket of water per person each day for cooking and cleaning. At least Doc Benjamin had decreed drinking water would be limitless.

  Straightening up, she quickly packed up her precious razor. It had taken her months to wheedle it away from Doc Benjamin. Her constant complaints of lice in her own hair had finally worn him down, but she knew she couldn’t take her eye off it or it would disappear. Slipping it into its box, she tamped it down to the bottom of her worn backpack for safe keeping. Her fingers searched, reassuringly patting the pilfered medications she needed to deliver to the other side of camp.

  Scanning the makeshift construction of hodgepodge tiny hovels strewn around the main cave, she waited for the right moment to begin her difficult errand of tracking down Liz. She unfortunately lived in one of the other caves reserved for the men held in less esteem by Doc Benjamin.

  Liz was in her late twenties. The only reason she hadn’t been discarded by her man was because she was so smart and funny. Their lives were so tragic that anyone who could maintain a gentle humor was valued. To have the ability to make one of the men laugh was priceless. Her man kept her in his hovel with the other females he bedded simply because she made him feel good in a different way. She was an Insider.

  The discarded women typically slept outside with what comfort they could fashion from cast-off and surplus materials. They were the Outsiders.

  Of course, nighttime was dangerous. That was when the weaker of the men prowled the discards of the stronger. Many of the women were claimed and dragged to the front of the cave where the undesirables slept, exposed to the unspecified dangers of the cold winds which blew through the opening to the entrance of their home; low in status, lower in wealth.

  Yes, wealth. Females were coin. To be traded, awarded, loaned or sold.

  Females did 70 percent of the work in the camps and all of the cooking and cleaning. They never stopped, not even at night. And lo, to be the lucky man with plenty of females. Remember the old expression, the rich get richer? The old practice of barefoot and pregnant now took on a more useful meaning. And if what Liz and the older woman suspected was true, a very sinister one indeed.

  Her squinty brown eyes, alert as a bird of prey’s, watched for her chance to cross through the council square in the middle of the cavern, with the huts ringing the clearing based on Doc’s own private ranking system.

  She was haunted by the verbose claims as the men congregated in the square after dinner with Doc Benjamin to scream about what they would do if they managed to find the lost shelter of Suzy’s grandfather.

  The current wisdom was that it was filled with all the gold from the U.S. Treasury. Suzy wondered what gold looked like and what one would do with it. To her mind, the only thing of value she could recognize was freedom. Or maybe a fresh juicy peach, she thought wistfully.

  She retained little memory of her old family. Just two names, Lorna and Seth. He had either been a friend or relative; no one seemed to be clear anymore. She thought she remembered having a sister, but she wasn’t sure. Frankly, she didn’t have much time to think about it as her life was consumed by frantic plots and subterfuge, all meant to keep her safe.

  Liz was the center of the well-guarded subversion the women tried to keep alive in their ranks. But they had to be careful. There were spies everywhere. Some of the women would sell out their sisters to curry favor with the man that owned them. Especially the older ones as their looks faded quickly in their new, unhealthy environment.

  The sickness in the air from the war nine years ago had robbed everyone of their vitality. Oddly, it had taken a bigger toll on the women. It shouldn’t be a surprise that some would turn on their friends, hoping for an extra morsel at dinner; their only real meal, if you could call it that. But it was more nourishing than the unleavened flatbread dispersed by the communal kitchen every morning.

  Suzy had once overheard Doc and Avery whispering about the fact that their flour supplies were dangerously low. It forced her to wonder why most of Doc’s inner circle looked so much heftier than everyone else. The only tribe members who ate extra rations were the myriad of expecting women and the scouts. Doc was forced to bribe the scouts with extra grub to motivate them to do their jobs.

  Facing the winds, pregnant with an assortment of hot bugs, came at great risk to anyone’s health. Unfortunately, someone had to do the nasty job of combing the countryside for anything left alive that could be eaten.

  They labored to locate vacant grocery stores which might have something left in their cellars or storerooms, even breaking into homes to salvage what may have been left behind. And pharmacies. Not that much was ever found.

  They usually had better luck with medicine cabinets in the vacant homes. When you’re fleeing for your life, you just don’t think about what’s in your medicine cabinet. Although other thugs and marauders had usually picked the houses clean from the year of the bombs, they hit jackpots often enough to keep Doc supplied and
make the risk acceptable. Everyone knew that if they ran out of the critical medicines scavenged by the scouts, many would sicken further and die.

  The fact that all of the original members of the scouting teams were now dead, failed to discourage the younger members of the new teams. No doubt, the extra rations and periodic borrowing of the camp women to help them relax and enjoy their week’s rotation off, served to obscure most thoughts regarding their probable early demise.

  She looked down on her own frame, poking her bones under their layers of rags and salvaged clothing retrieved by the scouts. She felt her tender skin stretched taut over bony ridges that stood out in deep relief. Her bald head sprouted scabs all over its sallow surface.

  She was lucky that Doc Benjamin shared his creams and medicine with her, or her sores would weep and stink like the rest. She never failed to catch the resentful glances at her dry head. Doc’s favoritism did not go unnoticed.

  Now that she was no longer a child, the men thought she should integrate into the community like the rest of them. She knew she was referred to as Doc’s house pet, even though she did her share of work around camp.

  But the truth of the designation made her very useful to Liz and her group of defiant women. And that was the only thing that mattered to her. She vowed to do all she could to participate in the growing female insurrection, with the fervent hope that it could somehow lead to her freedom.

  You see, Suzy Calloway had a secret. Years ago, as Doc Benjamin treated her with inexplicable kindness, she had re-emerged from the distant, deep blackness her mind had chosen to hide itself in. Her psyche slowly sparked; a tiny ember that flickered in the shadows, desperate for the nourishment that would allow it to burst into a tangible flame capable of sustaining itself and allowing the traumatized child to live again.

  It had taken a few years, but Suzy’s mind had healed. She wasn’t quite as good as new, but better. They say if life doesn’t break you, you grow stronger. Regrettably, Suzy had been broken. The sweet, innocent and sheltered child from a happy prosperous home with doting grandparents was forever gone.