by Joss Ware
“What?” He bolted into the cottage and saw her kneeling by George, who was on the kitchen floor in an unmoving heap.
“Dad,” she was saying, touching his face, patting it gently, giving his shoulders a shake. “Dad, wake up. Dad!”
Fence, who was not merely trained in first aid, but had also been licensed as an EMT as part of his guide services, eased down next to her and looked at the older man. George was breathing, albeit roughly, and his skin looked and felt clammy and tight, and it had a faint bluish cast beneath the gray. His pulse seemed normal, if a little fast, and his hands were cold. He had the beginning of a bump on the side of his head, probably from where he’d landed on the floor. Damn good thing it was hardwood and not stone.
Then George’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up at them with a groggy expression. “Anastancie,” he mumbled, and tried to sit. “What are you—”
“No you don’t,” she said firmly, sliding her arm beneath his shoulders to keep him off the hard floor. “Give it a minute, Dad.” She looked up at Fence, and he saw fear settling in her eyes. “This is the third time in the last two weeks he’s done this.”
“I haven’t done anything,” George argued, but even Fence heard the weakness there. “Just got a little dizzy.”
“So dizzy you took a swan dive onto your face? Again?”
“What happened?” asked Fence, gently palpating the older man’s skull. A goose egg was forming, but it was a normal bump from a fall like this. “Before I get you somewhere more comfortable, I need to know: Do you hurt anywhere?”
“No,” muttered George. “Not hurt, except my pride—”
Fence didn’t wait any longer. He easily scooped up the older man, and before George could protest, deposited him carefully on the sofa. “Don’t need to stay on the hard floor,” he said as the man gave him a grimace.
Ana was at his side then, wedging a pillow under her father’s head. “What happened, Dad?”
“I was just a little dizzy—that’s all. Then the next thing I knew, I felt badly enough to try and sit down. I just didn’t make it to a chair.”
“How often have you been feeling this way?” asked Fence, closing his fingers around George’s wrist to check for his pulse. Not too rapid, but definitely faster than normal. He didn’t have a watch, and didn’t see a clock anywhere, so he had to estimate timing and pulse count. He wished he had a blood pressure cuff.
“I feel a little faint maybe couple times a week. I don’t pass out every time,” he added defensively to Ana . . . then seemed to realize that wasn’t necessarily a comforting statement.
She looked at Fence, who’d settled back on his haunches next to the couch so he didn’t loom over his patient. “I don’t know what to do about it,” she said. “What if I didn’t come back for a while, and there he was, on the floor all day or night?” Her face was lined with fear and indecision. “What if one time, he doesn’t wake up? Or hits his head on something really hard or sharp?”
“I’m fine,” George said. “I should have sat down, and I didn’t. My mistake. I won’t do it again.” He pulled up to a sitting position and the pillow fell away. Ana patted the back of his hand, and Fence noticed that her skin was much darker than her father’s—likely from the hours spent in the sun.
Yet, father and daughter shared quite a bit of resemblance: their body shapes—on him, tall and lanky; on her sleek and slender—the same light brown eyes with amber and green flecks, the same thick, wavy hair. On George it was a full head of brown turning to gray, and on Ana it was long and rippling.
“Gotta tell you,” Fence said in the calm voice he used in everything from talking down a woman—or man—who’d found a black widow in his or her tent, to coaxing a suddenly claustrophobic client through the very tight channels of the Bitch, to explaining that, yes, there was a chance of getting seriously injured on a climb up Havasu. “You know, I think you should have the situation checked out. I’ve got some medical training,” he continued—and realized that was probably a foreign concept to these post-Change people—“but my friend Elliott, who I’m taking your penicillin to, would be able to tell you exactly what’s causing the problem. So you know whether it’s something serious,” he said, glancing at Ana, “or something like you just aren’t getting enough iron in your diet. Or your blood pressure’s down or something.”
“Your friend Elliott? Back in Envy?” Ana said.
Fence nodded. “Fainting spells like this could mean anything from low blood pressure to heart problems to a bunch of other things—both minor and serious. I don’t have the expertise or the tools to diagnose it further, but Dred will.”
“Dred?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Elliott’s nickname is as ridiculous as mine. It stands for Dr. E. Drake. D-R-E-D.”
“I don’t have time to go to Envy,” grumbled George. “I’ve got things growing back there in the lab and—”
“We’re going to Envy, Dad,” Ana said firmly. “We’ve got to find out what’s wrong with you. And besides,” she added with a gleam in her eye, “I’m sure you and Elliott would have a lot to talk about regarding your experiments.”
Fence winked at Ana. Good play, sugar. “We can leave first thing in the morning. Shouldn’t be more than a couple days. Now . . . did you say something about dinner?”
“I might have,” she replied, giving him a smile. He sensed her relief as they both stood, but before she could say anything else, there was a knock at the door.
“Ana?” came a cheery voice, and the door cracked open to reveal Yvonne’s face poking around in a nimbus of golden hair. “I hope you haven’t started dinner—” She must have caught sight of George on the sofa, for her smile wavered. “Is everything all right?”
“Come on in,” Ana said. “Dad just did another of his face-plants on the floor. We’re taking him to Envy tomorrow to have him looked at.” Despite her light words, Fence heard a faint strain of worry in her tone.
“He’s here, Mommy,” came a stage whisper. Tanya peeked around the edge of the door. Her hair, now that it was dry, was just as full and sunny as her mother’s.
“I haven’t started dinner yet, but was just thinking about it,” Ana replied with a glance toward the kitchen.
“Well, don’t. Pete and I decided we need a little celebration tonight, since everything turned out all right today. You and George, and of course you have to come too,” she added, looking at Fence with an embarrassed smile. “And—oh heavens, I just realized I never thanked you for helping to track down Tanya,” she added, clearly mortified. She stepped into the room, moving directly toward him. “And I don’t even know your name! Ana told me if it weren’t for you following her trail, we might not have found Tanya . . . in time—” Her voice choked, but she was still smiling.
“He made me fall in!” Tanya said, stamping her foot for emphasis. “He said I was gonna fall—and then I did.” She’d come to stand half in, half out, with the doorjamb bisecting her right down the middle . . . except for her face. Both of her big brown eyes were visible and fixed on him.
Fence gave a soft, deep laugh, but inside his middle churned. He did not want to think about what had almost happened out there in that quarry today and how close he’d been to another tragedy. Instead, he focused on the little girl, who was about as cute as could be with her wild blond hair, hands on hips, and tapping foot. He’d always suspected females learned that stance at a very young age.
“That wasn’t very nice of me, was it?” he asked Tanya, crouching so he was closer to her level. “Will you accept my apology if I make it an awesomely crazy mushy one?”
“What’s a awesomely crazy mushy ’pology like?” she asked, moving into the doorway to stand fully visible, hands on hips.
“We-ell . . . it starts with a few pushes on that swing out there . . . and then it goes to a little bit of Mother, May I—and you’d be the mother . . . and then I’m fixing to show you how I followed your trail, so you can track things yourself.”
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nbsp; “Ten pushes—no, twenty pushes on the swing. Super high. Without stopping to rest or fold clothes or cook dinner like Mommy always does. And you have to push my friend Carter too. I don’t know what Mother, May I is, but if it’s good, I’ll do it. Carter can be the dad. You can be the child. If not, you have to think of another game. And it has to have running and jumping in it. And then you have to show me how to track a horse. And how are you going to fix showing me something?”
“Whoa . . . you’re letting me off too easy,” Fence said, swallowing a chuckle at her last question. “That’s a deal!”
“I’ll go get Carter!” And Tanya was gone in a flash.
Aware that Ana and Yvonne had been watching the whole interplay, he stood and turned back to them as he noticed that George had disappeared. “I’m Fence, by the way,” he said to Yvonne. “I don’t think I told you my name earlier—but you were a little distracted. Understandably so,” he added with a smile when she started to speak, still obviously embarrassed at what she felt was a breach of manners.
“Thank you again,” Yvonne said. “And I do hope you’ll join us—I was thinking of a barbecue in front of our house and we could watch the sun go down on the beach with a little fire.” She turned to Ana. “I was thinking of asking the Lucks and Davises too.”
“Sounds great. I’ll rummage around and bring over something to share,” Ana said. “See you in a few.”
After Yvonne left, Fence watched as Ana got busy in the kitchen, poking through cupboards and opening a refrigerator that had seen better days.
That was the thing about post-Change appliances: they existed, but they needed to be well-cared-for and maintained. He could tell that the door of this fridge wasn’t its original one.
“Can I give you a hand?” he asked, looking around the cozy, cluttered space. “I’m good at chopping things up.”
A few drawings decorated the walls: the little cottage surrounded by sprays of bright flowers, a group of young girls playing jump rope—one of them looked like Tanya—and a cozy still life of a table set for three with fat red apples, a wedge of cheese, and a bowl of grapes. On a long side table in the dining room, a wooden bowl held a starfish and the delicate white fan of coral. Someone obviously liked the sea, for there were also a few shells, some driftwood, and a small framed picture of a dark-haired woman with Ana’s smile.
“That would be great, thanks,” Ana said, and moments later gave him the tools to cut up a small pile of vegetables.
As he began to work, Fence realized with a sharp pang that he hadn’t been in such a comfortably domestic environment since coming out of the Sedona cave. He felt a wave of nostalgia and grief for times past, for sitting in his mama’s or sisters’ kitchens as they bustled about preparing or cleaning up a meal, often nagging him into helping. Or even in his own kitchen, in the little bungalow he rented at the foot of a small hill, as he slapped together a burger and salad for him and Lenny and whichever other friends happened to be around. He wished for a glass of water to ease his suddenly dry throat, and opted for a few strawberries instead.
“So who did the drawings?” he asked as he began on a cucumber.
“On the wall? I did,” Ana replied, her back to him as she washed something at the sink. He didn’t mind, because he had a great view.
“I like them. You have talent,” he added, slipping a cool slice of cuke into his mouth too. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, and he could already smell something cooking outside. “Is that your mom?”
“Yes.”
“I can see where you get your looks,” Fence said, pausing to admire the drawing. The face gazing back at him gave off an impression of both serenity and strength. “Where is she now?”
“She died. About twelve years ago.”
It struck him sharply then, that photographs were now a thing of the past—something people of his time had taken for granted, snapping pictures and videos on everything from their cell phones to computers to digital cameras. It had been so easy to capture an image, save a memory or a moment, that he’d taken it for granted. He’d hardly ever even uploaded the photos from his phone to computer, and never printed them off, knowing they’d always be there. But in this age, that wasn’t an option. And he bemoaned the fact that his phone had been smashed during the earthquakes—and along with it, all of the pictures of his loved ones.
“You drew that twelve years ago? Or from memory?” Realizing that, he was even more impressed with her talent.
Ana was washing some dishes, and she turned as she dried a plate. She looked over at the image, her features softening. “I did it shortly after she died. So a little of both.”
“Like I said, you’re very talented.” He picked up a tomato and began to slice it. “What happened to her?”
“Mamya got sick, and she never got better. She knew she was going to die, and I was fortunate in the sense that we had a few months to . . . to say goodbye. We talked a lot, spent as much time together as we could. I still miss her.” Her voice had gone low, and she turned back to the sink as if to cut off her memories.
“You were fortunate you had time to spend with her before she passed,” he said as a little ache settled over his heart. He blinked hard, then was rescued when the front door flew open.
“We’re here!” Tanya announced, bursting into the room. She was followed by a boy about her age, a bit taller than she was, with skin almost as dark as Fence’s and an Afro the likes of which he hadn’t seen since That ’70s Show. “Time for you to fix our awesomely crazy ’pology. Remember, you said twenty pushes each without stopping.”
Fence looked up at Ana, who’d turned from the sink with a bemused smile. “Sorry about that,” he said, bringing the knife and vegetables back to her. He could smell her sunny, fresh scent over the tang of garlic and onion. Both smelled delicious, but it was Ana for whom he had a sudden, sharp craving. He was suddenly horribly thankful that George had had a fainting spell. “Gotta run. Duty calls.”
“By all means, you’d better go,” Ana told him with a smile. “You have to pay your dues.”
Fence grinned back and followed his little charges out the door, particularly pleased that the sun goddess’s smile seemed to have grown even warmer.
“He’s the one, isn’t he?” Yvonne said, leaning closer so she could hiss in Ana’s ear.
Not that anyone could hear what she was saying anyway—the small celebration had grown quite enthusiastic now that a few bottles of mead had been opened and the sun was beginning to set. No one worried about zombies here because this little settlement was surrounded by ocean on two sides, and the ravines on the other two sides were deep enough so zombies couldn’t climb them, but easy enough for a man to traverse, using wooden stairs. Tanya had gone beyond the ravines earlier today, for the stairs weren’t closed off except at night.
“He’s the guy you told me about, you met in Envy?” Yvonne persisted.
“What exactly did I say?” Ana asked. She didn’t remember telling Yvonne any such thing.
“Maybe it was Susie who mentioned it—that some sweltering guy had been hitting on you while you were there with her last week. Is this the guy?”
“Well, we did meet, and talk a little bit,” Ana admitted. She sipped from her glass of mead, enjoying the sweet taste. It was Pete’s specialty, the fermented honey, and everyone in Glenway looked forward to sampling each new batch. He’d added blackberries to this one, and that made it not quite as heavily cloying as the honey drink could be. It had been going down very smoothly, and she felt loose and warm.
“You talked a little bit? That’s it?” Yvonne was saying. “Ana, really. Envy’s not that far away—only a day and a half. Maybe two. You’ve got to give it a chance. I know things didn’t work out with Darian, but that doesn’t mean that every guy’s a gorm. I mean, look at Pete.”
Ana nodded absently. Although Yvonne was her closest friend, even she didn’t know the whole story about Ana’s past, or about Darian. Nor did she know why Ana could
never fully trust anyone, let alone settle into the domestic life she so envied Yvonne.
Trying not to be obvious, Ana looked around, wondering where Fence had gone off to. He’d been over there a little while ago, sitting with Pete, John Luck, John’s brother Greg, and Randall Davis. They’d been deep in conversation about something—but Ana hadn’t been able to hear more than a few phrases about “halfbacks” and “quarterbacks” and “first downs.”
“He’s completely sweltering,” Yvonne said. “And he’s tall, Ana. Way taller than you—I was noticing it back in your house. His head nearly brushed the ceiling. Look how great he was with Tanya. And Pete thinks he’s really funny too,” she added, as if that were the deciding factor. “Plus Greg Luck’s been giving him the evil eye all evening. I told you, you could do so much better than Greg.”
Ana nearly spewed out a mouthful of mead, and she spun a horrified look at Yvonne. Half choking on her drink, she coughed and swallowed and managed to say, “Greg? You know damn well I have no—” Then she saw that Yvonne was laughing, and she rolled her eyes and nudged her friend with a sharp elbow as they both dissolved into mead-induced giggles.
“Hey, will you look at that?” Yvonne said suddenly, ending on a little girlish snort.
Ana looked over and saw Tanya, Carter, and two of the other kids crawling along the ground. They were in the area where the clearing met the wilderness, and they seemed to be searching for something in the tall grass.
“What are you doing, Tanya?” called Yvonne.
“Tracking a bear,” her daughter replied absently. And then she squealed and pointed. “There!” All three of her companions dove to the ground, putting their noses right where she indicated. “A track! A bear track! I found it!”
“A bear?” Yvonne said, her voice squeaking with shock and concern.
“An’ there’s a broken stick, right where he stepped,” said Carter, leaping onto something a bit farther into the tall grass. “He musta gone this way.”
“Come on,” said Tanya, disappearing behind a clump of bushes. “Let’s find him! This way!”