by Pike, JJ
Soldiers poured from around the sides of the truck, their boots thumping against the road, and began firing.
Jo put her hands over her head and hoped for the best. How stupid would it be to make it to within three miles of home and then be killed because she’d disobeyed orders? She was a rule follower, usually. What had she been thinking?
The gunfight didn’t go on for long. The bandits—what else could she call them? they’d set up a trap—had fled or faded into the trees. Or were waiting. Or conserving ammo. Or counting on her side breaking ranks so they could pick the soldiers off, one by one.
A pair of boots appeared beside her tire. “Come on out.” Sandrino wasn’t amused by Jo’s attempt at spying. “You’re lucky to be alive,” he said.
She was. She didn’t bother trying to defend herself.
The road ahead forked. She looked to the west for a landmark. There weren’t many forks in the road out this way, but she had to be sure. Yep. The roof of the Pancake House was visible just over the trees. No doubt about it. They were close to exit that led to Wolfjaw Ridge. No way those guys were done. They might have stopped firing, but that was a tactic, not a retreat.
“Where’s the general?”
Sandrino pointed and Jo ran to the west side of the convoy as fast as her wobbly legs would carry her.
“They’re not gone. Tell your men to take cover. It’s a trap. The shots were to draw you out. The silence is to get you to relax. Get everyone back inside the trucks and…”
The shooting started up again, but this time with more guns and more men.
There was no point shooting back. Literally, the United States Army wasn’t going to be able to out-ammo Wolfjaw Ridge. This was what they’d been waiting for, forever. If their leader, Alistair, believed there were supplies in this convoy there was no way in hell they were getting past.
Jo dove at a medical bag, grabbed four rolls of bandages and ripped the wrappers off. “This will have to do.”
“What are you doing?” The general had kept his distance, but he took a step closer to Jo.
“What I must,” she said.
She ran towards the lead truck, grabbed the bar at the back and hoisted herself onto the roof. She slithered along the hot metal, then rolled onto her back to unfurl the bandages. Would they read them as a white flag of surrender? It was so outlandish—an unarmed woman on top of an army vehicle waving strips of bandages either side of her head—she had to hope they’d at least pause and hear her out.
She rolled back onto her stomach, two unrolled bandages in each hand, ready to throw caution to the wind.
“I love you, Cory,” she whispered.
She pushed herself onto her knees, arms above her head, screaming as loud as she could. “We surrender! We surrender.”
The shooting didn’t stop. Not at first. It took some time for the general to get his men to fall back. Jo stood on top of the truck, praying no one would take a shot at her.
They had to be able to see her.
Would they have binoculars?
Of course they would.
This was Wolfjaw she was talking about.
At least, she hoped it was Wolfjaw. If Alistair saw it was her, they’d be home free. She’d spent years cultivating that relationship. If this was the trade off—if she got to take the general and Christine and Fran and Angelina whom she’d never met and Sandrino who she’d just been introduced to and all the young men and women who hadn’t abandoned their posts; if she got to take them all home and battle this thing into submission—it would be worth it.
“We surrender,” she screamed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Betsy handed the glass over as soon as Mimi asked for it. It was still full, teetering at the lip, threatening to spill over. They didn’t speak as the liquor changed hands. She couldn’t and Mimi was kind enough to leave her with her thoughts. She looked down at the bottle. Would it be so terrible if she had a couple of shots? She was an affable drunk. Not violent. Not ugly. Not judgmental like she was in real life. The fire water took her far from Bad Betsy and closer to Live-and-Let-Live Elizabeth.
“You have a choice, every day,” said Evelyn. “Do you live your life or do you let your demons live theirs through you? Simple choice. So, choose.”
Betsy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Back to the beginning. “We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable.”
“It’s not an easy path, my friend, but it’s the happier one. Run towards your destiny, not away from your fears. Be who you were meant to be; not your damage or your disease, but the one made in His image.”
She’d come so close. Just a few seconds more and the gin would have been out of the glass and down her gullet, her hand reaching for the bottle again.
“I’ll stay with Paul, if you like.” Mimi poured the gin back into the bottle. Betsy almost smiled. How like Mimi to save the hooch.
“Wow. The woman just saved your skin and you’re judging her?” Evelyn was incredulous. “Say it again. First step: WE ADMITTED WE WERE POWERLESS…”
Oh, my. She’d let her guard down for a second and gone right back to the place she most wanted to be free from. “I admit that I am powerless…” she whispered.
For a casual drinker that martini might be the first and last of the night. Or the week. Or, heck, the month. There were people (Jim was one of them) who didn’t care if they saw a drink from one six-month period to the next. But Betsy wasn’t that way. After Esther’s death one martini led to two and two to three and on and on until the darkness came and took away the pain.
“You don’t have to do this alone.” Evelyn was back to her gentle self. “He is with you, every step of the way. You need only ask.”
“We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God…” Betsy was shaken.
“I can do CPR,” said Mimi. “I know it’s not surgery, but it’s something. You should go with Midge.”
Was that right? Was Midge in more danger than Paul? Half an hour ago, Betsy had been sure of everything: what to do, when to do it, who needed what from her, but her mishandling of Nigel—and the siren call of gin which she’d almost allowed to take her off course—had left her in a tailspin.
Mimi put her arm around Betsy’s shoulders. “I already knew I was a dead woman walking, so you don’t need to worry about my feelings on that score.”
Betsy put her hand over her mouth. She’d said that out loud, hadn’t she? Terrible. “I was trying to get him to stay. I didn’t mean it. I was half out of my wits with worry. It was a tactic. A horrible tactic. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m so sorry, Mimi. I know you’ve had your own set of worries.”
“Nope. I mean it. Don’t worry about me.”
The kindness was too much, Betsy buried her face in Mimi’s shoulder. The old woman petted her hair and murmured at her. After a whole minute of sobbing—longer than she’d cried in years—Betsy righted herself, straightening her hair and clothes and attitude.
“I’m cool, but the kids need to hear from you. Midge is dozing and Paul is barely conscious, so you don’t need to worry about them, but Aggie and Petra are all fired up, which means Sean’s upset, and Jim’s having trouble keeping them in check.”
Betsy couldn’t bear to think about the awful things she’d said. Mostly she wanted to curl up in a ball and hibernate until everyone forgot that she’d gone off the rails.
“Stand up and take responsibility, Betsy.” Evelyn’s voice held her to account but didn’t make her feel small.
If only she’d spoken up sooner Nigel might still be with them. No. That was exactly the kind of thinking that had gotten her into trouble with Nigel. It’s not about THEM; it’s about ME. Evelyn didn’t need to “speak up” any more than Nigel needed to “man up.” Shoot! Had she said that? Maybe? No? Was she at least spared that humiliation? Because he was a decent human being and if she’d called his manhood into question she’d never forgive herself.
“Every voice you hear in your head,” said Evelyn, “is your own voice. If you remember me, that’s you replaying what I’ve said. These are your thoughts. Your replay. Your memories. The message is the same every time: take responsibility. Don’t let anyone else run your life. Not even the good people who mean you no harm. Not your parents or your friends or your teachers or your AA sponsor. You. You are responsible for you. The end.”
Betsy smiled. It wasn’t a perfect memory. She wasn’t even sure if Evelyn had ever strung that many words together at one time, but it was the message Evelyn had drilled into her over the years. “I take responsibility for myself. I’m the one who messed up. I’m the one who has to make it better.”
“Also,” said Evelyn, “even though I just told you not to trust the voices that live in your head, listen to this one: get yourself out of your head and in action. You’re not your thoughts. Remember? You’re more than the sum of your neural network. Come on Betsy, get with it. Buck up. Get out there and do what you’re best at, saving lives.”
“Take me to them,” she said.
“Be prepared for some strong language,” said Mimi. “Aggie might have known I was on thin ice healthwise, but it was all news to Petra. She’s all over the place.”
“Is she with Paul?”
“No, I figured she was too unstable. I sent Sean in to keep an eye on Paul.”
Thank goodness for decent men. Sean had proven himself a stand-up guy. Whether the Everlees approved of Petra’s pregnancy or not, they’d be pleased to know they were about to welcome a son-in-law anyone could be proud of into the family. She stuck her head into the kitchen. “Sorry.”
Sean had his hands tucked under his armpits. Had she taught him to do that so he wouldn’t touch the patient or had he come up with it on his own? Either way, it was a good decision.
“You don’t owe me an apology,” he said, “But my fiancé is a basket case. It can’t be good for her or the baby…”
Betsy ran to the clutch of children hanging by the front door, peppering Jim with questions.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said.
Their faces didn’t soften. She’d done a lot of damage in a very short space of time.
“We’re all tired…”
“YOU. Not ‘we,’ talk about YOU.” Evelyn was close to losing her cool, which she never did.
Betsy understood. This was what Nigel had wanted from her; that she take responsibility for what she’d done, without pretense, ego, or any effort to excuse her poor behavior. “I’m tired. I lost it. I didn’t mean what I said. I was cruel and selfish. I wanted Nigel to carry the medical load with me. That’s not an excuse, but a reason. I was out of my wits and I allowed my temper to get the better of me.”
“So Paul’s not going to die?” said Petra. “In, like, a week?”
“Tell them the truth.”
Oh, Evelyn, did you hold yourself to the same standards that you’re holding me to?
“Doesn’t matter what I did or do,” said Evelyn. “It matters what you do. Get right with yourself. Also, get out of your head. This is garbage. Ancient garbage. You’re older and wiser and know what you need to do.”
“What I told you before was the truth,” said Betsy. “He needs antibiotics to fight off any infections. That’s why we sent Hedwig off on the motorbike. She’ll be back soon and we’ll know where to find them.”
“Antibiotics won’t help Mimi, though.” Petra had been crying hard. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks flushed. That was all down to Betsy. Calming the young woman was down to her, too.
“Sean has contacts. We’ll find Mimi’s drugs.” She put her hand on Petra’s shoulder, but Petra jerked herself away.
Jim stepped to her side. “You girls need to get going. The sun’s past the yardarm. I don’t want you out after dark. Can you make it to the mines before sundown?”
“Yep.” Aggie hadn’t taken her eyes off Betsy.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
Aggie stepped forward.
Good grief, was the child going to slap her? Betsy flinched without meaning to. It was her mother all over again, telling her off even as she tried to make things better. The helplessness and lassitude rose up in her just as it had in her teenage years. Seriously, she was drowning in the overwhelming compulsion to lie down and let them carry on without her.
Aggie wrapped her arms around Betsy and squeezed her tight. “We’d be a lot worse off without you. Thank you for being so calm and thoughtful and sensible. I barely knew you before this week. You hang back when you’re with your family, you know. But I’m here to tell you that you’re a lifesaver.”
Betsy didn’t bother to fight the tears. Word for word. Aggie’d remembered what she’d said to her only hours before and recited it back to her, word for word. When she was done crying all she could do was whisper, “thank you,” so that’s what she did.
Aggie nodded at her big sister and the two of them picked up the stretcher.
“Keep her steady. Talk to her as much as you can. Keep her talking.” Then what? What if she had another fit? She had nothing. It was in His hands.
“When do we take the helmet off?” Petra wasn’t as forgiving as Aggie, but neither was she crying any more.
“Fred checked her bandages early this morning, so you’re going to be fine until I get to the mines.”
Jim adjusted the pack on Aggie’s back. “Your sidearm is readily available. Use it sparingly. We’re low on ammo. There’s a box of granola bars from the army store in there and LifeStraws for all of you. You’re going to do just fine. Slow and steady wins the race.”
It was wonderful to see her husband back in the saddle, taking charge. Things were going to be okay. Better than okay. Things were going to go their way.
The crunch of tires on gravel put them all on edge. It wasn’t a motorcycle, so it couldn’t be Hedwig. Oh, Lord. Had Nigel come back? Wouldn’t that be the best capper to her day? If she could apologize to him she’d feel so much better.
The vehicle coming towards them wasn’t one of Jim’s.
Nor was it the van Fred had stolen.
Strangers had brought so much trouble their way. Please God, let it not be another fight.
Aggie sank to the ground. Petra followed suit. Midge was on a stretcher on the ground between them. They couldn’t engage in a gun battle. Mustn’t.
Betsy stepped in front of them, her arms stretched out so she was covering as many people as she could. Jim shooed Bryony behind his back and joined his wife, acting as a double-barreled human shield.
“Back to the house, girls,” Betsy hissed.
They didn’t move.
“At least get Midge back inside.”
They carried Midge and her stretcher inside the front door, but they were back behind her in less than a second; both of them with guns drawn. This wasn’t going to end well. Betsy prayed with all her might that there’d be a peaceable outcome, but what good ever came of strangers encroaching on their land?
The van moved slowly. The passenger had one hand up, palm facing them. That made three times it had happened in one day, but this time it was definitely a gesture of surrender. Betsy wasn’t fooled. They’d been under attack since Manhattan was first infected with MELT. She wouldn’t let her guard down. Not for anything.
“Dad?” Aggie dashed out from behind her and ran towards the car.
It couldn’t be. Her eyes had to be playing tricks. Bill? Bill Everlee? She squinted at the driver, who also had one hand up, the other on the wheel. Was that Alice?
The van door opened and a dog bounded towards them.
It definitely couldn’t be Alice. Alice hated dogs.
Aggie had her arms around the man in the passenger seat. She was shouting, but Betsy couldn’t hear the words through the commotion.
Petra had dashed towards the car. She was back to her hysterical norm but she at least didn’t sound sad or mad or desperate.
Jim was limping forward, c
alling out their neighbors’ names.
So, it was true. Somehow their prayers had been answered and Bill and Alice Everlee had come home.
Betsy didn’t move from her position. She took a moment to arrange what she had to say. It was going to be a horrible shock when they saw Midge and Paul. There was going to be an accounting that was hers to deliver.