Orphan Maker

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  “It’s okay.” Loomis’s voice was thin. The color returned to her face, and the frantic gleam in her eye faded. “I told you on your first day that it runs in the family.”

  Gwen stared a moment at the wan smile directed her way, remembering.

  “Sorry. I’m pretty good at putting my foot in my mouth.”

  “I noticed. Does it run in the family?”

  “Well, you’re part of it now. You tell me.”

  A burst of surprised laughter erupted from Gwen, slightly tinted with relief. “You’re right. You did.”

  Loomis sighed and closed her eyes again. “So that’s when you got involved with the Gatos?”

  “Yeah. About four years ago. They saved me from a pack of kids out for my blood. Weasel had the brains and the balls to survive. I’m lucky I hooked up with him. It could have been so much worse.” They fell to silence once more, each contemplating the reality of that statement and how it related to them. At the table, Cara called gin and put her cards down. Oscar whimpered, and Lucky left off grumbling about losing the hand to check his diaper. Delia hummed as she created her masterpiece. Footsteps stampeded toward them.

  “Can we go in now?” Terry panted, out of breath, Kevin beside him.

  Loomis opened her eyes and looked out over the homestead, gauging how much time had passed. “Yeah. It’s been long enough since you ate. But if you feel a cramp coming on, get out.” She had to call her last instruction as the boys pelted off.

  Megan woke, whimpering a little as she sat up and examined her arm. “It hurts.”

  Loomis sat up, as well, and pulled her daughter into her lap. “I know, baby, but not as bad as it did at first, right?”

  The girl reluctantly agreed. She rubbed sleep from her eyes, content to remain where she was for the time being.

  Gwen felt a rush of longing. In a world where there were no more ’rents, this simple act of love was so foreign, so pure. She’d had cause to regret many things in her short life, but an unfamiliar bitterness swept over her. Why the hell didn’t I have the sense to leave the city? What would it have been like to arrive here in Lindsay Crossing, to have belonged from the beginning? Could I have saved Loomis from whatever Riddick did? Uncomfortable with her thoughts, she shunted them aside. Stupid shit, thinking like that. Just silly dreams. “You never answered my question.” She forced herself to ignore the obvious love on display, a love she had forgotten existed. “How come Lindsay Crossing survived when others didn’t? What did you guys do around here that was different?”

  Loomis frowned in thought. “I don’t know what we did differently since I don’t know why they failed. After the dust settled, our 4-H group got together. We elected new officers and tried to figure out what to do.” She absently caressed Megan’s hair and shoulder, and gave her a kiss. “We knew we’d have to band together to survive so everybody went out to find the other kids they knew. Had our first town meeting in the church.”

  “That’s about what Weasel did. Had his crew find friends and relatives and neighbors, and brought them all together.”

  “Smart move. Me and Rick only knew Delia’s family and our cousins in town since we were homeschooled, but by the end of the week we had about three hundred people in town with more trickling in every day.”

  “Three hundred?” Gwen gaped. “That’s a lot!”

  “Yeah. I never expected so many.”

  “That’s because you never went to school,” Cara said from the table. “I think we had close to four hundred school-aged kids between kindergarten and seventh grade.”

  By now Megan had spotted Delia playing with the clay. Her natural exuberance returning, she jumped up, causing Loomis to grunt. She turned and kissed her mother in apology, then went to her playmate’s side to help.

  “What happened next?” Gwen asked, more to keep Loomis talking than anything else.

  She shrugged. “We elected Dwayne Walker as mayor. He appointed a sheriff and deputies. Then we spent a few weeks teaching things to each other.”

  Gwen rolled over onto her stomach and propped her head on her hands. “Teaching? Why’d you do that?”

  “Because most of them were town kids. They didn’t know anything about animals or gardens or harvesting. It seemed the right thing to do. The Bible says teaching a man to fish will feed him for his whole life. Seemed stupid to watch people starve because they didn’t know how to farm.”

  Loomis spoke with confidence, and Gwen suddenly knew whose notion it was to teach the townies how to survive. “That was your idea, wasn’t it?”

  Loomis squirmed a little and wouldn’t look at her. “Somebody would have thought of it sooner or later.”

  “Not necessarily. That’s what it was then. You had the balls and the brains to take charge.”

  Loomis looked decidedly uncomfortable as she tried to stammer a response. Gwen didn’t press the issue. Instead she pushed herself up to her feet. “I’m going to get my book from the cabin. Anybody want anything?” It appeared everyone was fine and she walked away.

  She found it interesting that Cara, who had overheard the entire discussion, didn’t argue Gwen’s conclusions. Loomis might not know her own strength of character, but those closest to her did. She wondered what had set Riddick off. He had probably hated the fact that a girl had more power than him—that was the kind of boy he had been. Did he receive punishment for what he’d done to Loomis? Was he thrown out of town or did he sneak away like a snake? She hoped it was the former. That cracker deserved to be beaten like a dog in the street for half the things he did in the city. Loomis would never have gone for a guy like that; the asshole had raped and beat her before he left, Gwen knew it.

  Stepping into the cabin, she quickly located her book. She agreed with Loomis. Leaving Riddick to rot in his deathbed had been the right thing to do.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gwen ushered another ewe down the ramp and out to pasture. Shutting the contraption’s gate, she went to the corral to sort through the remaining flock for another victim. On the other side of the barn, Rick sat on a stool and milked a sheep in his milker—an elevated platform that made getting dairy from the low-slung animals easier. As she selected another ewe, Gwen marveled that she could now tell the sheep apart. Those four were rams of various ages, and several of the ewes weren’t milk bearing at the moment. Some had already been sent through the barn to the pasture to thin the flock for easier spotting. She could tell which sheep were late lambs from last year, and which were the old-timers that would never give milk again. If somebody had told her last year that she would become so knowledgeable about Icelandic sheep, she’d have laughed her ass off.

  She hustled the next ewe up the ramp and onto her platform, closing the gate behind it to keep it in place. Settled on her stool, she tugged the udders. Performing the mindless task, she pondered her favorite subject. Loomis’s nightmares still came hot and heavy despite no more mention of Riddick. Not a single night had passed that Gwen hadn’t awakened to thrashing and crying as her roommate fought for consciousness. Loomis never returned to bed afterward, preferring to grab her clothes and leave the bedroom rather than try to get more sleep. The circles under her eyes were getting deeper and darker as the days wore on. Gwen saw the growing concern from Heather, Cara and Rick. Even Lucky had noticed, which was saying something since Lucky was often clueless about things outside her immediate realm. Loomis’s appetite had disappeared along with her ability to sleep through the night. While she didn’t yet look like the Gatos upon their arrival in Lindsay Crossing, Gwen didn’t doubt that she eventually would. Cara had taken to making Loomis’s favorite meals and desserts in an attempt to entice her to eat. Seeing this, Gwen had begun trying to stuff Loomis’s face with food every chance she got. It was weird to be receiving grateful looks from Cara. Since her unilateral order to never mention Riddick’s name, she’d acted cool toward Gwen. It didn’t help that Gwen wasn’t much interested in the whole “pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen” thing. She mu
ch rather preferred to spend her time outdoors and in Loomis’s company to stirring pots over a hot wood stove or attempting to sew.

  Rick seemed the most worried of all. He always responded to his sister’s nightmares, coming to the door to check on her every night. Gwen supposed if Riddick had used Rick to get to Loomis, he would feel guilty. That had to be why he constantly supported her just like Cara did. They knew what had happened even if Terry and the younger kids didn’t. Why didn’t Terry know who Riddick was? He had to have been about five or six when it had happened. Even Gwen remembered things from when she was that age. Annie Faber and that man who first greeted the Gatos knew him, indicating that his actions were common knowledge around town.

  Sighing, she stood and opened the gate in front of the ewe, allowing it to clatter down the ramp and out to pasture. She went to the corral for the next one, glancing at the second barn where Loomis and the boys were cleaning it out and taking care of the horses. They were far enough away that she barely heard their voices as they talked with one another.

  Gwen gave Rick a calculating look as he joined her to cull the next ewe from the flock. She followed him in, guiding her sheep into place and sitting on her stool. “Rick, can I ask a question?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She nibbled her lower lip. “He’s Megan’s father, ain’t he?” Complete silence met her question. She didn’t even hear the sound of milk hitting his pail.

  “Yeah.” He resumed milking. “He was.”

  Pleased to get a response at all, Gwen blew out a breath. “What happened?”

  There was another long pause, though they both kept working. “It was a long time ago. No reason to be dragging it up now.”

  Gwen felt a spike of frustration. “There’s lots of reason.” She turned away from her task to stare at his back. “It still messes with her head. If she don’t talk about it, she ain’t going to get over it.”

  He continued his task. “She’s done fine the last couple of years. Once things settle down, it’ll go away just like it did before.”

  “You’re just like her. You don’t want to talk about it because he hurt you too.”

  He turned to glare at her, and she felt a flush, her heart thumping at the angry tilt of his head. “Doesn’t matter. He’s dead and buried. He can’t hurt anybody anymore.”

  Dead? Buried? “Who are you talking about?”

  He frowned at her sudden confusion. “Who are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about that cracker that told us about Lindsay Crossing.” Gwen refused to say his name. Just her luck, Cara would happen by. The last thing Gwen needed was to piss off the unspoken matron of the homestead. Loomis might have the power in the community, but Cara ruled the cabin.

  Rick blinked at her, eyebrows relaxing. His expression twisted into disgust. “We’re not talking about the same person.” He turned back to his chores.

  “Who’s Megan’s ’rent?”

  He scoffed, keeping his back to her. “Marissa is, now get back to work.”

  Gwen stared at him. She recognized the stiffness in his shoulders. He took after his sister and his body language told her he’d die before answering any more questions. With a huff she returned to milking her sheep, which blatted in complaint at her sudden rough touch. She forced herself to relax her grip and the animal subsided.

  If Riddick hadn’t raped Loomis, then who had? It had to be somebody who’d been running with him. She knew that asshole was involved. Scowling at her ewe, she went over Rick’s statement. Megan’s daddy was dead and buried. Buried where? How did he die? Considering how the townies felt about Riddick, Gwen could bet they probably had a lynching party for the bastard. God knows I want to kill him, whoever the hell he was.

  ***

  Loomis rummaged in the back of the armoire, sorting through the miscellaneous items tossed onto the floor over the years. With a triumphant grunt, she unearthed the work boots she knew lurked in the shadows. She held them up to light from the window and gave them a critical examination. Time and disuse hadn’t cracked the leather. The boots had been her father’s and she’d saved them for Rick when he got big enough. The situation with the city kids, however, caused her to question the wisdom of holding them back. Someone would have need in town; best to get over the sentimentality. Put the extras to good use rather than be stingy now. She tied the laces together, hung the boots over one shoulder and closed the armoire doors.

  At the dresser, Loomis caressed the stock on her hunting rifle, again wishing she had ammunition for it. With a resigned sigh, she scooped up her compound bow and arrows, slinging the quiver over her other shoulder. Maybe she could organize the town to make requisition forays into Cascade this summer. If the people there hadn’t survived, all those goods were going to waste. Lindsay Crossing had always been under the assumption that Cascade had pulled through as well, if not better, than they had. Since that wasn’t the case, it would behoove them to stock what they could before it all decayed beyond use.

  “You ready?”

  Loomis smiled at Gwen who lounged in the doorway. “Just about. Is everybody outside?”

  Gwen nodded, grinning. “For shizzle. The horses are ready to go, the cart’s loaded and the kids are bouncing around inside.”

  “In other words, I need to get my butt in gear before Cara puts it in a sling.”

  Gwen laughed. “Something like that.”

  Loomis’s smile widened at the sound. Over the last two weeks the difference in Gwen was phenomenal. Shelter and decent food, rest and clean clothes had worked wonders for the city kids, but Loomis found herself intrigued with Gwen’s changes more than any of the others. When Gwen had arrived, Loomis had thought her much like a winter apple—wizened, sour and bitter. Her expression was always pinched, not from hunger alone but from the knowledge that shit rolled downhill and she was at the bottom. Her green eyes had been as sharp as her tongue, always watching for weakness, always narrowed in suspicion. Proper nutrition and sleep had done wonders for Gwen’s physical and emotional well-being. She’d filled out some, her cheeks no longer as gaunt, and her brittle hair was slowly becoming luxuriant brown waves that brushed her shoulders. Her attitude was less acerbic. She’d begun asking questions before jumping to conclusions. Today she wore a pair of black wool pants and a sleeveless T-shirt that they had salvaged from the cabin in McAdam. Buckskin boots had replaced the hikers she had arrived in. She’d made them herself on Terry’s instruction, and they laced up her calves and over her trousers. Heather had found a green dress shirt from somewhere, and Gwen now wore it unbuttoned, the ends tied together at her belly. It showed off her petite figure and the color was a perfect match for her eyes.

  Loomis realized she really liked Gwen’s smile. “You look good,” she said, surprising herself. It was true regardless of the flush she felt creeping up her neck.

  Gwen’s eyes lit up, and she winked flirtatiously. “Thanks. You’re pretty off tap, too.”

  Loomis’s blush deepened. She dropped her gaze. “I guess we’d better get out there.” She fingered the strap of her quiver.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Gwen left the room, and Loomis felt a measure of relief as she followed. Her embarrassment didn’t stop her from watching the intriguing rear view of her roommate’s departure. It had been a long time since Loomis had felt this way about anyone. The last time had been when she and Annie Faber were adolescents. Being fairly close neighbors with the Fabers and the only girl in her family, Loomis had naturally gravitated toward Annie as a friend. Despite Annie attending public school, she was also a member of the 4-H club with Loomis. Each summer of their childhood the girls had spent every waking moment with one another. Annie had been Loomis’s first kiss. Then Orphan Maker came, wiping out the adults. The following months had been spent making certain everyone would survive. Once things settled down—and here Loomis shied away from her memories—she was pregnant with Megan. By the time she had healed enough to actually see what was going o
n around her, Annie had hooked up with Malcolm Schneider from town. Loomis let out a breath and shook her head. Past is past. Nothing to be done for it now.

  Outside, the bright morning sun had begun to burn off the dew. It was still early, the family having had time for only a quick, cold breakfast. Today was Festival in Lindsay Crossing, and they needed to get an early start. The cart was half full of boxes, wooden chests, and sacks of items they planned on offering for trade. Enough wool and thel had been left in the barn for themselves and the Fabers, and the rest now made soft seating in the cart. Camping gear and food filled up the rest of the nooks and crannies. They would spend the night in town and return the next evening. Only Rick and Loomis had riding horses, so everyone else rode in the cart. Gwen climbed into it to join the others, and Loomis admired her easy grace.

  “We ready to go?”

  With a start, Loomis returned to the present and looked at her brother. “Yeah. I think we have everything.” She deposited their father’s boots in the cart.

  “Loomis,” Megan drawled, holding out her arms. “I want to ride with you.”

  Grinning, Loomis took her daughter, lifting her out of the cart. “Okay, baby. But that means Delia gets to ride with me on the way home.”

  “You’re a sucker for puppy dog eyes.” Cara stood in the front of the wagon with the reins.

  “Only for these puppy dog eyes.” Loomis turned so Cara could get a good look at Megan’s face. Then she set Megan on Tempest and mounted behind her. “Let’s go. Time’s a-wasting.”

  Cara grumbled something about who had been the one holding them up, and Gwen laughed. Loomis ignored them as best she could, but felt a thrill of pleasure at Gwen’s humor.

  Chapter Eighteen

  This was the first time Gwen had been to Lindsay Crossing since the Loomis clan had adopted her. Two weeks ago, exhausted and demoralized after days on the road, she had been focused more on the intriguing Marissa Loomis than her surroundings. Now she observed the nearing town in a different light. Despite the population Loomis claimed had arrived over the first days following the plague, several of the outlying houses stood abandoned—windows and doors boarded up, weeds overtaking the yards, weathered wood fading from lack of attention. Other houses obviously remained inhabited and cared for, seemingly by random happenstance. In these places gardens bloomed, laundry hung out on the line, and doors and windows were open to the spring morning. “How come that house doesn’t have anybody in it?” Gwen pointed to a solid-appearing cabin with a large front yard facing the street.