“D’ya think Mr. Banks bagged himself a deer?” Jacob called out from the far side of the garden where he had been put in charge of digging up the garlic bulbs.
Jacob was lean, with tousled black hair, dark blue eyes, and a handsome face. He was seven now, and his last growth spurt had turned his pants into waders. His shirtsleeves ended well before his wrists. Jess made a note to ask at the community center for larger-sized clothes. Several of the kids over at Research were taller than Jacob; perhaps they would have some hand-me-downs to spare.
The boy looked hopeful, positively dreamy-eyed, at the thought of some fresh deer meat. They hadn’t eaten venison in well over a month, and the old man would make them a fair trade in meat for some of the apples they had finished picking last month.
Jess had shown Becka and Jacob how to wrap the apples carefully in paper so they didn’t touch skin to skin. There would be less rot that way. And there they would sit deep in the crawlspace of the basement where it was dark. The apples would stay fresh for months. Whatever did rot would be made into applesauce or fed to the chickens or put in the compost, depending on how bad off it was.
Jacob’s mind filled with images of a nice juicy roast, or ribs, and resolved to beg his mother again to let him learn how to hunt.
Jess just shook her head and frowned, “Thurman never shoots like that. He fires once and waits; I just heard three in a row. That’s a stranger or one of the town militia.”
The town militia had changed drastically since Mayor Farley’s son James had taken over. For that matter, the town had changed as well. Farley’s influence was a powerful one. He was still the mayor and there had been no open elections held in over five years. As soon as James Farley had turned the ‘respectable age’ of twenty, Mayor Farley had pushed, pulled, and threatened a position for his son. Unbelievably to Jess and several others, he had finally dislodged Todd Stevens, who had been designated the head of the militia three years back, after saving the town from a devastating raid.
A group of well-armed men and women had tried to cut into the town from a little-used road on the northeast side, a weak area of defense, and steal the entire herd of cattle. The raiders had been occupying a series of caves to the north along the tattered remains of I-435, which had formerly been used for storage, for years. The problem with cave dwelling was lack of sunlight and space, both needed for raising livestock and crops. Pale and malnourished, they had still been savage in their attack. Several members of one family living on the outskirts had been murdered, and three of the town militia had also lost their lives before the attack had been repelled.
That had been a harsh but necessary lesson. The Western Front may have disintegrated, but there were still plenty of people on the edge, desperate to survive, and few left worth trusting. The waves of disease and malnutrition that had turned Kansas City and the surrounding metropolitan area into a tsunami of death long before the Western Front ever arrived on its doorstep were still pulsing through. The townships and their local militias were the only thing keeping most of them alive. Todd Stevens had understood this all too well.
Todd had been interested in Jess and actively courted her that first year after her return to Belton. He was a good man, and she had thought highly of him, but having a man look at her with interest, any kind of interest, had been absolutely terrifying. She had quietly defined their relationship as being a friendship only. He had been disappointed, but accepted it. He had eventually turned his sights toward Laura, Sarah’s daughter, courting her on a daily basis at the café on Main Street where Jess and her family had stayed their first day back in Belton. They now had two small children.
After Mayor Farley had propelled his son into power, Todd and Laura had spent more time with Jess’s small family. His parents were dead and he had talked to her, revealing a snapshot of the struggle from the inside of the higher echelons of the town militia, for power, for control. “I don’t want to deal with the politics,” he had said to her the summer before, “I just want to keep us safe. Why does it have to be like this?” A week later the announcement had come that James Farley was now in charge of the militia.
In a matter of a few months, the mayor’s son had undone, if not destroyed, the seamless network of militia members. Those who had dedicated themselves to ensuring the town borders remained safe were pushed aside and the decisions and leadership positions farmed out to the untested and cronies of James Farley and his father.
Since he had assumed control, the borders had seen a dozen incursions. The last one had resulted in the death of an entire family. The raid before that had ended without any deaths of residents, but half of the old hospital—now an orphanage, old folks home, and college rolled into one—had burned to the ground. No one would be attending classes in the near future, several groups were struggling to find intact housing, and there was no lumber to fix what had been destroyed.
As a one, their heads turned toward the north, waiting for more noise, a shot, a yell, but there was only silence. After a moment of listening to the wind, and nothing else, Jess turned back to her chore.
The temperature was dropping, rain was coming, and they couldn’t afford to lose these roots to an overnight frost. “C’mon you, let’s get these out of the ground and into the basement.” She nudged Becka, and then tossed a tiny potato at David, hitting him in the butt and giggling at his startled look.
He put on his sternest face, “You just better watch it, lady! You’ll start something you can’t finish! I’m armed with pointy carrots...hiya!”
He flourished the carrot in his hand like a deranged fencer, which set the younger kids to laughing. The bit of humor made short work of an otherwise long and tedious job. When they were finally done the sky had begun to spit fat drops at them, daring them to stay outside for any longer.
Tina had gathered up the old leather journal and her pencil, absently brushing at some plant matter that had attached itself to her patched and worn pants. Recently she had been adding to the book that Jess had inherited from Grandmother Madge, the old woman who had sheltered them over the winter in a cave east of Clinton. Tina was nearly eleven now, and she was a quiet girl who already showed an incredible knowledge of healing herbs. Her hair, once a muddy blond, had darkened to a golden brown. She kept the unruly curls cropped short and they seemed to be the most lighthearted part of her otherwise solemn demeanor. Her smiles, which were rare, were usually used exclusively for smaller children, like Jacob and Becka. Although she could not remember her parents, their abrupt loss, and the loss of Grandmother Madge less than a year later, these events had marked the child in a way that Jess or David seemed unable to change.
Despite this solemn demeanor, Tina was gentle and loving and cared deeply for her brother and the rest of their adopted family. It just seemed that she existed in a world of her own so much of the time. Few understood her. The town doctor, Anthony Ridley, was the exception to the rule. He had spent time with her one day while checking on Becka, still a baby at the time, and making sure everyone was surviving the winter without trouble. Todd Stevens, the militia leader, had urged him to drop in on them, worried that Jess was exhausting herself with so many children to look after. While looking over the entire little family, a strange mix of related and unrelated teenagers and children, Dr. Ridley had been surprised by an offering of some strange dried flowers and stems.
Tina had looked up solemnly at him, barely five years old, had handed the bundle to him, explaining that it was echinacea, “Missouri coneflower, it’s good for keeping away colds.”
He had looked intrigued and asked her to tell him more. “You can put the flower petals in a tea. Dry it first.” He had asked her more questions and he had returned the next day to talk with her more and ask her for two other herbs she had pointed out, sitting next to her and gently holding the herbs she handed to him.
Over the years, through illnesses and injuries, he would always take an extra few minutes to discuss with Tina her latest miracle plants. Afte
r that first encounter, he had made an effort to learn more about herbs and, after a while, he began requesting that Jess and her family grow certain herbs or that Tina make certain poultices. He continued to encourage her to learn more and broaden her knowledge with the books that Jess and David collected for her. As time went by, more and more of Tina’s infusions and decoctions helped heal the residents of Belton.
Despite this, most of the residents remained blissfully ignorant that their medicines were supplied by a girl who wasn’t even in her teens.
Inside the house, Becka staggered under the weight of the potatoes she was carrying. Jess lifted the basket from her hands before the six-year-old could drop any of the precious cargo. Becka had jet-black hair that held long curls. Her eyes were still a hauntingly familiar ice-blue but that was where the resemblance to Scott Cooper ended.
Becka was soft-spoken and thoughtful. Jess was struck by the memory of Becka’s biological mother, Serena, and the way she had spoken on the two times that she and Jess had met. Serena had been right; Becka was good and kind, just as Serena had been. The only reminder of her paternal heritage was in her features. Jess had spent hours studying the girl’s face, seeing Scott Cooper in a completely different way. Had he ever been good and innocent? He must have been.
Jess wanted to believe that all children were, and she wondered what had changed. She had learned to love Becka, just as Serena had said she would. It wasn’t hard; the child was sweet and loving, and it was obvious how well she fit in their family unit. Jess leaned down and kissed the little girl, who was protesting that she could carry the heavy load. Becka was also fiercely independent—a trait she shared with the rest of them.
For the first winter in years she could count on keeping most of this harvest and not losing it to marauding rodents—now that they had Lord Flea. Lord Flea, short for Lord of the Flea-Bitten, Bent-Eared, and Generally Ragged Felines, was a tattered-looking cat of indeterminate age. He was not friendly, and Jacob and Becka had learned to leave him alone after the first round of scratches and bites, but he did a bang-up job on the rodents. Nothing to complain about there!
And with the biggest harvest in three years, thanks to David’s research into composting methods, they would have enough root vegetables to last them all winter with extra for trade, as well as seed for next year’s crop. Thurman Banks, their nearest neighbor, would be happy to trade his meat for vegetables and for some of the herbs that Jess had painstakingly tied and dried in the heat of the summer.
Icy, stinging drops of rain on the edge of becoming sleet were falling by the time they finished with the last of the vegetables. Everyone was worn out and ready for a bath by the time they finished. “Rinse off as much of the dirt from your hands as you can in the pond and then help with carrying the buckets of water,” Jess directed the younger children.
There were already four large pots of water on the stove, water boiling merrily away. If they conserved, the icy cold water from the well mixed with the boiling hot water wouldn’t cool things down too bad and they could all get through their baths.
Bodies washed, stomachs full of fresh vegetable soup, the small family gathered in the living room around a few beeswax candles. Night had fallen soon after the rain began. Jacob snuggled up to Jess, his body transmitting warmth and comfort to her.
“Mom, will you read from the story tonight? The Harry story?” he asked her, sleepily.
He was very tired from the hard work of the day. David had found a set of books on a recent trip into the southern part of Belton and brought them back for Jess to look over. She had smiled when she read the titles in his hands, and remembered reading the series when she was a child...Harry Potter...now there were a fine set of adventures! She had not noticed his flushed face when she had hugged him in thanks and excitement and he had scuttled away before she could see how her affection had affected him.
“Yes, sweetie, but just a few pages tonight,” Jess stifled a yawn, “I’m all worn out.”
She carefully opened the book to the marked page and began to read aloud. Barely a few paragraphs later she set the book down with a soft laugh and looked around. David, Becka, and Jacob were all fast asleep on the floor—softly snoring lumps buried under blankets and cradling pillows. She slowly stood and lifted Jacob up into her arms. He was lanky yet light, thin arms and legs, tall for his age, but she could still lift him easily in her arms. She carefully stepped over and around the others and quietly carried him to bed. The others would be fine sleeping the night out on the floor, but she was happy to burrow under the covers of her bed and listen to the tiny taps of ice-laden particles hitting the glass windows before she drifted off to sleep. For the moment, life was bearable and the winter could come—they were ready for it.
The light from the candle on her bedside table guttered and spit as she struggled to keep her eyes open and read over the latest narrative she had collected. For the past five years she had been slowly chronicling the histories of the local residents. It had started out with the question, “Where were you on November 4th? The day the Western Front invaded Belton?”
Slowly the stories had changed, taken on different shapes and focus, and she was now chronicling Sarah Turner’s life. Sarah Turner, who was actually Sarah Perkins, a woman who had run away from an abusive husband, changed her name and created a new life for herself, as well as for her children Cody and Laura.
She reviewed her notes, which she had taken two days ago while sitting in the café Sarah ran. She had asked Sarah what she wanted to contribute to the town’s oral history and had been stunned by the life story that Sarah had shared.
The older woman’s face looked haunted, “I did what I thought was best. To protect myself, to protect Cody and Laura. But I always wondered. If I had stayed...if I had managed to get him help for his PTSD...could we have made it?” She had smiled wanly, “In so many ways, I still love him, Jess. I never saw another man I wanted as much as I wanted him. I guess that either makes me a fool or...”
She had left the sentence unfinished. Jess’s eyes fluttered closed, slipping into sleep as she thought about all the unknowns, all the lost loves in the world—her folks, Chris, Allen, and so many more. The papers slipped from her fingers. The candle guttered next to her in the growing pool of wax and then quietly extinguished.
To escape the nightmare, Jess woke up abruptly, surprised to see that it was already light out. The details of the dream were already fading quickly, but gunfire and the memory of a sobbing child were all that remained. She shook her head, as if to rid herself of the last vestiges of the nightmare. The nightmares came every night, but in different forms, and it was a relief to wake up and spend her days too busy to remember the night’s horrors. Jess pulled her clothes on quickly and tried to peer out of an open crack in the wood planks covering one of the windows.
There wasn’t much to see; the icy rain must have tapered off early in the night. Winter, it seemed, was delayed for just one more day. She pulled on tattered wool socks and her boots followed. A sweater completed her and she headed out the bedroom door and into the living room where the others were stirring. Jacob was already awake, sitting at the table and eating an apple.
“Hi there Sweetheart, you’re up early.” She smoothed his unruly hair with her fingers. The boy looked wide awake. He mumbled incoherently from his apple, eyes fixed on a picture book in front of him.
“Say that again?”
“I’ve been up ’cause of the cryin’,” the boy repeated, “She just won’t stop cryin’ no matter how nice I am to her. She don’t talk, and she won’t look at me or nuthin’.” The little boy looked disgruntled.
“Who won’t talk, sweetie?”
“The girl on the front porch.”
Jess considered this statement for a moment, “There’s a girl on the front porch?”
Jacob rolled his eyes at his mother, “Uh, yeah, I told you she woke me up. But she don’t talk or nuthin’; maybe she’s ’tarded or somethin’.”
> Jess automatically corrected him, “Anything, retarded, something, and that isn’t nice, Jacob, calling someone retarded.”
She headed for the front door as David struggled to a sitting position, still in the same place on the living room floor where he had fallen asleep, “Wha’, who, what’s goin’ on?” she heard him mutter sleepily as she unbolted the heavy front door.
David received no answer as Jess simply stared at the small child huddled against her storm door, blocking it from opening.
Jacob walked up behind her, “You’ll have to go around; she won’t move ’tall,” he commented calmly and walked away down the hall.
The small, huddled child did not react, simply rocked back and forth, shaking in the cold. She was tiny, smaller by far than Jacob or Becka, maybe two or three years old. One thumb was firmly stuck in her mouth and her hair was a bright red, tangled, and full of burrs and leaves. Her face, what Jess could see of it, was filthy and tear-streaked. She was dressed in jeans or overalls, and a thick pink coat that had seen cleaner days. Her tiny sneakers were covered in mud.
“Oh my God,” Jess jumped at David’s voice in her ear, “What the hell?” He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking as confused as she.
Jess said nothing, just turned and ran out of the living room and through the kitchen, the pantry, out through the garage which was now used as a small barn, and around the house to the front door. She skidded to a stop in front of the stoop, half expecting the tiny child to have vanished before she arrived. But the little girl hadn’t moved, not an inch. She didn’t even flinch when Jess reached down and gently picked her up in her arms. David held open the door for her then, now that the girl wasn’t blocking it from opening.
By now, Becka and Jacob were both at the door behind David, Becka still bleary-eyed from sleep and Jacob curious enough not to be as annoyed with the girl now for not talking to him. Tina had not yet made an appearance.
A Brave New World: War's End, #2 Page 11