by S A Ison
Reed seemed to be in a stupor. He stared at the woodstove, watching the flames. A tremor passed through him from time to time.
“Will you be able to get the bullets out?” Hogan asked in a low voice. Trish shook her head.
“One is a through and through. I could try, but I don’t have the equipment for it. I’ve got forceps, but I might end up causing him to bleed out. He’s lost a lot of blood already.”
“Don’t w..w..worry about me. I..I just needed to get t…t..that baby some place s..s..safe.” Reed said, his voice very weak now.
“Do you know the child’s name?” Hogan asked. The old man shook his head. His breathing halted and stuttered.
“Didn’t know t…the mother.” Reeds voice trailed off and his eye lids fluttered. His body relaxed and he slumped back, into the couch. Trish choked out a sob, her hand on the man’s shoulder. Hogan looked at her and she shook her head.
“He’s gone. Oh, Christ. He’s gone. I think he gave everything he had to get that baby here.” She wept, sitting back beside the man, and wiped at her eyes.
“Jesus. They killed the young and old. They’d have killed this baby if he’d not saved it.” Hogan said numbly.
“I’d have been in that mess, had I not gotten away.” Trish said and shivered violently. She got to her feet and staggered a moment. Then caught herself. She took another towel and placed it on the woodstove. Heating it. Then she came to Hogan.
“Let me examine the baby, make sure it has no wounds.” Trish said, handing Hogan the warm towel.
He took the towel and transferred the baby to it, an arc of pee coming out and hitting Trish in the chest. She laughed shakily.
“At least we know his plumbing works. Hey little man, let’s take a look at you.” She clucked. Hogan watched as she gently turned the baby this way and that. Her fingertips poking and prodding which elicited an angry cry. Hogan grinned.
“He’s got a nice temper.” He smiled and leaned down and kissed the soft head. My god, he was so tiny and to have survived that massacre. He was stunned at the sheer brutality of it all. Babies, children and the old. All killed because they weren’t capable of working. It was absolutely nightmarish. Who had thought up all of this? Why?
“He seems healthy enough, though a little dehydrated and cold, I think. We’ll need to keep his body temperature up. I’d say keep feeding him every couple of hours.” Trish said.
“It’s a good damned thing we have the goats and goat milk.” Hogan said, wrapping the child back up in the warm towel.
“He would do better on mother’s milk. I’ve heard that women can spontaneously produce milk. I’d like to try. I think it would be healthier for the baby.” Trish said shyly.
“You can do that?” Hogan asked, surprised.
“Well, I’ve read that you can. Getting shots of hormones helps. But, since we don’t have that, I can try to stimulate my breasts. Have him suckle and see if it will happen. We can continue to feed him the goat’s milk, either until I get milk on my own, or it’s a bust.” She said.
“Wow, that is freaking amazing. Since he’s eaten, why don’t you try and nurse him. I’ll take Mr. Reed out for a burial. We owe him that.” Hogan said, handing over the small bundle reluctantly. He’d remembered holding his own daughters, when they’d been that small. His heart broke, for the wanting of his daughters and Laura. But it wasn’t to be. They did have this small being to help.
“Okay. It might take a few days, but I hope we can do it.” Trish said and began to unbutton her shirt. She carefully removed her weapon from the bra holster. Hogan turned to the sad duty of lifting Mr. Reed and left Trish to nurse the baby.
Mr. Reed was heavy, dead weight, but Hogan managed to get him out of the house. He got the cart and placed the dead man in it. Reed’s arms and legs hung out, but it would be easier to pull the dead man in the wagon, than try to carry that weight to the hole in the back of the pasture.
“Sorry Mr. Reed. All I can give you is a burial. You’ll have to share it, but at this point, I don’t think you’ll mind. Thank you for bringing us that child. It was brave of you and you got him away from those bastards. We’ll try to raise him right. To be free.” Hogan spoke to the spirit of the man.
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Trish winced as the baby latched onto her nipple. It was a peculiar feeling, painful at first, but then soothing. She figured at worst, it was a pacifier, at best it would be nourishment. She and several of her nurse friends had discussed it. Val, a NICU, Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, nurse, told them about it. They were all fascinated that a woman without having a child, could produce milk.
“Well, it can be done. But, having hormone shots helps a hell of a lot. Now a days, most women opt for formula. Most women don’t want another woman nursing their infant. In a lot of third world countries, its done. Not a lot of formula there.” She’d shrugged. Now, it would seem, that the United States had turned into some kind of third world, murdering machine. She still couldn’t get her mind around mass murder.
Trish had read several articles supporting the spontaneous lactating claim and had found them to be credible. She and Ryan had discussed having children, but they’d not been married long and were still young. She’d been going to nursing school at the time. She’d not been ready for children.
Her fingertip gently traced the crown of the baby. His skin was nearly transparent, all the tiny veins and capillaries webbing the child’s skin. How had the child managed to survive? The boy had the soft hair, that covered his body. It would go away as the baby got older. His umbilical cord had dropped off, but it had been a recent event. The child was no more than two weeks. She placed a finger into the tiny grasp and was awed at the strength of the grip.
They’d have to give him a name. Tears blurred her vision. His mother had given him a name, but she’d been ruthlessly murdered.
“This world has gone crazy, little man. But we’ll try to keep it safe for you, here.” She whispered. She kissed his head again and inhaled the scent of the boy. All babies had it. A special and intoxicating scent. She supposed it was what bonded a parent to the child. The child finally stopped suckling, now in deep sleep. She pulled her bra back into place and put her weapon back in the holster. Sitting back, she rocked the small form. She’d have to go through some of her clothing and see about making diapers. Perhaps she could send Hogan out, to other homes, the abandoned ones and look for suitable clothing. The truck still ran, they started it up and ran it once a week. The gas gage was low, but she was sure they had a couple trips to somewhere left in it before it completely died.
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Franktown, CO
Laura stood in the middle of the garden. The potatoes had been planted and were starting to peek through the soil. She had the girls pulling weeds. She watched them, knowing they might try to pull up the potatoes instead. A soft smile edged around her lips. Quinn had come to her the night before. He’d held her in his arms until just before sunrise. At some point, she knew she was going to have to make things official and move her daughters into her room and take the bigger bed, so Quinn could stay there permanently.
Quinn and her father were out patrolling the property. There had been more activity of late, people on the move. Quinn had chased off several men yesterday, shooting at them. Laura was sure he missed on purpose. She smiled. He wasn’t ruthless yet. Though, if the men showed back up, she was sure he’d put them down. There were no easy pickings at this farm.
“Easy, if the leaves are rounded, those are the potatoes.” She gently reminded Alexa.
She stooped over and picked a blade of dandelion and popped it into her mouth. No need to waste food. The dandelions were plentiful in the front yard and the children had collected them and eaten them before the goats began their grazing. Maggy and Wilber were set out into the pasture to eat the new growth. The goats would be sent there as soon as Bart repaired some of the fence. Goats could devastate a garden and so the goats were controlled with heavy metal, dog lines.
Milly kept the goats because Maggy was getting up there in age. Once she died, they’d only have the goats for milk. Maggy would be butchered, none of her going to waste. The sun was bright and warm. Tomorrow, they’d start the process of planting beans. It was back breaking work, but had to be done. If they wanted to eat, they had to work hard for it. It would be weeks until they saw the fruits of their labor. She watched as a meadowlark swooped in for an errant bug and was then gone. She could hear blue jays in the distance, calling and crying. The birds were louder now, singing from early morning until evening.
Laura turned and smiled; her mother was making her way toward them.
“Do we have any potato plants left?” Milly grinned down at her granddaughters.
“They’re getting it. So far, no major upsets with the plants. They’re also picking any bugs off them as well. They’re eewwwing when they do.” Laura laughed.
“So, when are you and Quinn gonna make it permanent? Or are you two going to keep sneaking around?” Milly said, walking down the rows, picking weeds here and there.
“Mom!” Laura hissed, looking over her shoulders at the girls, who were oblivious and busy in their tasks.
“If you’re worried about the girls, don’t be. They see how you and Quinn are and they are so used to it, it doesn’t even register.” Milly said, waving her daughter’s protests away.
“I don’t know mom, I just…” Her voice trailed off.
“Look honey. Hogan isn’t coming back. That’s a fact. We’ve not heard any more broadcasts in the last two months. The government has shut it all down. They’re not coming to help us. We’ve got to live on our own and for ourselves. You might as well be happy and live in the open, instead of sneaking around. God knows my floors could do without all the creaking.” Milly snorted. Laura could feel her face flame. Her mother was very plain spoken at times.
“Look, we’ll make a game of it. We can have the girls redecorate your room. There’s an extra mattress in the attic, we can bring that down. Set the room up with both mattresses, or, you and Quinn keep your room and put both mattresses on the floor, like a king size bed. That would more than likely be more comfortable than that full-sized bed.”
“I didn’t know you had an extra twin mattress.” Laura laughed, surprised.
“Well, we do. It will be a tight fit in that room, but we can take out the bedframe and headboard. Then put the box spring out in the barn. Least ways, Quinn doesn’t have to go sneaking back at the crack of dawn and waking me up every damned morning.” Milly sniggered. Once more, Laura could feel her face flame. Both women turned when they heard a gunshot. The girls raced over to the women.
“Let’s get to the house.” Milly said, swinging her Mossberg around. Laura withdrew her Glock and each woman took a child in tow. There was another shot and they picked up their pace.
“What’s happening mom?” Allain asked, fear in her voice.
“I’m not sure honey, let’s just get back to the house.” Laura said, pushing her daughter ahead of her. There was another volley of gunshots and then the women were at the house. Both entered the kitchen’s back door. Going to the basement door, Laura took the girls below, safe from any bullets that strayed into the house.
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Milly shut the door behind Laura and the girls. Her heart was racing, and the song of battle was in her blood. She went to the living room and looked out one of the windows. She saw Bart, on the ground, not moving. Her heart did a triple hammer slam in her chest. She snarled. Looking around, it was now quiet, and she didn’t see Quinn. She wasn’t foolish enough to think it had all stopped. She was sure Quinn was waiting for the assholes to make their move.
She quietly slid the table away from the window. Luckily, all the windows in the house were open, to let the early afternoon breeze in. Her eyes might be old, but they were sharp, and she got down and began the systematic search for intruders. She could wait, she knew they would be antsy. Her eyes shifted to her husband, and she smiled, seeing his hand move. He was alive and she let her breath out. Now, down to business, killing business.
She took each section in front of her down to a grid. Low, medium and high. More than likely, whoever was shooting would be low to the ground. There were a few trees along the drive to hide behind, but not a lot. She was patient and waited. She’d been a crack shot in the Marines. She’d gotten the expert ribbon. She’d not lost her skill and had kept up with it. She and Bart competing against each other, kept her skillset up. Quinn was also a damned fine shot as well.
A movement drew her attention, and she waited, knowing she’d see it again. There, down at the base of a tree. Hair. Light in color, and a slow vicious smile crept across her face. She sighted the intruder and waited. She let out a slow breath as the head came further out, she also saw the rifle. It was a woman.
“Bye, bye, bitch.” She breathed and stroked the trigger. An explosion boomed in the house and echoed off the walls. Milly didn’t even notice the noise as she watched the head explode and crimson spray mist into the air.
“Gotcha.” She sniggered and laughed when Bart gave a thumbs up. There were shots that hit the dirt around her husband, and she looked to see where they were coming from. Over to the far left of the house. She moved into the dining room and crouched. She saw Quinn, pinned behind a wood pile. He raised up and she watched him, and a shot came at him, chipping the wood, by his head. He ducked down. Bingo.
There was a small gully, about a hundred feet from the woodpile. There were also her rose bushes, planted by the gully, to take advantage of the water that gathered there. She smiled again, then sniggered. They’d not started leafing out yet and there were only thick canes. Though very thick, they would not stop a bullet, and most certainly not a .308 Win. She settled herself in a comfortable position. The person on the back side of that hedge more than likely thought that Quinn had shot the woman.
Her eyes didn’t stare directly at the rose hedge, but gently scanned back and forth. Then she saw it, the movement behind. The person was well camouflaged, but their movement gave them away. Zeroing in, she waited. She needed to get an approximate location. They moved again and she could now see the barrel of a rifle sticking through her hedge. Good. She now knew where their body was. Taking aim, she relaxed. She’d wait for another movement. She wanted to make sure she hit the asshole in the chest or body region. She didn’t want to wing him, she wanted to kill him.
Another slow smile spread across her face. She saw the shifting again. The body was now centered on her weapon. Letting go a soft breath, she stroked the trigger lovingly and felt the welcome kick of the rifle in her arms. She laughed when she heard the scream and she went running out of the house. She’d seen Quinn stand up, so she figured that was the last of them. She stopped by Bart and turned him over.
“Good shootin’ gal.” He grinned up at her. He had a scalp wound. Patting his body, she saw no other wounds.
“Now isn’t the time to get frisky, Milly, let’s wait till the kids have gone to bed.” He grinned up at her.
“You ass, it’s a good thing you got such a goddamned hard head. Can you sit up, dear?” She grinned down at him. She looked up when she heard another shot and saw that Quinn had finished the bastard off. She grinned down at her husband.
“How many were there babe?” She asked, helping Bart to sit up.
“Five of the fuckers. I got two, and Quinn got one, but that bastard got me in the head. Those other two kept us pinned down.” He grinned up at her. She looked up when Quinn came to stand over them.
“That’s some damned fine shooting Marine.” He laughed down at her.
“Oorah!” Milly barked and Quinn helped her get Bart to his feet. He was a little unstable, but they walked him up to the porch and into the house.
“Laura, honey, come on up sweety. It’s all clear and your dad has got a booboo, cause he don’t know when to duck.” Milly called. She could hear the stomping of the girls on the stairs coming up from the basement.
“I’ll help. Girls, help your mom take care of grampy, and tell grampy next time to keep low.” Milly laughed getting up. A wide grin split her face when she heard her granddaughters cooing over their grandfather. Alexa’s voice stern, was loud and she was lecturing him on keeping low. Milly sniggered.
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Topeka, KS
The bus jolted and rocked as it drove to the next planting site. Ian looked out the window and watched as miles of empty fields and homes passed by. He turned to Megan, who sat beside him.
“We’ve got to leave today. They’re starting to chip everyone.” He whispered.
Megan’s head jerked toward him, her eyes large and fearful.
“What? What the hell are you talking about?” She hissed in a low voice, her eyes looking around to make sure no one was listening.
“Look, it’s already started. They are taking each level and rounding up the people and injecting microchips into them. Just behind the upper shoulder, in the meaty part. We’ve got to leave. We can’t be chipped. I don’t know if they have satellite tracking, but they identify us as living in the Hive. We have got to leave today.”
“Jesus Christ.” Megan said and her face lost its color, and her moss green eyes filling with tears, making them a brilliant emerald color.
“Don’t worry, I took all of our coupons and gave them to Anthony. I told him to pick a fight just after everyone started getting their equipment and unloading the bus. He’ll get bitched at, but he’ll also have a hell of a lot of coupons to spend at the trading post.”
Megan looked over at the large man, who was in his mid-forties. Ian had chosen Anthony, because he was amiable enough and didn’t seem to mind living in the Hive. They’d talked on a few occasions and to Anthony, this place was better than his last living situation and he was getting food on a regular basis. Ian hadn’t understood how the man would willingly give up his freedom for food. The work didn’t bother Ian, it was the loss of freedom. He supposed for each person there, they gave up or gained something.