by Nathan Jones
He didn't even want to consider the alternative. He couldn't, not in his current state.
In spite of knowing just how far gone he was, it still came as a massive blow to his professional pride to hear a warning voice calling out from the trees, less than ten feet ahead of him.
“You're not trying to hide and you're stumbling along with a racket to wake the dead,” the voice called, familiar even though his sluggish mind couldn't place it. “Only reason I haven't put a bullet in you, your horse, and the guy leading it. Better tell me who you are quick, and in English.”
“Logan!” Skyler called, sounding almost giddy with relief. Or slap happy exhaustion.
“Sky?” the young man demanded incredulously. “Trapper too?”
“What's left of him,” Tom mumbled, not sure if he was joking or not.
Logan appeared through the undergrowth, movements urgent as he grabbed Horse's reins. “You've got to have either the best or worst timing ever,” he said as he started yanking the weary mount forward in, presumably, the direction of camp at something slightly faster than a fast walk.
“Yeah, looks like we caught up to you just before the bloodies did,” Skyler replied.
Tom started to open his mouth, annoyed at the banter and desperate to hear from his friend that Kristy and Molly were okay. But before he could, Logan stunned him into slack-jawed insensibility with a bombshell of a statement.
“Forget the bloodies! Mother Kristy's gone into labor.”
He hadn't thought anything short of a good night's sleep could snap him out of his fugue, but at that Tom stopped dead, weary mind jump-starting after a few fitful sputters. “When?” he demanded, speeding up to outpace even Logan's hurried jog.
“A few hours before sundown. Wait, Trapper! You don't know where you're go . . .”
The young man trailed off as Tom broke into a shambling run through the trees, towards the faint outline of a clearing ahead, dotted with tents and other temporary shelters.
Before sundown was, what, six or seven hours ago? Usually he had a pretty good internal clock, but it was shot to blazes at the moment. How long did labor usually last? Molly had taken a bit over six hours, and Kristy said that had been easier than Skyler, although certainly no picnic.
He'd know soon. He felt a mixture of eagerness and dread as he blasted past sentries, calling greetings as he ran by to keep from getting shot in the face, and in between the tents and makeshift lean-tos. In the center of camp was a larger tent with dim light shining through the walls, a single shadowy silhouette moving around inside.
Some sixth sense turned him in that direction, or maybe it was just the small group of women clustered outside even at this hour, huddled around one of his small, hard to see fires. Half were murmuring quietly among themselves, the others had apparently curled up and fallen asleep with blankets wrapped around their shoulders.
He caught a flash of Leanne's face as she stood at his approach, gently extricating herself from a blanket-wrapped bundle with Molly's light brown curls making a halo across the cloth. Tom nearly cried at the sight of his daughter safe and sound, although his eyes were on the dimly lit tent as he skidded to a halt in front of Leanne, panting like an asthmatic bull.
“Is she . . .” he wheezed, worried about interrupting during a bad time.
“Inside!” she commanded more than answered, grabbing him by the arm and bustling him towards the entrance. Almost before Tom had a chance to steel himself to this reunion he was in the tent, Fiona looking up with surprise as she leaned over to adjust the pillows Kristy was lying back against.
He skidded to an almost reverent halt.
At a glance he could see his wife had only recently finished having the baby. She was cradling a small bundle to her chest, flaxen hair plastered to her head and shoulders with sweat and features sunken from exhaustion after her ordeal. Yet in spite of that, the radiant smile she gave him was pure beauty.
“You came!” she whispered, tears flooding into her eyes.
“Not too late, I hope,” he said, creeping forward timidly to look down with wonder at his exhausted wife and the tiny bundle nestled peacefully in her arms. “Hopefully bringing home a runaway makes up for that.”
“Skyler?” she breathed, expression frozen as if she barely dared to hope.
He nodded, slumping down on his knees beside her bed as the last of his strength gave out. “He should be right behind me.”
Kristy dissolved into great wracking sobs, as if every single moment of fear and pain and worry she'd suffered while they were gone came flooding out of her in an instant. Tom wrapped a supportive arm around her as she leaned against him, staring down at the tiny face peeking up from within the soft baby blanket with breathless anticipation.
Tom wanted to know if it was a boy or girl, wanted to hold his child, but he waited to give the woman he loved a chance to vent. At some point during that time Fiona must've slipped out to give them some privacy, which he was grateful for.
Finally, though, he reached up to run a tentative finger across his child's smooth cheek. Kristy looked up and gave him another radiant smile. “Congratulations, daddy,” she said weakly. “You've got a new son.”
A son. The news took his breath away, and he found himself laughing and crying at the same time as he brushed his son's cheek again, hugging Kristy closer and leaning down to kiss her sweaty forehead. “You okay?” he whispered.
“I'll live, and our boy is strong and healthy.” She laughed softly, then winced in discomfort. “Already latched on and had his fill, the greedy little scamp. Makes Molly seem dainty in comparison.”
He laughed again, tears blurring his vision as his wife gently shifted the newborn into his arms. He brought the tiny bundle to his chest, feeling far too big and clumsy to possibly hold such a fragile creature. He'd had those same fears with Molly, and had done just fine, but here he was again.
“Miles?” he murmured, staring down at the serene little face.
“Miles,” Kristy agreed as she sagged back onto the pillows and furs propping her up. “Thomas Miles Miller.”
That was the name they'd discussed if it was a boy, in honor of the man she'd loved and lost, and the one she'd found. He could admit Miles wasn't his first choice, but from what he'd heard of the man from his wife, son, and the Hendricksons and other neighbors who'd known him, the man had been gentle, kind, and hardworking.
Not to mention willing to risk his life for his family's future, even if it was a foolish risk.
There were worse names to give his new son, and it would be a good way to honor the memory of Skyler's father; the boy had never accused Tom of trying to replace his dad or tarnish his memory, at least not outright, but even so this might help Skyler buck up a little at the knowledge that his father was still loved and remembered even though he was gone.
It would mean a lot to Kristy for the same reasons, so Miles it was. Tom gently lifted the boy to kiss his tiny forehead. “Welcome to the world, Miles,” he said quietly.
The baby's squashed face remained peaceful in sleep, quietly blowing bubbles; he wasn't exactly a looker, but then most babies weren't. Molly had had a face like a dried mushroom as an infant, only to grow into the adorable little mischief maker she was now.
Tom gently settled Miles back into his wife's arms, leaning forward to kiss her gently. “You did great.”
Kristy laughed weakly, then winced again. “Far as you know,” she mumbled.
They both jumped slightly as someone slapped the tent near the entry flaps. “Mom,” Skyler called quietly. “Can I come in?”
She dissolved back into tears at the sound of his voice. Tom pushed himself to his feet with a weary grunt and reached outside to haul his son in, clapping a hand on his shoulder and ushering him over to where Kristy was reaching up with one arm to pull the teenager into a hug.
Her tears ended with a shocked hiccup when she saw his arm. “What happened?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” Skyler said, patt
ing her shoulder in awkward reassurance. “It's not infected, and it's healing just fine.” He tentatively reached out with his good hand to brush a flap of blanket away from little Miles's face for a better look, obviously trying to distract her but also awed at the sight of the newborn. “Who's this?”
The distraction worked, and Kristy reluctantly let the matter drop for the moment. “Say hello to your new brother, Miles.”
“A brother?” he said in wonder.
She nodded. “You came home just in time to meet him.”
Skyler's shoulders abruptly shook, and he buried his face in his mom's shoulder and clutched her tight. “I shouldn't have left, Mom,” he said miserably. “I'm so sorry.”
Kristy just shook her head and hugged him back, more tears flowing. But after only a minute she lifted her head to look at Tom, voice brooking no argument. “Get him to one of Jonas's medics.”
He nodded. “Next on my to-do list.” Then he froze as the implication of her words struck him. “Jonas's?”
She nodded tiredly. “Gray died saving Brandon and the men he freed from the slave camp from a Sangue ambush. A real hero's ending.”
The news dampened their reunion somewhat; Tom couldn't help but wonder if that would've been him, if he hadn't abandoned Camptown to search for Skyler. He decided he wouldn't dwell on what might have been, though.
Not tonight, with his future suddenly looking brighter than it had in months.
He briefly hugged Kristy goodbye, solemnly promising he'd be back soon, then led Skyler from the tent to find someone to look at his arm.
Chapter Twenty
Hunted
Jonas's medic, surly about being woken up, gave Skyler a clean bill of health after cleaning his wound and changing the bandage. At least as healthy as could be expected for a gunshot wound to the arm. That came with a stern warning for the teenager to take it easy for at least a week, and even then not do anything too strenuous with the arm.
That was a bit tough to do when they were all fleeing for their lives, but Skyler had reluctantly agreed to keep riding Horse, sticking close to his mom riding Mary to help her if she needed it.
They let the medic get back to sleep and headed back to the tent to say goodnight to Kristy, after which Leanne ushered Skyler to a bed she'd prepared for him in the same tent she'd moved Molly to. That left Tom to collapse on the ground beside his wife's bed wrapped in his blanket.
He couldn't remember ever sleeping so well, at least for as long as it stayed pitch dark in the tent. In other words, he was awake as soon as the first light of dawn began glimmering through the fabric.
It couldn't be helped. The threat of Sangue still hung over their heads, and now that he was back with his family, and had seen his newborn son's precious little face, he could never truly rest until he knew they were safely away from harm. The few hours he'd gotten had done wonders for him, at least, enough to keep him going another day.
So he dressed quietly and slipped out of the tent to find Jonas and get the situation.
His timing was pretty good, because just as he ducked out into the chill morning air he heard a commotion from the north that turned out to be a group of returning fighters. One led by Brandon, he realized as he heard his friend's quiet voice carrying through the silent camp.
Tom hurried forward to meet the group, pulling Brandon into a crushing hug as Andy slapped his back and more of his friends gathered around. Everyone talked a mile a minute once they heard that he'd found Skyler, wanting to hear where his son had been, what they'd been up to, and when they'd gotten back. The celebratory mood only increased when Tom announced the birth of his son.
Unfortunately, the moment could only last so long. The reason Brandon's fighters had returned was because Sangue had stopped following their false trail and turned to pursue the Camptown refugees. The moment Jonas arrived they reluctantly got back to business.
The militia leader was as brusque as always as he gathered them around. “Welcome back, Trapper,” he said, then moved on without even waiting for a response. “Our radios are useless at the moment, since the bloodies stopped using them about the exact moment they reached the bowl valley and discovered it was abandoned.”
Tom grunted. “Guess it would be pretty obvious we must've had advance warning, and how.”
“Right. Which means we'll have to rely completely on scouting, like we haven't had to for a while now. Hopefully we haven't learned any bad habits during that time.” Jonas smiled thinly. “I realize right now you're celebrating the birth of your healthy baby liability to this column, but we need you out there . . . would you be willing to lead a group of scouts to find us a way forward without running into trouble? One that'll let us move as quickly as possible and cover our tracks, and also be able to slow down larger numbers of pursuers if it comes to it?”
Tom spent a moment reflecting on just what a gaping sphincter the militia lieutenant unfailingly remained. He was reluctant to leave Kristy right now, but he knew how vital this was and at least Skyler would be with her. “Since you asked so nicely.” A few men around them snorted.
“Good.” Jonas turned to Brandon. “We need to get your buddies the freed slaves ready to fight in a pinch. They've been helpful with keeping the group moving, but we haven't really had a chance to organize them into a fighting force.”
“Will do.”
“Right.” The fighters' leader glanced around. “I'll get the rearguard mobilized. Let's wake the camp up and get everyone moving, and the fighters split up to their tasks.”
Tom started to turn to head back to the tent, then jumped slightly when he realized a smaller figure had snuck up to stand right next to him. “Skyler?” The figure nodded, and he caught a flash of white teeth as his son yawned hugely. “How you feeling this morning?”
“Like a million bucks,” Skyler said around another yawn, which made it hard to tell if that was sarcastic or chipper.
He couldn't help but grin. “I thought I was the old, gray, wrinkly one.”
“Well considering money these days is precious metals . . .”
“But the way things are now those are just heavy, inconvenient, and practically useless,” Tom pointed out, grin widening. He could just imagine the dirty look his son was giving him, and kept going, sobering his tone. “I need to get the scouts going, but I want to say goodbye to your mom first.” He rested a firm hand on Skyler's shoulder. “Will you stay with her today, make sure she's able to keep going, and give her whatever help she needs with Molly and the baby?”
Half his motivation for asking was to keep the teenager from exerting himself and opening his wound. But he also had no intention of leaving his family unless he was sure they were in the care of someone he trusted, and for this there was no one he trusted more than Skyler.
His son nodded and hurried off, towards where the horses were tethered.
After he was gone Tom had Dennis Knudsen begin gathering a few dozen of their better woodsmen, trying to find as many as possible among those who'd as yet refused to join the fighters; after all, unless things went terribly wrong they wouldn't be fighting, and he wanted to make sure Jonas and Brandon had as many experienced people as possible ready to hold back what was coming for them.
Hopefully it would be enough.
As his friend got to work Tom made his way back to the tent they'd been loaned, slowing as he heard Kristy's voice murmuring softly inside. He stopped near the entrance to listen when he realized what she was saying.
“. . . how I met your daddy,” his wife cooed, obviously speaking to baby Miles. “Which just shows that love can come in the most unlikely places.” She paused, and a hint of laughter entered her voice. “Including beneath a grizzled old mountain man's hideous thatch of hair and beard.”
He couldn't help but grin as he slapped the tent to let her know he was there. “Old, huh?” he called.
She laughed. “Come in, daddy.”
Tom unzipped the door and climbed inside, finding her propped u
p on her bed of furs and straw tick pillows, cuddling a sleeping baby Miles. She patted the bed beside her, and in spite of the urgency he didn't have the heart to rush this moment. Not yet, at least.
So he settled down and put an arm around her, leaning down to stroke his son's soft cheek.
Kristy continued in the same voice she'd used earlier, speaking to their son. “Not so old after all, as I discovered once he'd sheared himself like a sheep.” Her sky blue eyes lifted to meet his, soft and shining with love in the growing twilight. “And so very handsome, which I'm sure he passed down to you.”
Tom leaned down and kissed her, then rested his head atop hers as she settled against his shoulder. They sat like that for a peaceful ten seconds, all they could spare. He still felt terrible for having to end the moment. “How you feeling?”
His wife laughed softly. “Like a well wrung out dishrag that just gave birth to a healthy baby boy.” Then she paused, as if finally catching his tone, and her beatific smile faded. “Oh. Shoot. You were actually asking me if I'm ready to hit the road, just hours after pushing a baby out of a place that's about to be jounced around in a saddle.”
He winced in sympathy. “Sorry.” He hesitated. “Brandon's back, says the nearest force of bloodies that he was leading on a wild goose chase are back on our trail. Jonas is already getting the fighters together to slow them down, and I'm going to go scout out the best path to stay ahead of them while Skyler stays to help you.” He paused, then continued apologetically. “Everyone will need to move as quickly as they're able.”
Kristy sighed, looking drained but determined. “The world can't stop just because a baby's born. Especially not this world, seems like. Just get me as much padding as you can, and Skyler can help me ride sidesaddle.”