by K E Lanning
Lowry took a drink of water as the robo-tiller disappeared down the valley. With the long summer day, she still had time to plant the garden. She laid out the identification sticks, seed packets, and seedlings at the head of their corresponding row. She pulled on her gloves and began the back-breaking work.
As the sun reached the horizon, she lowered the last seeds into the ground, and with a flourish, set the final identification stick at the head of the last row. Exhausted, she threw the tools and trash into the wagon, peeled off her gloves, and added them to the pile. With a groan, she reached to the sky, one arm at a time, to stretch her tired back. She told the hover wagon, “Go home,” and it hovered through the open door of the interior garden, back to its charging station.
With a sigh, Lowry walked to the well spigot, and turned on the irrigation system. The clean water gushed down the pipe and onto the beds. The soil darkened as the moisture soaked into the earth.
Her back and shoulders ached as she trudged up the hill to the front of the house to admire her work. She slumped into one of the new Adirondack chairs and grimaced at her blistered hands. Then she gazed at the straight and ordered rows, out of place against the wilderness surrounding them. The lonely Patagonia pepper seedlings trembled in the wind, their vibrant green leaves contrasting against the dark soil.
Antarctica was a world of natural shapes—a terrain of glacial till, dotted with sporadic flowers, clumps of native grasses, and meandering rivers. What will be the effects of human cultivation on this virgin continent?
She had no desire to mar the landscape with the straight lines of human order. Instead of cutting her land into rows of wheat or corn, she had chosen to raise beef cattle. Tomorrow, she would begin sowing hardy grasses. Her cattle would arrive soon and they needed grasslands.
CHAPTER 15
As the sun set, Lowry gazed over her farm. It had been an exhausting month, but she was proud of her accomplishments. The land had proven to be fertile, the rains had been sufficient, and now tiny shoots of grass peeped through the earth. With the help of her neighbors and the community robo-crane, she had the stables for her horses.
Athira’s white face popped over the half door of a stall and whinnied. With a grin, Lowry walked to the garden and dug up a few carrots. She broke them into pieces and walked to the stable. All the mares’ heads appeared, with ears pricked, waiting for their treat. She went stall to stall, rubbing their faces as they chewed the carrot bits, chuckling as the new colt, Bashira, struggled to get his nose above the half-door. “You’re too young for carrots, Baby,” she said, stroking his neck.
“Good night,” she called to them and strolled toward the house. She passed through the small orchard, caressing the blossoms scattered along the limbs.
She grabbed a basket in the kitchen, strolled to the interior garden and picked some tomatoes, lettuce, and a few herbs, then returned to the kitchen to make dinner. She put a pot of boiling water on for pasta and sautéed the tomatoes with onion and garlic. When dinner was ready, she sat on the little patio, gazing at the river in the heart of the valley.
Everything she had—her home, her barn, even the food she ate—the people around her had made possible. The once-disparate souls who had competed against each other for their land were now melding into a new community. Local areas had formed small volunteer fire and police departments and elected community leaders.
Since the house-raising, she’d only seen John occasionally and usually from a distance.
Both of them had a brutal workload of building a farm out of the wilderness.
A convenient crust had formed between them.
Under the big sky, Lowry sat quietly gazing over the undulating landscape and finished the glass of wine. She set the glass on the table and caressed the stem. But work alone did not make a life.
***
A chill wind drove Lowry from the patio and into the warm house. She took the dirty dishes back into the kitchen and placed them in the dishwasher. After she cleaned the kitchen, she walked toward the bedroom, with the lights fading behind her. She showered and brushed her teeth. With a yawn, she climbed into bed and slid under the covers. She called out, “Night, night.” The lights dimmed and the night shades rolled down.
In the early morning hours, her eyes shot open at the sound of Sparky’s shrill barking. She held her breath to listen over her wildly beating heart, but now there was only silence. Something was wrong. Quietly, she slipped out of bed, threw on her robe, and tiptoed toward the front of the house.
It was an overcast morning, and she peered through the dark shades to catch a glimpse of Sparky. In the dim light, she saw a figure standing near the stable. She sucked in her breath, then dropped to her knees to hide herself below the window. A stranger on her property. Thank god she hadn’t turned on any lights. Cautiously, she peeked over the window sill, and saw the man dragging something in the dirt toward the barn. She clapped her hand to her mouth—it was Sparky’s body he was dragging.
Heart pounding, she scuttled back to the bedroom, her mind spinning in fear. With shaking hands, she grabbed some clothes from her drawers, and snatched her phone from the nightstand. She dove into the closet and punched John’s number. While it rang, she jerked on her pants and threw a shirt over her head.
She crouched on a stool, whispering, “Answer, answer, answer!”
“Hello?” John said groggily.
In a hushed tone, she said, “John, this is Lowry—you’ve got to come quick!” Lowry choked, biting her lip. Her hands shook as she breathed deeply, struggling to control her fear. “Someone is here . . . and I, I think he killed Sparky.”
“My god! I’ll be right there.” He paused, and asked, “Lowry, do you have your gun?”
“Um, let me see.” She stood up, and stepped on top of the stool, fumbling through the clothes and boxes, until she found the pistol and a set of clips hidden on the top shelf.
John yelled into the phone, “Lowry, are you still there?”
“I was trying to find the pistol and, yes, I have it now.” Her heart beat a staccato, and exhaling, she stared at the gun in her hand. In a quiet voice, she said, “I’m going to try to get out of the house, before he”—her throat constricted in fear, and in a wane voice she continued—“finds me.”
“I’m leaving right now. I’ll call the police on my way. And Lowry—do whatever it takes to keep yourself safe.”
“I will, and thank you, John.” She hung up, and sat back onto the stool, listening over her thumping heart. Voices of two men talking filtered into the closet. God, there’s two of them.
With trembling fingers, she flipped on the flashlight of the phone. Turning the pistol upside down, she aimed the clip toward the magazine, but it slipped from her shaking hands and onto the floor with a clunk. Shit. She forced herself to breathe calmly. Okay, Lowry, you can do this. With a deep breath, she picked up the clip, and snapped it into the magazine.
Pistol in hand, she crawled to the closet door, and peered out, listening for the intruders. Nothing but an eerie silence in the house. She crept across the bedroom floor to the back window. If she could escape out the rear, she could climb the rocks and hide in one of a hundred crannies.
Lowry edged up and peeked through the window, then ducked. A man walked around the back of the house, now blocking her escape.
“I don’t see the woman, but she’s probably inside,” he called out.
Lowry’s heart beat faster and something in the pit of her stomach twisted like a knife. They knew she was alone. She clutched her throat at the sharp squeak of a crowbar prying open the front door. Shaking, she scrambled back across the floor and dove into the closet. She burrowed herself behind the hanging garments, pushing storage boxes in front of her feet.
Fear overcame her body under the smothering clothes and he bent forward to get more oxygen to her brain. It was the helplessness that was the worst. She didn’t know if they were armed or not. She had not heard a shot killing Sparky. Maybe they did
n’t have a gun, but they must have some kind of weapon. And there were two of them. One man she might be able to kill, but two?
Please John, hurry. How long would it take him—maybe fifteen minutes?
The bedroom door creaked open, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. The sound of footsteps, then thuds coming from her bedroom. He must be throwing things around in her room.
“Daddy, have you found her yet?” someone yelled from the other room.
“Nah,” the intruder ransacking her room, replied.
“Her hover is by the house. She must be here.”
The door to the closet slowly swung open, and her heart pounded at the sight of his dirty boots at the entrance. Light penetrated into the shadows hiding her, and “Daddy” stepped farther in and flicked on the light switch.
Lowry drew her body into a ball in the closet, staring at his red cap with an emblem of a black bear on the front. She listened to his hoarse breath as he searched for items to steal, cringing as the odor of his unwashed body hit her nostrils.
He brushed against the clothes she was hiding in and paused in front of her.
Her pulse thudded in her ears. She couldn’t move, not an inch, or they would find her. A silent prayer flitted through her mind as she listened to his ragged breathing. Please, God, if you can hear me, let them leave.
Daddy huffed and walked out of the closet.
After several minutes of silence, she began to think he’d left the house—or at least hoped he had given up.
A clump, clump sound of footsteps coming closer again. A shadow fell across the doorway of the closet. With a shudder, she pressed herself to the wall of the closet and aimed the pistol toward the shadow. The beat of her heart pounded in her head.
Suddenly, the shadow contorted, blocking the light from the bedroom, and a hand grabbed her arm, jerking her upwards. Daddy yelled, “Looky what I found, Jake!”
The pistol became tangled in the clothes, but she pulled the trigger as he wrenched her forward. He screamed out, “The bitch shot me!” And he dragged her out of the closet.
Daddy ripped the gun from her hand. With a grunt, he threw it across the room and the pistol skidded under a chest of drawers. Lowry launched herself at him, fighting like one possessed, kicking and biting. Daddy backed away, shrieking for help. His son, Jake, leapt into the room and grabbed her by the arms, holding them tight behind her.
Lowry gagged from the body odor of the man clasping her as she faced the older man, blood dribbling down the side of his head.
Jake grunted, “Are you hurt bad, Daddy?”
With an angry stare at Lowry, Daddy jerked the red cap off of his head and pushed his finger through the singed hole the bullet had taken through the edge. He dug a bandanna out, shoved the cap into his pocket, and wiped the blood from the wound. He tied the bandanna around his head with a grunt. “Nah, just grazed me.”
Lowry stared at the two men, her limbs weak with fear. Their hair was tangled and dirty, their clothes torn, and the stench in the room overpowering. They must have been sleeping out in the open for days.
Jake shoved her into the middle of the room.
Lowry shifted her eyes from one to the other. The look in their eyes revealed her danger as they rolled over her body. In a panic, she crossed her arms over her chest, holding herself together as she tried to think what to do. Without a weapon, there would be no escape unless she could outwit them until John arrived.
Glancing at his father, the younger man licked his lips. “Let’s screw her—it’ll serve the bitch right, shooting you like that.”
Revulsion gripped her. To keep her wits about her, she breathed deeply, staring from one to the other.
The older man smiled. “Don’t be so impatient, boy! Your granddad used to say, ‘Work before pleasure.’” Beneath a furrowed brow, his eyes stared at her, and slowly, his mouth curled into a scowl. With one eye twitching, he stepped closer.
She shrank backwards at his leering grin.
“First, she needs to tell us where the jewelry is.” In a flash, he snatched the back of her neck, jerking her toward his face. His foul breath struck her nostrils as he snarled, “Where’s the good stuff? You’ve got to have some somewhere, at least besides here.” He grabbed her crotch and squeezed.
Her heart went into her throat. Jake snickered. “Come on, let’s do her now!”
Lowry shot a look at Jake, her throat closing at the look in his eyes. She gritted her teeth, staring at the older man. “Let me show you where I keep my jewelry.”
The older man winked at Jake. “See, I knew she’d come around.” He released his grip on her and shoved her forward, almost onto her knees.
She walked toward the bedroom door.
Daddy snapped, “Where are you going?”
“The garden. You don’t think I’m so stupid to store my jewelry in the bedroom? It’s the first place a thief would look.”
He turned to Jake, pointing toward the side of the room. “Son, get the pistol, it’s under that dresser.”
Lowry sprang into the interior garden, palming a small pair of garden clippers off the table near the door. A minute later, Daddy and Jake stepped inside the garden behind her, furtively looking around.
She held the garden clippers at her side, muttering, “Now where did I bury the jewelry box?”
“We don’t have all day, lady.”
With a smirk, Jake followed close behind her, then gripped her butt. She twisted around and sliced at him with the garden shears.
Jake leapt back. Lowry felt the blades rip across his chest. Blood soaked through the tear in his shirt. With his teeth bared, he lunged toward her, and again she thrust the blades at him. He dodged the blow, but this time caught her by the wrist.
With a sharp twist to her arm, Jake shouted, “Drop it!”
Lowry shrieked in pain and dropped the bloody shears into the dirt. Jake pulled the pistol from his pants and pointed it at her head.
She shouted at Daddy, “Wait, let me find the jewelry box!”
Daddy snarled, “You had your chance, lady. Now it’s our turn!”
Jake slapped her hard, knocking her to the ground, and she lay dazed. He knelt, raking his hand across her chest and ripping her shirt open. With a growl, she bit his hand as he tore the rest of the shirt off. He leapt on top of her, clasping her forearms with one hand, and wrenching her pants open with the other.
She rotated her leg out from under him, kicking him in the side, and he fell back, cursing. She rolled over, reaching for the leg of the garden table, but he grabbed her ankle, twisting hard. Screeching in pain, she flipped back and spat in his face.
He snatched her hair and shoved his face into hers. “You bitch!” Then he punched her in the mouth.
Flashes burst in front of her eyes, and she felt him rip the rest of her pants off. In a wave of fury, she sunk her teeth into his other hand, holding on to his skin as the metallic taste of his blood rushed into her mouth. Jake backhanded her and her face slammed into the dirt.
Barely conscious, she lay staring at the bank of windows along the front of the garden.
The older man moved over to them, spun her onto her back, and held her shoulders down. Jake stripped off the rest of her clothes and pushed open her legs. Through a haze, she could see him kneeling with his pants around his knees—and the grin on his face.
A shadow crossed the room.
“Get off of her!” John kicked Jake in mid-body, pitching him away from her.
Gaping at the shotgun pointing at him, Daddy backed up and threw up his hands.
“You animals!” John snarled, pivoting the barrel of the shotgun between the two men.
With a groan, Jake sat up, rubbing his head with his hand.
Lowry curled onto her side, covering her nakedness. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jake slip his other hand behind his back, scrambling for something in the dirt. She screamed as he raised the pistol toward John’s chest. “He’s got the gun!”
&
nbsp; John spun, blasting quickly before Jake could pull the trigger.
Jake’s face exploded. Bits of flesh and blood splattered across the garden. She clenched her jaw to keep from retching, staring at the bloody mass of ground meat that seconds ago had been a face. The blood oozed into the soil under Jake’s body. Lowry caught the stench of body fluids and her stomach convulsed.
“Get away from her.” John’s voice boomed out as he aimed the shotgun at the older man’s head. “Get flat on the ground or you’re next.” John moved closer, driving his boot into the father’s chest, and he landed flat with a grunt.
Lowry sat up, plucking the shreds of her clothes with her hand.
“Are you all right?” John asked Lowry, without turning his head.
“Yes. Thank god, you came before they—” Staggering up, her legs shook. Averting her eyes from what was left of Jake, she stumbled out of the garden and into the bathroom. Her legs trembled as she sank onto the bench. She felt something on her shoulder and reached up to brush it off, but shuddered at the realization it was bits of Jake’s flesh. Bile bubbled up into her throat. She got up and started to fill the tub. The hot water flowed into the bath, and swaying, she caught the edge with her hand to steady herself.
She heard John tie up Daddy with grunts and kicks.
John came into the bathroom and took Lowry into his arms, rocking her gently as he stroked her tangled hair. When the bath was ready, he slipped his arms around her body and lowered her in like a baby. The water turned pink as he washed the blood off her skin. He drained it away, then turned on the hand shower, rinsing her clean with fresh water. He helped her out and dried her off, then draped a robe around her. He shielded her eyes from the bloody scene with his body as they walked past the garden.
