Pythagoras Falls

by S A Ison

  Yuma said nothing, though smiled. Yes, he thought, John Wayne would be proud.

  Ω

  Ellensburg, WA

  Monica felt her boot jerk, and she slowly came awake. She felt it again and realized something had hit her foot.

  “You’re bleeding all over my hay.” Someone said, and she felt another kick to her foot. She jerked up and gasped, her wrist sending hot fire up her arm. She clutched the stump to her chest and looked up. Sun was streaming in between the slats of the barn, haloing a man who stood over her. She squinted her eyes, looking up.

  She tried to speak, but her mouth was so dry, she choked.

  “Come on inside and let’s see if we can’t get you cleaned up. Do you need me to help you stand?” He asked in a long-suffering voice. Monica shook her head and shifted her body and stood. She grabbed her backpack and followed the figure out of the barn. The sun hurt her eyes and she squinted and tried to shade her eyes. She shivered in the cool morning air. She looked around her, and saw that frost sparkled from every surface and glittered in the morning sunshine. The man was ahead of her and walked toward a faded farmhouse. The paint had peeled long ago, leaving silver slatted wood beneath.

  It was quiet around her, but for the morning birds, who sang with such joy, it brought a soft smile to her lips. The dead grass beneath her boots crunched. It was then she noticed that the man ahead of her, carried a shotgun. She blinked, knowing that he could have shot her in her sleep. She had stopped the night before, exhausted beyond words, and found the barn and the hay and had just fallen into it. She hadn’t cared, she was at the end of her rope and hovered between the desire to live and to just lay down and die.

  She had been walking for nearly a week and her body was screaming with pain and exhaustion. She had run out of water the day before and was terrified to drink from an unclean source. She nearly tripped, but caught herself and she heard the door open at the farmhouse.

  “Oh, my goodness, Holt, what have you got there?” A woman cried and Monica saw a gnome like woman coming down the steps of the house.

  “Found her in the barn, bleeding all over the hay.” Holt said, though he didn’t sound angry to Monica.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Holt, help her into the house. Can’t you see she’s about to drop?” The woman said, and turned, going back into the house. The man, who looked to be in his mid-sixties, turned and looked at her, his brow raising?

  “I’m okay.” Monica managed to croak out and Holt grunted and came back to her and put a hand under her good arm. Monica appreciated his help, as he lifted her slightly. She managed not to trip on the steps and came into the warmth of the farmhouse. Monica’s mouth began to water as she smelled fresh bread and her stomach growled loudly. She could feel the heat bloom on her face as Holt looked down at her.

  “I do the same thing; gal. Teresa bakes a mean loaf.” Holt laughed, sounding like dry leaves rustling. He led the way into the large, well-lit kitchen. The sun was streaming through several large windows. Monica could see empty fields beyond, sparkling in the sunshine.

  “Here, dear, have a seat, before you fall.” Teresa clucked, pulling out a wooden chair. Monica stifled a groan as she sat, dropping her backpack to the floor.

  “She’s bleeding, her, uh, stump.” Holt said, looking from his wife to Monica.

  “Well, go get the first aid box and bring it here.” Teresa said in exasperation, shaking her head. She brought a cup of steaming coffee over and set it before Monica. Monica felt her eyes prickle with tears, it had been the first kindness since Mike had helped her escape the nightmare of Seattle. She had been chased and shot at during the last five days. It seemed like rape and murder was the only things she came across. She wiped at her eyes and heard Teresa clucking beside her, the woman patting her shoulder.

  “It’s okay dear, you’re safe now. Drink some coffee and I’ll cut you some bread and we’ll put a bit of butter and jam on it.”

  Monica could only nod her head as she picked up the cup and sipped at the dark brew. She felt it seep into the coldness, that wasn’t just from the cold. The heat tendrilled through her, and ended up in her brain, burning away the fog.

  “Thank you, so very much. I’m Monica.” She said, wiping her face. Holt came back into the kitchen, carrying a worn wooden box.

  “Help her with her coat, Holt. Let’s see if we can’t get her cleaned up.” Teresa ordered as she turned to the sink. Monica shifted and moved her body as the older man helped her off with her coat. He was careful when pulling the coat off her injured arm. Teresa returned with a bowl of steaming water and a handful of towels.

  “What on earth happened, Monica?” Teresa asked, taking out a pair of scissors from the first aid box. They were small and sharp. The woman carefully clipped the bloody bandages.

  “The Chinese and Russians have invaded the United States.” Monica said, watching the woman remove the soiled bandages. Monica had changed the dressing when she could, but it had been difficult one handed.

  “What?” Both Holt and Teresa exclaimed at the same time. Monica nodded and gritted her teeth when Teresa began to gently wash the wound.

  “We heard rumors, but couldn’t believe it. I’ve been talking to some friends down in California, and they were hearing rumors about the Mexicans helping the Americans down in San Diego, fight foreign forces. But that just sounded too crazy to be true.” Holt said, shaking his head and setting down at the table. He had a cup of coffee and Monica noticed that it shook in his hands.

  “This looks a little irritated Monica.”

  “I have antibiotics, I just ran out of water yesterday, so I couldn’t take them.” Monica reached down for her bag and pulled it to her lap. Holt reached over when she was struggling to open it. He easily unzipped the bag and handed it back. Digging around, her hands found the bottle. She handed it over to Holt, who opened it and shook out a pill. Monica popped it in her mouth and drank the coffee.

  “Cut her some bread Holt, I think she’ll need food with that medication.” Teresa was now dabbing the water off the stump and she pulled out a tube of ointment and began to carefully spread it over the stitches.

  “They came to Seattle nearly a month ago. They promised food and aid and so many people came out of hiding. I’m a doctor and so I came out with a friend, Mike, who is also a doctor. We went back to the hospital, to see if we could help. At first, everything was okay. We were working with the Chinese doctors.” Monica said, taking the plate with a large thick slice of bread. Her stomach growled loudly again. Golden butter was spread on the bread and was even now melting into the warm crevasses. A bright red, strawberry jam was laced over top. Biting into the bread, Monica moaned as the warmth and sweetness spread into her mouth.

  She chewed slowly, her eyes shut and letting the deliciousness of it fill her soul. She opened her eyes to see the older couple grinning at her. She grinned back.

  “This is the best thing I’ve eaten for months!” Monica said.

  “Told ya, Teresa makes the best bread.” Holt said, getting himself a large slice.

  “Things were going pretty good, the soldiers kept the violence down and Mike and I worked with the Chinese doctors, seeing patients. Then some General arrive in Seattle, along with his contingency of Russian troops. A major came to the hospital and announced that his men would be choosing wives from the local women, who were young and healthy enough.”

  “What?” Teresa said, she stopped wrapping Monica’s wrist. Monica nodded.

  “Yes, apparently, China has so many more males, that when they came to the United States, they planned to use Americans to supply their women. We were told if we didn’t marry, we would be mutilated.” Monica said bitterly, holding up her stump. Both Holt and Teresa gasped in horror.

  “There was a major who wanted me, and I said no. He was going to just hack off my hand, right there and then. My friend, Mike begged and pleaded to do an operation to remove my hand. He had bargained his own life and servitude to the major. Once I
was healed, I was to be handed over to the troops, as their plaything.”

  Teresa sat down heavily in the chair beside Monica, all the color leaving her face. Her large brown eyes looked like shining buttons, sunken into her face. Teresa’s bottom lip wobbled a bit, then firmed up and there was a dangerous glint in the brown depths.

  “Those dirty, rotten, bastards.” She hissed.

  “Yes, Mike snuck me out that same night, after the surgery. He saved my life, but I don’t know if they killed him. He seemed to think that he’d be safe, since no one saw us leave. I’ve tried to tell people I’ve come across to be afraid of the Russians and Chinese. They are here as our captors, not as anything remotely friendly. When I had come out of recovery, I heard two Chinese doctors talking. My Chinese isn’t great, but I learned enough from my grandmother and mother to know that what they have planned and it isn’t good for anyone.” Monica said, stopping to drink more coffee. Teresa finished with the bandages and cleaned up around the table. She then came back and sat down, reaching a hand over to squeeze Monica’s hand.

  “This is unreal. First, we hear rumors about our own government doing this to us. Then we hear about it was the North Koreans. There is so much bullshit flying around out there.” Holt said darkly.

  “Well, I can only tell you what the doctors said. They were speaking about testing their patients and getting patient histories. That is nothing unusual. Then one of the doctors said something about transplants. I don’t know if you know about this, but China uses prisoners of conscience, from the Falun Gong and Christian members, to harvest their organs for transplants. They kill thousands of prisoners for their organs. It’s been going on the last couple decades.”

  “Oh my god in heaven. No, we didn’t know.” Teresa said, sorrow cutting deep lines in her face.

  “It’s China’s dirty little secret, but the rest of the world is catching on and refuse to let their people obtain illegal transplant organs. From what it sounds like, they plan to use Americans the same way. So, they will be using the women for wives or whores or organ parts. They will use the men as well.”

  “How in the hell can we stop them?” Holt asked, shaking his head.

  “I’ve been trying to tell people I come across, but either they try to shoot me, rape me or steal what I have.” Monica said, shaking her head.

  “Well, I can get on my radio and spread the word. And I can make it plain, that it isn’t a rumor, but true.” Holt said, a determined glint in his faded blue eyes. Monica nodded and sighed.

  “Where were you going Monica? I mean, before you stopped here?” Teresa asked, getting up to get the pot of coffee. She held an old blue enamel coffee pot with a worn pot holder and poured Holt more coffee. At her questioning look, Monica nodded and lifted her cup for a refill. The steam of it curled up in lazy tendrils and Monica brought the cup to her mouth and sipped. Leaning over, she moved her hand around in her backpack and came out with a bottle of pain killers. She handed the bottle to Teresa, who opened it and shook out a pill.

  Monica had trouble with the childproof lids, and had fought opening the bottles of pain meds and antibiotics each time she needed them. She was learning to live with one hand, but she didn’t like it. She was grateful that her left hand hadn’t been taken. It was her dominate hand.

  “I’m heading east, I want to get away from the west coast, as far as possible.” Monica said, after taking her pill.

  “Should we be worried, we aren’t that far from Seattle.” Teresa worried.

  “I don’t know. I think there is trouble brewing between the Russians and the Chinese. One of the doctors said something about another transport ship with more Chinese troops and they would take care of the smaller Russian troops that were already on the ground. It sounds like the Russians are here, but that the Chinese will be taking them out. I just don’t know.”

  “I think if they do come east, it will be a slow process. This is a big country and if there is infighting, then that might slow them down. If I can get word out, and the Chinese meet resistance, heck, maybe they can be slowed down.” Holt said, shrugging.

  “I think Holt will agree with me, Monica, you’re more than welcome to stay with us.” The older woman said, laying a hand over Monica’s arm.

  “I wish I could, but I just feel the need to move farther east. Those people are crazy, and I don’t think I’ll feel safe until I’m farther away.”

  “I have a brother, that lives east of here, near Kellogg, Idaho. That’s roughly sixty miles or so from Spokane. If you can get to Spokane, just stay on interstate 90, heading east. He lives off grid with his family. I can let him know you’re coming. He and I talk on the Ham, I can let him know you’re coming.” Holt offered and Monica felt her eyes sting with tears. She nodded, unable to say a word, her throat was choked up.

  “My brother, Joe, will also spread the word about the Chinese. Our network spiderwebs most of the country. But we can get our word out.” Holt nodded.

  “Before we send her out on her own again, let’s get her healed a bit. Also, pack her more food and water. Can you also set up relays, so when she leaves, she has safe places to stay?” Teresa asked.

  “Let me think, and let me chart out a route and talk to some contacts.” Holt said, leaning back in his chair, his hand rubbing his stubbled chin, making a soft rasping noise. He smiled at Monica and nodded.

  “Gal, you relax for a few days and build up your strength. Let me get on my radio and see what we can do.” He grinned. For the first time in months, Monica felt hope, and let her body relax in the chair.

  TWELVE

  Fargo, GA

  Kena walked quietly along the dirt road. It was near three am and the air was cool around her. She had on a black flannel jacket and dark blue jeans. Her step was light and her vision clear, she was accustomed to the night. She could feel that spring was right around the corner, the days growing warmer. She and Alice had already planted their gardens. Blake had helped the women and had done much of the heavy digging and hoeing. He had also strung up deer netting and built up a fence around each garden. They had started their seeds several weeks before and with the dried chicken poop she’d saved, they were able to fertilize both gardens.

  “I’ve never grown a garden before.” Alice had been thrilled and apprehensive when they had started the seeds.

  “We have pretty good soil here, not that clay stuff. Plus, I dry my chicken poop and use that. Really makes the difference.” Kena had explained. Alice had wanted to go with her tonight, but Kena had said no. Alice was a sweet woman, but Kena thought that going and killing people would change that sweet soul. No, Kena had no problem with killing assholes and when word had reached her there were two scumbags raping and pillaging, Kena thought that a little excursion would be just the thing.

  The women had been visiting Clementine, and they were going over home remedies. Travis had been playing on the front porch and Blake had been digging in Clementine’s garden. Blake had been very generous with his help, and the women had watched while the man dug around and hoed the rich soil. One of Clementine’s friends had stopped by, and had mentioned that a couple of no goods were troubling some of the homes.

  “Homes with men, they ain’t got to worry. But the ones that just got women, well, that’s a different matter.” The woman had complained.

  It was a couple of local boys, though Kena didn’t know their names. But she did know where they lived, or at least Clementine knew.

  “I think I might pay those rascals a visit.” Kena grinned, patting her AR15.

  “I want to go too.” Alice had volunteered, looking over at her husband, who couldn’t hear their plotting.

  “No, Travis needs you, and if something goes wrong, both Blake and that boy will miss you.” Kena said, shaking her head. Alice had started to protest, but Kena lifted a hand to stop her.

  “No, Alice. You did great killing that trash, when he was going to hurt me. But cold-blooded killing is a different kettle of fish. No, you’r
e not made for that. You’re just now getting to know the lay of the land. Don’t worry, I’ll enjoy this for the both of us.”

  Kena grunted in amusement at the memory. Alice hadn’t been happy, but she was sure that Blake would thank her for saving his wife, if he knew. Alice had tasted the thrill of the kill and had not shunned it. But, killing someone in the heat of fear or passion was a lot easier than just walking up to someone and shooting them. Kena turned her head when she heard rustling in the bushes. She saw the dim silhouette of an opossum. It ambled along, undisturbed by her presence. It had rained earlier in the day and the woods around her still held the scent of it. The tree frogs were singing and she could hear bullfrogs croaking somewhere.

  “Frog legs sound about right for dinner.” She told the indifferent opossum. She’d see later today, if Blake would do a little bit of gigging for her. He’d become very agreeable to hunting for her, be it squirrel, fish or pig. He’d killed a wild piglet two days ago and had given her some of the meat. It had been wonderful.

  She saw the house in question, it had taken her over an hour to walk to it. Around her, the sparse homes were dark and quiet. She was glad there were no dogs around, otherwise, they’d raise the alarm. Once she shot the two miscreants, she’d wake the dead, but she could easily slip away, if anyone cared to investigate. Life was hard enough without two assholes making it worse. Since she didn’t have to worry about a police investigation, Kena felt no restraint to go out and punch a couple of tickets.

  Though her body was bent, she still moved with ease. The yard of the target house was completely trashed and she shook her head. How could people willingly live in such filth? She carefully navigated the yard, avoiding the deep shadows, since she would have a more difficult time in seeing what was tossed on the ground. Going to the back of the house, she tried the door. It was unlocked. She smiled. Though she lived out in the sticks, Kena knew enough to keep her door locked. She didn’t have a dog to warn her.