The Hunger's Howl

by A. D. Popovich

  Is Justin alive? She closed her eyes and focussed on her inner vision. “Where are you, Justin?” she yelled internally. The probing started. She thrust it back so swiftly she almost fell back on the lower bunkbed.

  Chapter 31

  Ella laid her head against the back of the tub, rejoicing in the warm water. It brought her back to a time of innocence. She was a little girl again, and Mama was there, giving her a bath. “Ella, you’re safe now. Relax.” Mama always knew how to make her feel better.

  Ella sank farther into the water, willing the water to wash away her fears and pains. Hopelessness. She let go of her constant struggle to find the bravery hiding in the depths of her soul. She just let go, melting into the water—as if she had morphed into the water droplets. The peaceful feeling of merely being, not the endless fight for survival.

  The faraway sounds of a baby’s cries brought her back from the place of serenity she had slipped into. Poor little Miguel. It sounds like he needs a fresh diaper. Mama’s always too busy running the restaurant, and Papa’s always driving from town to town looking for construction jobs.

  “In a minute, little Miguel,” she murmured, basking in the liquid tranquility. Ella sank a little deeper into the revitalizing bath. The water cleansed her body, cleansed her soul, cleansed her thoughts. She didn’t want this moment to go away.

  “Don’t get up,” Mama coaxed. “I’ll take care of him.”

  Ella closed her eyes again, willing sleep to consume her. Her dreams took her to another world, a world of mesmerizing lights and cosmic music. Angels sang. A woman with platinum hair smiled down at her. My very own angel! Ella’s head tingled with delight, while she imagined every cell in her body rejuvenating. The angel was talking to her, but she only heard mystical music.

  The balling turned to gasping screams. Miguel was pitching a fit. She reached her fingers around the edge of the tub to get up, slipping. She panicked, bringing her out of the blissful state. Miguel! She was neglecting her baby brother because she was too tired and lazy to get out of the tub. I’d better get up. If Papa comes home and hears little Miguel, he’ll start yelling at Mama, complaining I’m not watching him good enough. Papa’s face appeared. His loving smile, the way he used to smile at her before the stock market had crashed, and he couldn’t get any jobs, and before they ran out of money. I miss you, Papa. Mama’s face appeared all aura-like. “Take care of him,” the words chimed internally. Mama and Papa looked down at her as if they were mystical beings, gazing down from the heavens. Their auras swirled together in a pinwheel of dancing lights. She basked in their love. Even more profound, she melted into their essence; the essence of their love from which she had been created.

  ***

  Ella woke with a start. The water was cold. Little Miguel lay on her chest. “Ew, what’s he doing?” She jerked up to find a baby suckling her breast. “OMG, I’m dreaming this?” she freaked. It wasn’t little Miguel. Miguel was two. Miguel had died. And Papa had saved her from him after he had turned—demonic.

  Ella thrashed in the tub. Mama took little Miguel, stopped him from suckling her breast. “Loco dreams.” She rubbed her eyes. “Huh?” It wasn’t Mama standing above her. It was a different woman. A woman she used to know, who had died. “Scarlett?”

  “Ella, it is you!” Scarlett had tears in her eyes.

  There was no mistake. It was Scarlett. “Scarlett from Roseville?” Ella gasped.

  “That’s me.”

  “You’re dead . . . that mean’s I’m dead?”

  Scarlett gave her an enduring, dimpled smile. “Believe me, we are alive and well. How are you feeling?”

  “Everything hurts,” Ella moaned. “You had a baby?” Ella looked longingly at the newborn squirming and whimpering in Scarlett’s arms.

  “Uh, Ella, this is your baby!”

  They were the most beautiful words she had ever heard. I have a baby! Memories flooded in, memories of life before the Super Summer flu, memories of Mama, Papa, and little Miguel. Then horrid memories of demons. Then a different memory. Justin. That’s when she remembered that one night with Justin nearly nine months ago. The night they had conceived her baby. Their baby!

  “What’s his name?” Scarlett asked.

  “Mijo, my son!” She knew exactly what to name him. Miguel, in memory of her baby brother.

  “I’m afraid to ask. Is Justin all right?” Scarlett asked hesitantly.

  Ella had to think. Her recent memories blurred together. She remembered a carriage. Demons. She had knocked them off the carriage with a broom. A stranger had saved her. Then he had set the carriage on fire. She remembered running into the flame-covered carriage to save her baby. Ella stared blankly. Where’s Justin?

  “Give it time. It will come to you,” Scarlett said sweetly.

  Ella had to know. Had to remember. Then she remembered Father Jacob and his strange followers. The Sacred Thirty-three.

  “The water’s cold. I’ll help you dress,” Scarlett said, helping her out of the tub.

  “Sure,” Ella said, still trying to remember where Justin was. Are you alive? She twirled the pearl earring.

  “Yes.” It was his voice.

  Chapter 32

  Scarlett peeked out the caboose’s window. It was dawn, and already a line of people waited at the closed doors of her boxcar. She had sold out of fish every day for the past several days. Ella helped out at the store during the lunch rush while Twila watched baby Miguel in their secret playhouse. Jeez Louise, how did I manage all of this by myself?

  This week two caravans had rolled in. She often wondered how everyone found their trading post out in the middle of the New Mexican desert. She supposed the railroad tracks lured the travelers, knowing they’d eventually get to Texas if they followed them. Several wagon caravans from Colorado had come and gone earlier this week. They hadn’t been as haggard as the people coming from the West Coast. But it was June; she wondered how the refugees would survive the high desert’s blistering summer heat. She planned to be long gone soon.

  Business was booming. She’d finally earned Last State citizen fees for all four of them. Ella wanted to go with them, and she couldn’t exactly leave the baby and her at Last Chance. Unfortunately, Scarlett had to wait for Sheena. After careful consideration, her logical mind advised that the Loomis armored truck Sheena had secured from runners was the safest way to travel. Ella hadn’t fully recovered from childbirth and certainly couldn’t ride a horse twenty miles a day for the two- to three-week journey to Immigrant Station. Why risk it when the armored truck could make the journey in half a day, especially with increasing reports of marauders and hordes?

  Zac never returned as his endearing smile had promised. She supposed it was better that way. No unruly heart to deal with, and no worries about him wanting Twila back. Meanwhile, she was busier than ever. People clamored to work for her. She had acquired fishing nets, which were extremely efficient. She received several fresh catches throughout the day, hauled in wagons, no more horseback deliveries of a measly dozen of fish. If her smokehouse had been a franchise, she’d be a millionaire. Scarlett had also added a side business. Pharmaceuticals, which had also been quite profitable. She was surprised how many people had medicines to trade. The sad truth behind it was when family members died, they no longer needed the prescriptions they had raided from pharmacies across the country. Refugees arrived in desperate need of anything from painkillers to anxiety drugs to antidepressants to thyroid medicine to blood pressure medicine; you name it, except for the medications requiring refrigeration.

  After a quick breakfast, Scarlett kissed Twila on the forehead. “I’d better go grab those sales before my competition gets them,” Scarlett said, referring to the line outside her boxcar.

  “Do you want help?” Ella asked.

  “Not now. Only three customers. Meet me at the usual time to help with the lunch crowd,” Scarlett said. Ella had been a lifesaver watching Twila and keeping her occupied. Twila’s new favorite game was playing
Mommy with baby Miguel. It was a great improvement from her imaginary friends at the treehouse.

  Scarlett strolled to her boxcar, taking in the peacefulness of the morning. Instead, a heavy cloud of angst seemed to shroud the desert’s breathtaking sunrise. But she was too busy to worry about it.

  “Good morning,” she greeted. “Give me five minutes.” Scarlett opened the heavy cargo door halfway, pulled down the metal ramp, and then centered the plywood counter in front of the boxcar’s opening. She stacked the fish and arranged her wares. Long gone were the sunglasses and ball caps.

  She spotted Sheena making her rounds, chatting with the guards posted around the perimeter. Sheena didn’t usually open until noon, spending most of her time organizing everyone and everything, keeping the camp functioning smoothly. The refugees hauled water from the river, cleaned the portable toilets, ran the corral, and served as tour guides to the new arrivals. They even had a planning committee where people discussed the pros and cons of the different routes to Texas. Keeping everyone busy instead of moping around waiting to die was great for the camp’s morale.

  Sheena raked in the bucks, overcharging for her weaponry and ammo because she could. She had earned her outrageous proprietorship fee to open a bakery in Boom Town. All she needed was the capital to buy equipment and supplies. Her runners were more successful than Scarlett’s, probably because they were well-armed, and Sheena could afford to pay them more upon their return for the ammo, guns, fuel, and baking supplies they scavenged in the creeper-infested cities like Albuquerque and Santa Fe.

  There was occasional trouble at their trading post, but that’s what the guards were for. Most didn’t risk getting kicked out. The camp offered a false sense of safety in its people-friendly environment. Still, no one stayed too long. Only long enough to rest or buy the supplies they needed to get to Immigrant Station. Scarlett had only recently found out about the mandatory quarantine strictly enforced by Immigrant Station. Once one passed the blood test, and was chipped and registered into the database, all one had to do was secure the payment arrangements at First State Bank and book the trip. Although, she didn’t like the microchipping part. A little too New World Order. If that’s what it took to have a normal life again, it would be worth it despite her personal beliefs.

  Strange, no one ever returned from Immigrant Station except for the few brave cross-country guides who stopped to trade supplies. Did it mean all the refugees leaving Last Chance had made it into Last State? Did they all have the citizenship fee? Apparently, Texas was taking everyone, contrary to what Sheena had said.

  Scarlett tied on a waitress apron over her overalls, complete with a notepad and pen for the bulk orders. She glanced around her little store. Guess I’m ready. “What would you like?” she said to the first man in the line.

  “Forty pounds of the cheapest fish you’ve got?” he said, dumping the contents of a worn-velvet jewelry bag onto the counter.

  Jeez, she didn’t want to get wiped out of product in her first hour. She eyed the over-sized diamond ring, 4-5 carats based on Sheena’s schooling. The gold was worth more than the diamond. She grabbed the vanity mirror, streaked with countless scratches. She swiped it firmly across the glass. Definitely diamond. A diamond that size was probably set in 24-carat gold. She verified the 24K gold stamp with the loupe.

  “I’ll have it for you by tomorrow. When are you leaving?” People usually gave her a few days notice for a bulk order since they had to give their horses a break anyway.

  “Hell, no! We’re leaving this death camp today.”

  She hesitated, calculating. His purchase would leave her with ten pounds of fish until the next batch was ready. She wavered. The gold called to her. Afterall, she’d need extra money once they made it to Last State for things like rent, food, and clothes until she found a teaching job.

  “Sold!” she said, daydreaming about a classroom full of eager students. She loaded the scale until it reached 40.3 pounds. “How’s that?” She pointed to the scale. He merely nodded and quickly stuffed the fish in his pack. The man seemed in a hurry. “Traveling by wagon or horseback?” Scarlett inquired, excited about his journey.

  “Word to the wise, stay here too long, and you’re liable to turn into one of them!” He turned on his heels and left.

  A disconcerting wave of energy rolled over her. Dizzy, she closed her eyes and stumbled back. A misty image swirled around. The mist parted, and the Silver Lady’s face made a surprise appearance. It had been a long time since she’d heard from her. “It’s time,” the Silver Lady’s words poured like liquid silvery-light into the center of Scarlett’s forehead.

  “You all right?” the next person in line asked.

  Scarlett regained her composure. It was a warning. The back of her neck tingled. Her feet tingled. And her hands started tingling. She quickly helped the customers and then set out a sign informing she’d re-open at noon. She wanted to find out if Sheena had any reports of nearby hordes, but first, she needed to check the batch of fish on the coals.

  The area behind her boxcar’s storefront entrance had been turned into her smoking area, fenced off with stacked sandbags to give her privacy since beyond that were the bathrooms and showers. She was contemplating the vision when she was interrupted by her hired help, delivering their first catch of the day.

  “Thanks, Hank.” She could always rely on his team. They cleaned and delivered on a regular basis. Morning and late afternoon. She didn’t hassle them about their twenty percent cut, and they didn’t hassle her about gold. Never pay with gold; it was Sheena’s philosophy. “If you see Sheena, please tell her to drop by.”

  “Will do.” Hank tipped his hat as they rode off.

  While waiting for Sheena, she prepared the catches of fish trickling in. She had learned several smoked fish hacks back at the treehouse, which gave her an edge over her competition. After a heated discussion, Sheena had leased the first boxcar behind the engine to a meat vendor due to the cut of the sales he bribed her with. The decision had strained their friendship a bit. They sold barbecued bison, rabbit, snake, whatever meat they could get. But the meat was tough, no flavor. And they didn’t make deals with people. She supposed the weary refugees didn’t really care what the meat tasted like when they were starving. Scarlett was lost in deep thought when Sheena finally made it to her.

  “Your crush is back,” Sheena practically sang. “Zac just rode in. He’s trying to steal two of my guards.”

  Scarlett froze, not bothering to hide her anxiety. Hmm, Zac’s here after my first vision in months. “Well, I don’t have time for him. I’ve got more fish than I can smoke,” Scarlett huffed.

  “Oh, you’re shy. So sweet,” Sheena teased, missing Scarlett’s point.

  “It’s not that. I’ve got this feeling something’s about to happen. Something bad. I think we should leave. Today!” Scarlett announced.

  “We’ve got more guards than ever. If the shit hits the fan, we’ll be the first to know. You’re just nervous. Anyway, we can’t leave today. I’m waiting on my runners. I used the fuel on my last run to Boom Town.”

  “When are they due back?” Scarlett cringed. They were stuck there.

  “Soon, just hang on a little longer. We’re about to make some moolah. According to Krasinski, the mother of all wagon trains is heading this way. After that, I’ll be ready to leave. I’m not BSing you this time. I’ve been busy all day finagling deals to sell the rights to the caboose and boxcars. Might as well make moolah from both ends,” Sheena said.

  “Always the wheeler-dealer.” Scarlett sighed, brushing away her unreasonable fear.

  “There’s Reynolds. Gotta go. He wants a shot at the caboose bid. Hey, we’ll be outta here soon. Promise,” Sheena yelled back as she left.

  After the lunch crowd, Scarlett tended the smokers while Ella watched the children in the caboose. She had finally finished with the last of the fish when Kelly’s crew rode up in a horse-driven cart. They had been MIA for two days, and she worried th
ey had died or were trading with her competition.

  “Lewis, we need to re-ne-gotiate.” The words were almost threatening. “Got a hundred pounds here,” Kelly bragged, eyeing his crew, rolling the barrel inside her enclosed area. “You want it—you gotta pay me with gold.”

  Scarlett was taken aback. She had already renegotiated with Kelly two times. Stressed, tired, hot, and frankly not in the mood to deal with his price bickering, she snapped back, “If you want gold, set up your own damn shop.”

  She was answered by the racking of his Winchester. “What? You’re going to shoot me?”

  “I’ve shot a man for less,” he bragged. The other two men avoided eye contact with her and stood by the makeshift gate as if expecting trouble.

  Great, Kelly thinks this is the Wild West. Hmm, I guess it is. She drew the gun from her holster. Scarlett was a sharpshooter with a rifle but not as precise with the 9mm. She couldn’t let off three rounds before one of the three shot her. Then again, they might be bad shots. Jeez, what am I thinking? I can’t kill three men over dead fish.

  “I don’t want your flippin’ fish,” she cackled back and cocked her gun.

  The smug expression on his face disappeared, replaced with shock. She wanted to laugh, and she probably would have if she hadn’t been so tired and pissed. She believed in good karma, always giving her customers and hired help good deals, so when they tried to blatantly cheat her, she absolutely couldn’t handle it; must be the school teacher in her. She was done working with them.

  “Now, don’t be goin’ all crazy on me,” Kelly started backpedaling. “What’s fair is fair. And fair is gold.”

  “In case you haven't noticed, not many people have gold,” she remained firm. Her anger had subsided, and concern crept in. Three against one. Not good odds.

  He waved his gun in the air. “Don’t play stupid with me you girly-boy.”

  This time she did laugh. She could see how people might be confused about her gender, she dressed like a man but looked feminine, and her voice was either fakey low or too high for a man. She must look like a peculiar country bumpkin with her oversized overalls, oversized hat, and soot-covered cheeks to disguise her fair complexion.