Issa pulled Tanner’s hand down to her stomach.
“Do you feel that?”
“Uh, sure.”
“This isn’t about propagation.” Her voice caught in her throat. “It’s about being a mother. That’s something most women want. I need to show them it’s possible.”
Tanner didn’t like the sound of where things were heading.
“Show them how?”
She took a breath. “I need to return to Mount Weather to tell Mother and the rest of the women about this. I owe them that much.”
“Darlin’, call me old-fashioned, but you’re in no condition to go traipsing across the country.”
Issa straightened in her chair, a flame sparking in her eyes.
“What are you saying?” she hissed. “That carrying your child has made me weak?”
Tanner was once again reminded that Issa was not a woman for the faint of heart.
“Easy, Tiger,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it that way, and you know it. I’m only saying that being pregnant requires some extra care. Surely even you would agree with that.”
Issa’s glare softened, but only a little.
“Of course it does. But I’m not a frail flower. Not today. Not ever. Don’t you forget that, Tanner Raines.”
He nodded, thankful that he hadn’t stoked the fire any hotter. A fight with Issa could easily come to blows. Whether it was the infected blood pumping through her body or simply her raw warrior spirit that led to such fury, he couldn’t say. All he knew for sure was that a happy Issa was a good Issa.
“How about this?” he offered calmly. “When Sam and I get back, we’ll go and tell Mother for you.”
Issa shook her head. “Without Jarvis’s blood in your veins, they would kill you before you could even get close enough to speak to her. Besides, they need to see me like this to know that it’s true.”
“Then we’ll find another way.”
“Like how?”
Tanner pressed his lips together, mulling over options. None were very good.
“I don’t know,” he said, patting her hand. “But we’ll figure out a way. I promise.”
Issa stared at him a long time before finally nodding.
“All right.” She stood up, leaning back slightly to let her belly clear the table. “Now, we need to get the two of you ready for your trip tomorrow. You’re going to need clothes, food, and weapons.” There was both determination and an undeniable heaviness to her voice.
“Issa,” he said, standing up and reaching for her. She allowed herself to be pulled close but did not look up at him. “If it were up to me, I’d stay here with you. You know that.”
“Some things are beyond our choosing. We can only do them and hope that our loved ones will forgive us in time.”
“And how long is it going to take you to forgive me for going away like this?”
She pressed her body against his.
“I’ve already forgiven you.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. When she spoke into his ear, her voice was barely above a whisper. “This has been a beautiful time for me. I want you to know that.”
“We’ll only be gone for a couple of days,” he said, trying to reassure her.
She leaned back and looked up into his eyes.
“Promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to come home, no matter how hard the world tries to stop you.”
“I promise.”
Issa glanced over at Samantha, who was staring at her book but clearly listening with both ears.
“Don’t worry about her either,” Tanner murmured. “I’ll keep her safe.”
“Of that I’m certain. The Devil himself wouldn’t dare try to hurt Samantha with you by her side.”
Samantha awoke early the next morning to find Tanner sitting at the kitchen table, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands. Issa was nowhere to be seen, but Samantha heard the familiar clucking of chickens coming from out back. Thanks to a favor that Tanner had done for a farmer living over in Sugar Grove, they were now the proud owners of four Ameraucana, two Black Star, and three Leghorn hens.
Several hens squawked, and Samantha turned toward the window.
“What’s Issa doing?” she asked, her voice anxious.
“Just gathering eggs. Don’t get all worked up.” Tanner had warned Samantha not to get too attached to the birds, given their final disposition as dinner entrees. But it had done little good. Not only was she incredibly protective of the hens, she had also given each the name of a Disney character, no doubt hoping to endear them to the family. After all, who wanted to be known as the person who butchered Snow White?
Samantha hurried over to the window overlooking the coop that she and Tanner had built. Issa was opening the gate to the pen, a wicker basket in hand.
“Should I go help her?”
“Might be nice.”
Samantha slipped on her boots and opened the front door.
“You just stay here and enjoy your coffee while your pregnant wife and sleepy daughter do all the work,” she said, not hiding her sarcasm.
Tanner took a sip of coffee. “All righty.”
She exited with a loud “hmph” that was more show than indignation. By the time she reached the pen, Issa had already gathered three eggs. Samantha unlatched the door and gently shooed the chickens back.
Each breed of hen was distinct, both in appearance and personality. The Leghorns had white bodies with long, droopy sickle feathers and bright red wattles and combs. They produced huge white eggs, sometimes two in a single day. The Black Stars had black feathers with gold plumage on their necks and breasts. She found them a little annoying because their favorite thing to do was to hop onto her feet, sometimes scratching her with their sharp claws. Their eggs were light brown in color, which for some reason always reminded Samantha of stones taken from a river. The Ameraucana were her favorites, partly because of their beautiful brown and white feathers but mostly because they laid Easter eggs! Not real Easter eggs, of course, but the eggs were beautiful shades of blue, green, and cream. It didn’t hurt that the birds had the loving demeanor of a Labrador.
Issa glanced back at Samantha and smiled.
“Good morning.”
“Morning,” she said, reaching down to pick up a large white egg that one of the Leghorns had dropped. She found it strange that some of the birds would lay eggs on nests inside the coop while others would casually drop them as they walked around.
She reached over and placed the egg in Issa’s basket.
“Tanner’s inside being lazy as usual.”
Issa smiled. “He has a busy day ahead of him. You both do.”
Samantha ducked inside the coop, and when she came back out she held three brown eggs. She carefully set them in the basket.
“You won’t forget to feed them while we’re gone, will you?”
“Of course not.”
Samantha squatted down and held out her hand. One of the Ameraucanas hurried over to see if she had a treat. Even when it discovered that she didn’t, it scrubbed up against her leg like a cat.
“I’ll miss you too, Alice.”
The chicken cooed as she gently scrubbed its neck with her fingers.
“When you get done saying your goodbyes, come in for breakfast,” Issa said, turning to leave.
“Thanks, by the way,” Samantha said without looking up.
“For what?”
“For saying it was okay for me to go with Tanner. I—I worry about him.”
“I worry about him too,” Issa said with a smile.
Samantha looked up at her. “I’ll try to keep him out of trouble.”
“Good luck with that.”
She grinned. “So I’m not the only one who’s noticed that he’s stubborn and violent, and about as unstoppable as a charging rhinoceros.”
“No, I’ve noticed too. But have you ever thought that maybe that’s why we love him so much?”
Samantha turned back to the
bird.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Maybe it is.”
The Dodge Power Wagon was a beast of a truck. Thanks to having four-wheel drive and a 6.4-liter, 410-horsepower HEMI engine, it could tow nearly five tons. What Samantha liked most, however, wasn’t the steady rumble of the massive engine. It was the fiery orange racing stripes that the previous owner had painted along its sides.
She buckled her seatbelt, watching as Issa came around to Tanner’s side of the truck. He rolled down his window, and she leaned her head inside.
“Straight there and back. No detours.”
Tanner looked over at Samantha. “Got that, Sam? No detours.”
“Me?” she exclaimed. “You’re the one who likes to go in search of unspeakable horrors.”
“Unspeakable horrors?”
She shrugged. “Too much?”
“A wee bit, yeah.” He turned back to Issa. “If you get into trouble, radio down to Boone. Ask for either Tripp or Potts. They both owe Mason a favor and should come running.”
Issa glanced around at the peaceful expanse of trees surrounding the cabin.
“No one’s going to bother me out here.”
“If they do, get the big double-barrel from beside the door. Spare cartridges are in a wooden box in the closet. That gun will stop anything, man or beast.”
She nodded.
Both of them looked at one another for a long moment without saying anything. Finally, Issa leaned in and kissed him, long and hard.
“Don’t you die,” she whispered, cupping his face with both hands.
“Not a chance.”
She kissed him again and then turned and walked back to the cabin without looking back.
“I guess she doesn’t know,” muttered Samantha.
Tanner turned the key, and the Power Wagon rumbled to life.
“Know what?”
“That you’re un-killable.”
He smiled. “I guess she doesn’t.”
“Even so… Maybe we could try to stay out of trouble just this once. You know, since we’re a bit rusty and all.”
Tanner said nothing more as he popped the truck into gear and started down the long driveway. He didn’t need to remind Samantha that trouble wasn’t something that could be planned, or often even avoided. It showed up like a drunk uncle, and there usually wasn’t a damn thing to be done about it.
Forty minutes after the Power Wagon disappeared from view, Issa stepped from the cabin with a small backpack slung across her shoulder and sunglasses on her face. She held the double-barrel in one hand and the wooden box of ammunition in the other. A matching set of knives hung across her chest in a simple bandoleer.
She walked straight to the Prius, set her pack in the backseat, and lowered the gun onto the passenger-side floorboard so that the stock faced toward her. Once she had everything stowed, she climbed in and pulled the car up to a small hand-operated gas pump that Tanner had installed along the side of the house. It took only a minute to top off the twelve-gallon tank. The fuel-sipping hybrid was capable of six hundred miles on a single tank of gas, and with the addition of a five-gallon jerry can in the back, she thought it would make the entire journey without requiring her to refuel.
When she had the car ready to go, she walked behind the house and tossed out several handfuls of feed for the chickens. Samantha would never forgive her if her feathered friends went hungry.
As she climbed back into the Prius, sadness threatened to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes and breathed a few times to clear the powerful emotion. Life with Tanner and Samantha was good, better than she had ever thought possible after becoming afflicted with the pox. But she also reminded herself that she had a duty to others that went beyond her own happiness. The infected women of her colony needed to know they could become pregnant. Such a revelation would significantly affect their respective place in the colony’s hierarchy. No longer would they be seen as barren servants to the men. They would be givers of life.
She opened her eyes, the panic of losing everything she held dear slowly subsiding.
“Besides,” she said, drawing strength from her own voice, “I’ll be back before they even know I’m gone.”
As she steered the Prius down the driveway, she took one final glance into the rearview mirror, imagining for a moment that Tanner was standing on the porch.
“I’m sorry, my love. This has to be done.”
Chapter 7
It wasn’t long before Mason saw a sign that read Smithfield City Limits. Before the pandemic, Smithfield had been a quiet little town known for its annual parade, pumpkin patches, and scenic golf course. The only industry it had to speak of was the large pork slaughterhouse, owned and operated by Smithfield Foods. The business was understandably located off the main strip so as not to draw attention to the un-pleasantries conducted within.
After the pandemic wiped out most of its inhabitants, the town essentially ceased to exist. That is, until Locke brought the slaughterhouse back online. With few other opportunities for work, survivors now flocked to the small community, laying emergency homesteader claims to its abandoned houses.
The townspeople now had but a single purpose: to keep the New Colony fed. But in doing so, they were also ensuring their own survival. Not only did workers receive modest wages paid in the form of gold-backed credits, they were also guaranteed food for their dinner tables—something that meant far more to most than the government-issued currency.
Mason slowed and veered onto the small paved thoroughfare that led into the plant. A roadblock lay just ahead. Two orange school buses had been pulled nose to nose, functioning as a horizontal drawbridge. Six men wearing white jumpsuits stood in front of the buses with rifles ready. One of them stepped forward and held up a hand.
Mason brought the tanker to a stop and took the extra step of killing the engine. In his experience, men who manned roadblocks were often unpredictable. Hours of boredom led them to look for confrontation, even when there wasn’t any to be had.
The guard approached the driver’s side and quickly hopped up onto the cab’s short stepladder. He was a thin man, with a crew cut of thick black hair and a matching mustache.
Mason offered a friendly nod, noticing that the guard’s nametag read “French.”
“Manifest,” French said, holding out a hand.
Mason passed him a single sheet of paper provided by the New Colony that described their payload and authorized its delivery.
French used a shoulder-mounted walkie-talkie to call it in. As he waited for a response, two other guards came forward and inspected the underside of the truck using mirrors mounted to extension poles. Dix, Beebie, Cam, and Red remained in position, saying nothing to the men. When the guards finished their inspection, they gave the thumbs up to French and returned to stand in front of the roadblock.
French’s radio squawked, and he turned away to better hear the transmission. Mason couldn’t make out everything being said, but when it was over, the guard handed the manifest back to him.
He turned and pointed into the compound.
“Go past Building 2 and take a left. You can’t miss the loading dock.” As he spoke, the two school buses slowly backed away from one another to allow passage. “Once you drop off the tanker, stay put and wait for an escort. This place is a secure area.”
“Secure area, got it.” Mason fired up the truck and gave French a quick salute.
As he passed between the buses, Mason noticed that their sides had been fortified with half-inch steel plates. The unmistakable barrels of two M60 machine guns poked out through narrow firing ports. The setup would be tough to get through with anything less than a rocket launcher.
Keeping the truck in second gear, he steered past a long, white sheet-metal building. A sign indicated that deliveries should be taken around back. He turned and followed a winding drive to the rear of the building. As the loading dock came into view, he saw that it was a huge affair, with six high-bay doors and ramps on either
end. Two tractor-trailers were already in place and being loaded with cases of emergency rations.
He swung the truck around and began backing up to the dock. Red and Cam both hopped down and helped to wave him in. Once the truck was in position, Mason killed the engine and climbed out with Bowie at his side.
Dix hopped down and took a long look around.
“From what I’ve heard, they’ve got a nice setup here. Food, wine, and even girls on occasion.”
Beebie came around to stand beside him.
“There you go thinking with your one-eyed dragon again.”
Before Dix could reply, a thick-chested man with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail exited through the service door. He wore a white jumpsuit identical to those worn by the guards at the gate, except that his had a black armband. A CZ 75 semi-automatic pistol hung along his right thigh, and his nametag read “Cash.”
“Which of you is Mason Raines?” he barked.
Mason nodded. “That’d be me.”
“Mr. Locke wants a word. The rest of you stay put. You wander off, you get shot. Got it?”
No one said much of anything, but Beebie offered a smile that somehow managed to say “Screw you and the bowlegged horse you rode in on.”
Cash wheeled around, and Mason followed with Bowie at his side.
“The mutt stays too,” Cash said, glancing over his shoulder.
Mason stopped. “Bowie goes where I go.”
Cash turned with a scowl on his face.
“Listen numb-nuts, either the dog stays or you both do. Your choice.”
Mason shrugged. “We’ll stay then.”
Dix let out a little chuckle.
Cash turned. “Something funny?”
“Not yet, it ain’t. But if you keep pushing the marshal, it’s about to be downright hysterical.”
Cash’s chest swelled as he took in a deep breath.
“You men need to understand something. You’re not in the colony anymore. You’re on The Farm. That means that what Mr. Locke says is law. And by proxy as his chief of security, it means that what I say is law. We clear?”
Dark Days Page 7
