by Kathy Miner
He did look at her then, a sideways glance of annoyance. “It can wait.”
“If something’s wrong with Grace –”
“God, this intuition thing can be such a pain in the ass,” he muttered. When she started to argue, he glowered at her. “I said it can wait. You’ve got enough with Piper leaving today. I’m trying to be sensitive here.”
“Oh. I see.” To her amazement, she felt the corners of her mouth twitch, and a laugh bubble up. She set it free, then laughed again when his frown grew darker still. “Come on, Martin, you can’t blame me for not catching on. When have you ever worried about being sensitive before?”
“A guy can try.”
He looked gruff and embarrassed, and Naomi felt her toes edge closer to a cliff she’d been sneaking up on for some time now. As always, the realization sent her into nervous motion. She stood up and stretched, feeling the pull of new muscles in her neck, shoulders and arms. In the time before, the sensation would have dismayed her; she’d have headed straight for some ibuprofen and a heating pad. Now, that ache meant strength to come, a new skill learned, and she had learned to love it.
“I guess I’d better stack this. If you help me, I’ve got some herbal tea Verity gave me chilling in a jar, down in the lake.”
“Herbal tea from Verity? That could be dangerous.” Martin stood up and started helping her stack. “Does it have mind-altering properties?”
“Just a blend for relaxation and calming, she said.” Naomi frowned, considering. “Guess if we start seeing angels, we’ll know she lied.”
“Any cookies to go along with it?”
A smile lifted her mouth again, and this time, her heart. Martin might be blunt, plainspoken to a fault, and sparing with his compliments, but he was forever angling for her cookies, and his praise of them was extravagant. It stroked her ego and satisfied her nurturing soul. Small moments of joy. Breath by breath. This was how to survive now.
They worked until the newly split wood was stacked, and then took a break to sit side-by-side in the Adirondack chairs Naomi had set up under a huge old cottonwood tree. Naomi produced the promised tea and the gingersnap cookies she’d baked yesterday with mixed intentions, half-planning to send them with Piper, half-planning to eat them all herself in an orgy of self-indulgent self-pity. This option was better. She’d splurged and traded for some of the spelt flour Ignacio had just started harvesting and grinding, and the result was delicious. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, listening to Martin hum appreciatively as he munched, enjoying the peace of the summer morning.
With her eyes closed, she could feel Piper, her bright and burning girl, there in her chest. Hades pressed against her leg and laid his big head in her lap. She curved an arm around him, using the comfort he gave her to send a pulse of love and apology along the connection between her and Piper. Experimentation over the last couple of months had taught them that Piper might not get the message right away, at that exact moment, but it would be there waiting for her when she chose to focus on the bond. It wasn’t the goodbye Naomi should have given her, but it was better than nothing.
A rustle overhead, followed by a series of low, chuckling notes, made her open her eyes. The raven she called Loki perched on a branch just a few feet above them, glossy black feathers sleek and handsome. He cocked his head inquisitively at her, eyes darting to the last cookie on the plate. She picked it up, broke it into pieces, and stood. “I’ll share. But it’ll cost you.”
She reached up, and felt a thrill when he took a chunk of cookie without hesitation. It had taken her weeks to get him to take food from her hand. She fed him several more pieces, then withheld the last. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to keep tabs on Piper.” She focused on Piper, on her bright hair and way of moving, on the sound of her voice and the lilt of her laughter, then offered the impressions to Loki and imagined him watching her daughter. Loki ruffled his feathers, head tilting from side to side in interest. As always, she could feel his intelligence and curiosity, could sense the surprisingly sophisticated structure of his mind. “Just report back to me from time to time. I’d really appreciate it.”
“Do you really think he can understand what you’re saying?”
Martin’s voice startled the young raven. Loki launched off the branch with an irritated “Kraa!” and flapped away, flying low over the lake and disappearing into the trees on the far ridge. Naomi watched him go, then sat back down. “No, I don’t think he understands my words. But he may understand my intent.” She smiled wryly. “Not that it’ll do much good. Even if he did follow Piper and keep an eye on her, I don’t speak raven.”
She changed the subject. “So, I’m pretty sure you had something other than ‘teach a crazy woman to chop wood then listen to her cry’ on your to-do list this morning. What am I taking you away from?”
Martin shrugged, and she detected frustration in the movement. “Not much. Thomas and I need to talk. He wants to increase our perimeter security, and I don’t think there’s any way to do that. Not here, anyway. The area is too wide-open, and there aren’t enough of us to pull off the patrolled boundaries he has in mind.”
“He’s still angry about Piper and her group walking in and taking control.”
“Yeah, he is. We’re more prepared for that scenario now, but he still thinks we could mount a defense against a larger hostile force, and I think it’s dangerous to think that way. Our best chance is to clear out if we’re faced with superior numbers and fire power. We need bolt holes, places we can shelter and hide until the danger passes. Thomas and I need to reach a meeting of the minds on it so we can have a community meeting and give folks instructions.”
“Hmm.” A frown creased the skin of her forehead. “We’ve lost so much. It’s understandable folks would want to stand and fight, defend what little we have left.”
“Understandable, but stupid. It’s not worth it to die defending things that can be replaced. Food and shelter are important, but people are irreplaceable.”
“I agree.” She raised a stern eyebrow. “But telling people they’re stupid isn’t a good way to get them to listen to you or to do what you want.”
Martin made an impatient sound. “Sugar-coating it wastes time. I say it like I see it. You know that.”
“I do. That’s why you should let me do the talking when the time comes. You and Thomas get your ducks in a row, and I’ll talk at the community meeting, let people know what the recommendations are. They need to know we understand, and that the choice will ultimately rest with them whether to hide or stand and fight, but we can’t take care of each other if we’re all dead.”
Martin’s lips lifted. “You’re plenty blunt yourself, in case you didn’t notice.”
“You’ve rubbed off.” It felt so good, to focus outside herself and her heartache over Piper. “Do you know how Rowan’s doing with Quinn and that medicinal herb garden? Or where Alder’s at with his solar panel project?”
They talked for the better part of an hour, discussing ideas and problem-solving. Now that people were starting to come to grips with the fact that life would never return to the way they had known it, it was time to look to the future, time to think beyond basic survival. People all over the community were starting to buzz with excitement over the projects that were taking shape, and the collective energy that was beginning to build was one of innovation, determination and hope. These people would probably never see another open gas station, but how could they adapt vehicles to run on alternative fuel? Before the plague, the green movement had been thriving in Colorado. Many homes in the city already had solar panels installed, and Alder was determined to salvage and install panels on every occupied home before snow fell again. And the world-wide-web might not be resurrected in their lifetimes, but how could they collect, organize and preserve the knowledge they were already in possession of?
Grace and Anne were knee-deep in the latter project, working together every day to gather books from the communit
y, add them to the library’s collection and catalog them. Alder had installed a solar panel array to run the lights and a single computer at the library, but Anne was also creating a physical card catalog to back up the digital files. Some of the older teens were helping with the project, though Naomi had heard rumblings of problems there. Grace shared her father’s predilection for straight-talk and had very little patience with the giggling frivolity of the other teenage girls, especially the ones who persisted in casting Bambi-eyes in Quinn’s direction.
Thoughts of Grace and Quinn made her slip a sideways glance at Martin, wondering at his earlier disquiet. Had he started to suspect that the solemn-eyed baby girl with Quinn was Grace’s daughter? As always, the secret weighed heavily on her heart. Not for the first time, she regretted promising Grace she’d keep it.
Since the Woodland Park survivors had split between Carroll Lakes and Ignacio’s group on Turkey Creek, weeks could go by without the whole community coming together. Even at the larger gatherings, Quinn was adept at avoiding Grace, and, therefore, Martin. It was possible Martin hadn’t gotten a clear look at the baby, who resembled Grace to a startling degree. But what if he had? If he asked her straight out, Naomi had decided, she would tell him the truth. He would be furious, Grace would be furious, but Naomi would not lie, and not just because Martin would know. That baby was his granddaughter. He had a right to be a part of her life.
Naomi had watched Quinn from a distance, little Lark perched in the crook of his arm, shadowed by the young tweens who had arrived with Piper’s group – Elise’s twins, Sam and Beck. Like Grace and Quinn, Elise’s children had seen things children shouldn’t see on their journey here. If Piper hadn’t told Naomi that Beck was a girl – Becca – she wouldn’t have guessed. The three had become inseparable, and didn’t mingle with the Woodland Park kids. Naomi wished there was a way to reconcile the tension between the two groups, but she suspected only time and experience would resolve the situation. The kids here had lost loved ones, had suffered the loss of the life they knew, but the kids from the outside had experienced the violence and depravity of a world in transition. Quinn and Grace, Sam and Beck, would be forever marked by what they had seen and survived.
Martin gave a mighty stretch, then looked over at Naomi. “Why so quiet all of a sudden?”
She blocked the guilt that wanted to rise – too easy to detect in these times, and she didn’t want to explain herself. “Long night. Tired.”
“Naomi.” He waited until she looked over at him. “People are looking to you to take Jack’s place. You know that.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “They should be looking to you. You had command experience in the Marines. The only thing I ever led was a PTA meeting.”
“You can trot that self-effacing shit out all day long, it’s not going to change anything. Résumes and past experience don’t mean squat. People are starting to trust what they feel, more and more, and this community’s instincts are pointing at you.”
He was right, and she didn’t need him to tell her this. Nor did she want to talk about it. Not today. They sat in silence for long moments, listening to the wind build into small gusts, watching birds flit about the business of a summer day, ripe and in full bloom. Then Martin slapped his thighs and stood up. He held his hand out to her.
“What do you say we go get drunk?”
She snorted and swatted at his hand, squinting up at the sun. “Get drunk! It’s not even noon!”
“Total breakdown of society, Naomi. Those rules no longer apply.”
She gazed up at him, at his outstretched hand. Then she stood up and took his hand, knowing it put her toes on the edge of that cliff. Exhilarating. Terrifying. “I’ve never been drunk.”
Surprising Martin was a rare thing, but she’d managed it. “You’re shittin’ me.”
“Nope. Not unless ‘tipsy’ counts.”
“It certainly does not. You are way overdue, then. Rite of passage.” He laced his fingers through hers and squeezed. “And I happen to know where a bottle of whiskey is that has your name on it.”
Naomi wrinkled her nose. Whiskey. Probably pretty different from the white wine she had occasionally enjoyed in the time before. “I thought Rowan confiscated all the alcohol for her tinctures.”
“She thinks she did. What she doesn’t know, and all that.” He gazed down at her, then tugged her a little closer. “Are you going to faint again if I tell you I plan to kiss you one of these days, sooner rather than later?”
Naomi’s heart gave a great and painful lurch. “I’m not sure. Probably not before. Maybe after.”
“Hmm. That could work in my favor. C’mon.” He pulled her along, moving towards her cabin door. “You can settle the animals, then –”
He broke off. His head snapped around, scanning the skies, his forehead creasing in concentration. “What the hell?”
She heard it, too – a deep, steady “thump-thump-thump” she hadn’t heard in over a year. The sound seemed to be coming from everywhere. She and Martin stepped farther into the clearing by the cabin, turning in circles with their heads tipped to the sky.
The helicopter seemed to explode from behind a ridge, the heavy throb of the rotors a surreal battery against their ears. It was flying low, coming at them fast. Martin shoved Naomi to the ground, crowding her against the cabin wall. She reached out and snagged Hades around the neck, yanking him to her side. Martin watched until the helicopter was almost on top of them, then spun around, covering his face with his arms, shielding Naomi’s body with his. It flew close overhead, buffeting them with air, dirt and noise.
When it had passed, Naomi staggered to her feet. They stood together in the clearing by her cabin, watching the helicopter continue north, then swing in a wide arc and head due east. Not until it was no longer visible did Naomi find her voice.
“My God! Where do you think it came from?”
Martin’s face, so young a moment ago, so old now, remained tipped to the sky as he answered. “Fort Carson, I’d bet. It was a Black Hawk.” He spared her a bleak glance. “That whiskey’s going to have to wait, honey. We need to get everyone together. This changes everything.”
TWO: Grace: Woodland Park, CO
By the time her father arrived at the library, Grace had coaxed Anne out from under the reference desk, but the older woman wasn’t yet coherent. The helicopter had flown over Woodland Park several times, sweeping over the town in a way that suggested a search pattern. Grace had run outside as soon as she realized what she was hearing. Once, the Black Hawk had passed over so low, she’d been able to see the pilot and co-pilot, their eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses, as well as the shadowy forms of two crew members behind them. Every instinct had told her to hide, and it had taken all the nerve she possessed to stand her ground, but she needed information. Giving in to her fear wouldn’t serve.
Anne had tried to follow her outside, but her terror had been too great. When the helicopter swung to the north and faded out of hearing, Grace re-entered the library to find Anne weeping and rocking, hands over her ears, huddled under the desk while Persephone danced in anxious half-circles around her. Grace knew Anne had suffered a terrible experience on Fort Carson – her dad was certain “Anne” wasn’t her real name – and the sound of that helicopter must have brought it all back. Grace found a bulky sweater hanging on a hook in the tiny kitchen area – it had probably been there since the librarian who owned it died in the plague - and wrapped Anne in it. She had just managed to get her to take a few sips of water from a coffee mug when her father walked in with Naomi on his heels.
His sharp eyes assessed and analyzed. “She okay?”
“Not really.” Grace moved aside so Naomi could take her place. Anne leaned into Naomi’s embrace, shuddering and shaking, trying to gulp out words. Naomi rubbed her back and just listened, doing what she was so good at, doling out comfort and reassurance. Persephone climbed into Naomi’s lap, licking her chin once in greeting before turning her attention back
to Anne. The little dog had an infallible instinct for the person with the greatest need; between her and Naomi’s warm mothering, Anne would be set right. Grace pretty much sucked at anything maternal-ish, so she left them to it and moved to join her dad.
“It was a Black Hawk, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” His forehead was creased with concern. “I don’t know that much about them, but I didn’t see any external fuel tanks. If I’m remembering correctly, their range is about 300 miles…”
“320 nautical miles, depending on payload.” Grace gestured for her father to follow her to a nearby table where her pet project was organized. “It has a combat radius of 368 miles, and can carry from eleven to fourteen fully equipped combat soldiers – sources vary on that – or twenty lightly-armed personnel.”
She looked up to find her father gazing at her with an expression she saw too often on his face these days: a mixture of anxiety and pride. “What?”
“Nautical miles?”
“Equivalent to 1.15 miles. It’s an ancient measurement, actually –”
“I know what a nautical mile is.” He looked down at the stacks of books and papers, then picked up a yellow legal pad and started to flip through her notes. “What I wonder is why you know.”
Grace clenched her hands into fists to keep from snatching the notes away from him. She hated it when people touched her stacks. They might look disorganized, but she had a system and knew where everything was. The papers and books were part of a physical matrix that fed and supported her mental one. Shifting even a single paper disrupted both systems. “I’ve studied what materials we have here on the helicopters that were part of the Combat Aviation Brigade on Fort Carson – mostly kids’ books and archived newspaper articles.” She gave up the battle and twitched the legal pad out of her dad’s hands, flipping to the correct page before returning it to its proper orientation. “It was logical to assume the gang would eventually try to get them in the air.”
