The Survivors Book IV: Spring

by V. L. Dreyer

  I hugged her tighter, and felt Michael's arms closing around both of us again. A few seconds later, I heard Maddy sigh. "He's gone."

  "May he rest in peace," I said softly. Around me, I heard the stir of people in distress, followed by a wave of grief and confusion. Though few had been as close to him as we were, everyone had known him in some way. Now, for the first time, Tumanako had to grieve as a community.

  ***

  We buried Ryan just before sunset, in the park overlooking the river. Just like the graves in Hamilton, we picked a beautiful green place with old trees and wildflowers scattered amidst the long grass. It rained again, just like it always seemed to, but that didn't deter anyone from attending the funeral. Even Owen and his comrades joined us; they stood off to one side with their heads bowed respectfully while I read a short eulogy and shared a few stories from our time together. By the time I was done, everyone was dripping wet, shivering, and red-faced from crying.

  One by one, the others drifted away to find dry clothes and warm up, until only a few of my most trusted friends and family remained. I looked around at the ring of faces and heaved a long sigh. "We need to figure out what to do about Bobby."

  "If he were a few years older, then the answer would be obvious," Doc said, his expression troubled. "But he's just a child. We cannot execute a child, and exiling him would inevitably come back to haunt us. Imprisoning him seems like the logical option, but we aren't equipped for a long-term prisoner."

  "No, we aren't," I agreed. "We don't need to hold a trial to determine whether he's guilty or not this time. We all saw him do it. But… Skye, you're the next of kin. What do you want us to do?"

  "He's just a kid," she said, her expression sad but thoughtful. "Ryan wouldn't want him to die, and if we exile him then you know Isabelle would go with him and she doesn't deserve to be punished. There must be another option."

  "Give him to me," Gavin said. All eyes turned to him.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "I mean, let me take custody of him for the duration of his punishment," he replied, absently flexing his hands. "You're right that execution is out of the picture, exile is a bad idea, and imprisonment is impractical. That just leaves rehabilitation. Taming rotten youngsters is kind of my field of expertise, isn't it? With enough time, patience, and a firm, guiding hand, I bet I can turn that boy into a productive member of our community."

  I looked at Skylar and raised my eyebrows. "If anyone can, it's Gavin. What do you think?"

  "I…" Skye hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face. "If you think you can do that, then I agree. It's what Ryan would want. He was really listening to what you’ve been saying these last few months, Sandy. About lives being precious, and that we can't be too quick to kill or we risk becoming the very monsters we're fighting against. We talked about it a lot, and I'm starting to believe it, too."

  I nodded and reached out to touch her arm, then I looked at Gavin. "You know it's not going to be easy. He's going to fight you every step of the way."

  "Of course he is," Gavin replied, a faint smile crossing his scarred face. "Nothing in life is easy. It's not meant to be. It wouldn't feel like an achievement if it were. Still, I'm willing to do it if you're willing to let me."

  "Then I'm officially putting you in charge of his rehabilitation," I replied. "Just ask for any resources or assistance you need, and I want a progress report every few days. I'll leave it in your hands."

  "You make the public announcement, and I'll take care of Isabelle?" he suggested.

  "I better tell her," I said. "As much as I'd love to not have to deal with that conversation, Isabelle trusts me. If it's going to come from anyone, it should come from me. Take Michael and Skye with you, and tell the others what's going to happen."

  We started to head back towards Tumanako, but before we'd made it more than a few hundred meters we spotted a handful of figures standing in the gloom beneath a nearby tree. I held up a hand to halt the others, and went forward to meet Owen on my own.

  Less than a year ago, I wouldn't have dreamed of confronting a gang on my own, but so much had changed since then. I was a different person now: stronger, more self-assured, and backed by a group of people that I trusted with my life. I came to a stop a few meters away from them and gave Owen a curious look.

  "I thought you lot had gone home," I said, carefully modulating my tone so it was neither mocking nor accusative, but merely interested.

  "We're about to leave, but we wanted to talk to you first," Owen replied. He hesitated for a second, then stepped out of the tree's shadow and came over to me. "We wanted to apologise for everything that happened. We knew the kid was a bit unbalanced, but we didn't know how imbalanced. He found us about a month ago, all full of fire and brimstone, shouting something about justice for his dad. If my father had still been in charge he’d probably have sent the kid packing, but I made the mistake of believing him. Dad just died a few months ago, and something about his situation struck a chord with me. I should have known better."

  "Okay, fair enough," I said. "I don't blame you for what Bobby did. He's the only one responsible for his own actions. You're free to go any time you want."

  "Actually, that's just it," he said, absently scratching his neck. "The lads and I… we don't particularly want to go. We've got nothing to go back to. There are people here – real people, normal people, good people. Underneath the leather and tattoos, we're just like everyone else. We crave normality. We dream about having a home again. We’re not bad people, either. I know some of the gangs think nothing of using violence to get what they want, but Dad never let us turn into that. He was a biker, but he was a good man. If you're willing to have us, then we'd like to help you build a home for all of us right here."

  In spite of the day's tragedy, a smile crept across my face. "Well, all right. But no stealing from us, okay?"

  "If we stole from you, then we'd be stealing from ourselves," he answered. "We never wanted to steal to begin with. Hell, I was a prosecutor for the crown. My job was making sure murderers and child-molesters saw justice. Necessity makes criminals of us all."

  "That is very true, unfortunately," I replied. "Okay, let's go see which rooms are available."

  "Can I do that?" Skylar asked, coming up behind me. "I'd rather keep myself busy with work than have to listen to Gavin explaining the Bobby deal again."

  I sighed and nodded my understanding. "If it’ll make you feel better, then go ahead. Assign them rooms and bedding, and then bring them down to Doctor Cross for a physical examination and a workup of their personal histories."

  "I know what to do," she answered dryly, then she gestured to Owen and his friends. "This way, guys. Let's get inside before it gets dark."

  I watched her gather up the newest members of our community and lead them away, then I looked back over my shoulder to see who was left. Everyone had vanished, except for the last three remaining members of our original group: Michael, Doctor Cross, and Madeline. Michael took my hand and I fell into step beside him.

  "We're probably not going to have much time to talk over the next few days, Doc," I said. "Maybe you should ask whatever it was you wanted to ask us now."

  Doc sighed and hiked his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "It wasn't much, really. I just wanted to ask you both a few questions regarding the medical histories of your families so that I can work out what we should be able to expect when your due date comes."

  Michael laughed suddenly. "You know, in all this excitement I nearly forgot about the baby."

  "You're such a bad liar, honey," I told him, squeezing his hand. "It's okay to show your excitement, it's not going to freak me out or anything. Hell, knowing how much this baby would mean to you was what got me through the first few months."

  He glanced at me and gave me one of his silly, sheepish grins, then he grabbed me and hugged me tight. "Am I that transparent?"

  "Like glass," I replied, laughing. Almost as suddenly as it had star
ted, my laughter faded away. "Damn, it feels so wrong to be smiling right after a funeral."

  "I think that your sister is right in more ways than she realises," Doc said, absently adjusting his glasses again. With a sudden grunt of annoyance, he took them off and started wiping the raindrops off the lenses. "Ryan would want us to carry on. We were never what you would call close, but I knew that much about him."

  "You're right, of course," I replied. "Like she said, he's at peace now. After everything we've been through, death is almost a blessing." I shook my head and snuggled in against Michael's warmth. "Not that I plan to embrace it any time soon. Anyway, what did you want to ask?"

  "Ah, yes," Doc said. "I want you both to think as far back as you can when you answer, and also consider any extended family you know of. I need to know if there's any history of congenital defects, genetic conditions, or even a history of multiple births in either of your families."

  "Multiple births?!" I exclaimed. "Oh, hell no. That is not what I signed up for!"

  Doctor Cross gave me a dark look. "I'm just asking, Ms McDermott."

  "Right… just asking," I echoed, glowering right back at him. "Nothing on my side, as far as I'm aware. I don't really know my extended family, though. Mum used to tell me that both Skylar and I were born a little early, but we were both healthy regardless."

  "Sometimes a baby is just more anxious than most to get out into the world," Doc replied, a faint smile crossing his lips. "We'll keep that in mind towards the end. And what about you, Constable? Anything we should know about?"

  "Not as far as I'm aware of," he replied with a shrug. "No twins or triplets, heart defects or anything like that."

  "Good, good," Doc said, nodding thoughtfully. "Of course, that doesn't rule out difficulties, but it does mean less to worry about."

  I grunted and shook my head. "I think the plague is enough to worry about."

  "Very true," he agreed. "On a more positive note, I believe we've managed to save Franco's leg. It will be a while until he's up and about unassisted, but he should heal cleanly. It's a very good thing you found him when you did – another hour and he might have lost that leg, or even died from exposure."

  "Thank goodness," I said, letting out a long sigh of relief. "You're right, that's a good thing. Do whatever you need to take care of him. You know you have my permission to draw on any of the resources you need."

  "I do, and I shall," he said. The conversation halted as we stepped across the threshold, and spotted a small figured huddled up in the shadows waiting for us. As soon as she saw us, she jumped up and rushed towards us.

  "You guys go on without me," I said softly. "Isabelle and I have to have a talk…"

  Chapter Twenty

  Isabelle took the news of her son's rehabilitation about as well as I thought she would, which is to say that she was so grateful, it took me weeks to make her understand that she didn't owe me anything. Eventually, I managed to convince her that it was all Gavin's idea, and then her gratitude transferred to him. Every so often, I'd spot her running after him with some gift that she'd made clutched to her breast, which always left him looking flustered and embarrassed.

  As the days passed, Tumanako settled into a comfortable routine. New faces emerged from the wilds to join our community on a daily basis, and every morning the sun shone a little bit brighter. Winter was over and most of us had survived. Most, but not all.

  Ryan's death hit Skylar hard, and I'd be lying if I said it hadn't affected me almost as much. I often found myself retiring to the dark places where grief lingered, thinking about another friend lost before his time. Just as I'd been there for him in the wake of Sophie's death, Michael was there for me. He always seemed to know when I needed the space, but never let me mope for long.

  We spent as much time together as we could justify, and even when we couldn't be together he found ways to make me feel loved. Some days I'd come home to a bouquet of freshly-picked wildflowers in a vase, or a piece of furniture for our apartment, a new book, or even something for the baby. Somehow, he managed to dote on me without making me feel put-upon. It was a remarkable feat of ingenuity, really. I was secretly impressed – but I didn't tell him, of course. I didn't have to. It was Michael. He just knew.

  Still, there were some days when I was in a dark place and the only person I wanted to talk to was Skye. This time, she let me in. Neither of us had to grieve alone. We'd grown close enough over the course of our journey south that she really was my sister again, not just in name but in every way. If we wanted to sit together in silence and cry, we could. No judgement, no awkwardness, just understanding. Something about that was comforting. Together, we both began to slowly recover.

  One morning about six weeks after the shooting, I trudged inside after a few hours of pulling weeds in the garden and found Skylar sitting in the dining hall with a petite, dark-haired woman whose name I didn't know. Both of them were hunched over a table, talking quietly.

  "Whatcha doing, little sis?" I asked curiously, walking up behind her.

  Skylar jumped and shot me a dark look. "Damn it, don't sneak up on me!"

  "Honey, I'm a three hundred kilogram placenta-filled water-balloon right now," I said dryly. "'Waddling' and 'sneaking' are two different things. If I scared you, that's your fault."

  "Oh my god, you're so over dramatic," Skye replied, rolling her eyes. "You're barely even showing yet. If you think this is waddling, just give it another three months."

  "Don't remind me. I'm already getting stretch marks," I said. I invited myself to sit down at the table opposite them, and leaned over to look at the sketchpad sitting open on the table in front of the new arrival. "Hey, what's this?"

  "It's going to be Ryan," Skye said, suddenly looking very pleased with herself. She picked the sketchpad up and turned it around so that I could get a better look at the picture. "Isn't it wonderful? Aicel was an illustrator before the plague. I convinced her to draw Ryan for the memory wall."

  Aicel smiled shyly and tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. "You're too kind. It's just a doodle at this stage. Once I complete the painting, it will look much better."

  "Oh, you're going to paint it?" I asked, surprised and pleased. "That would be a wonderful tribute to him. Once it's done, would you consider doing some others?"

  "We're already planning to," Skye replied, looking happy for the first time in weeks. "This is just the start. Aicel's going to help me with the photographs, and we're going to try to paint everyone we can remember into a huge mural – not just down here, but anywhere there's space. I think we should do Kylie, Sophie, Dog, and Netty first, then move on to our families. It's going to take us years, but once we're done we're going to have a memorial to every person we loved and lost. It's going to be magnificent."

  "Wow," I breathed, impressed by both the scope of the idea and the emotion behind it. "Do we… do we have the resources to make that happen?"

  "We'll find the resources," Skylar said, her voice firm and resolute. "Aicel says that artist's paints last just about forever, and I know a few stores in town that we can raid. If that isn't enough, then I'm sure there are plenty down in Wellington."

  "Another brilliant idea," I said, nodding my approval. "Add it to the list. It seems like every time we start a project, we have another dozen good ideas to distract us."

  Skye laughed and nodded. "Yeah, we’ve got way too many ideas and not enough time, but we’ll get there. Speaking of which, I forgot to tell you – I got the notebooks and stuff you wanted. I'll start handing them out over dinner tonight."

  "Thank you," I said. I rose to my feet and stretched my aching back. "I have to go do some stuff. Let me know if you need me, okay?"

  "You're going to need to start taking it easy soon, missy," Skye said, wagging a finger at me. "Don't make me give you the same lecture you gave me last summer."

  "Oh, I won't," I said dryly, running a hand across my growing belly. "I have no intention of doing anything that might put the bab
y at risk, even accidentally. It's going to be hard when those tomatoes start ripening, but I'm even going to resist eating anything fresh out of the ground until it's been thoroughly washed."

  "Good," she said. "I guess we'll see you later, then."

  "Absolutely," I agreed. "Nice to meet you, Aicel."

  The woman waved a shy farewell. I waved back, and then trudged out of the room and down the hall towards the elevator. A few minutes later, I was making my way towards the suite of rooms we'd put aside for our communications equipment and research facilities when a door opened and Gavin stepped out. He froze in his tracks, blinking in surprise, then he grinned.

  "Well, I suppose that saves me coming to look for you," he said. "We just had a call from Sergeant Bryce."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is everything all right?"

  "Yeah, everything's fine," he said, beckoning for me to follow him. I did, and he led me into the room he'd just come from. Through a doorway, I could see Doctor Cross hunkered over his latest set of experiments. Bobby was sitting at a small table in a corner, intensely focused on a book that lay open on the table in front of him. He didn't even glance up when I came in.

  Gavin and I hadn't really talked about the details of his rehabilitation regime, but whatever he was doing seemed to be working. I hadn't seen Bobby much, just at meals and occasionally in the garden, but whenever I did he just nodded politely and kept walking. There had been no further attempts on my life, and no sign that he was planning anything untoward. It was entirely possible that he'd just learned his lesson, but I thought it more likely that Gavin was just enough like his former stepfather for Bobby to respect him and be willing to follow his lead. Fortunately, Gavin was a much more responsible father-figure than Henry had been.

  Gavin led me through another doorway, into a small room where he kept the various bits of radio and long-range communications equipment he'd scavenged from the area. I settled in a random chair without being prompted, happy to be off my feet even for a moment.

  "Sergeant Bryce wanted me to tell you that no one's come through Waiouru in more than two weeks," he said, sitting down in the chair opposite me. "No sign of the mutants, either. She's decided it's time for her to come south, and she's bringing the library."