Each night, the kids would spend an hour after dinner with Wendell doing school lessons to maintain some semblance of an education. Patrick remembered his father’s words regarding the children being their true “last bastion”. Therefore, he was pleased when Charla and Wendell announced that they would be having a child to add to the small community not long after he and Marta had made their own similar announcement.
And in this way, the Blenders slowly began to establish some sense of normalcy. It was far from any sort of normalcy they’d ever expected or even contemplated before the Carchar outbreak, but they managed. They spent their time working, learning, living, loving, and watching the weather and the river carefully, never wanting to be caught unprepared as they once had.
Shortly after the erection of the first cabin, the group ferried a tent and a sizeable stock of their supplies from the island to each shore. They left small caches of food, guns, and ammunition in several concealed spots on shore just in case they were forced to abandon their island home due to manmade or natural events. And whenever it rained more than half a day, the group would make the trip across the river and spend their time inside a tent until the rain ceased or they were sure their island home would not be overwhelmed by floodwaters. But after nearly three years, the island had yet to succumb to flooding.
And life on the island had been good – hard, but good. The Blenders knew that in all likelihood, it was not a life that could be sustained indefinitely. And eventually, they would be forced to continue their trek in search of a more stable living location. And while they might not have had the creature comforts of their prior world – the easy access to ready-made food, the technology, the medical care, the amenities of home – they had one another. And in their current environment, that was all they could really ask for.
All the while, the Blenders continued to see a continued decline in the number of biters roaming the landscape. By the end of their first summer on the island, when the group went on occasional scavenging missions, the wandering lone biter or two was all they’d see, if they saw any at all.
It appeared that with the substantially reduced number of humans, the biters were starving. Lack of food and new hosts to infect with their affliction, paired with an inability to combat exposure, disease, and infection had taken a toll. The biter population declined rapidly and dramatically. Almost two years post-outbreak, hardly any biters remained. They became like bears or wolves, seen occasionally but wary of humans, choosing instead to feed mainly off animal meat if they could find it.
And as the three-year post-outbreak mark approached, it found the biter breed nearly non-existent. It was almost as though, for those as young as Louise or younger, the biter was a thing of legend. Biters were the new Bigfoot or Jersey Devil or Chupacabra. But the human race was no myth, it existed. And slowly but surely, it began to creep from the recesses of the world to again make its presence known.
The Blenders welcomed the opportunity to add to this human resurgence as they worked through their second year post-outbreak. Charla and Wendell were blessed with a baby girl they named Charlise. Meanwhile, Marta and Patrick welcomed a baby boy – Michael. Louise deemed him “Mickey”.
And now, as Patrick watched over his brood, Marta left the children who were playing quietly together in the sand. Louise was showing them how to play the “right way”. She walked over to join Patrick as he watched on.
“Are you happy, husband?” she asked, taking his hand in hers and leaning her head against his shoulder.
“I am. Are you?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “Happier than I ever thought I’d be.”
They stood watching the children in silence for a moment before Patrick said, “You know, I have a question for you. It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask for a very long time. I never wanted to press you on it since I figured you’d tell me eventually. But it’s been nagging at me lately and I’d really like to know.”
“Yes?” Marta answered curiously.
“The day we left St. Louis, when we were saying goodbye, what did you say to my father?”
“What?” Marta frowned, turning to look up at Patrick, not immediately grasping what he was asking.
“Don’t you remember? You whispered something in Dad’s ear. Do you remember what it was?”
“Of course,” Marta said after a second.
“Well?” Patrick pressed.
“Okay, okay, Mr. Nosy,” Marta pushed back. “I tell you, if you must know. I tell him I bear you child. We name child after him if boy, your mother if girl.”
Patrick looked at her surprised. “Really? But that was a while before you got pregnant.”
“Yes,” Marta nodded as if it all made perfect sense to her.
“But how did you know that would happen?”
“I don’t know. I felt it. And if it happen or not, your father deserved that peace before he leave. He was owed that. I know how important children were to him. And to know his son carry on family name was something he need.”
Patrick shook his head, astounded. “You’re amazing,” he said to the woman who was his wife, if not in law, at least in name.
“Thank you,” Marta perked up. “Michael! No, no!” she scolded, hurrying over to where the children played. “We not throw sand. Sand stay in pile,” she instructed firmly.
Patrick continued to watch, savoring the moment. Around him he could see Charla and Wendell fishing nearby. Meanwhile, Ms. Mary was carrying a load of vegetables into one of the cabins. Christine was mending clothing for her boys, both of whom were swiftly growing into fine young men. The sound of chopping wood echoed across the island as Justin, Jack, and Andrew worked to collect the group’s firewood.
Patrick smiled to himself, enjoying the sights and sounds of his tiny community working like a well-oiled machine. It harkened back to an earlier-era – an era that Patrick was finding surprisingly more rewarding.
With several bountiful harvests from Ms. Mary’s honed green thumb already under their belts, and accompanying new mouth’s to feed, the group looked forward to the future with renewed hope. It was hope in a world that found itself beginning anew in a much harder, yet much simpler time.
The Last Bastion [Book 5] Page 19
