by Kate Morris
“There’s a shocker,” Cory says with a sarcastic smile.
“Too bad. And you don’t have my permission to hang around Paige any more than you already do.”
Cory laughs, more loudly this time than before. “I’m just messin’ with you, bro.”
“Who all stayed in town?” Simon asks, redirecting their conversation.
“Just the three of us. John took Doc home. Kel’s not coming in. Everyone’s back on the old McDonald.”
“Who’s running intel on the Gaylord?”
Cory walks over to his pack on the sofa and picks it up before answering, “Dave’s got a crew on it, and K-Dog and a few of his men went along, too. Robert’s men who are staying out in Sue and Derek’s house went tonight, too, since the guys would be home to protect the farm. I think some of his men were just getting antsy sitting around the farm for so many days in a row. They needed a change of scenery. I was glad because they took that asshole Parker with them.”
“No doubt,” he agrees. “Has anyone said when we’re making our move? I know we were supposed to have a meeting about it today, but I was a little busy.”
Cory hands him something in a paper bag and smiles, “Hannah sent food.”
“Thanks.” Simon’s stomach growls as he realizes that he missed lunch and dinner earlier. He’d miss a whole lot more meals if it came down to eating or taking care of Samantha. This is exactly why he doesn’t want her going on runs or fighting in battles. Things happen. Scenarios can be run a million different ways, but it’s just that one variable that doesn’t get factored that can change everything in an instant. He feels the same way about Huntley. He’s been asking a lot lately to go on runs. Simon would rather take their place than have any of the women or children put in a bad position, one where they could be harmed.
“They’re talking about next week sometime. Dave’s working on the explosives end of it. Derek is formulating the plan from the farm. Dave, Kelly, and John will run the mission once we’re in it.”
“How do we prevent casualties?” Simon asks and takes a seat on a chair opposite Cory, who sits on the sofa. Damn dog hovers. She’s not stupid. She knows what time it is. “There are supposedly innocent women and children living there, too.”
Simon removes the first container which has in it something Sue calls a modified Greek salad. It consists of green peppers, cucumbers, carrots, onions, some sort of seasoning and oil and small chunks of goat cheese. The next package is a sandwich with seasoned chicken, probably leftovers from a meal he missed, sliced thin and topped with a white mustard sauce, arugula from the greenhouse, and tomatoes sliced extra thin. The bread is a dark, golden brown, and Hannah bakes it in a cast iron pot in the oven and sometimes over a fire outside. It’s crunchy on the outside and soft inside. It’s so good, Simon could eat it as a meal. It is especially good with freshly churned butter and a dollop of honey. At the bottom of the bag is a small, neatly wrapped bundle in a linen kerchief that holds two lemon and elderberry muffins. They’ve been trading with a family that lives closer to Hendersonville for lemons and oranges. They grow them in a hothouse year-round, which is smart because they have cornered the market on citrus produce and have managed to run it as a bartering business with people who don’t have citrus trees and need the fruits. He and Herb usually reserve them for medicinal uses, so this is a special treat.
“Dave and Derek discussed the idea of sending in scouts, covertly- he means me and you and a few of his men- to scope out the place from the inside. They also talked about how to get the women and kids out without putting them in danger. They’re going to be skeptical of us, scared.”
“Why would they be scared? We’re trying to free them, help them. That makes no sense.”
“Think about it. They already had their families either murdered or taken already. They’re stuck living with these assholes. They’ve lost everything in most cases. It doesn’t exactly lend to a whole lot of trust in their fellow man, or any men. One look at us sneaking around in there, and they’re gonna scream holy terror.”
“Yes, I see what you mean,” he agrees and finishes his sandwich but saves the last bite for Damn Dog, who takes it with great appreciation from his hand. “And what’s the plan to get them out, to get them to trust us?”
“They suggested sending Paige and Sam, maybe Reagan, too.”
“What?” Simon asks, his voice rising an octave.
“Relax, Professor,” Cory says and tosses the remainder of his sandwich to Damn Dog, as well. “They’d be going in with us. Nobody would know we’re in there. The place is massive. It’s a complex. We talked to that kid again today while you were here with Doc. He said most of those women and kids are scared of everything and everyone. They aren’t gonna trust another group of men who claim to be trying to help them.”
“I can understand that,” he admits.
“Doc talked to the town sheriff today about the boy in the jail. The sheriff said he would be happy to take our prisoner in, let him live with him and his wife here in town until it can be decided what to do with him.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? Do you think he’s a threat?” Simon asks. They’ve already adopted into their town the few women they’d taken prisoner and a young boy they’d initially thought was older but found out was only a big-for-his-age twelve-year-old. He now lives with the librarian Mrs. Browning and helps her around the house, which was a relief to everyone in town because she didn’t like asking for help and they all knew she needed it.
Cory shakes his head and answers, “Nah, he’s just a scared kid. I don’t think he’s even much of a threat to himself. But he did give us more intel. He said they keep most of the women in one area. The ones who aren’t in that area are either married to or with the men who are the highwaymen we’re lookin’ to kill. Dave and Derek said they want to get that kid’s mom out and some girl named Jenny, who has a lot more intel because she works closer to the boss. If we could get his mom out, she’d know stuff that could help us, too. It’ll be a snatch and grab operation.”
“Do you think that some of the women are killing people like the men? That some of them are threats?”
“I don’t know. Guess so. Women are capable of violence for survival, too. The kid thinks so, but he said he never saw it firsthand, not on any runs he made with any of the men. He said it was always just men on his runs but that he knew some of the other men took along women with them.”
“They could’ve been using them to lure in unsuspecting vehicles.”
“True. Anyway, I don’t care one way or the other. Man. Woman. If they’ve killed innocent people to ensure their own survival, they’re pieces of shit in my book.”
This is the way it is with Cory. He’s straightforward. Cuts to the chase. Sees things in black and white. Simon is concerned they are going to shoot and kill innocent women.
Cory does not pick up on his inner turmoil and instead keeps speaking, “We’d sneak in. Gather more intel. Take out some assholes real sneaky-like. Chat up some women. Find the kid’s mom and get the hell back out.”
“This sounds like an idiotic plan,” Simon mentions and sets his food to the side. He’s lost his appetite. “Sam is injured. She’s not going to be able to do something like that next week.”
“Yeah, well this plan was all laid out before she got injured. As a matter of fact, she was one of the people who helped design it. But, we could take Paige and Reagan in with us, let them talk to these women. It’s all still in the planning phase.”
“I don’t want my sister going in there. It’s too dangerous.”
“You think I didn’t say the same damn thing?”
Simon stands and crosses the room to look out at the stormy night. Water is running down over the corner of the roofline and creating a large puddle on the ground. It has stormed all day, which will make things a muddy mess, especially back on the farm.
Cory adds, “But the way John and Derek see it, Paige spent almost three full years sneaking
around. I’ve seen her in action. She is good at it. She’s also a woman, so that will make the women in there trust her. I don’t know. I still don’t like it, but they’re right. She is going to be our best bet.”
Behind him, Cory rises and slings his rifle.
“Where are you going?”
Damn Dog follows him to the door, but he holds his hand palm-out to her. “Stay, girl. Good girl. Just out for a stroll. Can’t be pinned up too long. I’ll leave her with you to watch your back while you catch some sleep. If that’s even possible. I’ll never sleep tonight. After what happened with the town being attacked? No way. Makes me antsy just being here. Plus, I told Henry I’d meet him and play a hand of poker with him and his friends.”
“Wait, he’s still in town?” Simon inquires without trying to conceal his disgust.
Cory nods and picks up his pack from the sofa. “Yeah, too worried about Sam to go back to his farm.”
Simon curses under his breath, his body tightening with fury. “That moron is the whole reason she’s hurt. Where is he?”
He stalks toward the entry door with every intention of finding Henry and doing him bodily harm.
“Easy, brother,” Cory cautions and steps in front of him, placing his hand against Simon’s chest. “It was an accident. Henry made a mistake…”
“Yes, a mistake that could’ve gotten her killed.”
Cory’s eyebrows rise, and he says, “Yeah? Well, we’ve made mistakes on runs, too. Remember? Sam was kidnapped on our watch. Not something we should go around bragging about.”
This only further angers Simon recalling his own stupidity on that trip.
“Just let it go,” Cory suggests. “He made a mistake, Professor. We live in damn dangerous times. You know that.”
He narrows his eyes on Cory, steps away from him, and crosses the room. He’d still like a piece of Henry, for many reasons other than just not keeping a good eye on Sam. Then he remembers that Cory said he was also going on a perimeter check.
“Stay away from the house down the street,” Simon warns.
“You don’t want me to check on your sister, make sure she’s safe?”
This backfires on him, leaving Simon frustrated. “Fine, damn it. Check on her. Make sure the house is locked up. Then get away from her.”
His former friend laughs obnoxiously. “Someday you’re gonna have to forgive me, brother. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still in love with your sister, and you’re still my best friend. Unfortunately for both of you, I’ve got nothin’ but time on my hands. Someday.”
“You’ll find someone else soon enough, I’m sure. This is probably the longest dry spell you’ve ever had.”
“Spoken from someone who’d know all about dry spells,” Cory jokes. “And yes, it is the longest time I’ve been without. But that’s cool. She’s worth it. I’ll wait a decade if I have to. Unlike you, I actually know what I want, and I’m not too chickenshit to go after it.”
Simon groans and leaves the room, feeling irritated with Cory again. It doesn’t take much. All he has to do is mention Paige in this way, and it just reminds him all over again how Cory had betrayed his trust, slept with his sister, and lied to his face. Mentioning Sam makes him even madder. He hasn’t even been able to corner her and talk to her about the letter, his feelings, what created them, why he felt like he did about her, nothing. There is so much that needs to be said to her, but Simon never manages to gain time with her. Maybe he should ask her to schedule it in her planner on a specific day and time. He’s pretty sure she’s still mad at him, so fat chance getting time with her.
He returns to the back room and checks on Sam again. She is still asleep, which gives him some comfort. Noting everything on her chart will help Reagan or Herb if they come to town in the morning. Then Simon lies down for a few minutes with Damn Dog stretched out across the threshold of the room. The rhythmic cadence of the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway, the soft, ambient lighting, and the warm, cozy atmosphere pull him into sleep.
Soft, feminine moaning awakens him next, and Simon realizes something wet is on his hand. He jolts to a sitting position to find Cory’s dog licking his wrist. His face also seems slightly damp. She’d awakened him with slobbery spit? Great. He should’ve made Cory take her with him. She must need to go outside to use the bathroom.
But when Simon reaches for his glasses, the dog trots away from him. Damn Dog is whining nervously near Sam’s bed and wagging her tail and prancing in place as if agitated.
The sounds he heard in his sleep weren’t from his dreams or the dog. Sam is moaning quietly as if she’s in pain.
“Sam,” he whispers apprehensively and springs to his feet.
Her eyes are still shut. Simon moves a lantern closer to her cot, placing it on a stand. She must be in pain, but surely, she would wake and tell him that she needs something for it.
Taking a knee next to her on the low cot, Simon lifts her wrist and takes her pulse. It seems a little slow. Then he takes out a penlight and shines it over her face. She’s sweating. His heart begins banging hard against his chest wall. She’s burning up against his hand when he places it on her cheek. She whimpers pathetically.
Wasting no time, he pulls the blanket down over her body and quickly inspects her wound. There is a dark red circle around the exit portion they’d sewn closed earlier. The point of entry hole is still slightly pink and puffy but does not seem as red. The exit, on the other hand, has an angry reddish-purple tint. She’s infected. Panic begins to set in on him. Doc is at home. Reagan is also not here. It’s just him. And this is Sam, not some random stranger he treated earlier.
Simon races from the room, but the dog stays with her. He finds Cory standing guard at the door of the lobby again smoking a cigarette. Normally, Simon would lecture him about doing that in the medical clinic, but not tonight.
“Cory,” he calls out, startling his friend. “Sam’s sick. Come quickly. I need help.”
Cory opens the front door, flicks his cigarette out into the rain, and walks quickly to him.
“What’s going on?”
Simon explains, “She’s infected, the wound. It’s not good. She’s burning up, and it’s red and infected at the site.”
“Shit,” Cory swears. “What do you need me to do?”
Instead of calmly rationalizing a solution, Simon starts losing his mind. He blurts a million different possibilities, even methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus, and goes into full-blown panic mode.
“Dude!” Cory cuts him off. “Chill. Just think, Simon. Calm down a moment. Clear your head.”
“Right, you’re right,” Simon says and begins pacing.
“Just pretend this isn’t Sam,” Cory suggests, to which Simon sends a look of irritated disbelief his way. “Ok, fine. That’s not an option, but pretend this is just some problem you’re working on in the lab back home with Doc. How would you handle it?”
“Analysis,” he answers decidedly.
“Good,” Cory says. “How?”
Simon paces some more. “First we’d analyze the problem. Expand the possibilities of what the cause could be. Then we’d take detailed notes of symptoms, duration, severity, and do observations.”
“Right,” Cory observes. “Then what?”
“Work on the solution using what we know with what we have available to us as options for the patient’s care.”
“Let’s get to it,” Cory says.
Simon doesn’t answer but heads back to the room. He turns on the overhead lights and pulls on his lab coat and stethoscope. Then he takes her temperature, which ends up being 103.2 degrees, and has Cory note it on her chart. He takes her pulse next and does the same. It’s still just a tad slow. She doesn’t wake during any of this.
“We need to flush the wound and get her on antibiotics stat,” Simon says a few minutes later. “There’s no time to waste. This could spread from the site. It could move inside and attack her system, her organs, everything.”
&
nbsp; “Hot water?” Cory asks.
“Yes, boiling, sanitary,” he returns.
“I’m on it,” Cory answers and leaves the room quickly.
Simon removes her bandaging from the entry and exit portions of the wound. If he’s going to clean and re-sanitize the exit, he should also use caution and clean the entry, too. While he waits for Cory to return with the hot water, Simon mixes and pulverizes a fever-reducing compound in a mortis and pestle and begins reviewing in his head the different, possible antibiotics he could use. There is no way of studying a biopsy of the infected flesh under microscopes or perform tests on it. He’ll have to wing it and pray.
By the time he has the fever reducer mixed, Cory has returned with the hot water and rags. Simon plunges a cloth into the water, pulls it out and wrings it over a metal pan to clean his hands.
“Hey, Simon, that’s hot as hell!” Cory tries to warn too late.
Simon moans against the pain of the scalding water. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to contaminate her further.”
“Shit, dude.”
“Take a very small ladle of the water and pour it into that cup on the counter. See it?”
“Yeah, got it,” Cory says and does what he’s instructed.
“Now, mix in the herbs in that pestle,” Simon tells him as he uses new rags soaked in the hot water to gently clean her wound. He’s praying he doesn’t have to re-open it to irrigate internal infection or dead flesh. The idea of putting her through that or having to do it without Doc makes him sick to his stomach.
“Done,” Cory says.
“Stir it really well. She’s going to have to drink it. We don’t want her to choke.”
“Got it,” he replies and keeps stirring.
“Mix a teaspoon of that honey from the jar there in it,” he orders and continues to clean and disinfect her wound. He can’t think about what Cory’s doing. His eyes are laser-focused on her infected leg. Normally seeing Sam lying on a bed in pale blue panties would make him want to pounce on her. Not tonight. He’d like to trade places with her, absorb her pain into his own body so that she could be spared this. When she moans softly and cries out in her fever-induced sleep, Simon winces. Damn Dog mewls softly beside him. She even licks Sam’s ankle. “Get back, Damn Dog.”
