by David Lucin
Barbara dabbed at her eyes with a dishcloth. Maria smirked knowingly. Jenn had told her and Gary about the secret wedding by the Skydome. In turn, Gary told Kevin while Maria told Nicole, but both were given strict orders to not tell Barbara. In the end, this second wedding, only seven days after the first, was mostly for Barbara’s benefit, but happy mothers-in-law made for happy marriages, according to Maria. Besides, Jenn would take any excuse to marry Sam again. She would do it a thousand times if he let her. The first-kiss part would never get old.
Gary gave her a discreet thumbs-up. She’d asked him to walk her down the aisle—or across the backyard, as it were. He acted cool when he accepted the offer, but Jenn saw the glisten in his eye, just as she saw it now. When he’d linked his arm with hers and they stepped through the sliding patio door, she choked up, hard, her throat so tight it felt like she’d tried swallowing a basketball. He’d become her father in all but name.
The thought made her miss her parents. She wished they could have been here, could have seen her so happy. Never had she been religious, but she chose to believe that, wherever they were, they were watching her today.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ed said with a flourish, “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. . . . Orr?”
“Orr-Jansen.” Jenn poked Sam in the chest. “Got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
He flinched, then crinkled his nose. “If you say so.”
“It sounds better than Jansen-Orr. I’m even being generous and putting your name first.”
“Or you could just be Jenn Orr.”
“I could be. But everyone already calls me by my last name, so it would be confusing. Maybe you should become Sam Jansen.”
He thrust out his bottom lip. Was he actually considering taking her name? As much as the possibility amused her, she’d prefer to take his, despite “Jenn Orr” not rolling off the tongue quite as well as “Sam Jansen.”
“We don’t have to decide now.” She shot Gary a narrow-eyed glance. “We can figure it out once the city gets itself in order and starts keeping a record of marriages.”
“To my knowledge, this is the first wedding since everything happened,” he said. “So don’t blame me.”
“I’m kidding, Gary. I don’t really care. Not like we’re going to get a tax break or anything, unless married couples get extra rations.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that.”
Oh well. Worth a shot.
Allison honked while blowing her nose, and laughter filled the Ruiz family’s backyard. “Stop laughing at me!” she said while laughing at herself. “I can’t help it. I’m just so happy for you guys.”
“Thanks, Allie.” Jenn thumbed her ring. Rings. Ed had given her and Sam two new wedding bands from his and Sophie’s stash of backups. This one had fewer scuff marks and shone when the light hit it at the right angle. More importantly, as far as she knew, it had never been on Sophie Beaumont’s finger. It was hers and hers alone.
Holding hands, she and Sam stood there awkwardly for a moment. What were they supposed to do now? They should have rehearsed this beforehand or at least asked Ed for a play-by-play summary of how the ceremony would unfold. God, she really botched the planning of all this. In her defense, she’d had a week to prepare, and she had to spend most of that time cataloging weapons, ammunition, and food taken from the White Horde.
As if he’d read her mind, Ed whispered to them, “Now’s the part when you walk off together.”
“Right.” And she knew exactly where they would go.
Her heart thundered with anticipation. The applause began again as she practically dragged Sam around the line of chairs.
“Where are we going?” he asked as they passed through the fence leading to the front yard.
Halfway down the driveway, she had a thought: the door to their house would be locked. “You have your keys on you?”
He patted his jacket pocket. “Always. Why?”
“Because we’re going home. Our home.” And then, softly into his ear, “And I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me in this dress. I thought you might want to help me take it off.”
25
Jenn stepped into the batter’s box, digging her cleats into the damp earth. Snow still clung to the field, but in places, brown and yellow grass had begun to show through. At the end of last April, Flagstaff hadn’t seen a snowfall in over a month, and Jenn went out in jeans and a T-shirt. Today, she wore a light jacket, her faux-leather gloves, and her tuque. Yet barring a freak snowstorm, a very real possibility, spring was nearly here; she could smell it in the air, a freshness, like after a morning downpour. She tried not to pay much attention to the smoke hanging high in the atmosphere. At this point, she assumed it would simply never go away.
On the pitcher’s mound, Dylan waved an arm toward his fielders. “Back up!”
Quinn, in right, withdrew a few yards. So did Freddie in center. In left, Beau stayed put, standing halfway between the fence and the third-base line.
It was the top of the first, and Jenn was hitting fourth—the clean-up spot. Ahead of her, Yannick popped out, and Tanis grounded out to short. Sam doubled to right, so there were two outs with a runner on second. An RBI opportunity.
She hadn’t played ball since high school, not even slow pitch. Being out here, bat in hand, felt good. Really good. Great, actually. In the past year, she’d forgotten how to have fun. Everything had to have a purpose. If an activity didn’t contribute to survival, it wasn’t worth the effort. But today was special: the one-year anniversary of the bombs. She refused to let that grim milestone bring her down. Hence, the ball game, her idea. Doing something normal and enjoying herself was her giant middle finger to the end of the world.
“Ready?” Dylan asked, holding up a neon green softball.
Jenn tapped the far edge of the orange strike mat with the tip of her bat. “Just throw the ball already. Or are you scared?”
“Whoa-ho-ho,” he said through a laugh. “Tough guy, eh? All right, let’s see what you can do.”
He lobbed in the first pitch. Jenn tracked it with her eyes, watching it arc toward the plate and fall dead center on the strike mat.
“Stiiiirike!” Wyatt, the umpire, called out from near the dugout while pumping a fist.
“Didn’t like that one?” Dylan asked as the catcher returned the ball.
“Just trying to get your pitch count up,” she joked. “Run you from the mound early so we can get to the bullpen.”
“Sure.” He set his feet, found his grip, and lobbed in the second pitch. This time, she swung. Her bat clipped the bottom of the ball, which flew straight into the fence on the backstop.
“Good cut,” someone from the dugout yelled. On second base, Sam ducked and covered his head. If Jenn had squared up that pitch, she might have sent a line drive at his face. She’d have to swing earlier next time; she’d prefer not to break her husband’s nose.
The catcher threw back the ball. “Count’s 0–2,” Wyatt said. “You know what happens if you strike out, don’t you, Jansen?”
“No, Wyatt. I don’t know what happens. Please, enlighten me.”
“Whenever I used to play, whoever struck out needed to buy the beer for the next game.”
“Well, I am twenty-one now, so I could actually do that. Too bad there’s no beer left in Flag. Unless the cops running the ration depots have been holding out on us this whole time.”
“Bragging rights’ll be enough for me.” Dylan rolled the ball around in his glove. “The great Jenn Jansen, struck out by her platoon leader. You’ll never live it down.”
“Don’t get cocky,” she said. “You gonna throw the ball or just chirp?”
He wound up and delivered the 0–2 pitch. This one came in flatter than the other two, as well as a hair inside—exactly where she liked it.
She swung hard. The crack of the ball on the bat was music to her ears, and she could tell by the vibration in her hands that sh
e’d hit the sweet spot.
The ball sailed high over shortstop as she ran up the first-base line. Beau began tracking backward, but he’d been playing too shallow and too far toward the foul line, and the ball landed in the gap between him and Freddie.
Taking care not to slip on the damp ground, she rounded first, making for second. Across the diamond, Sam had already passed third, being waved home by Dhaliwal, the third-base coach. The ball rolled to the fence. By the time Beau fielded it, Jenn was rounding second. As she approached third, Dhaliwal threw up his hands, so she skittered to a stop and rested her foot on the base.
Cheers and claps erupted from the dugout. Dhaliwal gave her a high-five. Via the shortstop, the ball returned to Dylan, who could only shake his head.
“What did I tell you about getting cocky?” Jenn asked, out of breath and a little dizzy. She probably shouldn’t be running. None of them should be. The first crop of potatoes would be planted next month, and the Beaumonts had already harvested some vegetables from their greenhouses at the farm and the Grierson ranch, but everyone in Flagstaff remained on strict rations. Jenn’s daily caloric intake had risen slightly, sadly thanks to an increase in the ration pool after so many deaths this winter, but she still looked like a skeleton. The last time she stood on a scale, her weight registered well into the double digits. She hadn’t been so light since her tweens.
“I’ve learned my lesson,” Dylan said and stepped onto the mound.
“Oh yeah? What lesson’s that?”
“Throw it outside.”
Jenn rolled her eyes. Did Dylan really think she could not go oppo? His mistake. He’d learn when she started dropping base hits into right-center.
She scored on a single to left by Courtney before a grunt from Third Platoon flied out to Quinn. As she returned to the dugout to prepare for the bottom half of the inning, Sam slapped her butt and said, “Nice work out there.”
After a sip from her water bottle, she put on her glove. “You weren’t so bad yourself. I wasn’t aware I married an athlete.”
“Hey, I can be coordinated. I played soccer when I was like nine.”
“Very impressive,” she said and returned the butt slap. “All right. Where’re you playing?” She gave him a look up and down. “You’re tall and kind of lanky. Perfect for first base. Can you catch?”
He drove a fist into his glove. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
Jenn played center field, her usual position, and went four for five with three RBIs, a triple, and a double in seven innings. Her team won 11–7. Afterward, she walked to the Ruiz house with Sam, ready to devour a dinner of cornbread and fresh veggies.
She wiped her boots on the welcome mat outside and let herself in. Gary had left the towels and sheets over the windows but had moved all the firewood into the garage. This afternoon, the fire burned low; Gary only ran it hot at night, when temperatures still approached freezing.
The couch had returned to its proper place, along with the coffee table. Last week, Gary and Maria began sleeping in their own bedroom again, and Barbara and Kevin went back to the office. Nicole took over Jenn’s old room. At first, Jenn was reluctant to give it up. Handing the room to Nicole meant moving out for good. But she was married now, and she craved more private time with her husband. Sometime next month, they’d ditch the barracks and move into their house down the street. That day couldn’t come soon enough. She was tired of sneaking into pitch-black bathrooms with Sam after the rest of the troopers had gone to bed.
Maria and Nicole were in the kitchen. Dressed in a purple sweater, Maria rinsed something in a white colander. Nicole, her blonde hair cut into a chin-length bob, zipped up her hooded sweatshirt and fetched plates from the cupboard.
“We’re home,” Jenn announced and hung her jacket by the door. A pang of sadness struck her when Ajax didn’t trot over and meow his usual greeting. This place would never be the same without him.
“How was the game?” Maria set her colander in the sink, then offered Jenn a hug and Sam a kiss on the cheek.
A hug and a kiss. Two months ago, both would have made Jenn squirm. But like the Great Khan and the Major before him, New River flu had been defeated. Mostly. Enough for hugs and kisses, anyway. Some patients remained in the hospital or in quarantine, but only a handful of cases popped up every few days. A full quarter of the population had gotten sick, regardless. A major outbreak hit town soon after the war with the White Horde. The virus ran roughshod through the Militia, infecting half its number, including Quinn. She was bedridden for a week with a fever that topped out at 104. Since Militia troops tended to be young and relatively healthy, the illness only killed two: one from Jenn’s First Platoon and a second from the Fifth. She and Sam had managed to dodge the disease. Another miracle. Or maybe just blind luck. Probably luck. Whatever. Jenn didn’t care, so long as she could hug Maria and visit without a mask.
“Big win,” Jenn said. “Did you know Sam is half decent at softball?”
Maria put a fist on her hip. “Is that so? A handyman and an athlete. You really lucked out, Jenn.”
“I know, right?” She plopped herself on the couch. Sam sat beside her and rested his hand on her thigh. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Barbara and Kevin are at their place down the street.” Maria returned to the kitchen, adding more loudly, “Getting ready to move back. Barbara’s hoping to be in there sometime in the next few days.”
“I still think that’s too early,” Sam said. “It’s almost freezing at night. I can’t believe Kate and Daniel have been sleeping at home for a week already.”
“I agree, Sam. But I won’t lie: Gary and I are looking forward to having the house to ourselves again.”
“Speaking of Gary,” Jenn started. “Where is he? I thought he had the day off.” Not that Gary took days off. Who knew that being the mayor of Flagstaff would prove so demanding? But Gary loved his work, and from what Jenn could tell, most of the town approved of the job he’d done so far. Overall, keeping the number of deaths to around three thousand, most of them due to the flu, hypothermia, and malnutrition, was regarded as a great accomplishment. The toll could have been higher. Reportedly, Prescott had lost over five thousand—one in seven dead, in a single calendar year. The figures boggled Jenn’s mind and crushed her heart. So many broken families, so much suffering. Yet after fighting the Great Khan, who would have seen every man, woman, and child exterminated, she couldn’t help but feel that both towns had emerged from the winter victorious. They had survived, and now they could start rebuilding.
“He’s in the backyard,” Maria said. “Talking with Liam.”
“Liam?” Jenn craned her neck so she could see the patio door, but it was covered with a towel. “What’s he doing here?”
Nicole came into the living room, carrying the colander. In the bottom lay a handful of freshly washed snap peas from the Beaumont farm. Jenn’s mouth watered, and her stomach growled so loudly that Sam arched an eyebrow.
“We don’t know yet,” Maria replied, “but it must be important. It’s not every day the leader of the Militia comes by to see us anymore.”
“No kidding.” Jenn took a pea and bit it in half. It was bitter, hardly ripe, but the touch of sweetness almost made her moan in delight. It might have been the best thing she’d tasted in months.
Sam plucked out his own pea. “Is it anything serious?”
“No, no, not at all.” Maria dried her hands on a dish towel. “Those two are all smiles out there.”
“So you’re spying on them?” Jenn joked.
Maria threw the dish towel over her shoulder and crossed her arms. “Of course. I can’t very well have the mayor of Flagstaff and the commander of the Militia talking in my backyard without snooping, now can I?”
“Right. Silly question.” Jenn chewed the rest of her pea, savoring it. She wanted another ten or fifteen, but Nicole had taken the colander back to the kitchen.
“It’s probably nothing too exciting,” Mar
ia added. “My theory is that Liam is finally going to start helping Prescott train its own militia. Gary’s been pushing for that since day one, so it’d make sense they’re both excited about it.”
Nicole sat at the dining room table and crossed her legs. “Who says it’s related to the Militia at all? Everyone’s starting to think about moving home. Maybe Liam’s just happy about not having to live with his old partner anymore. Or they could be talking about the memorial.”
Although Jenn had thought to ask Gary about a memorial dedicated to the troops, police, and civilian volunteers who died fighting the White Horde, she never got the chance: in the days after the Great Khan’s defeat, his office was flooded with similar requests. He agreed wholeheartedly and had promised to break ground on the project this spring.
“Possibly,” Jenn said. “But that doesn’t explain why they’re acting all secretive and hiding out in the backyard.”
Sam’s thumb found a tight, tender muscle in her knee. He began rubbing gently, saying, “Probably just habit. With the flu, everyone got used to meeting outside.”
The muscle in her knee relaxed, and she was thankful for Sam’s massages. She’d have to return the favor later. “True. It still feels kind of weird coming in and sitting on the couch.”
“It’s fine,” Nicole said. “It’ll be floating around until summer, but the chances of catching it now are really low. People moving out of shelters and back into their own houses will help a lot.”
They discussed the softball game until the patio door rumbled open. Gary pushed aside the towel and stepped inside. Jenn almost didn’t recognize him without his N95; the mask had become as much a part of his face as his signature mustache.
