The Tsunami

by Marshall Miller

Abigail was suddenly in unfamiliar territory. She had been too busy and too focused in Deseret to entertain any type of personal relationship with a male, not to mention the possible stigma she carried because of radiation exposure from Hanford. Now, this very nice young man was trying to establish some type of possible “dating” relationship. She blushed.

  “Lieutenant Baker --Todd, I… really appreciate all that you have done. You are a fine officer. But, I am in extremely new territory, and I need some time to get settled. And to be quite honest, I have been too busy to have what you may consider a normal personal life. Could I possibly ask that you… that we postpone any… ‘calling’ activity?” She gently removed her hand from his.

  He paused for a minute, then gave a small smile. “I understand, Captain. I will check back with you in a month or so. Until then, if you need any help, please feel free to contact me. If I cannot help, I may be able to find someone who can.”

  He was so nice and so earnest. She almost felt guilty that she attracted him as much as she did. She tried to smile back, but actually felt quite bad about the situation.

  “Thank you, Todd. Have a nice night.”

  Before she could say anything, he saluted her. She saluted back.

  “You have a nice night also…Abigail.” He turned and headed back to the Humvee.

  Abigail shut the door, and released the breath she had been holding. She needed rest, but old habits die hard. She did a quick, cursory cleaning of her weapons on the dining area table, making sure they were functional and loaded. She checked the refrigerator and saw that it had already been stocked with some basic staples—milk, eggs, bacon, homemade sliced bread, butter, jam, cheese, a little fruit, and some small wrapped packets of meats. There was also a six pack of beer, a large pitcher of lemonade, bottle of orange juice, and a couple of small bottles of water. She took one of the bottles of water and retreated to the bedroom with the bed, now hers.

  The bed looked new, as did the bed covers and sheets. She entered the bathroom and quickly washed up. She knew she badly needed a full shower, but was too tired to take one. She striped down to her skivvies, hung up her fatigues, then removed the clothes from her garment bag. Her dress blues, with both skirt and pants, and a summer dress the Prophet/President’s wife had magically provided in her room before she left Deseret. She managed to put her spare underwear away in the dresser drawers, then collapsed on the bed, immediately falling asleep.

  Abigail awoke just after 9:00am, temporarily confused until she remembered where she was. Immediately, panic set in as she feared she was late for something. She rarely, if ever, slept this late. Then, she remembered what the General had said about time off. She finally relaxed. She began to listen to the early morning sounds of the neighborhood and liked what she heard. There was an occasional vehicle, birds, a dog barking in the distance. No Jodie calls, no yelling, no marching. It was peaceful.

  She stretched, then slowly rose from bed, making her way to the bathroom. She noticed her mouth tasted bad, so she found her toothbrush and quickly brushed her teeth. Padding barefoot out to the kitchen, Abigail regaled in the ability to walk around in just her underwear. Suddenly, she was famished. While her cooking skills were limited, her Uncle Buck had taught her how to make some mean wrecked eggs. She found a couple of skillets in the cupboard, some utensils, and quickly scrambled the eggs. She added chunks of bacon, some cheese, some small pieces of sausage. A little pepper, hot sauce she found, a dash of paprika, and…voila! A perfect breakfast.

  Toasted bread and butter was a bonus, to which she added a glass of milk. She sat down, ready to christen her table. She bowed her head in prayer.

  “Thank you, Lord, for this bounty I am about to receive. I am truly blessed. Please help me keep my friends and fellow soldiers safe from harm. May you bless the Church and the Prophet. Thank you. Amen.” She had no rote memorized prayer she said each time. Everything she said was directly from the heart.

  She almost inhaled her breakfast. Maybe the fact she had made it herself, in an honest-to-god kitchen, that added to her enjoyment. When she was finished, she actually let loose with an unladylike belch, and began to laugh. This was her home. She could do pretty much what she wanted, within reason, and without offending someone. It felt amazing.

  Abigail cleaned up, washed the dishes and pans, and put everything away. Then she headed for a shower. The main bathroom had a combination tub and shower. And—wonder of wonders—brand new towels, soap, and shampoo. She began to realize the effort the General and his staff had put into this at such short notice. She felt a little choked up at the idea of the kindness of strangers.

  Next, she decided to clean up herself. The hot shower was heavenly. She unbraided her hair and washed it, realizing how much it had grown. She stayed in, washing and soaping everything twice before she noticed the hot water was finally running out. She stepped out, and examined herself in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

  There was no doubt about it. She was no longer a girl, but definitely a woman. Her whole body was firm, tight, with long steely muscles under her feminine curves. Now she suddenly realized what men were looking at. They saw this warrior with the body of a desirable princess—more of a warrior princess, to be exact. This combination was exotic to many men.

  For the first time, she also noticed a gift wrapped package on a shelf above the commode. She picked it up, frowning a little. Then she saw the envelope with her name on it. Inside was a small hand written card.

  “Welcome, young lady. In this package are a few things a woman often needs. I have heard you have beautiful long blonde hair. Please use the contents herein to keep it nice and healthy. I am looking forward to meeting you, Official Representative of Deseret. Please take your time and get settled in. I will be in touch.”

  It was signed Madam President, Sandra Paul, USA.

  She opened the package. Aside from a small hair dryer, there was an ornate mirror, brush and comb set, with a couple of matching barrettes. All looked to be set in gold, antiques that had been handed down from previous generations. She read a set of gold inlay cursive initials, her eyes welling up with tears of recognition. The initials matched what she knew to be Madam President’s maiden name. She began to cry. Strangers in this strange land were treating her like family, like they had known her for years. She couldn’t help but feel a bit that she did not deserve this.

  As she cried, she said a silent prayer. “My Lord Jesus Christ. Please make me worthy of this kind, Christian treatment from strangers.”

  She was finally able to regain control her of emotions. She blew her nose, wiped her eyes, washed her face again. Then she dried her hair, and used the brush and comb to work out any snarls. When she was done, her long blonde hair shone like it hadn’t in quite some time. She smiled. She went to her bedroom dresser and found a special place for the set. Later, she would buy an everyday set of hair care items. These provided by Madam President were for special occasions.

  She put on clean panties and a sports bra, the combination she always wore. The Prophet had said sanctified undergarments were no longer needed in the Mormon religion, instead asserting that it what was in your heart and soul, not what you wore, that was paramount. Next, she put on her well-worn sweatpants and top. She had no idea how many miles she had run in them, but was planning on many more.

  As she exited her bedroom, there was a knock on the front door. Force of habit made her pick up the switchblade she had taken from the Kraken. She walked to the door, stopped.

  “Who is it?”

  “Aleks and friends, Abigail. What the Yankees here call a welcome wagon.”

  A bit surprised, she opened the door. She saw Aleks, bookended by two attractive women—a blonde and a redhead. They were the same size and body type as Aleks. Side by side, the three women looked like a Russian sports or Olympic team, with matching sweat suits and athletic bodies.

  “Please let me introduce Afanasiy—called Fanny around here—and Inna. They ar
e my fellow soldiers. We came here together as part of the original mission from Free Russia. The good General has ordered us to take the day off from our regular duties in order to help you get settled. May we come in?”

  “Oh. Of course.” Abigail blushed again. “I apologize. I am used to a barracks, with just enough room to swing a cat, as my uncle used to say. I’m still not used to having a…place of my own and visitors.”

  “No worry, little sister,” Inna piped up in Russian. “You are family. Family cannot be rude to family.”

  “Little sister?” Abigail answered in Russian.

  “Why yes, Abigail.” Now it was Fanny’s turn to elaborate. “Aleks told us about you. She said that you speak Russian like a native, so you must have Russian in you. You are also a good friend of Torbin, who we have previously adopted. So, we took a vote and adopted you. The one warning is that people around here call us the three sisters, a nice way of calling us the three bitches to our faces, as we take shit from no one. So, you may have to put up with some crap caused by us. Just call us if it gets too deep.”

  Abigail was a bit flustered at first, but she managed to collect her thoughts. “Ladies, I am honored. But I do not want to start under false pretenses. I’m not Russian. I am Romanian and Norwegian. I learned Russian and other languages because my mother was an interpreter first for Romania, then the United States. But, I am not Russian. Sorry for the confusion.”

  The three Russian officers looked at one another. Aleks shrugged. “Close enough. I am half Ukrainian, but Fanny and Inna accept me as a sister. So, welcome to the group.” One at a time, all three women kissed her cheeks, then hugged her, smiling. They all giggled.

  “As you can tell, we sometimes act like schoolgirls,” Aleks explained. “ It helps to keep us young, and to deal with all of the problems we face each day.”

  Inna looked at the switchblade still in Abigail’s right hand. She smirked a bit. “I think our little sister already knows how to handle problems. You will fit in just fine, Abigail.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot it was even in my hand.” Abigail started to put it down.

  “May I?” Fanny held out her hand. Abigail handed the knife to her. Fanny hit the release and watched the blade spring open. She checked the steel edge. “Not bad. Decent steel. Spring opens well. Where did you get it?”

  Abigail paused, before she responded. “I took it off a Kraken beast, a gang member. He tried to hurt Torbin and me.”

  All three Russian women gave knowing nods, and Aleks spoke. “My husband has a tendency to attract trouble. Again, I thank you for pulling his proverbial chestnuts out of the fire.”

  “He has helped me as well. I owe him Aleks. He has been an irreplaceable friend.”

  “As he is to us, little sister,” Inna replied.

  Aleks clapped her hands. “Now, to business. Show us your home, please. We will help you decorate as only three opinionated women can.”

  Abigail was a little stiff as she awkwardly prepared to show her new home. This kind of socialization was completely new and foreign to her. She had never really spent spare time with other women, or men for that matter. It had always been eat, sleep, work, train, repeat—sometimes with the work involving violence.

  They first went into her bedroom. “Well, at least the General provided you with a decent double bed.” Aleks sat and bounced on it, checking the springs. “This will not hurt your back. Or, a lover’s back either.” The three Russians laughed.

  Abigail blushed bright red. “I…” She could not get out a coherent thought.

  “Look what you have done, Aleks.” Fanny scolded her. “You have embarrassed her. Please, disregard Aleks. She can be rude, crude, and socially unacceptable. She is even warping our friend Torbin…”

  As they began to kvetch in Russian, Abigail began to shake. She plopped butt first on the floor, the carpet providing some cushion.

  “Little sister, are you alright?” Abigail could only sit and shake.

  “You goddamned fool. Do you not recognize combat stress when you see it?” Inna snapped at Aleks. Next thing, she was sitting next to Abigail, hugging her. Abigail began to bawl.

  The three women huddled around her, letting her cry. Finally, five minutes later, she finally stopped. “I am so sorry. I’m acting like a big baby.” Abigail tried to wipe her nose and eyes with the sleeves of her sweat top. Aleks kissed her cheek.

  “You have not really had time to yourself, have you? Or time to be yourself, either alone or with friends, have you, little sister? Or to talk about the things you have seen, and done?”

  Abigail swallowed. “I guess not. The last week or so, everything seems to be…bubbling up. I am losing control, and turning into a basket case. Worthless.”

  “Now look here, Abigail Young. No friend of my husband, Torbin, is ever worthless. My God! He told me how you saved him. None of us could have done what you did.”

  She took Abigail’s face in her hands. “Abigail, when I told you that I owe you, I meant I can never ever pay you back. You saved my husband, the father of my unborn children. I, we, are here to help you—not because the General ordered us—but because we want to. You are not going through anything that the three of us have not experienced.”

  Abigail sniffed. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Inna, still hugging her, explained, “All of us have had to… depressurize. We were trained as spies, and to be assassins too if necessary. Which has been necessary—many times. Since we met each other, we have helped to keep each other sane. I have no family left. The Squids took them. Aleks has a cousin or two. Fanny’s mother is still alive. So, here and now, we are family.

  Fanny then interjected. “There was a study in the first part of the twenty-first century, comparing how men and women could handle stress involving violence. They showed men and women pictures, films of acts of violence, and the results of violence. Women, especially when the pictures involved children, have a large amount of difficulty in dealing with, processing the violence then moving on. The psychologists and sociologists who did the study surmised they internalized it, and personalized it, because of their ability to reproduce. They held onto the pain and angst the representations of violence created. Men were able to de-personalize it easier. However, violence eventually gets to everyone, unless you are a sociopath. You are no sociopath. None of us are, contrary to what some people might think. Therefore, we have cases of combat stress, and post-traumatic stress syndrome.”

  Fanny continued. “Plus, with the threaten everyone faces of being eaten, the cases will increase unless we find a way to deal with it. We deal with it by being family, supporting each other, getting shitfaced, physically working out, and talking it out. You, Abigail, can do the same. And, if necessary, there are professional counselors available through the military hospital.”

  Abigail let out a deep sigh. She realized that having the three women around her gave her a feeling of security she had not felt for a long time.

  Inna turned to Aleks. “She told you that you are to have twins?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  Abigail shivered a bit. “I now must ask….did your husband tell you what…he found out about what the Evil Ones are trying to do…to women?”

  “Yes, he did. I will get a check-up as soon as our local medical officials and scientists get a good handle on what to look for. If I have been… affected, it will be in the early stages. I come from very strong stock. No Squid is going to screw with my twins.”

  The women began to giggle. Then to laugh. Finally, they began to babble a bit in Russian, helping to de-stress. They had Abigail touch Aleks’ stomach again, and again she sensed the lives developing. Suddenly, she was calm.

  She kissed each woman on the cheek in turn.

  “Thank you. I have made more new friends in the past week than I have since the Evil Ones came. I am close to the Twenty, but that is because we lived and trained together. So please pardon me if I become overwhelmed with�
� normal friendship.”

  “Well, little sister. We are about to do something that women friends used to do a lot before those slimy Squids showed up. We are about to go shopping.”

  “I have some money in my dresser...”

  “No, no. I will pay.” Aleks commanded.

  Fanny stood up and opened Abigail’s underwear drawer. She shook her head, and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Sports bras and Grandma panties are good for field maneuvers, not social maneuvers. Our friend Torbin picked some nice panties and such out at the BX a while ago. There are also other places we can go.”

  Abigail stuttered a bit. “Torbin…p-p-picking out…women’s underwear?”

  “Why yes. My husband has many unusual skills. Of course, I made him retire that one.”

  “Much to our displeasure,” Inna cracked.

  Aleks huffed, “I will share many things with my sisters, but not my husband.”

  “Well, then,” Inna shot back. “You are just going to help your sisters, including Abigail, to find men as good as Torbin.”

  This elicited a laugh from them all, even Abigail.

  She turned toward Aleks.

  “I must tell you that Torbin said you would help me with…lady things. To be honest, I guess you would say I am very inexperienced in being a woman among other people. A warrior, I know backwards and forwards; being a lady—I know very little.”

  Aleks took Abigail’s hands and felt them, squeezed them, then her arms.

  “My God, you are strong. Well, the first rule of being a lady, especially around men, is that you have to be a bit dainty. Contrary to what men say, we can hurt them all too easily. Then they cry and carry on like big babies.”

  Abigail laughed. In a blink, she was totally relaxed.

  “Look at this beautiful uniform,” Fanny exclaimed, still snooping. “It looks like Torbin’s.”

  “Yes. My Prophet and President was a former Marine and modeled our uniforms after theirs.”

  “Well, little sister, we will flesh out your wardrobe. Then, you will be able to wrap men around you little finger without a uniform.”