Beauty and Dread

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  She had decided months ago that she could bear the burden of failure as long as she could continue her work. Serendipitously, Steven had given her that opportunity when he had asked her to be Liberty’s doctor. She hadn’t attended college, let alone earned the advanced degrees required to legitimately claim the title of ‘nurse practitioner,’ as she told everyone. It didn’t matter that she had lied; she knew more than most six-year medical students, and she believed the townspeople were in qualified hands...literally. Hers could bring about spontaneous remissions, and melt artery-clogging cholesterol. They could stimulate the healing platelets and fibroblasts in a wound faster than nature left to its own devices; the same for chondroblasts when there was a broken bone. Many of the burns she had treated in the past barely scarred at all. She was convinced she had cured one of the Hays girls of chlamydia with nothing more than the focused energy of her hands.

  Of course there had also been plenty of failures over the years.

  The tricky part was corralling the energy. Too little and it didn’t help the patient. Too much and it could kill them. That had happened in the past as well, and was the reason she had been fired from her last three home healthcare jobs.

  Oh well. You can’t win them all.

  While she worked her pestle and mortar, crushing the dried St. John’s wart with a pinch of fox glove, she realized how happy she was. She could make a difference in this new world, and she was resolved to do so. Since the legacy would end with her, she would make it all count; all those generations of exceptional women the world had never known existed, outside of fairy tales.

  She hummed as she toiled in the chilly space. It was a trifle mean-spirited, but she had to admit she was relieved that those awful children – the ones who’d called her Witch! and egged her house every Halloween – had perished in the scourge. Those who remained knew nothing about her or her past mistakes, and she intended to keep it that way.

  ###

  “Calvin, give me a boost,” Natalie said to the tall man standing next to her.

  In the weak light, his intense blue eyes appeared gray, just like the peeling paint of the house beside him. Without a word, he grabbed the shapely calves and hoisted her up. This was the only room in the house in which the blinds hadn’t been drawn. A kerosene lantern glowed from the fireplace mantle, revealing a tidy living room crammed with mismatched threadbare furniture and dozens of dainty crocheted doilies.

  “Ugh. It looks like Grandma Moses threw up in here.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” The man’s deep voice resonated in the crisp air. The cultured clip of the consonants and intentional drawing out of the vowels suggested the speaker was not only used to talking from behind a pulpit, but knew how to sway crowds.

  “No, damn it. I’m not seeing anything out of the ordinary.”

  “What did you hope to find?”

  “I don’t know. Evidence or clues, I guess. A treasure trove of food and a sex slave tied up to her bed. Something is just not kosher about that woman. I feel it with every fiber of my being.”

  The man slid Natalie’s body down the length of his until both feet were back on the ground. He didn’t release her.

  “Thank you, Calvin,” she said with a gentle push to his chest. “I appreciate you coming out here with me.”

  He gazed at the lovely woman, an achromatic movie star in the gloom.

  Slowly he released her, but held one of her slender hands, fingering the delicate bones with their fragile covering of soft skin. He smiled down at her, then raised the hand to his lips, brushed the back with a kiss, and let her go.

  It took a few moments for her pulse to return to normal. She couldn’t tell if she was titillated or terrified.

  “I would think you’d be feeling mighty smug right about now,” he drawled.

  “I’m pleased with the result of the vote, if that’s what you mean. If people choose to keep pets, they should be the ones to make sacrifices, not me. It isn’t fair. You can’t deny that.”

  “I can’t deny your logic, but I am curious about your motives.”

  “Fairness. That’s my motive. Equity. Nothing else.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway, it’s over now. I wonder how difficult it would be to pick that padlock on the cellar door.”

  “I have many skills, my dear, but lock-picking isn’t one of them. And besides, what if the lady is down there? How will you explain your burglary to the other residents of the town?”

  “It’s three o’clock in the morning. She’s on duty at eight tomorrow. Why in the world would she be up so late? Unless she’s doing something nefarious, in which case, you’ll be my witness.”

  “I have a better idea. Let’s come back when you know for certain she’s not at home. When is her shift at the hospital?”

  “Coincidently, it’s the same as mine. Guess who’s in charge of the schedule.”

  “The lady in question, no doubt.”

  “Correct. Although I could take a long break tomorrow. Tell her Brittany is sick at home and I need to check on her.”

  The man said nothing, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement.

  “That’s what I’ll do,” she continued. “And I’ll bring some bolt cutters with me.”

  “Will you be seeking my help in this clandestine enterprise?”

  She flashed her most charming smile.

  “If you don’t mind. I’m not sure I have the strength to cut the lock.”

  “Very well, but I’ll need something from you in return.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not yet, at least.”

  The amused grin stretched to a full-blown smile. Moonlight glinted off perfect teeth and illuminated a face that was well known in Georgia prior to Chicxulub. It had appeared on billboards throughout the Bible Belt but was most famous in Atlanta, home of the Whitehaven Baptist Church. Their Sunday sermon was televised locally and viewed through syndication in five southern states.

  “You’ll sleep with me when you’re ready, which will be sooner than you think. But that’s not what I want in exchange for my bolt-cutting prowess, my silence, and my complicity.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

  He took his time before answering, a smile still hovering about the corners of his mouth. When he finished, Natalie was also smiling.

  Chapter 16

  “Holy shit, Sam. I told you not to do that.”

  Dani had woken under the weight of a heavy down comforter between cozy flannel sheets. Her head rested on a pillow that felt like it was stuffed with marshmallows and fairy dust. With her eyes closed, she marveled at the decadent comfort of sleeping under such conditions. The town had her to thank for it too. Courtesy of her security measures, the residents of Liberty could reasonably expect to wake up every morning not dead. When she opened her eyes, Sam was gazing at her from five inches away.

  “I can’t help it. You’re air-suckingly beautiful.”

  She laughed. “Yes and so are you. Good grief, how many women are in your harem now?”

  “You mean my self-defense class? I think I’m up to nine. Plus the two going through the security training. Those girls are tough too. Not as tough as you, but pretty darn tough.”

  The notion of him having admiration for any other woman would have caused jealousy to flare in the heart of the old, chubby nerdy Dani. The new and improved version – Dani 4.0 – didn’t bat an eyelash. It wasn’t in Sam’s nature to stray, but it was her supreme confidence that kept any would-be jealousy at bay; confidence gained from self-educating, from the grueling martial arts sessions with Sam, and from victories, both small and large. They were starting to add up now. It would be impossible not to feel the tiniest bit smug. She knew that characteristic rubbed some people the wrong way, and she didn’t care.

  Results were all that mattered, and she was getting them. Just look at what she had accomplished in such a short time with the help of
her crew, which had already become fiercely loyal to her. Hell, even the Creeper seemed to like her now. At least he had stopped doing that weird oblique staring thing. He replaced it with occasional direct eye contact and his trademark creepy grin. She would take that grin over the tilted head, unblinking sideways stare any day.

  His oddness was irrelevant. He had saved her life, and he was the best shooter they had. He had earned her loyalty with the first and her respect with the second. It wasn’t any more complicated than that, which is the way she liked it. Black and white. Gray areas were for people like Steven.

  “I’m glad they’re tough,” she said. “That’s what we want. No shrinking violets or crybabies allowed. Are you working them as hard as the guys? Like you did me?”

  Sam’s golden beard tickled her neck where he nuzzled that spot that drove her crazy.

  “I’m not working them like this, if that’s what you mean.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  She grinned, guiding his face lower, down to her breasts. Her fingers brushed the top of his forearm where Isaiah’s ‘brand’ had healed with much less scarring than hers. Sam never brought it up anymore because it infuriated her – that psycho bastard had made a permanent mark on her body. Nobody had the right to do that. If she ever got the opportunity, she would tie him up and carve her brand all over his body. Then she would kill him. She contemplated the design of her brand, then considered the odds that she would ever see the lunatic again. It was unlikely.

  Sam’s gentle, slow kisses had progressed to her belly button. All thoughts of Isaiah vanished as his tongue found its way between her legs.

  ###

  “Sir, our scouts discovered a large house with well water and a manual pump. It would be a good place to set up camp for the night. There are four bedrooms in the main house and a lot of floor space. There’s also a big stable but no horses, and a small barracks of sorts. Probably for the ranch hands. It’s all in good shape. Another house down the road was demolished. They said it looked like a tornado went through there.”

  Martin could not get a feel for the mood of his general today. He had been quiet and aloof since morning, yet had ordered no executions. The man was either exuberantly happy or exuberantly bloodthirsty. There was no in between. Until now. The change was unsettling.

  “Mother Nature is a cold, capricious cunt, isn’t she lieutenant?” Isaiah replied. His tone seemed distracted, another new development. Martin had never known him to be anything but laser-focused on the topic at hand.

  “She is that, sir.”

  “It seems to be a universally female characteristic. Flighty, fickle, frivolous. Do you think that’s because of the heavy burden they bear?”

  “What burden is that, sir?”

  “Procreation, of course. The greatest burden of all. Yes, it takes a man to fertilize a womb, but one squirt and his job is done.”

  Isaiah smiled at the crudeness of his own joke – another rare event. The man’s verbiage was downright chaste most of the time.

  Martin chuckled, careful to achieve what he hoped was the correct balance of respect and appreciation for the jest. He was in new territory now.

  “The women,” Isaiah continued, “theirs is the true power. The power of life itself. Is there any greater? My own dear mother died in the process of giving birth to me. I’ve only seen her in photographs and dreams.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”

  “None of that, please. I’m a product of my life experiences, like tempered steel pounded and doused and forged until the resulting blade is magnificent, mighty, matchless.”

  “You are certainly all those things.”

  Isaiah glanced at his lieutenant, as if seeing him for the first time during their conversation. “Martin, don’t be such a suck-up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The wide grin in the dark face looked genuine for once. The lieutenant didn’t know whether to be relieved or shit his pants.

  “You know, I often wonder how I would have turned out if she hadn’t died. Can you fathom the difference having a mother makes in the life of a child? Did you have both parents?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “Your mother, was she kind?”

  The terrified man nodded.

  “You were lucky then, in some ways. Not so much in others.”

  “How so, sir?”

  “From great suffering comes great strength. I imagine your mother coddled you, fed you, bathed you, kissed your boo-boos...all those things mothers do. That nurturing made you weak because you didn’t suffer. Did you realize that?”

  “I’d never thought of it in those terms. That’s an interesting perspective.”

  Honeyed laughter bubbled up from the muscled chest.

  If he lived through the day, Martin promised his frayed nerves two ounces of the Bacardi he had stashed in his saddlebag. He would probably need to make use of the clean underwear the bottle was wrapped in, as his bowels threatened to turn to liquid at any moment.

  “It’s the truth, as ugly and as beautiful as it may be. Suffering made me the person I am today. Do you know what my father did for a living?”

  “No sir.”

  “He was a police officer. During his thirty-year career, he received three medals of valor and five commendations for exceptional bravery in the line of duty. I know this because they were proudly displayed in our house. He would show them to me every time I fell short of his expectations. After he forced my small fingers to trace the engraving on the metal stars and touch the glass where the certificates were hung on the wall, he would beat me. I often passed out from the pain, I’m sorry to say. I was still being forged then, you understand.”

  “How old were you sir? When he beat you?”

  “He always beat me. My earliest recollections were of him beating me. Right up until the day I killed him. I was fifteen years old. It’s one of my fondest memories.”

  Martin tried to swallow, but his mouth was lined with sandpaper. His body’s moisture seemed to be migrating south at the moment.

  “Do you appreciate the irony? His brutality spawned the very thing that would vanquish it forever. Me.” The smile this time was back to normal. “Sublime, stupendous, superb me.”

  Isaiah reached down from his stallion to give him a playful punch in the shoulder.

  “I don’t regret a thing. Not one bruise, not one bloodied lip, not one broken bone, because they produced the man you see before you today. And you have to admit, I’m breathtaking.”

  When the laughter came again, it made Martin think of how hot magma oozes out of volcanic fissures just before an eruption.

  “Do you think she senses me? Sees me in her dreams, as I see her?”

  “You mean the girl, sir? Dani?”

  The smile vanished.

  “Of course I mean the girl. Who else would I mean? Martha Stewart?”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “I see her,” Isaiah continued, his eyes, like smoky quartz marbles, had taken on a misty quality. “I see her standing next to a sign that I can’t quite make out. I know the name of a town is on that sign, and I know the closer I get to it, the more legible it will be. She taunts me in those dreams, as she taunted me that day back in Texas. I underestimated her then. It won’t happen again. She’s a worthy adversary, that one. Fierce and formidable. And female. So the bitch has that going for her.”

  Martin raised his eyebrows at the vulgarity.

  “All that power, in addition to martial arts training and a quick mind. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered her equal.”

  “She’ll be sorry for what she did, sir. You’ll make sure of that.”

  “Indeed, and in ways that give me pleasure to contemplate. Now about that house. How far out are we? I’m feeling rather peckish.”

  The exuberance was back. Martin decided to wait until tomorrow to tell his general about the massive roadblock the scouts had also spotted, positioned on I35 between them and Kansas, where they were headed
. He wondered, briefly, if tonight wouldn’t be a good time to cut and run. He knew there were spies within their army; Martin was the highest ranking spy of all. Informants were paid in favor and extra food rations for the intelligence they shared with their general. He suspected the newest member of his own quad was, in fact, a spy.

  Isaiah was crazier than a shithouse rat, but he was no fool. He had anticipated a desertion problem. The solution was to have his soldiers inform on each other, and make it appealing to do so. To ensure nobody slunk away during the night, everyone was assigned three people with whom to sleep – sleeping quads. If someone needed to take a leak, one of their quad mates had to accompany them. Sentry duty was conducted in pairs, as were scouting missions. People were moved about frequently to deter friendships.

  Nobody went anywhere or did anything by themselves, because any person seen alone at any time was shot on sight.

  It was a brilliant system, and so far it had been effective in keeping him at Isaiah’s side. Their army had burgeoned to nearly a hundred and fifty members. Some had volunteered, lured by the appeal of violence; others had been conscripted. The conscripted were usually the ones executed.

  It felt like he had been on a roller coaster ever since the day Isaiah had incised Martin’s forearm. His had been the second such surgical branding, just after the general had carved his own arm. Since that day, he felt as if he had been sitting in the front car of that metaphorical roller coaster as it had been clicking, clacking, clicking along for months, slowly and relentlessly ascending a rusty track. There was no safety bar to hold onto, and loose bolts barely held the metal runners to a scaffolding of diseased pine. Something told him they were close to reaching the apex of the ride. When that happened, the inevitable plummet would be terrifying and bloody. The question was, should he stay aboard and hope to survive the crash, or risk jumping off before? Did he have the balls to attempt an escape? Because anything less than success meant certain death.