Terry approached the table, inhaled deeply and asked, “Are you ready?”
Kevin sighed and answered, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Terry swabbed the area, took a scalpel and said, “Here we go.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Unable to leave Paul’s side, Kevin sat. He wanted to be there the second Paul woke.
Chloe also felt compelled to wait. She relaxed in the far corner of the room, biding her time sketching on a pad.
Paul groaned.
Kevin’s eyes widened. He leaned in close and patiently watched Paul wake.
Paul rolled his head from side to side, blinking heavily.
Chloe tapped Kevin on the shoulder.
Not hearing Chloe approach, Kevin looked shocked to see her standing next to him. “Gosh, you’re so sleuth like.”
She held up her chalkboard. Is he awake?
“I think so,” Kevin replied.
“Kevin, what happened?” Paul mumbled in a groggy voice.
“Hey, buddy, how do you feel?” Kevin asked.
Paul adjusted in the bed, stopping when he felt a sharp pain shoot up from his leg. “Argh, my leg, it still hurts, real bad.”
“Where?” Kevin asked.
“The calf, did she fix it?” Paul asked.
Confused, Kevin asked, “Your calf hurts?”
“Yeah. Did I mess it up more when I fell out of bed?” Paul asked.
“Um, yeah, you did. It appears two of the breaks cut through an artery and the lower part was crushed so bad that the blood was filling up the leg. We operated—”
“You operated, really? I thought you all were just talking big. She really operated on me?” Paul asked, grimacing as he tried to sit up.
“Just lie down. You need a lot of rest.”
The door burst open, and Claire walked in. “I heard you all talking. Is Paul hungry? I just finished making dinner.”
“He just woke, but he’s in a lot of pain,” Kevin said.
“I can eat something, for sure,” Paul said.
Claire walked over to Paul and tenderly touched his shoulder. “I’m sure you must be hungry. I’m sorry about the pain.”
“My leg is really hurting. I think I need some more painkillers,” Paul said, referring to his now amputated leg.
“Your other leg hurts?” Claire asked, confused.
“No, my broken leg, it’s in a lot of pain,” Paul replied.
Claire gave him an odd look and turned to Kevin. “You didn’t tell him?”
Chloe began to scribble on her chalkboard.
Wide-eyed, Kevin said, “How about we just let him rest.” He cocked his head and gave Claire a look suggesting she be quiet.
“Tell me what?” Paul asked.
“Get some rest, you need it,” Kevin said. He was unable to spit out the words that Paul’s leg had been amputated.
“Oh,” Claire said, looking surprised. She pursed her lips and gave Paul a look of sympathy. “Sorry.” She turned and left.
“Kev, what’s she talking about?” Paul asked.
Chloe held up her chalkboard. THEY CUT OFF YOUR LEG. I’M SORRY.
Not paying attention to Chloe, Kevin continued to lie. “Just rest. I’ll go get some food.”
Paul read the sign. His eyes bulged and nostrils flared. He tossed off the sheet and stared at the empty space where his lower leg used to be. “You cut off my leg!”
“We…um…listen, buddy, we had no choice. If we didn’t, there was a high probability of you developing—”
“YOU CUT OFF MY LEG!” Paul bellowed, his face turning red with anger.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Kevin said defensively.
Tears burst from Paul’s eyes as his composure changed to sorrow. “You cut off my leg,” he whimpered.
“Paul, please understand, we didn’t have a choice. It was that or you could die,” Kevin said.
Chloe held up her sign, but no one read it.
Wiping the warm tears from his face, Paul cried, “I’ll never walk, never run. I’m a fucking gimp. You should have just killed me.”
“You’re not a gimp, don’t say that,” Kevin said.
Chloe stepped in front of Kevin and shoved the chalkboard in Paul’s face. It read DON’T CRY. I’LL TAKE CARE OF YOU.
With a shaky hand, Paul reached out and touched Chloe’s arm. “Thank you. You’re so sweet.”
Embarrassed by the affection, Chloe looked down and blushed.
Paul looked up at Kevin and cut his eyes. “Get out!”
“Paul, please, don’t be angry with me,” Kevin said.
“GET OUT!”
Seeing he would be unable to console Paul, Kevin did just that. He left. In the hall he ran into Claire.
“I’ve got dinner for Paul.” Claire smiled.
“Why?”
“Why, what?”
“You know.”
“About his leg? He was going to find out sooner or later,” Claire said. She walked around him and into the room.
Kevin entered the kitchen to find Terry eating.
“He knows?” Terry asked.
“Yeah,” Kevin replied, walking to the stovetop to see what was for dinner.
“The chili is actually good,” Terry said, scooping up a spoonful. “I’m not sure where these girls learned how to cook. My sister was horrible.”
“Their dad?” Kevin said, ladling chili into a bowl.
“How did he take it?” Terry asked.
“Not good. You know something, Claire, she’s smart, astute, but somehow couldn’t pick up on cues that I wasn’t ready to tell him. It was as if she was playing a devious game with me. Like she enjoyed the torment of Paul finding out and me not being able to tell him.”
“She’s just a kid, I’m not sure how well versed she is in cues,” Terry said. “He knows and that’s all that matters. I’m sure it was tough telling him.”
“I didn’t, Chloe did,” Kevin replied.
Looking up from her bowl, Terry grinned and said, “She did?”
“I suppose those girls are tougher than I am. I was just having the most difficult time. How do you tell someone you cut off their leg?”
Shoving the empty bowl away from her, Terry answered, “Simple, just tell them. He was going to find out anyway.”
“That’s exactly what Claire said.”
“She’s a smart girl.” Terry laughed. “Now let’s discuss your staying here.”
Peeking up from his bowl, he said, “Okay.”
“Considering Paul’s condition, you’ll need to stay longer.”
“You’re not going to toss us out?”
“Not yet.”
“Can I ask a personal question?” Kevin asked.
“Sure.”
“Do you really have someone else coming to join you?”
Terry paused. “No. It’s just me.”
“I kinda knew, I just wanted to see how you’d reply.”
“Can I ask a personal question?” Terry asked.
“Sure.”
“What’s your story? Where you guys heading?”
Kevin told her everything. From the first day of the outbreak until their arrival at the farm.
“They left you guys high and dry?” she asked, referencing the others taking his truck.
“Yep. But I don’t blame them. I don’t think I would’ve done that, but I understand.”
“And Paul was the reason for the breakup?”
“You could say that even in the apocalypse people can still be petty.”
“I know that,” she said, getting up and taking her bowl to the sink. She placed it in the basin and leaned against the bull-nosed granite edge. “It’s getting dark.”
“I saw your ring. Was your husband killed?” Kevin asked.
Claire crossed Terry’s line of sight, headed for the barn.
“What’s that?” she asked. Her thoughts had been on Claire and why she spent so much time in the barn.
“Your husband, is
he dead?”
She turned around and answered, “Ha, no. What did you say, people are still petty? Well, Collin thought the end of the world was the best time to tell me he was leaving me to go be with his mistress. Can you believe it? Just when I need him, he ups and leaves me for some younger, hotter version.” She looked at her ring. A scowl appeared on her face. Without further comment, she pulled the ring off and tossed it in the trash. “I was wearing it out of habit, but now that you brought it up, I don’t need it anymore.”
“Sorry about your husband.”
“It just goes to show that you can’t trust anyone.”
“Agreed.”
“Good talk. I’m going to go see if Claire needs any help,” Terry said and briskly exited the kitchen.
The early evening air felt good against her skin. She paused to take in the view to the west. Golden and orange hues streaked across the sky.
Her sister had always said the farm was where she’d die, and unfortunately it came to be. Those thoughts swiftly turned to regret. Countless times she had promised to come visit, but more important things always seem to find a way to prevent it. Now here she was, the only family the girls had. She wasn’t the favorite aunt by any means, even though she was their only one. Her regret drifted to the girls and the reality that she hadn’t fostered a relationship with them.
The clanking of metal tore her away from her thoughts. She looked towards the sound and saw Claire returning from the barn.
“What are you doing, Aunt Terry?” Claire asked, walking up quickly.
“I was coming to see what you were doing.”
“Just preparing for dinner tomorrow,” Claire said with a broad smile.
Terry leaned in and gasped, “Is that blood?”
Claire looked down at the dark stain on her shirt and quickly dismissed it. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s blood. Are you hurt?” Terry asked, tugging at her shirt, attempting to lift it up.
Claire batted her away. “I’m fine. It’s from the chicken.”
“Chicken?”
Reaching into the sack she was carrying over her shoulder, Claire pulled out a dead and headless chicken.
“Oh.”
Claire stepped aside and said, “Want to help me pluck it?”
“You have chickens? What else do you have down there?” Terry said, taking a few steps towards the barn.
Claire froze and snapped, “Nothing. The chickens are around back in the henhouse. There’s nothing in the barn except a tractor and all of Daddy’s tools.”
“Nothing fun to see or do? Like a big bale of hay to jump into from a loft?” Terry asked.
“Nothing fun like that. So, do you want to help me with the chicken?” Claire asked.
“I remember your mom telling me you had a horse or something. Where’s that?”
“Dead.”
“Oh.”
“Aunt Terry, come, let’s get this ready for tomorrow’s dinner.”
Terry stared at the barn. She’d been to the farm only three times in her life and had never stepped foot inside. For some reason she felt a strong urge to do so now. “Let me just look inside.”
“Aunt Terry, please! It’s getting dark and there’s no lights in there,” Claire snapped.
Startled by her response, Terry stopped and looked back at Claire. “You alright?”
“I want to do this with you. Mom and I used to do it together all the time and, well…” Claire said but stopped when she began to whimper.
Terry marched back and embraced her. “Okay, sweetheart, let’s go inside and get this bird cleaned up.”
CHAPTER NINE
Kevin yawned and stretched as he made the short walk to the bathroom, guided by the moon’s light.
As he relieved himself, the craving for Claire’s chocolate pudding came. The timing was odd, but who’s to complain about timing when the thoughts of rich chocolate pudding was tugging. He finished up and rushed downstairs, being extra cautious not to wake anyone.
In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator door and scanned the shelves.
Spotting it on the second shelf, he whispered, “Bingo.” He pulled it out, grabbed a spoon and took a seat.
His mouth watered thinking about the creamy and smooth pudding touching his tongue. He ripped off the plastic wrap and dove in. The first spoonful was amazing; the second, just as good. He grunted and groaned as he ate.
Creaking came from the back deck.
He froze and listened.
More creaking.
Kevin placed the bowl and spoon down and stood up. Fortunately, the moon’s light was streaming through the back kitchen window, close to where the sound was coming from.
A shadow crossed the window.
That was enough for Kevin. Someone was there and he was unarmed. He remembered where the knives were and went for them.
The doorknob jiggled.
He grabbed the first one his hand touched, a cleaver.
A second shadow crossed the window, followed by unintelligible murmurs.
These weren’t Variants, these were humans.
Breaking glass sounded from the front door, telling Kevin there were three or more and they had now made their move. He sprinted from the kitchen towards the front door, cleaver firmly in his grasp.
A hand fished around on the inside of the door, looking for the lock.
Kevin reached the door, lifted the cleaver high and came down with force. The blade severed the hand at the wrist.
The owner of the hand screamed.
Kevin turned around and yelled, “Terry, girls, someone is here. Go get my guns, hide!”
Bullets ripped through the front door, barely missing him.
Heavy footfalls came from above.
Terry called out, “Kevin, what’s going on?”
“Intruders, they’re trying to break in. Go to my room, take the girls. My guns are in there.”
Offering no debate, Terry went and did as he said.
The back door exploded open and two men charged in, their guns blazing.
The stairway landing was only a few feet away. Kevin jumped onto it and raced upstairs to his room but found the door closed. He knocked and cried out, “It’s Kevin. Open up.”
“Kevin, what’s happening?” Paul called out.
Ignoring Paul, Kevin banged on the door. “Open up. It’s Kevin.”
The door opened. It was Terry; the two girls were behind her.
“Hide in the bathroom,” Kevin ordered.
Terry and the girls immediately went.
Kevin found his pistol and rifle. He went to the bathroom and handed the pistol to Terry. “Here. If anyone but me comes in here, point and pull the trigger.”
Terry nodded.
Kevin shut the door and took up a kneeling position next to the open doorway of the bedroom. He leveled the rifle and pointed it at the top of the stairs.
“Kevin, what’s going on?” Paul cried out.
“We have some visitors. I’ve got this,” Kevin replied.
Cries of pain echoed from below. “The motherfucker cut my hand off.”
“You’re fine. Now let’s go get that piece of shit,” a gruff voice snapped.
Kevin thought about warning them, but quickly dashed the idea. These weren’t nice people; they were here with bad intentions.
“I know there’s some sweet pussy upstairs. Now come on out!” the gruff voice yelled.
Kevin flipped the selector switch to SEMI on his AR and waited.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” the man hollered as he stepped onto the last step.
The reticle from Kevin’s optics rested on the man’s chest. Kevin squeezed the trigger. A 5.56 round blasted out of the muzzle and struck the man in the solar plexus. He reeled and fell back onto the wooden stairs. Gravity did the rest as he tumbled to the landing.
“Shit, those sons of bitches killed Bobby!”
“Fuck this, I’m out of here,” the one-handed man barked.
“Where you goin’?”
“I’m out of here. Bobby was wrong, those little girls are killers. I don’t want any of it.”
“They’re just little girls!” the other man hollered.
Hearing the men blathering, Kevin made his move. At the top of the stairs he could see the dead man and another standing close by. He aimed and repeatedly pulled the trigger.
Two of the rounds struck the man. He raced off, but soon the effects of the wounds were too much. His legs buckled and he fell to the floor.
Kevin ran down the stairs, hurdled the dead man at the bottom and headed in the direction of the other. He found him crawling on the floor near the dining room. He walked up and said, “Hey.”
The man didn’t reply. He kept crawling.
Not one to taunt, Kevin pulled the trigger once more. This round took off the top of the man’s head. Brain matter and blood splattered onto the far wall.
The roar of a truck engine sounded in the distance.
Kevin wasn’t done. He flew out of the house and charged in the direction he’d heard the engine.
Lights appeared over the ridge.
At a full sprint, Kevin ran, paying no concern to being barefoot. He was a man on a mission. The gate slowed him down, but wasn’t enough to stop him from getting in range.
The truck made a U-turn and sped off.
Kevin still had over twenty rounds and he meant to use them if necessary. He stopped, leveled the rifle and pulled the trigger until the bolt locked to the rear.
The truck swerved and struck a tree.
Out of ammunition but full of anger, Kevin marched towards the wrecked truck. There he found the one-handed man semiconscious. He opened the door, took the man by the collar and yanked him out.
“It wasn’t my idea,” the man pleaded.
All Kevin had was his rifle. He raised it high above his head.
“Mr. Matthews?” Claire asked.
Kevin froze. He turned to find Claire standing a few feet away, the cleaver in her hand. “Go back inside.”
Claire ignored him and stepped towards Mr. Matthews, the one-handed man.
“It’s not safe out here. Go back inside,” Kevin urged.
“Claire, where are you?” Terry cried from the house.
“She’s out here, near the road!” Kevin shouted.
Extinction Cycle (Kindle Worlds): Mother Page 6
