by Greg Dragon
The boy squealed, pawing in the direction of the food.
Jill took a piece of cheese, but Owen shook his head. “Peach?”
Squeal.
She cut one of them up, keeping the little paring knife well out of reach, and began to feed him. She knew so little about people like this…how much was delayed development due to lack of a special-needs program? And how much was intrinsic, brain or body betrayal?
Her musing was cut short by Jane’s return. The girl sat down with bowls of washed vegetables to begin cutting them up for cooking, producing another small knife. Soon they were chatting like sisters. For a time, Jill forgot that she was on the run, forgot that her family might all be dead, forgot that her second family, the Corps, would consider her every action since contracting the disease aboard the cruise ship to be unlawful, even treasonous.
By the time dinner was ready the sun was going down behind the hills, though not behind the true horizon. It made for a long sunset, pleasant breezes, and enough light to sit outside on the porch and talk. The table overflowed with food, but everyone seemed determined to eat all they could.
“So you two are farmers?” Jill asked the men at one point. “Or do you have some other jobs?”
“Oh, we do a little of this and a little of that,” Big Jim replied, his face studiously neutral.
“I do some construction now and again for cash,” Jimmy volunteered, “but with a place like this, well…something always needs doing.”
Jill grunted, picking up the jar of “corn squeezins” from which the men had fortified their lemonade, and looked at Jimmy across its open top. He smiled back at her as if sharing a secret, but it seemed a very open secret to her. Then she caught Sarah’s glare and realized that perhaps not everyone was in agreement about the stuff. She put the jar back down and shrugged apologetically.
“You know what’s funny?” Jill asked without meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’m a cop. I’m a military police sergeant. I should be chasing down people like me…people like me. Whatever that means. I never thought anyone had an excuse to run from their own government, but…”
The men chuckled, and even Sarah and Jane looked amused. Big Jim spoke. “Girl, you in Tennessee. Ain’t nobody knows more about resistin’ the gubmint than us. In the War of Succession we saw county against county and town against town – families divided, brother against brother. We had two gubmints to resist, and we made the most of it. Virginia had the biggest battles, but Tennessee had the bitterest. So don’t you worry none; we ain’t much on bowin’ to no gubmint, not when it comes to right an’ wrong.”
The adults – lumping Jane in that category – nodded, and Jill suddenly realized they were trying to reassure her, to tell her something: that they wouldn’t turn her in, and perhaps, that they understood.
“Jane girl, go get the radio, would you please?” Big Jim said. He turned to Jill, “We been listenin’ to the goin’s-on from the Knoxville station. Terrible, terrible things, some of it. Riots all across the country. Martial law. Feds confiscatin’ people’s guns just when they need ’em most. Troops ever’where. We always knew it would happen, didn’t we, dear?”
Sarah nodded, fingers plucking at her needlework. “Just got to hold out ‘til the Lord returns and sets things to right.”
“Now Ma,” Jimmy protested, “this ain’t no Armageddon. Lots of places went through worse than this.”
“Either way,” Big Jim intervened, “we’ll do the same. Keep an eye on our own and our neighbors.” He cocked his head at Jill and furrowed his brow. “You reckon to stay here a spell, or move on soon, Miss Jill?”
Jill opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Staying hadn’t even entered her thoughts. How could these people afford to take care of her, and how would she repay them in turn? “I’ll stay for now, if you please,” she found herself responding with relief. “As long as you’ll have me, until I have to move on. I’ll try to earn my keep.”
“That you will, girl,” Big Jim said contentedly, sucking on his briar pipe.
Jane returned with a radio, setting it on the table and then cranking a handle on it a dozen times. “Survival set. Charges its own batteries.” She switched it on. “Only gets the one station though.”
…And that was Brenda Lee with “I’m Sorry” on your country oldies station. Now we bring you a public service reminder that if you see something, say something! Tell a police officer, tell your local, state or federal officials. What should you tell them about? Anyone who has had a miracle recovery, or who seems to be hungry all the time, might be infected. Anyone who seems furtive, or has a sudden change in behavior, or who pulls their children out of school. Anyone who speaks against the government, or protests against it, should be reported. Anyone who your neighbors are calling a “Sicko,” must be reported. If you don’t know who else to contact, call the Centers for Disease Control at 1-800-336-132.
Now a word from one of our sponsors:
The voice changed from the announcer to a smooth, deep-voiced narrator with a cultured Southern drawl very different from the McConleys’.
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Then the station returned to playing old country songs. Big Jim reached over to turn it down, staring at Jill contemplatively as he puffed on his pipe.
A chill went through her. He knows, or at least suspects. Just stay calm, Jill. These people took you in. They’re not going to suddenly turn around and give you up. Besides, they don’t even have a phone. And there is no fear in this family, only love. If they were twisted, they couldn’t hide it.
She hoped. Everyone seemed to be watching her as the daylight and the conversation faded.
Eventually Sarah went inside and artificial light soon shone from inside the house, harsh white glare from a gas lantern. Jane stood up to clear the table and Jill started to get up to assist when Jimmy put a hand on her arm. “Mebbe you can just watch Owen while we do this, Miss Jill.” He picked up dishes and followed the others inside, leaving Big Jim staring at her.
“Don’t worry, girl,” Big Jim rumbled as his eyes gleamed in the night. “We ain’t gonna turn you in. You ain’t mean no harm to us, and we ain’t mean no harm to you.” He took his pipe out of his mouth, fragrant smoke swirling from it toward her nose. Owen sneezed and moaned, waving his hand. “Oh, pardon,” he said, and changed seats to send the smoke away from them. “I imagine you kin use a firearm, ma’am? Other than a shotgun, I mean?” He’d let her take a few shots at ducks, but she’d missed every one.
“I grew up in East L.A., sir. I joined a gang when I was thirteen, and enlisted in the Corps when I turned seventeen. Spent two years deployed to the desert, fighting off insurgents and training foreign police. What do you think?” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.
“Nuff said. I hope it don’t come to that, but with things goin’ the way they is, nuc’lar weapons and all, people bein’ rounded up an’ quarantined…”
“Sir…Big Jim, aren’t you worried about the disease?”
He puffed on his pipe a moment. “They got the internet in Jane’s school, you know. She saw that Daniel Markis fella on the tee-vee, tellin’ about the miracle germ. For a couple days, afore the gubmint took over the news stations, she heard all kinda stories, ab
out people gettin’ cured. The cancer, the black lung that got all my cousins over in Cold Creek, heart attacks goin’ away, even my uncle Clyde that allas was a little teched in the head, they said he was talkin’ like a normal person. Clyde got taken away, and my cousins took to the hills. If the disease is so bad…I think roundin’ folks up is worse.”
Jill’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she couldn’t swallow. Impulsively she took a gulp of the white lightning straight from the jar, coughing a little. Once the spasms passed, she straightened, looking Big Jim in the eye. “I want to show you something.”
Big Jim held up his hand. “Mebbe you want to show everyone.”
“You’re in charge here…”
“Yeah I am, but we’re a family. Smart man don’t leave his family out, less’n he has to.” He grinned. “Not if he wants a peaceful home.”
Jill cocked her head and picked up her lemonade, looking at Big Jim over the rim of the cup. “Well, I may not be family, but I know how to follow orders.” She put on his accent for a moment. “A smart sergeant don’t buck the system less’n she has to.”
“Amen. Why don’t we go inside?” Big Jim stood up. “Here we go, Owen, goin’ inside for family time.” He wheeled the chair and the boy into the doorway, clattering over the threshold. Klutz dodged ahead, bumping into the doorframe on the way.
Jill followed, entering the home for the first time. As expected, the room was rustic and unpretentious, but in the light of the lantern hanging from an overhead beam, it blazed richly with homey decorations. Needlework Bible verses competed with pastoral scenes done in oils, exquisitely carved animals, some painted and some not, and lots of other artistic crafts. Photographs, many old, in black and white and sepia, hung on the walls.
“This is amazing,” she said, looking closely at the nearest wall. “Who did these?”
“The womenfolk did the sewin’. Pa paints, I carve,” Jimmy explained. “Got to have somethin’ to do, don’t you think?”
“What do you do for fun, anyway?” Jill asked. “No television, no computer, no internet, no phone…I see you have some books, and some boardgames.”
Jimmy shrugged. “We get by. None o’ those things was around a hunnerd years ago, even fifty years ago some places in these parts. People got by.”
Big Jim wheeled Owen into a place obviously his, next to the unlit hearth. Klutz padded over to sit at his feet. The boy craned his head around, looking at everything as if checking to see it was all in place. “Unnh!” he said emphatically, making a motion toward one part of the wall.
“That’s right, Owen. I moved the pictures.” Sarah walked over, and then switched two small photographs into each other’s location. “He knows, you see. He remembers everything, and can tell when something’s out of place. If I really want to change something, it’s some time before he takes to it.”
“Autism, sounds like,” Jill remarked.
“Yes, that’s what the doctor said, but it don’t matter what you call it. It’s just Owen.” The older woman walked to a bookshelf and took down a large leather-bound Bible, handing it reverently to Big Jim.
“Thank you, darlin’,” he said, then leafed through it as if looking for some particular passage. “We allas read a bit of the Good Book after dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”
Even if I did, I sure wouldn’t be complaining to these good people, Jill thought.
“Janie, could you please read for me? My eyes are a bit tired today.” Big Jim handed the Bible over to his daughter. “Right there, where the bookmark is.”
Jane smiled, and in a clear sweet voice, read, “The Good Samaritan.” Then she proceeded to relate the parable of a man set upon by bandits.
Left to die, a priest, and then a high-status Levite, passed him by and did not help, Finally a Samaritan, of despicable ethnicity and heretical faith to the Hebrews of the time, was the only one to render assistance. In fact, he paid for the man’s care and promised to return to check on him.
“You know,” Big Jim said in a casual tone, “we’s the Samaritans here. Ap’lachian folk. Get laughed at on the tee-vee, less’n they like our bluegrass pickin’.”
The rest of the family nodded, and Sarah said, “Amen.”
Jill couldn’t fail to get the message. Unless their whole lifestyle was a lie, they had truly accepted her into their family, in a way that usually happens only when the very foundations of society get shaken. She found tears of relief in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she replied. “I have something to show you, though. You’ve been so good to me…I want to be honest with you. It might…well, if they ever come for me, I want you to know the truth about these people. These ‘Sickos,’ as they are calling them.”
Reaching down, she rolled up her utility trousers, exposing first her boots, then the prosthetics that filled them. Eventually she worked them all the way up to her knees, exposing the skin of her stumps, showing pink at the extremities. Then she began unstrapping the left one.
The McConley family murmured sympathetically as they saw, and Jimmy let out a hoot of surprise. “If that don’t beat all. I never woulda knowed if you didn’t show us. You walk around all right.”
“As long as I don’t have to go far, I can stand it. But the fact that I lost my feet isn’t really the interesting part.” Jill finished unstrapping the left artificial foot, and set it aside. Lifting her leg with her hands, she flexed her knee, the stump waving up and down. “Perhaps I should have done this in the daytime, with better light. You’d be able to see that the bottom inch here is pinker than the rest, like new baby skin. I lost my legs over a year ago, and nothing like that happened, until now.”
She took a deep breath and went on, finding them staring at her in fascination. “I was on a cruise ship a few days ago. One morning we woke up and there were miracle cures all over the ship. I heard rumors of some video that said it was a germ that did it. Then the Navy showed up and quarantined us. Food began to run low, and people were eating more. That’s what the disease did, I guess. I know I got hungry a lot. I decided I didn’t want to wait, so I swam to a Navy ship nearby and sneaked aboard. I blended in to the crew, contacted a chaplain, and she got me off with the wounded.”
“What wounded?” Jimmy asked.
“After I left the cruise ship, they blew it up. Killed everyone aboard. Damaged another warship doing it.”
The family gasped. “This is worse than I’d thought,” Big Jim rumbled.
“It’s Armageddon coming for sure,” Sarah declared.
“Now honey, we don’t know that,” Big Jim cautioned. “But it sure ’nuff looks like bad times. Miss Jill, we can see you’re not some crazy person. Whatever it is, it ain’t a bad thing, far as we kin tell. Mebbe the gubmint will figger it out, and things’ll calm down. Best we just be careful, keep you out of sight, and wait. Stay out of the way.”
“Thank you,” Jill said yet again.
“Don’t thank me yet, girl,” Big Jim replied with a smile. “Like I said, you’ll earn your keep. As much as you eat, you’ll have to.”
“You’ll never meet anyone that works as hard as I do,” Jill declared. “I’m no invalid, and maybe…” She gave voice to her greatest hope: “Maybe I’ll actually grow my feet back.”
“Wouldn’t that be a marvel,” Jane exclaimed, throwing her arms around the other woman.
Jill replied, “Yes, it would. And now, folks, I’ve had a really long day. Does anyone mind if I get some sleep?”
Murmurs of assent came from all, and Jane showed Jill to a room with two beds. “We’ll have to double up, though. That there bed’s Owen’s, and we cain’t disturb his routine, so you can sleep with me, head to foot, like we did when we was little. You mind?”
“Oh, Jane, you can put me in the barn and I won’t mind.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Jane replied seriously, rearranging the bedclothes and retrieving a pillow from the closet. “Here you go. Sleep well. We’ll try not to disturb you when we come in later
.”
Jill climbed into the bed and slept, not waking until the morning sun peeked over the hills.
Chapter Four
Days passed into weeks in a pleasant haze for Jill. She watched Owen a lot, freeing the rest to work the farm. They moved her into the barn loft, after she proved to them that she could handle the ladder just fine. Their excuse was to give her privacy and not crowd their two-bedroom house too much, but it also occurred to her that if someone showed up unexpectedly, she might at least have a chance to keep out of sight.
She explored the hills behind the land as best she could, taking short painful trips upward with Klutz romping along, eventually to find a hollow with a cave-like overhang that might hide her if she needed to run. There was also a small obvious basement beneath the barn, and a genuine working root cellar beneath the house.
Sometimes the two men would spend the day away in one of the pickup trucks, with no explanation. Usually the bed would be full of corn, heavy five-gallon buckets, and other things when they left, empty when they returned. Jill guessed they were servicing their still, and were smart enough to keep it well away from the farm.
In three weeks her stumps had lengthened to the location of her former ankles. She wondered if they would just keep growing longer: if the disease that they now called the “Eden Plague” would know when to quit, or start making ankle joints.
Jane had brought the disease’s name back from the church the McConleys attended, whispered in the usual gossip that nothing could stamp out. She also told Jill about some people whose old folks had suddenly passed on, and of new “cousins” that showed up unexpectedly. A deputy that attended, a relative of the number of interknit families in the region, had quietly warned people to keep quiet and not rock the boat.
The radio lied but the gossip told of things getting worse instead of better, especially in the cities; of neighbors turning each other in, of quarantines with no cure and no one returning, of men who came in the middle of the night and took people away. Some said more nuclear weapons had been used, by terrorists or the Russians or Chinese, or even by the U.S. against its own citizens.
