Back To Our Beginning

by C. L. Scholey

* * * *

  Cord, the largest man took note of the situation and the fierceness of the woman’s protective instinct. He learned from experience females could be fearless and irrational when protecting their young and he best be cautious. In the past they counted on their size to persuade any women they came across, few and far between, to be accepting and cowed into not resisting. So many had been sick or injured, not much fight or resistance was left in them. But he could tell these were different, defiance challenged him from all directions; he was intrigued. Cord knew the world had changed. He knew women and children weren’t faring well. Only the strong were prevailing. The weak would live only if they had the protection of the strong. Perhaps they should include these strong-willed newcomers in a new hierarchy...his.

  Cord looked at the bedraggled lot. The child, no more than a baby, was helpless, but he could use her to manipulate the mother. The oldest woman, thin and tired, again no threat, but she would take up valuable food. The boy looked defiant, but could be overpowered by any of them. The girls, one very tiny and the other younger, were definitely no match for any of them. Only the woman holding the rifle gave him a moment’s pause. He considered his options and decided to propose a plan. She looked intelligent, he didn’t want to have to hurt her, but might if it served his purpose. Although, he was anticipating an interesting battle of wills.

  “Why don’t we all just calm down?” Cord said. He smiled a smile he knew most women found irresistible, but apparently it didn’t work on enraged mothers.

  “Keep your eyes off my baby,” the woman with the rifle hissed, murderous intent was written all over her, only now the rifle was aimed at Clint’s groin.

  “Take it easy; Clint’s not a pedophile, lady,” explained Cord. “Your kid looks a lot like his own daughter who died a while back.”

  Clint looked terribly affronted and confirmed this. “She does, she looks jist like my little Bess. I’m Clint; this here’s Randy, that’s Cord.”

  As if this introduction made everything all right Clint began to approach without caution, but at the woman’s command for them to keep their distance, he stopped.

  “Go away,” this was angrily commanded by the boy.

  “Beat it,” the young girl said, she held a bola in one hand.

  The older teen grabbed hold of a slingshot.

  “Maybe we should sit and discuss this rationally,” Cord said in his best mediator voice.

  “Get out. Discussion’s over,” the boy quipped.

  Keeping his face calm, Cord made a mental note to kick the boy’s ass after they’d neutralized the situation. Cord instead looked at the oldest woman, who resembled a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He directed his comments to her; she seemed the most vulnerable of them all.

  “We just want a place to stay for the night. A storm is really kicking up out there, please don’t send us out into the pitch dark and freezing cold,” he mimicked a placating voice, then slyly added, “We can keep each other safe. If we join together we’ll be stronger. We have food and water we’ll share.”

  The older woman looked compelled then gazed at the woman with the rifle. Her head ducked. Cord was right; the spirited one was in charge. They locked gazes.

  “I’m sure you can find another part of the building for the night,” she said.

  Clint stepped forward. “I promise no one will harm you. I’m jist gonna start our own fire at the other wall.” He moved off into the darkness where they heard him fumbling for a moment. Shortly there was a small fire going.

  With the fire established, Cord sauntered over to their pile of broken chairs, ignoring outraged looks, grabbed a huge armful of the wood and ambled back to join his friends. He knew how to get the woman’s undivided attention, for now he dismissed them.

  Tansy, like the rest of her brood, stood watching uncertainly. They were too afraid to sleep. But one thing was certain; there really was a storm outside. They not only heard it blowing from up the stairs, but the men had been covered in snow when they first saw them, faces red in the soft glow of the fire from the biting cold.

  Tansy sat, encouraging the others to do the same. “You kids better get some rest. As soon as the sun comes up, we’re leaving.”

  “But what if the storm hasn’t let up?” Emmy asked.

  Tansy didn’t know what to do. The thought, “the devil you know and the devil you don’t know,” came to mind. But which was which? Were the men the devil they knew? Tansy could guess what they wanted. She was also well aware of frostbite, pneumonia and hypothermia. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place. A new thought entered Tansy’s mind as she smelled something. The aroma was of meat. Tansy wondered what food they had; she noted her eyes weren’t the only ones following the scent. Michaela was practically drooling. Her hopeful hungry gaze went to Tansy’s.

  Tansy looked at her child with a wrenching heart. She had borne so much in the last two months of her life. Her father was gone; did she even know what that meant? Their home was likely obliterated by now, the surrounding area covered over in water. Their lifestyle had been shattered overnight. Safe was a word to dream about. Starvation, though, was something Mike unfortunately understood.

  With resolve, Tansy handed the rifle to Chris and began to rise on shaky feet. Emmy grasped her arm. Tansy smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. With determination she approached the men. She stood a short distance from them; she saw they were indeed roasting meat. It smelled like venison. In that moment, her tummy rumbling, Tansy thought she’d sell her soul for a taste, but she remembered Michaela. She cleared her throat; the men ignored her and kept shoving pieces of the heavenly smelling meat into their mouths. She knew they were ignoring her on purpose. Tansy cleared her throat. No response, she tried again, still no response.

  “Maybe we could trade,” she finally voiced desperately.

  Randy turned his face away, no doubt to hide a smile of satisfaction. Cord made no attempt to hide he was feeling victorious.

  “Well now, sweetheart,” Cord drawled, his eyes took in her form from head to toe and then back up again suggestively, it was more than apparent he liked what he saw. “What you got to offer?”

  “What do you want?” Tansy asked as she held her head high, locking gazes with the powerful man. He had undone the top of his jacket, exposing tattoos low on his neck.

  “You can guess being with two other men a man might get a bit frustrated,” Randy said with a knowing leer and a shady wink, also running his eyes over her body then casting his glance over toward her daughters.

  Tansy was scared to death, determinedly catching his eye and narrowing her own with a fierce glaring protectiveness, wanting all to understand her daughters were out of the bargaining. She looked at Clint, who seemed to be the only one of the three who didn’t appear to want to feast upon her or her girls.

  “What about you, can we trade for something? My baby is starving.” He looked the least dangerous of the three, which wasn’t much, and the wistful expression he offered her made her know she’d struck a chord when she emphasized the word ‘baby.’

  * * * *

  Clint hesitated, he looked at the woman standing courageous but afraid; he knew she’d offer him anything he wanted. He looked to his friends, who smiled. Cord looked back at him and winked. Clint ran a hand over his shoulder length greasy black hair.

  “I want to hold the baby in my lap while she eats,” he said.

  Clint’s daughter had died choking to death while he was out hunting for food with his friends. A bone had lodged in his daughter’s throat sideways. By the time the men returned both mother and daughter were dead. His gentle little Annie had slit her wrists, not being able to stand the pain of her loss. Clint blamed himself, even if he couldn’t have saved his baby, he could have stopped his wife. Clint had known Annie was lonely for female companionship, Cord and Randy and he had been buddies forever, but Annie felt so alone, and he knew she’d been afraid of Randy. Annie knew Randy had a mean str
eak and had beaten his wife until she fled in the night with their unborn child well over a year ago.

  At first, when they came across women or men they’d fight the men for sport. They hadn’t killed any; none were in possession of their powerful size and proved to be no threat. Then they’d take their supplies and their women, if they interested them, only to turn them loose later. Afterward Cord voiced maybe they should’ve kept the women, instead of terrorizing, muscling and frightening them into submission they should’ve traded with them, been gentler and accommodating. Winter could be lonely and women did offer warmth.

  Even Randy, unbelievably, mentioned in an offhand way it might be nice to have a willing woman, someone who might even care if they came home empty handed, as long as they came home. They’d been traveling a fair distance. Town after town destroyed. The people dead or long gone, nothing seemed to exist except ceaseless despair and the stench of death. The implication of the world’s destruction was less amusing town after town of emptiness. This emergency wasn’t passing—it was the new way of life.

  Clint began to worry perhaps there were no more women out there. What if nature selected them for extinction? Men would soon follow. The thought had been shocking, and when the bodies thinned out and life appeared nonexistent all of them worried.

  Clint knew Cord and Randy were rough, but looking at the women and children before him, he felt they shouldn’t want to fool with an obvious gift handed to them on a silver platter.

  His reverie was interrupted by an irate Randy who turned on him. It appeared he wasn’t in agreement with Clint’s intuitive insight.

  “You wanna feed the kid. It ain’t gonna bring yours back, nothing will.” Clint flinched.

  “Relax Randy, if he wants to share his with the kid who’s to say no. Hell, he worked just as hard to get it,” Cord replied.

  The woman made a small sound. All eyes went to her.

  “Alright,” she finally said. “Alright, but you have to bring the food over to our fire—alone.”

  “Yeah, go ahead Clint, go make sure the little poop maker doesn’t choke to death like your own brat.” Randy spit the words out callously.

  Clint lunged for Randy’s shirt collar. Randy toppled over backwards at the unexpected attack. Clint was in his face howling out his rage and hurt, spittle flew from his mouth. A solid punch to Randy’s face drew a fine line of blood. Clint’s fist rose in anger once more. In moments, Cord had them separated, locking his powerful arms around Clint’s, stopping the assault and wrestling him to the side. Randy lay gasping and choking in surprise. Clint yanked himself from Cord’s grip and ran a hand through his matted locks of hair, still shaking from his fury, calming his mask of intense rage.

  “Easy buddy, easy. You don’t want to frighten the little lady now do you?” Cord warned.

  Stricken, Clint looked to the woman, she was frightened. Her face whiter than when she’d approached. It made Clint wonder if someone had ever hit her. His protective streak fired. He rose splaying his empty hands.

  “I ain’t never hit no woman or child in my whole life, ma’am.”

  “Tansy,” she answered shakily. “My name is Tansy. We don’t want any trouble, Clint.”

  Clint could tell he’d scared her. Looking to the other fire, he could tell he’d frightened the others. He shifted around feeling ashamed of himself.

  “Well Tansy, I swear to you I won’t never hurt you or your girls, and I’m sorry if’n I scared you. I don’t usually make it a habit to lose my temper.”

  “Then get your share and come over.” Tansy marched back to the others.

  Clint approached in a personable way. He settled between the lot of them. Once seated, he opened a piece of newspaper holding numerous strips of raw venison. Clint looked over at Michaela and smiled. Offhand introductions were made.

  “Are you a fairy princess?” he asked the child. He then cast a sad look at the battered rag doll she held in her tiny dirty hands, feeling a moment’s nostalgia as she gazed up at him with big brown eyes. His little Bess had had big brown eyes, just like her mother and the small woman before him.

  Michaela nestled next to her mother; she ducked her head into the crook of Tansy’s neck, but peeked back up at him with obvious interest. Unconcerned about her shy response, Clint skewered a chunk of meat and roasted it over the flames, turning it often. He glanced unobtrusively toward the child and glowed as her curiosity got the better of her.

  Michaela crept down from Tansy who watched, and sat a little closer. Clint noticed as the child moved closer to him so did the mother. He expected as much but never ceased in his activity. Soon the child’s hand rested on his knee watching the food cooking, her small rag doll forgotten on her mother’s lap in anticipation. Clint brought the sizzling meat away from the flame and began to blow on it.

  “Ohh, hot,” Michaela said.

  “Why don’t you help me blow on it,” Clint said and encouraged the child to sit with him. Needing no more persuasion except the aroma of the meat, Michaela climbed into his lap and blew at the aromatic food.

  When it cooled Clint produced a large hunting knife and was surprised to feel a hand grasp him by the arm. He looked to Tansy who seemed transfixed by the steel blade. Her worried look then shot to Clint’s face.

  “The pieces need to be small,” Clint stated, his tone brooked no argument and he cut a tiny piece which he tested against his tongue before placing it into Michaela’s mouth. She chewed once, twice, swallowed and opened her mouth like a little bird waiting for more. Clint cut another piece, blew on it, but kept it away from the child.

  “This time chew it ten times.”

  He popped the food into her mouth and watched. Michaela chewed, stopped, chewed then looked to her mother with some distress.

  “Three,” Tansy counted, smiling with encouragement. “Four, five.”

  “Six,” Clint took up, “Seven, eight.”

  “Nine, ten,” Emmy finished for her, clapping. Michaela smiled, swallowed, and then looked at her mother.

  “Mommy’s turn.”

  Tansy gave her a small smile; her eyes alight with compassion, tinged with sorrow.

  “No, it’s still Michaela’s turn.”

  “No, my mommy’s turn,” Michaela insisted. She scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. Michaela’s fists tightened and she clenched her teeth and pursed her rosebud mouth defiantly.

  “Well a course it’s mommy’s turn,” Clint said and gave Michaela a ‘how stupid of me,’ look, with a lopsided cheeky grin. She tittered with a hand held over her mouth, and watched as Clint cut a larger piece.

  “Open up,” he instructed.

  Tansy hesitated, his fingers were large and grimy, his fingernails somewhat long and dirty, but that’s not what kept her from accepting the proffered morsel. It was the four other hopeful faces that all leaned in with eagerness. She sat feeling helpless and undecided, wanting, needing...

  “Go on,” Clint encouraged.

  He seemed expectant, as though waiting on much more than her acceptance. Tansy opened her mouth and closed her eyes as she chewed on and sucked at the succulent venison. It tasted better than she remembered, it invoked childhood memories of reunions and regattas long past. It tasted like security and home and every other pleasant memory to bombard her senses. Her eyes were moist when she opened them and they stared into clear blue, depth-filled eyes, the intensity they returned made her wary.

  “Well, this jist don’t seem fair does it?” Clint said breaking their trance and releasing her gaze. He handed a strip of raw meat to Emmy, then Shanie and Marge. His gift was refused, however, when he handed some to Chris. The boy scowled and backed away ignoring the offered treat; he turned on his side facing the other men and lay scowling at them, the rifle clutched within his grasp.

  “But we have nothing to give you,” Marge said, while skewering her meat and thrusting it into the fire.

  “Shanie has presents,” Michaela tittered. She looked at her new benefactor
with hopeful big brown eyes, wanting to elicit his help in acquiring one of the little packages she was certain must hold some kind of wonderful treasure.

  Shanie turned crimson; her gaze darted from Clint to her mother to the floor. Clint’s interest piqued, he looked at the teenager questioningly. Shanie, avoiding a direct stare, glowered at her little sister.

  “They are not presents.”

  At Tansy’s short laugh Clint’s eyes widened and watched as Tansy cut another piece of meat for Michaela. After popping it into her mouth Tansy gave Clint a conspiratorial gaze, leaned close and whispered at the contents of the ‘presents’. Clint laughed then smothered it into a cough at Shanie’s outraged embarrassed look.

  “How ’bout we let Shanie...it’s Shanie, right?” he asked then continued after she gave a curt nod. “How ’bout we let Shanie keep her presents. I’ll give you one a mine.”

  Michaela squealed in delight as Clint produced cherry Life Savers. He gave her one then offered them around. Everyone else refused; worried about his generosity in one way and in another hoping he would again offer one to Michaela. Her delight had been so sweet and innocent; her sisters had lumps in their throats. They’d been given so much so often throughout their lives when all Mike had was a chance to be eaten by filthy rats. At Shanie’s shudder, Clint gave her a direct stare.

  “Rats,” Shanie offered.

  At Clint’s quizzical gaze Tansy glanced off into the darker parts of the basement and offered him a gruesome explanation.

  “It seems rats hunt children.”

  Clint’s horror had him clutching Michaela to his chest. He couldn’t fathom the idea. His daughter had never been exposed to such loathsome creatures. He would’ve murdered them by hand if need be, crunched them under his heavy black boots.

  “They hunt in packs and we have to go through every basement looking for them. They attack without warning; they always go for her first.” As Tansy continued, Clint’s horror turned to outrage.

  “Not ’round me they don’t,” he growled with fierce protectiveness. It struck him just how vulnerable the small tired woman was before him. He saw it; no doubt the rodents sensed it and took predatory advantage.