by Vivien Dean
He downshifted and brought the car back onto the road.
Her hand bounced, but she steadied it and he opened his mouth.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Out of the corner of his eye it looked as if she was amused.
"So. What are our directives?"
"Oh, yes.” She rolled the candy into her other cheek. “We must drop them off in the main refrigeration area, well, the old one. And that's it."
He was surprised she hadn't said anything about the candy yet. Most times people didn't like the tart cherry flavor. He made them with extra ascorbic acid so that people got the added health benefit of vitamin C. Scurvy had come back once the citrus rations were cut. Now citrus was nonexistent.
"Do we uncrate them?” He wasn't too keen on the idea of them being alone in a vacant warehouse for long.
"No. It's quick. I just set them on the floor and by the time I'm done, my money appears at the base of the front stairs in an antique milk chilling box."
"It's not there before?"
"No. Only after."
"You've checked?"
"Of course."
"So, that would mean that there is someone in the building as you unload the crates."
"I suppose.” Her forehead wrinkled. “But I've never seen them, and they've never hurt me."
A flash of anger rushed through him at her carelessness.
"You have all those responsibilities—the children, the neighborhood—and you come out here, with no one to protect you, and you knew that someone is here watching you?” He didn't have the right to be mad at her, but he was. It was irresponsible of her, putting everyone at risk.
She turned to him and her mouth dropped open. “Who could have helped me? Should I ask the children to come with me?"
"You know I didn't mean that."
"I don't make enough to keep food on the table, let alone hire help! If I did, I wouldn't have to marry you!” She flung the door of the truck open and stomped around to the back.
He shut his mouth so fast his teeth clinked.
"Well, it will be over today."
She huffed.
Apparently that was the wrong reaction. He would consider this a learning experience.
Ahead of them loomed an enormous cement building, its windows broken with vicious jagged edges and with holes chipped out of the walls.
His anger rose up again. She could have been killed, or beaten and left for dead and not one person would have been able to help. And back at the house there would have been thirteen children waiting for her, for food, and faced with the fear of losing yet another person in their miserable lives.
"You will never ever come here again. Not alone, not with another person. If our marriage doesn't put an end to the blackmailing—forget it. Under no circumstances, do you hear me?"
She grabbed a crate off the truck and glared at him over it. “We're not married yet, and the way you're going we won't be."
He threw his derby on the ground at his feet. “May I remind you that I am doing this for the children's benefit, or are you just that self-absorbed and selfish?"
She studied him and then walked the crate to the loading dock without answering him
They didn't have time for him to figure out what that meant.
With his help, they made short work of the job, and although she never once noticed, there were shadows in the windows of the higher floors watching them.
He glanced up and grit his jaw. Stupid fool.
The last of the crates was stacked and she started to walk around to the front of the building.
"Where are you going?"
"To go get my payment."
"Get back in the car and I will drive you to the front. Or have you not noticed that we've been watched this whole time?"
Her face blanched and although he'd made his point he took no joy in winning this argument.
"All right."
She slid into the seat and sat a little lower than when she'd first gotten in.
A slight push locked the crankshaft into place, and he spun the engine to life, its rumble deafening where moments ago there was tense silence.
He slid the gears into first and brought them to the front of the building, where just as she said, a rusted milk cooler lay on the crumbling cement stairs.
She opened the door before he could stop her. She ran to the box, yanked off the lid, and reached in.
A whoosh of air escaped him when she didn't snatch her hand back, but instead lifted out a grimy paper sack and looked back at him, her eyes triumphant.
She stepped towards him and bullets threw up dirt at her feet as they missed her.
He gassed the engine and opened the door, yelling her name as she ran gripping the bag, bullets flying in every direction now, as if the first miss could be remedied with a mass onslaught. Pings of bullets hitting metal and the rumble of the engine didn't drown out her scream.
Just as he was about to get out and grab her, she made it into the car, falling flat onto the bench. He took off, the door open and gaping as he tore down the pitted road.
He never knew fear had a taste.
* * * *
Pain jolted through her as her body landed on the bench and her face slapped the leather, knocking the air out of her. She scrabbled up, her feet slipping, and held onto the edge of the seat, steadying herself as Doc whipped around the turn and out the driveway, making the trailer hitch snap.
"Fuck!” He punched the steering wheel as the trailer tumbled off into a gutter ditch. With one hand steering he grabbed her under the shoulder and hauled her up.
"Thank you,” she gasped, shaking like she had been plunged into an icy river. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make her teeth stop chattering.
"Pull your coat around you,” he shouted over the growl of the engine, but there was raw anger in his voice, too. Her heart was still pounding and she turned and maneuvered herself to sit down. She reached for her medallion, and found bare skin.
Yep, it was shaping up to be the perfect day to get married.
She gripped the paper sack to her chest tighter, closed her eyes, and concentrated on taking deep breaths.
"This is exactly what I tried to warn you about!"
Her eyes snapped open. She hadn't even stopped shaking, and now he was yelling at her? Blaming her for this? She just hoped she didn't start to cry, which she normally did when she got angry enough. Pissy men on top of getting shot at might push her control. It was the most embarrassing thing, and she hated that people perceived it as weak, but no matter how hard she tried not to—if she got angry enough—she always did.
His face was set in a grimace, with his shadowed, dirty jaw looking as if his cheek had been chiseled.
Bugger him. “And here I was thinking this was your fault."
"My fault?"
The fact that he was so astounded at her perception of the ordeal was almost amusing. It would be laughable if she didn't want to kill him. Apparently, Doc didn't have a lot of people around him dissent. At least, not to his face. Well, there was a first for everything, and she normally headed the parade.
"Yes, your fault. You are the only variable in this delivery. It's the only logical deduction because I was fired at today and you are the only factor of divergence in the arrangement. Did the big words help clarify?"
He huffed. “Are you bleeding anywhere?"
He scrubbed at his hair, making it stick up. If she didn't know him, she would think he was a street urchin. But none of the homeless she knew filled out a duster as well. It cost too much money to look that healthy.
His concern took the wind out of her sails. “Not that I'm aware."
"Have you stopped shaking?"
"Almost."
They were far enough away from the meat packing plant that he slowed down a bit. Not enough to make her teeth stop clanking every time he hit a bump, but enough that she could keep her rear adhered to the bench.
"Pull the
blanket from the back seat and wrap yourself in it. I don't need you going into shock."
"You wouldn't want to have to prop me up so we could sign the papers?"
"It's not funny."
She shook her head. “No siree, not at all."
"It's not."
"I so agree.” She bit her lips and nodded at him.
He growled.
It wasn't a full growl like a dog, but an under the breath rumble. The Doctor of Pharmacology growled at her. And it rolled over her skin in such a way that she wanted him to do it again.
When she had seen him before, during the times he was trying to get her to sell him the orchid, he'd always been perfectly in control. His voice never wavered with emotion, let alone rise in anger. So what made him angry now? She backtracked in her memory to when he first started yelling at her. Which would be about the children, and when he discovered she was putting herself in danger. So, essentially, he was afraid for her. Why did that make her insides flop? The last time someone cared for her was when her parents were alive. As much as he pissed her off with his tirade, it also made her feel cared for.
Maybe getting married to him wouldn't be such a bad thing. She knew from the other times she dealt with him that he was a respectable man, he kept his word. That meant a lot, especially now when it seemed that everyone had a price. And she'd considered the fact that he could take the orchids and get rid of the children, but that would go against everything he stood for.
He pulled off to the side of the road and let the car idle while he yanked her arm and took her pulse. His fingers were cool and firm against her wrist, but it didn't stop the tingles that ran up her arm and set her heart pounding faster.
"You're still jumpy. I want you to calm down. We can't get married like this, you'll tip them off to something being wrong."
She snatched her arm back. “Something is wrong. Seven hours ago I did not plan on getting married or being shot at. I wanted to deliver the orchids, get my money and go buy food.” She adjusted her scarf. “Today is Seamus’ birthday. I promised him a cake."
"Well then, let's get this thing done then, no? And maybe we can have Mathilde make him a cake later.” He pulled out onto the road again. “Maybe they would want to celebrate the nuptials with a party of sorts? To make everyone feel involved?"
What made her think he was cold and non-emotional? Or maybe someone caring was just so foreign? She'd made up her mind to keep this about business, and there he went being thoughtful. Way to wreck a plan. The kids would love him, they were masters at wrecking plans.
"I think they would like that. They have so little to celebrate.” Her voice caught on the dust that still coated her throat. She had to be more prepared for when he pulled sappy stuff out on her like that.
She stared at him, the man she would within the hour marry, and wondered what fate she'd consigned herself to. What possessed him to make such a life altering offer to a woman he hardly knew? Especially with how sarcastic she was in his presence. He never saw a softer side of her. Maybe he was brave. Or a masochist ... a brave masochist.
She sighed.
Lying to herself wasn't a trait she liked. He was handsome, and dealing with him had always brought out the worst in her. It was as if her senses were heightened and she couldn't control them. It all came out in bitch. She had experienced lust before, but this was more. Something scary, like she was walking one of those tightropes at the circus but her feet weren't so sure of the next step.
She studied his profile while he concentrated on the road. His eyes were brown and blue—not quite one or the other. When he stared at her it was arresting. His dark hair made them even more striking, the combination of dark and light making them the focal point of his face.
In all the times she'd seen him, though, he'd never smiled. And that bothered her. At times life was so harsh she didn't know how she woke up to face another day, let alone being married to someone who never laughed. The moments of happiness that her family shared were like faceted diamonds in her heart. Being married to a person who couldn't laugh was not going to be good.
"Do you ever smile?” One minute it was in her head, the other it was off her tongue and hanging there between them.
He scowled. “Of course I do."
That was so reassuring, really.
"But I've never seen you smile."
He growled again, and it did the same hot boiling thing to her skin as before.
"Just because you've never seen something doesn't mean that it doesn't exist."
"So—you laugh?"
"Of course I laugh,” he snarled.
She wanted to laugh and the bubbles almost burst out her mouth. “Yes, I can see it so clearly now."
What was wrong with her to antagonize him like this? It was like he drove her to bait him. And what was worse than her reaction to him, was the questions running through her head about why he made her react like that.
He pulled in to the parking lot and slammed the breaks so hard her head jerked. She reached up to her neck and rubbed at it.
"Thank you, I had a kink there. You fixed it up very nicely.” She reached out and patted his arm. “No wonder you're so respected."
With six strides he was at her side and guiding her by the elbow into the offices. For every one step he took, she took two. Maybe it wasn't so wise to taunt the man.
"Are you trying to make me regret helping you? And the children? You remember them, don't you? The ones we're trying to save?"
With those words her bright flame of spite died. He was the only man she'd met that had the ability to make her feel lower than a worm. Being ashamed was a feeling she didn't want to have again. Now she knew why she poked a stick at the rattler. Arguing was safer.
He turned back to her when he realized she wasn't walking with him and huffed his exasperation.
If she were going to do this, she needed to know where she stood. “Do you want to do this?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"A straightforward one. I need to know. Do you want to marry me?"
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I asked you. That would mean that I wanted to."
"But you don't like me."
"God, almighty—I didn't dislike you, but I'm considering it."
"So you admit it, you don't like me."
He grabbed her by her shoulders and held her at arm's length. “Katerina, what I know of you I like enough to offer marriage as a way to help those we care about."
It was a good answer. A truthful answer. But still not the one she wanted. For some bizarre reason she wanted to be told she was loved, then maybe kissed. She knew that expecting that from a man she didn't know was ... stupid, it was. But that didn't make the desire for it go away.
She closed her eyes and resigned herself to it. “All right. Let's get this over with."
"It's not as if you're going to your own funeral."
She walked through the door he'd held open for her. It was a funeral. One for the death of her dream to be loved by the man she married.
Old cigarette smoke greeted her nose and a woman in a dyed burlap dress sat at the front desk and rose, giving them a clipboard. “Marriages, step to the right. Divorces, step to the left. All others, please sign in and have a seat. Someone will call your name as soon as soon as possible."
"We're here for a marriage,” Katerina said.
The woman looked her over with thinly veiled contempt. “The Family Planning Officer will see you in a moment."
Katerina looked at Doc, who shrugged. “I've never been married before, I have no idea."
"Next!” A booming voice shouted from the room they were supposed to go in, but as they went in, a young couple walked out, blocking the door. The woman, who looked about the same as Katerina's thirty-five years, was blushing so furiously she wouldn't meet Kat's eyes.
Perfect. Because she just wasn't nervous enough.
"Permanent or annual?"
They hardly made it in the door bef
ore another woman, this time in a severe boiled wool dress, flung out her question.
"Excuse me?” Exasperation laced Doc's question.
"Permanent or annual? Birth control?” She rolled her eyes. “If you want to apply for a Biological Child Permit right away you can take a semi or annual injection, the paperwork for the application should be gone over before it wears off, but you have to sign here,” she pointed to a line, “so that if for some reason you become pregnant before the paperwork has been processed, you agree to immediately terminate the pregnancy."
"Excuse me?” This time Katerina asked. And she was incredulous. No, furious.
"When was this policy enacted?” Doc's cheek muscle twitched.
"Two weeks ago, at the Central Nations Summit."
"Who will be injected?” Katerina took her headscarf off so she could do something with her hands—or at least to not wring the woman's neck. Because she looked as if she loved her job a bit too much.
"Both of you. Makes no sense to do it otherwise. What if one of you went hot-footing it around?"
"Annual,” Doc answered, his voice brooking no argument. He looked at Katerina, “That way we have time to decide."
"Okay then.” The Frau went over to a chipped enamel cabinet on the wall, pulled out a vial, and handed it to Doc. “You can take your coat off and give me a sample in this tube."
"Sample of what?” Doc asked, taking off his coat for the injection.
"Your sperm. No point in having a shot if you're sterile.” She jabbed the vial at him.
He stopped, his one arm still inside the duster.
Kat had never seen Doc blush before, but it wasn't all embarrassment. The vein in his temple throbbed.
"And where may I go to do this?” He slipped his other arm out and folded it over the back of a chair.
Every word was clipped.
"Right here.” She crossed her lumpy arms over an enormous chest. “I have to watch."
Kat gasped and wanted a gaping hole to swallow her up. This was going to be a disaster and she wanted to stop it all like the nightmare it was.
"Why. Here."
"Shewww, you don't know about the black market sperm crackdown, either? Because of the radiation fallout, men are paying a lot of money for healthy sperm. Some men were caught bringing in vials from the outside.” The hag got a lecherous grin on her. “You don't look like you'll have that problem, you look right healthy, you do."
