The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where

by E A Lake

  I nodded and paid close attention to learn the details of her life I had not yet dared to ask about.

  “Ever married?” I asked.

  Her lips smushed as her head shook. “No, I was too stubborn, too proud, too stupid. A man had done this to me— gave me Brendon, ran off, and married another woman. He was older, and I was kinda young. When it happened with Libby, and I mean the exact same way, I gave up on your kind. Do you know what Libby’s father told me when he found out I was pregnant?”

  Of course, I shook my head.

  “He said there was no way to know who the daddy was.” Daisy looked down. “I didn’t sleep around, so that made me mad. I asked him for a DNA test, but he just laughed at me. Called me a stupid piece of gutter trash and married some rich bitch. Guess I got what I deserved.”

  “So what happened when the lights went out?” I asked, gauging her reaction, which seemed neutral at best. “Your mom would have forgiven you at that point, right? You could have gone back there.”

  “She not the forgiving type. Neither am I. So me and Shawndra, that friend of mine, took a ride in a wagon to Marquette when they showed up looking for workers. Both of her kids died of the fever the first winter. By spring she wandered away, probably killed herself.”

  I reached out and stroked Daisy’s head. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged, something she was good at.

  “We were never promised anything in this world, even before The Darkness,” she continued, a defeated tone invading her otherwise happy words. “Now with this hell we have to try to navigate through…I’m surprised anyone’s alive.”

  Another question I wanted to ask the previous night, but it hadn’t rolled off my lips. “How old are you, Daisy?”

  She grinned at me in a childlike way. “How old are you, Mr. Reiniger?”

  It was impolite to ask a lady her age, at least without offering mine first. “Twenty-six, maybe 27 depending what day it might be,” I answered as honestly as I could. Days, much less birthdays, meant little now.

  “I’m 25,” she proudly exclaimed. “So we’re darn near the same age.”

  But something wasn’t right in her answer. She hardly looked 18. Her face, though slightly drawn out by the time alone still possessed a youthful appearance. I took one of her hands and inspected it carefully. Though chaffed and boney, the skin on her fingers, and even in her palm, looked nothing like mine. And while I had been chopping wood, she had cleaned a thousand fish or more.

  I gazed back at her skeptically. “I’ve got a hemorrhoid older than you,” I replied, watching her lips twist.

  “I had Brendon at 15,” she admitted. “Libby at 17.”

  “So you’re 21.”

  She nodded in defeat. “But I’m not a slut. I was just stupid.”

  “I never said you were anything,” I countered quickly, “one way or the other. You’re just another person who deserves better.”

  She was quiet for a moment before reaching to stroke my beard. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For not judging me,” she replied, reaching back to wipe away one of her own tears.

  “I think you need to stay a while longer,” I said. I’m not sure what caused my bravery, but the words came tumbling out. My feelings were in the open, ready to be crushed.

  She considered my request, rubbing Libby’s head. “I’d like that,” she whispered without looking at me. “But only if you mean it, and not saying it out of pity.”

  Reaching over, I steered her chin so she had to look at me.

  “I’m doing it for my own selfish reasons, if you must know. I want you to stay.”

  “Then I accept,” she answered, smiling as she did. Her broad smile made my heart leap in celebration.

  Daisy and Libby were staying. And I hoped, against all odds, they never left.

  Year 3 - late summer - WOP

  Watching Daisy and Violet locked in an intimate discussion, I felt Dizzy nudged my arm.

  “Amazing what a woman can do for you, ain’t it?” he asked. “Two months ago I figured you were about done with all of this. Now, you’re happy. Well, you seem happy. I saw you smile the other day.”

  Two months, is that all it had been? I couldn’t recall a morning where I hadn’t woken up next to this woman. Many times with her daughter wedged between us in a bed meant for two medium-sized children. Now each morning was a dream, beginning with a light kiss from someone that meant so much to me.

  Violet pushed Libby on Lettie’s old tire swing, bringing screams of childish delight with each renewed shove. Every third or fourth back and forth, the teen happily kissed the girl’s head and gave another push.

  “What do you suppose they’re talking about back there?” I asked, more to myself than Dizzy.

  “Oh, women shit I suppose,” he answered without pause, or thought. “Marge has been so damned happy these last weeks, with another woman around. Someone closer to Violet’s age.” He poked me again and I noticed a grin. “Our love life’s never been better, let me tell you.”

  Leaning forward, I laughed. “You can keep that to yourself,” I replied, spotting Nate behind the shed with a BB-gun in hand. Some pocket gopher didn’t know it yet, but he was on their trail.

  Everyone was happy. Lettie smiled more, had kinder words, and hugged Libby every time we ventured up this way. She even called the girl her “little ray of sunshine” when not giving her grandmotherly pecks on the cheeks.

  In return, Libby called her Great Grandma Lettie. And for the first time ever I witnessed the old gal wipe a tear from her normally desert dry eyes.

  Daisy got along with everyone, absolutely everyone. But why wouldn’t she? Full of life and love, she made everyone feel special…most of all me. Here at Lettie’s she helped with cooking, chores, mediating fights between mother and daughter, even processing wild game. And everything she did, she did with a smile.

  Marge seemed jealous at first with a new woman in her territory. And Dizzy didn’t help – or should I say his giggling and drawing in his stomach to appear fitter didn’t help. But given a few days together and the woman grew on Marge just as she had grown on me. More than once, I found them alone in the living room, sipping tea, discussing someone in a hushed tone. And by someone, that meant Violet.

  The girl was sneaking off more brazenly as of late. No longer did she play the game of I’m not doing anything. Now she simply screamed at her mother, and Lettie if close by, to mind their own business. Lettie brushed it away as a passing phase. Marge; well, not so much.

  Marge simply wanted her daughter to remain innocent for as long as possible, just like any good mother would. But the moodiness and frequency of trips that she was sure were not very innocent drove her mad.

  Enter Daisy Vaughn.

  Sure, Marge didn’t like the idea that Daisy had had her first child at nearly the same age her daughter was now. But Daisy listened like no one I had ever met. She spoke with wisdom well beyond her years, and never once did she raise her voice. Either words came out in a happy way, or they were hushed, forcing the other party to lean in and listen closely.

  She was, in a word, amazing. And everyone felt the same about her, including me.

  “I think we have an issue,” Daisy whispered one evening as we lay in bed together. We were spending another night at Lettie’s. Somehow, it always got too dark before we considered taking off for our own home. Violet gladly gave up her room just to spend another day with her new best friend.

  I despised conflict, what Daisy sweetly referred to as issues. “What now?” I asked in a tone perhaps a little snarlier than she deserved.

  “I think things are heating up between Vi and the boys.” She preferred to call her Vi, but was wise enough to know that Marge detested that nickname. She reserved using it only around me…and Vi. “Do you know what I mean?”

  Yeah, that meant I wasn’t talking about it any further. That’s what “heating up” meant to me.

  “I don’t thi
nk that’s any of my concern,” I answered, rubbing my eyes. “That’s between you and her, and her mother, if you see fit.”

  “Oh Bob,” she pleaded. “I don’t want her to make the same mistakes I made. She trusts you so much. If you could just talk to her—”

  “No!”

  I felt her arm snake across my chest, hugging me close. She wasn’t wearing anything and she’d locked the door. So I was in extreme danger, and I knew it.

  “She doesn’t have a father and there’s no other man for her to confide in,” she continued, her words sounding on my bare chest. “And she’s not that fond of Tom I’m afraid. But if you could just listen to what she has to say and answer any questions she doesn’t want to ask me, it would be a big help.”

  What could I possibly answer that Daisy wasn’t experienced with? Come on, who was she bluffing.

  “I have an idea,” I offered. “How about you tell her to keep her pants on and nothing bad will happen. That should take care of it.”

  “Bob, be serious. She’s a 15-year-old-girl with too much free time on her hands and two young men after her heart.” She kissed my cheek. “You can’t tell me at 15 you weren’t interested in these kinds of things.”

  “We are not discussing her love life, or my former. If she can’t figure it out from her mother’s wrath, or your advice, then I guess she deserves whatever she gets.”

  I felt her press closer, as if that were possible. Soon she’d be on the other side of me, or…

  “Oh sweetheart,” she moaned. “She knows where babies come from and how they’re made. She’s seen the real deal, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  I felt her squirm against me. “This discussion is over,” I announced, closing my eyes trying to ignore the nymph sliding on top of me.

  “Isn’t there anything I can do to persuade you?” she whispered into my right ear before nibbling on it. “Anything?”

  What I meant to say was “No!” What I wanted to say was “Absolutely not!” Instead, all I could do was return the kisses I received. “Maybe,” I mumbled before succumbing to Daisy.

  Shit, I was so easy.

  Year 3 - late summer - WOP

  “Well,” Daisy said, her eyes floating between mine and our teary guest. “Technically she won’t be 15 until next spring. And that’s still a few months away.”

  I glared at Daisy, shaking away her soft tone. Her definition of a few and mine varied greatly.

  “That doesn’t help in case you thought it might.” I turned my wrath to our guest.

  “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I’m sorry,” she cried between sobs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this could happen.”

  I knelt before her, leaning as close to her face as I dared. “Bull shit!” I answered in a forceful tone.

  That reply brought more tears, and even some from Daisy.

  “This is just great,” I added, stepping away from the pair, now sharing a hug. “Just stinking great.”

  I should have known when I spotted the teen on the road headed our way that trouble was coming with her. I brushed it off as trouble with mother and daughter; something Daisy could easily take care of.

  When they shoved Libby outside to keep me company, I felt my stomach twist. That was my second clue. However, Libby distracted me by chasing the last of the summer’s cottonwood fluffs around the yard.

  It was only when Daisy came outside and told Libby to sit on the bench and stay there that I really began to worry. Was someone dead? Had Matt Weston and his evil bride shown up and burned Lettie’s place to the ground?

  Daisy’s finger signaled me closer.

  “You need to come inside,” she said, playing with the zipper on my light jacket. “We sort of have an issue.”

  Great. I should have known. “Define issue,” I replied slowly, not holding back a small snarl.

  Daisy gave me one of her “oh, it will be okay” smiles.

  “A problem,” she confessed. “Kind of a large one.” She bit her lower lip and averted her eyes.

  Wonderful. “Who’d she kill now?” I asked, seeing the shock in Daisy’s eyes when I did.

  “Oh heavens, it’s not that bad. Just come inside.”

  Once again, I stepped into the unknown. Mostly due to my own ignorance.

  “Perhaps if you had spoken with her when I asked you to six weeks ago,” Daisy stated in an even way, “something like this could have been avoided.”

  She couldn’t fool me. This was brewing well before that.

  “Please explain to me,” I began, spinning to face my mate. I paused to compose myself, and a little of my anger. “Please explain what good a talk would have been six weeks ago when she says she thinks she’s two months pregnant.”

  Violet wept, hearing her condition aloud. Daisy gazed at me apologetically.

  “Well, that seems to be water under the bridge now,” she admitted, taking the spot next to Violet on the couch. She signaled with me to take the opposite spot with the toss of her head. I rolled my eyes and leaned against the wall.

  “Which one?” I asked still not being nice about it.

  Violet looked up at me through cloudy eyes. “Which one what?”

  “Who’s the daddy, Violet?” I ground out.

  More tears, wasted on me though. “I don’t know,” she sniffed, peeking at Daisy.

  “Great,” I huffed. “You had sex with both of them. And you’re 14. Just perfect.”

  “I did not,” she cried. “It was only the one and only once. I told him I didn’t like it and never did it again. I just don’t know which one it was. We were on the ground and kinda smashed together and when he—”

  I held up a hand to stop her steamy story.

  “Does your mom know?”

  Her eyes shot open wide. “No!” she shrieked. “No one knows. I just came to tell Daisy.”

  “So why do you even think you’re pregnant? I mean,” I glanced at Daisy. “Is that even possible now?”

  Daisy nodded. “Well, she had been menstruating every month.” She noticed my scowl but continued to tick off her reasons on each finger. “She was mostly regular. Now she’s not,” she paused and let it hang in the air a heartbeat longer than necessary. “She’s been sick, but only first thing in the morning when she eats. And her breasts,” she pointed at Violet’s lack of chest, “are sore she says.”

  I gawked at my woman. “Do you understand what TMI means?” She rolled her eyes at me. “A simple yes would have been sufficient.”

  Pacing the kitchen, I noticed Libby still on the bench. God, what a perfect child she was, I thought as she played with the first colored leaves of fall. Don’t ever grow up, little girl.

  “So,” Daisy said from right behind, causing me to startle, “we need to break the news to Marge. Gently, of course.”

  I placed a hand on each thin shoulder. “There is no we in this matter, sweetheart.” I shoved a finger Violet’s direction. “There’s only her, and soon to be them. She played with fire; she can deal with the burn.”

  I gave her my best “this conversation is over look,” but her sigh told me it was far from over.

  “She’s going to stay with us for a couple nights. Just until we can figure this out.”

  Daisy’s words weren’t a question, or phrase to ask permission. They were God’s law.

  Great.

  Year 3 - late summer - WOP

  A clear blue sky issued in the cool morning air as Daisy, Libby, Violet, and I strolled towards Lettie’s. Violet kept calling it Hell-Day. I referred to it as her date with destiny. Daisy told us both to be quiet.

  I watched the trio before me holding hands. Daisy had the center position with Violet on her right and a skipping Libby on her left. Pulling the cart holding some supplies Lettie needed from my place, I noticed the two older ones whispering. Though I knew Daisy would tell me what is was all about later, I somehow felt the need to needle the teen directly.

  “Come next hour,” I calle
d out, fighting back a laugh, “there’s not going to be a lot of secrets.”

  Daisy spun and shook her head at me, tight lipped.

  “Oh come on,” I moaned. “That was funny.”

  The women went back to their chatting as I searched behind for Nate. He was fine on his own, most of the time. As long as someone kept an eye on him, he typically didn’t get in too much trouble.

  Hearing the brush snap to my left, I spotted him. He was probably chasing a red squirrel; somehow he insisted that he could catch one. Once he did, he was going to kill it and clean it himself. As a treat, he’d have his mother fry it up for his dinner. As of today, he had captured exactly zero, and Marge couldn’t be happier.

  “Don’t get too deep in there, Nate,” I called out, looking ahead again on the still barren road. What did I expect, some 18-wheeler to come blasting at us? “You’re coming up on the creek that cuts through there. And if you come back with wet shoes your mother is gonna—”

  A pile of something on the side of the road caught my attention. Something foreign, something not there a week ago.

  The pile was horse crap, no doubt about it. Too big of a pile for deer or bear, and it certainly was not wolf droppings. My God, if one of those animals squeezed this out their cries would have been heard for 20 miles around.

  “Tighten up everyone,” I said, in a tense tone. “Stay close together.”

  I received questioning looks, but ignored them. We had visitors. And hardly any visitors in all of my days here were friendly.

  “Yep, that’s definitely horse shit,” Dizzy confirmed, kicking at the pile with the toe of his boot. “And there’s more?”

  I nodded stoically. “Yeah, this is the closest pile, but there’s four or five more down towards my place. Beginning at about the halfway mark.”

  Dizzy flashed his eyes at me. “So, what you thinking?”

  What was I thinking? I hadn’t seen anyone in weeks, much less someone on horseback. The last I knew the Covington gang was on foot. I couldn’t recall seeing any animals of that sort in my one visit there.