Famine

by R A Doty

  Betty’s smile slowly faded when she saw no sign of Cain. Maybe he’s still outside. She headed toward the door until Janette touched her arm, stopping her.

  Janette shook her head. “He didn’t make it.”

  Betty stood motionless for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what Janette said. Finally, it sunk in. She nodded. “I’m happy you and the others are safe.” Although she was surrounded by people, she felt more alone than she had ever felt in her life. She never realized how much she cared for Cain until that moment.

  “He may still be alive,” Janette continued. “We couldn’t wait for him. They were coming for us, so we had to leave.” Janette didn’t believe that Cain survived, but the words seemed to comfort Betty. And maybe herself.

  “I see,” Betty responded. “Thank you.” She turned to go back to her bedroom, but then she noticed the girl Janette was holding. The child looked terrified. Like she, too, was all alone in the world. “What’s her name?” Betty asked.

  “I don’t know,” Janette said. “They had her caged, and she hasn’t said a word since we found her.”

  Betty extended her arms. “May I?”

  “Can Betty hold you for a while?” Janette asked the girl.

  At first, the girl cowered closer to Janette, but then she glanced at the nice lady who was smiling at her. She returned the smile, and leaned forward with her arms out.

  The little girl immediately wrapped her arms around Betty’s neck. The hug they shared was equally comforting for both of them.

  “Do you know your name?” Betty asked the girl.

  Without raising her head from Betty’s chest, the girl shook her head.

  Betty faced Janette. “Did you have a name in mind?”

  “No, not really. I haven’t considered it.”

  “Do you like the name, Sophie, honey?”

  The girl answered with a nod, never lifting her head.

  “Is that okay?” Betty asked Janette.

  “If she’s happy with it, it works for me.”

  “Little Sophie,” Betty said, kissing the top of the child’s head. “Do you mind if I walk her around?”

  “Not at all,” Janette agreed. “My arms are killing me. I’m not exactly kid-friendly, if you know what I mean. You can take care of her if you don’t mind.”

  “I’d love to.” Betty leaned toward the girl. “Would you like to share a room with me, Sophie?”

  Little Sophie nodded.

  With the child still clinging to her neck, Betty left the kitchen and gave Sophie a tour of the house. They stopped in Thomas Steinberg’s library and borrowed a few children’s books to read when they got back to the bedroom. After cozying up on the bed, Betty with her back against the headboard and the child covered in a blanket, her head on Betty’s lap, little Sophie fell fast asleep as she discovered the story of a spider named Charlotte.

  Betty quietly placed the book on the nightstand and rested her head against the wall behind the bed. Tears trickled from her eyes as she sobbed silently so as not to wake the child.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  WITH his head drooped down toward the desk, and his arms crossed over his chest, William Weston waited patiently for the knock on the door, his anger level escalating with every minute that passed. When it finally came, he raised his head and said, “enter.” The door opened.

  Chief Officer Brodie stepped into the room and slowly closed the door behind him. He forced himself to look up at Weston, who was studying his every move. Brodie stood in the uncomfortable silence, waiting for a reaction from his superior. It finally came in the form of one single word.

  “Well?”

  Brodie cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, sir, but they seemed to have escaped.”

  Weston slammed his hands on the desk and sprang to his feet, “How the hell could they have possibly escaped? This is a god damned island!”

  Weston’s response startled Brodie. He suddenly felt weak, like the time his father had scolded him for losing a fight with the neighbor’s boy when he was eight. The other boy was ten, but that didn’t matter, his father had said. “Age has nothing to do with it. You’re either a winner or a loser.”

  Weston continued. “How did they get past the officers guarding the boats?” Brodie didn’t respond. “The boats were guarded, I assume?” Weston said, sure as hell hoping they were.

  “I didn’t feel the need to have the boats guarded, because I didn’t anticipate them escaping from the pen we locked them in.”

  Weston smiled. For a moment, it looked like a smile one might have who didn’t have a care in the world. But then his eyes narrowed and the smile vanished as fast as it came. “Do you have any idea why I put you in charge?”

  No response from Brodie.

  “I put you in charge because you’re built like a brick wall. Because you have the balls to do whatever it takes to get the job done. Because you wouldn’t think twice about killing if need be.” Weston walked around the desk and stood in front of Brodie. He studied Brodie’s eyes, his nose, his chin, and then back up to his eyes. “But the one reason I didn’t put you in charge was for your ability to think.” Weston continued to study Brodie, who couldn’t tell if he was expected to answer or not. Brodie chose not to.

  Weston walked back to his chair and sat down. “I want you to put a team of your best ten men together. I want them heavily armed, and I don’t want any of them to feel the need to think. And that includes you. I just want each of you to follow orders and do exactly as I say. Do you understand me?”

  Brodie replied with a nod. Another memory flashed through his mind. He was only eighteen and his father was fifty, but he outweighed him by at least forty pounds and stood five inches taller. He had taken his father’s advice over the years and packed on as much muscle as possible. He had never lost another fight and had promised himself that he would never be intimidated by another man again. So, when his father slapped his face for borrowing his truck without asking, it only came natural to Brodie to return the gesture with a hard punch to the side of his father’s temple. It was the first man he had killed.

  While in prison, he was one of the inmates chosen by Weston to be transported to Ancada. But unlike the other prisoners, Weston saw something more useful in Brodie than his nutritional contribution. Weston wanted to harness his size and strength, which he did. And now, as Weston looked at him from across the desk, Brodie stared right back, his eyes filled with rage.

  Weston smiled, noticing Brodie’s anger. “What you’re feeling right now is the reason I chose you, Brodie.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  MONICA began to awake surprisingly early the mornings after Josh had returned. On the third day, her face beamed with life as she hustled around the kitchen, tending to two frying pans, each filled with a generous helping of bacon and eggs. The aroma of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the house as everyone eventually strolled into the kitchen, one by one, to join Colton, Dan, and Luke, who were seated at the table. Everyone except April and Calla, who had already left the house for an early morning walk. Monica greeted all of the others with a “good morning” as they passed. Some returned the greeting, like Elana, Betty, and all of the children, but some didn’t, like her husband, Thomas, and Janette, who obviously weren’t morning-people. With everyone seated around the table, Colton, Dan, and Luke continued a conversation they had previously started.

  “So now what happens?” Dan asked Colton.

  “We wait,” Colton said.

  “Wait for what?” Janette asked, joining the conversation.

  “For Bill Weston’s next move,” Colton answered. “I know Bill, and he isn’t one to give up that easily.”

  “Then shouldn’t we be doing something to get ready?” Janette said, now wide awake.

  “We’ve already gathered every weapon and every bit of ammo we could find,” Luke replied. “And we agreed that somebody should always be on guard, day and night. So now it’s just a matter of time to see if they ever sh
ow up.”

  “They’ll show up,” Colton said. “The only question is when.”

  EACH new morning was another opportunity for April to visit the pond. It had become somewhat of a ritual for her and Calla while waiting for everyone else to wake up. Morning was her favorite time of the day because the air was always crisp and pure and the birds would chirp happily. The sun climbed over the horizon and the first rays of light broke through the fog on the meadow. It was just the perfect time.

  As she walked through the meadow, she bent down and plucked a wildflower, a daisy, to add to the ones already in her hand. It was impossible to walk through the meadow without collecting a handful of flowers. Even Calla had to join in as she, too, bent down to pick a few of the flowers. The girls picked and then sniffed, each quietly searching for another flower.

  “This is a pretty one, April,” Calla said, holding a flower with orange petals and a black center. “What’s it called?”

  April glanced at the flower. “A black-eyed Susan.”

  “Ooh, look at this one.” Calla picked a similar one, white petals with a yellow center. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a common daisy, Calla.”

  “Well I don’t know, miss smarty-pants.” Calla picked one she was familiar with. She had showed it to April many times at the kennel while teaching her to speak. She plucked the dandelion and held it in the air. “What’s this one then,” she asked with a smile, just to purposely annoy April.

  April looked briefly at the flower and then lowered her head. She started to say the name but it didn’t come out. She looked again, longer this time, trying to remember its name.

  “Come on, April. Stop kidding around. What is it, smarty-pants?”

  April continued to stare at the flower. She remembered seeing its seeds fly into the air when she was at the kennel. It was the very first flower she researched on Calla’s tablet. A very plain one. A weed that nobody wanted. Like her, she remembered feeling. “I’m not sure, Calla.”

  Calla walked over to her with the flower. “April, you know this one. We talked about it a million times at the kennel. Now come on. What is it? You’re scaring me.”

  April looked closely at it. She tried hard to think of flower names, but suddenly she couldn’t remember any. It was yellow. A canary. A goldfinch. Are they flowers or birds? She took the flower and held it up to her face. Hundreds of images passed through her mind like pages of a book being blown by the wind. A sharp pain stabbed the back of her eyes, forcing her to close them tight. When the pain stopped, she opened her eyes and looked at Calla.

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Thanks for reading! If you loved the book and have a moment to spare, I would really appreciate a short review, as this helps new readers find my books. Thank you so much in advance.”

  R.A. Doty

  To learn more about R.A. Doty and his upcoming books visit: www.radoty.com

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  BOOK THREE COMING SOON!

  (WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE)