Gone to Ground

by Cheryl Taylor

  Maggie sprang upright, jarring his shoulder and wringing a groan from him. Pain swelled and ebbed, reminding him of waves washing up on the ocean shore. Thank you God, I live in Arizona, he thought, I never want to see the ocean again. I never want to see a lake again. Nothing with waves. Not even a damned puddle.

  “O’Reilly! I’m so sorry. You’re alive!”

  “You’re sorry I’m alive? That’s one hell of a sentiment.”

  Maggie gritted her teeth, making O’Reilly smile weakly. “No, idiot. I’m sorry I hit your shoulder. I’m glad you’re alive. But I may reconsider.”

  O’Reilly laughed, then winced at the explosion of sound in his head. “I’m glad I’m alive, too. And I hope you don’t reconsider. Where’s Rickards?”

  “He’s gone.” Maggie hesitated. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but he asked what would I do if he left us here... alive. I guess he accepted my answer.”

  O’Reilly frowned, trying to determine the meaning of Rickards surprise action. He wished the pounding in his head would go away. He wished the throbbing in his shoulder would go away. He wished the dust in the air would go away. He wished the feeling of exhaustion would go away. Just about the only thing that he didn’t wish would go away was Maggie. Reaching out again with his left hand, he found her right hand on his chest and squeezed it.

  “I’m so tired I can’t think straight.”

  “O’Reilly, don’t you leave me again. I swear I’ll...”

  “No, listen. Go back to the hideout cave. Check on the children.”

  “I don’t want to leave you here in the dark.

  “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m going to wander around and get lost.” O’Reilly gave her a weak smile. “You need to make sure that Rickards and the others have left the canyon. Then we need to get out of here. You’re going to have to check out this wound in better light, and it needs to be done soon. There’s probably at least ten pounds of dirt in it, as well as the bullet, and it all needs to be removed before infection sets it.”

  Maggie stared at him appalled. “And you think I’m going do this?”

  “Well, unless you want to run out and flag down Rickards, you’re the one who’s going to have to do this. I sure as hell can’t.”

  Maggie pushed herself to her feet and glared down at O’Reilly. “You owe me.”

  O’Reilly, eyes beginning to drift closed again said, “Don’t worry, next time you get shot, I’ll be more than glad to dig the bullet out. Now go.” He slid back into sleep before he heard her answer.

  The trip out of the caves left a great deal to be desired, at least as far as O’Reilly was concerned. Walking out under his own power was out of the question, which left one woman, six children and two dogs. Not a good bet for a comfortable journey. Maggie finally solved the transportation problem by taking several blankets and tying them to two long boards retrieved from the barn following the Enforcers evacuation from the valley. She constructed a travois, then, with Christina’s and Alysa’s assistance, moved O’Reilly onto the sling. The three were then able to drag the contraption out of the caves and back to the house.

  O’Reilly would swear later that they hit every rock and pothole along the path. Maggie was equally adamant that he would have to go on a diet, so that the next time she had to drag his butt half way across Arizona, it wouldn’t be so heavy.

  Of course, O’Reilly thought, the pain caused by the trip out of the caves was nothing compared to that which he was forced to endure after they reached the house. The bullet had entered high in his right shoulder, apparently deflected off a rib, headed upward and struck the collarbone, breaking it. The bullet itself was lodged in the muscle at the top of the shoulder.

  It may have been a miracle, said O’Reilly, that at such close range he hadn’t been injured more severely. In fact, upon later consideration, he decided that the head wound and corresponding concussion was more likely the cause of the fuzziness and blackouts in the cave, than the gunshot wound.

  As miraculous as his escape from a deadly injury was, however, the greater miracle was that he survived Maggie’s debut as a surgeon. The thought of that operation still twisted O’Reilly’s guts. They’d had no anesthesia, and a razor blade had to stand in for a scalpel. Maggie was less than thrilled at her assignment, and spent the entire procedure muttering dire imprecations should he ever get himself shot again. O’Reilly, who had his teeth ground into a strap of belt leather in the true tradition of the old west, found very little opportunity to argue with her, particularly since every time he groaned, or allowed any other sound out of his throat, the threats became more animated, and more imaginative.

  It took forty-five minutes, a quart of Betadine, and several yards of silk embroidery thread, brought by O’Reilly from Wikieup, before Maggie was finished, and by that point O’Reilly was beginning to think longingly of Rickards and a lifetime of incarceration. A three inch laceration over his left eye also received the gentle ministrations of the reluctant surgeon, and after studying the stitching in the mirror the next morning, he decided that it would be wise to cultivate his own sewing skills, lest he wind up without wearable clothing sometime in the future.

  Now, four days later, O’Reilly was healing well, thanks to Maggie’s diligence, as well as large doses of antibiotics, also brought from Wikieup. The danger from the Enforcers was in the past, the children happy and healthy, and Houdini was once again tormenting Maggie every morning at egg collection time.

  Alysa and Mark trekked up to the east pasture to retrieve their horses the day after Rickards left, hunting for and bringing back Jenny, the calf, and Lizzie, the milk cow at the same time. Christina appointed herself chief gardener, working hard to restore the plants damaged by the Enforcers’ march through the valley. Maggie continued to insist on daily schooling for Mark, now including Nick, Ryan, Christina and Alysa in the arrangement. Lindy continued to spend her time in pursuits of vital importance to two-year-olds, but unintelligible to everyone else.

  The phone Rickards left behind was stashed safely in a spot known only to Maggie and O’Reilly. Maggie determined to check it and charge the batteries using her solar charger once a month.

  In short, everything was returning to normal more quickly than anyone thought possible.

  The spring on the door of the house twanged and squeaked as Maggie reemerged, milk bucket in one hand and the egg basket in the other. She paused briefly in the entrance, letting the screen door slam shut behind her. Setting the milk bucket on the ground, she raised her hand, shaded her eyes and studied the far side of the valley in the direction of the children’s voices.

  O’Reilly watched her standing there. The honey blond hair pulling loose from her braid as usual, floating around her face, drifting in the warm morning breeze. The sun turned the strands into a golden halo. A slight frown wrinkled her forehead as she scanned the distance, looking for Mark or one of the other children.

  O’Reilly felt a strong reluctance to disturb the picture but finally said, “The boys are down by the pond. I think they’re planning on catching us some fish for dinner.”

  “Damn. The girls?”

  “Alysa wanted to take Christina down to gather reeds from around the stream. I think they’re planning on trying to weave some baskets like the ones they saw in that book on crafts.” O’Reilly grinned up at Maggie. “Off to collect eggs?”

  “Yeah, I wanted to get it done before it gets any hotter. I’ll be so glad when the monsoons are over and things start cooling down.” Maggie sighed. “I guess it’s up to me.” She stooped and picked up the bucket and started to head down the path toward the barn.

  “Hey, wait.” O’Reilly struggled to his feet, trying to avoid jarring the injured shoulder.

  Maggie stopped and turned, “What are you doing? You don’t need to come. I can handle it,” she protested.

  “I’m getting tired of just sitting around being a drain on society,” O’Reilly answered, panting from the effort of getting to his feet wh
ile bound up like a mummy. He walked over to where Maggie was waiting. “Besides, you faced Rickards for me. Performed heroic surgery. Checked me for rotting meat. Least I can do is guard your back when you do battle for my breakfast.”

  “Actually, I sort of had my heart set on that addition to the house, and a real bathroom, but I suppose I’ll settle for a bodyguard.” Maggie smiled up at O’Reilly as he stood looking down at her. Stepping forward, he slid his left arm around her shoulders and bent to kiss her lightly.

  “I’m thinking I’d like to be more than a bodyguard, though I can see that the house addition would be an integral part of the deal. What do you say?”

  Maggie pulled away and headed toward the barn, swinging the basket jauntily. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes lit by mischievous laughter.

  “I’ll let you know once I see the addition.”

  48

  Few people were present in the Enforcers’ main office as Captain Seth Rickards entered at midnight four days after his encounter with O’Reilly and the Langton woman. The team had finally made it back into town late that afternoon, filthy and exhausted.

  The trip over the ranch roads had been difficult, especially when several more monsoon thunderstorms turned the heavy clay soil into a snot-slick mess. Several times they found themselves struggling to dig out vehicles that became mired.

  The men were subdued. No one had questioned Rickards upon his return to the cave’s entrance, but it was obvious that some were uncomfortable returning to Laughlin with no visible evidence of their success. Harlan especially seemed unsure about the outcome in the tunnels. Twice he suggested they bring O’Reilly’s body out and take it back with them.

  He only stopped at Rickards’ insistence that the body would be an unnecessary incumbrance as they tried to make their way out of the canyon on foot, and that carrying a dead body in this heat in the summer would be somewhat less than pleasant. Besides, as Rickards pointed out, they already had Johnson, with his head injury, and Larson with his broken arm. Not to mention Gomez with his gunshot wound. They didn’t need any more burdens.

  All in all, the trip back to Laughlin had taken nearly four days and the team was worn out. Rickards fully intended, after seeing to the injured, to return to his apartment, take a long shower, fall into a dry bed, and sleep for at least a year.

  All went according to plan, too. At least until he’d fallen into bed. As he tossed from one side to the other, he couldn’t free his mind of O’Reilly’s last question. What was ‘phase one?’ Finally, after trying to fall asleep for an hour, and failing miserably, he angrily threw aside the blankets and rose. Pulling on jeans and a shirt, he headed down the silent corridor.

  At that time of night it only took five minutes to reach the main office. He nodded at two deputies manning the desks, but avoided becoming involved in any conversation, instead aiming straight for the door to his private office. Once inside, he turned on a light and reached for the top drawer in the black filing cabinet behind his desk.

  The file was where he’d left it. Far at the back of the top drawer, labeled memos. Pulling it from its nest, he spread the contents on the desktop and sat. After O’Reilly left the APZ, Rickards found the memos on his desk in an unmarked file folder. Scanning them he’d quickly determined that they were part of a huge screw up on the part of the central control, and notified his superiors. They’d instructed him to shred the documents immediately, and he’d prepared to do just that. At the last moment, however, he’d changed his mind and placed the memos in the file folder at the back of the top drawer in the locked file cabinet.

  Now he was glad he had. Carefully he reviewed the memos, turning over page after page outlining the progress with consolidation of the survivors in the various industrialized countries. He found what he was looking for on the seventh memo.

  It obviously originated as a fax, and apparently the paper had misfed as it passed through the machine since the letterhead at the top was partially cropped, making it virtually impossible to tell which country issued it. In spite of the ambiguity of the sender, however, the message itself was clear and it thrust an icy knife deep into Rickards heart.

  It wasn’t a long memo. An introductory paragraph followed by a four item outline under the main title United Country Action Plan for Global Realignment. This was where O’Reilly had found his phases.

  The first bullet jumped out at him and challenged everything in which he believed.

  Phase One: Reduction of Population.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

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