by Reed, N. C.
“My mother used to talk about that kind of thing when I was a girl,” Dee Talbot said fondly. “I never got to see it done other than in a museum setting, but it always looked fascinating.”
“I can sew,” Amy Mitchell was shaking her head slowly. “I can even knit a tiny bit. But this is something I know nothing about.”
“I do know how,” Evelyn Lacey offered tentatively, as this was her first 'meeting' with the others. She was accustomed to being alone. “Or did. I learned years ago, but I don't have the equipment needed, so I would be horribly out of practice.”
“I have to admit that I have never seen any of that done, even on television,” Beverly shook her head.
“Nor have I,” Martina agreed. “I'm afraid we have depended on synthetic materials and store-bought clothing for too long in my family,” she admitted.
“We all have,” Dee Talbot shrugged. “It was part of being modern, right?”
“So, is there anything that needs our immediate attention?” Alicia asked, shifting a bit uncomfortably in her chair.
“I honestly don't think so,” Lainie said, looking around the table. “We're doing all we can on the things we're behind schedule for, so really, that's all we can do, right?”
“Right,” Dottie Greer nodded.
“That said, I think it's time we had a lady's night,” Lainie stated firmly.
“What kind of lady's night?” Angela asked.
“One where we can relax and have a good time, I hope,” Dottie Greer smiled broadly.
“That was exactly what I had in mind,” Lainie nodded firmly. “I already asked Leon and he said we can use his club, so long as we, and I quote, 'don't puke in it'. I am positive there's a story there,” she laughed, “but I didn't ask him about it. I suggest we all make some finger foods, maybe fry up some chips and make some dip, just whatever suits everyone, and have ourselves a night. We can play games, watch a movie, tell stories or all of the above. Just as long as we have a good time.”
“Are we inviting the girls that just did that training?” Angela asked.
“They had their party,” Lainie shook her head. “This is for the rest of us. We can invite Janice, and Millie, since they didn't go to the other party. Oh, and Lila Webb. Anyone else?” No one suggested anyone.
“Well then, I suggest we spread the word and get started,” Lainie rubbed her hands together. “What night do we want to plan this for?”
“Speaking of Lila, we're gonna need to get volunteers from the crowd to work the orphanage,” Beverly noted.
“Good point,” Lainie agreed. “I'll ask Clay to make sure that all the women who took the training are off watch that one night, or at least part of them are,” she amended on the fly. “Surely a few of them can watch over mostly sleeping babies.”
“Surely.”
-
“Are you kidding me right now?!” shrieked Kim Powers as she stood at the table, having been in the process of changing a diaper when she was urinated on by a giggling two-year-old.
“Keep it down!” Abby insisted, patting a little girl on her shoulder and trying to get her to sleep. “All we need is for you to wake all of them up!”
“I don't recall volunteering for this,” Freda Fletcher complained, cleaning up where a four-year-old had decided they didn't like supper all that much, after all.
“You recall sitting down to eat this morning?” Abby asked her.
“Yeah.”
“That was you, volunteering,” Abby assured her. “This is what it's like around here. There's always something to do, something that needs doing. Think about the women who have to work here every day, for goodness' sake. All they asked from us was one night. And not even the whole night.” She paused as she changed shoulders. “At least I hope not,” she added softly.
“I notice there are no guys here, helping out,” Heather Patton stage whispered. “Why is that, you think?”
“The ones who didn't work today are on duty tonight,” Abby explained.
“A hundred years of women's lib, down the drain,” Kim Powers sighed as she finished cleaning herself and the little boy she was changing.
Just in time to be urinated on again.
“Are you kidding me!?”
-
“It was nice of Leon to let us use this little place,” Beverly noted as she examined the small 'club'. “We need something like this for the grown-ups.”
“I've said that same thing,” Lainie agreed. “But, so long as we can use this one once in a while, I'm happy,” she admitted.
“Was this his idea?” Dee Talbot asked. “I mean, on his own?”
“It was,” Lainie nodded. “He got the older kids, the boys anyway, to help move things around, but the idea, and most of the other stuff, is all Leon.”
“He's a smart kid,” Martina noted.
“They're both very smart,” Alicia said proudly, though not in the same way she once would have. “I used to laugh and say I haven't been able to help with their homework since they were in fifth grade.”
“Intimidating,” Beverly nodded. “I can fully relate. I had to break down and hire a tutor for JJ. Seven years of college, two sheepskins on my wall, and I had to hire a tutor,” she said, glumly. “Little smart mouth college girl with a double major. Still wearing braces. God, I hated her.”
“I didn't have that option,” Alicia admitted. “Well, not entirely true. I was able to hire their teachers to help them achieve what they wanted. We just didn't have anyone else local that could serve as a tutor for them. The Old Man paid every summer to send them to camps for kids who were above average. They loved to go, but I hated it,” she sighed. “They'd be gone three or four weeks of the summer. That first week? Was great. Quiet, peaceful, time for Ronny and I alone. Couldn't ask for more. After that, it was terrible to have them gone so long. They looked so happy to be going and so sad to be home. It was depressing, really,” she rested her head on her fist and took a drink of her soda.
“Same here,” Beverly agreed. “JJ would be gone somewhere and I'd get home and start wondering what I forgot,” she laughed. “Like I forgot and left him somewhere.”
“I used to leave Clayton at the gas station in Jordan,” Angela said, remembering. “Robert and Alicia were older and I often left them at home since Gordon was usually here somewhere and Leon was on the hill. Clayton was just old enough to get out of the car and he loved to go into the garage with Mister Peterson. Mister Peterson would entertain his questions about what he was doing and why, never did see him angry or short. But if I wasn't looking, or paying attention, then I wouldn't realize he was out of the car and I'd just drive away. I'd get home to the phone ringing. Mister Peterson calling to tell me I'd left something at the station.”
“My mom left me so often I begin to think she was trying to tell me something,” Evelyn Lacey nodded. “Left me at Food-rite. Left me at City Drug. Left me at the nickel and dime store. Turns out she was in early onset dementia. No one knew about that stuff back then,” she added sadly.
“I'm sorry,” several of the women said at once.
“Thanks,” Lacey smiled. “It was a good while back.”
“Doesn't make it hurt less,” Angela noted.
Lainie listened but didn't offer anything personal, herself. She had been left at times, but it wasn't by accident or because of disease. At least not one treatable by medicine.
Over by the televisions, Millie, Janice, and Lila were looking through the games.
“I've never been here before,” Lila admitted, looking around.
“We need to change that,” Millie stated firmly. “Next time we're doing something, I'll have Ace make sure that his uncle gets you out of work for it.”
“Ace?” Lila asked.
“It's what she calls Leon,” Janice informed her. “This looks fun,” she held up a game. “We have to try and ride skateboards and snowboards through obstacle courses.”
“Sounds like fun,” Lila smiled. “I've never played on
one of these very much,” she added shyly.
“Me either,” Janice nodded. “Never had one, or access to one, until I came here.”
“Well, then it's settled,” Millie told them. “The two of you will play here. I'll see if there's something on the other machine for me, and be available to help you two if you need it.”
“You can play the winner,” Janice offered, repeating something she had heard before while present with the others.
“No, not tonight,” Millie made a pushing motion toward the two girls. “Tonight, you guys play. Have fun. It sounds like I had better access to that stuff when I was younger, so the two of you have at it. If nothing else, it will prepare you for when you visit and the others are playing,” she smiled at Lila.
“Okay,” the younger girl smiled back. “Thank you.”
“You bet!”
-
Unlike their younger counterparts, the older women knew when to call it quits. Some had left early, like Angela, Alicia, and Evelyn Lacey. Other stayed a bit longer, but in the end, it was Lainie, Beverly and Martina that closed the place down, ensuring they had cleaned up and returned everything where it went.
“Oh, me,” Lainie laughed as they exited the building. “Janice is a hoot, is she not?”
“I can't for the life of me see how she can be so naive one minute, and then the next start spouting out information like she's the internet,” Beverly was shaking her head. “It's incredible, but. . .wow,”she finally settled for saying.
“She has had a hard life, that one,” Martina commented as the three women stood on the pad.
“Yes, she has,” Lainie nodded. “I don't like to think about her chances if I hadn't found her when I did. As it was, she survived on guts and determination, despite her naivete. Listening to her talk about all she has been through sometimes just makes me shiver.”
“And you have not had the easiest road, yourself, eh chica?” Martina cocked her head a little to one side as she studied Lainie.
“No,” Lainie was quieter as she answered. “No, I haven't.” Sensing that Lainie didn't want to talk about any of that tonight, Beverly faked a yawn, something she had learned to do early on when she started dating again.
“I'm sorry, girls, but I'm beat,” she apologized. “I'm going to head in. I had a great time,” she hugged Lainie tightly. “This was a terrific idea.”
“I agree,” Martina also hugged Lainie. “We must do this again, and soon. Perhaps make it a regular thing.”
“Next time we should play cards or a board game or something,” Lainie nodded. “But tonight was good for all of us, I think. A chance to just sit, talk, and visit.”
“Absolutely,” Beverly agreed, walking toward home. “We learned a lot about each other tonight. And that's a good thing. Night!” she waved.
“Good-night!” Lainie called back as Martina joined Beverly on the walk home.
“You know,” Martina said slyly, “you could have just said we need to go home. No need to fake that yawn on me.”
“Wasn't for you,” Beverly assured her.
“I know,” Martina nodded slowly. “That one carries so much sadness,” she observed. “She really has had a very hard time.”
“She has,” Beverly agreed.
“Perhaps tonight has been good to her as well.”
-
“Hey, Party Girl,” Clay smiled as Lainie walked up on to the porch. Clay was sitting in the near dark of a small, shaded lantern, enjoying the cool evening air.
“Hey, Cowboy,” Lainie smiled back as she plopped down beside him. “What's up?”
“Nothing much,” Clay shook his head, then leaned over to kiss her briefly. “Have a good time?”
“I think we all did,” she nodded, leaning over on him and placing her head on his shoulder. “We learned a lot, Beverly said. From visiting.”
“Like what?” Clay asked. Lainie grinned in the dark.
“Well, like the fact that Angela used to leave you at Peterson's Filling Station when you were a kid?”
Clay burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the night. It was a happy sound, Lainie thought as she laughed with him. A good sound.
CHAPTER NINE
The Worthy Ezekiel Talent resisted the urge to swear as he once again retreated from the town commons area. Set upon by a half-dozen men and women screaming blasphemy at him, he had endured another beating, this one worse than any he had taken since the lights went out.
He didn't understand. Never in his time as a servant of the Uttermost had he suffered so much, for so little gain. True, there was always a certain amount of disrespect, opposition and even violence, but never without gaining followers as a result.
Not so, this time. In the weeks he had been here in Lewiston, he had gained not a single follower. The hatred directed toward the message he carried was almost as palpable as the evidence of his beating. He hugged his ribs tighter as he struggled to breathe. He was reasonably sure that he had cracked, if not completely broken ribs on his right side. Courtesy of a large boot, worn on the foot of a large man. A large, angry man who had taken exception to being told he was going to suffer the wrath of the Army of God if he did not change his ways.
Perhaps, in hindsight, that was not the smartest thing to say to an already angry individual of that size.
Staggering out to the edge of town where his own meager camp was hidden, Talent all but collapsed into his small tent, careful to stay off his right side. He wished for a pain reliever, but his training dictated that he trust that his being a messenger for the Uttermost would protect him and grant him whatever aid he needed. Only the strict indoctrination he had been given prevented him from laughing at that notion. His pain was proof that the message itself did not protect him.
But that did not lessen the importance of the message, he told himself sternly. He carefully removed the small computer unit from his pack and unwrapped it from the protective roll he stored it in. Typing out a quick message report for transmission, he paused as he considered adding his code for failure.
He had never failed. True, he had suffered on more than one occasion, but he had never outright failed. He had noted, however, that as he made his way deeper into rural America, there were fewer and fewer people who heeded the message. The last town had been a perfect example, as roughly ten percent of the townspeople had remained after the Cleansing by the Uttermost's military arm. Those who were not killed were taken as laborers for the farms further south. Farms that fed the Worthy's people. His Army.
But not Talent himself, who was forced to scrabble to get by on his own. Proof, he was told, of his dedication to the Uttermost, and his message.
No. No, he would still not admit defeat. Not yet. He would rest, heal, and try once more. A gentler message to start, perhaps? A more direct appeal to the least advantaged of the townspeople? He entered the code to compress his report, then raised the small antenna outside the flap of his tent. Reviewing the message once more in his mind, determining he was satisfied with it, he pressed SEND on the tiny keyboard. He sent the message three times over a ten-minute period to ensure it was received. There was no danger of interception, he had been promised. Of course, he had also been promised that providence would protect and provide for him as a servant of the Uttermost.
So far that hadn't always worked out.
The message sent, Talent quickly and efficiently disassembled the unit and returned it to the protective confines of his bag. That done, he lay back in exhaustion, his eyes closed as he tried to use mediation to stop his pain.
Maybe it would even work, this time.
CHAPTER TEN
“That's odd,” Millie said to herself, watching a bank of radio receivers.
“What's odd?” Leon asked. He tried to work with Millie as often as possible, just to spend time with her.
“This needle is twitching,” Millie pointed. “The meter shows we're receiving something on this frequency, but there's nothing there.”
“You
sure?” he looked over her shoulder. He didn't have to see her roll her eyes to know she did it.
“Gimme a break, Ace. I know a little bit about radio.”
“That wasn't what I meant,” Leon sighed in exasperation. “Why do you always assume that I'm questioning your abilities?”
“Because you are?” Millie replied with a question of her own.
“I am not, in fact,” he told her. “I meant have you checked to see if there's something other than voice traffic on that frequency. Something similar to Morse, maybe. Might even be Morse, I guess,” he added with a shrug.
“Oh,” said Millie. More to cover herself than anything. “No, but I'll do that now.”
“Good idea,” Leon rolled his own eyes, this time.
“Don't roll your eyes at me, Ace,” she warned without looking. “It's not nice.”
“Who said I rolled my eyes?” Leon tried to sound innocent.
“Did you?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Not the point, and doesn't matter for purposes of this discussion,” Leon tried to dodge.
“You did, didn't you,” she turned back to the receiver. “Well I'll be damned.”
“What?” Leon asked, moving behind her again.
“Listen to this,” she said, pulling the headphones off her head and passing them over. At first there was nothing, but then, very faintly, he heard a rush of noise. Just a second, and then it was gone. After several seconds, it was back.
“It's a burst,” Leon muttered. “A date packet, most likely. Son-of-a-gun.” He passed the headphones back to Millie.
“Keep listening while I get Clay down here. And start recording it.”
-
“It stopped not long after we called you,” Leon was still working over what they had learned. “Repeated three more times, and then stopped.”
“And you're sure that's what it was?” Clay asked. “We used stuff like that in the field, but it was all keyed to satellites. There can't be any satellites left in orbit.”
“You don't need a satellite for this to work,” Millie informed him, still surfing bands to look for more. “If you use HF transmitters and receivers, and have the DTE, or end of circuit terminal, then you can catch and decode data bursts. Anyone can, really, with the right equipment. Television stations used to do it back in the eighties to reduce the size of programming. It was meant for stations to use, but if you could catch it and record the end burst and then play it back in slow motion, you could read it. Usually compressed text messages. Spies used it all the time,” she raised an eyebrow at him.
