Naomi swiveled in the saddle for the third time – she had kept track – to stare at Martin over her shoulder. And as he had previously, he held up a hand before she could speak.
“Was I doing it again? Sorry. I’ll stop.”
This time, Naomi didn’t turn around right away. Instead, she glared. “You’re trying to pick a fight.”
“Nope.”
“You are! Admit it!”
Martin just shrugged by way of an answer. His body shifted lazily from side to side with Shakti’s gait as they rode along. His eyes were hidden in the deep shade under his hat, but was that a smile? Was he actually smiling at her? Naomi’s mouth tightened with outrage and indignation, and she huffed back around to face front. The nerve of him!
The morning sun was soft and warm on her shoulders, and a tender little breeze stirred the leaves of the scrub oaks that bordered the trail. Wildflowers were rioting all around them, cheerful and vibrating with life under the true-blue sky. As summer days went, it couldn’t have been more perfect.
Naomi hated it. All of it. The beauty, the breeze, the sky, and Martin most of all.
For the last week, her spirits had death-spiraled. The trip over Rampart Range Road had taken three times as long as they’d planned. Violent afternoon storms had delayed them every single day, bringing dangerous hail and torrential rains, both of which did further damage to the already degraded road. Every time they hit a section of road that had been completely washed out, every time they had to backtrack and ride cross-country for miles and miles, Naomi got angrier.
On the third day, Martin had asked what was bothering her. She couldn’t actually remember what all she’d said to him. She did recall snarling – she seemed to be doing that a lot these days – and she remembered as well the way his jaw had tightened, clamping down on words he didn’t say. The memory made her face heat in embarrassment now, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize. Not yet. Apologizing would mean thinking. It would mean analyzing and admitting to herself what was driving her dark mood. That, she was simply not prepared to do.
It came again – the grating, tuneless, muttering drone that Martin called “singing.” Naomi spun around so fast, it made Ben snort and shy. “Would you STOP it?”
Her shout echoed and bounced down the long, sloping valley. This time, Martin didn’t smile. He grinned. He rode up beside her and reined Shakti in. “That’s more like it.” He dismounted, and looped an arm around Shakti’s neck, stroking her nose. “Let’s get this over with, then have a snack. I’m starving.”
Naomi dismounted as well, and both horses shifted and sidled, tossing their heads fractiously. A few feet behind Shakti, Pasha got in on the action as well, tugging on the lead rope that connected her to Shakti’s saddle. Naomi grimly hung on to Ben’s reins and felt her lower lip begin to quiver. Even the horses were against her.
Martin led Shakti and Pasha off the road and into the shade of a huge, shaggy Juniper. He ground-tethered them both, then moved out of range of their ever-swishing tails and sat down on the sandy ground. Removing his hat, he ran his maddeningly clean handkerchief over his face, watching her all the while. Not knowing what else to do, she joined him in the shade, tethering Ben next to the other horses. She, too, moved out of tail range but didn’t sit. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest.
“What, exactly, are we ‘getting over?’”
Martin leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. “You tell me.”
Hades, who had been ranging ahead, picked that moment to trot into the shade. He sat down beside Naomi, pressing close in spite of the warmth of the day, and lifted his head to gaze at her with sad, confused eyes. She felt his soft whine, and caught a glimpse of herself through his perception: Sad, angry, sad, scared, sad sad sad. Naomi’s lip quiver turned into a full blown chin wobble.
Martin’s voice was soft but insistent. “I will be the first person to admit I don’t have a great track record with women. I may not have made the smartest choices, but I sure as hell learned a few things. I know when a woman needs to cry, and you need to cry. So let ‘er rip, and let’s have done with it.”
Well. Well, then.
Stooping, Naomi scooped up a clod of dirt and threw it at him. Then another. And another. Martin fended off all three, his eyebrows climbing steadily higher with each pitch. And once again, she found herself snarling.
“You think you know what I need? You think you can tell me what to do?” A fourth clod of dirt exploded in the center of his chest, and it was all she could do not to throw her fists in the air and scream her victory. “I’ve got two words for you, Martin. ‘Fuck,’ and ‘you!’”
His jaw dropped open, and he goggled. Naomi had never actually seen someone goggle before. The next thing she knew, she had both hands clamped over her mouth, making sounds that fell halfway between sobs and whoops. Martin dusted his chest clean with great deliberation, his expression now wary, worried and pissed.
“Are you laughing? Or crying?”
Naomi took her hands away long enough to half-shriek, “I’m not really sure!” Then she was back at it again, tears streaming, nose running, an enormous sense of release blowing her chest wide open. She plopped down on the ground beside Martin and rocked with her arms clamped around her middle. When the sounds she was making diminished to occasional hiccups, she spoke.
“I heard Piper say that to one of her boyfriends once, and God help me, I was so proud of her! He was such an arrogant prick.” She accepted the handkerchief he handed her and swiped it over her face, taking one deep, shuddering breath after another.
“So…you’re calling me an arrogant prick?”
Naomi snorted. “Maybe.” She put her head to the side and considered him. “Yes. I am.” His eyes went storm-dark at that, but she didn’t backpedal. “I appreciate your concern, Martin, and I do owe you an apology. I’ve been a foul-tempered traveling companion, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet. I just need to deal with…what’s eating at me in my own time, in my own way.”
“Okay.” His voice was gruff, but the storm had blown over. “Will you at least tell me what the dreams are about?”
Naomi wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “I think it’s Piper,” she said. “I’ve been getting these flashes of her in unfamiliar places since a few days after they left. Really vivid, really weird flashes. The colors are almost fake, they’re so bright. They’re not like any dreams I’ve ever had before. A few days ago, they changed.” She started rocking again, just a little, soothing herself with the gentle motion. “I’m still getting flashes, but Piper isn’t in them. I see a town and a boy I don’t know, other strangers. And Piper hasn’t checked in since this started.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “I’ve sent her so many messages. She’s not responding.”
Martin’s gaze didn’t waiver. “Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
Naomi shut her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Absolutely. I know what it felt like when Scott and Macy died. I wasn’t that close to Layla, but I felt that change, too. Piper’s alive.” She clenched the hand that had been pressed to her chest into a fist. “Either that, or she’s taken a part of me to wherever it is they go, because she’s right here.”
“Okay.” Martin nodded. “I was picking a fight, and I’m not sorry. You’ve been shut up tight as a tick. I had to get in your head somehow. Unless we run into the mother of all mudslides or some other catastrophe, we should be in the Springs by this afternoon. We need to be on the same page.”
Naomi made a face at him. “You mean I need to stop acting like a tired toddler.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “No,” he said, and she could feel how much effort he put into the level tone. “What I said was, we need to be on the same page. Communicating. You’ve been distracted and oblivious to what’s going on around you. You’ve alienated not just me but the horses, and you need to reconnect with them, too. The only one who’s not pissed is Hades, and you’ve got him so worried about you, he’s tied in knots. We’re riding into a dangerous, unknown situation. Connect the dots.” He stood. “Now, if you’re done putting words into my mouth and twisting them into some kind of criticism I didn’t intend, I’m going to get something to eat.”
It was Naomi’s turn to goggle. Martin stood up and moved to Shakti’s side, rummaging in the saddle bags. They’d packed plenty of food for the two or three day journey they’d expected, and the delays meant they’d been on light rations for days. It was tempting, to attribute Martin’s sharp words to hunger, but she knew better.
She stood, and moved to Ben’s side. From the depths of the saddlebag, she unearthed the very last crumbly ginger snap cookies. She handed them to Martin without a word, then returned to Ben. He shifted uneasily at her approach and she paused, feeling sorrow, along with an echo of the fear she’d felt the day she’d first met him. She went back to that day in her mind, and heard Ignacio’s patient voice in her head. Ben can handle all the grief you or I have to dish out. It’s the conflict that confuses him.
And that, as Ignacio had said, was the crux of it. It wasn’t the depth of what she was feeling. It was that she was feeling everything at once, too much to sort out, every feeling a paradox or contradiction for another. Naomi closed her eyes and Ben’s familiar energy was there, a little ticked, like Martin had said, but still her gentle, giant-hearted boy. She leaned into his side and felt his head curve around her. His forgiveness was instant and generous, releasing a burden on her heart she’d been unaware of carrying. Without opening her eyes, Naomi started talking, trying to unravel the knots around her.
“I’m angry, Martin. So god-damned angry. You talk about ‘deciding’ whether to stay in Woodland Park or to leave. You talk about that as if it’s a choice.” She opened her eyes and felt her face fall into the bitter lines it had been wearing since they’d ridden away from her cabin. She hated the way the expression felt. She was becoming a stranger to herself. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I can’t even remember the last time I had a choice about something. I just keep doing what I have to do, whether I like it or not. So don’t talk to me about ‘choosing’ like that’s something I can do. Frankly, it pisses me off.”
Martin listened, and after a moment, nodded. He dusted cookie dust from his fingers, then moved to stand on the other side of Ben. He crossed his arms on Ben’s saddle and leaned his chin on his forearms. “The people who killed themselves after the plague,” he said. “Was that a choice?”
Naomi’s frown deepened. “Of course it was.”
“Try to imagine what they were thinking. What was in their minds?”
“Pain. Loss and grief and loneliness. Some of them felt like they didn’t have anything left to live for.” She remembered the couple they’d found, corpses holding hands. “Some of them didn’t want to live in a world that had changed so much. They were too scared to try. What are you getting at?”
Martin shook his head, his expression gentle. “It’s so easy for you to understand and forgive the feelings of others, and so hard for you to show yourself that same compassion. Naomi, people will choose to stay in Woodland Park to defend their homes. You can choose to do that, too. No one is forcing you to do anything. Stay or leave. It’s your decision.”
Naomi’s eyes filled with tears again. “You and I both know Grace is right. They’ll come. I felt it, the moment she said the words. Staying is suicide.”
“I think so, yes.” He reached to gather one of her hands in both of his and brought her fingers to his lips. “But it is still a choice. You don’t have to like it, you can be pissed as all hell about it, but don’t give away your own power like that.” His warm breath feathered across her knuckles, and the nape of her neck tingled. “You’re not just a helpless victim of circumstances, even when you hate those circumstances. If you need to stay, I’ll help you prepare, help you supply a bolt hole.”
“But you won’t stay with me.”
“No. My choice is Grace and Lark, and I intend to get them as far away as possible.” He pressed her fingers against his mouth again, hard this time. “But I won’t promise not to try to change your mind.”
“You make it seem so simple.” She narrowed her eyes. “That kind of pisses me off, too.”
“It is simple. That doesn’t mean it’s easy.” A teasing smile touched his mouth. “You know, it would help a lot if you didn’t bottle this shit up and force me to pry it out of you. Are we good now? Did you get it all out?”
Something huge shifted inside her chest, something that wouldn’t wait much longer to be dealt with. She leaned her cheek against his hands where they still cradled her fingers. “No. But the rest of it has to wait. I don’t have words for it yet.”
“Fair enough.” He freed one of his hands, and smoothed his palm over the strands of hair that had come free of her braid. The gesture was unpracticed and a little rough and swamped Naomi with tenderness. “You just let me know if I need to start singing again. Let’s get going.”
They rode into the Garden of the Gods in the high heat of the afternoon, then slid south out of the park into quiet, disintegrating neighborhoods. Here and there, groups of homes were burned to blackened husks, and evidence of looting was everywhere. When they reached Highway 24, the changes were even more ominous. Vehicles had been removed from the road, rolled into adjacent parking lots or ditches, both to the east and west of where they sat. Naomi reached out with both hers and Hades’ senses, and the danger she sensed on this stretch of road smoldered along her nerve endings like an electrical fire. She wondered how to ask Hades if there was anyone nearby, but even as the thought formed, he was scanning with eyes, ears and nose. She met Martin’s questioning gaze.
“There’s no one in the immediate vicinity, but this doesn’t look good.” She inclined her head at the highway. “Plenty wide enough for vehicles to pass through.”
“Or tanks.” At her look, he nodded grimly. “Yeah, they’ve got those on Fort Carson, too.”
They rode east until they hit 31st Street, then headed south and climbed the steep switchbacks, finally arriving at the intersection that looked down on the old Bear Creek Nature Center. The sentry flags which had been prominently displayed on nearby buildings and rock formations were gone. Again, Naomi reached out through Hades, feeling for what was going on. This time, she picked up a buzz of activity driven by unsettled emotions: Anxiety, worry, dread and loss, all united by a steady beat of hurry, hurry, hurry.
“There are still people here, but something has them rushing around,” she said. “They’re almost frantic, and they’re scared.”
Martin’s eyes swept ceaselessly around them as he answered. “Should we ride on or get out of here? Is there danger?”
“I don’t think so - not immediate danger, anyway. I think we should find out what’s happening.”
Martin nodded, and they continued on, groping forward cautiously, guided by Naomi’s Hades-enhanced instincts. When they turned into the parking lot by the old nature center, the cry went up from sentries at last. One of the men standing watch had met them on their previous visit, and he hurried forward to greet them, armed with a rifle tucked in the crook of his arm. He shook hands with Martin and nodded at Naomi.
“You’ve caught us at a bad time,” he said, his words as hurried as his movements. “We’re getting out of Dodge. I’ll take you to Isaiah.”
They secured the horses and left Hades on watch beside them, then followed the sentry into the cool, dark interior of the nature center. Isaiah was in one of the rooms behind the long counter, packing books into boxes. He looked up when they entered, and as before, the power this mild-looking man radiated was palpable. He nodded at them both, but kept right on packing.
“Martin and Naomi. Welcome. One of our women said we’d have friendly visitors today. I’m glad it’s you.” He stared at a book spine in an agony of indecision Naomi remembered all too well, then set the book aside with obvious regret and reached for another. “You’ll have to forgive our lack of hospitality. We’re preparing to leave.”
“So we were told.” Martin took off his hat and wiped sweat off his forehead. “Can we ask where you’re going, and why you’re leaving now?”
Isaiah paused to scrutinize them both, his eyes traveling between Martin and Naomi several times before he reached for another book. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the gang has managed to get some helicopters in the air.”
Naomi spoke. “That’s why we’re here. We saw one in Woodland Park over a week ago. Just the one, and just that one time. We were hoping you’d have some information about what’s going on.”
“Precious little, I’m afraid, and what we have came at great cost. We’ve seen one every day for the past ten days – usually a Blackhawk, but once we saw a Chinook, and yesterday, my people tell me it was a pair of Apaches. Short training flights, it appears, and we’re guessing they’re learning via written instruction manuals. If they had an experienced pilot, we think they’d have been in the air long before now, and in greater numbers. Other than one fly-over, they haven’t approached our settlement, so we were planning to just watch and see what happened.”
He paused in his packing, straightening to gaze at them. “I need to back up a bit to tell this properly. About six weeks ago, we lost four of our outlying sentries – two men and two women. They just disappeared. At the same time, we heard the gang had closed its borders down tight. They were no longer letting people come and go, as they had been before. We didn’t know exactly what was happening until a couple of days ago. One of the sentries we’d lost literally crawled back to us.”
Isaiah paused, drawing a deep breath in through his nose and holding it. A muscle flexed in his jaw. He closed his eyes and slowly released his breath, and Naomi felt him force himself back to calmness. His self-control was formidable. “Jana had been raped, beaten, and left for dead,” he said flatly. “She overheard bits and pieces of information during her captivity, and she used the last of her strength to bring us a warning. We had noticed that the raids on some of the smaller groups in the area had stopped, and we weren’t sure why. The more optimistic among us hoped it meant those criminals were finally developing their own food sources. Now, thanks to Jana, we know what’s really going on.”
“They’re letting you grow and harvest,” Martin said. “They’re letting you do the work and lulling you into a false sense of security at the same time. When your crops are harvested and preserved, they’ll come with overwhelming numbers, take everything they want, and kill everyone they don’t take captive.”
Isaiah nodded slowly, his eyes locked on Martin’s. “Jana gave her life to bring us that information. How did you get it?”
Martin looked down at his feet. “My daughter escaped the gang, too. She paid our price,” he said quietly. He looked back up at Isaiah, his expression one of mingled pride and agony. “She’s brilliant. She predicted this would be their plan.”
Isaiah went back to packing his books, and only the most careful listener would hear the thread of grief in his otherwise controlled voice. “Jana shouldn’t have lived long enough to get to us, but she did. She said angels carried her the last few miles, and I do not doubt her. God brought her home to us, so she could die among the friends she came to warn. Because of her, we know what we need to do, and I will not allow her sacrifice to be in vain. We’re leaving tomorrow at first light, before they can get wind of our plans.”
“Where are you going?”
“South, near Monte Vista, on the Rio Grande River. It’s not as far away as I would like, but one of our people has family there. She knows the area and the people. It would be best, obviously, if we could send scouts ahead, but we won’t risk the delay.”
“We’re considering the same course of action.” Martin’s eyes touched Naomi, then returned to Isaiah. “The San Luis Valley is a good spot for agriculture, even though it’s dry. We’re looking at Pagosa Springs. If we decide to leave, that’s probably where we’ll head.”
Isaiah nodded again. “If we didn’t have the connection in Monte Vista, Pagosa Springs was an option I liked. Protected by the mountains, surrounded by all that undeveloped land. A good choice. If Monte Vista doesn’t work out for us, maybe we’ll join you there.” He straightened from the box he had just finished filling. “But what do you mean ‘If you decide to leave?’ What’s stopping you?”
There was a beat of silence. Then Naomi lifted her chin and answered. “Me.” Her eyes flickered to Martin. “Me, and a few others. We’re not sure yet what course we’ll choose.”
But even as she said the words, she knew the choice – at least on her part – had already been made. The pain of a leave-taking that hadn’t even occurred yet tightened her throat, made her squint through tears of both anger and grief.
Behind his thick glasses, Isaiah’s eyes seemed to glow. As he gazed at her, she felt the pull of his persuasive gift, so like Jack’s, before he even said a word. Then, with no warning at all, he slid a dagger right into the heart of her.
“Being a leader is like being a mother, Naomi.” His eyes really did glow, like Verity’s skin. “You don’t have the luxury of putting yourself first. You have to consider the ramifications of your actions and decisions on others, those that look to you for guidance, direction, and love.” His eyes went unfocused, the pupils dilating until they eclipsed the light blue of his irises. “Your daughters prepared you for the tasks that lie ahead. Whether you’re ready to admit it or not, you are the mother of your community. The path you’re being called to will challenge you to your very core, and if you take it, you’ll be forever changed. The choice to stay or go is yours, but remember that a life lived to the fullest isn’t lived only in comfort and safety.”
Isaiah fell silent, his head dropping forward, his fingers rising to rub at his temple. Naomi’s mouth opened, but words failed her. She’d been wrong. Isaiah wasn’t like Jack. He was something else altogether. He hardly knew her, but he had zeroed in on the one thing she could never deny or turn away from: her mother’s heart, and the responsibilities that came with it.
Naomi fell back on the conventions of a dead time and nodded with polite formality. “Thank you for your thoughts, Isaiah. Good luck on your journey and in your new home.” Then, she walked towards the door. “Martin, I’ll meet you outside.”
She ignored the people she passed and headed straight for the animals. Ben tossed his head in welcome, and Naomi immersed herself in all of them, loving on each of the horses in turn and making up with Hades, who wiggled and wagged his delight at the attention. Then she returned to Ben, gazing into his eyes for long moments, humming a wordless, soothing sound that comforted them both. She tucked herself under his chin and leaned on his shoulder, pressing her cheek to his warm, dusty neck, filling her lungs with his scent. Shakti pressed close on the other side, and Naomi looped an arm around her neck as well, using their big bodies to block out the activity around them, where people hurried to and fro, trailing urgency and worry like unpleasant perfumes. Finally, Martin walked out the doors she had exited.
Naomi slid back under Ben’s chin and walked to meet him. “Staying here isn’t an option if they’re leaving first thing in the morning.”
“No, it’s not. We’ve got the information we came for and good reasons to head home sooner rather than later. We can’t take 24. Isaiah’s people confirmed the gang’s behind the activity there. We could take the hiking trails out of Manitou, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that. Still too close to the highway.” He judged the position of the sun, then frowned at the dark clouds massing, once again, over the mountains. “Doesn’t really matter at this point. We need to find shelter and hunker down. This weather pattern is killing us.”
“I want to go home.” Naomi spoke the words before she thought them, and oh, the layers of meaning there. “To my house,” she clarified.
“I knew what you meant.” Martin moved to mount Shakti. “Let’s go, then.”
They rode south out of Bear Creek, the quiet of the afternoon broken only by the creaking of their saddles, the rhythmic thump of the horses’ hooves, and the wind rising ahead of the storm. Naomi’s old neighborhood was even more run-down than before, and it looked like another round of looters had gone through. Windows were broken in every house and front doors hung crookedly off hinges.
Naomi’s house had not escaped the vandalism. Her living room picture window lay in pieces on the front lawn, along with the dining room chair that had been used to shatter it, and obscenities had joined the message she’d spray-painted for Piper on the garage door. Naomi waited with the animals while Martin checked out the interior. When he had cleared it, they settled the animals in the backyard and entered the house through the ruined sliding glass door, their boots crunching on still more broken glass.
“Let’s get this over with.” Naomi headed straight for the basement door, not even taking the time for a deep breath, hurrying down the stairs. Chaos met her at the bottom, even more boxes than before overturned and their contents dumped, but the door to the hidden room remained closed behind the wreckage. Automatically, Naomi reached to flip on the light switch, then sighed and hung her head for a moment. She looked over her shoulder at Martin. “Do you think I’ll ever stop doing that?” Then she pushed the piles aside with her feet and opened the door.
Just as she’d left it. Here, where vandals and the elements hadn’t intruded, she could still make out the faint scents of her old life: The black cherry candles she had loved, the herbs from her garden she’d dried for cooking and homemade potpourris, that alchemy of smells from favorite foods, soap and shampoo, laundry detergent and cleanser every house took on over time. It made her legs wobble as memories rushed up. A lifetime in this house, a life she had loved so much. Her lost ones were so close here. If she just closed her eyes and stayed in this room…
Martin stepped in behind her and looked around. “You should take everything you want this time. Just in case.”
Naomi shook herself, then nodded, grateful for the distraction. “I know.” Time enough to square up with the past after the necessities of living had been dealt with. She gestured to the shelves containing food and bottled water. “I’ll grab a case of water for the animals. Why don’t you find something that looks good, and we’ll eat before we do anything else.”
“Sounds good. I’m still starving.”
She hauled the water up, found a bucket in the garage, then emptied the plastic bottles, leaving the horses to take their turns. Then she returned to the kitchen where Martin had arranged his supplies on the counter: two more cases of water, several cans of dog food, a half-dozen cans of soup, vegetables and fruit. He scrutinized the stove, which was electric, then shook his head. “Too risky. It looks undamaged, but I’d rather not fire up the generator and have something else in the house spark a fire. We’ll have to eat it cold.”
“I’ve got a fire pit table out back that has a little metal grill. That could work to heat the soup, couldn’t it?”
He shook his head. “Of course you have a fire pit table. What about fixin’s for s’mores? Do you have those?”
She rolled her eyes at him, then moved to dig under the counter, coming up with a small sauce pan. The utensils drawer had been dumped, so she had to hunt around until she found the can opener wedged beside the refrigerator. When he went outside with his supplies, she hauled a chair over by the refrigerator and strained to reach the highest, most inaccessible cupboard. A few minutes later, she joined him outside, carrying a pretty tray on which she had arranged stale graham crackers, rock-hard marshmallows, and perfectly edible chocolate bars. He took one look and shook with laughter.
She smiled serenely. “Do I have fixin’s for s’mores? Please.”
They heated the soup over a tiny fire, and Naomi opened one of the cans of dog food for Hades. He ate it in a single, ecstatic slurp, then sat staring at the other can with strings of drool hanging from the corners of his mouth until she gave in. He had been running on the lean side lately, missing Persephone’s superior hunting skills. Other than Ed and one other woman in Woodland Park, Naomi hadn’t observed people keeping pets; she knew the practice was outlawed in the Bear Creek group. They’d seen some dog packs from a distance, all of them mid-sized dogs, no more than 30 or 40 pounds. Large dogs required too much fuel and had trouble getting enough to eat, while small dogs made easy prey, making both Hades and Persephone oddities. Naomi had always been a proponent of allowing dog breeds to mingle for the health of the species, but she had never imagined it coming about like this.
As they ate, they discussed options, agreeing it would be best to travel back the way they’d just come, via Rampart Range Road, also agreeing they’d stay tomorrow to give the horses a rest, then leave the following morning at first light. Those decisions made, silence fell between them. The space was filled with the steady crop and crunch of the horses grazing, and the pressure of the words she was waiting for Martin to say. Finally, he took a deep breath and started pushing out halting phrases.
“I need to go. Out. Tonight. Late.” He shook his head and made a disgusted sound, then went on in a rush. “I need to go check on the gang.”
Naomi nodded. “I figured.” She remembered the smell of blood and smoke, enhanced through Persephone’s senses, and made herself make the offer. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No.” He wasn’t meeting her eyes. “No motorcycles this time, so I’ll be on foot. I just need to… I just need to see.”
Would he take a pound of flesh for Grace, if the opportunity presented itself? She knew he’d be honest with her, if she asked. She chose not to. Martin had his demons to deal with, and she had hers. In this, they were both on their own.
Martin stood. “I’m going to check out the nearby houses, see if there’s anything useful. Do you mind if I take Hades with me?”
“Not at all. The horses will warn me if any strangers show up.” Naomi clicked her fingers, and Hades joined her instantly. She rubbed along his side when he pressed against her, and she showed him what she wanted with her mind. Go with Martin. Keep him safe. Hades’ tongue lolled and he grinned his Rottie grin in anticipation of the adventure, but Naomi knew he’d take his duties very seriously the minute they set foot outside the fence.
After they left, Naomi sorted through what was left in the kitchen, stacking useful items in a pile on the ruined butcher block island. She went through the bathrooms and did the same, then scanned what was left in the thoroughly looted garage. Those tasks complete, she headed back outside to empty more water bottles for the horses, and reached out to Hades to see if she could get a feeling for where he and Martin were.
Faintly at first, then stronger, she began to catch glimpses of the neighborhood from a much lower perspective than she was used to, the colors flat and nondescript. By contrast, scents bloomed in her nose like overblown, strange flowers: old death and rot; mule deer, rabbits and squirrels everywhere; despised coyotes; innumerable types of vegetation, some edible, some poisonous; and Martin. Naomi put a hand out to steady herself on the deck railing, disoriented and a little dizzy. She was suddenly hyper-alive with awareness. Sounds felt like physical touches in her ears: wind, small skitters and stirrings of animals, and the crunch of Martin’s boots on the gravel at the side of the pavement. She laughed softly in wonder. She’d lost so much, sometimes she forgot to marvel at what she’d gained.
Reassured that they were safe at least for now, Naomi let the connection with Hades fade and headed back down to the basement. She ferried up load after load of the preserved food and other practical supplies that remained. She didn’t know if they would be able to take all of it with them, but it shouldn’t be hidden away any longer. If they couldn’t use it, someone else could. When she had finished, she returned to the hidden room again and just stood there, gazing at the treasures that remained on the shelves.
The Finnish crystal bowl her grandmother had given her for her wedding. Her jewelry box, filled with gifts Scott and the girls had given her over the years. Stacks of home movies on VHS tapes she’d always meant to convert to DVDs. The ceramic candlesticks Piper had made for her in art class. Macy’s little box of quilt pieces. She opened this last and touched the bright squares of rainbow gingham, remembering that evening, just before. An evening like any other, skyping with Piper, making plans for Easter, but the shadow of the plague had fallen over them even then. She remembered standing in her sunny kitchen the next morning, hearing news of the quarantine, and knew those had been the last moments she had believed in “forever,” or failed to count the cost of such a belief.
She touched each treasure, remembered, lingered. Precious as these things were, none of them could heal the brokenness inside her. Only time and living could do that. Naomi took one last deep breath, drew in the faint traces of a life gone by, then stepped out and shut the door behind her. She leaned against the door and shut her eyes.
She could feel the outline of herself shifting and changing to accommodate something new, something that had been growing in her since the first time she stepped out her front door in flimsy, impractical sandals to confront an awful new world. She had been a sheltered and protected woman, and she could have chosen to die here in this house, cowering, with her pretty things and her memories of safety and happiness.
But she hadn’t. She’d gotten her plump, wimpy keister moving. She had gotten her daughter safely to the cabin, and though Macy’s death would send “what if” whispers through her mind always, always, she had survived. She had gone on. She was a vital, valued part of her new community, and not just because she could still, by thee gods, bake a mean cookie. Naomi opened her eyes, straightened her spine, and smiled to herself.
“One might,” she said softly, “Even call me bad-ass.”
That thought brought Piper to her mind, and she warmed the connection between them, though she didn’t wait for a reply. There was still one thing left she needed to do.
The western-most garden bed was filled with weeds. She cleared it, and when the weeds were gone, the loosened ground was soft enough to dig. She retrieved a shovel from the garden shed and set to work, digging until she hit the hard clay a few inches under the bed. In just over an hour, she’d cleared all the dirt she could manage. It wasn’t all that deep, but it would have to do. She rested, leaning on the handle of the shovel, gazing up the familiar outline of Cheyenne Mountain while sweat dried on her forehead and cooled her spine. Then she went to get Scott.
Their room had been ransacked again, but this time, the looters had left the bed and its occupants alone. Scott and Zeus lay just as she’d left them, the tattered plastic tarp covered with the beautiful quilt. Death was old here, so faint, she would have missed it if not for her connection to Hades and the constant low-grade enhancement of her senses that connection provided.
“Hi, honey.” She sat down beside him on the bed, and rested her hand over the bones of his chest. Scott had always seemed so strong and invincible to her, rarely ill, quickly recovered. Surreal, still, that such a robust and healthy man had been struck down so quickly. She patted the quilt and felt his bones shift under her palm. “I think it’s time we did this properly, don’t you? I tucked Macy into the warm, springtime Earth so her body could help things grow – that’s how I think of it, anyway. How I have to think of it. I want to do the same for you.”
She rose, and carefully pulled the quilt away from the tarp. Through the broken seals in the plastic, she could see dark bones. Zeus’ remains had been tucked by Scott’s side, and she gently gathered up what was left, the bones and tufts of black fur, and slid them in the tarp with Scott. His book, bookmark still in place, went in too, and a picture of their family taken at Piper’s high school graduation, which she’d had enlarged and framed for him for Father’s Day one year. Then she realigned the seams in the tarp and resealed them with the silver duct tape she’d brought upstairs with her. She smiled, perfectly recalling the sound of Scott’s warm chuckle, certain she’d be hearing it now if she only knew how to listen.
She stepped back to consider the practicalities of getting him downstairs and felt Hades return to the house. He found her moments later, lifting his head and searching the room with his nose even as he crowded close to her legs. Martin was just a few seconds behind him, his eyes going first to Scott’s corpse, then meeting her gaze.
“I saw the grave.” A pause. “I would have helped you.”
Naomi shrugged. “It was mine to do. Compared to splitting wood, it was easy.”
Martin glanced at Scott again. His face was inscrutable, his voice level. “Do you want help getting him downstairs? Or do you need to do that yourself, too?”
Naomi smiled gently. “Now that I could use some help with. I was picturing dragging him.” She huffed out a soft laugh as she moved to lift Scott’s head. “Not very dignified, thumping down the stairs.”
Martin lifted Scott’s feet, and together, they maneuvered him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Scott’s remains were heavier than Naomi thought they’d be, and by the time they reached the garden bed, she was red-faced and sweating again. They lowered him into the grave, and Martin stepped back, waiting for her to give further direction.
Naomi knelt beside Scott and reached for the tarp where it covered his skull. She closed her eyes and just rested her hand on that curve, the plastic crinkling softly under her touch. “Thank you for a beautiful life, love. Keep him good company, Zeus. I’ll see you both in the sweet by and by.”
She stood, expecting the tears to come, surprised when they didn’t. Grief would circle back, that she knew. It was a part of her now, the ache where Scott and Macy should be, and it would be a part of her to her own dying breath. Grief wasn’t something you finished with. It was something that changed you, something that remained lodged in you, something you grew around. She pressed a hand over her heart, over the healing scar-tissue that marked a once-living love, and sent her beloveds on their way.
Martin helped her cover their bodies with soil, and together, they dismantled part of the retaining wall that circled the yard, covering the grave with the heavy stones to discourage predation. Naomi found her garden trowel in the shed, and as the sun approached the top of the mountains and the birds began to sing their evening songs, she walked around the yard, selecting plants to move to Scott’s grave.
When she was finished, she and Martin settled the animals for the night. Neither spoke more than was necessary, both lost in their own thoughts. Twilight shifted towards full dark, and Naomi unfurled her sleeping bag, spreading it out on one of the chaise lounges. She looked up to find Martin watching her.
“I figured you’d want to sleep inside, under your own roof.”
“No.” Naomi didn’t know how to explain. She didn’t fit under that roof, in that life, not anymore. So she defaulted to the practical. “I sleep better near the horses.”
“Okay.” Martin retrieved his sleeping bag and set it up on the other lounger. Unlike Naomi, though, he didn’t remove his boots and start to settle in. Instead, he prowled the perimeter of the yard, then stood staring at the moon, which was slowly rising in the east above the roof of the house.
Naomi crawled into her sleeping bag, and watched as he began to methodically prepare himself for his nighttime excursion. He removed the shirt he’d worn all day and replaced it with a long-sleeved black t-shirt. Then he un-self-consciously shucked off his jeans and slid into black, multi-pocketed cargo pants. He double-checked his pistol, clipped extra ammunition to his belt, and began smearing his face with a blacking agent he took from his backpack.
Long before he actually left, she felt his energy withdraw from her. He stood there on her deck, a lethal shadow, both familiar and strange to her. “I’ll be back by dawn, maybe sooner, depending on what I find.” His eyes met hers, cold, flat, focused. “If I’m not back by noon, I’m not coming back. Don’t load Shakti up with supplies if that happens. Just get out of here as fast as you can, by the route that feels safest.”
She could not speak. What could she possibly say? To speak so dispassionately of your own death and the practical matters in the aftermath was beyond her ability to understand. What had his wife said when he had deployed to active duty? Be careful? I love you? Watch your six?
So instead of speaking, she just nodded, and sent a pulse of all she had to give from her heart to his: warmth, protection, safety, luck, love. She closed her eyes and reinforced that last, let him feel what was in her heart for him, and heard him catch his breath. A moment later, she felt his fingers touch her cheekbone, but she didn’t open her eyes.
“Christ on a crutch, Naomi, you sure know how to distract a guy.”
Then he was gone, without even a whisper of sound. Hades whined low in his throat and crowded up on the chaise lounge with her, lying with his head at her feet, his rump pressed into her stomach. Naomi lay back and curled around him, staring up at the glittering stars. She let her mind drift and rest while her body relaxed completely, a trick she’d learned watching over sick babies. The moon slid through the night sky, so bright she could have read by its light. Sometime around midnight, she dropped into a light sleep, lulled by the total relaxation of the animals.
Hades woke her when Martin returned just before dawn. His big head was a darker shadow as he stared towards the house, and his senses told her that Martin was unharmed, as well as some of what he’d seen. The faintest miasma of smoke clung to him, and when Naomi reached out for his feelings, she touched despair and helplessness, and a storm of other emotions she couldn’t begin to sort out. She put Hades on a stay and went to find him.
Martin was in the living room, standing in front of the fireplace, staring up at the family portrait still hanging over it. Moonlight streamed in the windows, illuminating both the picture and the tension in his posture as he rested both hands on the mantle, looking up at her family as it had once been, her as she’d once been. He spoke then, but not of the depravity and death he’d surely seen.
“I’m not Scott. Best I can tell, I’m nothing like he was.” Martin’s still-blacked face was in shadow, but she could feel how his emotions rolled and boiled.
Naomi shook her head slowly, and moved to stand beside him. “No, you’re not. Did you think I expected you to be?”
He dropped his hands from the mantle and shrugged, but the nonchalant gesture did nothing to alleviate his tension. Her answer mattered to him, a great deal. She gazed at his profile for a moment, then returned her eyes to the portrait.
“I can see how you’d think that, that I’d want to just slide you into his place. You, and Grace, and little Lark – I could just plug you all into the empty places my family left. But I wouldn’t, even if I could. I wouldn’t diminish my memories of them that way, and you deserve your own place.”
Finally, he looked away from the portrait, touching his fingers to his chest. “Did you mean it?” he whispered. “What you made me feel before I left?”
She stepped in close to his strong body, and there, surrounded by the wreckage of her old life, she lifted her mouth and kissed him. So different from Scott, her mind whispered, then Scott was gone. She let her lips linger, then drew back. Martin hadn’t moved to touch her, but when he opened his eyes, what she saw there made heat lightning dance down her spine and left her breathless. She smiled, and gave him the words they both needed to hear.
“The woman who loved Scott doesn’t live here anymore. This woman, this one right here, loves you.”