The day after: An apocalyptic morning (81 page)

              After, they held each other and exchanged wet kisses, both of them tasting their own juices on the other woman's lips and tongue.

              "I love you, Anna," Jean said quietly. "I never thought I'd say that to another woman, but I do."

              "I know," Anna replied, giving her one last kiss. "And I love you too."

              "Somehow, some way, we have to get out of here. We have to."

              "I know, sweetie," she said. "I know."

              At about the same time, Christine, Skip, and Paula were waking up in the large bed of the master bedroom. Though no further sexual activity had taken place between them after their return from the community bathing area, all three had climbed into the bed together for the first time, sleeping naked and huddled together. Skip had been in the middle, the two women on either side. They all looked at each other a little sheepishly as they opened their eyes in the dim bedroom.

              "Good morning, girls," Skip said, stretching a little, feeling soreness in his muscles.

              "Good morning," Paula said, leaning over and giving him a kiss on the lips. Her breast rubbed against his arm as she did so.

              Christine gave a weak smile - she was feeling decidedly strange after the events of the previous night - but she too wished everyone a good morning and gave Skip a peck on the lips. She looked up at Paula, wondering if she was supposed to kiss her as well. Was that the proper etiquette after you had a semi-lesbian encounter with your co-wife? Why had Miss Manners never addressed such a topic before?

              "How are you feeling, Chris?" Paula asked her, making no move to share a good morning kiss.

              "Okay," she said with a shrug.

              Paula continued to stare back at her for a moment, trying to read her face. "Good," she finally said. "Glad to hear it."

              They climbed out of bed and began their morning routines a minute later. This made everyone feel a little better since they were back on familiar ground. They all used the bathroom ( Christine and Skip still shutting the door when they peed, Paula letting everyone see her business) and then went about their morning maintenance chores. Skip shaved off the nine days worth of beard from his face, having to use a pair of scissors to get the top layer. Paula and Christine both sponged themselves off with the soapy cold water from their collection bucket and then went about combing and fastening their hair. Unlike most of the women in town, neither one of Skip's bothered with makeup or fancy hairstyles. Plain faces and simple ponytails were enough.

              "So what's the plan for the day?" Christine asked, finally breaking the silence that had prevailed. "Do you want me to take the afternoon shift in one of the posts?" Since gaining an additional sixteen volunteers for the guard force, the four original members had all been able to cut their hours back to only six a day.

              "No," Skip told her. "I'm going to keep you in charge of the guards for the time being. I'm going to have too much to do with the helicopter and with getting my next class of sixteen through to handle the routine stuff. In fact, I'm toying with the idea of just keeping you as the guard supervisor permanently."

              "Permanently?" Christine said, alarmed. "Skip, I can't replace you."

              "Sure you can," he said. "You did it while I was gone didn't you? And from what I've heard, you've managed to command a little respect doing it. More than one person has come up and told me how great of a job you've done."

              "But what if we're attacked again?" she said.

              "If a large scale attack occurs, then I'll be in charge of operations," he told her. "But for all of the small stuff like staffing, partner conflicts, anything like that, you seem to be doing fine."

              "But..."

              "Take the promotion, Chris," Paula said, smiling at her as she pulled on her jeans over a fresh pair of panties. "It'll get you out of the damn guard bunkers."

              "And I'll tell you what else I'll do," Skip said.

              "What?"

              "I'll double your salary."

              And so Christine became the first Garden Hill security supervisor, establishing a chain of command of sorts.

              "What about me?" Paula wanted to know. "Should I man a post today? I'm rested up enough."

              "Don't ask me," Skip said. "It is now officially beneath me to worry about shit like that. Ask your supervisor."

              They left for breakfast a few minutes later, their moods much brighter. On the way they met Paul and Janet, whose house was three doors down. They all fell in together.

              Jessica stood behind the lunch counter, a large white apron tied around her waist, a large spoon in her hands. She stood before a steaming platter of powdered eggs that Stacy and Sara had dressed up with various spices and seasonings to taste almost palatable. As each person approached she would shovel a bit off the eggs onto a plate, add a little of the pork jerky that they had made back at the beginning, and then put one piece of the bread that had been baked the previous day atop that. Nobody thanked her as she handed him or her their plates; nobody talked to her at all, though a few gave her contemptuous looks. She kept her face expressionless as she had been doing for nearly three weeks now. She had become quite good at it.

              Behind her expressionless face on this morning was a certain amount of glee and anticipation. Today was going to be the day of her liberation. She was confident that by dinner this evening she would be back in power, her chief tormentor dead, his supporter, Paul, in custody pending exile. She could feel the weight of the .45 pistol resting in her waistband, beneath her apron. It was the weight of justice about to happen.

              Her glee increased when she saw the target of this justice enter the community center gym through the back door. He was in the company of that lesbian slut and that child they were corrupting, Paul and his bimbo right behind them. They took up a position at the end of the line, patiently waiting their turn for their food. There were maybe twenty people between him and her. Less than five minutes to wait, she figured.

              Her plan was a simple one. She would wait until he was directly in front of her and then she would shoot him dead right in front of everyone, putting the pistol down before the slut or the child had a chance to draw theirs. People would be shocked at first, that was a given. They would probably whisk her away to a locked room for a while. That was all right. She expected that. But eventually she would be allowed to defend her actions before the town. She would be allowed to speak to them. She could sway a crowd like no one else could, had been doing it all of her life. Without that snake Skip to counter her words, she knew she would be able to convince the people of the town that she had acted in their best interests. These women were her people. They had been bred and raised just as she had. She had no doubt that if she was just able to talk to them for ten minutes, to remind them of the morality and the values that they were all tossing away just because of the comet, they would see the foolishness of their recent actions. They would see that Skip and his followers represented evil and corruption. They would see that they needed to follow her instead.

              Her mind, which had become more than a little unstable since that fateful night when she had tried to expel Skip by community vote, had not one time considered that her speech, no Micker how moving, would not be powerful enough to justify murder. She had not considered, even once, that maybe she had been wrong all of this time and that maybe it was time to change her views a little. All she knew is that she had been torn from power and that Skip was responsible for it. If Skip were gone, she would be the only one capable of filling that void. The town would know that and they would put her back in charge, where she could be somebody instead of a lowly kitchen worker. She just knew it.

              Paul and Janet were in the front of the group. Then came Christine, Skip, and then Paula. Behind them in line were Mick, who was working an afternoon shift in the bridge bunker, and his wife Maureen. They were talking about the subject of marriage in their town.

              "So it's my thoughts," Mick was saying, "that we should have some sort of formal ceremony for couples here in Garden Hill."

              "Couples?" Paula asked, raising her eyebrows a tad.

              "Or triples," he allowed, "or even quadruples. My point is that when someone around here enters into what is a committed, permanent relationship, there needs to be some sort of legalistic and binding ritual to it. The marriage should be recorded and logged and there should even be a ceremony of sorts to accompany it, maybe even something like a ring given or a necklace."

              "What do we have to do all that for?" Christine asked, shuffling forward a few feet as the line moved. "It's not like there are health benefits or tax breaks that you get by being married."

              "No," Mick agreed, "there are no legalistic benefits to it under these circumstances, that it true. But by having a ceremony of some sort and by recording the nuptials, we are legitimizing the relationships and adding weight to the commitment factor. The people involved in such relationships have to declare before their peers that they are committed to each other permanently and hope to remain together for life. In every society, from primitive bushmen to that monstrosity that we had before the comet, the permanence of a mating relationship involves some sort of ritual for this very reason. Without it, there is nothing to bind the people together. There will be no step beyond simple flirtation and infatuation that shows everyone that a commitment has been made."

              "I see," Christine said softly, mostly understanding what he had said.

              "I think that's a real good idea," Skip said, looking at his two wives, as he now thought of them. "There could be a standard ceremony with vows and all that. When we three decided to do this, we vowed certain things before each other just so that we would all understand what was expected."

              "Right," Mick said. "You did it privately but I think it should be done publicly, in front of everyone. And there should be some sort of symbol of the relationship."

              They continued to discuss the various aspects of what a ceremony and a symbol would entail. As they did so, they slowly moved forward in the line, until Paul and Janet were getting their eggs put onto their plates by Jessica.

              Skip began to get a little twitch on the back of his neck as he got closer to the woman he had humiliated in front of the town. It was just a little one, it's origin unknown, but it made him take a real good look at her. On the surface nothing seemed different about her. She was wordlessly shoveling eggs, meat, and bread onto a plate as each person passed her position. It was the same thing she did every day. But something was different today. After a moment he figured out what it was. She kept glancing over at him, quick, semi-furtive glances as if she was checking his positioning. Normally she avoided looking at him at all when he approached her. Why was she doing that this morning? Was something going on?

              As Christine took her plate, the sensation became even stronger. Christine hesitated for a moment, her eyes worried. She looked at Jessica and then at Skip. It was obvious that she felt something as well. Finally, with nothing concrete to act upon, she moved to the side, allowing Skip to step up.

              As he stood in front of her his senses were on high alert status. His eyes tracked her every move, her every twitch, watching for the slightest thing out of the ordinary. He didn't have to wait very long.

              Just as she finished putting the food on his plate, as he was reaching down to pick it up, she suddenly turned around. Her hands reached under her apron, grabbing at something in her waistband. Now Skip had something tangible to base his fears upon. He had seen that move before during his time as a cop and had learned to fear it. The last thing a cop wants to see is someone reaching under their clothing and grabbing at something. His hand started to drop to the pistol on his belt.

              It was a very close thing. Jessica was fast pulling the weapon out and turning towards him. Almost too fast. She had stayed up until well past midnight practicing the move she was now executing. It took her less than a second to draw the .45 from her belt and turn towards Skip to fire it, much too fast for Skip to get his own pistol free of his holster. She spun around with a triumphant smile upon her face and a mad glint in her eyes, knowing that her plans were coming neatly together.

              Fortunately for Skip, Jessica had not yet taken his firearms training class. If she had, she would have known that she was breaking a primary rule of such engagements. The rule was that you never point a gun at someone who was within arms reach of you if you could help it. The reason for this rule was about to become very clear to her.

              Unable to get his pistol out in time, Skip instead reached out with his left hand and grabbed her wrist just as she was bringing the gun to bear on him. He sidestepped to the right, removing his body from the line of fire and tried to force her wrist downward. She pulled the trigger just as he cleared the front of the weapon.