Year One (31 page)

“No. No, don't.” Pale, eyes deep with misery, Jonah sat up.

“What happened?” Rachel demanded. “Poe didn't say.”

“We got plenty of supplies and equipment from the hospital. No trouble there. And then we went to try the mall, the one where we had trouble before.”

“Raiders?” The hand on his arm dug in. “You ran into Raiders?”

He shook his head. “No, they'd gone. Trashed a lot, inside and out. Christ, pissed on stacks and racks of clothes. Kim bagged them anyway. Piss washes out, she said. Found the usual vandalism. Broken glass, obscenities painted on walls, garbage in heaps and piles.

“And bodies. People mutilated, rotting. Animals, too. Inside and out. Rats and carrion tearing at them. We…”

He stopped, cleared his throat. “We need to take a crew back, dig graves or … maybe another mass pyre. The bodies have been there awhile. I…”

He looked at Max and Lana.

“The place can be cleansed and purified,” Max said. “We can do that. The souls of the lives lost can be blessed.”

“It needs to be. Aaron felt it, too. We didn't talk about it much, but he felt it. And I, and I— Don't we have some whiskey?”

Rachel walked to a cabinet, took out a bottle, a glass. She poured two fingers.

Jonah downed it, breathed out.

“I don't think it was all Raiders. There … something else. And whoever, whatever, it felt worse. They hanged a woman—an Uncanny. We all felt we couldn't leave her like that. We had to at least cut her down. We got a ladder. I climbed up to cut the rope.

“I see death,” he told Max and Lana. “That's my
gift
. Death, phys
ical trauma, sickness. I climbed up to cut the rope, and what was there of her turned, brushed my arm. I saw her life. I saw flashes of who she'd been. I saw what they did to her. I heard her screams. I saw her death.”

He pressed his face to Rachel's breasts when she put her arms around him. “Her name was Anja. She was twenty-two. She was like Fred. They hacked off her wings before they—”

“Don't.” Rachel stroked his hair, his back. “Don't.”

Max pulled up a chair, sat beside the desk. “This is new for you, seeing the life of the dead?”

“Yeah. Just one more gift.”

“It's hard for you, but I think it is a gift. A gift to those who lived. Someone remembers them. It's something all of us want. For someone to remember us. We can help you. Lana more than me.”

Max looked at her when Lana said nothing. “You have an empathy. A healing touch.”

She stepped up. “I think you have what you have, Jonah, because you do, too.”

“What does it mean that if I could find the ones who raped her, mutilated her, murdered her, I'd kill them without a single qualm?”

Max rose. “It means you're human. I'll go back with you and bury her.”

“When you mark her grave with her name,” Lana said, with a hand on the child who stirred inside her, “when you say the words over her, you'll free her soul. You'll ease your own. Mark her grave with her name, say her name.” Lana looked at Max. “I feel that.”

“Then it's right. Then it's what we'll do. I'll go with you now. We can send a crew for the rest tomorrow.”

Jonah nodded, rose, and shook Max's hand. “Thank you.”

*   *   *

Late in the dark of night, Max lay awake with images ripe and clear in his head. He hadn't seen, hadn't felt what Jonah had as they'd buried the desecrated remains of a young woman who'd done no harm.

He hadn't seen her life, the brightness of it. He'd seen only death, cruelty, only waste. And had imagined too well the fear, the agony of the end of that life as Jonah laid the stone at the head of the mound, as he himself had used fire to carve the name.

Mark her name, say her name. So it was done, and Max hoped the young woman who'd done no harm found peace.

He believed Jonah had, at least for now, in the ritual of respect.

But in the dark of the night, in the silence, in the void between the what-must-be-done, Max found none.

He thought of Eric, how fascinated he'd been with his brother as a newborn, amused by him as a toddler. He remembered how frustrated Eric had been at five and six, desperate to keep up with a brother eight years his senior.

Yet it had been Eric with whom he'd first shared the secret of what he was, what he had. Because there had been trust between them. Brotherhood.

How could he have not seen the changes? How could he have been so blind to them? If he had let himself see, there would have been enough time for him to pull Eric back from the edges of the dark before he'd leaped into it.

He should have looked after him. He should have been more aware. Instead, he'd killed his brother.

What he'd become at the end couldn't erase all he'd been before. Just as the horror of her end didn't erase all the girl they'd buried had been.

But he'd never have the chance to bury his brother, to mark his name, say his name. To send his soul to peace.

To live with the choice he'd made, he pushed along the path of what had to be done next. Food, shelter, movement. Following the signs. He'd killed again, to defend the lives of those who'd become
his responsibility. An it harm none, a vow he believed with every cell of his being. He'd broken it, made that choice because he saw no other choice, and accepted he might have to make that choice again.

He had a chance now to build a life here, with Lana, with their child, with the children that might come after. So he would do what had to be done next.

Beside him, Lana stirred in sleep, as she often did now. Dreams dogged her sleep, dreams she couldn't remember. Or claimed she couldn't remember. But this time instead of curling toward him, she turned away, and got out of bed.

“Are you all right?”

She walked to the window, stood naked in the blue moonlight.

“To make the Savior is your fate. Life out of death, light out of dark. To save the Savior is your fate. Life out of death, light out of dark.”

He rose, went to her. He didn't touch her, didn't speak as she stared through the window with eyes as deep as the night.

“Power demands sacrifice to reach its terrible balance. It calls for blood and tears, and still it feeds on love and joy. You, son of the Tuatha de Danann, have lived before, will live again. You, sire of the Savior, sire of The One, embrace the moments and hold them dear, as moments are fleeting and finite. But life and light, the power of what will come, the legacy within, are infinite.”

Lana took his hand, pressed it to the sweet mound of her belly. “She is. A heart beating, wings fluttering, light stirring. She is the sword shining, the bolt that strikes true. She is the answer to questions not yet asked.

“She will be.”

Lana kept his hand, walked back to the bed. “She is your blood. She is your gift. Sleep now, and be at peace.” Lana drew him down, lay beside him. Rested a hand on his cheek. “You are loved.” She closed her eyes, sighed. Slept.

And so did he.

 

DARK TO LIGHT

And the light shineth in the darkness;

and the darkness comprehended it not.

—John 1:5

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The self-appointed town council decided there'd never be a better time to hold a public meeting. Having the power back up boosted morale and mood, but it wouldn't take long before that minor miracle faded into the expected.

They agreed to strike while the spirit of gratitude and appreciation rode high.

Spreading the word posed no problem, nor did finding volunteers to set up row after row of chairs at the Legion's hall, as the school cafeteria wouldn't hold the expanded population if, as expected, most showed.

They set up long tables on the platform while Chuck got the sound system up and running.

Arlys stood in the empty hall, imagined it full. Imagined countless scenarios—raging from pretty good to ugly chaos.

“Do you think we're ready, Lloyd?”

“As we'll ever be, I guess.” He looked down at the binder in his
hands. “It's a good agenda, a sensible one. Doesn't mean it's going to fly. Starting with asking everybody to stow their guns in the vestibule out there. Some won't.”

“And I'm worried the some who won't are the ones most likely to cause trouble. But we have to start somewhere.” She turned as Lana came in carrying a huge basket. Then sniffed the air. “My God, what is that amazing smell?”

“Bread. Fresh baked.” She set the basket on the platform, one full of small rounds and loaves. “We've got a variety. I've got a lot of different starters going. We had packaged yeast, but that won't last forever, so I'm making more right now. And I'm going to try my hand at making dry yeast.”

“You can make yeast?” Arlys all but buried her head in the basket.

“Yeah. It grows on fruits, potatoes, even tomatoes. I'm going to experiment. Somebody else has to figure out how to mill flour.”

“If I don't have a chunk of that”—Lloyd breathed in hard through his nose—“I might just die right here and now.”

“Help yourself. The idea was having some for every household. They're small, I know, but—”

“Praise Jesus,” Lloyd said with his mouth full.

“Community action at work.” Arlys broke a chunk of her own from Lloyd's round. “We're going to have rules, we're going to have structure, but…” She bit in. “We're also going to have bread that brings a tear to your eye. It's still warm!”

“Bread symbolizes hospitality. We break bread together.” Lana smiled at the basket. “I liked using the community kitchen for the first time with this symbol.”

“Will you marry me?” Lloyd broke off another little chunk.

“Hey!” Arlys jabbed him with her elbow. “Get in line.”

Laughing, Lana wiggled her hand with the ring Max had slipped onto it one quiet spring night.

“Already taken, but I'll bake bread for you. Next up? Fred and I are going to get serious about making cheese.”

“If you can do that, we're going to crown you the queens of New Hope.”

Laughing at Arlys, Lana fluffed at her hair. “I'd look good in a crown. I'll be back with more.”

Arlys sat beside the basket. “We're going to do this, Lloyd.”

He sat on the other side, broke what remained of the round, offered half. “Damn right.”

*   *   *

By eight, the hall buzzed with voices. Some had muttered about leaving their weapons, and some had just ignored the edict. But most left them outside the hall.

The holiday feeling still rang out, confirming the sense of timing the meeting. Arlys watched Kurt Rove—gun still on his hip—stride in. He gave the crowd a hard look before making his way to where the Mercer brothers had saved a seat for him.

If trouble came, she knew, it would center there.

Arlys took her seat at the long table, flipped open her notebook. She expected to have a lot to record.

Fred leaned over to her. “Some are already angry.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

Jonah stepped to the podium. His opening, “Um,” reverberated in the room, surprising everyone into silence, then laughter. “We have a sound system thanks to Chuck.” He waited out the applause. “And we've got that because we have power back thanks to Manning, Wanda, Chuck again, and Max.”

Applause thundered; cheers and whistles rang.

Arlys noted Rove just folded his arms over his chest.

“We're going to ask everybody to conserve that power. Those of you who don't have a washing machine in your place, Manning's bypassed the coin-op at the Laundromat. We put a sign-up sheet in there for rotation. We've got detergent in inventory, for now, and Marci Wiggs is heading up the committee making soaps. Marci, why don't you stand up, let us know how that's coming.”

Smart, Arlys thought as the woman stood, began to speak. Touch on other basics, on cooperation.

He called out other volunteers. Candle making, clothes, firewood, animal husbandry, the gardens, the greenhouse project, community maintenance.

“Some of you might not know Lana—can you stand up, Lana? She's been organizing the kitchen here at the Legion into a community kitchen to provide basics for those of us who can't boil water.”

That brought out some laughter, more applause.

“She's starting that providing tonight. Lana?”

“I've had a lot of help getting this started.” She rattled off the names of the cleanup and organizing crew. “We've got some new equipment thanks to Poe and Kim, Jonah and Aaron, and we're going to put it to use. Dave and Mirium and I decided to christen the kitchen with the most basic, and the most satisfying. Bread.”

She picked up her basket. “A symbol of life, of hospitality, of communion. We have enough for each household to take a loaf.” She tipped the basket so the crowd could see the contents, smiled at the cheerful response. “We'll have baskets in the vestibule. Take your share when you leave. Meanwhile, we have—”

“I'm not taking anything of hers.” Arms still crossed, Rove stared at Lana, actually curled his lip. “How do we know what she put in it? Who says she can take over the kitchen here? Next thing we know she'll have a caldron going.”

“I'm fresh out of eye of newt,” Lana said coolly. “But I do have
some starters, and some recipes printed out for anyone who wants them.”

“I'll take Kurt's share!” somebody called out.

Lana waited for the roll of laughter to subside. “We'll also start on constructing a smokehouse behind the kitchen. If anyone has experience smoking meats, I'd really like to talk to you. Dave and I will be making venison sausage and bologna over the next few days. Arlys will announce in the
Bulletin
when it's ready. We hope to have the kitchen open six days a week, and we're always available for lessons for those, like Jonah, who want to learn how to boil water.”

When she sat, Max rubbed her leg under the table.

“Thanks, Lana. The woman can cook,” Jonah added. “I had some of her newt-less pasta last night. Rachel, can you give us an update on the clinic?”

She rose. “Appreciation again, to Jonah, Aaron, Kim, and Poe. We now have a fully stocked ambulance, and some solid equipment. And due to the work of the power team, the clinic will be able to run that equipment. Our over-the-counter and prescription medication stores are well stocked again. We also have a good start on the holistics, thanks to Fred, Tara, Kim, and Lana.”

Briefly, she glanced at her notes. “Jonah and I will continue to give instructions in CPR the first Wednesday evening of each month at seven, and first aid courses every Monday evening at seven for anyone who signs up. As always, the clinic is open daily at eight, and either Jonah or I will be available for medical emergencies twenty-four-seven. We now have Ray, a nurse, and Carly, a nursing student, and Justine, a healer, added to the clinic staff. We'll work together to keep New Hope healthy.”

“Healer, my ass,” Lou Mercer shouted. “What's she do, lay hands on you and fix your broken arm?” He snorted out a laugh, had some join him.

“You're free to request the medical of your choice,” Rachel told him, her tone as cold as February. “Just like you're free to sit there and be a dick. We'll still treat your hemorrhoids.”

“Look, bitch—”

“Dr. Bitch,” she snapped back. “And, as the only doctor in the community, I'm going to tell everyone here, the traditional medication we have will eventually deplete. It will expire. Without a chemist, a pharmacist, a lab, without the means, we'll have to depend on other types of medicine and healing, and those who have the ability and the skill to provide it. We need to live in the world we have.”

“I've got diabetes.” One of Rachel's new patients rose. “And I'm not the only one with a medical issue that needs daily medication. I'm damn grateful a group of my neighbors went out and found more of what we need. And I'm damn grateful to know when there isn't more, there's somebody who'll try to keep me alive and well. That's all I have to say.”

“I think that says it all.” Rachel stepped back, sat down.

Jonah stepped back, gave the room a moment to mutter. “Anybody who doesn't want to hear what needs to be said tonight doesn't have to stay. Just as anybody who doesn't like what needs to be done to build this community and keep it safe doesn't have to stay in New Hope. We survived to get here. Surviving isn't enough anymore, so I'm going to turn this meeting over to Lloyd.”

Lloyd crossed to the podium, opened his binder before taking cheaters out of his shirt pocket, adjusted them on his nose. He peered out over them at the audience.

“I came into New Hope on April first. April Fool's Day was a bitch of a day. Cold rain, some sleet, a lot of wind. I came in alone, after the group I'd been traveling with for a few weeks got hit by Raiders. We got separated, and I guess I got lucky because when we were running in all directions with no plan, I fell into a gully. Knocked my head some, banged up my leg. So I lived. I don't know
about the others, because when I came to and managed to crawl out, I was alone. A lot of us have been alone since the early days of January.

“We're not alone anymore.”

Some applauded.

“I got lucky,” he continued. “I limped away, and on that first day of April, I limped into New Hope. It was Bill Anderson on sentry duty that day, and he took me straight to the clinic, where Rachel treated my leg, gave me a bottle of water. Young Fred over there brought me an orange and a Milky Way bar. And I'm not shamed to say I cried like a baby. It was Arlys who brought me a change of clothes, and she and Katie saw to it there were blankets and some food and water in the house Chuck took me to. The house where I live today.

“I was hurt, and they tended to me. I was hungry, and they gave me food. I wasn't naked, but by God, I was ripe and ragged, and they clothed me. They gave me shelter. They gave me what every one of us has here today. Community.”

He paused, adjusted his glasses. “Every one here has a story not so different from that. I want you to think back to it. I want you not to forget you're lucky, because Jonah's right. Surviving isn't enough. When I limped into New Hope, there were thirty-one people living here. Now we're more than three hundred.

“The group I'd been with ran, without a thought—and I was one of them—when we were attacked. We had no leader, no sense beyond our own survival. We had no plan, and no structure. New Hope already has more than that, and we're going to build on it. We've already talked about some of the ways we have built on it, and plans for how we'll go forward. Now we're going to talk about how we keep our community safe from Raiders and those who threaten the peace from outside, as well as from those who break that peace from the inside.”

He took off the cheaters, absently polishing them on his shirtsleeve. “We've had some incidents, and we could call them minor in the big scheme. Fistfights, threats of violence, and physical intimidation. Our own Bryar was threatened, intimidated, and harassed by two men when she took a walk along Main Street. Little Dennis Reader had the bike Bill fixed up for him stolen off the porch of the house where he's living. Ugly words were painted on the door of the house where Jess and Flynn and Dennis and some other children live. Our oldest resident, who we affectionately call Ma Zee and lives in the apartment across from mine, came home after working in the gardens—eighty-six, and she puts her time in—to find her place ransacked.”

He paused again, laid both his hands on the sides of the podium. “So I'm going to ask you right now: Are we a community who's going to sit and do nothing while a young woman can't take a walk in peace, while an old one's home is wrecked, or a little boy has his bike taken off his front porch?”

The shouts of “NO!” and the hard or surreptitious glances at the Mercers gave Lloyd just what he wanted.

“I'm glad to hear that.” He held up a hand to quell the noise. “I'm glad to hear that. I agree. The founders of this community agree. The people who took you in, tended your wounds, gave you food and shelter agree. We survived, and we work every day to secure our homes against any who'd come here to do us harm. Now it's time to implement laws to keep us all safe from any in our community who seek to cause harm.”

Rove surged to his feet. “Laws? Getting here first doesn't give anybody the right to tell the rest of us what to do, how to live. We've got bigger things to worry about than some kid's bike, for Christ's sake. Look who's sitting up there, lording it over the rest of us. Half of them aren't like us.”

“You've got a pot to piss in because of the people up here. You
want to piss somewhere else, no one's stopping you.” Lloyd's voice didn't rise, his tone didn't sharpen.

And his words carried weight.

“Like anybody else who's chosen to move on, you'll be given supplies and wishes for a safe journey.”

“That's the way it's going to be?”