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  Delia let another sheep into the barn, and Rick bound its hooves and hefted it onto Gwen’s table. Behind him, Loomis and Kevin transferred their victim down to Terry and Heather, and Loomis took the next animal that Delia allowed inside. On the other side of the barn, Megan hopped impatiently on one foot, waiting to start her job. She would usher each freshly shorn sheep out into the pasture beyond and guard the door from any rambunctious animals attempting a mad dash to freedom.

  After the first two or three sheep passed across her table, Gwen settled into a rhythm. While she divested each one of its fine belly hair, Rick released the fleeced animal from Cara’s table to Megan’s care. He and Gwen would then both heft hers to Cara and Lucky’s table, and he deposited a new animal at Gwen’s workstation. While she continued her mindless task, he took the next newcomer from Delia, and tied it in preparation. When Gwen had a spare second between plucking and transporting, she watched Loomis’s back flex beneath her T-shirt as she lifted the next sheep to Kevin’s rooing table.

  Though the morning was cool, the close work and sheer amount of warm bodies, both human and ovine, brought the temperatures up inside the barn. Everyone had shed the extra layers of clothing they had worn against the dawn chill, unconsciously mimicking what was done to the sheep. Gwen stood in her new trousers and suspenders, wearing one of her sleeveless T-shirts. She was up to her arms in fluffy down, sweat making it all the more difficult to get the stuff off when she deposited it into her sack. Her arms felt like lead from the constant activity, but she gamely kept on. She’d be damned if she allowed herself to look like a weakling in front of Loomis. She awkwardly wiped the perspiration from her face with her shoulder.

  Across from her, Kevin looked a sight. His dark skin was feathered in various shades of thel, from ivory to reddish brown. Tufts of it had lodged in his hair. He looked as tired as she was, but just as resolutely forged onward. Loomis said something to him. His face broke into a smile, something that happened with more frequency these days, and he dived back into his labor with renewed energy. Gwen admired Loomis’s ability. With just a word or a gesture she could make anyone cheer up, work harder, follow her orders. It was too bad no one could do the same for her. Every night there were nightmares, and every time she woke she refused to talk about it. Gwen wanted to scream and thump Loomis upside the head. Her not-too-subtle attempts to dig out information had driven Loomis from the room twice. She would have left on her own anyway, so Gwen saw no reason to avoid direct interrogation. Loomis had to tell somebody. Whatever the hell it was ate her up inside. Gwen’s efforts had met with quite a bit of resistance.

  She and Rick moved another ewe to Cara’s table.

  “That’s it.”

  Gwen blinked, looking out at the now empty corral. “That’s it?”

  Rick grinned. “Yup. Let’s get these bags tied shut. We’ll store them in the loft.”

  A little dazed, she assisted him with the bags of thel. There were five. Loomis helped Kevin do the same on the other side. It looked like they had six. Rick left Gwen to release the last sheep from Cara and Lucky’s table. When Gwen finished, she went to the corral door. It seemed the sun had hardly moved. A cool breeze ruffled her hair, and she closed her eyes in enjoyment.

  “Not bad.” Loomis stood beside her. “Looks like it’s been about an hour.”

  “An hour?” Kevin was incredulous. “That’s all?”

  Gwen opened her eyes to see Loomis standing with her arm over Kevin’s shoulder.

  “Yup. Having the extra hands helped.” Loomis tightened her arm in a hug. “I think this year we’ll keep a few more lambs, increase the flock now that we have more mouths to feed.”

  “Does anyone else around here have sheep?” Gwen asked.

  “Yeah, a couple of families do. The Baxters had sheep before Orphan Maker. They’ve got Suffolks, though. They need a higher level of care than ours. The Raymonds on the other side of town have Icelandic sheep. We helped them start their flock after we brought everybody together. We swap rams and ewes back and forth for breeding.”

  “What about other farm animals?” Kevin asked. “Cows and pigs and stuff.”

  Loomis scratched her neck. “Nobody’s got a herd of cattle around here. There’s just no way to keep them in proper feed. A couple of families use two or three to draw their carts instead of horses. As for pigs, we get one pig a year from one of our neighbors, the Fabers. We keep them in lamb meat and wool, they keep us in pork and honey.”

  Fabers? Gwen frowned, remembering the cute blonde she had met in McAdam, the one who had dropped a bombshell on Loomis about Riddick. Neighbors, huh? Nothing like a creeper living right next door. Loomis had continued speaking, and Gwen forced herself to pay attention.

  “And you know we’ve got chickens and rabbits. Most households have those. The rest of our meat comes from hunting.”

  “Did Terry really kill a turkey last year with a arrow?”

  Hearing his name, Terry looked up from tying off a bag of wool nearly as tall as he. Loomis turned to glance back at him. “Yup, he sure did.”

  “Told you so.” Terry’s expression was half grimace at being disbelieved and half a pleased smile.

  Kevin snorted. “You told me you counted coup against a Indian, too.”

  Terry’s fair skin flushed crimson, and he ducked his head to concentrate on his task. “Shut up,” he muttered.

  Loomis released Kevin. “Go give him a hand. The sooner we get this stuff put away and ourselves cleaned up, the sooner we can relax.”

  “We’re going to have a picnic!” Megan ran up to Loomis to be picked up and placed on her hip.

  “Yes, we are, miss.” Loomis kissed the girl’s temple. “But not until we put things away.”

  Megan squirmed to be released. Gwen took this as her cue to return to the heated interior of the barn.

  Chapter Sixteen

  All work didn’t stop at the homestead, but most of the usual day-to-day toil was suspended. The animals had to be cared for, whether the people took the day off or not. Eggs were gathered from the henhouse, rabbits and chickens fed, horses let out to pasture with the sheep, and all the stalls in both barns mucked out. The garden was left to its own devices and the younger children cheered when they were told there would be no lessons that afternoon. Cara, Heather and Lucky worked nonstop in the outdoor kitchen, preparing the feast. After Megan and Delia took care of the smaller animals they ran back and forth between the house and the kitchen for tools and utensils. Loomis, Gwen and the boys worked in the barns. By the time Gwen finished in the horse barn she was sure her arms were going to fall off. Still, she was pleased at regaining her strength. She’d been wasted when the Gatos had arrived in town. While she still couldn’t quite hold her own, she decided she had been giving herself a much better showing.

  “Shower?” Loomis asked when they met on the driveway.

  “Yes.” Gwen grinned at Loomis’s smile, glad to see the productive morning had jollied her out of her depression.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Rick glanced at Terry, ruffling his head and getting a squawk and a glare in return. “You going to do the warrior thing and take a dip in the pond?”

  Terry stuck his thin chest out. “Yeah, I am.”

  Loomis gave an exaggerated shiver. “Brrrr. Glad I’m not an Indian.” She turned to Kevin. “What about you?”

  “I ain’t no Indian either.” He shook his head.

  Loomis laughed and patted his back. “Good thing for you. I bet Cara’s got water heated by now. Won’t be enough for full baths, but we can at least get mostly cleaned up.”

  Gwen frowned as they began the walk toward the kitchen. She sidled next to Loomis. “You want to take the shower? I can wait until more water heats.”

  “No, you go ahead.”

  “You know, with the extra bodies we might consider a shower house,” Rick said. “A couple of our houses in McAdam had waterbeds. If the rubber’s still good, I bet we could convert those to shower bladders. We
’d just need a freestanding structure to hold it.”

  “What do you think, Terry?”

  Gwen wondered why they asked the boy. What did he know about showers? He was just a snot nosed punk.

  The punk in question frowned in thought as they walked, before finally nodding. “Yeah, I could come up with something. It’d be better with a water tank, though. We could also attach a bathing room, maybe add a barrel stove to heat water inside.”

  “Good idea.” Rick grinned. “What about a sauna, too? That’d be really nice on winter days.”

  “Yeah, I could do that.” Terry shrugged.

  Loomis saw Gwen’s puzzled expression. “I told you, Terry’s our architect. He designed the summer kitchen and our greenhouse.”

  Gwen could hardly fathom that anybody would pay attention to Terry with his overbearing attitude and stuck-up behavior. Did he get this way because people relied on him, or despite it?

  Terry broke away from their group as they passed the pond. By the time he reached the pier he had removed his shirt. Now he only wore a breechclout and his moccasins. He didn’t stop to take them off, dropping his shirt on the deck before diving into the cold water. Rick shuddered in mock sympathy. “Man, that’s got to be icy.”

  At a high-pitched shriek they spun around, looking for its source.

  “Mama!” Megan screeched. She had been near the summer kitchen but now ran full tilt toward them, face red, waving her arm in the air. Behind her, Cara and Heather abandoned their work, calling out to her retreating form.

  “Baby?” Loomis called back and dashed for her.

  Suddenly it clicked in Gwen’s mind. Mother Loomis hadn’t been pregnant before the plague hit. Megan was Marissa’s child. She stood dumbfounded as the two came together, staring at their similar features, remembering how closely they resembled each other—even more so than Rick did with Loomis. Well, shit.

  “What happened?” Terry stood beside her, dripping cold water everywhere.

  Gwen realized she was the only one still in place, Rick and Kevin having followed Loomis. Megan’s mother knelt before her, cuddling her and investigating her pudgy arm. “I don’t know. She just started screaming.” Disgruntled by her lack of information, Terry trotted toward the gathering. Gwen belatedly followed. Megan still blubbered, but being in the presence of Loomis had banished the worst of her panic.

  “Shhh, baby, it’s just a bee sting. You’ll be okay,” Loomis promised. “You got something?” she asked Rick.

  “Yeah.” He pulled a pocketknife from his pants and opened one of the blades. He handed it to Loomis. “This one’s dull enough.”

  “Going to cut her arm off?” Terry asked, a certain measure of gleeful teasing in his tone.

  Megan cried a little harder and cringed away from her mother.

  Her mother, Gwen thought, still trying to wrap her mind around the thought.

  “Shut up, Terry. You know we’re not.” Loomis turned her attention back on Megan. “I’m going to use the knife to scrape the bee sting from your arm, okay? It’s the only way to get it out without putting more bee venom in your arm.”

  “Will it hurt?” Megan asked, teary eyes wide.

  “Yeah, it will. But it’ll hurt for longer if we don’t take it out. Are you ready?” The little girl sniffled and whimpered, but nodded. She continued to cry with the occasional faint “Owie, owie, owie,” thrown in as Loomis conducted the procedure. Loomis showed the stinger to her daughter when she had removed it. She returned the knife to Rick and picked up Megan. “Come on, let’s get you to Cara. She probably has something to help make it stop hurting.”

  “Okay.” Megan sniffled and snuggled with her, no longer crying.

  Gwen watched them go, Loomis gently rubbing the little girl’s back. Everyone else drifted after them. She stood for a time as the girls made a fuss over Megan’s injury, and Delia was sent back to the cabin for a first-aid kit. She thought of all the things that had been said and done this week. When they had returned from McAdam, the kids had teased each other about who was a baby. Megan had said it was different that Loomis still called her that. Gwen remembered marveling at their resemblance; the only difference was Megan’s dimpled chin. Nobody else related to Loomis had one.

  But Riddick had.

  ***

  Thoroughly stuffed with lunch, Gwen lounged under the large tree by the summer kitchen. Loomis sprawled nearby with Megan’s head pillowed on her thigh. The little girl was fast asleep, her arm draped across her belly, the livid bee sting clearly evident in the shade. On the other side of the kitchen, Rick and Heather cuddled in a hammock attached to two trees. They had stopped talking, and Gwen was sure they had fallen asleep. Cara and Lucky played a game of gin rummy with Oscar looking on from a car seat placed on the tabletop. Delia had dug up some clay from the creek behind the kitchen, and sat quietly with her feet dangling off the cement floor, sculpting. Kevin and Lucky had gone down to the pond, but only after swearing they wouldn’t get into the water until Loomis gave them permission.

  Gwen watched Loomis idly caress Megan’s auburn hair, the only indication she was awake. “How old is she?”

  “She’s four and a half.” Loomis smiled. “Her birthday is in August.”

  Quick calculation gave her the month of Megan’s conception. Not long after the plague at all. “Is she one of the first born since?”

  Loomis’s smile faded but didn’t completely disappear. “She is the first.”

  Not wanting Loomis to withdraw from the conversation, Gwen changed the subject. “So if Cara and Terry are your cousins, where did Delia come from?”

  “I babysat for her family that summer. They were a young couple, just moved into town after they got married. Delia’s dad worked with my uncle in the body shop. I had Rick help me drive the truck and check on her as soon as I got well enough to move. I didn’t think anybody else even knew she was there.”

  “You were sick, too?”

  “Yeah.” Loomis nodded and opened her eyes to look at her. “The price we paid for being oldest, I guess.”

  “I guess.” Gwen nodded, not really wanting to revisit that time in her life. Had she known of any small children in her neighborhood? Would she have thought to search them out if she had? She shook her head to dispel those thoughts, pushing away the memories of a lonely crib sitting in the sun. “So how come Lindsay Crossing survived? I told you what we saw in the other dumps between here and the city. You figure anything out?”

  Loomis brought her free hand to her head and propped it up. “I’m not sure. Maybe they didn’t have enough older kids willing to take charge.”

  “Lots of people are willing to take charge,” Gwen said. “Not many have the skills, though, the balls and the brains.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  Gwen tilted her head and studied Loomis. She didn’t seem to be acting the ass, just curious. “Some.” She sighed. “First thing I did was hook up with my friends from school. We wandered around going where we wanted, grabbing the bling-bling and doing stupid shit for a while. It was fun until winter set in.”

  “You were at a lower elevation. It had to be warmer than here in winter.”

  “Maybe.” Gwen shrugged. “But it ain’t like we planned ahead or anything. We ended up living out of a mall for a while.” She caught the other woman’s smirk and blushed, knowing her history played right into Loomis’s prejudices. “Not everyone did,” she reaffirmed, pleased to see a grin on Loomis’s face. “Anyway, we had hooked up with some kids from a military school.”

  “Did they have the balls and the brains?”

  Gwen chuckled. “Only the balls.” She enjoyed the warm laugh Loomis gave her.

  They were quiet for a moment. “That guy who was in charge of your people. He didn’t look like military.”

  “Weasel?” Gwen broke into a laugh, drawing the attention of the card players. “Weasel was never no cadet. He ran a gang out on State Street, the Gatos.”

  Lucky and Cara re
turned their attention to their hands. Megan mumbled in her sleep and shifted a little, her mother pausing in her caresses until she settled once more. “So how’d you get from a mall to a street gang?”

  Gwen’s humor soured as she remembered Beau chasing her with a pistol as she fled his violent abuse. “The cadet was a hater, a renegade. He wanted more than just a skill twist, you know?”

  Loomis’s expression was mystified. “I didn’t understand any of that.”

  “Which word?” Gwen rolled her eyes. Kevin was right; none of them knew English.

  “Um, I’m guessing a hater is someone who hates others. Renegade means an outlaw, doesn’t it?”

  “Kind of. It’s somebody who doesn’t care about anybody but themselves.”

  Loomis frowned. “Then how come he led your group? If he didn’t care about anybody else, he shouldn’t be in charge.”

  Gwen snorted. “Dawg, you people are so pure. Sometimes it amazes me you’re still breathing.”

  Annoyance sparked in Loomis’s eyes. “So what’s a skill twist?”

  “Sex. He wanted more than to just bang me. He beat me too.” As soon as she said it, she winced, wanting to take it back.

  Loomis’s complexion turned milky and she swallowed like she was worried she would throw up. Her eyes darted around, as it to reaffirm that she was safe and well, that no danger hovered near to steal her or her family.

  Gwen sat up, leaning toward her. “Shit, I’m sorry, Loomis. I’m always sticking my foot in my mouth.”