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  “What’d you find?” Terry asked from the door.

  “I think Cara and Heather are going to cream their jeans.”

  “What? They don’t wear jeans.”

  She grimaced at his literal interpretation. “I think they’re going to be really happy with all this sewing stuff.”

  Comprehension lit the boy’s eyes. “Oh.” He glanced around the room. “Yeah, they will. Annie Faber has one of those.” He pointed at the dressmaking dummy. “Cara’s always wished she had one, too. What else is there?” He peered back out into the hallway.

  “An office. A computer, lots of legal books. Nothing interesting.”

  Terry didn’t agree with her assessment. “An office?” He scampered off.

  Wondering what the hell could be so interesting in an office, Gwen followed. He wasted no time with the books or computer, instead throwing open desk drawers and cabinet doors.

  “Yes!” he chortled, struggling with something heavy.

  Gwen came around the desk to see what caused his excitement, watching him lug a box of printer paper from the storage hutch. “Paper?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Yeah! And I bet there are pencils around here.” He lifted the cardboard lid. “It’s almost full, too!”

  She watched him continue his excited search, pulling out binders and notebooks, files and legal pads from everywhere. Most of the pens were useless, long since dried up from disuse, but there was indeed a nearly unused box of pencils. She frowned in thought, standing back to watch Terry unearth each new discovery. Paper was priceless and bling-bling worthless here. That was totally fucked up, but she could see the logic. With only two thousand people in town, there probably hadn’t been that many businesses to get paper from. Paper was everywhere in the city, hardly a rarity.

  Still, Gwen would have thought the sewing room contents far more practical for out here in the sticks. Did they have some sort of commerce here, some way to trade things back and forth? What would a package of unused paper get her from another family? Would she be allowed to claim any of the goods they found here, or was it all going into the collective pot for the Loomis household?

  Loomis poked her head in the room. “What’s going on?”

  “Paper!” Terry held up a blank legal pad. “Lots of it! Can I have this one?”

  “Really?” Loomis’s face lit up with interest. “Sure, it’s yours. Consider it a finder’s fee.”

  “Diesel.” Terry tucked the pad under his arm.

  Loomis blinked at his use of city slang, her eyes sliding toward Gwen.

  “Don’t look at me.” She raised her hands in surrender. “He got it from Kevin.”

  “What else did you find?”

  Gwen took her to the sewing room, showing off her discoveries. A tiny chest of drawers was buried under falling material in the closet. There they found packages of patterns in a variety of styles, spools of thread and other accouterments still wrapped in their cellophane, and enough pins and needles to sew an entire army’s worth of clothing. The sun was beginning to set as hunger nibbled at Gwen’s withered stomach.

  Loomis heard the rumbling and grinned. “Let’s knock off for now. I need to get a fire started if we’re going to have anything hot for dinner.”

  “For shizzle.” Gwen closed a drawer.

  “Terry,” Loomis called as they left the sewing room. “We’re going outside to start dinner.”

  “Okay.”

  Gwen glanced in to see him seated at the desk, dwarfed by the monstrosity, carefully sharpening one of the pencils with a pocketknife. “Why not cook in the fireplace?”

  “Don’t know if the chimney is sound.” In the kitchen, several pots, pans and dishes had been pulled out of the cupboards and left on the breakfast nook table. “Could be blocked from crumbling mortar, or maybe birds or animals have made nests in it. It’s just easier to cook over a campfire than deal with the hassle.”

  Gwen nodded, not having thought of that. Where she came from, fireplaces were scarce. “What about the dogs?”

  Loomis smiled and pointed to the signs of wood smoke on the other side of some trees. “I don’t think they’ll bother us any. We’re not the only ones here now.”

  As she helped Loomis clear an area for the fire, Gwen wondered who else was in town. Had they brought some of the Gatos with them like Loomis had? She felt a sudden pang, and realized she missed seeing the people who had been her family for the last four years. Did they miss her? Were they getting the same bizarre lessons from their new acquaintances that she was with Loomis? She watched Loomis’s profile as she used flint and steel to light a wad of dry grass. Gwen didn’t know what to make of her. Sometimes the woman came off as a hater and a renegade, then she acted sad over the death of people she didn’t even know. She seemed angry and lonely, but confident and content in her family. Which was real?

  Loomis blew the smoking ember into flame, and the tinder soon caught. She looked at Gwen and smiled, pleased with the way the day had gone.

  God, she’s butter, even when she’s not mad. Unaccountably, Gwen blushed and looked away, disconcerted. What the hell’s wrong with me? As she tried to puzzle out the tremor in her chest, she helped Loomis heat up their dinner.

  ***

  After dinner, they spent the rest of the evening working by lamp and candlelight, collecting the things they planned on bringing home. Soon the kitchen table overflowed with goods. Loomis was forced to consider whether a second trip might be necessary. She still wanted to stop at their house on Jasper Lane to collect that overhead fan motor. She and Terry had dismantled the crib and brought it downstairs while Gwen brought out selections from the sewing room. Since Oscar had the homestead’s only crib, they needed another in case Heather’s baby survived childbirth. The plastic on the mattress was cracked and stained with decay. Loomis left it in the master bedroom, knowing they could find or make something with which to replace it. One of the dressers was brought down and all the baby clothes. Loomis wasn’t happy to realize that the parents had invested in disposable diapers. Two babies made for a lot of crap, which meant some of the material they gathered from the sewing room would have to be hijacked for that purpose. Gwen went through the adult clothes, most of which would fit Lucky but neither she nor Kevin. Cara and Heather would be busy for weeks hemming and adjusting for the smaller members of their family. Of course, the medieval outfits were brought down. At the very least, Cara would get a kick out of seeing them. She might be able to figure out how they were created and make more. Loomis counted it lucky that the man’s shoes appeared to be the right size to fit Kevin’s big feet, at least until he outgrew them. They would have to find someone in town to trade with for future footgear for the boy.

  The pile of books grew by leaps and bounds when Gwen perused the romances. Loomis watched her peering at the titles by candlelight, eyes squinting to read the blurbs on the back. Who would have thought a crusty, cantankerous woman like that would be a sucker for love stories? At least she knew why Gwen’s reading abilities were above Lucky’s. Constant use had kept her skill from atrophying.

  In the kitchen, most of the pots and pans were worthless, being the fancy Teflon coated things that busy housewives knew and loved before Orphan Maker. The smattering of electrical appliances had no value either. Terry did find a large broiler pan that would work in a wood stove, and there were a number of serving bowls, plates and utensils to be had. The bathrooms held towels that hadn’t yet been damaged by rodents and moths. Most of the grooming items were worthless, but Loomis discovered two toothbrushes still wrapped in cellophane. They needed only one more to cover everybody.

  The treasure was in the basement. Loomis held the lantern high to distribute the light better. She grimaced at the aroma, the smell here more mildew than dust. At least the stairs were still good. She made a mental note that the buildings they entered would become more dangerous as time passed. Most of the odor came from the utility sink in the corner. She steered away from that, knowing anythin
g left near there would have long ago disintegrated. Terry balanced an emergency candle on a small plate, moving slower than normal as a draft threatened to extinguish the flame. Cupping it, he followed her toward some dark shapes huddled in the corner.

  Behind them, Gwen dawdled midway down the steps. She had wanted to wait until morning to check the basement, but Loomis had nixed that idea. Tomorrow would be spent packing the cart and checking out the storage shed in the back. Rather than stay alone upstairs, she had conceded to coming partway down, but refused to go any further. Loomis wondered how the big, tough city girl could be afraid of the dark, considering all the things she professed to have seen and done. On the other hand, maybe seeing those horrors had caused the fear. Loomis understood all too well the terror memory could enforce on a body.

  A tarp covered the suspicious bulges and, when she reached down to throw it off, she heard the sound of rodents scuttling away. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” She pulled the heavy canvas aside. A cloud of dust made her sneeze.

  Terry backed away, waving a hand in front of his face. He stepped forward and peered at the items. “Wooden chests.” He reached for the closest one.

  “Not just that.” Loomis’s curiosity was piqued. She set the lantern on the floor and pulled on a bundle of wood and canvas. She untied the rope holding the mass together, unrolling it onto the floor.

  “Camping gear!” Terry held up a cast iron fry pan. “There’s all sorts of cooking stuff in this one.”

  “Camping gear.” Loomis tilted her head as she studied the mess of wood and rope before her. A web of rope joined two notched two-by-fours. There were also four short square lengths of wood and two midsized two-by-fours. She squatted down beside them, pulling a short piece out to fiddle with. It almost looked like—“It’s a cot,” she said, surprise coloring her tone.

  “And here’s some more clothes and stuff.” Terry continued on to another chest. “This one has fur in it, and oil lamps it looks like.”

  Loomis laughed. “I guess if you dress up like Robin Hood, you’d want to camp like that too.” At the very least, the cooking gear would come in handy for use or trade. She saw one other camp cot in the pile and what looked suspiciously like a tent with long, intricately carved poles. Considering the influx of new neighbors, the beds alone would be worth something to somebody in town. “Come on, let’s get this stuff upstairs. We’ll take it too.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The trip back the following morning promised to be a lot more comfortable for Gwen than the one into town. Their cart was packed to overflowing, the tarp from the Phillips’s basement covering most of their bounty. Gwen had created a comfortable nest with one of the camp mattresses to ride upon. A book lay within easy reach as she watched the town roll by. Terry sat on top of the baby dresser, a couch cushion padding his behind. Beside him sat a leather binder holding his precious pad of legal paper. He munched on the last of the ham as they trundled along. Loomis rode her horse beside them, an arrow nocked in her bow, eyes scanning their surroundings. They’d had no problem with the dogs since that first night, and she seemed more relaxed.

  Gwen pretended to read her book as she watched Loomis. When she wasn’t being an asshole, Loomis was really a sweet person. She hadn’t given Gwen any crap for being scared of going into the basement the night before, just acted like it was perfectly normal for her to be a chickenshit about descending into the blackness. The creepy vibe that had started when Loomis had shown such compassion for the Phillips family had reached its pinnacle by then, and Gwen couldn’t help being reminded of the grave so recently dug in the backyard, couldn’t bring herself to follow either of her companions down the stairs.

  She shivered though it was a sunny day, and tried to return her attention to the book. Instead she heard voices in the distance and sat up to look around. They neared a house where another homestead loaded up a more conventional-looking wagon. There were five of them, all townies, busy as ants as they transferred furniture and goods from a traditional ranch house to their transportation. Gwen was a little sad that no Gatos were in evidence. She hadn’t spent this much time away from the gang since joining them. She missed seeing their faces.

  “Loomis!” one of the women called.

  “Hey, Annie!” Loomis hollered back. “Pull up, Terry. Let’s catch some news.”

  Terry steered the horses closer and brought them to a halt as the woman who had greeted them walked closer.

  “How’s it going?” The woman nodded a greeting to Terry. She was seventeen or eighteen by the looks of it, with white-blond hair and pale blue eyes.

  Gwen scowled, not liking Loomis’s easy way with her.

  “Not bad.” Loomis turned in the saddle and gestured. “This is Gwen. This is Annie Faber. Her homestead keeps bees and supplies us with honey.”

  Eyes widening at the sudden attention, Gwen quashed her dislike and tried to appear neutral. “Nice to meet you,” she dredged up from her distant past. A fleeting frown crossed Loomis’s face, but she turned back to Annie rather than take Gwen to task. Gwen breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Find anything interesting?”

  Annie laughed, taking Tempest’s bridle in hand and rubbing his forehead, her manner too friendly for Gwen’s taste. “Yeah. We lucked into an avid hunter and fisher here. You?”

  “We’ve got a baby in the family now. Picked up clothes and a crib.”

  “That’s a lot of clothes,” Annie observed lightly.

  Alarm bells went off in Gwen’s head. This little chica was showing far too much attention to their haul. Gwen turned to study the others in Annie’s crew, wondering if they packed weapons. Neither Loomis nor Terry seemed particularly threatened; were they being lulled because of their familiarity with this bitch? That was an attack waiting to happen, in Gwen’s book. You only trusted people in your own crew, or you were dog meat. Loomis chuckled, and Gwen frowned further. At the church, Loomis seemed guarded even though her people surrounded her. Yet, here she was, at ease with this little dime piece in the middle of a dead town. Was something more going on here?

  “How many did you take in?” Annie asked.

  “Four. How about you?”

  “Two.”

  Loomis dismounted, tying her horse’s reins to the cart. “Let me show you something.” She led Annie around to the other side and untied the tarp. Terry clambered over to help, and they pulled the covering back far enough to reveal one of the camp beds. “We’ve got no use for this. It comes with a homemade mattress that’s in decent condition. You want to trade?”

  Annie grinned. Gwen decided she really didn’t like how pretty it made her. “Well, now that you mention it, we did run across something we don’t have a use for. When I said avid fisher, I meant they had a nice little boat parked in the back. You’ve still got solar panels, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  The blonde wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ve got a heavy-duty boat battery.”

  Gwen’s brow furrowed. She remembered seeing the solar panels at the homestead, but had thought them simply a remnant of a society that once ran on electricity. Loomis had commented twice that she wanted to pick up a fan motor before heading back, and it suddenly occurred to Gwen that the homestead actually had power—at the very least enough to run fans. She castigated herself for being an idiot. She’d let her intrigue with Loomis get in the way of her common sense. What else had she missed while drooling over her? By the time she refocused on the here and now, Loomis was walking away with that blond bitch. They waved at Annie’s crew as they passed and disappeared around the corner of the house. Terry had also left the cart, strutting around with the other townies as he bragged about finding paper. Were they stupid? Didn’t any of them know discretion? If people knew what you had, they knew where to steal what they wanted.

  She glanced around the cart, finding only Terry’s bow within reach. He still had his rifle strapped across his back. Since she didn’t know shit about bows and arrows, she left it alone. Tempest
was tied to the wagon, but there was no rifle scabbard attached to his saddle. Gwen remembered the swords, and scrambled over the load to locate them. She wouldn’t be able to do much with one, but maybe she could scare away the poachers long enough for Loomis to use her pistol. Loomis stayed away long enough for Gwen to worry whether or not Annie had gotten the drop on her. About the time she decided to go after them, they came back around the side of the house, Loomis pushing a wheelbarrow. Annie still chatted amicably with her, reaching out to touch Loomis’s arm as she made a point in their conversation. Gwen’s fear of attack was lost in a desire to take the woman’s hand off at the wrist.

  As they neared, Loomis called, “Gwen, open the back of the cart.”

  She stared for a moment, her hand gripping the hilt of the sword. If she let go and this was a trick—

  “Hurry up! This thing’s heavy.”

  Gwen’s lips thinned. She tucked the sword under her mattress. Climbing from the cart, she unlatched the back, letting it fall open.

  Loomis parked the wheelbarrow and stepped forward to rearrange the load. “Terry, get over here.” She instructed the boy to get one of the camp beds and mattresses out for the trade.

  Gwen kept her eye on Annie’s crew, not liking that Loomis was leaving herself open to potential attack.

  When enough space was cleared, Loomis glanced at Gwen, a calculating expression on her face. Then she turned to Annie. “Want to give me a hand here?”

  “Sure.”

  Gwen frowned, knowing that Loomis didn’t think her strong enough to help move the battery. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t, just that Loomis had dismissed her ability so quickly. She didn’t enjoy that Loomis and this little dime piece now had to rub shoulders as they transferred the heavy item to the cart.