Ashes of the Red Heifer

Ashes of the Red Heifer

by Shannon Baker

Published by L&L Dreamspell

Spring, Texas

Copyright 2010 Shannon Baker

All Rights Reserved

     No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.

     This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people is a coincidence. Places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

ISBN- 978-1-60318-161-7

Published by L & L Dreamspell

Produced in the United States of America

Visit us on the web at
www.lldreamspell.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Perhaps there are geniuses who can write books without help but I’m not one of those. Therefore I must blame, uh, thank, several talented writers for their input, suggestions, haranguing and support: Margaret Bailey, Jim Cole, Karen Duvall, Heidi Kuhn, Janet Lane, Lawdon, Gail Rowe, Bonnie Smith, and all Alphas current and future. There isn’t a better group of writers anywhere. Thanks to Hester and the Hotties: Jim Hester, Janet Fogg, Julie Kaewert and Karen Lin. Your advice and friendship has seen me through much more than putting words on paper.

I want to give special thanks to Vicki Kaufman who helped with her wisdom, insight and friendship. Dr. Bill Baker, DVM, explained cattle diseases and took me on a birthing call. Any errors dealing with veterinary issues in this book are mine and not the fault of this know-ledgeable man.

I owe buckets of gratitude to Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. This group is full of generous, brilliant, creative and inspirational writers. That they allow me to remain a member year after year is a tribute to their tolerance.

To Lisa Smith and Linda Houle at L&L Dreamspell, thanks for giving us a home. And to Cindy Davis, master of words and neurotic writers, my deepest appreciation.

DEDICATION

For Dave, who didn’t think this book belonged in a drawer.

And for Joslyn and Erin.

Isn’t this better than a balloon in your locker?

ONE

Annie Grant stared out her window into the pre-dawn black of the Israeli kibbutz. She set her lips in a determined line and raised her chin, defiant if only to the moon, the same moon shining over the Nebraska prairie. “This time it’s going to be different.”

The vaccine would work, she was sure. Annie had veered from the path other researchers had followed, made different assumptions, and now she knew she was right. The impending birth would prove it. She’d cure BA 23, save cattle, but more importantly, she’d save people.

What if it didn’t work? Doubt battered her brain like Chinese water torture. She’d been close to her dreams before and every time failed. She didn’t know if she could weather that kind of pain again.

Her cell phone bleeped. She lunged for it automatically, checking the clock. At this hour it could only be Hassan and it couldn’t be good news. She flipped open her phone. “What’s wrong?”

His voice sounded frantic, which could mean a crisis or a stubbed toe. “Esther. Her water’s broken.”

“Take a deep breath, Hassan. I’ll be right there.” Before he could hang up she stopped him. “Call David. If this calf is born alive, he’ll want to be there.”

Hassan hesitated. “Why wake him? We can call him after it’s born.”

A needle of irritation poked Annie. “Just call him. He
is
the project director. Besides, we might need an extra pair of hands.”

Hassan didn’t answer and Annie flipped her phone closed, confident he’d make the call. She slipped on her jeans and stomped into her cowboy boots.

Annie’s thoughts centered on Esther and the impending birth. This world—the smell of manure, the low of cattle, the way they felt, breathed, lived and died—this was Annie’s world. Cows didn’t withhold love. They didn’t punish or betray. They had no expectations so she couldn’t disappoint them. And with a certain amount of regularity, Annie could help them and make their simple lives a bit better.

Annie’s boots slapped the dirt, echoing across the sleeping kibbutz as she raced to the barn. Maybe the calf was early. Maybe it didn’t mean she’d failed again. Maybe this time the vaccine worked. It had to. Too much hung in the balance—not just cows and calves but people.

Annie shoved the barn door open and entered the glaring light and the familiar scents of hay and manure. She flashed Hassan a reassuring look. His wild mop of black curls formed an upside-down exclamation point to his skinny body.

She hurried to the pen and took a moment to observe Esther. The cow swished her tail, lowered her head and let out a moo.

Hassan stood beside Annie, waiting for her to take action.

Annie strode to a sink, reaching for a shoulder-length obstetrical glove. “Get her in the headstall,” she said to Hassan. “Be slow and quiet so we don’t get her riled.”

The barn door flew inward, slamming against the wall. David rushed in, no sign of sleep in his eyes, no pillowcase wrinkles on his cheeks, no bed head. He was taller than Annie’s five-ten with close-cropped dark hair and blue eyes usually full of humor. His best feature was a killer California smile, but there was no sign of that now.

He hurried to Annie. “What’s going on?”

“Esther’s calving.”

“It’s early, isn’t it?” David asked.

She nodded and continued pulling on the glove.

Hassan had the cow locked into the headstall. Annie approached the back end, murmuring softly. She formed an arrow with the tips of her fingers; the plastic obstetrical glove crinkling as she gently pushed her hand into the warmth of Esther’s vagina. The walls pressed against her hand, then wrist, forearm, engulfing her in another living being until her shoulder blocked further entry.

Annie’s long blonde braid slipped over her shoulder and she shrugged it back, bending her tall, thin frame even closer to Esther.

Esther’s protesting moo sent vibrations through Annie, connecting her to the cow in an intimate way. It reminded her of the way her mother’s voice soaked into Annie’s head as they rocked on the front porch when she was a child.

“Is it alive?” David whispered.

She closed her eyes and let her fingers see. In the crowded womb they slipped over one soft hoof, identified first one ear plastered against the head, and then another. The nose, two eyes, tongue between teeth.

The parts were there. But Annie’s gut told her something wasn’t right. “Hassan, turn up the monitor.”

Hassan bent to turn the dial on a small box at his feet then adjusted the strap on Esther’s belly. They strained and heard an irregular beat.

Esther let out a low moan, lowered her head and suddenly the sides of her womb pressed hard against Annie’s arm. “Balls.”

David stepped closer still. “What’s wrong?”

“Hassan, turn it up.”

Hassan answered in a tight voice. “That’s as loud as it goes.”

Annie waited impatiently for the contraction to end then pulled her arm from Esther, the sound like boots sloshing through thick mud. Her arm dragged traces of feces, a slight tint of blood but not much fluid. Lack of lubricant might indicate problems. She grabbed the glove at the shoulder and yanked it off her arm, knots in her stomach tightening. “She’s losing the calf. We have to pull it.”

Hassan hurried toward his lab at the opposite end of the barn. The instruments and machines were lined along the counters in a pristine environment protected from the rest of the barn by a wall and windows.

Pure intuition, mixed with her experience, told her the calf was in trouble. Annie rushed across the barn to the sink.

“She’s not supposed to calf yet,” David insisted.

Annie’s hand touched the cold metal tap. A banshee shriek split the dawn.

Hassan streaked from his lab. “Air raid!”

David straightened. “Let’s get to the shelter.”

Adrenaline blasted through her body and she missed the tap. She tried again, slamming on the hot water. Her shaking fingers closed on the bottle of amber antiseptic. Trying to ignore her heart’s stuttering and the shrill alarm, Annie stuck her hand under the tap to test the temperature of the water. “Esther needs help now.”

“This is Israel, not Nebraska. Sirens mean something,” David shouted.

Hassan’s eyes widened in barely suppressed panic. “Come ON! Let’s get out of here.”

She grabbed two masks, tossed one to Hassan and thrust the other at David. “It’s a drill. No one wants to bomb this kibbutz.”

When David wouldn’t take the mask, she tied it on her own face and began to scrub with anti-bacterial soap.

Hassan fluttered like a moth, taking steps toward the door then coming back, the mask waving in his hand like a surrender flag. His breath drew hard through his throat and his eyes got larger. “What…” he sucked in a breath. “About the suicide bombings and terrorist…” another breath, “threats? Let’s just go!”

The wailing siren scraped a raw spot on Annie’s nerves and she shouted above it. “This disease could end up killing more people than a suicide bomber.”

Hassan’s breath came slow and with effort.

Annie felt her own breath restrict in sympathy for Hassan. “Use your inhaler,” she said.

The sirens stopped, leaving Annie’s words echoing in the barn. “See? Just a drill.”

Hassan patted the pockets in his lab coat, then in his jeans looking for his inhaler. His wheezing alarmed her. “They haven’t…sounded the…all clear.”

She reached into the front pocket of her jeans for the inhaler she always kept close. Since their undergrad days she’d found it best to keep one handy because Hassan, who could be as work-distracted as she, often ran off without his. She pulled it out and tossed it to him.

He gave her a grateful near-smile and took a pull.

David watched Hassan a moment then turned back to Annie. “Does this mean the vaccine didn’t work?”

“It might just mean the calf is premature. We’ll see when it’s born.” Although she continued working, she kept a close eye on Hassan. She never relaxed until the inhaler kicked in.

Hassan, breath coming more naturally, turned worried eyes to the ceiling as if expecting bombs to crash at any moment.
“Bismillah al-rahman al-rahim,”
he whispered.

His prayer meant he was upset; she wished she could make him feel better. “Hassan, go to the shelter. David, fill a bucket with hot water, put a healthy dose of antiseptic in it. And put on that darned mask.”

She snatched two new gloves and pulled them on as she hurried back to Esther, refusing to let the thought of failure into her head. The calf would live. It had to. When it did, it would prove Annie’s vaccine worked.

Would that make up for everything else she’d mucked up in her life?

Hassan dogged her heels, fluttering in his lab coat. He looked terrified.

“Go to the shelter,” she said.

He shook his head. “I won’t go unless you do.”

Unless David went, more likely. Hassan hated for Annie and David to be alone together. But she wouldn’t leave Esther now. She studied him briefly. His asthma seemed to be under control. “Okay. If you’re going to stay, put on your mask and get the chains.”

Reaching inside the heifer a second time, Annie felt for two front hooves. She found one and gently worked it out the opening. The other was bent back but with some manipulation she had both shiny black hooves dangling from Esther.

She and Hassan worked quickly and quietly, like an old married couple knowing what the other would do next. They looped obstetrical chains to the hooves and hooked the chains to a metal cable with a jack, attached to the wall.

David manned the jack. “Take the slack out of the cable,” she said. “When she begins a contraction, crank the jack and work with her. Stop when she relaxes.” Although Annie hadn’t had children of her own, she empathized with the painful labor of the cows.

She listened as David drew up the slack, never taking her eyes from Esther. When the heifer lowered her head and moaned, Annie waved her arm at David. “Now.”

The next contraction brought the calf’s head free; the little ears lay back, the eyes closed. Annie pulled away the mucus lining covering its face. “It’s still alive. Let’s get it out, now.”

David’s surgical mask showed dark stains of perspiration around the edges. His eyes had darkened with concentration. “It’s not coming anymore. I can’t crank it.”

Hassan hovered between Annie and David, moving a step in one direction, then back again.

“Get ready to crank.” She ran halfway between the jack and the heifer, took a deep breath and lowered herself to sit on the chain.

Suddenly, harsh shrieking of sirens exploded into the barn. The walls screamed back.