Orphan Maker (25 page)

I can do the same.
No more obligations, no more responsibilities. No worries about what her friends and neighbors thought about her past, about Riddick.
Leave it all behind. Start fresh.
She turned in the saddle to glance back along the overgrown road, seeing only trees and rock and water. The city—any city for that matter—was out of the question. Surrounding suburbs wouldn’t be much better. But small townships, places like McAdam and Cascade and Lindsay Crossing, those places would be rich with supplies. She had a lifetime of experience to draw from. The first year or so would be rough, but she could set up a decent homestead that would support her, a place of safety.

Megan.

Loomis pulled Tempest up short. She couldn’t leave the only good thing to come out of that dark time. Her daughter wouldn’t understand. She’d think that her mother had rejected her. Loomis toyed with the idea of sneaking back to the homestead to steal Megan away. She’d get caught. The vision of Gwen’s disappointment dismantled her sporadic daydream. Rick, Cara, Heather… Even Terry would be disappointed with her for running away. She was head of their household, and had been since the plague orphaned the world. What would happen to the Gatos if she left now? What would happen to Tommy Boy and Emerita? What would Lindsay Crossing be like in five years?
Who would Gwen be with if I’m not there?
The sound of a faint growl startled Loomis, more so when she realized it came from her rather than a nearby animal. She forced herself away from the images of Gwen with Walker or Weasel, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. She’s a big girl. She can do what she wants.”

Tempest cocked his ears back, swinging his head to gaze sidelong at her. She leaned forward to pat his neck, urging him forward with a gentle squeeze of her knees. Coming around the bend, she spotted the landslide that the city kids had mentioned in the meeting. All of one lane and half of the other was buried under fifteen feet of rock and soil. From the amount of plantlife growing between the boulders, it looked like the slide happened three or four years ago. With no fresh evidence, Loomis figured this area of the ravine had stabilized. At least for now.

Again she stopped Tempest, this time dismounting to get a closer look at the damage. With ten strong bodies and three carts they could clear enough of a path for the widest of wagons. She pulled the scrap of paper and pencil stub from her back pocket to scribble notes. Trees could be dropped to use as braces or wedges to protect the lane. They’d have to be careful not to take the easy route and drop the debris into the river. A dam could cause flood damage in the valley, create a pond or lake for mosquitos to plague them. Once the road was clear, they could run up to three major expeditions before winter came. If Lindsay Crossing agreed to the one house/one family rule there, goods would be available for at least another five years before serious weather damage and rot would remove them from consideration forever.

A rumble of thunder brought Loomis’s attention. She peered through the canopy of leaves into the gray sky. “Guess it’s time to head back, huh?” Tempest whickered, nudging her shoulder. She chuckled and took a moment to pet his nose before digging out her rain gear. Once mounted, she turned him back toward Lindsay Crossing. Running away wasn’t an option, at least not yet. Maybe when the Gatos were settled she could reconsider striking out on her own—when Megan was old enough to be more help, when Rick was old enough to take her place. Until then, she needed to concentrate on surviving.

And that meant steering clear of Gwen.

Loomis returned just before dark with the rain and wind whipping her. The storm raged with such fury that everyone had been worried as her absence stretched on. The tightness in Gwen’s chest lessened at the sight of the bedraggled traveler. As much as she wanted to rush forward to help Loomis out of the dripping clothes and to the warm fire, Gwen remained at the dining table dicing potatoes for supper while Cara fussed over Loomis. Gwen’s presence wasn’t missed. Loomis didn’t bother to look at or speak to her at all.
Have I fucked it up forever?
Loomis had put her on the spot after the meeting; Gwen’s lie had been childish, an automatic reaction to avoid a spanking. She mourned her stupidity as she finished with the potatoes, handing the pot to Heather.

The rest of the evening followed the normal rhythms to which Gwen had become accustomed. Cara and Heather cooked supper with assistance from Lucky and Emerita. Megan and Delia played with Franklin. Loomis and the boys went out to the sheep barns to prepare the animals for the stormy night and begin Tommy Boy’s lessons in animal husbandry. Gwen joined them, but remained silent witness to their discussions. Loomis wouldn’t look at her, and Gwen didn’t push the issue. She mentally chewed on Loomis’s behavior, wondering if the avoidance technique was because she was furious or had given up on their friendship. In the horse barn, Rick introduced Tommy Boy to Starkey. Gwen slipped inside Tempest’s stall, stroking his sleek neck as he munched on the hay Loomis had given him when she’d returned. She leaned her forehead against him, smelling horse and hay, hearing Rick’s voice discuss horses in general and answering Tommy Boy’s rudimentary questions. Kevin and Terry threw a bale of hay down from the loft, and Gwen looked up to see Loomis watching her, catching a pained expression before she turned away.

Supper was served around the large wooden table, the benches easily able to hold the entire homestead and their guests. It was probably the first time since the plague that the entire table was occupied. Gwen responded to questions, but remained aloof as she watched the developing dynamics. The suspicious glare on Tommy Boy’s face had softened as his guard came down. Rick and Cara helped by slowly pulling him into their conversations. Emerita, Lucky and Heather chattered back and forth about children. The kids teased and bragged, their current mealtime game consisted of seeing who could make Franklin laugh so hard that milk spurted out his nose. Loomis and Gwen remained distant from the community and each other.

After the leftovers were put away and the cleanup completed, everyone gathered in the living room for the nightly reading. Gwen could tell that Tommy Boy thought this ritual was silly—right up until the time he became as engrossed as everyone else in the action of the book from which Loomis read. Even Franklin stared at her as she spoke. Gwen closed her eyes, focusing on Loomis’s voice. She could almost forget their argument that afternoon, and she entertained herself with their morning kiss.

Inevitably, story time ended. Gwen was drafted into helping make a pallet in the living area for Tommy Boy and Emerita. Loomis and Rick put the children to bed. For a change, Gwen and Loomis arrived in their room at the same time. They awkwardly circled each other as they located their nightclothes. Gwen was certain that if Tommy Boy’s family hadn’t been outside their door, Loomis would have immediately fled. Instead, they turned their backs to one another to dress, and Gwen burrowed into the bed, not commenting on the hesitant movement of Loomis following suit. Gwen listened to the faint rasp of paper, knowing Loomis had opened a book. For the longest time silence filled the room, interspersed with the gentle creaks and thumps of an old cabin standing stalwart against stormy winds. Gwen stared at the wall as she heard no pages turning. She envisioned Loomis staring blankly at the book, lost in her violent memories. This morning Gwen had imagined tonight so much differently. She’d hoped to get at least a couple of sweet buttery kisses, to hold Loomis as she fell asleep, to protect Loomis and feel safe herself. Now she could hardly relax, and knew Loomis wasn’t doing much better.

“I’m sorry, Marissa,” she whispered.

Only a faint gasp let her know she’d been heard. A long silence followed. One of the girls coughed overhead. She heard Tommy Boy’s voice urging Franklin to be still and go to sleep. A spatter of rain knocked on the small bedroom window. Gwen had about given up hope of response when Loomis answered.

“I know. I’m sorry, too.”

Gwen’s eyes closed in relief. She wanted to turn around, to hold Loomis, but remained still. Loomis reacted to emotional threat with avoidance. Maybe she would consider talking about their spat in the morning. Things always looked better in daylight than in darkness. “Good night.”

Another pause. “Pleasant journeys.”

With a sigh, Gwen relaxed, allowing the afternoon’s tension to finally drift away.

***

Gwen lay in silence, watching Loomis thrash in the throes of her nightmare. This was one of the worst she’d seen to date. She felt a measure of guilt, wondering if being busted poking her nose into Loomis’s business was the cause. Until now she’d been, if not content, then resigned to allow Loomis to work through the nightmare until she woke herself up. Maybe that was the wrong tactic. Rick’s ritualistic response suggested that no one had ever bothered to wake Loomis, to save her from the terrors of her memories. Sitting up, Gwen rose to her knees and put out a hesitant hand.
Where should I touch her?
Blocking a flailing arm might make Loomis think of being restrained; nudging her in the side could be considered an attack. Gwen nibbled her lower lip, finally settling her hand lightly on Loomis’s shoulder. She shook it gently, the movement hardly registering against the twisting Loomis. “Marissa.” There was no response except a guttural moan, and Gwen shook her harder. “Marissa, wake up.”

“No! Leave him alone! He’s got nothing to do with this!”

“Marissa!”

The combination of a hard shake and raised voice succeeded. “Back off. Get out!” Loomis shot out of bed, fighting off Gwen’s touch. She became aware of her surroundings as she panted in the center of the room, staring at Gwen.

“It’s okay, Loomis. You’re okay.” A light tap on the door made Gwen look away. At least he was consistent.

“Marissa?” Rick asked. “You okay?”

The habitual practice soothed the wildness from Loomis’s eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“All right. I’ll see you in a bit.”

As Rick’s footsteps shuffled away, Gwen sat back on her heels. “Come back to bed.”

Loomis ran a hand through her hair then dropped it to her face to rub her eyes. “No, I’ll be okay. I’ll just—”

“Just what? Wake up Tommy Boy and his family?” Gwen cocked her head. “That’s if they ain’t awake already.”

The reminder of their guests caused Loomis to frown. In Gwen’s experience Loomis had yet to go back to sleep after the nightmare. Having Tommy Boy and Emerita in the other room might be a blessing in disguise. “I won’t bite, I promise.”

Reluctance in every line of her body, Loomis shuffled back to the bed. Gwen lifted the covers and helped her climb beneath them. Her initial relief vanished at Loomis’s stiffness. Taking a deep breath, she refused to let her friend’s upset cow her. She reminded herself of their one kiss. Rather than lay without touching beside Loomis, she cuddled close, one hand gently stroking Loomis’s bicep. They lay in silence for several minutes before Loomis’s tension began to ease. As the rock-hard muscle beneath her fingers became more pliant, Gwen braced herself for the fight ahead. She didn’t speak until Loomis tentatively touched Gwen’s hand. “You’re safe.” Loomis’s fingers convulsed, and Gwen snagged them in a light hold. “You are safe. You’re with your family and friends and people who love you, Marissa. There’s nobody here to hurt you anymore.” She paused. “Riddick’s not here anymore.”

Loomis snatched her hand out of Gwen’s grasp, sliding away from her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Gwen’s first inclination was to reach out for Loomis. Right now the nightmares and memories were too close, and any physical conflict would result in a flashback. Gwen sat up. “That’s the problem, Marissa. That’s why you keep having the nightmares, why you don’t get more than a few hours of sleep a night unless you get drunk on that shit you picked up at Festival yesterday.”

Turning onto her side, Loomis presented her back to Gwen and didn’t answer.

“God, you’re stubborn,” Gwen whispered under her breath. She gritted her teeth, trying to think of an angle. “You’re not the only one that happened to, you know. I bet most girls our age have been raped.” Loomis shivered, tugging the blanket up hard around her shoulders. “Yeah. Raped. I was. I know how it feels, Marissa. I’ve been there too.” Loomis didn’t move, and Gwen lightly touched the tense shoulder, ignoring the flinch. “You have to talk about it.”

“No, I don’t.”

Gwen gripped Loomis’s shoulder. “You do, damn it. You’ve let that bastard ruin your life for the last five years. Why let it go on?”

Still no response. A flash of annoyance and fear rushed through Gwen as she debated pushing on or not. The right thing to do, the one that would guarantee her remaining a member of the Loomis household consisted of dropping the subject, letting the hot mess Marissa Loomis had become to continue. If it had been Weasel in a similar situation, Gwen would have dropped it already. She couldn’t do that here. Despite the threat of being evicted from a place she was beginning to think of as home, she had to try to get through. Loomis was pure, a good soul; she didn’t deserve this shit storm hanging over her head, day in and day out. “Yours happened in November, right? Mine was in October that year. I pissed Beau off, and he beat and tapped me in front of everybody. He let his friends bang me too. I almost died.” Gwen fought off the tears, angry at the sudden weakness. It had taken six days for the bleeding to stop. A six-year-old had saved her life by sneaking behind Beau’s back to help her, feed her, bring her water. She sniffled once, wiping her face with a sleeve of her nightshirt, and stared at the unmoving woman beside her. “The baby died.”

Loomis finally turned, staring over her shoulder at Gwen, horror on her face.

“That’s why he got mad. I told him I was pregnant.” Gwen laughed bitterly, wiping at her eyes. “He made sure that didn’t happen. And I made sure to leave him as soon as I could stay on my feet.”