The McClane Apocalypse Book Three (63 page)

"What are you talking about? If you think
it's a disease, then tell me so that I can research it and treat
it," she argues.

Sue can hear her pacing back and forth in
their grandfather's study. Her nervous energy has been at an
all-time high lately.

Their grandfather tries to explain, "It's
not a disease. It's not a known or proven illness. There's no cure
and no scientific evidence of one or that it even exists…"

"What the hell is it? Could it be a
new…"

"Heartbreak, honey. You have a broken heart,
Reagan," he tells her simply.

Reagan makes a gagging, retching and
generally obnoxious sound.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she comments with
fury.

"Look, you and I are different, have always
been different than most people."

"Of course I know that! I've kind of been a
misfit my whole life, Grandpa," she says with unconcealed
disgust.

"I know you know. We've both always known,
but I never knew how to help you with it because I never knew how
to help myself, either. We just don't process experiences the same
as other people. We don't deal with things the same way. We don't
think about situations like most people do. Our minds are
scientific, and we see things in what we can and cannot fix. We
research. We study. We read and what we don't do is interact well
with others. I see so much of myself in you sometimes that it
scares me. And I almost lost your grandmother for the same reasons
that you're about to lose John. You just love him, honey, and
there's nothing wrong with that."

"Damn it, Grandpa! I'd expect this kind of
bullshit from Hannie… or Grams even but not you," Reagan spouts off
nastily.

Sue would like to pummel her for being crass
with their grandfather. Her grandfather, however, has learned not
to take a whole lot of Reagan's shit over the years and comes right
back on her.

"Well, you can think it's bullshit all you
want, young lady. But I'm not the one who feels sick, am I? Think
about when your symptoms started. I'd just bet they started about
two weeks ago? I'd say that John was a whole lot more patient than
anyone could expect, Reagan. And he loves you and that's not
something that is going to be easy to find anymore. Just think
about that. Now, get out of my office because I have something I
need to actually devote my time to and not your silly, made up
sickness that you can't fix," Grandpa says harshly.

Reagan comes out, slamming his door. She
catches Sue in the hall and gives her one of her signature mean
looks and stomps off in an unresolved, angry sulk. Sue wishes she
could go to Reagan and talk with her, but she knows for certain
that she'll be shut down, shut out.

Instead of dealing with her sister, Sue
decides to join her children for some outdoor play and to check on
the winter lettuces in the greenhouse. The atmosphere of the house
has become downright depressing since John left, and she feels that
being around her kids and getting some fresh air might help lift
her spirits. Anything would be better than what it's been like. She
hasn't even had the nerve to tell everyone that she's pregnant
again because the mood has been so morose lately. Only she and
Derek know, and her husband is over the moon and planning on adding
another room to their cabin that isn't even finished yet. He'd just
laughed and kissed her and told her that everything would be just
fine and, of course, she'd believed him because when she is in his
arms everything always is.

"Hold on, Jake. It's coming, bud," John says
as he stokes the fire in the wood-burning stove in the small
sitting area off of the kitchen. This is also where he does the
majority of their cooking since this place doesn't have electricity
anymore which voids the use of the electric stove.

Jacob's squawking and wanting his morning
bottle, but John is working on heating the house first before he
can heat the baby's milk. There is an older model refrigerator on
the back porch where he keeps things cold since it's the middle of
winter. He's definitely got to get the electricity back up and
running before the weather turns too warm to use the non-working
outdoor fridge. The kitchen has cold tile flooring which is not
exactly easy on the feet first thing in the morning. But usually
within an hour he can get the whole house heated to a toasty
warm.

"Dadda, up" Jake spouts.

He pries at the leg of John's jeans. It
makes him chuckle.

"Ok, buddy. You want up? Come on up. You can
watch daddy get our breakfast, ok?" John says and picks up the
little tyke. Jacob clings onto him like a baby chimpanzee. Luckily,
John is getting fairly adept at doing things one-handed because
Jake likes being "up" all the time. It seems to be his new favorite
word.

Although he never really gave any thought to
being someone's dad someday, John finds the role comforting and
even grounding in a way. Having another human being on this earth
relying solely on just him for their survival is a burden like he's
never felt before, not even in all of his years in the Army. But
it's also the most rewarding role he's ever filled in his life. He
had just been hoping to share in that role with Reagan.

They've adjusted pretty well to their new
living arrangements on the Johnson farm, and he and Jake share a
bed upstairs in the master bedroom which is sparsely appointed to
say the least. He's planning on retrieving the crib from Reagan's
bedroom on his next visit so that he can avoid the squirming elbows
and knees of his constant companion, at least while he sleeps. This
house is nothing like living at the McClane spread, but at least he
doesn't have to see her anymore.

They use oil lamps at night to see their way
around, but it's usually fine because it's just him and Jake. He
plays the guitar for the baby before bed or reads books to him.
Kelly and Hannah came three days ago to visit, but being around her
had just reminded John of Reagan and how different they are. Being
around their newfound marital bliss was also like taking a
bullet.

One major inconvenience is not having hot
water or even running water. He has to go down the short hill
behind the farmhouse to the Johnson's spring-house to collect
buckets of cold water in the damp, stone basement of the building.
Then he heats water in metal buckets on the stove-top that he pours
into the first floor bathroom's claw-foot tub for himself and
Jacob. It's time consuming, but it works just the same. In the
spring John plans to add the solar paneling to the roof so that
they can have hot running water and electricity and minor
conveniences. He's even been chopping firewood outside when Jake
goes down for his naps. Sometimes if the weather isn't too bad,
like today, he bundles him and lets him sit on the porch with some
toys while he splits the firewood in the yard close to the
house.

He stays busy. Mostly he just tries to stay
busy. Because when he's busy he doesn't have to think about her or
think about the heady, sweet scent of her or her curly hair or her
curves or her rare smiles or the way she feels under his hands. And
he definitely doesn't have to dwell on the soft, delicate sounds
and whispers and moans that she elicited when he made love to her.
Or the sassy sway of her slim hips when she walked. Or how easily
he had picked her up and made love to her against the wall of the
barn on the night of Hannah and Kelly's wedding. Or the
inexperienced and sometimes too rough way that she caressed him. To
say her passion was most times unbridled was the understatement of
the century. He'd never been with a woman as passionate as
Reagan.

After a breakfast of fresh eggs and sausage
thanks to the kindness of Grams who'd sent the new supplies with
Hannah and Kelly, John bundles Jacob in his winter clothing and
takes him to the front porch where he spreads out his toys on a
thick blanket. Tennessee winters sure as heck are a lot milder than
anything he'd ever experienced growing up in Colorado. Then again,
Doc said that he thinks it's unseasonably milder this year because
of the environmental changes in the atmosphere from the global
nuclear warfare, earthquakes and tsunamis. He said that the weather
patterns could change substantially in the next few years, but
Doc's hoping against it because it could upset their crop seasons.
John had concurred. They are all surviving this so far and the last
thing they need is to lose crops.

The thermometer points to fifty-four
degrees, perfect weather for chopping wood. The sun is warm and it
feels like it's going to warm up even further as the day goes on.
John leaves his coat on the porch with Jacob and just wears his
thermal undershirt with a flannel shirt over top, along with his
tattered, faded jeans. After a half an hour, of splitting wood,
John ditches even the flannel shirt and goes with just the
cream-colored thermal that he pushes up to his elbows. They could
easily have three to four months of cold weather still to go, and
he and Jake might need this wood for their survival. He can't just
drive over to the McClane farm to bum firewood. The family may also
need everything that the men had spent last summer chopping.

The low purr of an engine alerts John, and
he momentarily stops to stick the ax into the massive, thick log on
which he's using to chop the smaller logs. His M16 is only a foot
away, leaning against the railing of the stairs going up to the
porch.

A minute later, Doc McClane's SUV pulls
slowly down his drive and comes to a stop. He can't see the driver
because of the glare on the windshield, but when the door opens,
it's her. She's thinner than normal which isn't good. Reagan isn't
the kind of person who can afford to miss a few calories or any.
She approaches him slowly, and John has that same punch to the gut
he experiences every time he sees her, every time he's seen her
since that first time. She's wearing dirty jeans, her ugly, stupid
Converse—the red ones from the city—and a black hoodie. Upon closer
inspection, John notices that it's his hoodie that she wears, the
one he'd loaned her on their return trip from the city. He had
wondered where it had disappeared to but just figured that it got
lost in the laundry shuffle at the farm. The bright yellow ARMY
letters had never looked half as good stretched across his chest as
they do on hers. Her hair is a wreck and there are dark circles
under her eyes. She stops when she's about fifteen or so feet from
him. She looks completely harried, worried and anxiety-ridden.

"What's wrong? Is everyone ok?" John asks
her, and she doesn't immediately respond but frowns hard and looks
away, looks at the house, at Jacob, at him briefly. She shakes her
head and sniffs. "Reagan? Is everyone ok? Has something happened?"
Now she's scaring John as he steps tentatively closer.

Reagan shakes her head, looking at her
feet.

"What are you doing here? Is everything at
the farm…"

"It hurts," she says finally.

Her voice croaks and sounds raw. John steps
closer again.

"You're hurt? Where? What happened?" John
asks with worry. Reagan shakes her head again as she looks up at
him. She puts her hand on her chest and nods.

"It hurts here. I thought I was sick,"
Reagan says.

John feels instantly nauseous. Is she sick
with that pneumonic plague crap? He knew she shouldn't have been
allowed to take care of those sick people!

"Did your grandfather look at you? Is it…"
he asks with genuine concern and steps closer until he's within a
few feet of her. Her eyes are also bloodshot. She's very pale. She
does look sick.

"No, you don't understand," she says with
exasperation as if he's being stupid. "It hurts because you left.
You left and you took Jacob with you."

Realization is finally setting in and when
he looks closer, there are tears streaming down her soft cheeks. He
hangs his head, feeling like a piece of dirt. It takes a moment,
but he looks up at her again.

"I'm sorry if this arrangement hurts you.
That wasn't my intention, Reagan," he explains on a frown and
places one hand on his hip. It's better than reaching for her,
which he'd like most to do.

"I want you to come back…" she demands
almost petulantly.

He shakes his head and frowns harder, "I'm
sorry, but that isn't going to happen. I can't keep doing things
like we were." If she says it again so pathetically and pleadingly,
then John's afraid he will buckle and pack up for the farm in a
heartbeat. He can't stand this situation, either.

"I don't want us to," she says.

Johns head snaps up quizzically.

"I… I don't… shit, this is hard. This is so
hard for me. You don't understand. You're asking me to believe in
something I didn't think was real, like the damn tooth fairy or
something."

"I don't want you to change for me, Reagan.
That wouldn't be…"

"Shh! Just shut up and let me talk," she
says with an impatient sniff.

John almost laughs but decides not to so
that she doesn't stop talking.

"Look, I've never really fit in with other
people or the way people thought. My brain just doesn't work like
that. I like doing stuff that's… different like dissections,
surgeries and yes, studying my gross books—as you like to call
them. I didn't have friends growing up, only one in college who was
murdered and no, I never had a boyfriend. And after… after…," she
takes a deep breath. Her fingers go to her throat which she clears
loudly. "After that night at my school, I didn't think I could ever
stand anyone to touch me again or even be close to me. I'm so
fucked up and broken. I know this. I know that nobody thinks I know
this about myself, but I do. How can I not? I'm a freagin' doctor.
Of course I know!"

Her face is tormented and beautiful, and
John has to resist the urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her
and make everything right in her world again. But, from experience,
he knows that doesn't work with Reagan. He'd tried. He'd already
tried this approach, and it had failed miserably.