Joe had tried to make a joke out of it, but the truth in what he said made the comment hang in the air instead of blowing away with a smile or chuckle. Hulbert stared at his empty cup. "You're right. We're not ready for slick lawyers and loopholes and technicalities. We need strength. The people are scared. Hell, we're all scared. We either give the guards what they need, or they're going to look for someone who can." He nodded toward a small cluster of men sitting at a table in a corner of the cafeteria. Those were the men who had stood next to Collins at the last meeting. "Each time one of the cooks says we're out of something new, that little group grows. One can of vegetables at a time. And Collins knows it. He's just biding his time. Waiting on our first emergency." "I read once that no country is more than three missed meals from a revolution." Jenny shrugged. "I guess we're talking truths. And it doesn't hurt to say out loud what everyone else is thinking." Hulbert reached across the table and patted her hand, then smiled at Andy. "Okay, we won't let them miss any meals." "How?" all three of them asked at the same time. "We already have exploratory expeditions going. They're doing the day-trips, gathering everything they find that might or might not be edible. Let me lead a few hunting parties that don't have to be back by nightfall. Give me three men, unlimited access to the armory and make my time my own. I've talked to the scouting parties. There is plenty of wild game out there. In a week's time, two at the most, I should be able to get us enough meat to run a month or so. After that I can keep us stocked through the winter." "Meat's not enough," Jenny said. "We need grains and vegetables. We've had a few people outside the walls looking, but they aren't bringing in enough. The last trip didn't net a bushel basket full." "I know, Jenny. I was there when they came in last night." He drummed his fingers on the table, looking at Collins' men. "I've spent two-thirds my adult life playing the weekend survivalist. I guess all those years of learning what's edible and what's not is about to pay off." His face lost all signs of emotion. "Let me get the protein, then I'll take a handful of people on foraging parties. From what little I saw while outside the walls, I think I could teach a small group of a dozen or so people to find tubers and other edible plants.
They wouldn't have to go far. It could be done with the same type of day trips we're doing now. I didn't recognize too many of the plants, but I did recognize a few general types. And they were high in carbs, vitamin A and E. I also saw a couple that should give us our calcium and plenty of C." She nodded. "Okay. That's good. But there is something else, and I hate to say it, but I'm going to. You guys have been great. But…" Jenny wasn't the type to be lost for words.
"Just say it," Andy said. "I don't think the four of us can worry about what's politically correct. At least not for right now."
"Actually, that's the problem. We do have to worry about it. And we have to worry about it now. Not later. Rod wants to take threemen with him. Not three experienced hunters. We can't fall into that trap. When the work gets divided up into men's work and women's work, we lose. We have to keep things focused on experience and who's good at what.
Gender and color has to stay out of it. Otherwise we're dead in the water. When the hunters come back, if a woman provided part of the food, women retain their value." She wasn't pleading, but her voice had an edge. "People respect strength and brains. But if women aren't given a chance to show off the things they know and the strength of character they have, then they lose it. We all lose when women become pets to be cared for. And later, to be kicked." Hulbert shrugged.
"Okay, you're probably right. I know quite a few guys I wouldn't trust not to mistake me for a buck, even if I was wearing hunter orange, which I won't be. But no tokens. That's almost as bad as not allowing a minority to participate. Stories about screw-ups get around even faster than those about successes. And they're never forgotten. If there's a woman on grounds whowants to go, and has the experience, real experience, I'll take her." Jenny grinned. "That's not a problem.
Her name is Marie Keehn. She's no token. She's a fisherperson and hunter from way back. Took her first bear up in Canada when she was fifteen. She showed me a picture of it. She also told a story. A little tacky for mixed company, but what the hell." Jenny dropped her voice and leaned closer to the men. "Marie and her family were up in Canada, hunting. They hadn't been able to find anything their entire trip and it was their last day. She had started her period that morning and her father's rules were, if she was bleeding, she couldn't hunt. The smell, which humans wouldn't even notice, would attract any wild animals in the area. Well, she was young. So, she decided not to tell anyone. She went to her bear stand; her brothers went to theirs.
It turned out, her father was apparently right. Her period did seem to attract the local wildlife. She was the only one who took a bear that trip and she's never told any of them about hersecret bait. " Hulbert was laughing so hard he spilled the last of his coffee. "My God! I'm in love! I want to meet this woman." "I'll tell her to come see you."
"You wouldn't happen to know when she's supposed to come around again, would you?" Jenny stood up to leave. "Ask her yourself." Andy jogged to catch up with her. "I think you made Hulbert's day." "I'm glad someone's happy." She slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze.
"What I'm going to tell you won't be so good, Andy." "It never is." He rubbed the top of his head, applying as much pressure as he could along the temple areas and across the top. "Another headache?" "Yeah."
She handed him a small white envelope filled with aspirins. "I figured you would be running low by now. Some of your headaches are caused from tension. But I'm betting some of them aren't. You're off all sugars now. And your caffeine intake has dropped to one cup of coffee a day. Caffeine and sugar are both addicting. And withdrawals from them include headaches." She gave his hand another small squeeze. "If you feel irritable, exhausted or develop diarrhea, don't be surprised." "At this point in my life, nothing can surprise me. Now, what's your bad news?" "We're going to lose about one hundred prisoners within the next month or two." "What?"Andy stopped walking and stared at her. "That can't be right." "A little over one hundred of our prisoners have health problems that will cause them to die within the next month or two if left untreated. And I don't have the means of treating them. I've run out of their meds." Jenny pulled her hand from his and started walking again. He followed a half step behind her. "One hundred," he whispered. He had known this was coming, he just hadn't realized how many were going to die. "Yes. But the numbers are actually worse than that. Over the next year, maybe two, we will lose five hundred. Diabetes, high blood pressure, kidney failure, heart failure, transplant rejection, and liver failure are going to cause us to lose about half of them pretty fast. My guess is at least seventy within the next two weeks. Another thirty the following two weeks. Tuberculosis and hepatitis will kill the others within the next year, maybe two. Then things will slow down a little.
But over the next five years, we will lose our inmates with AIDS. The grand total when we're done will actually be close to one thousand."
She slowed her pace, giving them a little more time to talk before reaching the infirmary. "This is not an estimate. I've been going through their medical records. Speaking of which, we should suspend those rules. At least you and Joe and Rod should start looking through the convicts' records. Sooner or later, you're going to need to start paroling some of the prisoners. You'll need to know everything you can about them." Andy set aside her last suggestion. She was right, but that could wait. It was her medical numbers he needed to digest. One hundred prisoners would be dead within two months, five hundred within two years, and a thousand within five years. That was just under half the inmate population. The horror of that was followed by quiet panic.
"What about the guards? How many of them are going to die?" "Relax. It won't be nearly as many. Most of them are healthy. Healthier, in fact, than the American population as a whole. They're younger, on average, and they have to take a screening physical to get the job. Prisoners, on the other hand, are far unhealthier than most people, especially the kind of prisoners you get in maximum security facilities. There are a lot of reasons for that. Some of it is simply because they generally come from poor backgrounds, and 'poor' and 'unhealthy' are almost synonyms. But some of it is more personal. They run more heavily toward addictions than most people, and addicts are almost always unhealthy. And even if they aren't addicted to anything, as such, they usually come from dysfunctional families and don't have much in the way of self-discipline. Their diet is likely to have been as bad as you could ask for since they were infants." She shrugged.
"But, whatever the reasons for it, the fact remains that the health of many prisoners is really lousy. As for the C.O.'s, we have a few on blood pressure meds, a couple on heart meds, one on insulin. They may have other medical problems I don't know about, of course. Unless they come to me asking for help, I have no way of knowing." He nodded.
"What are we going to do with all the bodies? We can't possibly bury them." "No." Her tone was flat, almost emotionless. "We couldn't. We don't have the manpower. We'll have to burn them. Preferably on raised platforms because of the smoke and the odor." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if blotting out a memory. "I've seen this before, Andy. If we screw it up, we're going to be in real trouble. We can't afford an epidemic on top of everything else." Real trouble?
Seen it before-epidemic? Andy had wondered more than once about Jenny's past. The nurses at the prison were good at their job. And they had nerves of steel or they didn't stay. But even so, Jenny wasn't a typical prison nurse. She was one least a cut above the average. What she knew, how she carried herself, the way she stayed one step ahead of everything, none of it was typical. And the control she kept on her emotions was unbelievable. He had seen her cry several times over the last few days, but her tears didn't cause her to lose control. She would be crying one minute, giving orders the next.
Medical was the best-run department in the prison and she hadn't been there long enough to draw so much as one paycheck. All three nurses plus their guard had sleeping areas. They had work schedules with a priority listing that let them get things done that used to take eight people. "There are a couple of things you need to know. I took Woeltje off tower duty, permanently. That knee of his is pretty bad. He was wearing a brace when the Quiver hit, so that helps. But he is to do zero stairs from today on. You also have to take into consideration how far he has to walk each time you assign him. And he can't be posted someplace that requires standing for long periods. He has to be able to stand, sit, and even prop that leg up on a regular schedule."
Andy nodded, then braced himself. Jenny might be unusual in a lot of ways, but she was also predictable. She always saved the worst for last. Always. "We've admitted Kathleen to the infirmary. She's on complete bed rest. I'm going to induce labor if the baby doesn't move in the next twenty-four hours." "Why?" "It hasn't moved much since the Quiver came. And it should have. I'm still getting a heartbeat, but it's weak and irregular." She shrugged, and he could tell she was working at keeping her voice steady. "This close to being born, the baby needs to be moving on a regular basis, and its been twenty-four hours since…" Andy's headache went from a dull throb to a knife cutting, anvil pounder. He had to close his own eyes. "You need a shoulder?" she asked. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." She hugged him and laid her head against his chest for a moment before walking into the infirmary.
But this time, instead of tears, he thought he felt a soft kiss.
Chapter 12 "Hulbert's hunting party left a little before sunup,"
Lieutenant Joe Schuler said. "The first of the methane toilets are now online, so we'll find out soon enough if they work. The construction of the first greenhouse will be finished sometime today, and we now have a working well. It's only nineteen feet deep, but it's good water." Andy nodded. He already knew. He had heard the shouts the second the work crew hit it. If he hadn't known what they were digging for, he would have sworn they'd struck oil. The way they laughed and shouted reminded him of some of the late night movies he had watched with his grandfather. He had been ten years old and his grandmother had passed away, and his grandfather-it turned out to be his last summer-had reluctantly moved into the spare room in the basement.
Every Friday night the two of them had sat on the lumpy green couch the old man had insisted on bringing with him, drinking soda, munching chips and staring at an old black and white television. Twice that summer the two of them had stayed up past midnight in order to watchGiant. He could still close his eyes and see James Dean covered in Texas' black gold, shouting to the heavens. "We will be finished with the inmate relocations sometime today," Joe continued. "When that is done, we'll start the cleaning. And then we'll be able to start assigning permanent sleeping areas for the staff. And you can tell Jenny I've got the solar showers hung. People can start showering again." Joe stopped his report when he realized Andy wasn't listening.
"Is something wrong?" "I hope not," Andy answered. He looked at the door to medical then asked, "Did you hear about the east wall, and the-God, I can hardly say the word-the dinosaur?" "It didn't get in, though. All it was doing was scratching itself." "This time. And I don't care if Jeff says it wasn't a meat-eater. The damn thing washuge. " Joe Schuler nodded. Everyone knew they had been lucky. No one had been outside when the creature showed up, and the wall had held. Andy's face was grim. "I can't turn them out. If a pterodactyl flies overhead and takes a dump, coating the entire exercise yard, it doesn't matter. And it doesn't matter if a dinosaur scratches his ass on the east wall. But if something else shows up, like a tyrannosaurus… I can't turn the prisoners out." "I know, Andy.
Besides that, if we're here, there could be other people. And it would be morally wrong to release some of these guys until we know for sure.
You have to wait." Andy scanned the interior of the prison, then shrugged. "I don't believe ten percent of them would last more than twenty-four hours on the outside, in any event. We have men who've been inside these walls for over forty years. Over fifty years, in a few cases. If they couldn't make it when things were organized and easy, they aren't going to survive when one screw-up means you don't eat, or you get eaten." "Hey, Andy, I know that. So does everyone else. We're protecting whoever else might be living in this timeline, and we're protecting the prisoners from themselves and…" he shrugged. "None of the prisoners or the C.O.'s are talking about leaving. They're all scared. No one thinks surviving outside the walls is an option. Not right now, for sure." "Do you know what killed Greg Lowry?" "I heard he had a bad heart and it gave out because of the Quiver." Andy shook his head. "No. Aliens killed him! He died because he was afraid some frigging alien was going to jump out of the wall at us." Confused, Joe shook his head. "That's crazy." "Yeah, well, that's what killed him. And if we aren't careful we're all going to die because of aliens or God knows what." "We'll do okay, at least for a while. Most of what's crawling around out there seems content to leave us alone." "Joe, I'm not talking about tomorrow. I'm talking about next year, or the year after, or twenty years from now. We have to look ahead to the point when the prisoners are out of their cells and we are living outside these walls. We are going to have to farm and hunt and build factories. And do it in a way some God-awful creature the size of a blue whale doesn't knock it all down. And none of it can be done with over two thousand men in chains. "And the water, we have a well, but how long till it runs dry? We need something more reliable. We need a river." "Hey, Cap, maybe you should…" "I'm sorry, Joe." Andy Blacklock clenched and unclenched his hands, stretching his fingers out then curling them tight. "Today isn't a good day." He gave the second lieutenant a phony smile. "Kathleen Hanrahan is in having her baby." "Oh." Joe gave Andy's shoulder a squeeze, then walked away as fast as he could without actually breaking into a jog. He had heard that the kid was probably dead.
Everyone had heard that. "Kathleen, wait. Don't push, not yet."
Jenny wiped the woman's face with a cool cloth. "I don't understand this. I've had three babies. None of them were this hard to bring.
None of them. Each baby is supposed to get easier." The woman's water had broken and she had been in hard labor for over fourteen hours. She was exhausted, close to the breaking point. She was also terrified that the reason she was having such a hard time was because something had gone wrong with the baby. "You are a lot older than you were back then. Your muscles have been stretched and pulled by those other births. They don't ever go all the way back. Just relax and don't worry. It won't be much longer now. The last time I checked, you were dilated to an eight." She flashed the woman a smile. "When you hit the magic number ten, the baby will be here." "I know, but I just can't."
Another contraction came, arching her back and causing her to moan. "I can't," she sobbed. "Relax," Jenny said to the woman and moved to the "catcher's position." Barbara replaced her near the woman's head. She took one of one of Kathleen's hands; Lylah took the other. Jenny made a quick check then smiled. "Magic time, Kathleen. You're ready." She motioned for Barbara to join her at the foot of the examining table.
"Okay, Kathleen, you have to relax and work with the baby. The baby needs you to help it be born. Do you understand?" Kathleen nodded. The contraction had ended. For the moment she could concentrate. "I want you to take a few deep breaths. Come on. You need to oxygenate your blood, and the baby's. Come on, breathe." Kathleen did as she was told. She took deep breath after deep breath. A new contraction was coming. Jenny could feel the woman begin to tense up. She started rubbing her legs, pressing on the flesh as hard as she could without causing pain. "Kathleen, it's a wave. Feel the wave. Ride it. Up. Up.
That's it, ride the wave to the peak." She could feel the contraction through the woman's skin. "That's it, it's peaking. Push. Push. That's it. It's plateauing. Good. Stay with it. Now. Feel it. Stop pushing.
Relax. It's coming down. Down. You can take this. Ride the wave down."
Kathleen relaxed. The contraction was still there, but she was on the back half of it. She could relax. She could do it. "How many more?"
Jenny's eyes had never left the woman's pubis. The baby had crowned.
"One, maybe two more. Then you're done with the hard part." Kathleen nodded, then said, "Another one's coming." Jenny concentrated on the baby, her heart in her throat. The infant's hair was plastered to its scalp. Black hair streaked with blood. A thin dusting of white. The baby moved forward a centimeter. "Push, Kathleen. Push!" Another centimeter. The contraction peaked. "Push!" The baby's head was free.
Quickly she worked her fingers around its neck. No cord. Thank you, God. She could see the baby's pulse beating in the top of its head. It was regular and strong. Maybe we're going to be lucky. "Kathleen, don't push. Wait for the contraction." They waited. Twenty seconds, thirty, the contraction began. Another twenty seconds, thirty, and the baby was free. As the umbilical cord prolapsed, Jenny suctioned the baby's nose and throat with a new ear syringe she had found inside the med room. He was gray and chilling quickly, but his heart beat within his thin little chest. "Please," she whispered.
"Please… breathe!" The baby jerked in her hands, gave a small choking sound, took a breath of air and then whimpered. It was such a small sound, but it could be heard by everyone in the room. The three nurses had been holding their breath. Barbara and Lylah's tears were flowing as fast as Kathleen's. Jenny fought to keep from joining them.
She lost the battle and gave a soft sob. "My poor baby." Kathleen reached for the newborn. Jenny wrapped a heated bath towel around the infant, gave the child a quick hug, then handed him to his mother.
"Congratulations, Mom." she said. "You have a beautiful, healthy son.
What are you going to name him?" Kathleen's tears came harder. "I don't know. He was supposed to be called Samuel Ray. He wasn't going to be named for anyone. We had done that with the older boys. It was just a name from a baby book that we liked. It sounded good. But now, I don't know if that's good enough." She gazed at the baby and wiped her eyes. "I think his name is too important to have picked it from a book." Jenny patted the woman's leg. "You don't have to decide today.
You have time."
Chapter 13 Stephen McQuade didn't expect the rifle butt slammed into his lower back. He fell to his knees, gasping in pain. He'd been floating in and out of consciousness for hours. Maybe days. It was hard for him to decide. He had been beaten too many times to be sure of anything. But the beatings were the easy part. The hard part was the fear. The knowing what was next. After each beating he'd had been tied to a tree and was able to watch one Indian after another tortured then killed. He assumed they were Indians, anyway, although he didn't recognize their language or their manner of dress and personal decoration. They certainly weren't Cherokee or any other of the southern tribes he was familiar with. He did recognize the language spoke by their captors. They were Spaniards. He couldn't speak or understand Spanish, beyond a few words, but he knew the sound of the language. These men could be nothing else. They were brutal beyond belief. Not even the worst sort of Georgia militiamen would have been this savage. First they'd torture and eventually murder the children, so their parents could see them die. Then, apparently not getting the information they demanded, they started on the women. That was just as slow and even more degrading. Finally, the men. One at a time. Hour after hour. Hands pulled him to his feet, then a moment later he was back on the ground gasping, bleeding from a blow to the back of his head. Kicks were coming from all directions; he closed his eyes in an attempt to protect his vision as his head and body were pounded.
Someone ground the heel of his boot onto McQuade's left ankle. His hands were tied behind his back, so he couldn't fight back. Stephen curled his legs towards his chest, protecting himself the best he could. Someone kicked him in the groin. The world faded to gray. The beating continued. Stopped. Then continued. His nose broke and his sinuses closed. He had to breathe through his mouth: His lips were split and some of his teeth were gone. The pain was too much for him to know how many. Hands grabbed at his hair, dragging him through the dirt and over the bodies of those already dead. The pain was everything. There was nothing else. A voice came from somewhere. He thought that was the man the others called de Soto. He was demanding something. Stephen tried to answer, but it hurt too much to open his mouth. He wondered if his jaw was broken, then decided it didn't really matter. Someone grabbed the leather that bound his hands behind his back and jerked him to his feet. His shoulders screamed. One of the soldiers wearing chain mail, leg armor, boots and a steel helmet, stepped in front of him. The man aimed his ancient-looking gun at McQuade and fired. The flesh of his right side tore and burned, and the impact knocked him down. He tried to crawl away. The Spaniard standing to the left of the man with the matchlock reached out with a wood-handled halberd and hooked Stephen's left hip, dragging him back to the center of the small crowd. The one called de Soto placed a booted foot on Stephen's stomach while the Spaniard with the halberd wrenched its metal tip from where it was buried in bone and muscle.
That finally brought blessed unconsciousness. Stephen woke to the sound of silence. He forced himself to roll to his side; stopped as the nausea washed over him, then slowly turned his head so he could catch a glimpse with his right eye, which was the one not swollen completely shut. There were no Spaniards, and no Indian corpses. There were footprints and animal tracks. Strange tracks from strange creatures. He tried to think through what he was seeing, but it was too much for now. He was alive. And the cave he'd passed the night in was not far from where he lay. He forced himself to get up, as difficult as that was. He needed to walk. He knew he would die. There was no way to survive his injuries, even if his hands weren't tied behind his back. But if he stayed out in the open, the dried blood on him would surely attract one of the strange creatures he had seen. The cave would be a much better place to end his life. Lieutenant Rod Hulbert's small band of hunters had been out since before daybreak and was starting to tire. They had already taken a buffalo of some kind and what he thought was a ground sloth and were headed back to the prison with more meat than they could comfortably carry. Hunting was going to be even better than he hoped. He nodded to himself and swatted at one of the strange insects flying in circles around his head. On their next foray he would take a larger party with him. That way, carrying their kill wouldn't be quite so hard. As heavily loaded as they were, he guessed they wouldn't get home until sunset tomorrow.
Then he grinned when he realized he already thought of the cement and razor wired structure as home. He called a halt, and the four of them dropped their bundles and stretched out in the grass. They still had four hours of daylight left. They could afford a short break; two hours more of walking, and then they could make camp for the night.
Their prey had been boned-out on site, which made carrying the creatures a lot easier. Marie carried at least sixty pounds of the meat, and each of the men was loaded down with still more. Carrying the meat bundles plus their regular gear was hot, hard work that the insects hadn't made any easier. "We'll take twenty," he said. The four of them lay in the grass for almost five minutes without talking. They were tired. It was Jerry Bailey who broke the silence. He sat up and waved toward the small rise to the new north. "You guys go ahead and take a break. I keep hearing something that sounds like water. I wanna take a peek." "All right," Hulbert said. He had heard the noise and guessed it to be a small creek. "But no more than five minutes out.
And keep your whistle in your mouth." Bailey stood up and stretched.
"Be back," he said. Rod watched him go, suppressing a grin. Bailey was a hell of a hunter. It had surprised him. The soft-spoken guard hadn't struck him as much of an outdoorsman. But he was. As a matter of fact, so was Brian Carmichael. And Marie Keehn turned out to be worth more than both of them combined. The four of them had worked well together.