Page 65 of Protecting the Flame

Chapter 6

“They look pretty normal,”Emma said into her handset. “One pupil’s not bigger than the other.”

“Will,” Rachel called, “I feel fine. Well, except for the headache.”

Will came back through a crackle of static. “We’ll give you something for the headache, but I need Emma to finish checking you out. More importantly, how’s the baby? Is it moving?”

“Oh, yeah.” Now sitting, Rachel put a hand to her belly. “Kicking to beat the band.”

“He’s probably hungry,” Mattie said.

“I know I am,” said Rachel.

“Then, let’s get some food into you, but I want you to go slow. What you need right now are hot fluids and plenty of them. You have a couple packets of broth tonight and maybe some crackers…Emma, do we have any crackers?”

“They were in the MRE we opened,” she said.

“Then broth and crackers first and, if you keep that down, Rachel, I don’t see why you shouldn’t eat as much as you want. Well, can,” he amended. “Our rations are pretty tight. But we saw that drone, so…” He opted for an upbeat note. “It won’t be much longer.”

She felt Mattie’s eyes and gave the girl a little shake of warning. Not now.

“Is…” Rachel raised a timid hand like a kid worried about giving the wrong answer. “Is Scott there? Can I speak to him?”

Emma thought that pause went on a beat too long. “Sure, he went to have a smoke, but let me get him. Hang on.”

Figures. Leaving the handset with Rachel, Emma moved to the front of the shelter, lifted a small corner of their plastic sheeting to allow for ventilation, and lit Will’s small canister stove. The guy’s wife wakes up, and he wanders off to have a smoke. But she was being unfair. That might be the way Scott handled stress. Dumping a packet of chicken broth into their pot, she followed with what was left in her water bottle and stirred, listening with half an ear to one end of what sounded like a pretty stilted conversation: lots of uh-huhs and okays.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Scott?” Rachel asked. “You don’t sound good.”

“Well, you know…hungry. Tired.” Scott coughed. “I’d be out of smokes if I hadn’t got that pack off of Burke.”

The guy was really such a dick. “Soup’s on, Rachel,” she said. “Get it while it’s hot.”

Rachel held up a finger: one second. “I’ve got to go, Scott. See you tomorrow. Let me talk to Will one more time, okay?” When Will came on, Rachel said, “Can I please take this thing off my neck?” Inserting a finger over the top of the SAM still wrapped around her throat, Rachel gave the splint a little tug. “My neck is fine, and it’s really kind of itchy.”

“Sure. You don’t know how relieved I am you’re awake. See you tomorrow,” Will said and cut the connection.

“Makes at least three of us,” Emma said, and then thought she was being mean. Scott might not be one of those expansive type of guys, the kind who showered a woman with little things like, oh, I love you and I was so worried. She held out a mug of broth. “Trade you for the handset. Mattie, you want to get some crackers and peanut butter for your mom?” Bending, she scooped up the pocket watch and chain with its fob and keys where Mattie had left them, dropped them into a pocket then held up her empty water bottle. “I’m going to go out and fill this up with some snow.”

Once she was outside, she moved away from the entrance, took out the handset, and touched off their prearranged signal: break-break-break. A few moments later, Will was back. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

A lot of things, actually, and some were contradictory. She could feel the war inside herself between wanting to believe that the drone meant something good versus a darker suspicion that it was not. “If we stay, I have a couple ideas about getting food. One is that I leave and go find game and bring it back.”

“I hate that idea, and we shouldn’t split up. Next.” He listened and then said exactly what she’d thought he would. “You can’t be serious. Are you nuts?”

“No, I’m being practical. Will, we have to do something. Mattie’s right. That drone is just too damned weird and, I swear to God, I think Hunter knows something he’s not saying or is too scared to say. I don’t know which it is, and it doesn’t matter. Plus, we will have no food at all by the day after tomorrow unless you want to try your luck shooting a wolf.” She’d actually not thought about that until this second.

“Well, Liam Neeson did it.”

“In a movie.” As she recalled, the characters complained that wolf tasted terrible. “But calories are calories.”

“Uh-huh. And for bait, you would use…?”

“I’m thinking…” She pulled in a long breath. “It’s something you’re not going to like.”

“Hit me.” She did, and he said, “You’re right. I don’t like it.”

“But it would work, Will.” Boy, what did it say about her that she’d thoughtof it in the first place? This was like something out of the Ukrainian famine way back in the thirties when parents roasted their children or one of those apocalyptic survivalist novels, the ones where the power grids crash, and people start thinking about which juicy little kid they’ll barbecue next. This wouldn’t be quite so bad. Would it? “Besides, I’m not suggesting we use him. We use his clothes. They’re in tatters to begin with, they’re soaked in blood, and it’s not as if we have any use for them.”

---