Page 49 of Come Fill Me

“What’s the matter with him?” Carreon asked Munez. “Can he hear me? Does he know what’s happening?”

“All too well.”

Carreon straightened and got in the old man’s face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Munez regarded Anthony with what seemed to be guilt or sorrow, the look a physician reserves for a terminally ill patient. “Portions of his brain died from the trauma. They’re beyond simple healing. He’s retained enough function to know what’s going on around him but not to be autonomous. It’s this state I wanted to spare him from.”

More tears ran down Anthony’s face. He continued to struggle to speak and to move, lifting his hands a bit only to have them flop uselessly at his sides. Next, he tried to control his feet. They jerked to the right then to the left in clonic, aimless motions seen in those who suffer from Parkinson’s or Alzheimer’s.

Anthony was only twenty-three, an important part of Carreon’s service. Useless to him now. “What about Oscar?” he asked. “Heal him.”

The doctor argued, “It won’t do any good. The result will be exactly the same.”

“Prove it.”

“No. I have no desire to torture the man, even if he deserves it.”

Carreon signaled to his lieutenant to do what he had before. Compliant as always, the man held Munez’s palms on Oscar’s head. Minutes later, the conclusion was the same—a nearly alert mind trapped in a worthless body.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Carreon went to the edge ofthe porch and regarded his domain. Perfect white roses mingled with other flowers in varying shades of pink and red, adding a touch of beauty to this prison. That was what it was now that Zeke knew its location, robbing Carreon of his privacy and the element of surprise. Hour upon hour, his men would search the landscape to see if anyone neared, but the stronghold would never again bring complete security.

A cautious man might have abandoned this place, settling in another. Carreon wasn’t about to show such obvious cowardice or give up what was rightfully his. This belonged to him. As did Liz and his command. He’d never relinquish a bit of it. If anything he wanted more. He’d heard his people’s stories about the Unknowns and the Others returning here someday. If it came to pass, what might the Unknowns give him if Carreon had knowledge of what happened in the future? A power his alien ancestors didn’t possess.

“Take Oscar and Anthony into the desert,” he said to his men. “Leave them there.”

“No!” Munez shouted. “They can’t fend for themselves.”

Carreon regarded the older man, not bothering to hide his contempt. “That’s not my concern. They’re useless to me now. You’ve failed, Doctor, and now they’ll pay for what you couldn’t do. They’ll grow thirsty and hungry but won’t be able to do anything about it, will they? They’ll watch the birds circling, waiting for their deaths. They’ll feel the creatures’ bills pecking at their throats, faces, eyes, eating them alive while they—”

“Bastard.” Munez clenched his fists. “You’d do that to your own people?”

“Unless you can heal them, returning each to what he was before.”

“You’re going to rot in hell!”

“You’ve already said that. Go,” Carreon ordered his men. “Leave Anthony and Oscar close enough to the porch sothe others can see what happens when they don’t beat back Neekoma’s men. When they allow that prick to win.”

Three of his lieutenants helped Oscar and Anthony from the bench, leading them to their prolonged deaths. Another lieutenant grabbed Munez’s arm, ignoring the doctor’s shouts as he pulled him back inside.

Carreon followed, returning to his safe room to contact his other people. To find out if they’d learned anything yet about the location of Zeke’s stronghold.

Thick vegetation shielded the play area from the worst of the midday sun and any aircraft that might pass by. The bosque, as locals called it, received nourishment from a network of aqueducts developed millennia before by the Others. Boys and girls of various ages ran between the cottonwood and salt cedar trees, working off the energy they’d built up during their lessons, dodging their playmates who tried to touch them in a game of tag. From the sidelines, toddlers watched, wiggling within their mothers’ arms. The women restrained their offspring to keep them from joining the fray and getting hurt.

Hester, an eight-year-old, eluded David who’d just turned seven. She laughed at his failure to touch her then squealed as he really poured on the steam, determined to eliminate her from the play.

Zeke watched, smiling one moment, sighing the next, his anguish over losing Gabrielle coloring his joy at seeing these kids engaging in normal activities, having the chance to be safe, to grow up. He pictured his daughter doing the same, his thoughts speaking to her as they so often did.

Are you doing all right today, baby? Do you and your mama feel safe finally? Happy?

An infant shrieked, capturing Zeke’s attention but notalarming him. The little boy was safe within his mother’s embrace, his scowl on Liz. She was dressed in jeans and a tee provided by one of the clan’s younger women. Bent at the waist, she cooed at the baby, telling him he was a big boy, a good boy while tickling his pudgy belly. His next cry was more subdued, his expression confused as to what he should feel. Outrage at a stranger being so close and having the audacity to touch him? Curiosity as to who she might be? A bit of trust that she’d do him no harm?

Liz settled the matter by making funny faces and stroking the boy beneath his chin.

He gave her a tentative smile, a thin line of drool seeping from the side of his mouth. He gurgled next, his complexion going from bright red back to its normal shade. Didn’t last. A series of coughs shook his small body.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Liz assured, running her hand over his unruly black hair.

Exhausted from his coughing, he sagged into his mother, making no protest as Liz put her ear to his chest to listen to his breathing.

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