“Much appreciated,” she said with a nod. “Marion Langley. I’d shake your hand, but it’s probably better if I don’t.”
“Cipher,” I said, unsure as to what to do next. Here was a woman who’d been attacked by Rabids in a bad way and was showing the initial signs of the fever, though not yet Rabid herself. My instructions from Brother Larry were to find her. Beyond that, it was anyone’s guess.
“Pull up a trunk,” she said, helping me through my moment of indecision. She waved to a tree nearby. “Feed the fire, if you would.”
I did as she asked, impressed that she’d been able to gather wood and start a fire in her present condition. “It’s a good fire,” I said
“Thanks. Are you from the Fellowship?”
The answer to that question was complicated, so I said, “Brother Larry sent me to find you. His search party had no luck. How long have you been out here?”
“Five days.”
Five days was a long time to be alone in Rabid Country, wounded and without food or water.
“I have food. Would you like some?”
She waved me off. “Not sure my stomach could handle it right now, but thanks anyway. Did they find Stephen?”
I guessed that Stephen was her escort, the one who’d been torn to bits. “Yes, they found his body. He’s dead.”
She nodded and cleared her throat, glanced away briefly, then stared at the fire again.
“They came out of nowhere. It was nighttime and I’d stepped away from the fire to relieve myself, when I heard a crash behind me. I scarcely knew what was happening before… this.” She motioned to her midsection and the blood-stained bandages covering her wound. “I ran and my horse followed me, but we got turned around.”
The horse stomped one hoof and whinnied, looking nervous and out of sorts.
“She’s not tied up,” I observed.
“Strange, isn’t it? When we got here, I removed her pack and slapped her rump, told her she was free to go, but other than some light grazing, she hasn’t left my side.”
I breathed deeply and considered how to proceed. “I can take you back to Promised Land. There might be something they can do for you there.”
She smiled and shook her head sadly. “I appreciate the offer, Cipher, but I’m not going to risk infecting others, especially not pregnant women. I’ve made my peace.”
I nodded, respecting her wishes, though still unsure as to what that meant for me.
“Perhaps you could even help me along?” She nodded to the machete I’d laid beside me. A gunshot to the head would be quicker, but they made a lot of noise and attracted unwanted attention.
“Angel of death,” I murmured.
“Angel of mercy,” she said. “But we’ve got time. Tell me about yourself. Nothing tragic. Tell me something good.”
Something good. The first thing that came to mind was Kitten, followed by the rest of our tribe, so I told her about them–Teresa’s sweet tooth and her affinity for dolls and pretty dresses, how she was the baby of the family until Kitten came along. Now they shared that designation. I told her about Artemis’s talent with a crossbow and how she can nail a squirrel between the ears from 40 yards away, how fashionable and cool she was back in D.C. before I even knew her name. I told her about Macon’s generosity, always willing to lend a hand and carry more than his share to help out the others. And Gizmo, who, if anyone could save humanity from itself, it was surely him.
And I told her about Kitten and how, when the sun hit him just right, it lit up his curls with a golden glow. How he was stubborn but sweet and how he’d insisted on bringing his cat with us on our journey and carried that animal from Greenville, South Carolina to Atlanta, Georgia, and then onward to Promised Land. He was loyal and resilient and fiercely protective of our family. I told her about his love of Tom Hanks movies and his tendency to eat too much and then complain about a belly ache, but then be hungry again an hour or so later. I told her that he misses the sound of children laughing and I admitted to her that I did too.
Marion nodded, unshed tears in her eyes. “There’s nothing like it,” she said softly. Marion told me about her two daughters, both of whom she lost to the fever, but who were forever in her heart, how she could still hear their laughter from time to time. She told me about her hopes for the future, that every baby born was a new life with limitless potential.
“Do you ever feel bad, though?” I asked. “Bringing a child into a world like this?”
She smiled softly and said, “There is still love in this world and compassion. There is beauty, always beauty.”
We lapsed into silence as I reflected on her words. The forest was quiet save for the occasional hoot of an owl or croak of a frog. Marion dozed for a bit and I fed the fire. As she’d said, there was no need to rush, but when she came back to consciousness a little before dawn, she smiled at me and said, “I think I’m ready now.”
“I’m not so sure that I am.”
“You’ve had to grow up too fast. You strike me as someone who does the right thing, even when it’s difficult. I’m sorry to place this burden on your shoulders.”
