Midnight (7 page)

Read Midnight Online

Authors: Ellen Connor

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy

BOOK: Midnight
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Rosa placed the bread and cheese before Chris, along with a knife she’d carved out of deadfall saguaro branches. After studying her for a moment, he dipped the knife in the clay pot and covered the bread with the creamy cheese. He ate as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in years. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, even though she knew how it felt to be alone in the wilderness.
“Thanks.”
“I’d do the same for anyone. Why do you think people stay?”
“Your natural charm.”
The quick answer surprised a laugh out of her. Around the bravos she always kept up her intensity, never wanting them to forget who she was. From morning to night she never relaxed, never let down her guard. Never laughed. Yeah, this
güero
was bad news.
“Let me know when you’ve had enough to eat. I’ll walk you over to your room above the
taberna
.”
He raised a brow. “You think I need an escort?”
“I don’t trust you. You confessed to consorting with skinwalkers.” She lifted her shoulders, resolute. “That makes you a sympathizer, at least, if not something worse.”
“They’re not all evil,” he said softly. “Like people, it depends on their natures. If they don’t attack you on sight—”
Rosa slammed her palm on the table. “They can spread their disease. If you hadn’t noticed,
pendejo
, the monsters are winning. Humans are the minority now.”
He fell quiet and finished his food. “This place is amazing. I haven’t had bread in years.”
“We’re proud of it,” she said, slightly mollified. “You ready to go?”
Chris nodded and pushed back from the table. Stepping out into the heat shocked the system, after the shady interior of her little house. She’d chosen it because it had the best vantage of all points in town, as well as excellent airflow for cooling. Rosa lifted a hand in greeting as they strode down the main thoroughfare. It gave her a sense of achievement to see everyone turning in for the night or preparing for evening patrols. Another day well lived.
“There aren’t many women here,” he observed.
“It’s a problem, but we’re working on population. And we have our first pregnancy.” She couldn’t help the pride that flavored her voice.
It had been Tilly’s decision, above all, but her baby offered Valle de Bravo something they hadn’t known before: hope for the future instead of mere survival. If they could increase their numbers, they might make it. Their sons and daughters might prosper in this dangerous place.
Welsh shook his head. “You must be nuts, bringing a kid into a world like this.”
SIX
 
Chris awoke with a start. Fading images of violence and the sound of distant trucks still clouded his mind. His surroundings were unfamiliar, enough to cause a momentary panic. He wasn’t used to this much comfort.
Slowly his respiration returned to normal. He was in a communal room above the tavern. Sunlight tipped in through the windows at an extreme angle, still early in the day. His body felt pummeled and sore, as if sleeping indoors had already broken down the resilience he’d forged in the desert.
Low, masculine voices sounded, throughout the room and from below the floorboards. Instantly he tensed. He reached for his Beretta. Voices meant people, and he could never be sure around people. Some would skin a man and steal hard-won possessions as easily as breathing. Chris hadn’t gone that far, but he knew enough to be wary of those who had.
Again he forced his body to accept what his mind knew. He was in a haven—the largest he’d seen in the days since the Change.
And her.
La jefa
. She was here too.
“Sleep well, Doc?”
He identified the speaker as Manuel, one of Rosa’s young guards. “Sure.”
“I’ll say you did,” Manuel said with a chuckle. “We were about to check your breathing and claim your goods. You’ve been asleep for over twenty-four hours.”
Chris blinked. He’d assumed it was the next day. Maybe that explained the soreness of his body. He’d simply unplugged. Perhaps his unconscious mind had been satisfied with the safety of this place, permitting him the bliss of a long crash. He’d been sleeping in hour-long bursts for so long that he was almost relieved to know such survival skills weren’t a curse.
Still, knowing he had an audience, he forced his weariness aside. He wanted to trade, and he sure as hell wanted more food. Scrounging in the desert was no way to live. It was survival, nothing more. The few hours he’d already spent in Valle represented more true luxury than he would’ve imagined possible. He wasn’t too proud to say that having another taste held huge appeal.
So that meant doing what he could for the town, at least for a few days. He would eat his fill, gear up, and return to the road a stronger man. Chris couldn’t see the sense in setting down roots when they had become so impossible to defend. Hardscrabble living was a much easier prospect on one’s own.
Mindful of the wary expressions worn by the young bravos who shared those quarters, he dressed in his spare set of clothes. The threadbare material and two missing buttons were almost embarrassing to wear in human company, but he’d avoided that concern for months. Maybe he possessed enough in his satchel to trade for a few new pieces. And damn, he needed a razor. His last straight razor had been worn down to bluntness after a boar took off with his hunting knife stuck in its side. Since then, he could either use the straight razor for cooking or gnaw on hides. The choice had been simple.
After combing his hair with water from a communal wash stand, he packed his belongings. Without a word, he nodded a good-bye to Manuel and headed to the ground floor of the tavern. Those in charge of meals were already hard at work, providing breakfast for the town. Chris’s stomach clenched with a powerful hunger. The food Rosa served had been enough to remind him that variety and nutrition were precious.
Out the tavern doors, he strode through the desert morning sunshine to the general store. Everyone was busy, and they eyed him with a combination of curiosity and wariness as he passed. He didn’t mind that score, because he was just as busy trying to figure them out.
A community. A real, thriving community.
Amazing
.
He pushed into the general store where an old man haggled with another young bravo.
“I don’t care what you think it’s worth,” the shopkeeper said. “I am not trading a bottle of vodka for that mirror. First of all, it’s cracked. And second, you know the rules on rationing alcohol.”
“Come off it, Wicker.
La jefa
expects us to do the work of six men and be content with homemade mash.”
“She expects us to pull our weight,
hombre
. Nothing more.” Wicker pointed with the handle of the broom he held. “And you better watch yourself, if you don’t want to wind up with worse than marks on your back.”
Making a note to himself, Chris matched a name to a history. This must be Lem, the one who had pushed himself on Brick’s sister. Already, talk of Lem’s punishment of ten lashes had come around to Chris’s ears. Knowing an environment as soon as possible was essential—not just the leadership, but potential troublemakers too.
“You don’t scare me, old man,” Lem said with a sneer.
“I’m not the one you need to be afraid of, and you know it.”
Chris cleared his throat. The pair turned to watch as he pushed into the main room of the shop.
Twenty days north, a pair of grizzled sisters in their fifties, each sporting a semiautomatic rifle, had allowed him to trade his supply of dried rabbit. They’d kept their ammo and treasures in a hollowedout tree stump. This trading post was a lot more elaborate. He hadn’t seen its like since leaving the little place Mason and Jenna had been carving out of a mountainside. But even they hadn’t possessed lantern oil, vodka, bolts of cloth, spare tires, shoes, and enough seeds to populate a greenhouse. Each species was stored in a separate Tupper-ware container, neatly labeled. The containers alone were probably worth a fortune in goods and services, let alone the potential harvests they contained.
The excess—because that was what it seemed to be—was staggering.
“Morning,” Wicker said with a nod. Tall and lean, with salt-and-pepper hair, he wore boots, jeans, a faded shirt, and a straw cowboy hat. In his midsixties, he was a tall and lanky Texan if ever there was one. “You must be the traveling doc.”
He nodded. “Rosa mentioned something about trading.”
“Yes, but she wants to be here when you do.” Wicker winked. “What a man trades says a lot about him. Be here tomorrow after the noon meal.”
“Fine,” Chris said with a shrug. “Then, can you tell me how to find the pregnant woman? I’m supposed to check on her.”
“Make a left out on the street. They live in the little house with lizards painted on the front door.”
“Lizards?”
Wicker only grinned. “Ask Tilly. That’s her name. And feel free to leave your gear. No one will touch it again until you do. You have my word.”
Chris offered his hand, which Wicker shook—the first to do so within Valle’s boundaries. He could put his faith in nothing more. “Much obliged.”
“As for you,” Wicker said to Lem, “back to work. You’ll have to wait till the next Burning Night to drink the hard stuff. Rules are rules.”
Lem stomped off with a trail of curses under his breath. Wicker only shrugged, then went back to his work with the broom. His stooped shoulders made him seem shorter than he actually was, which was probably pushing two meters.
Chris found himself almost staring at the man. Such a curiosity. He hadn’t seen many people outside of a certain age range. Fifteen to roughly fifty—that seemed to be the sweet spot. Too young and too old meant almost impossible odds for survival.
With one last covetous glance toward the supply shelves, he turned and stepped back out into the daylight. He’d see what he could do for this woman, Tilly, and earn his right to eat and rest up in a safe place. That was the goal. Learning names and histories meant nothing. Not anymore.
The townspeople watched him no matter where he walked. He hadn’t felt so conspicuous in ages, usually keeping to the shadows and lonely trails. Carrying only a small stash of medical supplies, he kept his head up and his expression friendly. Neutral.
Sure enough, he found a door painted with lizards. It stood half open, encouraging air flow. He knocked on the wood trim. A woman’s melodic voice beckoned him in. Chris got as far as touching the door handle when she came into view.
“Oh!”
The woman, Tilly, stood in the entryway, so obviously with child that Chris stared. He hadn’t seen a pregnant woman in five years—since the Change finished its slow crawl across North America. She might have been an extinct species come back to life.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m Chris Welsh. Maybe Rosa told you to expect me?”
“Oh, you’re the new doctor. Come in.”
She ushered him inside, leading him to a tiny kitchenette that contained a table with two chairs.
“We just don’t get many new faces around here,” she said. “Please sit. I’d heard rumors that you were in town, and Rosa came by yesterday to confirm. I can’t tell you how relieved Jameson and I are to have you here.”
“Jameson? The baby’s father?”
“That’s right. He’s out on patrol now, but he knows you were planning to stop by once you rested. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you out on your own all this time. I tell you, if I didn’t have Jameson, I would’ve died a long time ago.”
Chris gripped the end of the battered wooden table. His brain was almost spinning, trying to keep up with her quick chatter. Her accent was strange too, like Cape Cod blue blood. Hearing her speak was hearing ghosts from another lifetime.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure. Anything.”
Tilly brushed a strand of blond hair back from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. She was elfin, petite, sunny. Maybe she wasn’t exaggerating in saying that the baby’s father had helped her survive. She didn’t look strong enough to carry the weight of her child, let alone fight off hellhounds and hostile skinwalkers.
She brought him a glass of cool water, which tasted faintly of copper. But he’d had far worse. “I’m not really a doctor,” he felt compelled to say.
Tilly waved her hand. “Oh, I know. Rosa explained it all. But believe me, I’m not picky. These days, anyone who’s had an anatomy class is tantamount to a master surgeon.”
“Have you had a baby before?” For his own sake, he dearly wanted that answer to be yes. She would know what to do, have more experience to draw from. But for that to be true, she would have lost the child too.
None of that melancholy could be found in her expression. She smiled broadly, her hands curled over her stomach. A sundress that would’ve hung loose on Rosa Cortez stretched tight over Tilly’s ripe bulge. “No, this is my first. Jameson’s too. Can you imagine, being so happy at a time like this? It almost doesn’t seem right.”

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