The Book of the Unnamed Midwife (27 page)

Day 41

I guess all our conversation did was convince him to go away when he does it. At least he’ll stop waking me up.

Day 42

I’m certain that we’re lost. We left the main highway when we ran into an accident that blocked up the road, but now we can’t find it. We’re using his AAA map and I see where it should be, but I can’t seem to get us back there. Heavenly Father, I feel like a failure. Please send us someone to talk to, someone to minister to. Please give our days and our work meaning. Please help Elder Langdon to make his heart contrite and seek you again. He feels very far away from me today.

Day 43

I miss Jodi so much. I remember the first day I met her. She was so pretty in her Halloween costume. I think she was a princess. We danced together and Sister Eggers said to leave room between us for a quad. We laughed but we did it. I can’t stop thinking of her smile, her soft skin. I was married to her for only a week before Heavenly Father and the bishop sent me away. I don’t want to be bitter toward Him or my missionary work, but I feel cheated. I should be with her now. I asked Elder Langdon if he had ever been in love. He looked at me and burst out laughing, I laughed too, but then he started sobbing. I guess it was the wrong thing to ask. Probably he was, with some girl who died. I apologized, but that didn’t fix it. Of course.

Day 47

We are both sure someone is following us.

We keep hearing weird noises in the middle of the night. We’re somewhere near Glenwood Springs, and we saw smoke from fires coming down the hill. We got excited that there might be people here, but we didn’t see anyone. We walked all day, trying to listen for the sounds of life anywhere, or smell smoke. After that first sign, we saw nothing. But then, at night, we heard the sound of someone playing the guitar. I’m sure of it. It worked its way into my dream, and I was dreaming about that fireside I went to when Brice Stewart was playing for us. But then I remembered that Brice was dead and I woke up, but whoever it was kept playing. I got up but Langdon was still asleep. I went outside and heard it clearer. The guitar was far away, playing the intro to a Led Zepplin song I can’t remember the name of. I called out into the darkness and the playing stopped. I called out again, but nobody answered. I waited, and I’m sure I heard it. I’m sure. I stood there for a minute, not believing.

It was a girl. She was laughing.

I went back inside and woke up Elder Langdon. He was cranky and told me it was just a dream. It wasn’t. I laid back down and listened hard, but I didn’t hear anything else.

I was pretty sore in the morning and I didn’t want to talk about it if he didn’t believe me. He barely said anything. We read scriptures in silence and ate canned beans and spam. At night, he conked right out, but I stayed up. A few hours after nightfall, it started.

“Yoo-hoo!”

I watched Langdon’s eyes snap wide open. He heard it that time.

“Yoooooooo-hooooo! Boys! Pretty boys! Come out and play!”

I started to get up, but Langdon grabbed my arm to hold me back. “What if it’s a trap?”

he asked me.

“It’s a girl,” I told him. “Can’t you tell it’s a girl?”

“Maybe it’s just someone pretending.”

That high voice came again from outside, floating in the still, cold air. “I wish I had some pretty boys to keep me company. I wish I could see those pretty booooooys.”

There was something about the way she called us that was like a bully taunting. Or like a farmer calling pigs. The hair on my arms stood up and I know it was a prompting of the spirit to keep away, but I couldn’t help it.

I went back outside and yelled back. “Is someone there?”

More laughter. “Nope, nobody is here.”

I tried calling out again, but she was gone. I think her voice was coming from above us somehow, but I don’t know how that’s possible. In the morning we looked for tracks or signs. We didn’t find anything.

At least Langdon believed me now. The next day we hatched a plan to make it look like we had gone to bed, but actually we were going to be up on the roof, under covers, and figure out who was out there. I was freaked out, but Langdon was excited.

“Why wouldn’t she just come talk to us?”

He shrugged. “She doesn’t know us. Maybe she’s all alone and afraid.”

“Then why wouldn’t she just hide?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s lonely and she really does want to meet us, but she’s making sure we’re not crazy first.”

I couldn’t make sense of it. But we are going to try hiding out on the roof. Maybe that will work.

Day 49

Didn’t hear anything last night. Maybe tonight she’ll be back. Langdon said he thought it was because it was cloudy last night so maybe she stayed in, in case of rain. I think

* * * * *

Cuts off here. Nothing until two pages past. Getting tired, going to stop here. Creepy. Also don’t want to get caught. Or I do. I want to talk to him about this.

No, don’t get caught.

Chapter Eight

The story of Duke and Roxanne was never written. The night the midwife started reading Honus’ missionary diary, Duke and Roxanne were riding fast down an open expanse of the I-5 just north of Los Angeles. They had climbed the pass and were enjoying the easy feel of the long glide downhill. Roxanne had let her hair grow out and had tied a red bandana in a kerchief to keep it out of her eyes. Duke wore a balaclava to keep his beard from whipping his face but he never knew his hair hit Roxanne as she rode behind. She never brought it up.

They had taken their time moving down the inland of California. The abandoned farms on either side of the road supplied fruits and nuts. They stopped and raided the small roadside outfits. They slept in their tent until it started to get cold, then switched to a series of motel rooms along the highway. They talked long into the night, almost every night. Duke told the kind of stories gathered from a life on the road. Roxanne told stories from a life in casinos. They could make each other laugh. They were a match of convenience, but a good match still.

They talked each other through the plague again and again. Roxanne suggested they hunt for newspapers while they raided, but they never found any. They started fires with gossip and fashion magazines. Roxanne looked at the faces of the women in the flames and wondered if any of them made it.

Duke, for his part, tried to play the hero. He was a good hunter and a good shot. He told Roxanne over and over that he would kill, that he would do anything to protect her. She knew that he was telling the truth, his conviction was all over him. She also knew that there might be nothing he could do, and she accepted that.

He taught her to use the Magnum. It was too big for her, and she was never ready for the kick. But she could aim it, and she could shoot it. When they rode, she wore it. When they walked, he did.

The radio on the bike worked. When they were in hills and canyons, they lost track of the broadcast about Costa Rica. Sometimes the broadcast quit for days. The loop changed. The Spanish version disappeared, and the voice of the announcer was different. One day the voice had said Nicaragua instead of Costa Rica. Duke and Roxanne weren’t sure what it meant, but they hadn’t seen anyone in a long time. They moved toward any sign of humanity they could find.

All around them lay the ruins of the Central Valley. The farming basin of California had depended upon water from other states brought in by electric power. When the power shut off, the valley had dried up quickly, precipitously. More than a few people had died when the bottled water ran out. They had climbed into cars and on to bikes, and they had given in and drank roadside farm runoff water, soaked in pesticides and fertilizer. In some cities, people died of mayhem and mishap. People who could not live without constant care ran out of medicine, ran out of luck, ran out of time. Public works failed and disaster followed but no disaster is faster, more assured, or crueler than a lack of water. Of the fraction that were left, thousands died of thirst.

The night that Honus’ diary lost its privacy, Duke and Roxanne had stayed up late in order to make it into LA. They thought that on the outskirts of the city, their odds of foraging would be better and their accommodations might be nicer.

Roxanne had to shout into Duke’s ear for him to hear as they rode, but she talked to him sometimes anyway.

“I hope we can find an empty room. That last place looked like the plague had hit during a convention or something.”

He nodded and slowed down to take the first exit on the north end of Los Angeles. As he expected, the exit and the roads around it were choked with cars. He putted slowly through, the sound of the motorcycle chopping the night. He pulled into a gas station and began the tiresome process of hunting for and prying open the hatch. He was kneeling on the ground with his tubing and gas can out when the shot went off.

Roxanne was surprised, but sprang from where she leaned against the bike and drew her gun. Duke looked up but did not move.

They seemed to come from everywhere. All of them were men. Some wore uniforms or pieces of uniforms that had once identified them as National Guard, LAPD, and FEMA. The rest were in street clothes but almost all had the opaque and rigid bearing of military men. The one who had fired wore military garb. He pulled back his pistol and holstered it again. He stepped forward and addressed Duke.

“The gasoline in this station is property of the military garrison of Los Angeles, under the command of General Hertz. I’m placing you under arrest for stealing.”

Duke rose slowly, his hands out. “Look, I didn’t know. We can just go. I’m sorry.”

“I’m afraid that won’t work.” A tall Mexican man in an LAPD uniform in good condition stepped forward. “The theft has already taken place, you’ll have to appear before the general.”

Roxanne didn’t speak. She watched. Nearly every man spread out around the gas station was staring at her, except for the ones who were speaking to Duke. Guys in charge, she thought. She was right.

Military man was a short, square, career sort. He wore chevrons on his shoulders and mirrored sunglasses over his eyes, even at night. “Those are the rules.”

Duke looked at Roxanne. She did not look back. She watched the army they faced.

Chevrons finally looked at her, seeming to follow Duke’s gaze as if he hadn’t noticed her before. “Ma’am. We have a female barracks back at our base. We’d be happy to put you up there while your man here stands trial.”

Roxanne drilled him hard with her eyes. She couldn’t see past his asshole glasses, but she was pretty sure he was lying.

She looked back and forth between him and the cop, deciding. Eventually, she turned her eyes back to the glasses, seeing only her own blazing black ghost in the diffuse light.

“If you let him go without hurting him, I’ll go back with you.”

Chevrons flinched. The cop next to him shifted uneasily and the ripple went through the ranks. She could hear some whispering and a few low laughs.

“Now what makes you think that’s how we do things? We’re just trying to keep law and order, ma’am.”

Roxanne lifted her chin a little. “So, since I didn’t steal any gas, I’ll just be on my way then. You can take Duke to the general alone.”

He grinned beneath his glasses and she saw his sadism in it.

“Well I don’t know about that.”

“Accomplice,” muttered the cop negligently, looking away. “You’ll have to come in for questioning, too.”

She tried the cop this time. “How many women in your “female barracks?” One? Two maybe?”

One of the ones in a FEMA suit came forward. “No, ma’am. Lots of women survived the fever with proper care. There are thousands of women alive in LA, and about a hundred live in our barracks.”

Roxanne watched the crowd. That was a lie, too. She wasn’t sure by how much, but it wasn’t right.

“That’s great! Where I was in Vegas there were hardly any girls at all who came through. My best friend even got sick.” She spoke up loud, so the crowd could hear her. “I bet a lot of you fellows saw your wives and girlfriends though the fever too, right? Daughters? Mothers? Wasn’t that fever a bitch, though?”

A few of them looked away.

The cop came forward, pulling the cuffs off his belt. He came to Duke’s elbow.

“Sir, you’re under arrest for stealing from the garrison. You and your female are ordered to come in for questioning.”

He snicked one cuff around Duke’s wrist, then the other. Duke had been arrested before. He looked around and knew himself outnumbered. He thought if he went along, the two of them might come through this. He trusted. He did not resist.

Roxanne felt her heart in her eyes and throat, beating in all the wrong places and too hard. She still had her gun in her hand. They walked Duke away and as he passed he wouldn’t look at her. There had been no fight. There was no try-anything last minute bravado. He had obediently bent to a symbol of authority and left her on her own.

Chevrons walked toward her slowly. “You’ll like it in the barracks. You and the other girls can paint each other’s toenails and catch up on all that girl talk. Haven’t you missed that?”

Her eyes were hot and she could feel angry tears coming.

He kept his eyes on hers and walked toward her slowly, slowly. She knew he was coming in to disarm her. It was time to make a decision.

“How many?” She asked it again, strangling. “How many? I’ve seen three women in six months. How many are there?”

“Too many to count.” He kept advancing.

“What are their names? The ones you know. Your friends. The ones you like.” She wanted him to be telling the truth. Even if it meant living in a military harem, she wanted there to be a bunch of women laughing together somewhere. Someone to read romance novels aloud to, to not be the last one on earth. She could survive that. She could survive anything and come out alright. She thought of the drag king midwife. And of Nettie. She smashed her eyes closed to squeeze the tears out.

“Terri. Mary. Sherry. Carrie. Snow White and Cinderella are there, too. Don’t worry about it. You’ll see them soon. Come on now.”

His voice was low, sweet, cozening. It was the voice she had heard a thousand times before. Come on and do it now. Come on and just give me a little. Come on now. Come on.

She didn’t trust herself to bring the gun up. She shot it where it was at with her elbow locked and the bullet hit him in the thigh. He gripped it with both hands and went down. His leg was rigid and he was braying through clenched teeth.

“Fuck you,” she said clearly. Some of them started toward her, the others just stared. She has a split second to make the decision, but everything seemed to move very slowly.

Under my chin or into the pumps. Under my chin or into the pumps.

A young-looking guy was almost upon her. She decided there was time for both. She took a shot at the pump furthest from her. She hit it dead on but it had been too long since it had been in service. It flamed, but it didn’t explode. The action-movie BOOM never came. She stared at failure a beat too long and the kid tackled her. They both slammed into the bike and they went down on top of it. He pinned her and another guy walked up and calmly kicked in her in the side of the head. She blacked out. Duke separated his shoulder struggling against the men that held him. It was the last thing she saw.

Roxanne woke up in the garrison two days later. Her vision was doubled and the only other person there was a girl. The kid was young and developmentally disabled. She couldn’t speak so Roxanne never learned her name. The kid signed constantly, frantically, but the only sign language Roxanne had ever learned was ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and a few obscenities.

The deaf girl was dead in a year. Roxanne lived a long time, but she never saw Duke again. The garrison’s radio broadcast kept people coming down the I-5, but it didn’t always work. When she died she was still the only woman there.

* * * * *

Dusty woke up a few mornings after she had taken the diary to the sound of Jodi and Honus arguing in the kitchen.