The McClane Apocalypse: Book One (39 page)

“Ok, ok, monkey,” Kelly pleads with her. “She’s tugging my hair!” he mumbles to Hannah and laughs again.

Hannah feels him pick up the string of her dress that is tied in the front. He doesn’t touch her again, but the connection from that string to his fingers and back to her body might as well be a steel chain with a padlock that only Kelly holds the key to. She could not step away if she wanted to, not that she does.

“We’ll talk later, ok?” he asks huskily.

“Sure. I think you’d better go while you still have hair on your head,” she replies and feels a blush creep onto her cheeks. Why is it always like this with him? Sometimes it seems like he feels the same way about her, but then he pulled back or avoided her. He’s only lived at their farm for less than four full months, but Hannah is sure that what she feels for Kelly is love.

She goes to her familiar kitchen and loses herself in preparing items for the evening dinner. Bread is already rising, so she works on cutting vegetables that the children have brought in from the garden. Tonight she will be making roasted vegetables with two whole chickens who’d unknowingly given their lives for the family. The leftovers will be used to make a soup for tomorrow’s meal and chicken salad for lunch. She also whips up two crusts for a peach and raspberry pie that they will serve for dessert. Feeling even more ambitious, she skims some of the cream from the Jersey cow’s milk pail. She adds a pinch of vanilla, a few tablespoons of powdered sugar and beats it into whipped cream to go with the pie.

Hannah is so engrossed in her kitchen tasks she doesn’t realize that over an hour has passed until she hears the hall clock announce it. A moment later and the family returns from the neighbor’s. Everyone is quiet, reserved, melancholy. Grams joins her in the kitchen, Grandpa goes out to work on the tractor with Kelly and Cory, John and Derek head out to work on the fencing and Reagan splits to who knows where.

“Are you all right, Grams?” she asks after everyone else has departed, and they are alone, working side by side. It earns her an arm around her shoulders and a firm squeeze.

“Yes, dear. I’m ok. And the Reynolds kids will go on, too. It’s just going to take some time. They just need time to heal. We all do,” her beloved Grams explains. Hannah nods and kisses her Grams’s hand still on her shoulder.

“Love you, Grams,” she tells her. Her grandmother kisses her on the cheek.

“You’re doing a good job getting dinner ready for tonight, honey,” she says, changing the topic. Grams is what Sue calls stiff upper lip. She isn’t always open with her feelings. She’d been taught by her own mother to be conservative, restrained. She’d grown up in the South. Grandpa is more openly affectionate, but he was always busier, not as accessible as Grams.

“Thanks, I learned from the best,” she boasts proudly.

“You’ve been on your feet all day, Hannie. Why don’t you go out with the kids for a while or go and take a nap. I’ve got this covered,” Grams offers sweetly.

“And miss spending time with my favorite person? No way,” Hannah tells her.

“Honey, go. Really, I’ve got this covered. We’ll put the chickens in the oven in a few hours, and I’m just gonna finish these pies and go make that old man out there lie down for a nap with me,” she explains.

“All right, but I can help,” Hannah protests, but her Grams unties her apron for her and gives her a gentle push toward the screen door. She hangs her apron on its hook and surrenders any further argument.

“Out you go, missy,” Grams says and hands Hannah her cane.

Once she’s outdoors, even the shrill screams and squeaky giggling of the children doesn’t lure her in. Hannah is on a mission. She needs to find Reagan. Something is going on with her sister. She may be able to hide it from everyone else, but not her. Unfortunately, if she’s gone on one of her silly runs, then Hannah’s out of luck.

She enters the horse barn, staying close to the stall doors and walls so as not to trip and hurt herself or run into something which would have the same result. When she reaches the other set of double doors at the end of the long center aisle and still doesn’t hear Reagan, she turns to leave. But then she hears a soft whimpering off to her left, near the pile of stacked hay.

“Reagan?” she calls tentatively. A loud, startled sniff is her answer. “Reagan?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Hannie,” she answers. Hannah pokes her way to the hay using her cane, and Reagan grasps her outstretched hand and pulls her down on a hay bale next to her.

“What is it, Reagan? What’s wrong?” Hannah asks as she lets her hand travel to Reagan’s face, which is wet with new tears. Her sister stiffens. Hannah wishes she could get over her sensitivity to touch. It’s sometimes the only way Hannah can gauge how people are feeling. Reagan shakes her head and sniffs. Hannah’s brow etches deeply. Either of her sisters in distress is not something she takes likely. “Please tell me, Reagan.”

“It’s just that... he wasn’t supposed to die like that,” she answers on a broken sob. Her voice cracks. “I should’ve saved him.”

Hannah knows she is referring to Mr. Reynolds. It’s a heartbreaking feeling as her tough-as-nails sister sobs her poor heart out over losing their neighbor. She also knows from overhearing Grams and Grandpa discussing the topic yesterday morning that it wasn’t Reagan’s fault. Grandpa had explained it thoroughly to Grams how Reagan had done everything right, had done everything she could to save him.

They are no longer alone. Someone else has come quietly into the other end of the barn. Most people wouldn’t know, but her canine ears are more alert than the average person’s. It may just be one of the men getting something, but she doesn’t want to scare Reagan off. Her sister needs to do this.

“Oh, sweetie, it wasn’t your fault,” she gasps and hugs Reagan in a protective, fierce embrace, trying to absorb her sister’s pain.

“I should’ve saved him. His family is heartbroken because of me. I couldn’t even look at them. You should’ve seen them all! I tried so hard. I tried. I couldn’t save their dad, Hannie. I couldn’t save him,” she cries and cries, making her already hoarse voice hoarser. Her sister is so broken. It physically hurts Hannah to know how far Reagan has fallen. It is the only way to describe her now. She’s so hard, different. This is a good moment for her, though. At least it’s some sort of emotion other than anger, even if it is sadness.

“No, no, no, Reagan. You did all you could. Look, you are the most brilliant person I know. If anyone could save him, it would have been you, Reagan.
You
,” Hannah tells her wholeheartedly. It doesn’t help. Her sister sobs quietly another full minute or so until she’s all cried out. It’s the first sign of empathy she’s shown for anyone since she came home six months ago.

“You helped heal Derek and Cory and their brother, Chet, too. And you just fixed John. Face it you’re a healer, Reagan. It was what you were always meant to be,” Hannah explains to her. Her tears have stopped, and she is back under control again. Hannah has rarely witnessed Reagan lose it like this. It is a strange thing. She’s always been very tough and composed but not mean and jaded. Her brain usually doesn’t slow down long enough to stop to deal with things on a human level. She would normally be off on to the next thing, conquering the world one cell at a time.

“Sorry, Hannie,” Reagan apologizes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Reagan. You need to do that sometimes. Heck, I do it all the time,” she berates herself.

“The world is so ugly and fucked up now, Hannie. What are we gonna do?” Reagan asks pathetically and sniffs. This is another rare moment from her. She doesn’t like to seem weak.

“There is still good, Reagan. We have to believe that. Look at the little kids here on this farm. That has to give us hope,” Hannah offers. Reagan doesn’t answer, so Hannah thinks maybe she doesn’t agree with her.

“And we have new family now, too. John and Kelly and Cory and Em. I think it’s wonderful that they are here. They’ll help to keep us safe. Don’t worry so much. You don’t have to bear the burden of our family’s safety on your skinny, little shoulders. You’re a wonderful doctor, Reagan. And we’re going to persevere. We have to. And there are still good people out there just like us struggling to make it, too, ok?” Hannah says and holds Reagan’s hand. Just one.

“I wish they didn’t have to live here with us, but I’m glad that they’re keeping us safe,” Reagan admits.

“Me, too. I feel like we can all sleep at night because they are here,” Hannah tells her honestly.

“It’s never gonna be like it was before,” Reagan laments and pulls her hand away slowly.

“No, probably not. But it doesn’t mean it’s always going to be this bad, either. Our country’s been through really bad stuff before. It’s just going to take a long time to get back to the good. And it might not even happen in our lifetimes, but it might happen in our children’s lifetimes. You might just give birth to the next great composer or inventor, right?”

Her sister just snorts. “Who the hell is ever going to want to have kids now? That’s so fucked up.”

“I do. Just look at baby Isaac. He’s a miracle, Reagan. And he gives me hope. He makes me feel like everything will be ok. I don’t know why, I just do. And Ari? She doesn’t even realize that the world’s changed. She won’t ever even understand that it changed so much. She just loves being with all of us and playing and being a kid, just like we did when we were her age. And someday, maybe in her lifetime, she’ll help to re-build our country again. And Isaac, Cory, Em and Justin, too,” Hannah says with hopefulness in her voice.

“Yeah, maybe,” her sister agrees cynically.

“Listen to me. I don’t want you to stay like this forever. I know how much everything that happened has changed you. I know what happened back at your school was bad. But you’re still in there. I know it, Reagan. I can feel it. You know I know you better than anyone else. Don’t leave me here alone, ok? I need you. You take as much time as you need to get better, but don’t leave me. I couldn’t bear it. I love you, sis,” Hannah commands and feels the tears trickle from her eyes. Reagan doesn’t answer, so Hannah puts her hands on either side of her sister’s face. Reagan nods slowly and sniffs again.

“I’m gonna go for a ride, ok?” Reagan says. There is a soft scurry of feet at the end of the barn as their intruder makes his escape. “And, Hannie? I love you, too.”

“I know,” Hannah replies.

“Want help back to the house?” Reagan offers.

“No, I’m going to walk around a little while. I’ll be ok.”

“Ok, well, I’m going out to chase down Harry and go for a ride,” Reagan explains and gives Hannah a quick hug before running off. She barely makes contact with Hannah, but it’s still progress.

Hannah makes her way to the opposite end of the barn again where she stands in the doorway, feeling the soft breeze blow gently against her skin in the warm sun. The air smells like a storm is coming.

“I thought you left,” Hannah says to their spy.

“Oh crap. Sorry, Hannah,” John answers. She’d suspected it was him.

“It’s ok. I know you care about her, John,” she reveals.

“I wish I could make her understand that,” he replies with regret etching his deep voice.

“You will, someday. She’s just been through so much. It’s going to take her time to heal,” she explains as they leave the barn together. Hannah loops her arm through his.

“If she’d just tell me what happened so I could talk to her about it,” he says.

“Maybe she will eventually. But it’s not something she can even deal with on her own right now, let alone letting someone else help her. She won’t even talk to me about it. I tried when she first came home after she got better, and it didn’t go too well,” Hannah informs him.

They are interrupted from further discussing the matter as Cory comes up to John, needing his help with a tractor wheel. They part and Hannah walks toward the milking barn to hold the new kittens that Lila, one of the barn cats, gave birth to a few days ago. She opens the door to the barn and trips right over something in the way, landing hard on all fours and even skidding on the concrete floor. Her cane goes flying off to her right and out of her grasp.

“Ow,” she screeches to no one in particular.

“Hannah!” Kelly yells loudly from somewhere in front of her. “Jesus, are you all right?”

He lifts her under the arms, adding to Hannah’s mortification. Oh God, don’t let this be happening. Not in front of Kelly! She is plenty used to falling and bumping into things, but to fall like a total idiot in front of Kelly is beyond humiliating. Oh, why did he have to be in here at this time?

“I’m fine, I’m fine. No need to make a fuss,” she blurts out quickly. Her cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

“The hell you are!” he curses. Why is he cursing at her? And why does he sound so angry when she is the one who got hurt?

“It happens all the time, I assure you. I’m just fine, see?” she tries to placate him.

“No, you aren’t, damn it. You’ve scraped your hands, and they’re filthy. Son of a bitch, I left that hose across the doorway,” he swears again. Without further ado, Kelly hooks his massive arm under her legs and sweeps her from her feet.

“What? What are you doing? Put me down!” Hannah huffs hysterically. This is beyond being babied. It’s not like she broke a leg.

He simply ignores her and strides down the corridor and through a door to their left. After that, she’s confused. They cross another hall, spin right and go through another door. There’s no sound in this space. It’s a small room, but it’s still dizzying and disorienting for Hannah. She’s used to a much slower pace, and she’s not sure where they’ve even gone so quickly.

Once they are inside the room, Kelly places her gently in a chair.

“Stay there,” he orders firmly. He’s never spoken so harshly to her. It makes her angry and makes her feel like crying at the same time. He turns away, still cursing under his breath.

She can hear water running. They must be in the old part of the barn that faces the back paddocks where the cattle graze. To prove her point, one of them moos loudly making her jump. If anyone just comes to this end of the barn, they moo obnoxiously to get attention and, more importantly, grain. She’s not big on the cows at the farm. Once when she was fourteen, one of the ignorant beasts knocked her into a metal tube gate, and she’d needed six stitches on her head. Since then, she’s avoided the cows altogether. They have no respect for the blind.