'I’ve tried to catalog everything…everything new. A devilbat is sort of like a bat but really big. I think there’s one or two over in Shavertown. I’ll have to check it out.'
'That's, um, great, I guess. Good little dog-I mean, K9.'
She stepped away from the car as hesitantly as if she were a baseball runner taking a lead from first. Her step turned into a wobble. Trevor grabbed her arm and steadied her stance.
'We had better get you inside. This might be too much for you right now.'
– Sheila spent most of that first evening in a hot bath filled with water from the estate's deep well. She washed away the grime, the stench, and even a few bugs but-most of all-she washed away the memories of that hellish summer, sending them down the drain with a layer of filth vigorously scrubbed from her skin.
Trevor outfitted her in new clothes. While not stylish by Sheila’s standards, the rugged pants and shirts did not stink: a big improvement in of itself.
He provided bandages, ointments, and antiseptic solutions to treat her cuts and scrapes as well as simpler things, such as toothpaste and floss, skin moisturizers and deodorant.
For the first time since June, she felt human. Despite the K9s wandering the halls, Sheila believed she found her paradise after serving a summer of penance in Hades.
At dinner, her stomach moaned when Trevor broiled steaks-pulled from a huge freezer-and paired them with garden-fresh vegetables, preserved fruits, and a rich red Sryah.
As they dined that first night, he told her about the farming family he found a few miles away: 'A middle aged man and woman with a teenager and an eight year old. They’ve got pigs, cows, a couple of sheep, and a cornfield. We struck a deal. I left a dozen K9s to guard their home and two Border Collies who’ll keep the livestock in line. I’ve got medical supplies they can use and I send them gasoline for their equipment. In return I get meat, vegetables, milk and maybe wool.'
Sheila listened as he explained his plans for a solar power grid. She nodded when he assured that heating, come winter, would not be an issue because of the hybrid furnace capable of burning almost anything, including wood and coal.
By the third day, she wondered if Trevor thought of anything other than food, fuel, or guns. She also wondered if he realized she was a woman. For providing this oasis from the world-gone-mad, she was his for the taking. Gladly. She wanted him to want her. She would willingly play the role of Eve.
Yet he showed no interest. Instead, he wasted time teaching her the basics of firing a gun. He had lots of those in a basement armory. She never saw anything similar, except in movies.
Nonetheless, guns did not interest her. They were loud, dangerous, and even the sight of them frightened her. She refused to carry one.
Trevor started her on a vitamin regiment and administered a series of basic vaccinations and boosters. He handled the needles so well she asked if he had been a doctor. He handled guns so expertly she asked if he had been in the military.
To her questions he answered, 'I picked it up.'
She did not believe him, but she did not care. Those were concerns for him, not her.
– Trevor used the library on the second floor-the one adjacent to the master bedroom-as a 'Command Center.' A desk large enough to qualify as a table dominated the center of the room. On it rested unfurled maps and a variety of reference books pulled from the surrounding shelves.
Two large glass doors opened to a balcony overlooking the front grounds and the shimmering lake waters beyond, but pulled drapes and curtains hid that view or, rather, concealed the light of the room from outside eyes. Hiding-survival-remained his top priority.
Late on the fourth night after Sheila's arrival, Trevor stood in his Command Center hovering over a collection of information spread across the desktop while Tyr and Odin-their eyes barely open-rested in opposite corners of the room.
Different color marks adorned various spots on a map of the 'Back Mountain' area. Those marks identified places where he had found hostiles, places where he had found nothing, and places he had yet to search. Those latter marks greatly outnumbered the others.
A long, wide yawn interrupted his thoughts. He knew he should be sleeping; it had been a busy day of gardening, fixing a malfunctioning generator, and changing a leaky tire on a Humvee. He forced himself awake because he wanted to decide on his next search zone before retiring.
Like most of the doors in the mansion, the one to the Command Center stood slightly ajar: as efficient and obedient as the K9s were, they lacked opposable thumbs.
Sheila pushed the door open and paraded in.
He glanced at her, then to his map, then to her again.
She wore a short white robe. With her legs shaved smooth, hair neatly brushed, and her fingernails painted, Sheila strutted forth with an air of confidence.
He leaned against the desk and studied her approach.
'Hi,' she started because she damn well knew he would not begin the conversation. 'I’ve been thinking,' she stopped a breath in front of him. 'I’ve been thinking that I never thanked you for saving my life. That was wrong of me.'
Sheila let the robe fall away. She was, of course, naked…and gorgeous with the right things in the right places.
She put her hands on his chest. He smelled the strong scent of perfume as she eased her lips to his.
Trevor grabbed her wrists.
'Sheila…'
'It’s okay. I want to. I so want to.'
'I can’t.'
Her seductive face twisted.
'What?'
'I can’t,' he said.
She spat, 'What do you mean, you can’t?'
'I’m engaged to be married,' he said and then added a lie: 'I think she's still out there.'
'There’s no one out there, Trevor. No one.'
She smoothed away her anger and pressed against his body. Parts of him ached to take her invitation.
'It’s just you and me. I want to be with you. I need to be with you.'
'I,' he stumbled. For the first time he did not sound in control but he regained that control rather fast. 'I can’t.'
He felt her tremble but not with anger; the anger disappeared leaving behind fear. Had she ever faced rejection before?
'Please,' she said in a desperate gasp.
He could not believe he heard that from her lips. It probably killed her to say it. Yet it made no difference.
'Sheila, you’re safe here. That’s all I can offer. My heart…' he did not finish the sentence. He might have said ‘it belongs to someone else’ but Ashley had died, a truth he admitted to himself but to speak it aloud felt wrong.
Whatever part of his heart remained after Ashley had vanished had been beaten down by his new reality; not merely the world outside that iron fence, but the world he built inside it.
Sheila’s lips quivered. Her eyes watered.
Embarrassed, she stooped and grabbed the robe.
'Sheila, I’m sorry,' some left over impulse from his old self caused him to reach for her.
At first, she flinched but no pride remained; she accepted his comfort even in the midst of rejection; humiliation.
He held her to his chest but felt awkward doing it-as if he knew what motions to follow but did not truly feel the compassion he mimicked. Quite the opposite, in fact: he grew angry with her for making him go through the charade.
After a long minute, she wandered off.
Trevor returned to the marks on his map.
