Liz swallowed her last bite of granola and emptied the water bottle. She slumped against the boxes and purposefully let her bottom lip tremble. Moisture formed in her eyes and she covered her face with her hands, pretending to cry. It wasn’t that hard to fake being frightened. Her terror rode just under the surface, like a creature undulating beneath a still lake.
“Cry if you gotta,” the man said coldly. “Just keep quiet. I don’t want any nonsense when you meet the President.”
Liz let her body shake but smiled into her hands. Her plan was working so far. She just needed to keep it together long enough to get away then she’d make her way back to Raven somehow. Liz had been keeping track of the turns they’d made since she woke, three rights and a left. She could find her way back that far. After that, she would have to wing it.
Bee
Bee sank gratefully into an easy chair with a sigh. She scrubbed her hands across her face and ran them through her short hair. It had been an exacting night. She and Rodney had gotten Louise settled in the guest bedroom. Her limbs were stiff and unyielding and Bee couldn’t do much more than remove her friend’s shoes and hat. They left her beneath the covers, fully clothed. Rodney had excused himself, pleading exhaustion. Scout followed him to his room, wagging his golden tail. The man had looked fatigued. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and his skin was rather pale. Bee wondered if he was in poor health or if he, like she, was just wearied from the crazy turn the world had taken.
“Speaking of fatigue,” she said, stifling a wide yawn.
Bee got reluctantly up from the comfortable chair and moved barefoot across the floor. Rodney’s house was warm, heat pumped from an old-fashioned wood stove, making the room very habitable. The smoke was carried outside through a thin metal chimney; Bee had seen it puffing away in a homey fashion when they approached the cabin. The sweet scent of cedar filled the room and Bee inhaled deeply.
She’d brought in her main bag and rummaged in its depths for her nightclothes. Pulling out a pair of sea green cotton bottoms and a flowing long-sleeved shirt, Bee gladly pulled off her coat and jeans. Dressing quickly in case Rodney should come downstairs, Bee lay on the couch. He’d told her where to find clean linens and blankets and she’d made up her bed already. Shifting to reach the novel she’d been reading, Bee felt a twinge in her back. She sighed and grabbed her book, lying flat again until the cramp subsided.
Scout came clicking down the stairs, nosing curiously at Bee’s feet beneath the covers. His coat was golden brown and luxuriously. Bee was betting that Rodney brushed the dog regularly and fed him well.
Bee whistled softly and patted her thigh.
Scout’s tail began to wag, swinging in wide arches back and forth.
“Come here, love,” Bee said, smiling. It had been a long time since she’d owned a dog. Long ago in what felt like someone else’s life she’d had a small collie. It was cute and obedient, but died unexpectedly just after her husband did. Bee couldn’t bring herself to adopt another animal. She was too exhausted to care for anyone other than herself.
“And Louise,” she murmured, petting Scout’s head. Her back twinged again and she sighed. “It’s hell getting old,” Bee spoke to the dog. “And living through the apocalypse as an old woman doesn’t really appeal to me.” She chuckled.
Scout barked and trotted back up the stairs, sniffing along the runner that ran their length. It was checkered with red and green on a brown background. The rug made bee think of Christmas and the trip to Ireland she’d taken with Frank before he died.
Sighing again, Bee opened her book and tried to get lost in the story.
The heroine — a woman in her early twenties with long brown hair and piercing hazel eyes named Abeduna — ran through the jungle. Her skin was bronzed and she wore beaded cloth that covered what modesty required but nothing more. She dodged a green jungle snake and leapt across a rushing stream, swinging herself with her arms, hands locked around a thick vine. Her fingers were unadorned. She no longer wore the rings of her people. Abeduna felt a wave of sadness wash though her, thinking of the loss of her tribe. She jogged quietly past a mother jaguar and her cubs, so silent on her feet that the protective mama did not stir.
Bee turned the page and sighed, placing a hand on her breast. She loved romance novels of any type; especially the stories that focused on lovers who were willing to overcome any obstacle to be together. She could hear the pattering of rain outside. The ever-present moisture that fell from the clouds since this all began. Bee focused on her book again, drowning out the world.
Abeduna crept outside Benjamin’s tent. He camped in a small group of Englishmen like himself and she strode silently to the mouth of his abode.
“Ben?” she whispered in her heavily accented English. “Are you there?” She poked her head into the tent and smiled, the soft features of her face gaining beauty as she grinned. Speaking softly in Cakchiquel, Abeduna entered.
“Abeduna,” Benjamin spoke, rising from his pallet and taking her in his arms.
Ben was handsome for a white devil, with striking blue eyes and pale skin. His hair was long and curly, tied back in an intricate plait. With kissable lips and a strong jaw, he was very different from Mayan men. All they wanted to do was hunt, fight and make babies. Abeduna wanted more.
Ben pulled her down to his blankets and kissed her, lips hot and tasting of ale.
