Shane squinted in thought as he counted on the fingers of both hands. "I count twelve families. With Doc's pancreatic cancer advancing so quickly, he's out of this. It will be up to us to take care of him until he passes. And Andrea Margherio isn't capable of caring for horses and cattle properly by herself; she could be allotted extra chickens, pigs or goats to compensate."
As I stood, I commented, "Keep thinking along those lines. I'm sure it won't be as simple as it seems now, but it's a start."
I left the barn and headed for Doc's cabin. The wind had kicked up a notch and carried a deeper chill with it. I shuddered and pulled my coat zipper tighter.
Doc lay in bed. His emaciated body had been bedridden for almost two months. Our nurses, Marcie, Carmen, and Verlie looked after him daily, and all the women took turns bringing him food at meal times. Lately, he waved it away most of the time. I made it a point to visit with my old friend almost daily. It was difficult because Doc seemed to slip away a little more each time we spoke. Often, he appeared too weak to even follow our conversation. But then he'd surprise me and talk with a newfound vigor.
I tossed three sticks of wood in the heating stove then sat on a chair next to the standard size double bed. The older man's breath was shallow and labored, his skin pale and stretched tight across his bones. Pancreatic cancer was a bitch, and that was no way for a proud man who had given so much to others to end his life. A jolt of pain caused Doc to grunt. Seconds later his eyes opened, two narrow slits focusing on the wall in front of him. Then his head tilted toward the figure beside him. He smiled faintly. "Should have woke me. How long have you been there?"
"A few minutes, I'm not rushed."
The patient's eyes fluttered, then closed. A minute later they opened wider. Doc focused on me. "Anything new going on?"
"Same ole, same ole. Kira and I brought down four does this morning. They were in the gardens across the road from the cabins.
"That girl is something." He smiled weakly at some recollection. "I recall that soon after she came to Deliverance you angered her, and she almost shot you.” He chuckled then coughed hoarsely long and hard. “Still, you're lucky to have her, you know?"
"Yeah, damn lucky."
"How are the kids? Junior and Dominique are smart, they'll do alright. But that little one, Kat, she's the one to watch. She's a natural leader. We need more kids like all three of them."
I peeled my coat off and dropped it on the floor. "If there aren't other groups of survivors out there to provide fresh gene pools, we'll finally have inbreeding occur. We need to find some other blood lines."
"I truly believe there are others but be careful of what you wish for. We've had a belly full of bad experiences with other groups of humans. Not all but far too many."
"Yeah, that we have."
"You'll be alright for a few generations, if you pay attention to the family trees. Our people have held up well for the most part. Only Marilyn Jarnigan and Anthony Margherio have died since we moved here. Marilyn simply gave up after Ed was blown up. She had no interest in living without her mountain of strength standing beside her. And Anthony's pneumonia, that was the result of being out of shape and overweight. I tried to tell him, but it didn't sink in."
"There'll likely be more of that; more people are overweight now than I've seen since we grouped. But on the positive side, we've had what. . . fourteen births in the last five years?
Doc smiled feebly. "Don't get too carried away there; two of those babies died in the first year. Barlow and Shandrea Jones lost theirs and Merriam Pitchford's baby died. No one knows who fathered Merriam's child and she never told. Guess she was too embarrassed to say."
"It doesn't matter. There have always been single parents and always will be, I guess. The problems with raising kids alone are much more difficult now though because there are no formal welfare programs. The mothers have to depend on the generosity of their relatives and neighbors." I waited for Doc's response. When there was none, I looked at him. His eyes were closed and his labored breathing was steady. After ten minutes or so, I put my coat on and let myself out.
Near the end of February, we welcomed a break in the weather. The temperature was twenty-eight in the morning and reached forty-eight before dark. I hoped the worst of the unusually cold winter was past. Our area wasn't supposed to see extended periods of near ten degree Fahrenheit temperatures.
We were asleep in our beds when a pounding on the door roused the entire family. I glanced at the wind-up clock as I swung my legs out of bed; it was one-thirty a.m.
"Tom, Tom, please wake up. I need help. "A woman's voice faintly called to me through the two-inch-thick wood door.
I blinked several times to clear my vision while I lit a bedside candle. With the candle holder in my left hand, I stumbled across our public room in my shorts toward the barred door. A .45 caliber Glock was gripped tightly in my right hand. Kira covered my back and kept the kids behind her. "Who's there?" I queried.
"Kelly, Kelly Pitchford," came the muted reply.
I laid the candle and handgun on the table. As soon as the cross bars were
