The McClane Apocalypse Book Three (8 page)

"Their mom was beautiful. Huntley has a
picture of her in his bag out in the RV. She was at some ceremonial
dance, and she had on a really cool costume," Sam supplies with a
soft smile, exposing perfectly straight white teeth.

Reagan is hit with a sudden, unexpected case
of dejavu, but she doesn't have time to work it out. Sam is
obviously close with these two boys, so she may be helpful with
getting information about these people.

"And your parents, Sam? Are they out there
with that group?" Reagan prods again, trying desperately to get
this girl to tell her something about the dynamic of these
people.

However, Sam shuts down, hugs her arms
across her front and shakes her head with downcast eyes. Those
bastards out at the camp have this girl on silent lockdown, and
Reagan is afraid that she is being abused by them. If that's the
case, John and Kelly will beat the tar out of whoever's doing it.
Reagan won't even have to ask them to do it. Huntley also looks
away again and doesn't volunteer any information, so Reagan goes
back to her patient. She figures it's all going come out in the
wash which will probably be sooner rather than later.

"In a few hours we'll give Garrett another
breathing treatment. Jennifer, too. Hopefully she'll awaken enough
to take some broth or even eat a little bread or something," Reagan
complains with worry. Jennifer had improved just slightly
yesterday, but she's worse today.

"There's a really nice boy out there named
Simon," Huntley offers Reagan out of the blue.

"Oh yeah? Is he one of those teenagers?"
Reagan turns around and asks him. Hopefully if she can get some
sort of information from these children, then she'll be able to
relay it to her family so that they can decide if these people who
have descended upon their farm are any sort of a threat.

"Yes, ma'am," Sam cuts in. "He's not that
one with the black hair. Simon has red hair and freckles. He's…
sweet. He's a really nice guy. He tries to help us when he
can."

"Help you how?" Reagan asks. Sam looks at
her feet, refusing to answer. "How does he help you? Like help you
with chores or scavenging for food. What?"

"I don't know. He just tries to help," she
answers evasively.

Her mood has soured slightly.

"Are either of you related to him?" Reagan
presses to get more information on any of them which she can share
with her family.

"No, he's related to the other boy. They're
cousins," Huntley tells her. "Bobby's older, though, and he likes
to beat up on Simon and…"

"Huntley!" Sam says on a sharp breath.

"What?" Huntley asks innocently. "It's true.
Besides, they can't hear us in here."

"No, they can't. You're right, and you see
that big kid over there? His name's Cory, and he's our guard while
we're in here, so you're safe with me," Reagan reassures them both.
Huntley seems relieved, but Sam is reticent, wary. Her bright blue
eyes dart to Cory periodically and then quickly retreat.

"This place reminds me of my Grandpa's
place, 'cept for it's a lot more greener," Huntley states honestly
because he doesn't know any better. "He lived in the desert on a
reservation, and mom took us sometimes to see him. Once when she
left Frank, we got to stay with Grandpa for a couple months. That
was really fun. He was cool. But then Frank came and got us and
made us go back home with him."

"Who are those other people out there?"
Reagan asks either of them that will talk, likely Huntley.

"The lady with the dark hair, her name is
Amber and the other one is named Jasmine. She has the bleached
blonde hair with the black roots," Sam surprisingly volunteers.

"Yeah, guess it's hard to get in to the
hairdresser now," Reagan states and inadvertently looks again at
Sam's messed up haircut. It makes the girl self-conscious because
she fingers the choppy ends and looks down. Great. Now Reagan feels
like shit. She hadn't meant to hurt the kid's feelings. This is the
reason she's so much better with books and cadaver dissection. "Are
either of those women related to either of you?"

"Not us," Sam says. "But Amber, the one with
the dark hair, she's Bobby's mom and also Simon's aunt. His parents
are both dead. His dad is in the government or something, and his
mom was a nurse. But he's an orphan now, too."

Reagan follows Sam's line of sight. She's
staring nervously at the door where Cory has come to stand briefly
before walking away again. Reagan suspects that he is also
listening to everything the kids are relaying.

"Are you an orphan, Sam? Or are any of those
people out there your parents?" Reagan presses again, and Sam just
shakes her head, leaving Reagan to wonder exactly what she means by
it.

"Reagan, Grams is coming," Cory says from
the door frame and slings his rifle behind him.

"Don't let her come in here, Cory," Reagan
calls back sternly.

"Yes, ma'am," Cory says seriously. "Looks
like she's bringing food."

The clock on the wall reads 8:45, past the
family breakfast meal. Their normal customs will likely go by the
wayside while these people are on their property. All of their
schedules have been rearranged, their lives interrupted.

"Breakfast, kids. Everyone, come out and eat
something," Grams calls from the door.

She hands Cory a giant serving tray with
dishes and cups, silverware and a metal pitcher.

"Yes, ma'am," Cory answers.

Reagan knows better than to argue,
either.

"I heard that we have a couple guests out
here with you, Reagan, so we sent extra. You kids come on out here
and eat, too," Grams orders and wipes her hands on her apron.

Sam and Huntley just look at each other.

"It's cool. She always cooks a lot," Cory
explains.

But the kids appear hesitant and unsure of
themselves.

"You have to eat something, and if you
aren't going back over to your camp, then you'll just have to eat
with us. So come on. Take off your gear, set it over there and then
I'll show you how to scrub up at the sink," Reagan charges them
into motion.

A few minutes later they join Cory on the
cement pad and sit patiently while Grams makes them each a plate of
food big enough for two people.

"Later I'll bring out some broth for your
patients, Reagan," Grams adds with her usual kindness.

"Thanks, Grams," Reagan says and leads her
grandmother a few feet away. "Don't bring any for the boy. He's not
able to wake up enough to take food orally. We're just pumping him
full of fluids through the IV," she returns too quietly for Huntley
to overhear.

Her grandmother nods with a sad grimace and
lingers a moment before returning to the house to help Hannah with
the children.

Cory has propped his rifle between his legs
and sits next to Huntley followed by Sam and then Reagan all in a
line on the long, single step cement stoop. Huntley tears into his
biscuit and gravy as if it's the first time he's eaten in days and
then greedily moves on to the eggs. Sam barely holds herself back,
as well, although she does show a slightly higher modicum of
dignity.

"Were you guys hungry?" Reagan asks lightly.
Sam glances sideways at her and nods nervously.

"Grams makes the best food around so eat
up," Cory adds to make them feel more comfortable.

Huntley doesn't need encouragement. He's
half through his plate of food already. Reagan's not sure if he's
come up for air long enough to even take a drink of his milk.

"Yeah, my sister Hannah and our grandmother
do all of the cooking, and I take care of the horses and the
medical stuff. We all have jobs around here," Reagan explains.

"What do you do? Shoot people with your
gun?" Huntley asks Cory.

The teen starts laughing with unabashed good
humor, which is highly unusual coming from the normally stoic
kid.

"No, dude. I don't go around shooting
people," Cory says on a laugh through his bit of biscuit. "My
brother's the big guy, and I have a younger sister here about your
age, I'd say. She's probably inside with the other kids. I help out
with the tractors and take care of the cows and kind of anything
else I can learn to be more helpful."

"Cool. Are those the horses over there?"
Huntley asks, peering into the sun toward the pasture.

"Yep. They're kind of fun to ride. I've been
learning. Miss Reagan over there teaches everyone how to ride. Do
you know how?" Cory asks.

He's making conversation better than Reagan
would've given him credit for. Cory is usually pretty quiet.
Perhaps he's just needed a few peers close to his own age to talk
with. He is the oldest kid on the farm with absolutely no teenagers
with whom to hang out.

Huntley shakes his head and answers, "Nah,
but Sam…"

He is cut off by Sam nudging his arm. She
shakes her head.

"Do you ride, Sam?" Cory asks her.

The girl shrugs one shoulder and looks down
at her plate.

Cory is also smart enough to know that the
family needs information about these people. Cory has a wisdom
beyond his seventeen years, and Reagan's not sure if it is newly
acquired since losing his parents or if he was always like this. He
has a calm, quiet demeanor about him, much like Kelly.

"Here, Huntley, have some of mine," Sam says
and attempts to scrape some of her food onto the boy's plate.
Reagan grins.

It's touching to say the least that a kid
her age would think of someone other than herself.

"Oh, hey, wait. You don't have to do that.
Look, we've got plenty for him to have seconds," Cory stops her
with his hand at the edge of her plate.

He brings the bowl of scrambled eggs around
from behind him and scoops more onto Huntley's plate.

Cory says, "See? It's ok. You don't have to
share. Just eat your food, ok?"

"Ok, thanks. This is a lot, though. We don't
eat this much…
ever
," Sam says with a sneer on the last
word.

Her fair skin is bruised on her forearm, and
Reagan knows enough to know that the four, fading marks there are a
healing bruise from a person's hand. She'd done some work
researching domestic violence and had even worked for a summer at
the E.R. in Nashville while on break from school. Reagan has seen
this form of bruising on domestically abused women. It is hard to
speculate where this girl could've been man handled. Perhaps she'd
been in a scuffle while searching an abandoned home. Perhaps she'd
really just fallen or injured herself. The one speculation that
Reagan fears the most is that someone within her group of traveling
companions could've possibly done this to her.

"What do you guys do for food? Is it in the
RV?" Cory asks casually.

Reagan allows him to guide the conversation,
hoping that it will help the kids to feel more comfortable to talk
to him about their situation.

"Nah, we just drive around and look for
places to find food. Us kids have to get out and go in places…"
Huntley starts, but Sam stops him.

"Huntley!" she hisses.

Cory looks at Reagan over Sam's bent head.
There will be much to discuss later this evening if the family can
all dine together. If they can't dine together, then a meeting will
need to be called for the adults.

"Do they have food out there now?" Cory
asks.

"Yeah, some," Huntley answers.

Sam shakes her head as if she can't believe
the boy is telling some big secret to strangers.

"How long do you think it will last?" Reagan
asks Sam quietly and notices movement over at the camp. The two
women are hanging clothing on the line that they've erected, and
they have the campfire going again, presumably for cooking whatever
food they do have. The woman with the blonde hair is dressed in
micro short shorts and a shirt that is cut off through the center
exposing her tan, flat stomach. Three of the men are simply sitting
in fold-out lawn chairs doing absolutely nothing. Some of the
others are absent, leaving Reagan to wonder where they could be.
Maybe, if they are smart, they are only in the RV's so as not to
earn the wrath of three Rangers.

"Maybe a few days or so," Sam almost
whispers and is clearly uncomfortable.

"It'll last longer if we aren't eating it.
Even though they don't give us much," Huntley grumbles the last
comment under his breath.

Cory swiftly stands, alerting Reagan by his
posture that someone is coming from the new group.

A young man, the red-headed teen, approaches
as Huntley dashes over to hug him about his waist. The young teen
returns Huntley's hug without embarrassment or shame.

"Simon!" Huntley says as the older boy
presses him to his stomach.

He's a tall young man and certainly does
have a messy mop of dark auburn hair and freckles that splatter his
nose and cheeks. He is dressed conservatively, not like the rest of
his group.

"Hi, I'm Simon."

The boy extends a hand in a half salute wave
but then holds both hands up in a supplication of passive
surrender.

He says, "I was just checking on Garrett. I
was worried. I… I know we're not supposed to come over here and I
don't mean any disrespect or anything, but I wanted to see if there
was anything I could do to help."

Simon offers this to Reagan who has also
stood. The boy has kind blue eyes and is holding a baseball cap and
twisting it nervously in his hands. His eyes are mostly downcast,
and he seems shy and reserved. No wonder he got beat up a lot.
Reagan's pretty sure that she could kick his ass. The world is even
less sympathetic than it used to be. Behaving meekly isn't going to
help this kid get ahead.

"Simon, I'm Reagan McClane, and I'm a
doctor, too, like my grandfather. This is Cory. He also lives
here," she introduces the two boys so that they don't have tension
between each other. Although if they are going to have a pissing
contest, then Cory would clearly come out as the alpha male victor.
This kid doesn't look like he has a mean bone in his body.