Curious, she stood on the hearth and pulled down the lowest sword. She was too short to reach either of the others. The sword was heavy, and she almost dropped it as she stepped down. She brushed cobwebs and dust from the scabbard and hilt. There was very little ornamentation anywhere and, when she flexed the sword, she didn’t feel the telltale wiggle in the hilt that indicated poor construction. Whoever had made this had made it to last. She slid a loop of stiff leather from its place over the hand guard and bared the blade. Despite five years of gathering dust, the sword gleamed in the sunlight, a sheen of oil still visible on the metal. Gwen gently scraped her thumb along the edge, finding it sharp, an oddity in itself. Most store-bought swords were sold dull—at least the ones at the mall. These folks had taken the time to hone the edge to razor sharpness.
She slid the blade home and laid it on the mantel. The weapon was diesel but had nothing to do with survival. She turned away, looking for her companions. Terry was nowhere to be seen, but Loomis was at the heavily laden bookshelves. She ran her fingers along the titles, occasionally pulling a book out a few extra inches. “What are you doing?”
“Marking which ones we’re taking with us.” Loomis’s attention remained wholly on her task. “They have a lot of historical texts.”
“Let me guess.” Gwen peered at a title. “Robin Hood stuff?”
Loomis grinned at her. “Yeah. That seems to be where they did a lot of their reading, though there’s a shelf of romances and some practical books on cooking and camping.” She pulled out another book, this one all the way, and showed Gwen the cover. “The Society for Creative Anachronism. I’m not sure what it was, but there’s a mess of texts from them.”
“
The Known World Handbook
,” Gwen read aloud. “Weird.” She placed it back on the shelf, and Loomis pulled it out like the others she wanted to bring home. “Where’s Terry?”
“Poking around the kitchen.” Loomis paused in her perusal to look at her. “You want to go see what’s in the other rooms?” She nodded toward a hallway.
“Yeah, okay. What am I looking for?”
Loomis shrugged. “I don’t know. Just look. See if there’s anything interesting to be had.” She returned her attention to her task, already forgetting Gwen’s presence.
There was a bathroom, stairs leading into a dark basement and two other rooms off the hallway. One of these had been converted into a home office, a heavy mahogany desk squatting ominously in the middle of the floor, a matching storage hutch looming behind. Framed photos and certificates hung from one wall, and Gwen found the law degree of Jonathan Phillips. “I was right,” she whispered aloud. “A lawyer.” Several heavy books contained legal statutes, and she bypassed them. On the desk was a picture, presumably of Mr. and Mrs. Phillips. They wore some of those bizarre costumes and smiled at the camera, standing in front of what looked like a medieval campsite.
Gwen didn’t think there’d be much of use here and drifted across the hall to the other room. This was Mrs. Phillips’s turf. It appeared she was into all that craft stuff like Heather and Cara. A worktable was covered with material, paper and sewing paraphernalia. In the corner stood a dressmaking dummy, a half- finished dusty red dress clinging to its form. There were two sewing machines here, one an antique with a foot pedal. When she opened the closet, she discovered shelves of material, lace and batting.
“What’d you find?” Terry asked from the door.
“I think Cara and Heather are going to cream their jeans.”
“What? They don’t wear jeans.”
She grimaced at his literal interpretation. “I think they’re going to be really happy with all this sewing stuff.”
Comprehension lit the boy’s eyes. “Oh.” He glanced around the room. “Yeah, they will. Annie Faber has one of those.” He pointed at the dressmaking dummy. “Cara’s always wished she had one, too. What else is there?” He peered back out into the hallway.
“An office. A computer, lots of legal books. Nothing interesting.”
Terry didn’t agree with her assessment. “An office?” He scampered off.
Wondering what the hell could be so interesting in an office, Gwen followed. He wasted no time with the books or computer, instead throwing open desk drawers and cabinet doors.
“Yes!” he chortled, struggling with something heavy.
Gwen came around the desk to see what caused his excitement, watching him lug a box of printer paper from the storage hutch. “Paper?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yeah! And I bet there are pencils around here.” He lifted the cardboard lid. “It’s almost full, too!”
She watched him continue his excited search, pulling out binders and notebooks, files and legal pads from everywhere. Most of the pens were useless, long since dried up from disuse, but there was indeed a nearly unused box of pencils. She frowned in thought, standing back to watch Terry unearth each new discovery. Paper was priceless and bling-bling worthless here. That was totally fucked up, but she could see the logic. With only two thousand people in town, there probably hadn’t been that many businesses to get paper from. Paper was everywhere in the city, hardly a rarity.
Still, Gwen would have thought the sewing room contents far more practical for out here in the sticks. Did they have some sort of commerce here, some way to trade things back and forth? What would a package of unused paper get her from another family? Would she be allowed to claim any of the goods they found here, or was it all going into the collective pot for the Loomis household?
Loomis poked her head in the room. “What’s going on?”
“Paper!” Terry held up a blank legal pad. “Lots of it! Can I have this one?”
“Really?” Loomis’s face lit up with interest. “Sure, it’s yours. Consider it a finder’s fee.”
“Diesel.” Terry tucked the pad under his arm.
Loomis blinked at his use of city slang, her eyes sliding toward Gwen.
“Don’t look at me.” She raised her hands in surrender. “He got it from Kevin.”
“What else did you find?”
Gwen took her to the sewing room, showing off her discoveries. A tiny chest of drawers was buried under falling material in the closet. There they found packages of patterns in a variety of styles, spools of thread and other accouterments still wrapped in their cellophane, and enough pins and needles to sew an entire army’s worth of clothing. The sun was beginning to set as hunger nibbled at Gwen’s withered stomach.
Loomis heard the rumbling and grinned. “Let’s knock off for now. I need to get a fire started if we’re going to have anything hot for dinner.”
“For shizzle.” Gwen closed a drawer.
“Terry,” Loomis called as they left the sewing room. “We’re going outside to start dinner.”
“Okay.”
Gwen glanced in to see him seated at the desk, dwarfed by the monstrosity, carefully sharpening one of the pencils with a pocketknife. “Why not cook in the fireplace?”
“Don’t know if the chimney is sound.” In the kitchen, several pots, pans and dishes had been pulled out of the cupboards and left on the breakfast nook table. “Could be blocked from crumbling mortar, or maybe birds or animals have made nests in it. It’s just easier to cook over a campfire than deal with the hassle.”
Gwen nodded, not having thought of that. Where she came from, fireplaces were scarce. “What about the dogs?”
Loomis smiled and pointed to the signs of wood smoke on the other side of some trees. “I don’t think they’ll bother us any. We’re not the only ones here now.”
As she helped Loomis clear an area for the fire, Gwen wondered who else was in town. Had they brought some of the Gatos with them like Loomis had? She felt a sudden pang, and realized she missed seeing the people who had been her family for the last four years. Did they miss her? Were they getting the same bizarre lessons from their new acquaintances that she was with Loomis? She watched Loomis’s profile as she used flint and steel to light a wad of dry grass. Gwen didn’t know what to make of her. Sometimes the woman came off as a hater and a renegade, then she acted sad over the death of people she didn’t even know. She seemed angry and lonely, but confident and content in her family. Which was real?
Loomis blew the smoking ember into flame, and the tinder soon caught. She looked at Gwen and smiled, pleased with the way the day had gone.
God, she’s butter, even when she’s not mad.
Unaccountably, Gwen blushed and looked away, disconcerted.
What the hell’s wrong with me?
As she tried to puzzle out the tremor in her chest, she helped Loomis heat up their dinner.
***
After dinner, they spent the rest of the evening working by lamp and candlelight, collecting the things they planned on bringing home. Soon the kitchen table overflowed with goods. Loomis was forced to consider whether a second trip might be necessary. She still wanted to stop at their house on Jasper Lane to collect that overhead fan motor. She and Terry had dismantled the crib and brought it downstairs while Gwen brought out selections from the sewing room. Since Oscar had the homestead’s only crib, they needed another in case Heather’s baby survived childbirth. The plastic on the mattress was cracked and stained with decay. Loomis left it in the master bedroom, knowing they could find or make something with which to replace it. One of the dressers was brought down and all the baby clothes. Loomis wasn’t happy to realize that the parents had invested in disposable diapers. Two babies made for a lot of crap, which meant some of the material they gathered from the sewing room would have to be hijacked for that purpose. Gwen went through the adult clothes, most of which would fit Lucky but neither she nor Kevin. Cara and Heather would be busy for weeks hemming and adjusting for the smaller members of their family. Of course, the medieval outfits were brought down. At the very least, Cara would get a kick out of seeing them. She might be able to figure out how they were created and make more. Loomis counted it lucky that the man’s shoes appeared to be the right size to fit Kevin’s big feet, at least until he outgrew them. They would have to find someone in town to trade with for future footgear for the boy.
The pile of books grew by leaps and bounds when Gwen perused the romances. Loomis watched her peering at the titles by candlelight, eyes squinting to read the blurbs on the back. Who would have thought a crusty, cantankerous woman like that would be a sucker for love stories? At least she knew why Gwen’s reading abilities were above Lucky’s. Constant use had kept her skill from atrophying.
In the kitchen, most of the pots and pans were worthless, being the fancy Teflon coated things that busy housewives knew and loved before Orphan Maker. The smattering of electrical appliances had no value either. Terry did find a large broiler pan that would work in a wood stove, and there were a number of serving bowls, plates and utensils to be had. The bathrooms held towels that hadn’t yet been damaged by rodents and moths. Most of the grooming items were worthless, but Loomis discovered two toothbrushes still wrapped in cellophane. They needed only one more to cover everybody.
The treasure was in the basement. Loomis held the lantern high to distribute the light better. She grimaced at the aroma, the smell here more mildew than dust. At least the stairs were still good. She made a mental note that the buildings they entered would become more dangerous as time passed. Most of the odor came from the utility sink in the corner. She steered away from that, knowing anything left near there would have long ago disintegrated. Terry balanced an emergency candle on a small plate, moving slower than normal as a draft threatened to extinguish the flame. Cupping it, he followed her toward some dark shapes huddled in the corner.
Behind them, Gwen dawdled midway down the steps. She had wanted to wait until morning to check the basement, but Loomis had nixed that idea. Tomorrow would be spent packing the cart and checking out the storage shed in the back. Rather than stay alone upstairs, she had conceded to coming partway down, but refused to go any further. Loomis wondered how the big, tough city girl could be afraid of the dark, considering all the things she professed to have seen and done. On the other hand, maybe seeing those horrors had caused the fear. Loomis understood all too well the terror memory could enforce on a body.
A tarp covered the suspicious bulges and, when she reached down to throw it off, she heard the sound of rodents scuttling away. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” She pulled the heavy canvas aside. A cloud of dust made her sneeze.
Terry backed away, waving a hand in front of his face. He stepped forward and peered at the items. “Wooden chests.” He reached for the closest one.
“Not just that.” Loomis’s curiosity was piqued. She set the lantern on the floor and pulled on a bundle of wood and canvas. She untied the rope holding the mass together, unrolling it onto the floor.
“Camping gear!” Terry held up a cast iron fry pan. “There’s all sorts of cooking stuff in this one.”
“Camping gear.” Loomis tilted her head as she studied the mess of wood and rope before her. A web of rope joined two notched two-by-fours. There were also four short square lengths of wood and two midsized two-by-fours. She squatted down beside them, pulling a short piece out to fiddle with. It almost looked like—“It’s a cot,” she said, surprise coloring her tone.
“And here’s some more clothes and stuff.” Terry continued on to another chest. “This one has fur in it, and oil lamps it looks like.”
Loomis laughed. “I guess if you dress up like Robin Hood, you’d want to camp like that too.” At the very least, the cooking gear would come in handy for use or trade. She saw one other camp cot in the pile and what looked suspiciously like a tent with long, intricately carved poles. Considering the influx of new neighbors, the beds alone would be worth something to somebody in town. “Come on, let’s get this stuff upstairs. We’ll take it too.”
The trip back the following morning promised to be a lot more comfortable for Gwen than the one into town. Their cart was packed to overflowing, the tarp from the Phillips’s basement covering most of their bounty. Gwen had created a comfortable nest with one of the camp mattresses to ride upon. A book lay within easy reach as she watched the town roll by. Terry sat on top of the baby dresser, a couch cushion padding his behind. Beside him sat a leather binder holding his precious pad of legal paper. He munched on the last of the ham as they trundled along. Loomis rode her horse beside them, an arrow nocked in her bow, eyes scanning their surroundings. They’d had no problem with the dogs since that first night, and she seemed more relaxed.