Orphan Maker Read Free Page B

caused Megan to giggle. It always did. She fell forward, and hugged Loomis’s neck. “I’ll miss you.”
    “I’ll miss you, too, baby.” Loomis gave her a kiss, and set her down. “Go play. And don’t drive Cara to drink.”
    “If anybody does, it’ll be you.” Heather had left the garden, and Cara stood beside Loomis.
    “We’ll just have to lock up the brew then, won’t we?”
    Cara appeared unconcerned with Loomis’s taunting. “Get out of here. And if you see Annie Faber, let her know we can use another gallon of honey if she’s got it.”
    “I will.” Loomis waved to her family and headed for the barn. She stopped at the rain barrel long enough to sluice water over her head before joining her brother.
    ***
     
    Gwen and the others huddled together on a low dais at the front of the room. Her first thought had been that it was some sort of a theater until she saw the large wooden cross on the wall. Daylight filtered through from a skylight. Looking up, she saw blue sky, and the same church steeple she had spotted with the binoculars a few hours before. The building was modern, recently built. Other than the steeple and cross, it could have been a community hall. The townie kids apparently used it as such because Weasel’s bangers weren’t alone. While they idled on the platform, the residents of Lindsay Crossing trickled in, heeding the peal of the church bell that had rung for a half hour or more. It had been silent for some time, but still everyone waited. The so-called mayor, Dwayne Walker, said that some of the folks lived a ways out from town, and needed time to get there.
    Gwen shook her head. That was the word he had used—“folks.” She didn’t think anybody used that word even before the plague, let alone now.
    Someone had located a box of old military rations, and jugs of weak tea were passed around to the refugees. The rations tasted like cardboard regardless of what the wrapping said, but it was difficult to eat their first meal in two days with any sense of decorum. Those townies that had already arrived stared at them as they ravaged their lunch. Gwen felt a hot flush of shame. That didn’t stop her from licking every last crumb from the dusty wrapper. It was a good thing the rations carried a gummy texture. It forced even the most ravenous of the Gatos to slow down and chew, ensuring no one wasted the food by puking it back up.
    Walker greeted people as they arrived at the door, and Gwen watched him speculatively. Even with the lame-ass title of mayor he was the head honcho here. That meant he held the power. He looked like a dweeb. Her eyes passed over the rest of the townies.
Hell, they all do. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a hot idea after all.
She glanced at Weasel. His face was contorted with an effort not to scowl. He thought he had made a mistake too, she could tell. His people had been disarmed, herded like cattle, and left to twiddle their thumbs by a bunch of crackers. As the pews filled, Weasel’s crew became increasingly outnumbered.
And you can damn well bet each and every one of them has a gun or knife.
The two groups stared at one another in suspicion.
    She couldn’t help but notice their health. Had she ever been that hale and hearty? She had always been small, but she couldn’t imagine looking like these country people. As survivors of the plague, they were all under twenty years of age. But these people were heavy, well fed and limber. All the boys and most of the girls had good muscle tone, as if they spent a lot of time doing physical labor. And they were clean, even the little ones! They wore neatly mended clothes that, while lacking in fashion sense, were certainly well cared for. Any dirt smudged upon them appeared fresh, like it was acquired today during their chores or travels, not caked on from endless days on the road or living in squalor. She looked over the gang she lived with. At one time, they had been the cool kids, the tough ones, the survivors.