Sophie Littlefield - Horizon

Dane shrugged, and Cass saw that he was trying to hide the pile of play money behind him. Dane was a hoarder, and she frequently had to intervene when he took things from the others, only to find little stashes here and there around the house, piles of doll shoes and board books and spoons. She was always at a loss as to how to discipline for this habit; the parenting books of Before never gave advice about what effect seeing your dad beaten to death trying to defend a water supply, or watching your happy-go-lucky neighbor get dragged away by a horde of screaming monsters, might have on children and what you could do to help.

She’d tried to talk to Ingrid about Dane, but she didn’t believe Cass. Ingrid’s answer to every parenting problem involved more of her relentless structured activities; she suggested Cass read a book called Red Monsters Share and discuss it with the children.

“Dane. There’s enough play money for everyone to share,” she said now, digging deep to come up with enough patience to see her through at least until lunch. By the time she served the children their tea and jam sandwiches-jam made from the nectarines she’d grown herself-she would probably be able to force down a few crackers. She always felt better after she got something in her stomach to absorb the churning bile left behind by one of her infrequent all-out benders.

Which she never would have had, if it hadn’t been for-

No, don’t

Dane was looking at her doubtfully, groping around behind him, trying to push the coins out of her sight.

“There’s enough for everyone,” Cass repeated. “You don’t have to keep them all yourself.”

“She bit me,” Dane repeated stubbornly. “Biting is not okay.”

And it wasn’t, of course; biting was one of the things that could get a kid thrown out of child care, Before. That and not being current on vaccinations. Or a failure to potty train. All offenses that seemed ridiculously irrelevant now.

“Biting is not okay, but neither is not sharing,” Cass said through gritted teeth. What she really wanted to do was seize all the plastic coins and put them in a box and put the box up on the counter where none of the kids could reach it, and keep taking things away from them every time they fussed, until they had nothing, nothing, and maybe that would keep them quiet, just long enough for her to get her strength back, just long enough to think.

“Maybe Ruthie’s got the fever,” Dane said, watching her closely, a mean little smile at the corner of his mouth.

Cass froze. She ground her fingernails into the palms of her hands, forcing herself not to react. “Don’t you ever say that,” she finally whispered, her own voice sounding strange to herself, stripped bare and dragged over coals.

There must have been something in her tone or expression that finally got through to Dane, because the smirk left his face and his lower lip wobbled and he looked down at the carpet.

“Don’t you ever say anything like that, Dane,” she repeated. Because if an adult could accuse, who was to say that a child couldn’t, as well? She was nearly positive that Phillip had the fever, but if more cases popped up, there was sure to be hysteria, finger-pointing, blame. There were people in New Eden-the weak ones, the easily swayed and those with a tenuous grip on reality-who might latch onto an accusation, even a groundless one, even one that came from a child. “None of us have the fever. We are careful. We are healthy.”

Before long she managed to distract the boy with a stub of crayon and pages torn from a microwave manual. The densely printed instructions were in English, Spanish, Japanese, but there was plenty of white space, which Dane and the other kids set to filling in with colorful scribbles at the kitchen table while Cass made preparations for lunch.

Long ago, Cass had practiced affirmations, little phrases from a book someone had given her at A.A. Live life on life’s terms. Faith chases away fear. Some days they seemed utterly worthless, sentimental drivel, mindless pleasantries. And some days they worked, a little.

I can do this I can do this I can do this, Cass repeated soundlessly to herself, turning away from the children and forming the words on trembling lips. It wasn’t much of a mantra. It lacked imagination and substance.

Worst of all, Cass seriously doubted whether it was true.

But she did. She got through lunch, settling only one disagreement over who got the last of the cookies. She managed to eat a few herbed kaysev crackers and the crusts of Ruthie’s sandwich, and after cleaning up the kitchen she got all the children to lie down for a nap, even Dane, who was not much of a sleeper these days. When she was sure they were all out, she lay down between Ruthie and Dirk, thinking she would just close her eyes for a moment, perhaps catch fifteen minutes’ rest before one of the children woke her up.

But images of the morning’s discovery kept her awake. Bubbles had risen to the surface of the water after the Beater went under. Was it possible that she had imagined the other-the sudden paddling of its hands?

The sound of the front door opening yanked Cass out of her thoughts. She scrambled to her feet and smoothed her clothes. There was already enough trouble between her and the other moms without them thinking she wasn’t doing her part with the children. She picked up the closest book-one of the historical romances Suzanne liked-and put her finger between the pages so it would look like she’d been reading, and sat in the recliner.

Ingrid came into the room, followed by Jay Swarmer, who headed up the security rotation, guarding the bridge and dragging away dead Beaters from the shore. His presence here, in the middle of the day, caused an uneasy cramp in Cass’s stomach. As for Ingrid, her onetime friend’s lips were set in a thin line and twin red spots stood out on her cheeks, and she refused to meet Cass’s gaze.

“What’s going on?” Cass said quietly. Getting no answer other than grim looks, she set the book down on the coffee table. “Let’s talk in the kitchen so we don’t wake the kids.”

“I’ll stay with them,” Ingrid said primly. She settled herself cross-legged on the floor, the long wool skirt she wore draped over her muddy boots.

Cass followed Jay wordlessly into the kitchen, wondering if she should offer him some of the cold tea left over from the morning. They’d all grown accustomed to drinking it cold; though the cooks kept a fire going through most of the day, the hearth was usually in service for one task or another, everything from slow-cooking rabbits on a spit, to baking flat breads, to boiling river water to purify it. There was no time for heating tea or leftovers, barely even for warming one’s hands over the flames.

But Jay spoke before she had a chance. “This is a hell of a thing, Cass.”

She was surprised at the approbation in his voice. He leaned back against the counter, his jeans slung low under a gut that had been slowly disappearing ever since Cass had known him. No matter how much kaysev a person ate, it wasn’t enough to make or keep them fat. Even Fat Mike was lean these days, though the nickname stuck.

“What do you mean?”

Jay winced, closing his eyes for a moment as if the conversation pained him. “Sammi’s been to see me.”

Cass set a hand on the back of a kitchen chair to support herself as she absorbed this fresh bad news. Sammi had told. Despite Cass’s deep anguish over hurting Dor’s daughter, she had never considered that Sammi would want revenge against her. But of course, Cass would be much easier to hurt than her father. Their affair didn’t go against any of New Eden’s covenants, and there were those who might even admire him for keeping a couple of women in play…but Cass had trouble fitting into New Eden from the start and this would only make people that much more reluctant to befriend her-