Sophie Littlefield - Horizon

Happiness had once dwelled in that humble little strip of land. In the morning, the Beaters would be back, and perhaps they would trudge across that sand in their fetid rotting shoes, into the water they’d only yesterday learned to navigate, and follow the yearning that was the only emotion they had left. If any of them had been to this place before they turned, if they’d water-skied these waters or drunk pitchers of icy lemonade or read the latest romance novel or stolen a kiss under an umbrella, that memory was as lost to them as the ability to speak or love.

RED SAW THEM coming, the man limping along with his arm around his daughter, who was somehow managing to push one of those funny-looking three-wheeled strollers at the same time. The man walked like he was about to collapse, leaning on Cass for support.

So this is how they were to meet. Red had imagined this day a hundred different ways, but never like this. Red would call for Zihna. She was good at this sort of thing. He knew the only reason Cassie had come to him was that she had no other choice, and he accepted that. But this was a start.

The trailer, a little single-axle flatbed utility model with a handle he’d rigged from an old ski rope, was as comfortable as he could make it. Earlier, Craig Switzer and a few of his friends had come by and tried to talk him out of it, and when he didn’t budge, the talk had turned ugly.

“What are you fixin’ to do, haul your guitars and shit along when there’s people to be fed? We could get a hell of a lot of water and supplies on that thing,” Craig said, eyeing the trailer with a calculating expression. What brave Craig didn’t know was that Zihna was in the next room, cleaning their guns. He didn’t know what a good shot Zihna was. Well, there was a reason Red had taught her in private. A man would have to be a fool not to see that a day like this was coming-and he’d have to be a coward not to take precautions to protect the ones he loved.

Red had been exactly such a coward for most of his life. But no more.

No more.

“And who’s going to decide that, brother?” he asked softly, hand on his belt, where a holster he’d carefully modified over several long winter afternoons hid not one but two blades, each of them specialized, each of them very, very comfortable in his hand. “You? Because last I heard, no one had nominated any of you clowns for council.”

An ugly grin spread across Craig’s face. Behind him, his friends giggled and shuffled. Red knew that Mario had been caught trying to break into the storehouse at least once. No formal punishment had been meted out, since there was no proof to contradict his story that he’d been simply seeking a Band-Aid for a woman who had cut herself on a paring knife. But a lingering pall of suspicion had followed him ever since.

“Council’s in for some changes, I bet,” Craig said. “Give it a week or two, there’ll be all manner of staff changes, resignations…attrition…what have you.”

“I imagine you’re right,” Red said, his mild tone hiding a growing anger. “Why don’t we wait until then and reconvene this discussion again. Meantime, my wife and I have our own plans for our property, and I’ll thank you to respect that, and be on your way.”

The men stayed only for a moment more, looking around the garage, no doubt trying to see if there was anything worth taking. There was not-Zihna had helped the girls pack and sent them on ahead to the docks, where everyone was assembling.

“Wife, huh,” the dullest of the three, Tanner Mobley, said over his shoulder as they sauntered away. “You all have you a proper wedding I didn’t get invited to?”

“Indeed,” Red said, folding his arms over his chest and watching them go.

No, he and Zihna had never had a ceremony. They’d met after Red had nearly given up on life, seven months ago. Red had in mind to hang himself in a neatly tended trilevel house on the outskirts of Bakersfield. Who knew why he chose that house from the dozen on that block-but when he went inside looking for a rope or a belt or even a sheet he could rip into strips, instead he found Zihna sitting calmly at the kitchen table, shelling kaysev beans.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He had been wandering for days, and he hadn’t bothered to eat or drink much since survival had ceased to be a goal. He wondered if she was an angel, sent to welcome him to the next world, the one where he could start forgetting all the things that he’d done wrong in this one.

But she wasn’t an angel. And she had no plans to allow him to forget or escape anything at all. Instead, she guided him back. He owed her everything, and had pledged her everything. Where before there had been a broken man and a proud woman, now there was a union that meant more to Red than anything on this earth, aside from his daughter.

If that didn’t make Zihna his wife, no vow or ceremony or holy man on this earth would either.

Now, as dawn waited just over the horizon, he waited with an old wool blanket over his lap and watched his daughter slowly approach. When they were within a few yards of his front door, Red cleared his throat.

“Cassie, I’m glad to see you. And your friend.”

Cass saw him then, and the door opened behind him and Zihna came out, carrying a lantern. The porch was lit up and they could see the wounded man clearly. Zihna saw him every day, of course, but it was not Red’s habit to come inside the hospital where she worked. Red couldn’t abide hospitals, not even now. So the face of the man his daughter loved was new to him.

He knew the stories, of course. Well, maybe the man was a hero. Maybe not. Time would tell. For now, though, Red owed him courtesy. He’d watch him like a hawk, and if Smoke made his daughter happy, then he could stay.

He stood up with his hand extended. Smoke regarded him with unfocused eyes and it took him three tries to lift his hand high enough to shake. He looked like he was about to pass out on the spot.

“Welcome,” Red said gravely.

In his mind, he added, Watch yourself.

SAMMI FOLLOWED THE sound of her father’s voice without getting up from the spot they’d claimed, their backs against the bridge supports where they took root fifty feet inland. The road rose above the ground there and was in pretty good shape for Aftertime. Someone must have kept it in good repair, Before.

Sage was sitting next to her, finally asleep, dozing with her head on Sammi’s shoulder, and Kyra was sleeping at their feet wrapped up in a blanket. A little while ago Roan and Leslie and Jasmine had stopped by to see if Kyra wanted to go with them, but she and Sammi had barely managed to get Sage to come with them, practically dragging her away from the quarantine house, and Kyra had absently told them, thanks maybe later.

It was too weird to think of her with Jasmine, who had to be the oldest pregnant woman Sammi’d ever met-she was well over forty, anyway. What would she and Kyra even talk about? She could be Kyra’s mom, easy.

Before Kyra fell asleep she told Sammi to make sure they stuck together, and Sammi was going to do that, though she was secretly worried about whether Kyra ought to be walking so much. But then again, who knew how far they were even going to go? Maybe they’d find the perfect shelter in a day or something. It was unlikely: rumor was that Nathan and some others had driven out to all the known shelters within thirty miles that were still reachable-many of the major roads were impassable, clogged with wrecks-and none had room, or the desire, to add on a group of their size. But it wasn’t impossible, right? They could split up, if they had to, find somewhere like the first shelter Sammi’d lived in, back when her mom and Jed were still alive. The school had been fine. It wasn’t like New Eden, where there were no high walls, nothing to separate them from the rest of the world but the river, but it had been all right. In fact, she missed it in some ways. Missed how small it was, how she knew everything about everyone, how everyone always asked her how she was doing.