Sophie Littlefield - Rebirth

“That’s fine.”

“Then…I’ll be inside. When you’re ready.”

He walked back into the house without looking at her. Cass set Ruthie down gently in front of the oatmeal and tested it with the knuckle of her little finger. “Wait a minute. It’s still too hot.”

Ruthie picked up her teaspoon and stirred the oatmeal. Cass had traded for oatmeal for Ruthie a few times before as a treat, the individual-serving kind that was flavored with apples or cinnamon. This was the real stuff, the slow-cooked steel-cut kind, and Cass’s stomach growled in anticipation. “I wish we had some sugar.”

Ruthie put her finger to her own puckered mouth, touching her lips as though hushing herself. Then she scrambled down from the table and ran for the house. Cass started to go after her but Dor was standing at the sliding glass doors. He opened them for Ruthie and she slipped inside and he crouched down next to her, as she pointed and gestured. If Cass went now it would look as though she didn’t trust him. Not that she did . But…not that she didn’t.

Dor had been gentle with Ruthie, but he was such a tall man, several inches over six feet, and strong and solid-Cass worried he would frighten Ruthie. There were the tattoos, the earrings, the fact that he never smiled-all of that. But Ruthie followed him into the house, out of view, never looking back-and Cass sat down on the bench and tried not to look concerned. She stirred her oatmeal. She took a sip of coffee. It was instant, not very good, but not terrible.

After a while the door opened again and Ruthie came back, holding a china bowl with both hands, taking tiny steps, concentrating on not spilling. She held it up to show Cass and she saw that it was a sugar bowl, a plump white china one with a bee painted on the side and nearly full of sugar.

“Ruthie! How did you-” Cass took the bowl from her daughter and was rewarded with a smile. And not just her usual tentative, uncertain smile but something closer to a grin, her loose front tooth giving her a rakish look. “Did you see the sugar bowl inside before?”

Ruthie nodded and pulled herself back up onto the bench. Cass hadn’t noticed the bowl. She hadn’t thought that Ruthie had noticed much of anything; she’d been so sleepy. And she was surprised her daughter would even know what such a bowl was-except, of course- this bowl was similar to Mim’s, and Ruthie had been with Mim and Byrn during those terrible months when Cass was struggling her way back to sobriety. Long enough for her to see Mim put sugar in her coffee dozens of times, two carefully measured spoonfuls stirred precisely three clockwise turns. It was a habit Cass had once loved to watch when she herself was a little girl.

“Well…aren’t you clever,” Cass said. She spooned sugar into each of their bowls, swirling it in and testing the temperature of the back of the spoon before handing it back to Ruthie. “Mmm, that looks so good . Aren’t we lucky today?”

Ruthie took a bite and smiled. “Mmm.”

Cass froze. It wasn’t a word-not really. Just a sound. Ruthie hadn’t even opened her mouth to make it. But it was a sound nevertheless. Progress. Change. She wanted to throw her arms around Ruthie, pick her up and swing her in a circle. She wanted to celebrate, to kiss her and tickle her and make her laugh. But that was too much.

She had to let Ruthie come back at her own pace, and not make her self-conscious. Self-consciousness-that thing that kills the real self. At first she had clung tightly to Cass whenever she was awake, but gradually she’d become bolder. In recent weeks she’d been happy to stay with Coral Anne and occasionally played with Feo when the older boy was willing to entertain her for a few hours. Cass’s instinct was to let it lie. But as Ruthie ate her oatmeal, Cass’s spirits lifted.

When she gathered the dishes and they headed back inside, there, watching them through the kitchen window, was Dor.

THE MORNING SKY WAS THICK WITH CLOUDS, but there was no moisture in the air. The wind buffeted the Jeep on the two-lane road. Dor kept his speed to thirty, even though the road was clear as far as she could see.

Ruthie twisted in her seat as they drove away, watching the little house recede into the distance. She’d remained mute while Cass washed her with the warm water, brushed her teeth and combed her hair and dressed her in clean underwear and yesterday’s clothes. Cass washed herself as well as she could, carrying the hot water around the corner of the house and stripping naked on the dead lawn, trying to wipe away every trace of what they’d done the night before while she held her blade in her free hand. Outdoors, away from the Box, she was never without a weapon, and she felt almost unbearably exposed as the cold morning air reached her body. She used deodorant, a rare indulgence, since she owned only one tube and tried to make it last. After she dressed, she went through the dresser in the room in which she and Ruthie slept, taking turtlenecks and too-big nylon underwear, as well as three pairs of neatly rolled knee socks.

“After we cross Leverett Canyon Road, Colima’s only another twenty miles,” Dor said after a while. “That last stretch might be tough. It’s an old road, mostly just local traffic since they built the highway. Not sure what we’re gonna find.” He’d been drinking from a plastic bottle of water, and he offered it to her. Cass looked at his hand holding the bottle, the black lines of his tattoo curling down onto the broad flat plane below his wrist.

She didn’t want to take from him, didn’t want to accept any kindness from him.

They passed the occasional ranch or farmhouse, but none appeared to be inhabited. Even a couple of months ago, a few squatters were still trying to tough it out alone in their homes, boarding themselves inside and venturing out only to raid at night, trying to avoid the Beaters. For most, it was a losing proposition. Nearly all the easy pickings had been scoured from those houses and stores that weren’t infested with Beaters. Water, canned food, medicine; shoes and warm clothes; toiletries and gasoline and propane-all of these were nearly impossible to find. Kaysev alone couldn’t make a subsistence life out here sustainable. Waste had to be disposed of. Water still needed to be boiled. Some squatters eventually gave up and made the journey to the nearest shelter, but there were recent rumors that some shelters were beginning to turn travelers away in an effort to conserve resources. Those who spent too many days on the road were guaranteed to be attacked; there were simply too many Beaters and they were increasingly desperate and hungry. The lucky ones made it to the Box or to a shelter that would still accept them; others grew despondent and chose a quick death-drowning, hanging, a leap from a bridge or building.

Or else they joined the Rebuilders.

“What the fuck,” Dor murmured softly, interrupting Cass’s thoughts.

Far up the road, casting stubby shadows on the blacktop under the late-morning sun, two women stood in the road. They stood close together, one of them pointing-at them, at the land beyond the road, it was hard to tell. The other had a rifle. Cass’s heart sank-if this was a Rebuilder checkpoint then all their attempts to arrive unannounced had been wasted. They’d wanted to hide the car to avoid suspicion.

Dor took his foot off the gas and coasted. When they were a hundred feet away, he braked to a stop. The women turned toward the Jeep and Cass got a better look at them, one middle-aged, the other a bit younger. Both wore their thick hair cut blunt at their shoulders; their jeans and coats were mannish and utilitarian. Sisters? Cass thought she saw a similarity in their soft jaw lines, in their slack mouths. They didn’t wear the military surplus favored by the Rebuilders, didn’t have the rigid, coiled stance of their leaders.