Sophie Littlefield - Rebirth

Her diligence had worked. She didn’t catch anything, she checked out clean when she dragged herself in for the occasional guilt-driven checkup. So when she found out she was pregnant she was stunned. She had already scheduled an appointment for an abortion when it occurred to her that maybe she was meant to have this child, that there might be something more at work here than a birth control failure; that someone or something-some small part of the Universe that still cared about her-actually wanted her to do better. Not just for herself but for someone else. “Medications?”

“What, do you mean now? ”

“Recreational drug use?”

“No.” Cass felt herself color, thinking of the times she’d readily indulge in a little of whatever was offered by whatever man she was with. Never very much, she didn’t like the places it took her, not like- “Alcohol?”

“No,” Cass said much too quickly. “I mean, some, just. Ah. Social drinking, you know?”

No answer as Nell scrawled at her forms, not even bothering to look up.

“Why did you come here?”

Cass blinked. Nell looked at her expectantly.

“I told you. Evangeline invited me.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t come when she first asked you to, even if I’m to believe your story. Plus I have to ask. It’s the last question on the form. So why did you come here?”

Cass had come here because the Box was no longer a place she could raise Ruthie…but also because Smoke had betrayed her and she couldn’t bear to stay in the Box, where she had started to feel like someone she recognized again, only to have that ripped away from her.

She’d told herself it didn’t matter where she and Ruthie went, as long as it was away from the Box. But that wasn’t true. In all the world, at least all the world west of the Rockies, Colima was the only place that she knew still existed in a way that made any sense for raising a child. Yes, the Rebuilders were the enemy: they ruled through intimidation and fear, stole without remorse, murdered innocent people. But after the last twenty-four hours, after encountering the killers in the farmhouse and the fresh-turned Beaters, it might be the only place left outside the Box where Cass could keep Ruthie safe.

“I wanted a better life,” she whispered, neither the whole truth nor entirely a lie.

The security headquarters were housed in the main floor of the castlelike building near the entrance to the campus. Nell explained that its upper floors also served as housing for all the highest-level members of the Rebuilders, the officers.

Nothing here resembled security in the Box, which comprised the open area inside the gates with their picnic tables and camp chairs and citronella candles and sputtering propane torches. There was nothing like the metal shed that acted as supply depot, arsenal and liquor cabinet; and there were no card games or dice or Frisbees or disintegrating copies of Penthouse or Hustler passing hands.

Smoke had made few changes when he took over security for Dor, deciding that the freewheeling, hard-drinking, gutter-talking brotherhood-and sisterhood, with respect to Faye alone-wasn’t broke and didn’t need fixing. Once in a while someone was too hungover to work and had to trade shifts. Very occasionally there was a fight that resulted in a shiner or a split lip that they got from each other rather than from their peacekeeping efforts.

The front desk here was manned by a young man in a pale khaki button-down shirt who looked like a recruiting poster for the Marines. He had an old-fashioned wire rack full of papers, and he was writing in a spiral notebook. On the desk in front of him were a pager and a coffee mug.

Here, as elsewhere, the doors and windows were propped open to allow air to circulate. This room did not receive as much sun as the old preschool and the man at the desk looked cold, despite the fleece vest he was wearing, the gloves with the fingers cut off.

“Is Pace in?” Nell asked without preamble.

“Hi, yourself, Nell. Good to see you. How am I? Oh, not too bad,” the man said, ignoring Cass and Dor. Behind him, tacked to a wall, were a large map of California and a hand-lettered sign reading HOURS: 9:00-12:00, 13:00-17:00. “Nice of you to ask, since you didn’t show up to Clearings Tuesday. What’s that, twice in a row?”

“Hey, I got a different assignment,” Nell said defensively.

“Everyone’s supposed to have Clearings. No exceptions.”

“Not if you volunteer for Sanitary.”

The young man’s eyes widened. “You volunteered? ”

Nell shrugged. “It beats Clearings. At least you know what you’re going to be dealing with. And it never changes.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough-”

“So like I said, is Pace around?” Nell cut him off. “You may have noticed I’m not alone, right? These are a couple of joiners. David MacAlister and Cassandra Dollar. David’s daughter, Ruth.”

Ruthie, Cass wanted to correct her, but the desk jockey barely glanced at them. If this was what passed for security, maybe they could relax a little.

“Yeah, he’s back there.”

“Watch these guys for me?”

He regarded them impassively. “Yeah, whatever. I guess.”

Nell disappeared down a hallway, leaving Cass and Dor standing. There were no other chairs in the reception area. “May I use the bathroom?” Cass asked.

“Not without an escort. Not until you’re in, anyway.”

“In,” Dor repeated. “How much more in can we be?”

The man lifted his wrist: there, tattooed in black, was the symbol Cass had seen once before-on Evangeline’s wrist. The koru, a spiral resembling a snail shell, the Maori symbol of renewal. The symbol of the Rebuilders, deceptively appealing in its simplicity.

The sight increased Cass’s sense of anxiety, but Dor only smirked. “What, you got some sort of assembly line? Everyone gets one of those stamped on their ass on the way to the welcome cocktail party?”

“Not everyone,” the guard retorted. “You have to earn it.”

“Yeah, what’d you do to earn it, buddy? Rack up a dozen merit badges? Learn to tie your kerchief in a pretty knot?”

Cass shot him a look. She didn’t doubt that Dor was baiting the man on purpose, trying to draw him into a dick-measuring contest so he would be less likely to question their story that they were together. A family. Cass was pretty sure they’d fail any kind of rigorous questioning; Dor sure as hell wouldn’t be able to prove that Ruthie was his. He barely knew her. It helped that she didn’t talk, but he wouldn’t be able to answer the simplest questions like whether all her teeth had come in or when her birthday was or what time she went down for a nap.

It was a successful performance, Cass had to give Dor that. The man looked like he wanted to take a swing at Dor, but Nell returned, followed by a tall, thin man with rimless glasses and a salt-and-pepper beard.

“I’m Bruce Pace,” he said, extending a hand as he pushed past Nell, who managed to look both irritable and chastened. “So sorry that you weren’t brought here directly. We’ll get you in with Evangeline right away-she’s most anxious to see you.”

“All of us,” Cass clarified.

“Yes, of course. You’re, uh, traveling with David and his daughter?”

“We’re together,” she said, and ran through the list of words she could add: lovers, a family, he’s my boyfriend, we’re married . But “together” was the catchall term nowadays.

Pace’s skepticism could be forgiven. Except Cass had to make him believe, had to make all of them believe so they could stay together and she could be with Ruthie.

She forced a smile and slipped her hand into Dor’s. He hesitated for only a second before giving it a squeeze. “Ruthie’s become very attached to me,” Cass said. “She’s been traumatized, and she doesn’t talk much-but I think I’m getting in to her.”