Sophie Littlefield - Rebirth

“Don’t worry,” she said hastily, picking Ruthie up and turning her, away from the sight of Malena, red-faced and desperate.

Her little girl whimpered against her neck. At the sound of her faint mewling Cass tried not to react, but she hadn’t heard that sound since getting Ruthie back, save a few times while she slept. Slowly, cautiously, she pulled Ruthie away and examined her face. Tears streaked her cheeks and her hair was damp, a few strands stuck to her skin.

“Help him,” Ruthie whispered.

Help him.

Help the boy who Cass thought Ruthie had never noticed, who had neither spoken nor moved since they arrived, the boy who was little more than a ghost lingering between life and death.

Cass swallowed the lump in her throat and pressed her cheek to Ruthie’s. Of all the things she’d longed to hear her daughter say…her first conscious sentence was this, a plea for something Cass could not promise-for all she knew the boy was already gone.

What was she supposed to say?

She had vowed, the day she stole Ruthie back from her own stepfather that she would shield her daughter from all the ugliness in the world. No man would ever do to Ruthie what Byrn Orr had done to Cass-he had put his clammy hands on her and told her that she wanted it, that she was a dirty slut who needed a man to drive the sinfulness from her. That she was born unclean and his touch would redeem her. That had been the third-worst of his lies, after “I have to do this because I care about you” and “You made this happen.”

Lying on her side, face turned to the wall, while Byrn pushed her nightgown up over her buttocks, Cass had promised herself once she got away, she would never let anything like this happen again. Instead she’d won her freedom only to squander it on one drunken, faceless encounter after another. But when Ruthie was born she realized that she could protect her daughter from the ugliness of the world, even after she’d failed to protect herself.

“Help him, Mama,” Ruthie whispered a second time, and Cass felt rent in two. How to protect her now from the most basic ugly truth of the world? How did she tell her daughter that they could not save everyone? That they had to let some people die, Aftertime, because there just wasn’t enough to go around? Not enough resources, enough time, enough energy-enough of anything?

“Oh, sugar,” she heard herself say, and she held Ruthie close, rocking her against her body. “Sugar.”

She could not make this impossible promise. She’d just make everything worse. She couldn’t help Devin, and soon he would die, and she would be in the position of having to tell Ruthie that she hadn’t been able to help him after all. Ruthie would know that Cass had lied. Cracks would form in Ruthie’s trust. And trust was the only gift Cass had to give Ruthie besides her love. Didn’t her daughter deserve to know there was one person on the earth who she could always count on? Even Devin had that-as unstable as Malena was, upbraiding Kaufman and Lester and even Pace, screaming about her son-she had never flagged in her dedication to him.

Cass had made one other promise, in a moment of weakness. Several months ago, when she’d first awoken after the Beater attack, she’d met a girl in the library that had been her shelter. Sammi-Dor’s daughter. Sammi was lively and brave, and when she asked Cass for a promise, she could not say no. Sammi had asked Cass to find her father. And Cass, tired and lonely and unmoored, had said yes. It had simply been easier than saying no.

Cass never believed it would happen-but it had. The odds of finding one man in what was left of the little mountain towns dotting the Sierras…well, the odds were small. And yet she had ended up in the Box, with Dor, and she’d passed on Sammi’s message of love and hope and longing for the father she never forgot.

Cass knew better than to ever imagine that she was blessed, that there was a lucky star over her or a divine shepherd looking out for her. Her own father was little more than a distant memory, a hazy dream that she’d relegated to the other memories of childhood, in a far corner of her mind. And yet, the thing she had promised had come to pass-she had found Dor. If it had happened once, wasn’t it possible that it could happen again?

But try as she might, Cass could not embrace faith, not this time.

“It will be all right,” she said to Malena, who’d sunk back into the chair. Cass chose her half-truths with care. “But we can’t do anything now. I’m sure they’ll let you see him soon-right?”

“Uh…yeah, soon,” Kaufman said, hedging. “I mean, maybe not today, what with the…procedure and all. But tomorrow. For sure tomorrow.”

“I have to wait here until tomorrow?” Malena wailed. “I don’t get to see him?”

Pace picked up a sheet of paper. It was printed with a grid, handwritten words lined up in the squares. “Actually we got your work assignments. Devin…well, given his special status and all, they’re going to do a special determination.”

“What’s that? What the hell is a determination?”

“All it means is special circumstances.” Kaufman looked increasingly uncomfortable. “Look, I’m sure he’ll get some sort of desk job. Or something.”

“Yes, I can’t make any promises but they’re looking for a few people in the records department,” Pace said, but he wouldn’t meet Malena’s eyes and Cass figured he was lying. “And you’re not going to be too far off. You’re in the receiving depot. Trust me, that’s a good assignment. You should be happy.”

“Shit, I started in demolition,” Kaufman said. “Breathed mortar for two weeks. I would have loved to get receiving.”

“What about me?” Cass asked. “And David?”

“You’re an outlier,” Lester said, with a trace of envy that he didn’t bother to mask. “That’s way different.”

“I’ll have an assignment for you soon, but it’s only temporary,” Pace said crisply, giving Lester a disapproving glance. “For one thing, you’ll be spending a lot of time in research. As for David, he’ll be considered for an assignment from the regular population pool. That may change when you move to permanent outlier quarters. But no moves will be feasible until spring, at the earliest. There’s a great deal to do. Now, let’s get everyone moving. There’s a new group that should be here any minute.”

As he and Kaufman talked in low voices about how best to move Malena, Lester touched Cass’s arm, his expression wistful.

“Those outlier quarters? When they get them done, it’ll be the closest thing anyone’s going to come to Before ever again.”

DOR WAS WAITING WHEN LESTER ESCORTED CASS and Ruthie to their room in the temporary quarters reserved for those waiting on their permanent assignments, a nearly empty floor of an unremarkable brick dormitory. The door of their room was propped open and he was sitting on the edge of one of two narrow beds, his jaw set in a hard line. He jumped to his feet and stood glowering, large hands hanging at his sides.

“Where have you been?”

“What are you doing here?” Cass couldn’t help staring at his crotch, which looked like it had the last time she’d seen him-if he’d had a vasectomy, he’d also had a remarkable recovery. He was wearing the same jeans he had on yesterday and a shirt she didn’t recognize. He’d shaved, but it wasn’t the precise, close shave he preferred, and she supposed no one had returned his pack to him yet. Dor’s one indulgence was his razor, which he paid the Box barber to sharpen twice a week. Entrepreneurs themselves, raiding parties often brought shaving cream or new straight blades to barter with Dor.

“I’ve already been snipped,” he growled, “like I told you all before. We could have saved a little time if you’d listened to me.” He directed this at Lester, who shrugged and turned to go, hand on the door frame.