Unknown - The_Growing_589064

Take some of the blood and put it on the sides and tops of the door-frames . . . eat with your cloak tucked into your belt, your sandals on your feet and your staff in your hand. Eat it in hast; it is the Lord’s Passover. On that same night I will pass through Egypt and strike down every firstborn. . .The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are; and when I see the blood, I will pass over you.

Somehow the words have remained with her, overlaid by the smell of polymer glue and newsprint on a hot spring morning in Southern California, where her father had been stationed at Thirty-Nine Palms.

Shakily Kirsten gets to her feet and sets down the gun. “Stay, Asimov.”

As he waits patiently, she tops off the gas tank from the jerry cans she has stashed in the back of the van. Then she wets her bandana with as little water as possible and scrubs the dried blood from her forehead. There is a faint tinge of red when she brings it away; she is still bleeding slightly. She ties a fresh strip around her forehead, eats a granola bar while she studies the map. When she is certain the helicopter will not return, she whistles Asimov onto the front seat and sets out again onto the open road.

4

The ranch is good sized, though smaller than her family’s by a good bit. Which isn’t all that surprising, given Clan Rivers has managed to hold on to their piece of land since Time Immemorial, or so it seems.

The main house is a long, rectangular structure with several outbuildings trailing behind like goslings to their mother.

Dakota steps out of her truck into snow that is nearly knee deep, and watches as the others likewise exit their vehicles and head for the promising warmth of the house. She follows along slightly behind, taking careful inventory of those with whom, for better or for worse, she’s thrown in her lot.

For the tough Air Force Colonel, she feels a rather immediate kinship, which gives her pause, given that outside of her family, she trusts very few. While more than intelligent enough to realize that circumstances sometimes make for strange bedfellows, she believes that in this case, perhaps, circumstances have very little to do with things.

The others—those she’s met, anyway—seem capable, and very loyal to their commanding officer.

Her internal musings are interrupted by Montoya, who, with a rakish grin and a flourishing bow, ushers her inside the house. The interior is over warm, given the bitterness of the outside air, and she pauses for a moment as the flush of warming blood hits her tanned skin, painting her in a rosy hue. Montoya notices the flush and, mistaking the reason for it, tips the striking Vet a wink, which is abruptly cut off as cool blue eyes laser into hers.

“I’ll…um…you know…just go over….there….”

The young corporal is gone with a speed that surprises even her commander. Allen tries hard to keep a smile from her lips as she rapidly deduces the reason for the young woman’s alacrity. It’s a failed effort as those same blue eyes move to meet her own, twinkling with wry amusement. Allen covers her mouth and laughs, shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Dakota?”

Koda swings around to see a handsome, well-built man standing just inside the doorway, his dark eyes wide with surprise.

“Manny?”

The young man’s face breaks into a beaming grin and he crosses the room in three long strides, arms wide. The two tightly embrace for long seconds while the others, bemused, look on. Finally, Manny pulls away and looks up. “Damn, woman, when are you gonna stop growing?”

“You’re just shrinking, sprout,” Dakota replies, reaching up and scrubbing her hand over the bristles of his buzz-cut.

Ducking his head, the younger man smiles ruefully and rubs his own hand over his scalp, remembering when his hair was as long, glossy and lush as Dakota’s. Then he stiffens and the smile drops from his face. “Koda? Your family?”

“They’re fine, Manny. As are yours. Mother told me they’d been talking on the CB.”

Manny lets out a breath of relief. “Thank God. I tried to contact them, but the phones are gone.” He looks up at her, face wreathed in sorrow. “I’m sorry about Tali, Koda. She was a good person.” He clears his throat. “I tried to make it for the funeral, but we were on maneuvers.”

Dakota smiles. “It’s okay, hankashi. She knew you loved her, and that’s what counts, right?”

Sighing, Manny nods, then turns at the sound of his commander clearing her throat. A slight blush colors his skin. “Sorry Colonel. This is Dakota, my shic’eshi.”

“Cousin, right?”

The younger man grins. “That’s right. See, you’re learning!”

Allen chuckles.

“We practically grew up together. I haven’t seen her or her family in, what is it now, four years?”

“About that,” Dakota agrees.

“Good. I’m glad I could help get the two of you back together then.” Allen waves at her junior. “Why don’t you show your cousin where she’ll be bunking for the night. We’re leaving for the base first thing in the morning.”

Before Manny can respond, the front door bursts open to admit a florid faced young man wearing Lieutenant’s stripes. “Corporal, that little girl we found, I can’t stop the bleeding.”

Allen nods, already throwing her coat back on. “Alright, let’s see what we can do.”

Dakota steps between the two. Allen looks at her, eyebrow raised.

“Maybe I can help.”

Maggie continues to stare.

“You have any medics?”

Allen shakes her head. “Just pilots. We’ve got basic first aid training, but not much more than that.”

“Then I’m the best you’ve got for now.” She holds up the triage kit she always carries with her. “I know my way around the human body pretty well.”

Allen smiles, relieved. “I’ll take that offer. C’mon.”

5

They walk along a shoveled and salted pathway bracketed by several heavily armed soldiers who take up positions along the walk, ever vigilant for intruders. Bypassing the first small cottage, they come to the second just to its right, and Koda follows the colonel inside.

The house is stuffed to the veritable rafters with hollow-eyed refugees, all women and girl-children. It is very warm inside and smells of despair and too many bodies packed too tightly together. The rescued women shuffle out of their way like zombies, making a path to a door along the narrow hallway. Opening the door, Allen gestures Kota to precede her.

The stench of putrescence is overpowering, but Koda, having smelled far worse in her life, keeps her face carefully neutral as she walks over to the small cot upon which a young girl, no more than four, lays.

Her dark, almond eyes are huge and glassy with a fever that paints clown spots of color high on her already ruddy cheeks. Her long, black hair is matted with sweat and dirt, and she stirs restlessly, further tangling the sheet that tries in vain to cover her tiny body.

“She was found….” Maggie starts, but quiets at Dakota’s upheld hand.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Koda murmurs, looking down into eyes so large that they seem to swallow the youngster’s face whole. “Not feelin’ so good, huh?”

The girl shifts her gaze, not looking so much to Dakota as through her. Deep, dark, and almost insanely calm pools of helplessness and hopelessness sear into the vet, touching off a sparkstone of rage deep inside. She fights it down with everything she has, keeping her gaze gentle and warm as she can make it.

The girl is Cheyenne. This she can tell by the shape of her face and the color of her skin. “My name is Koda,” she murmurs in the girl’s own language. “And I’m going to help make you feel better, okay?”

The girl blinks slowly, a tiny spark of surprise shining in the depths of her glassy, huge eyes.