Mate Run, page 2
“I’m willing to risk it,” Terry said.
“I’m not,” I said fiercely. I knew Terry had issues with the infected, but I had no idea his bigotry was this ingrained.
Dr. Phillips glanced at the hospital’s lawyers, who nodded and sighed. “We will abide by whatever decision you two make.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and gave Terry a hard stare. “My son. My decision. We’re not married, and the birth certificate hasn’t been signed.” Which meant currently, Terry had no legal rights. Thank God for small mercies.
Terry retreated a step, putting space between us. “If you do this, the wedding is off. Cara, be reasonable. We’re both young and healthy. We can have more children.”
His words slashed like knives against my already battered heart. My breathing became so short, I was in danger of hyperventilating. Reaching for my left hand, I took off my engagement ring and held it out to him.
Terry took it with obvious reluctance and slid it into his pocket. His eyes begged me to reconsider. “If you change your mind, you know where I’ll be.”
Ignoring the tears sliding down my cheeks, I told him in as firm a voice as I could manage, “I won’t.”
The love of my life nodded and walked out of the hospital room without a backward glance.
Chapter Two
Cara
“That’s it for today, class. Enjoy your weekend and stay out of trouble,” I told the twenty faces staring at me through the dual video monitors.
“Bye, Ms. Rodriguez,” they chimed as a group. One by one, their little faces winked out.
I ended the session and glanced down at the massive lump of brindle colored fur under my feet. “Let me check my email, and then we can go for a walk.”
At the “w” word, Cujo’s ears perked up. The thickly muscled Bullmastiff rolled onto his stomach, his expression alert.
I logged into my email. There was a new notification from the legal firm representing my financial interests. I quickly opened it, cautioning myself not to get my hopes up.
Dear Ms. Rodriguez,
We regret to inform you...
I closed my eyes. Damn it! What was wrong with these people? Why was it so hard to get one of them to help? I quickly skimmed the clan’s response–the same blah, blah, blah as the others– and jumped to the bottom of the email.
As stated in our previous correspondence, this was the last infected clan in the eastern territory. We can continue our search in the western territory. However, it’s not an option we advise. Based upon the information we’ve gathered, the clans out west are lawless, and we’ve heard substantiated rumors of female abuse and subjugation.
If you are determined to continue this path, we strongly encourage you to consider the Mate Match Agency. Once again, we’ve added their website and contact information in the correspondence.
Respectfully yours,
T. S. Sanders Law Group
Before I could type a response, Jock came barreling into the room. “Momma, I done. We go outside now?”
Cujo came out from under my desk and treated Jock to a face full of love licks, which caused my son to giggle like a loon.
“Did you power down the tablet and store it in its cubby?” I asked, watching the two play.
“Yes,” he said with a roll of his eyes. No four-year-old should be able to look that annoyed.
I withheld a smile. No sense encouraging him. He was precocious enough. “Fine. Let me power down the computer and put on my shoes.”
He bounced in place with impatience for the three minutes it took me to do so. Cujo ran in circles around him, barking. Then Cujo ran to the door, came back and barked at me as though saying, “Hurry up.” It was clear they’d both been cooped up inside for too long, despite our morning walk.
As I stomped my foot into the second athletic shoe, Jock and Cujo ran to the door. The noise the two made while waiting for me to remove the large, wood drop bar and the reinforced locks made me cringe. As soon as the door was open, Jock charged outside. The dog raced by his side. Joaquin lived for the outdoors. It was getting harder and harder to keep him contained inside of the motorhome.
I gave a wary nod to a few neighbors sitting outside, enjoying the weather before the snow and ice set in. The smell of smoking meat filled the air. Bruno must have gone hunting and was prepping the meat for storage. As usual, whenever I was present, the men stared. The few women there ignored me. My father, God rest his soul, had served with these men while on the police force and considered them good friends. I tried to think of them as honorary uncles, but the truth was they made me uneasy.
Fortunately, both the dog and boy stayed close. Cujo, as our protector, and Jock because he’d learned the hard way that not all adults were nice. As one of the infected, his survival instincts were finely honed. Because of his young age, he couldn’t articulate why a person gave him bad vibes. He simply called them “bad” people. Unfortunately, our small settlement was full of people he considered bad. One of the many reasons I had the law firm searching for a place we could call home.
I propped the rifle against the side of the motorhome as I engaged all of the locks and set the alarm. We wouldn’t go far, but my father had drilled safety precautions into me. I picked up the weapon and gave my son a nod. Jock ran straight for the rope playground my father and a couple of the men had built. He climbed and swung from one platform to the other like a modern day Tarzan while I stood sentry and watched over him.
The dog sniffed around the various plants before choosing one to lift his leg and water. Mission accomplished, he continued his investigation of the area. Every so often, he’d trot over to check on Jock. The minute Cujo saw Bruno heading in my direction, he stopped what he was doing and came to stand protectively by my side.
Bruno gave the dog a wary look and stopped close enough for the others not to overhear our conversation, but not so close as to trigger Cujo’s warning growl. “Any luck?”
I shook my head, not in a mood to discuss it. Despite the chilly fall air, the sun beamed like a heat lamp, warming all who stood beneath its rays. I lifted my face and let the warmth soothed my wind chilled face.
Bruno edged a little closer, causing Cujo to let out a low rumble. “A pretty young thing like you should have a man in her life. Being alone like this isn’t what your father wanted for you.”
The compliment made me uneasy. It wasn’t the words, but...I don’t know. Something in the delivery, maybe? Bruno put me in mind of an aged grizzly bear: tall, packed with fat and muscle, with a face full of wiry salt and pepper hair. He and my father had been extremely close. Since his death, Bruno had appointed himself my protector, warning off the other men in the camp.
I shook off my unease and sighed, admitting, “This clan’s response was the same as the others.”
A few clans offered to take my son and raise him. Said they’d give him to one of their couples who’d lost a child. Some wanted me but not Jock, stating they had more than enough men but needed women. None of the clans were willing to take both of us unless I was willing to mate with one of their many single men.
Honestly, after my experience with Terry, a husband was the last thing I wanted. My son’s own biological father had rejected him. The last thing I wanted to do was to tie myself to another man who felt the same. I didn’t say any of this to Bruno.
Almost as though he’d read my mind, Bruno said, “Not every man has a problem with your boy being the way he is. Quite a few of us are willing to overlook it and consider him as part of the package. I told your father that it was hard for a man alone to keep his womenfolk safe, no matter how skilled he is. He needed help. He didn’t listen, and now he’s dead.”
I gave a slow blink as my brain processed what he said. Us, himself included. Had Bruno...? Then the rest of what he said caught up, and I felt my face blanche. Was he implying my father’s death hadn’t been an accident?
Bruno reached out a hand and caught one of my golden corkscrew curls, swirling in the breeze. He ignored the way I flinched, and Cujo’s low growl. “I’d be a good protector, and I wouldn’t make the mistake Caesar did. The boy would have a father and in addition to safety, you’d have a man to keep you warm at night. Think about it.” He gave the curl a final stroke and a light tug before walking off.
My son came running over. “What’s wrong, mommy?”
Cujo stood in attack mode. His mouth was open, baring fangs, and his head lowered as though he might charge at any moment. I rested a hand on his head to calm him. “It’s okay. It’s all right,” I crooned to the dog.
I glanced at the other men in the encampment, seeing the way they looked at me in a new light. Maybe staying here after my father died hadn’t been such a great idea. My need to find us a new home just became critical.
“Nothing, baby. Let’s walk down to the river,” I told Jock, giving him a one-armed hug. We both needed to stretch our legs.
Jock’s face lit up. “Can I run?”
“Yes. Take Cujo with you,” I said.
“Come on, Cujo,” Jock said, and the two took off running down the worn path through the trees.
“Watch out for snakes,” I called after them. I gave the same warning every day, unable to help myself. Even knowing that with his animalistic instincts and speed, it was doubtful he’d come to harm even if he did stumble across one. Besides, the two of them made so much noise the cautious creatures would feel them coming long before they got near and slithered away.
I thought over my conversation with Bruno as I trailed behind. Was he trying to scare me, pointing out my vulnerability as a woman alone? Or was he hinting that my father’s hunting accident hadn’t been an accident at all? Bruno had been the one to find my father’s body and bring him home. I’d never questioned his version of events. Even now, I found it difficult to believe someone would kill my father just to get to me.
After Joaquin’s birth, my life had upended. The infected couldn’t live within the city limits. It was too stressful for them. Fortunately, the hospital had paid millions for my silence about their screw-up. They couldn’t have word leaking that they’d accidentally infected a child. It would ruin their reputation and cost the hospitals billions in revenue.
I’d called my father after Terry had walked out. I didn’t have anyone else, and the hospital wouldn’t release me unless I had someone to care for me. He’d dropped everything and driven overnight to be by my side. He’d handled the lawyers, making sure I received fair compensation. He’d purchased the motorhome for me and found the campsite. He told me my job was to focus on being a mother. He’d handle everything else.
For over four years, my father had treated me like the princess he called me. He’d been my rock, my support system, my protector. Then suddenly he was dead, making me an orphan. That had been six months ago, and I still deeply felt his loss every day.
His death had started me thinking about the future. What would happen to Joaquin if I died? I had no other family, and sending him to Terry was not an option. The few people I still called friends lived within the city proper. They’d try their best to care for him if there was no other option, but as one of the infected, Joquain’s senses were so enhanced that living in a crowded city would be pure torture. It had suddenly became clear that I needed to become part of the infected community. They cared for their own.
The problem was, Joaquin was infected. I wasn’t. Nor could I become infected. The rapid succession of infected blood and vaccination did something to me the doctors were still trying to figure out. If I could, I would have infected myself using Joaquin’s blood and moved to clan territory after my father’s death. I had the resources to support myself, and my money would be an asset to any clan, most of whom struggled to survive.
I reached my son, who'd stopped and crouched at the river’s edge. “The tadpoles are bigger.”
I knelt beside him to see. “Sure are.”
“Can I swim?” he asked.
I looked at the water and the position of the sun. “Not today. There’s no school tomorrow. We’ll come back in the afternoon, and you and Cujo can get in.”
Jock and the dog splashed along the banks, getting wet and streaked with mud. Once again, I played sentry, watching out for aggressive wildlife. In addition to my rifle, I had my knife strapped to my waist. My father had ensured I was well-trained with both weapons.
In the aftermath of the pandemic, the infected had taken over the rural areas, leaving the urban centers to the uninfected. My father and I had moved our recreational motor home into a RV camp just outside New Town city limits that had the necessary sanitation set up. Populated with war veterans and retired law enforcement like Bruno, these men were too rough to feel comfortable living in urban centers. They preferred living off the grid and away from government interference.
This deep in no man’s land, I never left home without my weapons. Those who lived within the city limits worried about two-legged predators. Out in the rural areas, we had to worry about four-legged and two-legged predators.
“Look at me, momma,” Joaquin said.
I glanced up to see Jock hanging upside down from a tree, mere feet from where I stood. Dots of mud streaked his face and hair and splattered his clothes. Deep in thought, I hadn’t seen Jock move from the water. Some sentry I was, I thought with disgust at myself. As soon as he knew he had my attention, he began making monkey noises.
Cujo barked and raced around the tree as though trying to find a way to get up there and join the fun. Every so often, he’d brace his forepaws against the trunk.
“Nice. What type of monkey are you?” I asked over the noise Cujo made.
“A howler monkey. Listen to this.” He screamed so loudly I winced, and it sent Cujo into a frenzy.
“Good job. Did you learn that on television?” I asked.
“Uh-huh. I like animals,” Jock said.
That was the understatement of the century. If I wanted to keep Joaquin occupied, all I had to do was put on a nature show.
Knowing what I had to do but not knowing how my son would react, I suddenly asked, “Jock, how would you like to have a daddy and other children to play with?”
“A daddy like Pa-pop?” In his typical little boy way, he asked the question while busily scrambling from limb to limb, seemingly paying me little attention.
“Yes.” If I were lucky enough to find a man like my father. My daddy was one of a kind. After God made him, He broke the mold.
He stared at me, and in his eyes, I got a glimpse of the man my son would one day be. Once again, I felt that sense of inadequacy. What did I know about raising a boy to become a man? A good man with values and strength of character. A pang of loss hit my heart. I missed my father so much. I blinked rapidly to keep tears from falling.
Sensing my mood change, Cujo stopped playing and came to lean against my side. I patted his head in thanks.
“Okay,” he agreed. He dropped from the tree, flipping midair to land on his feet. My heart almost burst out of my chest. “Race you.”
Jock took off running, Cujo by his side. I raced behind, cursing under my breath.
Chapter Three
Cara
When we reached the motorhome, I had Jock strip down to his skin and used the water hose on him and the dog to wash off the worst of the mud and dirt. They thought it a fun game, both loving water so much. I believed Jock deliberately got muddy, seeing this as his reward.
Dinner was sausages made from deer meat my father had hunted and cured and a salad of simple greens I grew in my small greenhouse. Jock loved meat and fruit. Everything else was a struggle to get him to eat.
I let him jump on the bed and run around until he finally tired himself enough to fall asleep. Jock was growing fast, and his energy levels were off the charts. Yet another reason I needed to find us a larger, more permanent home.
The motorhome had been fine when he was a baby and less mobile. The three of us had been quite comfortable, despite only having three hundred and twenty feet of living space and one bedroom. My father had insisted we take the bedroom. He slept in the living room where the two couches opened to form one large sleeping surface.
I’d worried it wouldn’t be comfortable enough, but he’d said, “I have a television, access to the fridge and the bathroom, and I get to protect the two most precious people in my life. What more do I need?”
Now the role of protector was my job. I slept on the sofa bed that still carried the scent of my father, rifle within easy reach.
A knock sounded at the door, causing Cujo to come tearing out of the room, barking his head off. I glanced at the small vid screen mounted on the wall near the door. Hannah, one of the encampment’s residents, stood alone on the other side, holding a cloth-covered basket with both hands.
“Hush, Cujo,” I ordered as I unlatched the heavy bar before undoing the locks. “Hannah,” I greeted simply.
“Cara. The boys went hunting. I brought you some bear meat to exchange for some of your veggies. I’ve a hankering for stew,” she said, holding out the basket.
Hannah was a short, plumpish woman with large breasts, wide hips, and a small waist. The thin lips in her round leathery face rarely smiled. She had small hazel eyes, lined from years squinting in the sun, and liberally gray-streaked black hair that fell to her waist in a thick braid. She’d once been very beautiful, but life had hardened any trace of softness from her features.
I held the door open, inviting her inside.
She glanced at Cujo who’d quieted but still bristled with menace at my side. “Just take the basket. You can return it later.”
My gaze followed hers. I didn’t reassure her that Cujo wouldn’t bite. Nor did I tell the dog to stand down. Cujo was a trained guard dog, and my father had drilled into me the necessity of not turning him into a pet. Cujo’s wariness of the neighbors was for my safety and protection. I wouldn’t undermine all of the hard work my father had put into training him by letting him get cozy with Hannah.
