Come Whatever Storms

Chapter 2-4

A short while later, Court turned off the radio. “Hear that?”

Ronnie’s hands froze in the act of reassembling the gun. “What?”

“Nothing.” Court grinned when Ronnie rolled his eyes and went back to work. “No, really. Nothing. No screaming. You don’t think…”

With a lazy shrug, Ronnie said, “That or someone gagged her.”

Court scrambled to his feet, but Ronnie was faster. Like schoolboys, they jostled to be the first out of the tent, each pushing the other back, Court laughing as he tugged on Ronnie’s arm to keep him from taking the lead. They went through the flap together, Ronnie’s hand flat on Court’s stomach in an effort to keep him back. As they burst into the clearing, they saw Bree exit her tent, happiness dawning on her face. She looked past Ronnie at Court. “Is it here?”

“I don’t know,” he said, laughing as Ronnie’s fingers dug into his ticklish belly.

As if in affirmation, a startled wail rose from the trees. A baby!

Bree fell in behind Court with a giggle. “Oh God, I’m so excited.”

To be honest, so was he. A baby meant not only could they survive, but they could continue. The virus hadn’t won. They could rebuild, and go on.

Some of the other women had set up a medical tent not far from the rest of the campsite. Ronnie led the way, not quite running, but keeping ahead of Court nonetheless with his long strides. Bree’s short nails scratched Court’s back before finding purchase in his shirt. He gripped Ronnie’s arm tightly, aware of the contact of skin on skin and not wanting to relinquish it so soon. As they neared the tent, another wail rose, and with it, cheers inside.

Just outside the tent flap, Ronnie stopped so suddenly, Court bumped into him. He felt Bree pull at his shirt as if to hold him back. “Adam?” he called over Ronnie’s shoulder. “Sounds like you guys are making a baby in there.”

The flap opened and Adam stepped out. The latex gloves he wore were streaked with blood; more gore splattered the front of the apron he’d worn in a vain attempt to protect his clothing. There was a fleck of blood on his glasses, high up on the left lens, probably out of his line of vision. It was perfectly round, and Court stared at it with fascinated dread. “Is it alive?” he asked.

Ronnie shot him an exasperated look. “Can’t you hear it?”

Behind them, Bree asked, “Boy or girl?”

Before Adam could answer, Ronnie waved that aside, irritated. “Is it healthy?”

Now the glasses came off. Adam lifted the bottom of the apron to wipe them and seemed to notice the blood for the first time, so he put the glasses back on. From the tent, the baby’s wail broke into a jagged, phlegmy cough. Adam’s face crumpled at the sound. “Hear that?”

“Jesus,” Ronnie murmured.

Bree’s nails clawed at Court’s back. “How can it still be hanging around? None of us are sick. How long’s it been since the last person died? How long—”

“The father wasn’t immune,” Adam interrupted. “May is, obviously, but her boyfriend isn’t here, is he?”

May must’ve been the mother inside the tent. Court glanced at the closed flap and listened to the baby cough again. Yes, that was the same throaty rattle Jeanie had developed at first. “God,” he sighed, dropping his head to rest on Ronnie’s shoulder. “It’s starting all over again, isn’t it?”

Ronnie reached up and patted Court’s cheek, an absent-minded gesture that made Court flush with pleasure. “It’s still running its course. We’re all safe. Right?”

“I’m not a doctor,” Adam reminded them, “but I think so, yes. We’d be coughing by now if we weren’t. But from here on out, who knows?”

Court sighed, pressing his face into Ronnie’s back. The shirt Ronnie wore smelled faintly of sweat and dirt, and Court breathed in the scent as if it were perfume. It made him feel safe, and right now, that was all he wanted. Who knew, indeed?