Eden's Promise, page 2
Eden put her hand on his arm. “Let’s at least hear what they have to offer, and maybe they can tell us what’s going on.”
Damien looked at her a long minute, then nodded curtly before turning back to them. “Just because I’m letting you off your boat doesn’t mean you’re staying,” he cautioned them.
The pilot powered the boat to the dock, tied it up and shut off the engine. The resulting silence was deafening. The entire town watched as the seven climbed out of the boat and made their way up the dock, the women putting their bodies between the children and the guns.
Veronica Rayburn ran forward and caught one man’s arm. “Have you seen two young boys? Two teen-aged boys, one scrawny and one a farm boy? They left here two weeks ago on a boat. We don’t know—we don’t know what happened to them.”
The man shook his head, and Eden was close enough to see his eyes were haunted.
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“Is it bad there?” someone else asked. “What happened?”
“Let’s get them to town hall and we can hear what they have to say there,” Eden said.
Damien sent Patrick, one of his friends, for her father and led the way into town. She helped herd the newcomers toward the building. The rest of the town filed in, oddly silent, anxious to hear news.
“What happened?” Eden asked the man who had piloted the boat, the apparent leader. “We haven’t had any news since early November. What caused this?”
He shook his head. “We have no communication, either, so all we know are rumors. But apparently the satellites are out. Some places are without power, but some still have it. The places that do are being overrun by people leaving the cities. There’s no gas, grocery stores are empty, so are drug stores. People are losing their tempers, fighting, turning against each other. Neighborhoods are being overrun, there are home invasions. We didn’t feel safe there, anymore, and we’d been here for your fall festival in October and remembered how gorgeous and welcoming it was here. It seemed...safe.”
Terror gripped her as she pictured her sister going through that panic, that fear. Was she safe? Did she have supplies? Guilt swamped Eden as she recalled the fresh eggs she’d had for breakfast.
Eden’s father walked in then. “What skills do you have that can contribute to our community?” he asked without preamble.
The man who’d been speaking blinked. “I—I’m a lawyer.”
Eden’s father snorted. “Worthless now.”
“I’m a teacher,” the woman said, leaning forward around one of the children.
“I can fish,” the second man said, desperation coloring his voice.
“Look around you,” Eddie McKay said. “All these people can.”
“Yes, but I can provide for these people. We won’t use your supplies. We just want a safe place to stay. This is my wife and my two kids. He’s my brother. Please.”
Eddie considered, then shook his head. “No. We can’t use you. You have to find someplace else.”
The woman with the two kids widened her eyes. “You’d send us back? People are—people are—” She looked down at her children. “The violence is terrible. I can’t risk my children.”
“We don’t have enough supplies to shelter people who come to us. I’m very sorry.”
“The children, then. Can you take them?” she asked, her voice rising. “Please. It’s Thanksgiving. Please.”
Her words jolted Eden. She’d lost track of the days without mail and a regular schedule. How could she have forgotten Thanksgiving, when this year they had so much to be thankful for? Perhaps it didn’t seem it, but they were alive, and safe from the violence, and had plenty of stores, thanks to her father’s paranoia.
Eden knelt before her and put a soothing hand on hers. She turned to look up at her father. “Dad, you can’t. It would be heartless.”
His eyes softened when he looked at her. “I know the consequences, Eden, but we can’t afford to risk our own lives by running out of supplies. They need to go, if they can’t contribute.”
“I can do anything,” the lawyer said, his voice rising in desperation. “I can—any place you need me.”
Her father opened his mouth to say something but John Rayburn stepped forward.
“I own a farm. My son is gone, I need an extra hand.”
“I’ll do it,” the man said, rising to his feet. “Whatever you need. Whatever you need. Thank you. Please. Please let us stay.”
Her father snorted and spun away on his heel.
***
That was the last time her father showed mercy. The boats came with fair regularity. Her father interviewed each—privately now, occasionally with Damien—but without the entire town watching. He sent most away, in tears and pleading, but a few were allowed to stay. A mechanic and a plumber now lived on the island with their families. The additions made the distribution of supplies decrease for every family. Since Eden was in charge of the distribution, she knew the dangers of allowing more people to stay, though sending them away made her feel less and less human each time. The stories the people told, the pleas they made to be allowed to stay, chilled her to her bones.
“Dad, we need to think about going to the mainland and try to find supplies before there are no more left,” she said one morning, entering his office.
He looked up. “We’re fine. And you’ve heard the reports coming from the people who try to come here about what it’s like over there. The supplies aren’t there, either, and it’s too dangerous to send anyone across. Already we’ve lost eight people who tried. We’re fine for now with the Rayburn and Wyatt farms, and fishing. I’m not willing to risk anyone yet.”
She was convinced he was wrong about waiting—the longer they waited, the harder supplies would be to come by. The people on the mainland would deplete them. Since they still had really no idea what had happened, they had no idea when trucks might start running again. Thank God they were able to supplement their supplies with fish, and almost every family now owned a couple of chickens for eggs. The time of year was wrong for growing vegetables, but carefully rationed canned goods supplemented them for now. She could see them running out of vegetables before the spring.
She hated thinking like this, hated the urge to horde. But she hated the idea of turning frightened people away. If only they had more supplies.
Her father was more likely to welcome people who came with a large stash of their own, but very few did. No one had wanted to believe this could happen.
Eden still couldn’t believe it had.
***
“We need to do something for Christmas,” Sarah said one evening over dinner.
They had started eating dinner just after dark to save power. Since they used the generator to cook, it made sense to make the evening stretch just a little longer before shutting it off again and going to bed.
“I don’t think anyone’s exactly in the Christmas spirit,” her husband said with a snort.
“That’s kind of my point.” Sarah set her fork down and folded her hands under her chin. “People need a reason to feel happy again. I know it’s hard, especailly since so many of us are missing our loved ones. But I think it would be good for morale.”
Eddie grumbled. “We don’t have the supplies.”
Sarah sat back and looked at Eden. “Eden and I have already talked it over. We can make several dishes that will stretch what we have on hand, supplemented by some fish, and I think it would be wonderful. Very first Thankgiving-y.”
“We can’t do the boat parade or the tree-lighting ceremony. And we don’t have presents.”
“We’ll find a way.” She waited expectantly, until he finally nodded.
Sarah flashed a triumphant grin at Eden. “We’ll get to work in the morning.”
Since Eden spent so much time emulating her father, she hadn’t known what a good party planner her mother was. Her mother had wanted her to join the Rainbow Girls when she was growing up, but they’d been, well, too girly for Eden. But as they planned the—Eden didn’t want to call it a party, maybe a celebration—she saw her mother put her leadership skills to use.
And having a purpose helped Sarah push aside her own mourning as she threw herself into the holiday. She recruited several women, including Mary Jenkins and Veronica Rayburn, and the new woman living with the Rayburns, Jessica Vaughn. Together they planned a meal that would use the least amount of rations. They decorated the town square with a small tree and ornaments, but no lights. They went door to door and collected gently used toys children had outgrown, to wrap and pass out. Eden stood amazed at the innovation her mother and these ladies exhibited.
On Christmas Eve, the town square was festive. The women had made candles out of cans of lard and set them on the long tables usually reserved for Fourth of July and other, warmer events. Despite the cold temperature, almost every family attended, standing in line for their servings of corn casserole and fried fish and home fries. Not the healthiest, or the most traditional, but the recipes fed a crowd.
“Where’s the mayor?” Veronica Rayburn asked, herding the children who’d come on that first boat ahead of her in line.
Eden and her mother exchanged a look of dismay. He hadn’t been particularly in favor of this dinner, but to shun it completely....
“He’s working on town business. I’m sure he’ll come down later,” Sarah said.
But by the time everyone had been served, there was no sign of Eddie. When the reverend stood to offer a blessing and a few words about the true gift of the holiday, when he thanked Sarah and the other women for their hard work, there was no sign of Eddie.
“It’s time now to think ahead, to our new life,” the reverend concluded. “We have all lost someone, but at least we have each other.”
Eden had taken the first bite of her dinner when a cry of delight sounded from a child at the table behind her. She twisted to look as that cry was joined by others.
“Santa! Santa!”
Eden half-rose from the bench seat as, indeed, a red-suited man with a white beard strolled into town with a sack on his back. He sauntered over to the Christmas tree, where the painstakingly wrapped-and-labeled gifts were placed. The children swarmed him, and when he straightened, he winked at Eden, and her heart warmed.
She’d known her father couldn’t stay away.
***
A week after Christmas, Eden was awakened by gunfire on the coast. Bleary-eyed, she grabbed a robe, shoved her feet in her boots, grabbed her pistol from the table by the door and raced out of the house. Muzzle flares flashed from boats off-shore, answering ones from the island. Her heart pounding, she stopped short, aware she was a clear target in her white robe in the moonlight when there was no other light. She shrugged out of the robe and shivered in her T-shirt and flannel pants, but at least she blended into the darkness.
Who was down there? Her father? Damien? And who was firing on them? People they’d sent away, or people they wouldn’t allow to land? The standing order was that no one was allowed to land at night.
The firing from the island was pretty steady, as the shooting from the boats became more intermittent. Tomorrow they’d be paying kids to pick up shells so they could reload them.
Shouts could be heard from the ocean, more from the town. Eden hoped the townspeople were wise enough to stay inside, out of the line of fire. She was heading down to the shore when running feet approached. She stepped off the road, into the trees, flipping the safety off her handgun before she recognized Joey Delmar, one of Damien’s friends. She stepped in front of him, startling him so that for a moment she was looking down the barrel of his .45, before he realized who she was.
“Thank God, Eden. I was coming to your house. Your father—he’s been shot.”
***
Her house became bedlam as Damien and Joey carried her father inside and upstairs to his bed. Blood drenched his clothing. Eden couldn’t see where he’d been shot, or even if he’d been shot more than once. Her mother’s screams rang through the house when Damien pulled her father’s shirt open. The four men in the room and Eden stared at the damage. She didn’t see how her father was still breathing, based on the entry wounds. And she wasn’t sure exactly what to do. She’d helped her father in the vet clinic with animals who’d been hit by cars, but never bullet wounds.
“The bleeding,” she said to herself, and turned to her mother, who started, paralyzed. She grabbed the woman by the wrists and shook her. “We need towels. Lots and lots of towels.” When her mother finally nodded her understanding, Eden turned to one of Damien’s friends, Josh. “Go get Vicky.” Dr. Hoyt’s nurse, the only other trained medical person on the island. “I need her help.” But even she was unlikely to know what to do with a trauma this big.
She knelt on the edge of the bed and watched blood pump from each of the four bullet wounds with each slowing beat of her father’s heart. Her mother returned with towels and Eden pressed one to his chest, causing him to gasp in pain. The towel was drenched in moments and she replaced it with another.
And another.
And another.
Damien joined her on the bed, across her father’s body, his expression bleak, hopeless.
“Do not give up,” she said through her teeth.
Her father’s eyelashes flickered and he looked up at her. “Eden. You have to promise me you’ll keep our town safe.”
“Of course, Dad, but you’re going to be fine. We’re going to get the bleeding stopped and the bullets out—” She swallowed the bile that rose with the lies. How would they repair the damage inside? No one had that kind of skill, and they had no place to get it done.
He grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. She looked into his eyes and saw the shadow of something lurking, something that made her want to scream just like her mother, scream until the shadow went away.
“I know I taught you better than that,” he said, his voice gruff. “I love you, Eden. I’m sorry this is the life I’m leaving for you. But I need to know you’ll carry on.”
“I will, Dad.” She cursed the tears that blurred her vision, that obliterated her view of her father as he closed his eyes and breathed his last.
Chapter Two
Eight months later
Eden put her weight into the punch, only to have it blocked by a solid muscular palm. An answering fist swung toward her head, but she ducked, jamming her shoulder into the solid middle of her opponent, who grunted and staggered back, releasing her fist. She brought her head up fast, but not fast enough to connect with his chin—his instincts were too good. She reached one arm behind his shoulder, levering him off balance before sweeping his legs out from underneath him. He fell onto his back with a whoof and she dropped over him, pinning him.
“Well done,” Damien wheezed, looking up at her from the grass. His gaze flicked to her breasts, heaving in the tank top she wore.
Her nipples hardened at the glance, which she felt like a caress, and she felt his body respond beneath hers.
They’d been working out like this for weeks, as she tried to convince him to let her go on a supply run with him. He, Josh and Joey had gone a few times as supplies dwindled. They were facing their second winter since the everything went to hell. They’d lost some good people for want of basics like insulin and antibiotics. They’d had a few on-hand, as well as the antibiotics that were used in fish tanks that her father claimed were nearly identical to what one received from a pharmacy. That hadn’t worked for Debra Stark, who had been allergic to penicillin and died from a sinus infection.
The island was self-sufficient for the most part, with gardens and canning and the chickens and the bees, not to mention the fish and the wells. But they needed medicine and blankets and warm clothing as what they had grew worn, as another winter approached.
And Damien, Josh and Joey had grown restless, wanting an excuse to go to the mainland, staying longer each time.
Eden understood their drive. She was going crazy on this island. She’d convinced Damien of her proficiency with a weapon, but he insisted hand-to-hand combat was a skill more necessary when facing the desperate people on the mainland. So he’d promised to help her work on it, and each session grew a bit more intimate.
Like now, with her straddling him and him growing hard beneath her.
He flipped her onto her back and looked down at her, blue eyes glinting. “You let your guard down.”
This time, she was the breathless one. “Yes,” she said, and angled her chin up in what she hoped was invitation. It had been so long since she’d been kissed, since she’d been touched.
A smile quirked the corner of his mouth and he lowered his head.
Just when his breath brushed her lips, a shout came from her left.
“Boat!”
Damien scrambled off her, immediately all business. Rising, he picked up the pistol he always carried that he’d set on the ground when they were fighting, and headed toward the shore.
Since the night her father died, they’d been more vigilant about how close they’d allow boats to the shore. Eden insisted they didn’t want to warn everyone away—since her father’s death, the only person on the island with medical experience was his assistant, Vicky, and she was limited. Some people, like the first boat, brought medication when they arrived, in payment. That, they could always use.
She followed Damien after retrieving her own handgun from the grass. She had felt odd at first, carrying it around the town where she’d grown up, but the boats had been coming with such regularity for awhile, Damien didn’t want her without one. She hadn’t, thank God, had to use it. And though boats came rarely anymore, she’d gotten used to wearing it.
“One man,” Josh announced when Damien approached, holding the binoculars so Damien could have a look. “Sail boat.”
Damien studied the incoming vessel a long time. “Take him out.”
“Wait! He could be a doctor,” Eden said, grabbing his arm. “You can’t just kill him.”
