The Christmas Village, Chapter One

Posted on December 7, 2012 by Linda Andrews

As we head into the Christmas season, I find that I have to struggle with the tax code to figure out how to estimate taxes. So, while I’m trying to prevent my head from exploding, I’m posting the first 3 chapters of The Christmas Village. Enjoy!

The Christmas VillageChapter One
Did you hear me, dear?” Margaret Starr’s exasperation filled the line like static.
“Yes, Mom.” Egypt tucked the cordless phone between her ear and shoulder then closed the lid on the suitcase. The teeth of the zipper remained four inches apart. Maybe she should have used a bigger suitcase.
A splash of red caught her eye. The American Tourister was larger. It also had a broken clasp. She smacked open the suitcase lid. Wads of sweaters and pants rose above the soft-sided confines. Maybe she should have packed less stuff.
“I don’t think you know how hard this is on your sister.”
“Weddings are hard on everyone.” Egypt buffered her mother’s irritation with a well-rehearsed line. Thirteen weddings had taught her something—a patient, well-modulated tone calmed fretful brides, harried mothers and a bevy of bridesmaids. Too bad it couldn’t shrink the contents of her suitcase. She had packed only the essentials, hadn’t she? Air stirred the papers on her coffee table as she swatted the lid closed and took a seat on top. Fabric oozed out the sides.
“Yes, well, this kind of thing just does not happen to me.” Irritation chased the anxiety from her mother’s voice. “Paris has had her wedding planned since the fourth grade. The dress design was in pink crayon with purple butterflies and blue hearts floating around it. Oh, why did Minnie Houser have to move to Phoenix six weeks before the wedding?”
Egypt’s gaze traveled around the small studio apartment. Had she forgotten anything? Undoubtedly. She combed her hands through her short hair then shook the strand from her fingers. Perhaps she should get into the habit of making lists. Heaven knew her mother and sister were constantly giving her pads of paper with cutesy logos and patterns. She picked up a note with hearts stamped across the top. Her sister’s handwriting accused her: LEAVE ON DECEMBER 22ND AT SEVEN A.M. ARRIVE DRAGOON’S SPRINGS COUNTRY CLUB AT 1:30 P.M. FOR BRIDAL SHOWER. It was 8:17 a.m. on the twenty-third.
“Guess Paris can’t plan everything.”
“Egypt!” Disapproval whipped down the line. “That is not a very nice thing to say. You know your sister is under a lot of strain. Weddings are stressful on everyone.”
She blinked as a recap of her own words echoed back to her. Merciless monkeys, she had turned into her mother. Egypt shook the unpleasant thought from her head. “I only meant that the quadruple bypass kind of snuck up on Max and Minnie Houser.”
She crossed her fingers behind her back. What her mother didn’t know wouldn’t cause high long distance charges to invade her parent’s phone bill.
“Yes, well…” Suspicion dragged the words.
Egypt’s stomach flipped in her belly. She had better change the subject quickly. Her gaze flicked to the white confection draped over the back of the Bentwood rocker. “Paris’s dress turned out beautifully. Mrs. Houser even sewed iridescent seed beads on the bodice. Lavender butterflies, just like Paris drew when she was ten.”
Air hissed through the miles of phone line. “Paris had wanted, dear. Our budget—”
“She sewed them on for free.” The words gushed past Egypt’s lips. Her mother hated being interrupted almost as much as she hated glitches in her plans. “She said she owed you something for driving to Phoenix for the fittings. Sewing gave her something to do and stopped her from worrying so much while she sat in the hospital waiting room.”
“Well…” The scales tipped in her favor. “That was very nice of Minnie. I’ll make certain Paris sends her an extra-special thank you note, maybe even a few pictures.”
“I’m certain she’d appreciate that. She misses Dragoon’s Springs.” Egypt made one last sweep of the room. She seemed to have everything. “According to Minnie, she hasn’t had a nice chat or a decent cup of coffee since she came to the big city.” She paused. Her words surfed the gasp of breath in the receiver. “Except for my visits, of course.”
“That sounds like Minnie. With all that worry, I should have known there would be a mix-up in the dresses.” Plastic swished and satin rustled. “I suppose no real harm has occurred. You have Paris’s dress and I have yours. It turned out very lovely, by the way. The color will flatter your skin tone and the style is timeless.”
Egypt stuffed the blobs of fabric inside her suitcase. Plastic teeth scraped her flesh. Cold metal bit into the pads of her thumb and index finger. The zipper grumbled along its track then stopped halfway around the corner. The metal tab buttoned the suitcase at a single point, the remaining teeth curled back in a ferocious snarl. A growl rumbled up her throat. She jerked the zipper backwards. Pink silk bubbled around the tab.
“Unbelievable.” Egypt rocketed from her seat and glared at the tapestry luggage. “Stupid, idiotic, overgrown handbag.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Not you, Mom.” Egypt unclenched one fist and strangled the phone. She stormed across the room, bones rattling with every step. Why did this happen every time she was late? Why couldn’t everything go right just once? Would the universe come to a crashing halt? Would the cure for cancer be postponed? How important could thwarting her every plan be to world peace? Metal jingled as she yanked open her junk drawer. She scooped up the pliers and stomped back to the mocking baggage. “It’s this stupid luggage. The zipper broke.”
“Is that the Marshalls’ American Tourister or the Andersons’ Fancy French one?”
“The Andersons’.” Egypt shoved the carry-on into a better position and clamped the phone between her ear and shoulder. Maybe if she backed the zipper up it would catch and hold. The pliers clamped onto the pull-tab. Such a method had worked before. Her knee dug into the soft top; fabric extruded out the side. She released the zipper and prodded her clothes back inside the suitcase.
“Well, that did get a bit of wear on their honeymoon. Everyone knows those airport people toss bags around like footballs.” Her mother’s monologue gathered steam. Was her mouth pleased to be released from its prison of wedding talk? Or was it simply a reminder that wedding related misery included more people than just the Starr family? “And then they were stopped not once but three times while they toured Europe for all those weeks. You would think since it was made over there it would have been able to survive the rough handling they put it through. Of course, if Sheila hadn’t been so determined to visit so many countries on their six-week honeymoon…”
Honeymoon. Blood slogged through Egypt’s heart. It was only natural to be a little depressed. All of her friends were pairing up like animals before the Flood. Her plight was no different than any other thiry-year-old spinster, no matter the circumstance of the bride and groom’s meeting.
Sheesh, after thirteen weddings, she should have constructed a better pep talk than that. Silence buzzed in her ear. Had she missed an opportunity to grunt in support?
“Are you all right, dear?”
Egypt’s sigh fluttered her bangs. No missed cue, just the end of her mother’s soliloquy. “Yeah, I mean, yes, Mom. I’m fine.” She clamped the pliers onto the metal tab and tugged. “I was just thinking if I’d need a jacket.”
“Are you sure that’s what’s bothering you? I mean, you can talk to me about anything. You know that, don’t you, dear?”
“I know, Mom.” The zipper refused to budge. Egypt yanked. Fabric ripped. The zipper closed as the tab retreated. She tugged it in the other direction, and the zipper held.
“Mrs. Houser did remind me this was the sixteenth time.”
Irritation flayed Egypt’s skin. For a seamstress, Mrs. Houser needed help with her math. “Fourteenth time, Mom. This will be the fourteenth time I’ve been a bridesmaid.”
A rainbow of satin dresses was the consolation prize. Along with her sofa, the rocker, the broken luggage—even her cat and hamster—all were the relics of her friends’ abandoned single life, willed to their good friend Egypt.
“Well, you’re bound to be the bride next time.” False cheer rang hollowly in her mother’s voice. “I mean, you don’t have any more single friends left. Do you, Egypt?”
Did she? There always seemed to be a few hovering close by, vultures waiting for a fresh kill. There were bound to be some disappointed ladies at Paris’s wedding when Egypt appeared solo. However, that was in Dragoon’s Springs, not Phoenix. In Phoenix, she knew only one single woman.
“Well, we did hire a new girl for the holiday season.”
“Surely, that’s not long enough to become good friends.” Margaret Starr squeaked. “All the girls whose…whose weddings you were in, you’d been friends since childhood.”
“I know, Mom. Besides, she has a boyfriend.” Nutz jumped onto the suitcase. The marmalade cat rolled onto his back and swatted at a patch of pink fluttering on the back of the sofa’s blue slipcover. Egypt tugged a piece of gum out of her pocket. Cinnamon exploded across her tongue. Light sparked off the silver foil as it sailed onto the coffee table. She should probably remove the damaged camisole. Should but wouldn’t. Gum popped in her mouth. She already had one side zipped. She only had two to go.
“Well, that’s a relief. Not that I believe you’re cursed or anything, dear.”
“No one believes I’m cursed.” Egypt yanked the zipper around the corner, tucking clothes inside as she went. “Everyone just comes to me for their husbands.”
Nutz jumped onto the sofa back as she slid the baggage off the cushion. She jerked the plastic extension handle up as the carry-on wheels thudded onto the carpet.
Dead air filled the phone connection. “The dress really is lovely. Your sister picked out the turquoise especially to flatter your complexion.”
Phase one of bridal pity: a modification of wedding colors to flatter the poor slob whose ex-boyfriend you just happen to be marrying. Phase two: the pairing of said poor slob with an eligible party specifically imported for the occasion. Egypt shuddered as the memories resurrected her dread.
She snapped the bungee cord around her suitcase. If it had been anyone else but her sister she would have bowed out of the wedding. As it was, she must endure the warm-up torture and the coup de grace, phase three. Her favorite. Should phases one or two fail, subject poor slob to endless introductions to single males, including passing waiters and, if necessary, the valet. How long could someone wear a phony smile before the expression became permanent? Hopefully, longer than her sister’s wedding and reception.
“Egypt?”
“It’s a pretty color.”
“And you’ll be able to use the dress again.” Strain sharpened her mother’s voice. “Maybe for that New Year’s party you told me about. Not that we wouldn’t want you to spend the holiday with us. I understand all about young single girls, living in the big city and all. We do get Sex and the City up here, you know.”
“Mom.”
“I do hope you are protecting yourself.” Hinges creaked. A door closed. “Sexually, I mean.” Her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Mom!” Egypt raised her shoulder, pressing the phone closer to her ear. Was her mother’s voice muffled?
“Minnie says they have entire stores devoted to experimentation of a certain sort.” Definitely muffled. Her mother had retreated to the closet, that sanctuary where only the most sacred of subjects were discussed on the phone—divorce, unexpected pregnancies and hurried marriages. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it. You’re young, and you always were the curious one. There is absolutely no cause for embarrassment. In my day, well, really we—”
“Mo-ther!” Emphasis on both syllables. The tone perfected by teenagers everywhere. Egypt cringed. Why did she always revert to a child whenever she talked with her mother?
“Yes, dear?”
Egypt’s chest expanded as she filled her lungs with air. She had flirted with the line in the sand long enough. It was time to commit herself to battle. Utterly. Completely. “I’m spending New Year’s in Dragoon’s Springs.”
“Really?” Disappointment trimmed the happiness in her mother’s voice.
“Really.” Cowardice beat against her skull. It wasn’t too late. She could still back out. Egypt shored up her courage. No surrender, no prisoners. She would spend a week at home, visiting with friends, catching up with family, being the object of pity and speculation and answering impertinent questions. Small-town America. Is it any wonder she left?
“You’re not still in love with Darrell, are you? He really isn’t right for you.”
Egypt nodded, rubbed at the ache spreading across her chest. None of them had been. But knowing the truth didn’t lessen the sting. “I know, Mom. There were signs. Darrell is obnoxious and controlling, hates pets of any kind, can’t dance, despises big band music and would rather buy one front-row ticket to the hockey game than two in the nosebleed seats.”
“He’s also marrying your sister, dear.”
“Yes,” Stitches jumped as she lifted his cage. The teddybear hamster blinked up at her then scurried up the pink plastic tube to the room above. Metal rattled as she secured it to the carry-on with another bungee cord. “He’s perfect for Paris.”
“And you are definitely over him?” Will you make trouble at the wedding?
The unspoken question hovered like an eavesdropper on the line. “Yes, Mom. I feel the same about Darrell as I feel for Diego.” Exasperated, irritated and not a little perturbed by his existence. “Brotherly feelings, nothing more.” Except for the disappointment, not that she’d mention that to her mother.
“Good. Did I tell you we’ve rounded up four eligible men for the wedding?”
Egypt sighed. Phase two and she hadn’t even left her apartment. New Year’s Day seemed very far away.
“Of course, three are divorced, but, well, I suppose that’s to be expected. After all, they are in their thirties. Except for Doug—he’s forty-one.”
Egypt’s knees buckled. She bounced twice on the sofa before collapsing into a boneless mass. How had her life come to this? What atrocity had she committed in another life?
“Don’t worry, dear. We capped the age at fifty. That would be much too close to your father’s age. Minnie says we should take their previously married state as a blessing. I mean, they took the plunge once so they’re not liable to be as gunshy as men in the Big City.”
Big City. Egypt struggled against the waves of despondency. She could do this. She had done this before. She liked her single life, preferred living with her hamster and her cat. Men were smelly. They hogged the remote. Her New Year’s resolution involved remaining as far away from them as possible. Her reasoning was sound. Her mother’s logic was another story.
“Darrell is from a big city, Mom. So were Adam and Brad and Zachary and—”
“I know that, dear.”
One-by-one, the men in her past faced her. Wanted posters hovering above tasteful wedding invitations. Other women’s husbands. She had never been wanted by any of them. Bitterness welled up inside her.
“Only Todd wasn’t. I think the mayor should give me a medal or something. Egypt Starr, the woman personally responsible for introducing new blood to Dragoon’s Springs, population twenty-four hundred thirteen. No, make that population twenty-four hundred twenty-seven.”
She choked on a ragged breath. This should be easy. Why wasn’t this easier? She hugged herself close, half-afraid she’d shatter, half-afraid hers would be the only arms to hold her in the future.
“That’s not funny, Egypt.” Her mother cleared her throat. “You’ll find the right man. He’ll come riding to your rescue and knock you right off your feet.”
“I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore, Mom.” Nutz padded across the sofa, rasped his rough tongue over her white knuckles. Despair’s grip eased. She would be all right. Her hand slicked down the cat’s body. Everything would be all right.
“That’s precisely why Fate will send Prince Charming to your rescue.”
“I definitely do not need rescuing.”
“We’ll see.”
The omniscient tone grated on Egypt’s nerves. She shoved to her feet. At least, the anger could be channeled. She grabbed her sweater and shoved her arm into the sleeve. “Mother.”
“I’m glad you’re staying for New Year’s, dear. That will give your father time to look at your car.”
“My car?” Gum lodged in her throat. She coughed it up and pulverized the tasteless mass. That rat fink Darrell had snitched. He was the one who’d told her to wrap the hoses in duct tape. He was the one who hadn’t wanted to waste time while she made the appropriate repairs.
“Darrell mentioned you were having engine troubles, and you know your father.”
“My car is fine.” Plastic crinkled as she tossed the roll of duct tape and a handful of garbage ties into the grocery bag. It clunked against the cans of cat food and crunched into the hamster seed. Of course, she had continued down the path of madness by wrapping the next hose in the tape, then the next. She had meant to replace them properly. There just never seemed to be any time.
“I’m sure it is, dear. No daughter of mine would make the long drive home without having a properly serviced and maintained car.”
“Of course not.” Egypt crossed her fingers. If their conversation took any more turns, her fingers might become permanently twisted around each other.
“It was never in question,” her mother agreed. “But Darrell mentioned something the other day. And your father just won’t let it go until he’s satisfied himself. And, really, dear, where’s the harm in allowing him a little peek under the hood?”
Out-flanked and out-maneuvered. Surrender loomed. Egypt had one more tactic and that was more whine than winning. “But if we all agree…”
“We know you’re an adult, but you’re still our child. We like to feel useful. Growing old isn’t very pleasant, dear.” Her mother’s sigh undoubtedly bowed telephone lines all across Arizona. “Nowadays, we old folks just get stuck in a retirement village somewhere while you young ones get on with your busy lives. Forgotten. Ignored.”
Guilt. The weapon specifically designed to find the chinks in a child’s armor. Egypt mentally surrendered. One day, she might actually find her backbone. “You are not old, Mother. And no one is talking about sticking you or Dad in a retirement home. You’re not even retired.” She spit her gum into the trash and knotted the grocery sack.
“Will you let your father do this for you? You know Doc Matheson has forbidden him from undertaking any construction projects until his wrist heals.”
Her dad and construction projects. It was a standing joke in the community that the walls of the Starr house moved more quickly than an ancient Egyptian booby trap. “Dad can look at my car, Mom.”
“Oh, my goodness. Is that the time? You should have left fifteen minutes ago. Do try to hurry, dear. Paris won’t listen to a word of reason until she has that dress in her hands.”
Fifteen minutes. The revised schedule that had been faxed twenty-two minutes after she called to let them know she would have to work an extra day. Egypt shuffled toward the phone recharger. “Bye, Mom. I’ll see you at lunch.”
“At Granetti’s. You do remember where it is, don’t you, dear?”
“Yes, Mom. And even if I’d forgotten in the six years I’ve been living in Phoenix, I’d be able to find it from one of the seven maps you faxed me.”
“Leave the attitude in Phoenix, dear. It’s not really becoming in a woman your age.”
“Bye, Mom.” Egypt hung up the phone as the first giggles tickled her tongue. After three decades on this Earth, she had yet to reach the age where her attitude was becoming. Maybe she was only six hours away from reaching that point.
Then again, maybe not.
“Well, this should be an interesting trip.” The cat sauntered beside her as she dragged the squeaking suitcase into the parking lot. She opened the Volkswagen door and the cat leapt inside. “Make yourself at home. It’s going to be a long drive.”
Nutz blinked his yellow eyes, batted at the silver bell adorning one of her gifts for the happy couple then curled up on the backseat. His tail twitched as she wedged the hamster cage between the passenger’s seat and the dashboard.
Egypt merged onto the freeway just as her brain registered the missing wedding dress. She smacked on the blinker and veered towards the closest exit. Backtracking to her apartment would cost her fifteen minutes tops; forgetting her sister’s wedding dress could prove fatal. “Please, God, let this is the last thing that goes wrong.”

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Reduce, Reuse and Recycle

Posted on December 5, 2012 by Linda Andrews

So a friend of mine passed this along and I thought it was brilliant and want one of my own.

I would love to give credit to the photographer and designer but I don’t know who they are. If you do, please give a shout out.

Never give a farmer a welder!!! 
When you live on a farm you learn to”make do” with whatever you find in the barn!! This is the exact & perfect example of why we save everything.
This car has been built with all of the “junk”laying out back in the pile, & under the workbench, & stuffed in the rafters.
All this guy needed was a little time on his hands.
 
Spotted in Cannon Falls , MN on 5/23/12 – It’s a car? or a truck?
Nevergiv (1)

Milk can fuel tank

Nevergiv (2)

Check out the “gearing wheel”….What do you see? Dash is a saw blade with handles attached – tractor hand brake – tachometer – 2 mirrors mounted on horse shoes – big truck signal switch mounted on left – single wiper motor –Nevergiv (3)

How many men who grew up on a farm are now thinking – Why didn’t we do that?

Nevergiv (4)

Cow milking apparatus on air cleaner – galvanized wash tub fan shroud –

Nevergiv (5)

Tractor wrench bracket for headlamp housing –
Nevergiv (6)

Rear seats from toilet with stereo speakers below them – Newhome seat backs including an Oxen yoke!!

Nevergiv (7)

The rear lamp frame built with saw blades & a chicken feeder box – manure spreader drive is still intact – horse shoe door hinges

Nevergiv (8)

The rear lamp frame built with saw blades & a chicken feeder box – manure spreader drive is still intact – horse shoe door hinges

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Redaction: Dark Hope, Chapter 7, unedited

Posted on December 3, 2012 by Linda Andrews

Chapter Seven

Sunnie Wilson clutched the limestone column and panted. Wrapping her free arm around her belly, she cradled her ribs. In. Out. She breathed slow and deep. Two weeks after being ‘cured’ of anthrax, it still hurt to breathe, to stand, to live. Stop being such a whiney baby. You’re alive.

“You okay?” Former Private First Class Robertson rubbed her back.

The metal banding her ribs eased. “Sure.”

Robertson dipped the manure-caked shovels in a bucket of water and toweled it off. “You might have overdone it today.”

“Nah, I stuck to my fifteen minutes on/fifteen minutes off.” Okay, maybe she’d pushed it to sixteen minutes on but she needed to be useful. At nineteen, she should have something of value to contribute. Unfortunately, half a year of online Gen. Ed. classes and art didn’t mean much at the end of the world. Sunnie shook her head. Pity party of one in cavern number four. She had to snap out of it.

Otherwise, she was doomed to create gray matter spatter art.

She couldn’t do that to Aunt Mavis.

Or Robertson. Her personal watchdog had been at her side since she’d beaten back the worst of the infection.

He dipped the next spade. Bits of waste material floated in the water as he swirled the blade around. “Even so, you can’t push yourself too hard. Between the cold and damp, your lungs are still at risk.”

“It’s warm and dry in here.” Pushing away from the  column, she grabbed another rag off its hook and took the wet shovel from him.

“Fifty-five degrees isn’t warm to anyone from Arizona.” He slopped the half the bucket of water into the wheelbarrow. “As for the damp…” He pointed to the ceiling.

Cobwebs of chains and fishing lines caught the water dripping from the ceiling and funneled it into plastic troughs to be carried it to parts unknown. She slouched in her maroon Arizona State tee and thermal shirt. “It’s warmer than the mines. High of forty-seven degrees with spotty showers and a low tonight of forty-five degrees with spotty showers.”

Of course, she hadn’t minded the temperature so much when her fever spiked. But that had been a while ago.

She hung the shovels on their marked pegs. The metal scoop knocked against the pickax. For a moment, both clattered against the chain wall.

“Can you carry the bucket?” Robertson cocked a black eyebrow and gripped the wheelbarrow’s handles.

“Of course.” She hooked the handle and heaved. Muscles trembled but she didn’t let go. One day, she’d remember how to breathe and have strong muscles. Following him through the ankle-high grass carpeting the cavern, she felt the dampness seep into her jeans.

“Won’t be long before the horses and goats are moved in here to graze.” Robertson paused by a small metal door. The word emergency exit painted the black surface.  “They’re already eying the buffet.”

She glanced at the tunnel leading out of the bubble of stone.  Red yarn knitted two children’s security gates together. While one Billy goat chewed at the fibers, another butted it to get to the strands on Sunnie’s side. The animals had traveled safely from Phoenix with them. “Even goats think the grass is always greener on the other side, huh.”

Chuckling, she switched the bucket to her left hand and opened the two-by-two-foot door. The pungent scent of manure wafted out of the sixteen-inch, plastic-lined reinforced concrete pipe. Bits of grass stuck out of the black smears.

Robertson lined up the wheelbarrow on a small ledge under the pipe and poured the watery sludge into the chute. “I always feel we should shout something when we do this. What if some farmer is taking a lunch break in front of the shit cannon? Wouldn’t you like to be warned?”

Shaking her head, she wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think anyone could eat near a pile of pooh.”

Beside the waste was supposed to go to a separate greenhouse. Not that she’d ever seen the greenhouses. The radiation was too high and she’d been too sick. Propping her hip against the open door, she rinsed the wheelbarrow with the bucket’s contents.

“You might have a point.” He tugged the rag out of his back pocket and swept the rest inside the chute.

A whinny echoed in the cavern.

The horses were close. Tossing the bucket into the barrow, she glanced at the gate. The goats stared back at her with their freaky square pupils.

“Come on.” He wheeled around and headed for the tool cage. “I’ll let you pet the horses before lunch.”

She grinned. “You like them, too.”

“I like that they pull the wagon full of manure so I don’t have to push wheelbarrows all day.” After securing it, he double-checked the tools then draped the damp towels over the bar.

Her stomach growled.

“Change of plans. Food first, then you can pet the animals.”

She sighed. There was no point in arguing. He wouldn’t give in. He’d been assigned to guard her health and welfare and, despite the dissolution of the military, he wouldn’t stop.

“Are you having the Chicken and Dumplings today or the Dumplings and Chicken?” Robertson lifted her jacket from its peg and brushed the grass and dirt off. After a quick inspection, he draped it around her shoulders. His fingers lingered for a moment before they skimmed her neck.

Tingles raced down her spine. Ignore it. They were friends. Ducking away from his touch, she rammed her hands into her sleeves. “Surprise me.”

Brown eyes sparkling, he set his blunt fingers over his heart. “Ahh, you’re feeling adventurous today.”

She snorted. The caverns and mines were safe, nothing adventurous here.

After grabbing a military-issue satchel, Robertson cupped her elbow and steered her toward the opposite tunnel, away from the goats and horses. “I think we’ll picnic in the South Forty today. The grass hasn’t yet gone to seed, yet so there won’t be any horse pies to step in.”

The drip and gurgle of water filled the silence as they wound through the connecting tunnels and caverns. Gradually, the passage widened then opened into a small cavern. On both sides, metal planks formed a picket fence. Behind the one on the right, pigs snorted and rooted through the plastic totes in front of them. The left side would remain empty until the swine were ready to deliver their piglets.

A fat brown pig snuffled when he spied her and head-butted a gray feeding tub. “Later, Cocoa. We get to eat now.”

“Cocoa,” Robertson snorted. “If you have to name them, call that one Christmas ham, and the big black one, Breakfast Bacon, and the little one over there, Sausage Links.”

She choked on a laugh and increased her speed out of the room. “They can hear you, you know.”

She followed away from the pigs and into the connecting tunnel. Shifting behind him, she watched his muscles tremble as the incline grew steeper. Firm, rounded buttocks moved under his camouflage pants. She grinned. Being a follower had its perks.

“You’re looking at my ass, aren’t you?”

Sunnie forced her attention higher. “No, of course not. Why would I look at your butt?”

“You know what they say about protesting too much?”

“No, what do they say?” Maybe she did sound a bit guilty. Still, as someone recently returned from death’s door, she could appreciate a little look now and then. Besides, he flirted with her constantly.

He grinned at her over his shoulder.

Heat flared in her cheeks. She dropped her attention to the ground. “One day, some poor girl is going to take your flirting seriously and then you’ll be sorry.”

He shrugged his muscular shoulders and faced front. “Not if it’s the right girl.”

Right! The man had acres full of oats he needed to sow before he’d ever consider settling down.

Robertson halted near the bend of the next cavern.

She plowed into his back. Her nose throbbed where it collided with his muscled back. She rubbed away the sting. “What is wrong with you?”

Pausing, Robertson sniffed the air. “Blood.”

Blood? She sniffed, filling her lungs with the pungent scent of urine and half-digested grass. “I don’t smell anything.”

He dipped down and pulled a knife from his book. “Stay here.”

Sunnie blinked. Stay here. Alone. When he smells blood? She latched onto his waistband. “I don’t think so.”

He glared at her.

She stared back. “I can’t even run away from the evil roosters, how do you expect me to defend myself against some blood-crazed maniac?”

“I never said–”

“You’re whispering. You never whisper.”

He rolled his eyes and crept closer to the cavern. The gap in his pants grew until she spied his briefs.

Wrapping a hand around her wrist, he yanked her forward. “Don’t pull my britches down unless you plan to do something with what you expose.”

“Geez.” She trotted after him. “I’m new to this sneaking stuff.”

He turned the corner. After a stutter-stop, he strode forward. “Shit.”

She stumbled a step then released him. “What? What is it?”

Arms flapping at his sides, he stopped in the center of the terraformed cavern. White blanketed the center of the grass and clover.

“It snowed.” Her heart stilled in her chest. Snow meant the outside was getting in. Radiation could be everywhere. She locked her knees to keep from collapsing. How could this have happened?

“Not snow.”

Not snow. Not snow. The words circled her fear but didn’t penetrate. That meant something. But what?  She tried to connect the thoughts, it didn’t add up.

“Feathers.” Robertson crouched in the center of white. Using his knife, he searched the grass. “Chicken feathers.”

Relief knocked her legs out from under her. She collapsed, her knees sinking into the damp sod. “Oh, thank God.”

“I wouldn’t just yet.”

“Why not?” They had chickens, that explained the feathers. There was no radiation. No leaks. They were safe.

“Because someone killed a chicken.” He stabbed the ground before raising his blade. A chicken head curled around the tip.

She crawled forward. “That doesn’t make sense. Anyone caught with a dead farm animal is subject to immediate banishment. Aunt Mavis and the others made that rule after that fat guy killed a hen for his dinner.”

She’d thought it was harsh at first, but then she’d realized such behavior threatened everyone’s survival. She hoped whoever was stealing the vegetables got the same punishment, and that they enjoyed their radioactive tan before they died horribly.

He flicked the chicken head off his blade  and pushed to his feet. Crossing the cavern, he stopped near a metal security door securing the tunnel. “These tunnels loop around and lead back to the living quarters, right?”

“Yeah.” She’d taken them before they’d been terraformed with sand and soil to grow alfalfa and oats for the animals. Hers and Aunt Mavis’s room was just on the other side, then the senior military officers and the… As quickly as she could, she joined Robertson and pressed her face against the black mesh. Feathers created a trail along the green grass.

An obvious trail.

The chicken-killer must want to get caught. Or… Her stomach cramped. Don’t even think it. The command didn’t banish the thoughts only connected them faster.

Kneeling, he glanced at the lock, traced the marks with his thumb. “Scratches. It’s been picked.”

Sunnie tugged on the door. Metal rattled. “We need to find where those feathers lead. Someone may be trying to kill Aunt Mavis the easy way.”

Banishment to the radioactive wasteland outside.

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One (pound of) Potatoes, Two (pounds of) Potatoes

Posted on November 30, 2012 by Linda Andrews

Ahh the fabulous spud. How could Americans or Canadians not celebrate our respective Thanksgivings without the marvelous potato? And let’s face it, for the amount of work put in, mashed potatoes are quite heavenly.

Every year at Thanksgiving, my youngest daughter (who it should be noted is 4’10” and nearly 18) and my father have a contest to see who can eat the most mashed potatoes and gravy. Krista, it should be admitted (although I doubt by my father), has won the last 3 years with 3 plate sized helpings.

And so as that good holiday rolled around, I stared at my meager supply of 10 lbs of potatoes and contemplated buying a safety margin of another 5 lbs. We were expecting 10 people so I had to make sure there was enough for the rest of us.

Alas, on Turkey day, Krista decided to spend the holiday with her boyfriend’s family, and two of our guests did not materialize. As if moving out of town is any reason not to come. Meanwhile, still worrying about the impending potato famine of 2012, I boiled up 7 lbs of russets and 7 lbs of yams.

Which worked out to be approximately 2 lbs a person. Safe, right? Except, the old gray cells didn’t take into account the fact that we had gorged ourselves on yams and mashed potatoes the previous evening on a preThanksgiving dinner before my brother and his wife headed back to Alaska.

There were lots of potatoes and yams left.

Lots of them.

I had to hid them.

Then I had to decide what the heck to do with them. Because after the 3rd Thanksgiving dinner (why is the stuffing always the first to go?), I really wasn’t sure I could look at them an keep down my stomach contents.

So I decided to disguise them. The first day, I  made potato pancakes. Oh, yeah. That was yummy.

The second day, I made 2 loaves of potato bread. Hmmm. My daughter thought it was lemon bread and didn’t speak to me for a couple of hours figuring I’d tricked her somehow. Um, she didn’t ask what they were.

And then I ran out of steam because I am right in the middle of edits for a book due out in January. Okay, Redaction fans, take a deep breath. The book due in January is a Valentine’s Day romance novel. Redaction: Dark Hope is still on schedule for the 20th.

So after our 4th Thanksgiving dinner on Wednesday, I decided to trash the rest of the leftovers.

Next year…. I won’t make so many dang potatoes.

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It’s not the age; it’s the mileage

Posted on November 28, 2012 by Linda Andrews

And so it came to pass a few days ago that I have begun that inexonerable slide toward old age. Sure, I’ve had a tremendous amount of white hair in my twenties (which I blame on all those emergency room visits for my kids). Those laugh lines around my eyes appeared in my late teens, yep hated sunglasses  and loved the outdoors. As for pieces breaking down and not working like when I was younger, well, I’ve been a mutant all my life things never worked for me like they worked for others.

And I’d made peace with it.

I didn’t even lie about my age (mostly because I’ve earned every D@mn minute!)

But then the weekend came and after a marathon job of painting the kid’s living room, I went to work on the computer. For some reason, the operating system didn’t come on but remained solely in the reboot screen.

So I rebooted.

And rebooted.

I wiped the harddrive. Twice.

Then my husband tried it. Twice.

We went through all the screens, all the set-ups and kept getting that stupid screen. Given the amount of time I spent waiting, I started scraping the freckles of paint off keyboard, working from the bottom up and was nearly halfway done when our son rose at the crack of 2pm.

Now #1 son (I have only one and so he says such a designation is meaningless) is a computer networking major in college. Hubby called in #1 son to check. #1 son rebooted twice then wiped the hard drive.

Same result (insanity runs in the family or we don’t listen when others speak about what they’ve already done).  #1 son says he has homework and will think about it later.

Glowering at the computer didn’t make it work so we shut it down.

Ten minutes later, #1 son comes out of his bedroom, sits down at the computer, scrapes the paint on the keyboard then turns on the computer.

Same result.

Then he shuts it down and pulls out the keyboard and tries again. The frickin’ windows logo pops up. Seems a spot of paint has glued down the F11 key.

Doh! If only I’d started at the top of the keyboard instead of the bottom I could have saved myself a lot of aggravation. Of course, covering the stupid computer would have prevented it in the first place. Still, the path into old age suddenly got a little steeper.

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Redaction: Dark Hope, Chapter 6, unedited

Posted on November 26, 2012 by Linda Andrews

 

Chapter Six

“Miz S?”

Audra Silvestre set her hand on the stack of tablet computers and looked up. Most of her students stood by the arched exit near Faye Eichmann. Audra nodded to the thin woman before looking toward the front of her cavern-turned classroom.

Oscar Renault traced patterns on his desk in the front. The algebra problem projected onto his khaki sleeve. Propping a hip against the six-foot long table, he glared at two of his classmates.

Two ninth-grade twins, Pete and Paul, covered their smiles and pretended to be absorbed in the solved equation.

Good gracious. Now what were those two up to? And why did they always make Oscar the butt of their jokes? Everyone appreciated a little humor, but she had to make sure it stayed friendly and didn’t bleed into bullying. Audra smoothed the edges of her sweater. “Yes, Oscar? Do you have a question about the problem?”

“Nope.” Oscar chewed on his bottom lip for a moment.

Pete jerked his head in Audra’s direction.

She hadn’t thought Oscar had a problem. He understood math far better than English. Her fingers drummed the tablet on top of her stack and waited. Rushing the boy wouldn’t do any good. Oscar would talk when he was ready. Her stomach growled and she set her hand over it. She hoped he’d be ready soon. She was hungry and cold MREs were not very tasty. “Oscar?”

Oscar puffed out his chest. “Is it true that one radioactive potato can feed everyone in the class because they’re so big from the radiation and they have to be hauled in a wheelbarrow and they can barely fit through the door.” His chest deflated as he talked. Finally, he wheezed to a stop.

Audra blinked. She felt her skull hum as she tried to sort through the words. A complete sentence lurked in there. Somewhere. Maybe. She mentally grabbed the repeated word. “You think the vegetables have been irradiated.”

He nodded and a lock of dark-red hair dripped over his forehead.

At least she was on the right track–now to connect the stations. “And you think irradiating the vegetables made them very large.”

Oscar nodded again. “Someone said that one potato is big enough to provide French Fries for the whole class.”

Pete and Paul stopped pretending to look at the equation and tilted their heads to the left, waiting. The rustle of fabric behind her quieted. Eyes bored into her back. Apparently, this tidbit wasn’t new. Yet, this was the first time she’d heard it.

“Is it true, Audra?” Faye’s soft voice echoed around the cavern.

Wonderful, now even the adults believed such silliness.

“No, it’s not true.” Leaving the stack, Audra inched down the aisle. She picked up the tablets on the right and left as she passed. “Where did you hear such a thing?”

“The movie. Giant ants were eating people because of the radiation.” Oscar thrust both hands in his back pockets. His jeans scooched lower to flirt with the hem of his polo shirt but didn’t bunch around his knees.

Small miracle. Audra cleared the row of computers then turned right and headed toward the front of the classroom. “That was a movie. It’s make believe, not real at all.”

She hoped. Bugs were icky enough when they flew at you. Surely, if God was in Heaven, He wouldn’t make them the size of minivans or city buses. There wasn’t a shoe big enough to squish that.

Pete shoved Oscar’s shoulder. “Told you.”

“How do you know, Miz S?” Oscar folded his arms over his chest. His bottom jaw thrust forward.

Why couldn’t the boy be as curious about dangling participles and verb tenses? Balancing the computers in one arm, Audra stopped by a footlocker bolted into the wall near the whiteboard. “How do I know it’s a movie? My Dad and I watched B-movies when I was growing up, and I remember that one.”

She also remembered breaking her brother’s ant farm while checking to make sure the critters hadn’t doubled in size overnight.

“Not that.” Oscar shook his head. “About the radiation growing the food.”

Sighing, she stood on tiptoe and reached for the buckles of the footlocker. The kid was stubborn. Fortunately, a Silvestre had obstinacy as a base pair in their DNA sequence. “Once I’d learned we’d spend the rest of our lives in a cave, I looked up everything I could on radiation and its effects. Radiation kills plants and animals, Oscar. It doesn’t give them superpowers.”

“Yeah, but–”

She flashed her palm at him–the universal stop sign.

His teeth clicked together.

“We’ll discuss this in science class.” She shooed him and the other two boys toward the line. “After lunch. Now go.”

The trio hustled to the back of the room. When Faye led the students into the tunnel, Audra turned her attention to the footlocker and carefully organized the tablets inside. Radiation growing mutant sized food. She chuckled. What would they think of next?

“What’s so funny?”

Audra set the last computer in place and rubbed the red marks from her arm. Turning, she spied her friend Tina Tsao picking up the rest of the tablets from the desk. “Apparently last night’s movie has the children thinking we’re sowing mammoth-sized fruits and vegetables.”

“I wish.” Tina’s black ponytail wiggled down her back when she walked toward the locker. “I practically drool every time I think of eating French fries. Dinner cannot come soon enough for me.”

“I know what you mean.” Audra stepped. “I dream of the day there’ll be salads. Crisp lettuce, crunchy celery and carrots. Tomatoes with salt and fresh basil.” Saliva pooled in her mouth. Absence didn’t affect her heart so much as her tastebuds.

“You always were the salad queen.” Tina shut the locker. Metal rattled when she lashed the chains over the four sides then padlocked them together. “When the Redaction hit, you were demoted to Princess.” When she giggled, Tina’s almond-shaped brown eyes nearly disappeared. “Get it. Eddie calls you Princess.”

Audra waved her hand in the air. Yeah, she understood the reference. Unfortunately, her boyfriend Eddie called her Princess when he wanted to put distance between them. It was beginning to annoy her. “I hear they’re making cheese with the goats’ milk.”

She bit back a groan. As changes of subjects go, that one was about as subtle as a hatchet in a china shop.

Tina tucked her arm through Audra’s and tugged her toward the door. “Troubles in paradise?”

“No!” Great, screams of denial were ever so believable. They turned in to the tunnel. With every other light being out to conserve power, the rock walls pressed in on her. She focused on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Left foot, right foot. Soon the tunnel would widen. Soon, there’d be air to breathe. “No.”

Tina squeezed her forearm. “You should see Falcon about your claustrophobia.”

“I already have.” Many times. The shrink-in-training taught her breathing exercises but not much else. Audra eyed the bare bulb overhead before glancing at the dots of light on the ground. Her thighs twitched. Lord o’ mercy, when would this need to jump from one spot to the next leave her? She kept her pace steady but the tremors rattled through her.

“Maybe you should go more often.”

Maybe Tina should stop using up all the oxygen. Audra paused under a return. Cold air poured out of the metal grate. Her nose tingled.

“Eddie starts his new job today.” Tina glanced up and down the corridor.

Two men stood near a junction box. The older man shook his head. “Black to black. Don’t mix the colors.”

“Hey, I became an accountant so I didn’t have to do menial labor.”

“Menial labor?”

Audra tuned them out.

“Yes, he starts today.” Not that he hadn’t been working on the electrolysis machines for weeks. But today, he’d be around them for ten hours. Given how frequently they went down, she didn’t like the odds that one wouldn’t blow himself up due to a stray spark sometime within the week.

Today’s power outage didn’t help.

She couldn’t lose Eddie. Not after everything they’ve been through. Her fingers curled into fists. She wouldn’t lose him. Audra clasped the quartz crystal he’d given her, slid it along the string around her neck.  Not that Eddie wasn’t smart or good with his hands. Heat shimmered inside her. Very good with his hands.

But those machines were dangerous and unpredictable.

“Hey, girlie!”

Audra stopped cold and set her hands on her hips. Surely, he was not speaking to her.

Tina shrugged.

“Wait up a minute.” Footsteps pounded behind her.  A moment later, one of electricians skidded to a stop in front of her. He gasped for breath and stared at her chest.

How positively rude. Now that they were safe, manners should be observed. “Sir, I would–”

He raked his broken nails down her chest and hooked her necklace.

What in the world? Audra twisted at the waist and raised her hand to block his attack. The string bit into her neck then snapped.

The man sprinted away.

Good Lord. She’d just be mugged. No way! She leapt to follow but something held her back.

“Are you nuts?” Tina held her waistband with both hands. “The necklace isn’t worth it.”

Audra batted at her friend’s hands. She could still catch the stealing jerk. “Eddie gave me that. He made it for me.”

“Then he can make you another. He wouldn’t want you to get hurt over a crystal.”

He wouldn’t want her to get hurt period. The thief disappeared into another tunnel–one that branched into three directions.

“Fine.” She rubbed her neck and winced at the sore spot. She’d bruise soon.

“Besides, it’s not like he can go far. We’ll just report him to the nearest cop.” Tina grinned.

Audra rubbed the blood between her thumb and index finger. The cops had better find him before Eddie did. “What is it with you and cops?”

She sincerely hoped her friend was mourning the loss of Deputy Pecos, not looking for his surrogate.

The whites of Tina’s eyes glowed in the dim light. “Doesn’t everyone love a man in uniform? The way their pants cup their backsides.”

“Okay. Okay. I get it.”

“Yes, you do. Practically every night.”

Audra’s cheeks burned. Good gracious, was the woman implying what she thought she was?

When the tunnel forked, Tina bumped into her, steering her down the right one. “You may have to take turns canoodling in the corner with the way your mother is making eyes at Principal Dunn.”

Her mother and Principal Dunn? Audra tripped over her feet. Reaching out, she grabbed the clammy stone and found her footing. “You’re making that up.”

“Am I?” Tina dropped her arm. “Or have you been so lost in Eddie that you haven’t paid attention to what’s going on around you?”

“I would know if my mother’s affections were engaged.” Staggering out of the tunnel, Audra blinked rapidly. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness of this room. Strings of lights draped across the basketball court sized area. Foil lined the concave ceiling, trapping the heat of the incandescent bulbs on one side and funneling the water seeping through the rocks into the pipes. For a moment, she pictured herself inside a baked potato.

She shook her head to clear the thoughts of food.

Months of subsisting only on Meals-Ready-to-Eat had driven her mad.

“Look.” Tina pointed across the room the outcropping of rocks. “Your mother just gave Principal Dunn her shortbread cookies.”

That was Tina’s proof of an affair? Audra laughed and adjusted her scarf to cover her neck. “My mother detests sweets. Always has.”

Some things not even an extinction level event and nuclear meltdown could change. Thankfully, she had not inherited the gene. Cookies were about the only thing that made the slab of cardboard affectionately known as meatloaf, edible. Of course, the Tabasco sauce helped. “Not a word about my necklace to my mother.”

She didn’t want to give the children something else to fear.

“I’ll get Faye to cover for us after school. Then we’ll find the police.” Tina led the way across the cavern.

Audra’s sneakers sunk into the clover and grass growing in clumps around the space. Patches of black night soil filled the spaces between the weave of green. On her right, her students sat on benches carved from the rock walls. Others lounged on the grass. The younger one climbed the bulldozer in the center. The machine had scraped off the topsoil outside and moved it inside before being consigned to playground equipment. Here and there cones of natural light sprayed over the walls. The triple layers of sealed glass kept out the radioactive rays and toxic melted snow from their tomb.

Jacqueline Silvestre lifted two beige MRE baggies from where they rested against the wall near the bench. “Your meatloaf should be good and hot now, Audra.”

“Thanks.” Audra’s stomach cramped when she accepted the packet from her mother. She shouldn’t complain. Food was food. Yet, their limited selection had her tastebuds on the verge of sliding off her tongue and marching into the wasteland outside. She dumped one small bottle of Tabasco then added Tina’s for good measure.

“Will Eddie be joining us for lunch today?” Her mother studied the speared potato on her fork.

“I don’t think so.” Audra lowered herself onto the grass and crossed her legs Indian style. She stirred the contents and selected an orange cube. “He planned to eat with Forrest.”

Tucking it inside her mouth, she felt the stuff dissolve. Just as she thought, a carrot taste was too much for the orange cube.

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Rodriguez nodded. A red cross on her jacket identified the former school nurse as medical personnel. “He’s being quite responsible.” She jabbed her white plastic fork at Audra. “That’s good father material there.”

Her stomach returned the cube. It stuck on the back of her throat. She coughed and pounded her chest. Her eyes watered before it fell back into her gut. “Father material?”

“That’s what you’re practicing for, isn’t it, Princess?” Mrs. Rodriguez grinned at her. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll be experts in no time.”

Flames of embarrassment flickered over Audra’s body. Snickers traveled from the nurse to the principal to Blind Connie who taught preschool and her mother… Jacqueline nodded and nibbled on a piece of meatloaf. Her own mother! For the love of… “We’ve only been together for six weeks.”

“Seven.” Her mother corrected. “Plenty of time for you to be with child.”

“Mother!” Goodness! Sure the world had ended, but that was no excuse. Silvestres always did things in the proper order. Sleeping with Eddie may have changed those time-honored steps, but… really. “We’re not even married.”

“Just a formality.” Her mother batted the words away. “A baby would be a blessing after everything. And to think, my grandchild would be the first citizen of this new world. She’d be a symbol of hope and endurance–just as Silvestres have been since before this country was a country.”

Ah, that explained it. Audra loosened her grip on her fork. Too bad the notion of a Silvestre’s duty hadn’t been eradicated in the meltdown. Eddie wasn’t about duty; he was about her and what she wanted and how he made her feel.

She liked that.

She liked who he made her become.

Using the edge of her utensil, she cut off a hunk of meatloaf. “Sorry to disappoint you, Mother, but I’m on the Pill.” Thanks to Eddie’s scavenging, she had four more months of pills to go. “No babies.”

Not until she was ready.

Not until she knew Eddie wasn’t going to blow himself up in his new job.

“The Pill?” Her mother dropped her MRE. The pouch plopped over and brown gravy dripped onto the green clover. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Tina’s eyes widened in her face. The principal stirred his food. Blind Connie’s lips twitched.

Audra chucked her fork into the bag and set it between her feet. “Geez, it’s not like I robbed a bank.”

“Watch your mouth, young lady. I am your mother and will not condone such blasphemy.”

Blasphemy, over geez?

Tina coughed but Audra saw her friend’s lips curve into a smile. Traitor.

Principal Dunn pushed to his feet. “I think I’m needed outside.”

“Sit down, Howard.” Her mother shoved the principal back onto the bench.

His face flushed red and he studied his MRE pouch as if trying to figure how to climb inside.

“Audra Martha Silvestre.”

Uh-oh. She straightened. Nothing good ever followed someone’s full name.

“Relax, Jackie O.” Mrs. Rodriguez patted her mother’s hand. “Princess A here could be pregnant and not know it.”

Audra blinked. What was going on? Had they switched her birth control pills for placebos?

Her mother’s green eyes narrowed. “How is that possible?”

“We’re all on Cipro, right?” Mrs. Rodriguez opened her packet of cookies with a pop.

“Yes, of course.” Her mother nodded. Principal Dunn scooted away from her, but before he made it a foot, her mother reeled him back to her side. “It’s the only thing to keep that nasty anthrax at bay.”

“Everyone knows antibiotics diminish the efficacy of birth control pills.” Smiling, Mrs. Rodriguez popped a shortbread into her mouth.

“What!” Audra pushed off the ground. Not everyone knew that. “That’s a myth. It isn’t true.”

Why wasn’t it on the label of the stupid antibiotics? She had read the warning label on Cipro, hadn’t she?

“Do sit down, Audra.” Her mother flapped her hand toward the grass. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Audra clenched her fists. Sit down. Get pregnant. Do your duty. When did she ever just get to be herself, owe nothing to anyone but herself? “Mother–”

A hard yank pulled her to the right.

“Audra thinks we should teach radiation awareness in the classroom.” Tina’s eyebrows reached for her hairline. Pleading filled her brown eyes.

Audra flopped to the ground. Fine. She’d let it go for now. But the topic was far from closed. Right after school, she’d visit the doctor and order a pregnancy test.

“After everything those children have been through, do you think it is wise?” Her mother regally nodded her head, an acknowledgment of the ceasefire but not an end to the war. The Silvestres must not perish from Earth.

Principal Dunn stroked his clean shaven chin. “Funny you should mention that, I’ve had some questions about radiation today.”

“I think it was that movie we streamed in the canteen last night.” Audra wrapped her arms around her shins and rested her chin on her knees. What if she were pregnant? Could her egg basket have been exposed to radiation during their flight to safety? “Oscar, Pete and Paul seemed to think that we’ll have huge vegetables and ants from the radiation.”

Mrs. Rodriguez shoved to her feet and began collecting the utensils. “I had a few folks request sleep aids because of nightmares. This is the new boogeyman and I think knowing a bit about it might help keep the kids and adults calm.”

Tina collected the bags, pouring the uneaten bits into one. She frowned at the nearly full contents of Audra’s pouch. “I think we should teach physical self-defense in addition to mental resiliency. Especially to the girls. I could certainly have used it when…”

Tina swallowed hard.

Audra squeezed her friend’s cold hand. When they’d been pulled off the bus, had pillowcases shoved over their head and taken to a house to await their new ‘duties’. None of them had been raped, but it had been a close thing. God only knew what would have happened if Eddie and Principal Dunn hadn’t come back to rescue them. “Self-defense is a good idea and provides exercise in our limited space.”

She opened her arms, gesturing to the cavern.

Her mother smoothed her napkin over her lap. “We’re safe here, aren’t we? That won’t happen again. Not here where we all know each other.”

Audra adjusted her collar.

Principal Dunn patted her mother’s knee. “You know we’ve had folks stealing our tablets, Jackie O. Perhaps a little Thai Chi would be good for everyone.”

Whoa. Audra watched the Principal’s hand until he set it in his lap. Was there something going on with her mother and the Principal? She’d have to ask Eddie. He would know. He seemed to have a sense of these things. She raked the packets that came with the MRE’s into a pile.

“Who’s going to teach it? I have my hands full with English. Phil teaches Math and Science for the junior high and high schoolers.” She glanced around for the geologist, but didn’t see him. Probably glued to the TV watching the cabinet meeting. “Tina and Faye are teaching those classes to the elementary students. Connie, Maddy and Erin are assisting with numbers and letters plus reading for the younger kids. Mom and Principal Dunn teach history, geography, art and music. Our assistants don’t know self-defense.”

Blind Connie unfolded her red-tipped cane. “Papa Rose and Falcon should teach self-defense.”

Audra shuddered. The two big men looked as if they should be moving small mountains with their bare hands. She squelched the unkind thought. “The counselors?”

“Yes.” Connie’s white curls quivered on her pink scalp. “They’re both ex-military and know plenty of hand-to-hand combat. Plus they have children in the school, and thanks to their counseling work, they know almost all the youngsters.”

Principal Dunn caught Audra’s eye.

She shrugged. Funny how he looked to her for leadership since their exodus. “Wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

He nodded. “Agreed. Now, on that subject, Doctor Spanner has approached me about putting together training modules to help raise the next generation of teachers.” He rubbed his hands together. “It’s time to look to the future and, just like the Founding Fathers, we will have a hand in shaping it.”

Audra smiled. The future. They might actually live to see it. She touched her sore neck.

Her mother tugged a repurposed paint can off the shelf and pried open the lid. “A Silvestre helped shape the United States, it’s only appropriate one help form these United Caves.”

Leave it to her mother to remind her of her duty. Audra scraped up the condiments and added them to the can before standing. Maybe they could do better this time around and build something that would last more than two hundred thirty-six years. “Perhaps, it should be United Caves, Caverns and Mines.”

“UCCM?” Tina rose to her feet. The full MRE pouches waggled in her hands. “We need a better acronym. Something catchy.”

“Catchy?” Mrs. Rodriguez snorted. “I think we’re done with contagious anything.”

Audra joined the others in chuckling. By God, humor would keep them sane no matter how bleak their future looked. “Amen to that.”

The red phone on the wall rang.

She held her breath. No, that couldn’t be about Eddie. The lights were back on. Sure there was that little tremor earlier but everything was okay, wasn’t it?

Mrs. Rodriguez crossed the cavern. “Probably for me. I’m due to take a shift in the infirmary in twenty minutes.” She lifted the phone and held it against her ear. “Hello?”

“I’m sure Eddie’s fine.” Tina set her hand over Audra’s. “The lights out was fifteen minutes ago.”

Audra nodded and met the nurse’s eyes.

“I’ll tell her.” Mrs. Rodriquez cleared her throat. “There’s been an accident. They’re prepping Infirmary two for Eddie.”

Audra swayed and reached for the necklace Eddie had given her. Her fingers closed around empty space. Infirmary Two. That’s where they took the terminal cases.

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Giving thanks to family

Posted on November 22, 2012 by Linda Andrews

Today is Thanksgiving in the United States. I was fortunate enough to have my brother and sister-in-law in town so we celebrated yesterday since they leave this morning. And will celebrate again this afternoon.

Mostly because there’s still chocolate cheesecake left.

So, during the time of reflection (aka feast preparation time), I would like to share with you my thoughts on family.

Family makes you humble. Brothers, sisters and parents remember you when and they’re not afraid to share the stories complete with photos to anyone who will listen (or who you are trying to impress).

Family is never what you expect. Siblings become fixed points in our lives so it’s an adjustment to look at them as they are not for the wrongs they’ve done or the fun times. In the end, I’ve let go of the bad, remembered the good and documented the embarrassing (for future blackmail purposes).

Family is always the first to let you know when you’re wrong (sometimes with a tad too much zealotry), but they usually stand on your side and will concoct enough BS to confuse the issue when the same mistake is pointed out by others.

Family are among the biggest cheerleaders. I’m always surprised how many of my siblings tell others of my writing. Of course, I’m always bragging about my brothers and sisters (in-laws or not) and they’re amazing accomplishments.

Family keeps us young. I’ll always be the youngest, but they’ll always expect me to be grown up.

Family teaches the all important survival tool: Humor. Trust me, they’re more than willing to have a laugh at my expense I might as well join in.

Family are the folks we’re born into, the people we accept in our lives and the ones who drag us into theirs.

Now before you all think I grew up in some Hollywood sitcom family, mine is a highly dysfunctional family. We laugh. We fight. We have elephantine memories of past wrongs. And Tupperware memories of who we are (which vanish with a glance in the mirror). We avoid each other at reunions because of all that blackmail material.

But I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

And to my family, whether by blood or choice, please know that I didn’t base that character on you and kindly ignore the fingers crossed behind my back:-)

Happy Thanksgiving!

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Redaction: Dark Hope, chapter 5, unedited

Posted on November 19, 2012 by Linda Andrews

UPDATE: Redaction: Dark Hope is at the editors and should be back mid-December. I hope to go live with the book around the 20th and, like before, I’ll have it priced at 99cents for a week. My Christmas present to you:-)

Chapter Five

With his tongue caught between his teeth, Manny Saldana cut off one perfect

round of tomato. One-quarter inch thick, not a sliver more or less. He whistled softly. It

was good to be cooking again. Red juice oozed across the metal prep table before being

absorbed by a towel. The overhead LED bulbs dimmed for a moment then brightened.

The council meeting sprang to life on the TV monitor above the buffet area.

“I wish someone competent would take charge of the electrical grid.” Chef Bonnie

Jardin glared at the Christmas lights strung across the silver-lined ceiling. Strands of

black hair escaped her bun and fluttered in the purring table fan. “Now that we’re starting

to receive fresh produce, I really must have reliable ovens.”

“We haven’t had an outage that lasted more than a few minutes in nearly a month.”

Using the side of his knife as a spatula, Manny scooped up the slices and added them to

the colander. A white ramekin caught the juice and the seeds. Precious seeds. One white

oval lay on the table. He poked it with his index finger until it stuck then scraped it into

Folding her arms over her bright-white chef’s jacket, Bonnie harrumphed. “We

shouldn’t be having any at this point. Aren’t these people receiving training?”

“I’m sure they are.” He dusted his fingers on the damp washcloth. One thousand

twenty-two slices of tomatoes. Everyone got one at dinner tonight. It was a good start,

especially when coupled with the potatoes that would soon arrive. He licked his lips.

Bonnie’s rubber soled shoes squeaked on the damp stone floor. She paused by his

side and inspected the silver prep tray holding the remaining slices. “I suppose I can’t

expect everyone to learn the basics as quickly as you, Emmanuel.”

Manny flinched at his proper name. He wished she stopped calling him that. It

reminded him too much of his mother, too much of all he’d lost. He sniffed back his tears.

Time to begin putting that behind him. Life was good in the caves. His parents, brothers,

sisters and friends wouldn’t want him to dwell on the fact that he brought home the

Redaction that had killed them. They’d want him to be happy.

And maybe… He cleaned the seeds out of the slices in the colander and added

them to the prep bin. Maybe he deserved a little happiness. After all, he had saved his

younger brother and sister and several neighbors.

That had to count for something.

Reaching to the metal shelves above his prep area, he retrieved the salt and pepper.

Measuring out only a quarter-sized amount in his palm, he sprinkled it on the vegetables,

making sure to get every grain off his hands.

“Nicely done. And not a bit wasted.”

No, nothing wasted. They couldn’t afford it. Not until the greenhouses started

producing more. And speaking of gardens… “My basil is finally growing. I could harvest

some and give the tomatoes a little extra flavor.”

Bonnie’s pink lips nearly disappeared as they thinned.

Fear lodged in his throat. He swallowed hard. What rule had he broken now?

“Now, Emmanuel, I know you mean well but these people have very simple

tastes.” She waved her hand at the rows of brown Meals-Ready-to-Eat pouches waiting to

be served for dinner. “We can’t start introducing complex flavors to a palate accustomed

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. He’d deliberately grown the herb garden to

add flavor to everyone’s meals. “I just thought–”

“Of course, your intentions are good.” She patted his arm. “And I’m envious of the

green thumb most of your people seem to have.”

He stiffened. His people? He eyed his tan skin. Really? At the end of the world,

some folks still saw him as a dumb Mexican?

“Oh, dear.” She raised her hand to her lips. “I didn’t mean to insult your heritage.

I guess the little green-eyed monster got the better of me.” Leaning in close to him, she

lowered her voice. “I can’t grow anything. In fact, I’ve been known to kill plastic plants.”

The tension knotting his shoulders eased but he still felt a twinge in his gut. Maybe

he’d been a tad too sensitive about his heritage. Bonnie was always talking about those

people and that kind. Maybe it was because English wasn’t her first language. He used the

“You’re such a good boy, Emmanuel.” Bonnie patted his arm.

Boy? Sure he might only be seventeen, but he was a man. He scratched a stuck-on

leaf off the stainless-steel countertop. Hell, he didn’t think there were any children in the

whole mine network. Not after everything they’d seen, heard, and lived through.

“If I had a son, I’d want him to be just like you.” After a quick squeeze, she

released him and straightened her chef’s coat.

Okay, maybe he was being Mr. Sensitive. No one would insult a person in one

breath then liken him to her own child in the next, would she?

“Why don’t I clean up here while you go check on those potatoes.” When she

looked down at the countertop, she wrinkled her nose. “The farmers should have been at

Manny glanced at the surface. Not a smear of juice or a stray seed in sight. “Okay.

Anything to get away. Leaving the rag on the counter, he fumbled with the knot

securing his apron. Sometimes her cleaning OCD set his teeth on edge. He resisted the

urge to touch the stoves and ovens, smearing them with his fingerprints as he passed.

Folding the fabric into a neat square, he set it on the table near the buffet separating the

He had to remember that. Besides, he had been a bit of a clean freak after his folks

had died. Especially after learning the Redaction virus had lived on surfaces for over a

week. Of course, the niños had cured him of that pretty quick. He couldn’t keep a clean

house with four young children underfoot.

Shaking off his thoughts, Manny followed the wall of ovens to the end. He

rounded the serving line and stepped into the dining area. Metal folding chairs and tables

filled the fifty-foot cavern. In the front, airplane wings had been welded together to form

a stage. Behind it hung a sheet of white canvas that acted as a screen for the projector

caged in a repurposed pet carrier hanging from the ceiling.

After he cleaned up tonight’s meal, he’d have to get rid of the tables for movie

time. He hoped the feature was something other than giant radioactive bugs. He could

do without the nightmares. Of course, only a few had thought to pack movies during the

evacuation and anything was better than cutesy cartoons.

Threading a path between the tables, he made his way to the shed tucked in the

back corner. Hammer indentations and soot marked where the soldiers had torn the plane

apart to be repurposed in the mines. He shivered in a draft. They were dead now. Many

dying on the job, leaving him to find them in the morning.

Sometimes, he could swear he heard them coughing. His arms twitched. He shook

them out. That was over and done now. The last one had died ten days ago. So why could

he see one propped in the corner or another sprawled across the threshold of the storage

Stop it! He liked his job. Liked cooking. Ghosts didn’t exist. He reached for the

lock on the airplane door and paused. The hasp wasn’t fully seated in the padlock. Holy

shit. Had he forgotten to lock it? Sweat bubbled on his upper lip. He glanced toward the

Bonnie couldn’t see him from the kitchen. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t checked

After the thefts of tomatoes and two cases of MREs, they’d been extra careful. He

twisted his wrist then lifted the lock free. Guess she hadn’t checked it this morning or she

would have reamed him a new one. She was more paranoid about the lock than he was.

Manny opened the door and reached around the metal wall. With a flick of a

switch, light flooded the ten-by-twenty-foot storage room. He scanned the nearly empty

room. Sitting by the door, tomatoes filled two fabric grocery bags. A stray leaf lay beside

them. Empty MRE boxes were stacked in neat towers by a galvanized conveyor table.

The rollers waited for potatoes and other goodies to come up the conveyor belt that

He grabbed the Geiger counter off its hook and switched it on. It blipped once then

remained silent. The lights flickered again. Bonnie really shouldn’t complain so much.

Everyone was doing his best. Sure, some did better than others, but most at least tried.

They all knew the stakes: Life or death.

The readout ticked up to seven as he walked deeper into the room. His heart leapt

with every beep. Still okay. It was in milli-something or other. And it took lots of milli-

He took another step, heading for the triple-paned windows separating the

storeroom from the lead-lined conveyor belt. The readout jumped a hundred.

What the fuck? He thumped it against the heel of his hand. It leapt another two

hundred. The hair on the back of his neck rose. Grit crunched under his heel. Had the

Manny glanced down, lowering the Geiger counter. The readout purred until it

reached one thousand seventy-two. His mouth dried.

Jesus! That would make him sick. He back-pedaled toward the door. His left foot

shot out from under him. His right knee buckled. He dropped to the floor in a half split.

Pain zipped up his thigh. His teeth clicked together, the impact traveled up his spine until

he felt sure his brain hit the top of his skull.

The Geiger counter slipped from his hand. The numbers continued to climb. Two

He had to get out of here. Now! His nails dug into stone, bent under his weight

and ripped. He ignored the burn and scrambled backward. The conveyor must have been

breached. Radiation was getting inside.

Flipping over, he sprang to his feet and jumped the two feet to the door. He swung

for the doorknob. Missed. The counter continued to spiral higher, deleting days of his life

with each tick. He tried for the handle again.

Over the panic drumming in his ear, he heard the window to the conveyor slide open. He turned.

His fingers closed around the knob just as a hand reached through the opening.

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Do we ever really grow up?

Posted on November 16, 2012 by Linda Andrews

I don’t think you need to be suffering from Peter Pan syndrome to still find those things we found fascinating as children, still interesting as adults. Take for example balloons.

Sure there’s the helium kind that make everyone sound like rejects from lollipop land or Wizard of Oz. The ones where we carefully hold a hand in front of our faces while we inflate them with hot air. And the ones that talented people twist and turn into animals, hats and flowers.

But the ones that still fascinate me at the hot air kind that float like colorful jellyfish in the clear, blue sky.

And apparently I’m not alone.

Where I work, far on the outskirts of Phoenix, the hot air balloons are unpacked, filled and lift off.  At least once a week I am treated to rainbows of silk. Wicker baskets dangle from spiderwebs of lines. The whoosh of heat and the flicker of flames that lift the balloons ever higher.

Yesterday, I had the occasion to see two balloons with stylized saquaro cactus on the sides lift off. One was skimming the cactus tops as it tried to raise above a mountain.

The other was just lifting off.

During rush hour traffic, cars had stopped alongside the road. People had taken out their cell phones and were snapping pictures, smiling and pointing.

Traffic slowed to a crawl as drivers craned their necks to get a look. And I admit to checking the rearview multiple times to watch. I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to see the balloons up close several times. Once when one landed in the part near our house. So many people came out to watch it touch down on the soccer field.

The other times were at Glendale’s Glitter and Glow. I always loved balloons during the day, but at night, lit by the fire, they’re absolutely amazing.

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Fuzzy socks and temperature regulators

Posted on November 14, 2012 by Linda Andrews

Fall has finally arrived here in the southwest. A fickle cold front swept down from Oregon dropping the temperatures over 20 degrees overnight and promising rain.

We got spit not rain.

And cold temperatures.

Now before all you Northerns tell me that 38 degrees F is not cold, let me just say that it doesn’t get HOT until the temperature is over 110 F. Seventy is cold to me.

So when the highs were in the upper-50s and low sixties, I was reaching for my sweater, mittens and hat.

Then there are the mornings. 430 AM is dark (with a shooting star nearly every day) and flipping cold. Even the dog who sports his own fur coat, eschews the water puddles. I’m seriously considering buying earmuffs since I can’t feel my ears after the morning walkies. And while the air quality in Phoenix is usually crap in the winter, I’m not used to seeing my breath puffing in front of me like a coal train.

And so it was that I opened the big drawer, the one that holds my fuzzy socks and sock-slippers. You know the kind, the ones that look like you’re wearing muppets on  your feet and don’t fit in a normal sock drawer because they’re so big.

And this is when I noticed something peculiar– the thermostat on the heater turns to the right in winter, but the regulator in the shower moves to the left. What’s up with that?

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