right. You’re safe
here.” He showed her the bowl of stew. “Can you eat?”
She nodded, and he brought a spoonful of
broth to her lips. She closed her eyes while he fed her. After a dozen sips of
broth, she was asleep again, snoring softly.
Ben stood; he allowed himself another
smile. It had been that kind of day. He ate his dinner in the kitchen, standing
at the window while snowflakes fell in the dark.
When it was time for bed, he carried her
into the master bedroom and slipped her beneath the blankets. He made a bedroll
for himself at the foot of the bed and brought a candle and a novel, a drama
called Alas, Babylon , into the room, content to read while the woman he
had found in the orchard snored the sleep of the just in the bed above him.
The last thing he remembered before
extinguishing the candle and pulling the blankets to his chin was the whirring
click of the heat exchange. As warm air billowed down into the room, he sighed
and fell into the most satisfying night of rest he’d had since leaving the shelter.
NINE
She
slept long into the following afternoon. Ben locked the guns away and stayed
close to the house, wary of how she might react when she regained consciousness.
He was in the living room, mixing lye and
cold water with the scant drippings of animal fat he’d managed to capture from
the winter’s game, when she appeared in the doorway.
She had a comforter draped over her
shoulders. “So…I wasn’t dreaming,” she said. Her voice had improved, but it was
still hoarse. “All of this—it’s real .”
Ben nodded. “It’s absolutely real. I had
a similar reaction when I stumbled across the place, believe me. I, uh…I found you
out there in the orchard. You’d fainted. We…well, we’re here.”
The woman smiled. She took a few halting
steps on wobbly legs, and Ben helped her to the couch.
“What is it?” he said.
“What you said just now. It’s like the
old times, back in the corporate shopping arcades. They used to have these big directories—huge
kiosks that showed where all the shops were. ‘You are here,’ they would say.
They had this big arrow pointed at a little stick figure.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for
it. I never spent much time in the arcades—not before the Reset, at least. I’ve
searched through a few since, but I couldn’t stay long. Too dangerous.”
The woman nodded. “So you never did your
part either, huh?” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Human Accord. Patriotic commerce
and all that bullshit. You know, buying into the system—literally?”
Ben smiled. “My ‘career’ was a few
months old when things fell apart. I’m afraid I never had time to get involved
in any of that.”
The woman snickered. Her eyes darted
about the room. “We had a place like this back in Atlanta. My husband and I. We
kept it up for a long time, despite everything that happened up there.”
The memory washed over her, and her eyes
looked at nothing at all. “I tried to do it on my own, even after I lost him.”
There was a long pause. “But it was just too much for me to do on my own,” she
whispered.
Ben sat on the couch, careful not to
crowd her. “It takes time. Seems I’ve got enough of that, though. All I have
right now is time. My name is Ben, by the way.”
He extended his hand. The woman studied
him for a long moment before tentatively shaking it. Ben was happy to see the
improvement in her fingers. She would likely keep them.
“My name is Alice,” she said. “Alice Kincaid.
Thank you for your help. I think…I think you saved my life.”
Ben smiled. “You’re welcome, Ms. Kincaid.
I’m glad to have some company.”
A shadow darkened the woman’s features
and she turned away. “Just call me Alice,” she mumbled.
“You said you came down from Atlanta?”
Ben said. “I’m going there when the weather improves.”
She shook her head, a feral wariness
brightening her eyes. “Atlanta? Jesus, Ben, why would
here.” He showed her the bowl of stew. “Can you eat?”
She nodded, and he brought a spoonful of
broth to her lips. She closed her eyes while he fed her. After a dozen sips of
broth, she was asleep again, snoring softly.
Ben stood; he allowed himself another
smile. It had been that kind of day. He ate his dinner in the kitchen, standing
at the window while snowflakes fell in the dark.
When it was time for bed, he carried her
into the master bedroom and slipped her beneath the blankets. He made a bedroll
for himself at the foot of the bed and brought a candle and a novel, a drama
called Alas, Babylon , into the room, content to read while the woman he
had found in the orchard snored the sleep of the just in the bed above him.
The last thing he remembered before
extinguishing the candle and pulling the blankets to his chin was the whirring
click of the heat exchange. As warm air billowed down into the room, he sighed
and fell into the most satisfying night of rest he’d had since leaving the shelter.
NINE
She
slept long into the following afternoon. Ben locked the guns away and stayed
close to the house, wary of how she might react when she regained consciousness.
He was in the living room, mixing lye and
cold water with the scant drippings of animal fat he’d managed to capture from
the winter’s game, when she appeared in the doorway.
She had a comforter draped over her
shoulders. “So…I wasn’t dreaming,” she said. Her voice had improved, but it was
still hoarse. “All of this—it’s real .”
Ben nodded. “It’s absolutely real. I had
a similar reaction when I stumbled across the place, believe me. I, uh…I found you
out there in the orchard. You’d fainted. We…well, we’re here.”
The woman smiled. She took a few halting
steps on wobbly legs, and Ben helped her to the couch.
“What is it?” he said.
“What you said just now. It’s like the
old times, back in the corporate shopping arcades. They used to have these big directories—huge
kiosks that showed where all the shops were. ‘You are here,’ they would say.
They had this big arrow pointed at a little stick figure.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for
it. I never spent much time in the arcades—not before the Reset, at least. I’ve
searched through a few since, but I couldn’t stay long. Too dangerous.”
The woman nodded. “So you never did your
part either, huh?” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Human Accord. Patriotic commerce
and all that bullshit. You know, buying into the system—literally?”
Ben smiled. “My ‘career’ was a few
months old when things fell apart. I’m afraid I never had time to get involved
in any of that.”
The woman snickered. Her eyes darted
about the room. “We had a place like this back in Atlanta. My husband and I. We
kept it up for a long time, despite everything that happened up there.”
The memory washed over her, and her eyes
looked at nothing at all. “I tried to do it on my own, even after I lost him.”
There was a long pause. “But it was just too much for me to do on my own,” she
whispered.
Ben sat on the couch, careful not to
crowd her. “It takes time. Seems I’ve got enough of that, though. All I have
right now is time. My name is Ben, by the way.”
He extended his hand. The woman studied
him for a long moment before tentatively shaking it. Ben was happy to see the
improvement in her fingers. She would likely keep them.
“My name is Alice,” she said. “Alice Kincaid.
Thank you for your help. I think…I think you saved my life.”
Ben smiled. “You’re welcome, Ms. Kincaid.
I’m glad to have some company.”
A shadow darkened the woman’s features
and she turned away. “Just call me Alice,” she mumbled.
“You said you came down from Atlanta?”
Ben said. “I’m going there when the weather improves.”
She shook her head, a feral wariness
brightening her eyes. “Atlanta? Jesus, Ben, why would
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