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Introduction:

The following story contains themes of violence, non-consent, and starvation.

EARLY SPRING

The female stands tall and proud, watching me with cautious eyes. Tattered remnants of her ancient clothes hang about her body. She wears what was once a blue vest and a pair of khaki shorts, now torn and repaired countless times with talentless fingers. A bra is strung around her waist, with a short hatchet stored handle-first through the strap. Our eyes meet, and she keeps her chin up, challenging me.

This particular female I have seen many times. Her tribe forages on the sixty acres I call home, and we’ve encountered each other in the past. She is one of few females I know by her old name, as the tattered vest she wears once bore the name tag ‘Hello my name is: Tanya’, though she lost it a few months back. Tanya watches me carefully, judging me for the safety of her tribe. I keep my lights on low, so as not to blind her, and kill the engine.

Might as well give the girls some light while they cross the road.

Tanya recognizes the sound of my engine dying as a sign of safety, and motions for her tribe to scurry across the gravel. They obey their stalwart leader, and emerge from their hiding places in the treeline.

Their leader stands defiantly in the center of the road, eyes fixed on me as they pass behind her. Her tribe is twenty-odd women of all shapes and sizes. They wear the remnants of scavenged and repaired clothing. They’re all quick to scurry from my line of sight. I notice one woman carrying an infant.

Once they pass, Tanya gives one last glance in my direction. She nods. I nod back. There is mutual caution between us, and, I hope, respect. At least, I respect her. She keeps her tribe safe and fed in these lean times, and that takes both strength and skill. Especially for a woman.

With her tribe safely across the road, Tanya turns and leaps down the embankment on the far side, gracefully bounding off into the dark morning fog. I watch her go, admiring the beauty and strength of the proud woman.

With the road clear, I turn the key, firing precious fuel back into my engine. It’s a long road ahead. I think back to the conversation that started it.

-

“Rooster, you said you got a pretty nice setup, right? As far as a home, and land? Over.” The radio crackled. I depressed the button on my mic, swiveling in the desk chair to examine the map of my property on the wall.

“Yessir, roundabout sixty acres. What’s up? Over.” I responded.

“And you got a good supply - garden and hunting and all that? Over.” The radio came back.

“Yeah, Big Man, what the hell’s goin’ on?” I asked. The old man sighed into the mic. I waited a second, but realized I forgot to close comms. “Over,” I added. Big Man was a stickler for protocol on the HAM system.

“Will you come see me? Over.” He asked. I sat up in my chair, shocked he would even ask.

“In person? Over.” I rifled through the drawers of my desk, searching for the old road atlas my father once kept in his ancient pickup truck.

“Yeah. Jim, it’s important. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Over.” I ran my fingers over the map, estimating travel time.

“Big Man… Leo, that’s… that’s like sixty gallons of fuel. Almost everything I got left. Over,” I replied.

“I’m dying, Jim. I knew this was coming since before everything happened. I got cancer that required treatment a long time before the pandemic. …Over,” He replied. My hand loosened around the mic, and I sagged in my chair. I didn’t reply. Sixty gallons of fuel was almost unreal. After the supply chain broke down, I would probably never see that much gas again for the rest of my life.

“Jim… please. It’s important. Over.” He pleaded. I chewed my cheek, then slowly opened the mic.

“...You said your place is in Cali, right?”

-

Now our friendship has me picking carefully around abandoned cars on Route 101, headed south away from the Oregon border. Even driving for hours, every car I see is stationary and abandoned. I think back to four years ago, when the pandemic had gone into full effect. No one had been driving near the end.

It would have been difficult to find in the best of times, but without satnav the old man’s home would be impossible to locate. He lives very secluded, miles off of the main highway. I rumble down logging roads and around switchbacks in the Norcal wilderness, meditating on each drop of fuel that I burn.

Finally, I see a clearing, and the tidy little house, hidden at the bottom of a valley in a thick grove of pine. It feels strange to visit another person’s home after so much isolation.

I park my truck on the gravel drive, pulling in next to an antique baby blue Ford I assume is Leo’s. I barely have time to put it in park before I’m greeted by the sight of an energetic adult female. She bounds up to my driver’s side window, pressing her nose against the glass. I smile, waving at her, and she happily waves back, then lays both hands flat against the window pane, peering in at me, fascinated. I don’t know how to handle afflicted women.

“You’re holding the door closed,” I point to her hands where they rest on the window, and she follows my finger curiously. “You’re- back up,” I try to motion her away, to make her understand, but she isn’t comprehending. I sigh, and my eyes fall to a small white square on the front of her shirt. The tag tells me her pink tanktop is on both backwards and inside out, but it makes no difference to her.

Eventually, I force the door open, and she backs up. I climb out, and the pretty young woman watches me curiously. Her beautiful brown hair falls in an unkempt tangle around her shoulders. The young woman never stops smiling, and I have to admit she is a beauty. While I walk toward the house, the young woman circles me, curious as a cat. She bounces on the balls of her feet, excited at my presence.

“I see you met Lacey,” Leo calls from the porch, pointing to the woman. He’s an older man, bald and stooped. Leo wears a pair of denim overalls and a broad smile.

Seeing my friend in person for the first time, I smile at the sight of him.

“Hey Big Man,” I use his callsign, “Yeah, she’s a sweetheart. What’s good, brother?”

“Not a lot these days, Rooster,” He replies in kind, “Come inside. I gotta sit down ‘fore we chat.”

I follow my friend into his house, climbing the stairs to his hospitable and cozy front porch. Lacey runs her fingers along my jacket sleeve. My left leg tickles, and I feel the sensation of someone rummaging inside of my jeans. I stop her fingers as they slide into my pocket, drawing her hand out by the wrist.

“You’re not much for personal space, huh?” I say. I wave my hands at her, shooing the young woman away. She scurries back, then follows from a distance, her big brown eyes locked on me.

I have no idea how to deal with afflicted females.

I’m surprised to see a woman feeding a baby on her chest, standing just inside the doorway. She is older than Lacey, perhaps mid thirties, and much less energetic. The sour twist of her mouth and the squint of her eye tells me how cautious she is around me. Probably because of the baby.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I nod to her, and Leo introduces us.

“That’s my wife, Sally,” he says. Sally watches intensely. There is a serious level of mistrust in her gaze. Smart lady.

Leo shuffles to a chair in the living room. I notice that a television is on, with a Disney princess cartoon playing. A two year old bounces on the lap of yet another woman while they watch.

“How many kids you got, Leo?” I ask over the distantly familiar tune of a Disney song. I’m almost more curious about the power source for the television than I am about the kid. My own solar setup couldn’t output that kind of juice for long.

Leo lowers himself into his chair slowly, then spends the better part of a minute coughing. As the old man hacks and wheezes and crackles, Lacey hovers nearby, a mixture of worried and confused. She frets with her hands and touches his shoulder, a look of panic and fear on her face. The poor girl doesn’t understand why the old man is sick.

“My wives have given birth eight times since the pandemic,” Leo gasps between wheezed breaths. “Five stillbirths, and three girls.”

My eyebrows shoot up. I wonder if that’s just with the women present, or if he has more wives. It doesn’t need to be said, but I ask anyway:

“The stillbirths…”

“All male.” Leo confirms.

I nod grimly, understanding.

“You have beautiful wives, Leo.” I say, trying to change the subject. ‘Wives’, multiple - what a strange thing to say. I nod to Lacey, but Leo corrects me.

“Lacey is my daughter,” He explains, “She and her sister survived the pandemic.” We sit in grim silence for a moment. As it was with stillborn sons, there is no conversation concerning wives and daughters that won’t quickly turn depressing.

“I hate to rush you, Leo, but I can’t stand being away from the homestead. I know you feel that. What did I burn all this fuel for?” I demand.

Leo squares his jaw, grinding his teeth.

“My oldest - after the pandemic, I mean - is almost four. She can’t say a word, Jim. Can’t read, can’t recognize a letter. Doesn’t matter how much I read the damn ‘Cat in the Hat’, doesn’t matter how many nursery rhymes I sing, doesn’t matter how many times I hold her hand and make her draw a letter ‘A’... it’s just not registering.”

There has always been hope that the next generation will recover from the pandemic. That our generation would be damaged, but the humankind as a whole will recover. Leo is informing me that this is not the case. His little girl is ‘afflicted’, like all women.



“Don’t know if it’s in the mother or the father or both, but it don’t matter which way,” Leo says, “It’s getting in our kids. These young girls are just as confused as their mothers, and the boys…” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Five stillborns.

“Nothing you and I can do about that,” I reply, dejected.

“I don’t want this Jim. When I’m gone, I want my little girls to live,” He speaks softly, the deep bass of his voice crackling like a gravel road, “I want my girls to live better.”

A bolt of panic pierces my heart and turns my stomach. I can guess what he’s preparing to ask.

“Oh, uh, No, Leo, I don’t think I can take care of kids…” Most winters, it’s rough to feed myself, let alone Leo’s wives and daughters.

“No, no Jim- not… That’s not what I’m asking. I’m hoping maybe Sally and the girls can take care of the young’uns without me,” Leo interrupts.

“Really?” I’m not sure I believe that. I turn to the woman on the couch watching cartoons with her daughter. The afflicted adult female seems just as entranced by the singing princess as the child. Leo seems uncharacteristically insulted by my insinuation.

“Yes, really! Sally’s real smart, Jim. Understands a few words. I taught her everything I could. She can tend the garden and check snares, and they’ll have power until the solar bank gives out.”

“Then why am I here?” I ask.

“I don’t want you to take the kids with you. I want you to take Lacey and her sister.”

I grimace, turning my eyes to Lacey. The smiley young woman doesn’t understand a thing, but she can tell when she’s being talked about. Her eyes brighten up, eager and interested. I wonder if she knows her name. Leo continues.

“The way pandemic hit men, they’re ain’t a single man out there for my girls to marry. It’s mostly just women left. Afflicted women. How are they ever gonna marry with ninety-nine out of a hundred men dead?” The old man leans forward in his chair, his eyes widening as he takes on a serious, conspiratorial tone, as if he’s uncovering a cabal of lizard people secretly running the government. “What if it works the same way on women?” He demands an answer.

“A lot more than one in a hundred women survived,” I explain, gesturing to his wives and daughters.

“No! I know that Jim! What I mean is, what if one in a hundred women kept their senses? What if one in a hundred women aren’t… afflicted? If one in a hundred men survived, why couldn’t one in a hundred women survive with their faculties?” He points at his temple, indicating his intellect. I watch him cautiously for a moment, and finally shrug.

“Could be,” I reply.

I’ve not seen a single woman in four years with the capacity to speak or understand language. Leo said his wife Sally could understand a few words, which would make her the most capable woman I’ve met since the pandemic.

“What’s your point?” I ask.

“One of my sons was born with the umbilical cord around his neck. Came out choking, but alive. Died in a couple of minutes,” Leo says.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply.

“He lived, Jim. For only a few seconds, he was alive. One in a hundred, even those born after. A smart girl could be born-...”

I’ve heard enough to understand what Leo is asking, and I cringe.

“I’m not going to rape your daughters on the off-chance they have a miracle baby,” I shake my head in disgust.

Leo raises a hand, urging calm.

“Of course not! You’re not some lawless thug,” He reaches for Lacey’s hand, squeezing it and kissing her fingers, “It won’t be like that with Lacey. She’s… curious. Kelsey’s real sweet too, once you get to know her…” He trails off. “Won’t be rape,” he concludes.

I stare at him.

He stares at me.

“Jim,”

“Leo..”

“We have to try, Jim. We have to. Or we’re giving up.” He explains, “It’s why I’ve had so many kids.” I glare at him, frustrated. My eyes flick to his young daughter, Lacey. She is petite and thin, with long, tangled brown hair. Her backwards sleeveless T-shirt shows the smooth, soft skin of her arms and chest, with large breasts. She gazes back at me with innocent curiosity, betraying absolutely no understanding of the conversation. I must regretfully admit to myself that I have masculine urges for her slim, tight body.

“This is stupid,” I argue, “There’s no way these women would have a clue what’s going on.”

“Women are still capable of love. I’m not asking you to force yourself on these girls. I’m asking you, well it’s more like I’m asking you to marry them,” Leo says.

“That’s… somehow worse,” I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, “I could… Maybe. support them. But I don’t want to. I’m not interested in women after…”

We again descend into silence.

“I don’t want incubators, and I definitely do not want another wife,” I shake my head, “Sorry Leo. No.”

“I can’t feed them,” Leo won’t look into my eyes. He hangs his head.

I suspect we’ve finally come to the meat of the problem. No doubt the old man had been too proud to admit it before. Maybe he hoped the idea of having two women in my house would be appealing enough to sway me.

“We’ve been working through stored food for the last four years. There’s gonna be food trouble - whether I’m here or not. Sally can’t feed all these mouths.” He admits. From the doorway, the grim-faced woman watches the conversation with continued sternness. I can’t meet her withering glare, and I look away. It’s hard to see a proud old man choke on such bitter shame. I’m tempted to ask why he had so many kids if he can’t feed them, but I keep that comment to myself.

My food supply will be stressed badly with two more mouths to feed. I again look at the young woman by his side. Lacey is pretty and smiley, and despite my misgivings, four years without touching a single woman has sharpened my natural desire. Lacey’s soft skin and perky breasts are an irresistible mating call to my long-deprived libido.

“It would be nice to have a woman’s touch around the house,” I finally admit. Leo’s face splits into a sad smile.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

-

I chuck both suitcases into the back of my pickup, slamming the tailgate behind. Nearby, Leo leans on the rail of his front porch stairs, holding both of Lacey’s hands and looking into her eyes. She still wears her backwards shirt, along with a pair of jean shorts. Mismatched socks disappear into brightly colored, well-worn tennis shoes. Leo speaks to her in a quiet, hushed tone. She doesn’t understand him, but she can read the emotion in his voice. Her face is worried and sad.

“...watch what Kelsey does, and try to do like her, okay? Try to behave for Jim,” Leo is whispering, fighting to keep his emotions in check. Beside them both, a smaller but more serious woman listens carefully. Kelsey is older than Lacey by a few years, but much smaller. Despite a thinner, more athletic build, Kelsey is so similar to her baby sister in the face as to be indistinguishable. She has the same nut-brown hair as her sister, but Kelsey’s is combed and well-kept, in a ponytail so long the bottom of it dangles around her butt. Kelsey is a more compact, more serious Lacey.

“Kelsey, you take care of her, okay? Like you always do,” Leo has tears welling up in his eyes as he addresses his older daughter. I check the position of the sun. It’s about noon. Likely, I will not be home until after dark. The idea makes me uncomfortable. Leaving my home unguarded for an entire day fills me with anxiety.

Leo hugs his daughters, weeping as he embraces them both in turn. The girls are growing anxious, not understanding what is going on. Lacey’s eyes dart around, scared and confused. Kelsey stares at her father seriously, looking for an answer. It’s too much for the old man to bear. He begins to weep.

I open the rear door on my truck, waiting patiently for Leo to guide his daughters in.

“Kelsey, why don’t you sit up front?” He leads Lacey by the hand to the back door, “Trust me, Jim, you don’t want Lacey futzing with the radio for the entire trip,” He laughs to himself, recalling a happy memory of his young daughter.

Kelsey needs only a simple direction to climb into the passenger seat. Lacey is not so easy. Leo is able to direct her to the door by her hand, and even convince her to climb in, but as soon as he moves to close the door, she grabs his wrist, attempting to pull her dad into the truck with her.

“I can’t, baby. I can’t go with you,” He tugs his arm back, pushing her into the seat. When he makes it clear he is staying out, Lacey tries to climb out, too.

“No! Lacey, you stay, darling. Stay in the truck!” The old man begs his daughter fruitlessly, pushing her away with tears flowing down his face. I step up to the truck door, switching the child safety lock on, then closing it gently when Leo breaks away from his daughter. She immediately begins pressing on the door, trying every handle and button she can to pry it open. Her eyebrows wrinkle in concern. I hear the action of the door handle repeatedly as Lacey fights desperately to reach her father.



“I love you baby. I love you Kelsey,” Leo calls to his daughters. He waves mournfully as Lacey begins to slap the window. I stand nearby, awkwardly checking my fingernails. After man goodbyes, the old man turns his attention to me.

“Take care of my girls, Jim,” He says, extending a hand.

“I will. They’ll be safe. I swear.” I reply.

As the truck crawls up the steep gravel driveway, Lacey presses herself against the back window, eyes fixed on her father. Leo stands behind us, waving until we’re out of sight.

From the backseat, I hear sniffles and whimpers. Lacey can’t speak, but she grasps at least some small portion of what’s happening. I want to reach out, to comfort her, but I have no idea what to say. That, and she wouldn’t understand anyway.

Her older sister Kelsey has a different reaction.

“Please stop staring at me,” I beg, glancing at the woman in my passenger seat. She keeps her eyes fixed on me, head turned in my direction. There is no emotion on her face. She watches me with no expression at all, as if expecting me to explain myself.

Muscle memory causes me to use a blinker, signalling meaninglessly my intent to turn. I glance out my sideview mirror, catching sight of Kelsey’s grim face, still turned in my direction.

“Jesus,” I whisper. She continues to look straight at me. It’s going to be a long ride home.

-

By hour two, Lacey has emotionally recovered enough to make a nuisance of herself. She crawls around in the back of the truck, looking through every pocket and pouch in the seats. She plays with the seatbelts, taking five minutes to figure out how to mate the belt with the buckle. I don’t say anything until she begins fiddling with the dome light, switching it on and off repeatedly.

“Stop. Stop that. You’re going to drive me crazy,” I order, reaching back to swat her hands away from the switch. When I turn back to the front, briefly lock eyes with Kelsey. The older sister continues to stare relentlessly. Irritated, I snap at her.

“What? What do you want from me?” I beg. Her only response is the judgemental glare of her keen brown eyes.

At hour four, Lacey starts to cry again. I guess she remembers leaving her father behind. I hear the soft whimpers coming from the rear of the cab, and adjust my rearview mirror so I can see her curled up on the back seat. She is in the fetal position, legs beneath her, face buried in her hands. Kelsey has finally stopped staring at me, at least. She now watches the southern Oregon forests passing by her window.

Finally, we come back to familiar territory. At the border of Dower’s county, Oregon, I take a slight detour.

“My buddy Red lives in this gas station up here,” I explain, pointing, “Used to get some supplies from him when the pandemic hit. Just wanna check on him real quick.”

Aurora is the government seat of Dower’s county, a single-stoplight town with a pre-pandemic population of five hundred. Post pandemic, I’m pretty sure the population is two: Red and his young teenaged girlfriend, Milly. I never approved of the age gap, but I wasn’t about to fight him over it.

We roll past the stoplight, and I catch sight of Red’s store. I begin to brake, ready to bang on the door, when my heart sinks. The store’s glass window is blown open. Inside, I can see flipped shelving, discarded trash, and destroyed furniture. They’ve turned the place, and likely taken anything of value.

Whatever looters did this, they didn’t even bother to clean him up. Red’s decaying body has been carelessly tossed from the window, and has begun to rot on the asphalt outside the store. He's probably been dead for a week. I can see his shaggy red beard puffing out from beneath his head. His girlfriend is nowhere to be seen.

I panic, stomping the gas. As much as I’d love to loot whatever remains in the store, it’s too great a risk. The bandits could still be around. Poor Red’s demise urges me onward, and I rush home.

-

After a lifetime of awkward stares, hyperactive curiosity, and pitiful weeping, my pickup bounces across the cattle guard which marks the edge of my property. The vehicle is near empty on gas, as I had calculated it would be. This was my final journey by motor vehicle.

My home stands before us. A ‘Log Cabin’ home, only one floor, three bedrooms and all the essentials. Besides the numerous tool sheds that dot the surrounding wood line (left by the previous owner), an RV barn sits at the bottom of a nearby slope, marking the edge of the cleared property. Behind the house, a high fence designates my garden and keeps the deer out. In the distance sits the dark shape of Mt. Cindy, and at her crown, a dilapidated radio tower.

It’s not much, but it’s a ‘prepper’ paradise.

I brake much too hard, jerking to a stop beneath the metal canopy garage outside my home. Kelsey and I are quick to exit the car, but not as fast as Lacey. As soon as I open her door, the younger woman bolts from the back seat, then presses her back firmly against the body of the pickup. She stares wild-eyed at the house. She is terrified, but overwhelmed with curiosity. I glance up to the old log cabin style house, half expecting to see something interesting.

“You like it?” I ask, unlocking the front door.

While I pull the battery from my truck, Lacey hurries up the steps. Lacking any social boundaries, the excited young woman races straight into the house. Kelsey waits patiently while I retrieve their suitcases, then follows me into the home. By the time I reach the top of the porch stairs, my front door hangs open. I hear Lacey’s footsteps pounding through the house. Inside, I watch as she flies from room to room, throwing open my pantry, my guestroom, my half-bath, and my son’s-

“STOP!” I yell. Lacey jumps, her hand releasing the door knob. “Don’t go in there,” I order, and she slowly moves past the door she’d tried to open.

I drag the girls’ bags through the living room behind me, dropping them in the guest room. It’s a quaint house. One floor only, with everything connected together in the kitchen. I watch as Lacey continues her frantic search, prying open the master bedroom and the screened-in back porch. After exhausting every door, she turns to me. She stands in the kitchen, wringing her hands uncomfortably and shifting her weight.

“What? Do you need to pee?” I ask. The young woman continues to fuss, eyes shooting nervously around. She is searching for something. Kelsey steps up, wrapping her sister in a hug. After some thought, I understand who she’s looking for.

“Ah. He’s not here, kid. None of them are here.” I explain.

More crying follows. Lacey sags into her sister, weeping, and I sigh with despair. It’s going to be a tough adjustment period. I have an idea though, and hurry to the back door.

“Come on. Girls, I’ll call him,” I say. Both are immediately interested, and Lacey pulls away from Kelsey’s hug to follow me.

I lead them out through the screened porch and across the back yard, down the hill to the RV barn. A small covered shed houses my solar array and the battery packs it charges. I unlock the door and let us in, powering up my HAM equipment. The space contains one bare LED filament and an old desk chair with squeaky casters. Unused wire hangs from the rafters, and the dusty OSB floors support a battery bank and piles of old workshop rubbish.

In the dim white light of the LED strip, I flip the main switch, supplying power to my HAM setup. Within a few minutes, I’m hailing Leo on our usual frequency.

“Come back, Big Man,” I call, eager for a response. Shortly, I hear the crackle of the radio and a brief reply.

“Rooster, good to hear from you,” Leo returns, “How are my girls? Over.”

Lacey forces herself closer to me, searching around for the sound of her father’s voice. She seems to understand that his voice is coming from the radio, and I’m forced to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her off the desk as I speak.

“Two young ladies here are very happy to hear from you, Over.” I respond, grunting as I restrain Lacey. She keeps trying to climb closer to the radio, so I force her to sit in my lap.

“Girls? Can you hear me? Over.” Leo asks. Lacey stops struggling, resting in my arms. Her eyes are wide. Kelsey moves closer, curious. After a moment of silence, I realize I must reply for them.

“They’re here, Leo, they’re listening. Over.”

“Lacey, Kelsey… daddy loves you,” Leo’s voice breaks, “And I’m thinking about you. Sally’s here too, and the other girls, we’re all happy to hear from you.”

There is a long, sad pause, and then a croaked “Over.”

“Leo, we can set a time. If you like. Every night, you know, so they can hear from you. Over.” I offer.

“You got the battery for that, Jim? Over.” I don’t. I don’t want to spend my limited daily solar charges on powering the HAM, but it is doable.

“Yeah, of course. Might not when it’s cloudy. Over,” I reply.

“Thanks Jim. You’re a good man. Over.” I struggle to find anything else to say, and so prepare to sign off, but Leo has one last request.

“Are they still listening, Jim? Over,” he asks.

“They’re here. Over,” I reply.

His mic opens with a crackle, and I hear the gentle static sound of a deep breath. Then he sings:

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are gray

You'll never know, dear

How much I love you

Please don't take

My sunshine away…

…I love you girls. Over and out.”

When he closes the mic, I hear his voice trail off into a sob.

I lay my mic back into the receiver and power down my setup. Lacey sits on my lap, staring at the desk. Her eyes are distant, sad and glassy. Kelsey hangs back near the door of the shed, staring at the floor. We all pause, and I give them a few moments before patting Lacey on the side.

“Leg’s asleep,” I say, pushing her off my lap.

Both girls trudge slowly and sadly behind me as we walk to the house.

-

I prepare a light supper before bed. We feast on last fall’s blackberry preserve over corn biscuits, and some deer jerky. Kelsey doesn’t eat much, and Lacey is entirely uninterested. At bedtime, I show them to the guest room. I pause in the door, concerned about a million different problems I may need to address.

I’ve not spent much time with afflicted women. I know they’re intellectually limited, but I’m not sure how much. I assume Leo would have least warned me if they couldn’t use the toilet or take care of themselves. Showering would be another matter, as I’d have to teach even unafflicted people about rationing from the rain bucket.

“I’m right across the way, if you need me,” I point to the master suite on the other side of my little house. “Just knock,” I force a smile. The women stand by the set of twin beds in the guest room, still wearing their day clothes, eyes locked on me. Clueless, quiet, and staring.

“...Goodnight,” I say, closing the door. For one second, I wonder if I should lock it, to keep them (Mostly Lacey) from scampering through the house in the night. But I ignore that impulse. Surely they’re tired enough not to bother.

-

There’s no chance I'll sleep well. I’m a planner to the bitter end, Type A to a fault. With two new mouths to feed, my anxiety is in the ceiling. How much more land can I till? How much can I plant on that land? Will I have enough compost? Can the top soil support the load? What about putting away for the winter? Will I have enough jars to can for winter with the three of us?

Last summer, I dropped a single one of my Mason jars while canning creamed corn. I replay the slip of the fingers, bumbling the precious glass in my hand over and over again until it crashes to the floor. Without a modern supply chain, there’s no way to replace that jar. No supermarket to drive fifteen minutes to, no friend to call. I curse myself as if that one slip had damned my new companions and I to starvation.

I understand Leo’s concerns about feeding his daughters.

It feels as if I have barely slept a wink when my bedroom door creaks open. To my surprise, Kelsey stands in the doorway, wearing comfortable nightclothes. Her face is worried. I shoot up in bed, imagining the worst.

“Everything okay?” I ask. She glances across the house to her room, then back to me, eyebrows still wrinkled with concern. I mumble and roll out of bed, feet pounding on the cold hardwood as I cross the house. Kelsey follows behind.

Flinging open the guest bedroom, I see a lump of discarded blankets on Lacey’s bed, but no Lacey.

“Fuck!”

With Kelsey hot on my heels, I turn the house over from top to bottom, even checking my son’s room. Lacey is nowhere to be seen.

The front door has never burst open so hard, and I hurry down the steps to my truck, explaining the plan to a confused Kelsey.

“She’s trying to get back to Leo. She can’t have gotten very far. We’ll drive the truck until it’s out of gas, then I’ll run ahead. If she stays on the road, we’ll find her.” I pointlessly try to reassure Kelsey. The woman is blankly uncomforted. She climbs into the passenger seat with shaky hands, her breath shallow and quick.

The first rays of sunlight brighten the blue morning sky enough for me to reinstall the truck’s battery. I turn the key, igniting the engine and praying there’s enough fuel just to reach the end of the driveway. With the truck in reverse, I kick up gravel and make a three-point turn, preparing to speed off. Before I get the chance, a movement in my rearview mirror catches my eye.

Lacey sits in the backseat of the truck, groggily rubbing sleep from her eyes. We sit in silence. Lacey smiles at me in the rearview mirror. With a sigh, I drop the truck back into drive and park it.

She thinks we’re going home.

With a heavy heart, I kill the engine. Lacey smiles eagerly, excited to see her family again. I drag myself from the truck and slowly tug the back door open.

“Please don’t make me drag you out,” I beg. Lacey looks confused.

I set to work pulling out the battery for storage. Kelsey leaves the truck slowly, but Lacey refuses. The early spring in Oregon is punishing for Lacey, who wears only a loose T-shirt and panties. She stares at me through the windshield as I work. She’s sad, curious, and cold. Her weepy eyes beg for a return journey.

“We’re not going back. Sorry, Lacey.” I shrug. Slowly, Lacey gives up. The defeated, forlorn woman drags her freezing body out of the truck and up the stairs to the house.

With gentle prodding and direction, I sit the women on the couch and wrap a blanket around the both of them. Kelsey’s body heat will help to warm her sister quickly. I light the wood burning stove and prepare a hot tea to go with our breakfast of deer jerky and cornbread. As we eat, I stare at the floor. In the company of two mute, aphasic women, speaking is pointless, but I can’t help myself.

“I know you’re both going through a lot right now. I get it, you miss your old man. But we have a lot of work to do if we’re going to survive the winter. And I do intend to survive. Can you work?”

Surely Leo wouldn’t raise lazy daughters.

Their blank stares tell me nothing. They huddle beneath the quilt, freezing, terrified, ignorant, and alone save for each other. I swear and shake my head. There’s too much work to do and Summer will be too short.

-

I carry a heavy bundle of T-posts over my shoulder. Behind me, Kelsey trails closely with a post driver clutched in both arms. Lacey is further behind still, carrying everything I trust her to carry. She is empty handed.

“To feed the three of us, we’ll need to expand the garden. To do that, We’ll need to expand the fence. Anything planted out in the open gets demolished by the deer while it’s still a sprout.” I drop the bundle of T-posts and Kelsey lets out a short squeak at the sound of it crashing to the ground. I suppress a smile, perhaps a bit of masculine pride in my own strength. It’s a nice feeling.

“Lacey, I want you to start pulling up the old fence. Come here, darling.”

With a few shakes and a quick tug, I uproot the first post in the old fence line. Dropping it to the ground, I point to the next one.

“Can you do that?” I ask. Lacey seems to understand, and hesitantly approaches the next T-post in line. I watch her begin to push and pull it, loosening the post in the soil like a child’s tooth. Deciding she’s got that covered, I move on.

After pacing off an appropriate line, I *********** the first T-post, prompting Kelsey to hold it in place. After directing her to lower her grip twice, I’m confident I won’t break her wrists.

“This’ll be loud.” I warn, then lift the post driver and slam it down. Kelsey shrieks, jumping back from the shock of metal against metal. She falls backward onto her ass, staring up at me in terror. I drop my tools and kneel down next to her.

“It’s okay,” I try to assure her, “It’s okay. Just need you to hold it. You’re not hurt, are you?” I offer her a hand. She accepts, and I pull the frightened woman to her feet.

Lacey has stopped loosening the T-post and stands idle, watching our work.

“Lacey. The post,” I remind her, pointing. She resumes her struggle.

On our second attempt, I ensure Kelsey is braced for me to strike.

“Ready?” I ask. She stares up at me blankly, but clenches her jaw in readiness. When I drive the post, the clanking of steel on steel causes her to flinch, but she holds the post steady. With two more strikes, the post is deep enough in the soil to stand under its own power.

“Thanks, Kelsey. You can back up now.”

Six more cracks of the driver, and the post is buried to depth. Within a few minutes, we have worked together to bury three posts this way. Kelsey is more comfortable, having grown accustomed to the abrupt sound and vibration of the post driver.

Lacey is now able to wiggle her T-post to approximately a fifteen degree angle.

Post driving is exhausting work, and I sag against the next post, sucking wind.

“Let’s switch Kelsey. Spell me,” I hold the driver out to her, and she accepts with a look of disbelief, as if she can’t understand why I would trust her with such an incredible responsibility.

Holding the next post in place, I watch as Kelsey slowly lifts the driver into place on top of the steel pole. She is reverent and careful, imitating me precisely. She grunts, lifting the driver up and smashing it back down, driving the T-post less than half an inch.

I have to concede, Kelsey is a hard worker. With fifteen flailing drives, the post is deep enough to stand on its own. I sit and watch the woman struggle to finish the job. She is sweating and breathing profusely, bits of her hair slipping from her long ponytail and hanging in front of her face as she wrestles with the steel. Though she quickly exhausts herself, Kelsey refuses to quit. She drives and drives for nearly ten minutes, a grim look of determination on her face. Her lips are pursed and thin, her nostrils flaring. After a quarter-hour of struggle, she finally lets out a victorious groan as the post sinks to the appropriate depth.The post driver clatters and Kelsey sits on the grass, struggling to catch her breath.

“We’ll switch back,” I suggest, picking up the post driver. I’m disappointed. I know I’ll need help. To feed three mouths, there’s triple the work to do, and I can’t do it all myself. Kelsey has the guts and the will for farm work, but lacks the pure size and strength. No matter, I can drive posts on my own. Before I begin, I check the progress of the other sister.

Lacey has now freed her post to a twenty degree angle on the X axis, and has begun to experiment with Y.

I sigh in disappointment. The summer will be too short.

After driving the posts for a new fence line myself, I relieve Lacey midway through her second removal. By lunch time, I’ve driven twenty-five posts and removed ten. The score for both girls together is one and one.



After lunch, we unroll the hog wire. I know there’s no point in handing either of them a pair of pliers or fence ties, so the girls hold my tools while I work. By dinner, we’ve done barely more work together than I would have alone.

Both meals include two more hungry stomachs to fill. I note a dwindling store from the previous summer.

We sit on the back porch after supper. The sun will set in an hour, but in the meantime the shade of the screened-porch is a godsend. I’m finding it hard not to despair. I know I shouldn’t, but I curse Leo for sending me his daughters. His two damaged, afflicted daughters, who are almost useless. Daughters who will eat my food. Daughters who can’t do half the work needed to feed themselves.

Chewing angrily on a biscuit, I watch them.

Kelsey is completely exhausted. She slumps down in her chair, sticky with sweat. With tired fingers, she weakly reaches for her own biscuit, dragging it to her mouth slowly for a bite. Her long brown hair sticks to her face, neck, and chest, and her sopping wet shirt clings to her body. As angry as I want to be, I admire her fortitude. Driving one post kicked her ass completely. Anyone else would have quit. But she didn’t, she helped me all day.

Lacey swats at a fly. When the offending creature alights on her exposed thigh, she deftly slaps it, pancaking the unfortunate insect. She moves to lick it off her hand, but stops. There’s a moment of hesitation, as if she’s remembering something. Perhaps in the past someone has told her not to eat bugs. She wipes it on her pants.

I’m familiar with the crush of despair. Watching the exhausted Kelsey and the clueless Lacey eat my precious stores, the familiar emotion wracks my soul. A heavy and painful frustration drags my heart through the bottom of my stomach. My own preferred method for fighting despair is to directly confront the feeling. I have to persist, no matter how much I feel like giving up. Drawing myself up, I take a deep, controlled breath, and attack my despair.

“Maybe I’m not thinking about it right.” Both sisters look at me, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. “I can’t give up. I can’t think you’re useless. I have to find a way to keep you two productive - there’s got to be something. We only survive winter if I don’t give up.” I assert. I lean forward, setting my jaw and nodding. “We can do this. I just need to figure out what you two are good at,” I explain.

Kelsey sits up in her chair. To my surprise, she leans toward me and places her hand on mine. It’s a startling and thoughtful gesture from an afflicted woman. Seeing her sister’s affection, Lacey adds her own hand to the pile with enthusiasm. They’re both so loving, and their hands are so soft. Having women around is very encouraging, in more ways than one.

“Let’s get washed up.”

-

I know what I’m doing. I mean, I’m aware that what I’m doing has two entirely separate motivations.

After dinner, I carry a bundle of fresh clothes and a towel with me to the creek, and as usual, the sisters trail behind me. They’re carrying their own sets of fresh clothes. We need to bathe - there’s no reason to go to bed filthy. That, and I’m very excited to see the girls naked.

Two separate motivations.

The river on my property is wide and shallow for most of its length, running swiftly over small rapids and shallow falls. But on the north end of my property, the river snakes around Mt. Cindy. Here, the flow slows to a crawl, and the crystal clear, chilly river water is chest deep. Besides being great for fishing, it is a fantastic swimming hole. After the pandemic and the failure of the grid, the spot became my primary place to bathe. I save a lot of rainwater by taking quick dips in the river after a hard day's work.

And Kelsey has done a hard day’s work.

“I won’t make you ladies strip,” I explain, “but I’m bathing.” Some small part of my mind tells me it’s wrong to be so excited about seeing naked girls. But they do need to bathe, and I’m only human. Maybe I’ll feel bad about it later. For now I do actually have a legitimate reason for their nudity, no matter how excited it makes me.

The women stare at me blankly, so I pull my shirt over my head, then quickly drop my pants and underwear. With some kernel of understanding, Kelsey begins to copy me, and Lacey isn’t far behind.

In civilized society, I would never so curiously examine women who had innocently disrobed for a bath. It wouldn’t be polite. But with no society around, and two women who couldn’t care less what I do, I allow myself to indulge.

Once freed from her shirt, Kelsey’s small breasts wiggle gently with each movement of her lithe body. She is built like an athlete, with a flat, toned stomach, and surprisingly defined quads. A small bit of scraggly pubic hair tops her vulva, and I’m irrationally embarrassed and somewhat aroused to see her pussy lips. She notices me staring, and turns her head to the side curiously, as if asking why. I smile at her, and she smiles politely back.

Lacey is, strange to say, like a blown-up version of her older sister. She is taller, bustier, and has more fat around her thighs and butt. She has big, bouncy boobs, with areolas the width of three fingers. Through naturally less dense pubic hair, I can see the crease of her labia lips as well. Unlike Kelsey’s confused smile, Lacey stares directly at my cock with a bizarre intensity. I don’t stop her or try to cover - that would be pretty hypocritical. I wonder if she’s simply never seen a naked man before.

I splash into the chilly water, shivering at the touch. After a few seconds, I’ve adjusted to the water, and the sensation is amazing. There’s nothing better than a freezing cold bath after a hard, sweaty day’s work. I lay back into the creek, staring up at the sky and trying to relax.

Kelsey joins me quickly. She practically melts into the river, laying back with a smile. Her perky breasts peak from the surface pleasingly as she relaxes in the water. Lacey is much slower to come in. With careful baby steps, she works up a tolerance for the cold water, though her enthusiasm peters out around waist deep. She glares at her sister and I indignantly, as if we’re subjecting her to some horrible torture.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a naked woman. Lacey stands with a cranky frown on her beautiful face, and all I can see is her large, heavy breasts. I shake my head and look away.

“Come on, Lacey. You’ll feel better,” I encourage her.



After we pass the soap bar around, Lacey becomes more comfortable, finally slipping into the water. She seems nervous, sticking closely by my side while we bathe. At first, I think she’s following me out of concern. When I wade deeper into the river to swim a few laps, she follows and stands neck deep, watching me. When I swim back to relax on a shallow rock, she comes to sit next to me.

I soon realize she’s not following me around out of concern. I catch her staring a few more times, and I realize Lacey is following me out of genuine human curiosity.

As we rest on the rock, I lean back, and see her cautiously eyeing my crotch. When she notices me watching, she quickly looks away.



“It’s fine, Lacey,” I say, rolling my eyes. She certainly doesn’t understand me, but the younger sister knows her name. With my tone and my smile, she regains the confidence to ogle my genitals. She slowly leans closer, big round eyes fixed on my privates.

“The water’s, uh, pretty cold,” I make a joke that only I can appreciate.

Lacey’s hand comes forward, and my heart skips a beat. She stops shy, her fingertips hovering beneath the water, a few inches from my cock. Her big, curious eyes meet mine. I’ve been wracked with anxiety and fear for years, but I’ve not felt this childishly nervous in a decade.



Slowly,she brushes the head of my penis. The tips of warm fingers circle the head, and she gently pinches my glans, feeling the flesh give beneath her fingers.A thrill of lust shoots through my body like a lightning bolt. It’s been lonely, and I’m only human. I’ve gone without intimacy for so long, my body actually aches for hers.

Lacey gently wraps her fingers around my shaft, squeezing my cock gently in her fist, and I’m instantly erect. My breathing is shortened. This woman’s idle curiosity is about to give me my first orgasm with a partner in years, simply from touching me. She continues to explore, her fingers descending lower and groping my testicles.

I’m almost beyond control. Lacey is so beautiful, and I’ve gone so long without a woman, it doesn’t take much work on her part. I’m insanely aroused. I fear her groping may actually make me shoot ropes in the river.

Then she squeezes my nuts.

Like a punch in the gut, pain blasts through my stomach. I snatch her wrist away, then curl up in the fetal position halfway in the water.



“Oooowwoohhhh fuck.”

Lacey backs off, confused. She wrings her hands, a sign of nerves I’m beginning to associate with her. Kelsey wanders closer as I reassure Lacey.

“You’re fine. Uuuugggh God. Not your fault,” I say, trying not to throw up. The previous mood of curious arousal is gone from both of us. The sisters watch me, worried.

“Let’s… Let’s get back to the house,” I say.

-

After drying off and dressing, the sisters follow me to the RV shed and the HAM radio next door. As soon as they see where we’re going, they both take off on a run. When I catch them and sit in front of my setup, Lacey crawls into my lap. An objection dies in my throat. It feels nice to have the sexy, bouncy young woman touching me so closely. There’s no point in denying it. I wrap an arm around her waist and hail Leo.

“Come back, Big Man, this is Rooster. Do you copy? Over.”

“I copy Rooster, loud and clear. How are those new wives treating you? Over.” He replies. He must have been sitting at the receiver, waiting to hear from me. I roll my eyes at his comment about wives.

“Two lovely ladies here, very excited to hear from you today.” I say.

We sit silently.

“God damn it,” I press the button on the receiver, opening the channel, “Over!” I let some of my irritation slip in.

“Good to hear it, Jim. They settled in okay? Over.”

“Well, Lacey spent the night in the truck. I think she was hoping I’d take her back to you. They miss their daddy. Over.” I reply. He takes so long to come back, I start to ask myself if I’d remembered to close comms. He does speak finally, his voice cracking and breaking with sobs.

“...Their daddy misses them too. Over.” He replies. Then, he sings to them - “You Are My Sunshine,” from start to finish again.

“Did they hear me, Jim? Over.” He asks.

“They heard,” I reply. For a second, I consider telling Leo about my troubles with the girls. About how hard it was for them to work alongside me. But why bother? There’s no reason to burden a sick old man about the welfare of his daughters, no matter how badly I want to talk to someone about it.

“Talk to you tomorrow, Big Man. Over and out.”

I hang up the receiver, powering down the setup. Lacey, still sitting on my legs, slumps over dejectedly. She leans back against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, comforting her.

Eventually, we head to bed.

-

I push open the door slowly, disturbing the room with a squeak. Inside, the women are fast asleep. Kelsey is beneath her covers, snoring gently. She lays on her side, the comforter pulled just beneath her shoulder.

Lacey’s blankets are pushed to the floor, with a pillow wedged behind her legs. She snores loudly, her feet propped up onto the wall beside the bed. She is shirtless, and I watch her tantalizing breasts rise and fall for an extra second.

“Wake up girls,” I whisper, “Breakfast.”

Over pickled eggs, corn pancakes, and huckleberry preserves, I talk to them as if they can understand me.



“It’s not so bad. You’re not cut out for physical labor, but there’s plenty of things around a farm that don’t require brute strength. Come mid-summer, you can pick huckleberries,” I nudge the mason jar, about a quarter full of reddish-black, sugary goodness. Their eyes follow my hand, but they don’t understand.

It’s true that there are plenty of menial, lighter tasks on a farm. I can show the girls how to use an old horse cart and some five gallon buckets to fill the irrigation tank for the crops. It may take several trips and hard work for the both of them, but they can do it.

As the day progresses, I gain more and more optimism. They can weed crops. They can shovel compost, slowly. Both of the women working together, when properly guided, are still not as efficient as I am by myself. However, they are a boon. By the end of the day, I’m feeling more optimistic than I had while fencing the garden.

In the evening, after another refreshing river bath and a quick call with Leo (Once again subjecting me to the entirety of ‘You Are My Sunshine’), I sit on the back porch, enjoying the last of spring’s cool, pleasant weather. In my father-in-law’s old rocking chair, I relax with a Louis L’amour cowboy novel. They’re not very good, but the old man kept about thirty thousand of the damn things in the house, so they’re the only thing I haven’t read a dozen times. As I read, Kelsey sits beside me, quietly watching the sunset.

I look up as Lacey rounds the corner of the home, taking large steps. She has a curious look on her face, as if exploring.

“Going somewhere?” I ask, she turns her head and smiles at me, but keeps walking, past the porch, and around the other side of the home. I return my attention to the paperback, only to see Lacey a moment later, rounding the same corner of the house again. She’s walking in circles.

The younger sister does this several times. She is obviously bored. Finally, Lacey comes through the porch door, nearly breaking the latch in her confusion about its function. She sits on the floor in front of Kelsey, laying her head on her sister’s knee.

I would ignore her, but Lacey fidgets relentlessly. She bothers Kelsey by rocking the chair, scraping the concrete floor of the porch with a rock, and finally, scooting the wicker ottoman around with her foot.

I finally give up, marking my novel and moving inside.

I find respite on the couch in the living room. Though it takes a bit of my solar power, I turn on a battery-powered lantern and set it on the table behind the couch, reclining and reading my novel. I have almost five minutes of peace before I hear the sound of the back door opening and closing, then the gentle creak of floorboards as Lacey’s bare feet step next to me. I look over the top of the paperback to see the pretty young woman staring at me. She’s wearing a tight little tank top and shorts, and her tousled brown hair is a mess.

I try to ignore her, returning to the novel. I read the same sentence three times before looking up. She is still staring at me.

“Yes?” I ask. To my surprise, she moves closer, lifting a leg onto the couch. Her smooth skin brushes mine. “Uh, Lacey,” She can’t understand me, and it doesn’t matter anyway. She sets one leg on either side of me, straddling me. Her body presses warmly against mine. She pulls at my book.

“Can I read?” I ask, turning the book around to show her. She continues to fuss, pulling at my book, shirt collar, the hairs on my arm.

“Ow! Stop it,” I swat her hand away, and she stares up at me with big, needy eyes. I began to loudly read from the page, practically shouting the words.

“Only a little older than her own twenty-one years, he was a tall man with a lean horseman's build! and he laughed with pure enjoyment when she lifted the rifle!”

Only after two sentences do I realize the futility of my endeavors. Marking my point in the novel, I toss the book aside onto the coffee table. My eyes meet Lacey’s, and I smile. Now that she’s gotten her way, Lacey is content. She wiggles her body against mine, and I give in to a long standing urge. She snuggles on top of my body, and I cup both of her plump butt cheeks in my hands. We lay comfortably until bedtime.



LATE SPRING

I need to take note of my food stores. Things are okay for now, but with two women I have to feed, it’s possible I’ll need to supplement with fish or game to make it to the harvest. And never mind if the harvest will be sufficient to last through winter.

And so we’re on bare bones meals until harvest comes in. The girls will be hungry. So will I. But we have to do what’s necessary to survive.

Around the farm, I continue to do the most difficult manual labor. Most days I haul the irrigation water up from the river. I hoe the many rows of crops we’ve already planted, and will do the same for the later season crops yet to be tilled. I curse as I manually till the soil, wishing that the donkey had not died two years back. Old Beetroot made things easier, back when I’d hook him up to the plow for tilling. Some fuel for the tractor would also be great, but diesel’s been in short supply since the end of the world.

The sisters help where they can. Lacey is endlessly fascinated with Tina (the goat) and the chickens, and spends more time than necessary feeding and checking for eggs. I don’t fuss over her as much as I should. She needs direction, but she has such a bright spirit, and stays so happy, it’s hard to be stern with her. Even when I can hear her stomach rumbling from the light rations, she’s still happy to see me and her sister, fascinated by the chickens, enjoying a bath in the river, or-...

Lacey flashes me her breasts when our paths cross during work.

It’s my fault.

I’d like to say it starts innocently, but it doesn’t. I pause from work at midday. The sun beats down on me as Kelsey and I work the garden, weeding between rows of beets and spinach. They’re perfect spring veggies, as they can take a little bit of cold weather, so I always get them in the ground first. My fingers ache, my back is sore, and the sun beats down on me from above. I imagine Kelsey feels the same way.

“Let’s take a break,” I motion for Kelsey to follow me, and she's more than happy to dump her handful of weeds. We dust off as we make our way back to the house for some cool water. At the rain barrel, I fill a ladle for Kelsey and glance around, searching for her sister.

The slingblade lies abandoned by the chicken coop, and I can only imagine she’s gone somewhere to fuck around, which she excels at. Lacey had been using the implement to cut grass. I’d rather Kelsey be the one to collect grass for the goat’s hay, but then again, I’d rather have Kelsey doing every job I assign to Lacey. I take a draft of cool rainwater and leave Kelsey by the barrel, striking out for the barn to search for her little sister.

I find Lacey by the goat pen, petting the poor Tina like a dog. She strokes along the little goat’s back, smiling. Tina pays no mind to the woman, chewing a mouthful of fresh grass while her hair is stroked. I stand by the barn door for a moment, watching. They both seem to be enjoying themselves.

“Having fun?” I ask. Lacey smiles at me, as if to say yes. She doesn’t stop petting Tina.

“Lace, we gotta get some stuff done,” I beg. She smiles at me again, and I roll my eyes. With a groan of frustration, I cross the barn and let myself into the goat pen. At Lacey’s side, I gently touch her wrist and remove her hand from the animal’s fur.

“Let’s get some water, then get back to work,” I say, “You’re soaked in sweat.”

And she is. Lacey’s white T-shirt is practically transparent with sweat. My eyes catch for a moment on her breasts, and Lacey notices. I smile at her.

“You have a great chest,” Something I’d never say to an unafflicted woman, but Lacey doesn’t understand either way. With her affliction, I figure I can get away with a little innocent fun. An urge seizes me, and I reach for the hem of her shirt, pulling it up. Her tits lift slightly with the fabric as I pull, then slip out the bottom, bouncing in the open air.

My eyes lock onto her heavy, full boobs. Her nipples are large and dark pink. I reach forward and cup her breast with my left hand. Lacey watches my face, fascinated by my attitude. She’s not bothered in the slightest that I pulled her shirt up. She smiles at me. I smile back.

“They, uh, they look great,” I laugh, and her smile broadens. I pull her shirt down and step away, headed back to the rain barrel.

“Come on. We got work to do.”

Kelsey helps fill the ladle again for Lacey while I explain.

“You don’t have to collect the grass, Kelsey can do that with the rake afterwards. We just need to be cutting regularly so Tina has hay for the winter.” Lacey watches me with polite disinterest, not understanding a word I say. Frustrated, I retrieve the sling blade and press it into her hands.

“Cut the tallest bits of grass,” I mime the action, swinging an invisible golf club. With another smile, Lacey reaches to the hem of her T-shirt and pulls it up, flashing her perfect, bouncy tits. I stop mid imaginary stroke, frozen. She smiles widely and rolls up onto her tiptoes, jiggling her boobs. So much blood leaves my head to rush somewhere else that I almost black out, and I lower my hands, blinking.

Lacey laughs. She honest-to-god laughs, and it’s the first time I’ve heard a woman’s laugh in years.

Kelsey seems to disapprove. Her eyes dart back and forth between her sister’s bare chest and my shocked face, a stern glare of disapproval on her features. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, but she knows she doesn’t like it.

“We… we have to get back to work.” I beg. Reluctantly.

Lacey drags her shirt back down over her boobs, still smiling. She finishes her water and skips away with the sling blade, happy to return to work.

Kelsey doesn’t talk to me the rest of the day. Obviously, she can’t talk, but her silence feels different after her sister flashed me. We pull weeds in the garden without eye contact, without touching or acknowledging each other, and without crossing paths. It’s as if she’s now choosing not to talk.

I’ve started something with Lacey, and I’m now going down a path that might be one-way.

-

It is Kelsey who first notices the stranger.

I sling the hoe into the rough dirt, pulling up and turning hard earth, loosening it for the seeds. She stands beside me, a satchel of sweetcorn kernels around her shoulders. The hoe vibrates in my hands as I smash it in the firm soil, and I cuss and grumble at the task. She tugs my shirt, and I stand up, wiping perspiration off my filthy brow.

“What’s up, sugar?” I ask. She stares past me, and I turn to follow her gaze.

At the edge of the clearing, Tanya stands tall and proud, her tattered outfit blowing in the wind. At her side, the steel hatchet gleams in the sunlight. Her eyes are locked on me, and she stares unwaveringly.

“Oh,” I’m surprised to see her. With no idea what she could possibly want, I wave.

With graceful speed, Tanya turns and bolts into the woods, disappearing behind trees.

When she leaves, I explain to Kelsey.

“That’s Tanya. She and her tribe run the woods around here. She’s nice.” Kelsey doesn’t understand a word.

I sling the hoe into the earth with a hearty chunk, softening more soil. Kelsey tugs on my shirt again.

“What?” I ask, irritated. Again, Kelsey stares past me, and again, I look up to see Tanya standing on the edge of my garden. I notice this time bits of blood flecked on her outfit, at least more than the usual filth. I watch as the athletic woman disappears into the trees for a second time. Neither Kelsey nor I look away, and we wait until inevitably, the tall woman returns. This time, I understand. Tanya wants me to follow her.

I’m intrigued. I hurriedly give orders to Kelsey.

“Go get your sister,” I toss the hoe into the dirt, carefully plodding around the soft soil to avoid compacting it. I throw open the garden gate and wave Kelsey towards the barn.

“She’s over there dicking around with the chickens. You two stay inside until I get back.” It’s an order that’s much too complicated for an afflicted woman, but I hope Kelsey will understand the gist.

When Tanya disappears again, I follow her. My heavy work boots thud against the forest floor ten times as heavy and half as quickly as the lithe, graceful woman. She’s lived out here for years, and my clumsy ass makes her look like an agile doe by comparison.

The woman must repeatedly pause, allowing me to catch up. I do, jogging up to her like a sagging, panting wind sock. Unfortunately, she does not allow me to catch my breath, loping over tree roots and around thickets. I huff after her slowly.

When we finally stop, I bend over, hands on my knees, sucking wind. We’re on an old gravel road, though it’s rough and grown with weeds after years of neglect. Tanya’s tribe gathers around, and they watch me with fearful, concerned eyes.

“That has to be a mile,” I gasp, standing up and placing both my hands behind my head to catch my breath, “What is it-... that’s so-… damn important.”

Tanya stands beside a small caucasian woman, a freckled, comely lady with light blonde hair. The woman is seated on the ground, clutching her knee. Her face is screwed up in pain and anguish, and she releases muffled squeaks of pain.

“Oh, shit.” I exclaim. A massive steel bear trap clasps about her mid-calf. The leaf debris in the clearing is splattered with blood, and scrapes of dirt reveal how much she’s battled to free herself from the metallic abomination.

“Okay. Okay,” I scramble to her side, kneeling beside the poor girl. I’m repeating myself nervously as I assess the situation. “Okay. Okay, Tanya,” I don’t even know if she’ll recognize her old name, but I’m panicking. “I’m going to pull the trap apart. We have to get her leg out pretty damn quick afterwards,” I explain. I’m glad the plan is simple, because my mind is about to give me a panic attack with some of the other realities of the situation:

-Someone is hunting on my property.

-They have traps set out on an old road. They’re hunting something that would use the road.

-They possibly want live prey.

I push these thoughts aside, trying to focus on the panic of a medical emergency before giving in to the panic of a territorial one. Abraham Maslow would be proud.

I tear my shirt off my back and string it above her knee. I tighten the impromptu tourniquet and knot it desperately. I slide my fingers in between the trap’s vicious looking teeth. “I have to pull it open, do you understand?” I look at Tanya, who stares back at me confidently. I pray desperately that she comprehends my intent, or this bear trap will snap shut on the poor woman’s leg for a second time.

“On three,” I say for some reason. I grasp the trap, and prepare to tug it open.

“One, two, Three!” I strain with all of my might, a hand on each jaw of the blood-soaked metal. The woman screams and Tanya snatches her leg, rather hastily, from the jaws of the trap. With her ankle freed, I yank my fingers out as the steel snaps shut violently, cracking the air with terrifying violence.

Again fighting to catch my breath, I turn my attention to the poor woman laying in the dirt. Tanya frets over her cluelessly, hands in the air over her damaged leg. I take stock of the injuries and swear.

I’ve seen bear trap injuries before, and they’re survivable with only moderate damage to the affected limb, if the victim is calm and collected. The self-inflicted damage from the panicking, thrashing female crosses over from moderate, skipping major and going straight to catastrophic. Thanks to her terrified struggling prior to my arrival, flesh hangs from her bone in strips. She needs reconstructive surgery and a trauma unit. Even though I’ve freed her, she might die of blood loss or infection now.

“I have to get her back to my place,” I desperately try to explain to Tanya. I attempt to grab the victim, but the woman shrinks away when I move next to her.

I know these women probably have good reasons to fear men. It’s a miracle Tanya trusted me enough to help, though she really had no choice.

“Tanya, tell her I’m here to help,” I beg, as if they’re not mute. Strangely, Tanya seems to understand, and a steady hand on her friend's shoulder communicates the message.

A bridal carry is about the worst way to lug a grown person through a mile of forest. I know it will hurt her like hell, but I have to get her on her feet and throw her over my shoulder like a fireman. Other women offer strong hands and supportive touches as I grip her beneath the shoulders and dead lift her to her feet. The injured woman sways, refusing to put weight on the damaged leg. With some confusion and non-verbal protest, I shoo her friends from in front of her and crouch down.

In normal society, there would be a lot of discussion before doing this. But I more or less snatch the female onto my back like a weightlifter.

“I don’t know the way back,” I grunt, shifting the laborious weight of a grown adult on my back. Tanya seems to understand. I wonder if she’s smart like Kelsey.

The run was absolute hell on me coming out. But even a slower speed is agonizingly difficult with the weight, and terrified shrieks, of an injured woman to carry. Tanya is my stalwart guide, leading me through the forests back to the clearing and my garden. The mile-long journey is agony for everyone involved.

By the time I trundle up to the back door of my home, my back is tired, my left shoulder is asleep, and my neck is screaming in pain. My neck isn’t alone in this, as the terrified woman on my back is also screaming in pain. But that’s a good thing. It means she’s still got enough blood inside her skin to stay awake. This impresses me because she’s torn a hole in that skin large enough to accommodate a dachshund puppy.

I burst through the door, a whirlwind of blood and shrieks and pain. Kelsey and Lacey respond appropriately, both screaming and jumping aside as I turn sideways to duck through the door with my burden. I shout for their help as I approach the couch in the living room. Kelsey understands a little bit better than Lacey, but they both get the idea. Their reaching hands help to slow the injured woman’s painful descent onto the couch.

The scene is absolute chaos. I roll my sleeves up, blood soaking my bare torso, none of it my own. I’m screaming instructions that no one can understand, Kelsey and Lacey are screaming in confusion, and the poor injured female is just screaming.

Once free from her weight, I sprint to my bathroom and to the emergency medical kit beneath the counter. It is a high-end med kit, and I already have a real tourniquet ready by the time I return. I cut my T-shirt off of her and replace it appropriately with the modern tourniquet. The scraps of the victim’s old, worn sweatpants are cut away quickly. With no other idea of how to appropriately sterilize the wound, I hastily dump disinfectant on her ruined leg.

My hearing will never be the same. It’s unimaginable the level of pain my action caused, and she lets us know it. Her shrieks of agony terrify my girls, and Lacey jumps back, falling onto the floor.

“Kelsey, hold her leg,” I say. I have to work quickly. I have to sew her leg back together. I douse my hands in the disinfectant too, wincing at the stinging in a few small cuts on my hands.

Poor girl.

With a needle and thread, I set to work. I place strips of her leg back into place, cinching it with a needle and filament where I can. It’s disgusting work, and hasty, and unprofessional, but it’s her best chance of keeping the limb past the hour. And if I can’t work quickly enough, the tourniquet will cause permanent damage.

Once satisfied with my very literal hack job, I wrap the wound with gauze and bandages and a ridiculous amount of my own prayers… and release the tourniquet. She squeals as the pressure in her leg flows down into the bandages. We can only hope her body still has enough strength to close her wounds with blood clots. If she can’t do that, the leg has to come off. For the first time in an hour, I relax, slumping back onto the ground.

The injured woman continues to whimper. She is pale, and weak, and on the edge of death. Kelsey stands over her, much like Tanya had on the dirt road, hands hovering about the woman helplessly, as if she doesn’t know where to put them. She desperately wants to help, but doesn’t know how. Kelsey settles for a tender hand on her shoulder and soft strokes of her forehead.

Despite my exhaustion, I force myself to sit up and continue.

With a bottle of Blackberry wine, I convince the poor wounded girl to swallow two ancient pills of hydro from the med kit, and then as much of the wine as she can stomach. Her bandages will need to be changed shortly. Crimson has already begun to show through the white.

With a moment to breathe, I glance around the room.

Lacey is crying. Her face is covered with tears, and she clutches her knees tightly to her chest. From the floor, she stares desperately at our injured house guest.

Kelsey is pale as death, standing beside our patient, she watches with wide, worried eyes at the labored breathing of the injured woman.

To my surprise, Tanya is here as well. She is more stoic than the other girls. Perhaps she has seen violence and injury before.

“We can’t move her,” I say, “she has to regain her strength.” Tanya looks at me sternly, but her face softens. For a moment, the powerful woman seems frightened. She approaches me, holding out both hands. Still sitting on the floor, I lift my hands to accept her gesture, and she squeezes my fingers. A ‘thank you’, I assume.

“Are you staying for supper?” I ask sarcastically, but Tanya is already leaving. She fiddles with the doorknob until Lacey shows her how it works. With a last glance over her shoulder, the indefatigable woman bounds into the forest like some kind of ethereal fairy.

A fairy that leaves couch cushions soaked in blood.

With the adrenaline fully flushed from my body, I have room for a fresh panic as I remember my earlier anxieties:

Any bear trap planted before the pandemic would have been a pile of red dust by now. Anything planted before this year would be useless scrap. Someone was hunting on my property recently.

It is possible he doesn’t know I live here, but it is still highly concerning. I push the thought aside. Whoever he is, perhaps like everyone else in the world, he is hungry. I can’t blame him for hunting, but the nearby presence of another male is at least concerning.

And now I have three mouths to feed, at least for the time being. My stores from last summer are running very thin just feeding myself and my girls. With this injured woman, I know we have perhaps two weeks left. The harvest will not be ready by then. The huckleberries on the slopes of Mt. Cindy (My father-in-law’s name for the big hill beyond the river) will not be ready for another month.

I sag into my sitting chair, exhausted, hungry, and afraid.

-

Over a week, miraculously, Injured Woman’s leg begins to heal. I am glad I do not have to perform an amputation. I don’t think Lacey and Kelsey could forgive me if they saw that.

Injured Woman is not house trained, unfortunately, which necessitates even more work from the girls and I. We bring in the wicker furniture from the back porch, and I cut a hole to set a bedpan into. It’s unpleasant, but it’s better than my couch cushions being soaked in even more bodily fluids.

My girls are remarkably apt nurses. They get confused sometimes, but they have such good hearts they practically compete to help Injured Woman. They feed, clean, and change bandages (After watching me perform each task several times). They even find clean clothes for her, donating a pair of sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt.

-

My larder grows light.

Lacey and Kelsey sit in kitchen chairs, watching curiously as I sort through my food storage. I have a couple pounds of corn flour, a jar of squash, a quarter jar of huckleberry preserves, half a bottle of huckleberry wine, and a small pouch of deer jerky from my last hunting season. That, plus the two cups or so of milk from Tina, could make for a passable breakfast for one, maybe two people.

With a sigh, I lift the sack of flour and prepare for our usual breakfast of corn biscuits and huckleberry preserves.

“We’re going to have to find food soon,” I explain. Kelsey and Lacey can’t complain about their portions, but I know they’re not sated. Both of them ravenously scoff down their pitiful meals as I carry a small plate to Injured Woman. With all the women in my house fed, I sit down at the table beside them, skipping my own breakfast.

“It’s late spring.” I’ve long since given up on exact dates, though I could probably find out if I needed to know. “Huckleberries won’t be ready for a couple months yet. Trout might hit, but even if I catch a fat one, it’s not gonna keep us going. Crops are barely in the ground. Hens won’t start seriously laying for a couple weeks at best.”

Lacey is licking her plate, ensuring every smudge of huckleberry preserve is tasted. Kelsey slides her plate to her sister, a generous dollop of preserve on the side. Lacey is more than happy to help herself to that as well.

“You need to eat too,” I sternly reprimand the older sister, somewhat hypocritically. Kelsey’s face is serious. She wordlessly insists on feeding her baby sister first.

After breakfast, I explain my plan to the girls.

-

With my .30-06, I set out to hunt. I know I must find a deer, or an elk -or God help me, a moose- soon, or it will be over for us. The steep drop in human population is a phenomenal effect on the numbers of prey animals, but every hooved creature is a long way from the rutting season, when they run plentifully through the woods. Deer are commonly assaulting my crops when the harvest is ready near the end of summer, and that’s typically when I hunt most of my meat. But now, I cannot wait.

Every morning I leave the house before dark. I’m confident that the girls can handle the daily chores, as well as caring for Injured Woman. They’re afflicted, yes, but they’re smart, for women. Even if Lacey struggles with some tasks, Kelsey guides her little sister maternally.

Most days, I do not return until evening. Most days, I do not eat. The women must eat first, and I have fat to lose anyway. Kelsey is already skinny as a rail, and Lacey is not far behind. It is not machismo, but a calculated decision to starve myself. I know we can eat the chickens or Tina if we have to, but each dead hen means fewer eggs, and a dead goat means no milk. In the long run, that decision only leads to more starvation. But I am near that decision all the same.

On the grimmest days, I think about Leo. I could last through the summer on what I had canned, if not for…

Every choice I make now must be this way. A calculated starvation, a risky crop, an extra hour of hunting, all could mean the difference between starvation and survival.

My hunger damages more than the body. When I walk through the endless rows of fir and spruce around my property in the dim, fading light of the evenings, my thoughts grow dark. I sometimes rest on an overturned tree, pausing on the journey to and from my hunting grounds. When I lean on my rifle, I’m so exhausted my head swims. I shake from the lack of food, and it takes everything I have not to collapse to the ground and sleep. I dream of giving up, or turning the rifle on myself.

I cannot allow myself to think that way. I have a duty to fulfill now. I have mouths to feed.

And so, every morning before dawn, I rise, forgo breakfast, and trudge into the dark. I will find food, or we will starve.

-

It is a dark morning when the final meal is served. Three helpings are dispensed evenly between my girls. A pittance of corn flour cake, more apt to be called a cracker, with a touch of preserve and a mouthful of goat’s milk. Kelsey doesn’t complain when served, but Lacey can’t hide her emotions. She frowns and whines when I set it before her. Injured Woman accepts the food meekly.

I pull my boots on slowly, over the course of minutes. My fingers are sore. My mind is slow. I haven’t eaten a bite in a week, and I’m running out of fat stores on my body. The hunger slows down everything. By the time my boots are laced, I’m panting with exhaustion. I grasp my rifle with weak fingers, and drag my feet to the door. I’m about to walk out when a warm hand catches mine. I pause, looking back into the home.

Lacey is still wearing her pajamas, which for her is a pair of booty shorts and tight tank top. The shirt is the one she wore the first day I saw her, but it doesn’t fit well now. She’s too thin, and it hangs from her body. The beautiful, sad young woman gazes up at me with worshipful eyes, begging me to …

Something.

“I will,” I reply. My brain is foggy. I don’t know what I will do, but I promise it to her all the same.

The day is a blur. I walk through the forests, following sign so old it must have been laid down in the last ice age. I check regular areas - places I’ve bagged game before, only to find nothing. I make an extra lap around Mt. Cindy, praying and weeping.

After another fruitless day, I give up. I’ve wasted so much energy. It takes everything I have just to stand up and walk. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it again tomorrow. Defeated, I turn home. I need a miracle.

And there she is. Half a mile up river, just north of the cattle guard which marks the edge of my property, I take a hasty shot at a startled elk forty yards from my path. The doe drops where she stands, a miracle shot in the dusk sun. Despite the fading light, I rush to where she falls. With trembling hands, I begin to clean her, peeling back the skin. I’m so overwhelmed and so excited, tears of joy flood my eyes as I cut. I wipe them and curse myself. I have to be fast. There will be nothing left of the carcass in the morning.

It takes several nerve wracking trips back to my home to pack the meat. Every trip is pure torture, imaging a coyote happens upon my doe and drags a haunch away into the night. By the second trip, I’m working under battery operated lights in the dark of night as I clean the animal. My exhaustion is gone, blasted away by the all-giving power of pure adrenaline.

I’m so filled with excitement that I’m loud, and obvious, and I wake everyone up. Rubbing sleep from their eyes, my women watch with unease and concern as I dump tarp-wrapped quarters onto the back porch. They don’t understand the exuberance I feel. They don’t need to.

The earliest bits of light are touching the horizon when I’m finished cleaning and packing the doe out. I’m exhausted, but it is well worth it. I stumble back to the clearing and my house, clutching the last thing I packed back - my battery powered lights.

I’m shouting for joy as I dump the lights on the back porch. Tears streak my face, and I can’t stop smiling even if I try. We will live. We will eat. We made it.

“YES!” I shout, sinking to my knees in front of my girls.

This meat will feed the four of us for weeks. I plan to sleep for a few hours, then with help from Lacey and Kelsey, I’ll take the quarters and one of the back straps to the smoke house. The other strap I plan to make a feast of. For the first time ever, everyone in my house will be full and satisfied.

Though filthy, I decide not to waste time cleaning myself in the creek. I’m in a mood to celebrate, so before heading to bed, I open the spigot on the rain barrel and begin to shower. I can’t stop smiling as I face the steady stream of water.

Lacey doesn’t have a clue why I’m so happy. But as I shower, I’m smiling, and singing, and she’s very easily excited. When I strip and step into the cold shower, she quickly removes her clothes, dancing into the stream of water beside me.

“Okay, let- Lacey! Let me get the blood off,” I chuckle. My woman already has her hands all over my body. She pushes herself close to me, crushing our bodies together. Smiling, I push her off playfully, and she spins on one foot in the stream of rainwater, pirouetting like a ballerina. The dancing, joyous woman is naked and clueless. She’s simply happy because I am.

Kelsey hovers at a safe distance. She is sufficiently curious to watch with fascination, but not curious enough to dive in with us. She leans against the wall of the home with her arms crossed, smiling slightly with infectious joy.

Lacey shimmies up close to me, smiling and giggling, and presses her nude body to mine. The rainwater splatters against our skin from the barrel in a steady stream. She pushes up close, setting her lovely, firm breasts into my chest. Still grinning, I press my mouth to hers, reaching around her and squeezing both butt cheeks as I press her body to mine.

Lacey kisses with her eyes open. It’s sweet, the way she crosses her eyes to look at me while our mouths meet. It’s quite off-putting to french a woman with her eyes wide open. A wet strand of dark hair is matted against her face, over her nose. Still, I won’t let a little strangeness stop me now, and I push my tongue between her lips.

I watch her bright, joyful eyes, as she leans backwards and opens her mouth wider, happily accepting my forceful kiss. I can’t help but laugh at the silliness of it all. I’m naked, outside, being splattered in room-temperature rainwater, and making out passionately with a gorgeous, naked woman while her sister watches from ten feet away. The absurdity of my life gives me no choice but to laugh.

When the rainwater runs dry, I drag Lacey with me to the porch. She’s happy to follow, giggling as we go. We dry off, still naked, and I fetch a portable battery from the solar array. It hooks to my bluetooth speaker, and with a charge cable to an old Ipod.

There’s no internet, obviously. All we have to work with is solar power and the songs on the hard drive. Unfortunately, it’s not my Ipod, so the options for dance music are very slim. Much like his book collection, my father-in-law’s music tastes were pretty archaic. It’s either golden oldies, country music, or anything from the 80s. I can’t complain about Whitney Houston though. I do want to dance with somebody.

Lacey can’t dance, but that’s okay because I can’t either. I wrap my arms around her, and we bob back and forth to the music. She doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, but she’s so eager and excitable that she jumps right in with me. Lacey can’t stop smiling. It’s impossible to be sad, or anxious, or frustrated. I look into her eyes, and all my worries melt away. We spin around on the back porch, bouncing back and forth to the music. I clasp her tightly in my arms, and it just feels right. Next to me is where Lacey is meant to be. Her bright, happy smile agrees. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like everything will be alright.

And then I hear the worst noise ever.

-

“Up into the attic. Go!” I yank the string, dropping the ladder onto the hardwood floor. Lacey is confused, naked, and terrified. Kelsey, however, is simply terrified, and scurries up the ladder rapidly. She reaches the top, squatting in the darkness, and turns to offer a hand to her less confident sister.

“Go!” I repeat, more forcefully. I grab Lacey and drag her to the ladder, practically shoving her up the rungs. With some hesitation, she begins to climb. It’s an agonizing four seconds as her shaky feet find purchase. Once she’s at the top, I begin folding the ladder.

“Don’t move. Don’t make a noise,” I press a finger over my lips, hoping desperately that they’ll understand.

The ladder retracts into the ceiling with a final click.

Injured Woman watches me from her reclined position. She clutches the back of the couch, easily sensing my panic. She’s afraid too, because I’m panicking. With a flick of the wrists, I toss a blanket over her head, covering her entirely.

“For the love of God, do not move,” I beg her.

In the distance, the sound of a diesel engine grows closer. Pausing to listen, I hear a second one.

Bolting into my room, I reach beneath the bed and drag out the case for my Armalite Rifle. I pop the latches and examine the weapon, a .223 with all the fancy options, another inheritance courtesy of my late father-in-law.

I hear a second truck, and my heart drops. Then, the roars of several engines overlap. The AR-15 seems so pointless with that many. Thinking quickly, I snap the case shut, and make a decision that will either be the stupidest I’ve ever made, or the smartest.

I grab the air-rifle from my son's room and stumble out onto the porch, pulling on a T-shirt and shorts.

Three enormous pickup trucks are lined up across the broad gravel driveway in front of my little log cabin. They idle loudly, diesel engines spitting heavy fumes into the morning air. Each of the trucks is uniquely customized, with massive off-road tires, steel boxes for cargo, heavy metal grills and wenches, and even a fixed cage that looks ready for large animal occupation.

The last truck makes me queasy. That cage can’t possibly be used for benevolent wildlife interventions.

I’m nearly blinded by the powerful headlamps of the front truck, and a voice calls over the wind.

“What’s your name, stranger?” A man asks. I shield my eyes, doing my best to calm my racing heart.

“James Carson. I go by Jim,” I reply, “And who are you?”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jimbo, I’m Rob,” Rob’s country twang is unmistakable in his words. Between my fingers, I see a man silhouetted in the headlights. He walks slowly closer, holding empty hands out to his side. His clothes are a set of simple jeans and a button-up, with the sleeves rolled to his elbow.

“Does anyone else live here, Jimbo?” He asks.

“My family died in the pandemic,” It is the truth.

“Terribly sorry to hear that,” He didn’t sound very sorry. “Jimbo, we got a lotta rifles on you right now. You’re not thinking of doing anything stupid with that gun, are you?” He asks. Nearby, I watch helplessly as two other men assess my truck. They pop the hood, and one of them slides a hose into the gas tank.

“Only if you do something stupid first,” I reply, squeezing the air rifle tightly in my fingers.

Rob’s eyes linger on my weapon. He knows it’s not a real firearm. Good. That’s the plan. My body is flooded with adrenaline, but I still haven’t eaten. The long day is catching up to me. I’m trembling.

“What can I do for you, fellas?” I ask. Rob’s eyes rise to mine, and he smiles. A single silvery tooth shines in his mouth.

“We’re looking for a herd of women up this way,” He says, “And one woman in particular. Brown chick, curly black hair. You know about anything like that?” He asks.

Rob describes something pretty close to Tanya, and I begin to understand who placed the bear trap on my property.

“I’ve seen some women around,” I nod slowly. “I think south of here just a couple weeks ago.” Tanya’s tribe had been a mile due north when she asked for my help with Injured Woman. “Hey, you guys got any food?”

Nearby, the men raiding my truck finish their appraisal.

“No gas, no battery!” A rough looking man with a long beard calls out, shouting over the sound of the idling diesel engines.

“We got enough food for us,” Rob replies, “And maybe we could spare a bit if you could help us find these women,”

“South,” I point in that direction, “Please. I’m hungry.” I try my best to appear pathetic. My life, and the life of my women, is forfeit if these men think I have something worth stealing. The air rifle, begging for food, my desperation - All to convince them I’m not worth their time.

Rob laughs. His wide smile reveals tobacco-stained teeth behind his whiskered lips.

“Naw, that won’t cut it. Tell you what,” He says ‘what’ in that strange old-fashioned way, as if the ‘h’ comes first in the word, “-if we do find them south of here, we’ll come back by and toss you some crackers. Sound good?” He asks.

“Please,” I reply, my voice quavering.

Rob turns away, shaking his head in disappointment. With a twirling motion of his fingers, he orders his drivers to turn around. He strolls to the last pickup in line, pulls open the door, and stops.

“Oh, hey, Jimbo?” Rob asks.

“Yeah?”

“Careful with that,” He points at my air rifle, “You’ll put your eye out.” He guffaws at his own joke, and I look down at my pellet gun with mock frustration.

Engines roar, and the truck tires kick up gravel and dust as they lumber off down my driveway.

I wait outside until the distant sound of truck engines fades. Then, I spring into action.

My feet stumble and trip over each other from pure exhaustion as I race through the house. I left to go hunting the previous morning. I am now thirty hours without sleep. That was fine when I was dancing with Lacey, but now I have no time. Now I act with urgency. I pull the blanket off of Injured Woman, and rip the cord on the attic ladder, calling to my girls.

“Come on. It’s safe. We got work to do.”

-

I replace the battery in my truck, and with the remaining dregs of gas (Not sufficient to siphon, I suppose), I head up my driveway. With a chain around the hitch, I pull the cattle guard free. It won’t stop them from coming on to my property, but anyone with vehicles will be seriously inconvenienced. That includes me, but I haven’t got the fuel to go anywhere anyway.

I park the truck with the gas gauge needle a touch below E. I remove the battery for the last time, retiring it to my solar array. Somehow, it feels like the end of an era.

With the girls following closely behind, I head back to my bedroom, and once again retrieve my AR. I make my way out the back door, dropping the case onto the grass. The little field where I grow my crops is lighting up with the first bit of morning sun. I can hear the birds calling the earliest morning.

“Lacey, go inside. Clean up, and feed Injured Woman.” I point back towards the house. Afflicted women are not intelligent, but they’re highly empathic. The girls can sense the fear in me, and neither moves.

My poor women. In forty-eight hours, I’ve gone from grim, determined and hungry, to happy and ecstatic, and now to fearful and panicked. They have no idea what’s happening, no idea what’s coming next. But we don’t have time. We never have time. Rob and his thugs could come back in an hour. They could come back in a month. They could never come back. We have to be ready, and I’m viciously impatient.



“Lacey! MOVE!” I shout at her, waving my hand forcefully in her face. She jumps in fear, and retreats towards the house. I feel guilty for yelling, but I know she cannot handle what’s coming. Kelsey tries to follow her, but I catch the older sister by her wrist.

“Not you,” I speak calmly. I lead Kelsey to the rifle case, and once again make a decision that could be either brilliant and life saving, or the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

I quickly spin the lock, aligning the code to open the case. I show the contents to the petrified woman beside me and quickly begin assembling the rifle.

“This is a weapon,” I explain, “It will kill you if you do not use it correctly.”

Her eyes are wide with fear.

“This is a magazine. It holds thirty rounds, plus one in the chamber,” I pray that some part of her understands what I’m saying.

“Here’s how to load it.” I slap the magazine in and chamber a round. She gasps.

“And here’s how to fire it.”

-

“I’m teaching Kelsey how to use a rifle. Over.”

It’s a few moments before Leo replies, and for the first time ever, he forgets protocol.

“You what?” He shouts. It’s a small joy that I can give him a taste of his own medicine. I wait silently for him to close comms.

“Jim, you fucking what? Over.” He repeats.

“I had visitors, Leo. Gangsters, with fuel and vehicles. Looks like they’re hunting down women. Over.” Lacey bounces gayly on my lap, her butt cheeks squishing my thighs. She’s ecstatic to hear her father’s voice. I squeeze her gently with my arm around her middle, begging her to spare my testicles any more excited, happy bounces.

“Well shit,” Leo replies, “You think she can handle it? Over.”

“I don’t know. She shot a few times, then barrel swept me. After I flipped out about that and we had some more target practice, I think she got the idea. Hell, there’s good odds she’ll kill me as much as anyone else, but I need every gun I can get if those guys come back for blood. I’ll be honest Leo, I’m scared. Over.”

I kick myself. I’m desperate to confide in someone, anyone, but this poor old man doesn’t need to know that his daughters are in danger. He’s dying. My stomach twists with guilt as I await his response.

“Jim, do not, I mean DO NOT let Lacey have a gun, ever. Over.”

I burst out laughing.

“Loud and clear, Leo, I wouldn’t dare. She’d pop me in the leg for a second helping of huckleberry preserves. We’re about to turn in, Big Man, you want to say good night to the girls? Over.”

He does, and I have to sit through ‘You Are My Sunshine’ for the hundredth time.

After we clean up Injured Woman and make sure she’s fed and comfortable, I drag myself to bed. It has been thirty six hours since I have slept, and I am exhausted. The fresh elk meat will smoke overnight. The chores are done. I don’t have the energy to fight sleep any longer, and I sink into my covers. Finally, I close my eyes, moments away from a deep sleep.

The door to my bedroom creaks open, and I pop a single eye open. Lacey stands in the doorway, clad in a large T-shirt and panties. It’s dark in the bedroom, but I can tell it’s her silhouette by the width of her hips.

“Mmmph. What is it?” I ask, barely clinging to consciousness. She waits in the doorway wordlessly, feet together, hands clasped in front of her. I paw around on my bedside table, finding a battery powered light. I click it on, and we make eye contact.

I blink.

Lacey blinks.

“What? What do you want?” I beg for an answer. I crave release from my forced wakefulness. Lacey takes a step closer. Then, trembling, she reaches for my blanket, and pulls it back. With a sigh, I peel the whole comforter and sheet back, giving Lacey access. I’m not excited about this. I know she moves in her sleep. But the poor girl must be terrified after those thugs showed up. Well, that makes two of us.

Lacey settles into my bed next to me, and I flip to face away from her. I know I’m tired enough to fall asleep in seconds. I click the light off.

..

She wriggles closer. I ignore her. She’ll fall asleep soon.

..

Closer still. Her breasts brush against my back. She sets a hand on my hip. My eyes open.

..

The hand becomes more explorative, reaching down the front of my pants. Her big boobs squish against my back, and I feel her cheek pressed against the nape of my neck.

“Can I help you?” I ask. Lacey’s hand slowly retracts. My eyelids are sagging closed, and I can barely feel her as she continues to wriggle around the bed behind me. I only really wake up when I feel her boobs again, this time bare. Skin to skin, her warm breasts form soft circles on my back. My eyes creek open as blood begins to pump.

With a tired sigh, I roll over to face her. She is all innocent smiles and bright blinking eyes, looking up at me from beneath my covers. Her panties and shirt are discarded haphazardly on the bed. Without looking, I reach my hand beneath the covers and find her pussy, cupping and firmly pressing against her furry labia. She takes a small breath, a whisper of happy surprise.

I narrow my eyes at her, speaking smugly.

“Do you even know what you’re trying to-,” I’m cut off as her hand wraps around the shaft of my semi-erect cock, squeezing me gently. Her surprised smile turns playful, and I can’t take it anymore.

Seizing her by the shoulders, I roll Lacey onto her back and toss the blankets aside. I straddle her, looking down at her tight young body. Her naked chest rises and falls rapidly with excitement, and she licks her lips. I drop my head and kiss her passionately, pressing my tongue hard into her mouth. With one hand, I support my body weight, and the other gropes her boobs, squeezing and feeling their lovely, firm weight. Her fingers lightly stroke the side of my cock, now fully erect and poking her in the stomach.

With a bit more manhandling, I slide down Lacey’s body. My hands find the backs of her thighs, and I lift her knees to her chest. She doesn’t object or move, watching me with a mix of lust and fascination as I slowly lower my mouth to her pussy lips. Her pubic hair brushes my nose and cheeks. I drag my tongue up and down her vulva, drawing gasps of happiness and surprise. When I rub her clitoris with my tongue, she squeaks, a short burst of joy escaping her throat.

The adorable, high-pitched noise commands my thoughts, and I am determined to hear it again. I lick her pussy furiously, rubbing against her firmly. The smell of her sweat and the scent of her pussy floods my nostrils. Freeing up one hand from her legs, I lay it gently on her breast, squeezing her soft, warm flesh between my fingers. My thumb rubs back and forth over her large, round nipple.

Finally, Lacey’s stomach tenses. Her legs quiver, and she rolls her head. She squeals loudly as she cums, grabbing my hair with curled fingers. It hurts, but I refuse to relent. Finally, after several moments of pure orgasmic pleasure, she pushes my head away from her pussy.

There’s a pause in the action as Lacey rolls onto her side, a pure, happy smile across her face. She lays in a side fetal position, breathing deeply, her eyes closed as she enjoys the feeling in her body. I’d love to leave Lacey alone with her bliss, but I’m rock hard, and she’s a stunning, gorgeous, naked woman.

I wordlessly crawl up to her butt. I’m so hard for her, I know this won’t take long. She looks at me curiously, still on her side in the fetal position. I kneel behind on the bed, taking a position to mount her. Lacey’s cunt is soaked with my spit, and I push forward and enter her body easily. She sucks in a breath, turning her head to look up at me. I begin to fuck her with firm, consistent strokes. My stomach lays over her butt cheek and hip as I fuck her on her side. Each thrust inside of Lacey rewards me with a short, surprised squeak.

Her body, her voice, her pure femininity overwhelms my urges, soaking me in a deeper sexual desire than I’ve ever felt in my life. My prediction holds true, and I don’t last long. Within a minute of penetrating her, I close my eyes and thrust as deeply as I can inside her body, groaning and shooting waves of semen inside of her. I keep my cock buried in her for a few moments longer, enjoying the lingering feeling. Finally, I back off, drawing myself from her pussy lips slowly, feeling the sensation of her body sliding against mine. I lay back down in the bed, totally exhausted and entirely spent. The last thing I feel before sleep is Lacey cuddling closely to me, nuzzling under my arm.

EARLY SUMMER

My door creaks open, with silence following. At first, I wake up slowly, but when memories of the gun-toting thugs flash through my mind, I bolt up in bed, throwing Lacey’s dainty feet off my chest.

Kelsey stands in the doorway, her face serious at the sight of me sharing a bed with her baby sister.

“Oh hell,” I whisper, “I thought you were those guys with the trucks.”

Lacey has turned around several times in the night, and now lays atop a pile of bundled sheets. Her head hangs crossways off the side of the bed, and her legs are across mine. With her balance thrown off, she slides slowly to the floor with a thump, then sits up. She’s a mess of tangled hair and happy smiles as she looks between me and her big sister. Kelsey continues to frown at me.

“What?” I demand, irritated, “We hooked up. We’re both adults.” I’ve always known they couldn’t understand me, but I still talk to them. My complacency in their presence just makes my language more casual. I look at Lacey, smiling back at the happy girl.

“She’s hot.” Objectifying. Rude. Not something I’d say if they could understand me.

I help Lacey to her feet, realizing she’s still naked. She has no desire for modesty, either in front of me or her sister, but some part of me still thinks she needs to be decent for breakfast. I toss the younger sister her clothes, then push past Kelsey into the kitchen. The little woman continues to glare, and I can’t understand why she disapproves. I’m surprised she even has the capacity.

I completely ignore her. I don’t have time.

I serve breakfast, elk strap and, whether we like it or not, more elk strap. Kelsey doesn’t hate me enough not to eat. We’re halfway through the meal when I hear a soft, sad whimper issue from the other room.

“Oh, fuck,” I’ve forgotten about Injured Woman. She’s been here long enough I ought to remember, but sometimes I don’t. I grab my own plate and walk into the living room, where I stop abruptly when I see her. Yesterday, I had covered her with a sheet when the invaders showed up, and in my exhausted fog I’d left her. She still wears the bed sheet over her head, too afraid to remove it. I pull the sheet off of her and she blinks in surprise while I set the plate in her lap. She smiles at me, digging in. I watch her eat for a moment, probably with a face reminiscent of Kelsey's stern glare.

I contemplate what I’m going to do with this woman. She can’t just keep eating my food forever. I need to get her on her feet.

Lacey and Kelsey come wandering into the living room after finishing their own meals. Usually, I’d have us straight to work first thing after breakfast. They’re curious what the hold up is.

Injured Woman notices me watching her. The venison in her fingers falls to the plate. With a sad resignation, she offers her food back to me, her eyebrows apologetically wrinkled. She thinks I’ve come to take her food from her. I shake my head.

“Finish,” I order, pushing the plate back towards her. She’s ecstatic that I didn’t want the food, excitedly shoveling a strip into her mouth.

When she finishes, I take the empty plate, handing it to Kelsey.

“I’m not a physical therapist,” I warn Injured Woman, “but you need to start getting on your feet. I’ve got to plant potatoes soon - and then we’ll be harvesting huckleberries not long after.”

Injured Woman obviously can’t understand a word I just said. She’s frightened. Her eyes do not leave me as I speak. I sigh deeply. The poor young woman is terrified. The only thing she knows is that one day, the ground exploded on her leg, and then she came here, and now I feed her and she pees in a bucket. That would be confusing even for a mentally sound person.

She lays back, arms folded around her body, clutching my mother-in-law’s old knitted quilt to her chest. Her injured leg extends across the arm of the couch, sporting white bandages that have remained clean for over a day. The pure white bandages tell me her injury is continuing to improve.

“Kelsey, help me with this.” It’s probably better if a woman touches her. The women in the woods have good reasons to fear men. With Kelsey’s help, and a significant amount of tense gasps and nervous breathing from Injured Woman, we lift the poor girl to her feet. I step away, and motion Kelsey back as well.

“Come,” I hold my hands out, and Injured Woman takes a step.

She wobbles, lightly pressing on the leg before switching back to her uninjured one as quickly as possible. With two more hasty, wobbly steps, she collapses into my arms.

“Good!” I smile, trying to make her understand that I approve. She seems to comprehend, brightening and smiling back at me.

I lift her by the shoulders, turning her petite body around.

“Back to the couch,” I gently nudge her forward. Injured Woman tenderly hobbles back to the couch, crashing onto the cushions chest first.

It’s a start.

The women watch me curiously as I pull down the collapsable stairs to the attic.

“You need help. I think I’ve got something.” I rummage around for a bit, finding the discarded cane I stashed up here many years ago. My father-in-law, who had owned the home, was perfectly ambulatory, so I have no idea where the cane came from.

Back downstairs, I slide the coffee table to the side of the room. With cane in hand, I hobble back and forth across the living room, leaning my weight to one side. I keep a close eye on Injured woman, ensuring that she watches the demonstration. When Kelsey and I lift Injured Woman to her feet a second time, I hand her the cane, and motion to the living room floor.

With the assistance from the cane, she can move pretty well. Most likely, Injured Woman will be able to walk around the house, and maybe short stints about the yard.

After her first exploratory loops on her ruined limb, Injured Woman smiles broadly. I’m happy, too. This is the best possible outcome of such a dramatic injury. Things could have been much worse. I watch her make another excited lap around the living room, her cane clicking against the hardwood, and I have one thought:

“Okay. Now, let’s talk toilet training.”

-

Lacey brings me water more often than needed. I can’t say no to her. She’s so excited to see me, she bounces across the yard to the garden, a jug of water clasped in her hand and a cheeky grin on her face. Kelsey and I are wrist deep in the Earth, setting down potatoes. It’s only been a few minutes since Lacey came to check on us, but she’s come right back. We stand up and dust ourselves off. With no subtlety at all, Lacey dashes straight up to me, thrusting the water jug into my hand. I take a quick swig, passing the water to Kelsey.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” I say with a smile. Lacey smiles back and lifts her shirt, flashing me her big, jiggly breasts. I smile and wrap her in a hug. This woman has become an addiction for me. I kiss her gently, mouth to mouth. For a moment, I forget about the worries of life, the food, shelter, and the danger of the world, and I lose myself in the soft lips and warm breasts of a beautiful woman.

I’m interrupted when something cold and hard bumps my elbow. I break away from Lacey and look up. Kelsey’s fiery eyes burn into me. She’s pushing the water jug back towards me. I accept, and the cranky woman storms off, trowel in hand.

Lacey tries to kiss me again, heedless of her sister's discomfort. I dodge her lips, shaking my head apologetically.

“I think we ought to cool it with the PDA,” I explain, “Kelsey’s right.” Lacey doesn’t understand, but she releases her shirt, allowing it to cover her chest. She glumly accepts the water jug and trudges back towards the house.

I return to Kelsey, trying to move past the awkwardness.

“Spinach is coming up well,” I motion to the earliest plants in our garden. We’re running out of Elk now, and we’ll need the harvest soon. It’s good news. Of course, Kelsey isn’t interested in spinach. She jams a planter potato into the soil angrily, covering it lightly with soil. I sigh, and move to help her. I suppose we’re ‘not talking’ while we don’t talk again.

I feel responsible for Kelsey’s increasingly deteriorating mood. At night, Lacey sleeps in my room now. That’s got to hurt Kelsey’s feelings as well. Not only am I fucking her baby sister, we’re doing PDA, and I stole her bunk buddy. I’m definitely the bad guy. Kelsey has a right to be upset with me, and I need to do better. I’ve let my juvenile horniness rule my thinking, and as a result I’m hurting a woman who should be my friend. I resolve to talk to her about it when she’s in a better mood.

But for now, the potatoes will be planted in cranky silence.

-

“You stay here.” I push Lacey back towards the house for the third time. Kelsey stands behind me, a stack of empty five gallon buckets slung through the handle of a broom on her shoulder. I have my own set, along with a very important leather case. Kelsey watches with concern as I press her sister back towards the house by the shoulders.

“Stay.” I point to the house. Lacey follows my finger, but the fear and anxiety on her face doesn’t waver. She feels we’re abandoning her. “Stay with Injured Woman,” I repeat.

The morning sun is already sweltering hot. If Kelsey and I are going to make it back before dark, we must leave soon. The huckleberries grow thick and healthy on the far side of Mt. Cindy, over an hour's hike on some tough terrain. I love Lacey, but she will be a terrible liability on a trip like that. It’s in everyone’s best interest if it’s just me and Kelsey who collect berries.

“Go!” My voice raises as I point at the house again. I’m growing more stern. It breaks my heart to see Lacey finally relent, lowering her head and slinking off to the house like a scolded dog. She drags her boots to the door, stopping to look back in our direction as I shoulder my own stack of buckets.

“We’ll be back. We love you,” I shout. Lacey sadly slips into the house, and I turn to face Kelsey.

“Poor kid,” I sigh. With Kelsey at my side, we make the long trek up to the huckleberry patches.

They are the life blood of my winter stores, those reddish-blue balls of sugar. I can and do eat as much as possible throughout the summer. When they’re plentiful, the copious excess is canned, and feeds me through the winter. With Kelsey’s help, I’m hopeful to double the amount I collect on my weekly trips over Mt. Cindy. I’ll have to improve on my usual numbers - I have three extra mouths to feed.

It’s slightly before noon when we make the top of the mountain and begin our descent on the other side. We trek past an old radio tower and down a familiar path to the huckleberry patches my wife once frequented in her childhood. When we see the first bits of purple, my heart leaps. Summer is here.

I quickly demonstrate for Kelsey the basics of picking. I show her which berries to take, and which to leave on the bush for later in the season. It’s brutal work in the hot sun, and we both pour sweat and stain our hands red. By mid-afternoon, my hard-working little woman and I are both exhausted. Our buckets are half full of the mountain’s sweets, and I carefully show Kelsey how to evenly distribute the load between two buckets for carrying. With the loads on our backs, we embark up the mountain.

It’s one thing to climb a hill with empty five gallon buckets, it’s a whole other beast to climb with twenty plus pounds of berries on your back. It’s not terrible for me, I’m used to it, but Kelsey struggles. We stop frequently to drink, eat some jerky, and lighten our load by treating ourselves to a few berries. They’re a bit sour so early in the season, but we don’t mind.

It’s while we’re resting at the peak of the mountain that Kelsey approaches me. We sit side by side on a downed log, enjoying the shade of a nearby birch. We pass a bottle of water back and forth, nursing the few mouthfuls left in the bottom. Kelsey slides closer on the log, nearly bumping me as we sit shoulder-to-shoulder. Her face looks serious, as if she’s chewing on a difficult thought. I feel similarly.

“I know what you’re trying to say. I’m sorry about all that stuff with your sister.” I pass the water bottle to her, and she carefully replaces the lid. It takes a few tries, but she finally sets the metal canister to the side, looking meaningfully into my eyes.

“That's, I mean, that’s your sister - and I just want to say I get it. I didn’t think of you. Taking her shirt off and kissing her right next to you, That’s not cool. That’s disrespectful.”

It’s for my benefit more than hers. She doesn’t understand a word of it, but I still feel the need to express myself. Kelsey watches me closely, her small body hunched over shyly next to me. She looks up at me, serious eyes and a wrinkled brow, as if scolding me for my past actions. I can’t help but shake my head.

“I just want to say I’m sorry,” I summarize, “I was thoughtless.”

Kelsey grabs the hem of her shirt and lifts it above her breasts, revealing her small, naked tits to me. Her eyes remain as serious as ever, her face sternly contemplative. Her tits are cute, small, perky and round, lovely to look at. I don’t try to stop myself from enjoying the view she is giving me. I am, however, extremely confused.

“...What?” I choke on the word. Kelsey leans forward and kisses me, misplacing her lips and firmly pressing on my flared nostrils. MY eyes are wide open, and I look down at her. It’s not likely where she meant to kiss, but I understand that she’s nervous. Like her sister, Kelsey kisses with her eyes open.

I lift a juice-stained hand to her face and push her back gently. There’s a hunger in her expression, a sadness of longing, and I understand. I was completely wrong. Not one time was Kelsey disapproving. She was never sternly scolding me for touching her sister, she was never sickened by our public displays of affection.

She is jealous. Kelsey isn’t angry that her baby sister Lacey is in my bed. She’s upset that she herself is not.

I cup her left breast. Small, firm, barely enough to fit snugly in my palm. Kelsey’s little nipples are soft and bumpy.

“You want this?” I ask. She breathes in fully, inflating her chest and pressing herself further into my hand. Her gaze never leaves my face.

Smooth, soft femininity. I don’t believe I could ever resist her.

I kiss her this time, properly on the lips. I fill her mouth with my tongue, pushing past her lips. I grope and squeeze her tits, one hand on each, memorizing every inch of her lovely flesh with my fingers.

Little Kelsey, my hardworking woman. I’ve thought of her body plenty, and stolen glances while bathing in the river. It would be a lie to say she’d never crossed my mind. Now, I'm frustratingly hard for her. My cock is solid, unbending, and painfully uncomfortable in my pants. I crave her, and she craves me. I pull and rip, impatiently forcing my pants down to my knees. I gasp in relief when my erection is freed from the punishing confines of my jeans. My cock stands out in front of me, and Kelsey wraps her hands around it without hesitating.

Kelsey’s hungry look fades into a smile. She works my cock in her strong, experienced fingers, squeezing and pulling on me, all the while with a happy grin. I sit back and let her work, enraptured by the beauty of her hazel eyes. She has the beginnings of wrinkles around her eyes when she smiles, a sign that she is the older sister. There is usually so much careful sweetness in her face, so much concern for her loved ones. It is the first time I’ve seen her happy like this.

“Get your pants off,” I beg, reaching for her waist. She understands immediately, and stands up to kick off her boots. Once she is totally naked, I am animalistically hungry for her. I grab her, lifting her petite body like a doll and dragging her onto my lap. She straddles me, facing towards me. She’s so small and light that I control her body, lifting and dropping her where I want. When I’m ready, I lower her, slowly sliding her down onto me until she sits on my lap, my cock buried completely inside her pussy. I’m seated on the log, pants around my knees, holding Kelsey in coitus. I sit still for a second, enjoying the sensation of her warm pussy pressing around my cock. Unsatisfied, Kelsey squeaks and moans, rolling her hips and begging for more than passive pleasure.

I hesitate a second longer, just enough to suck her left nipple into my mouth, licking her breast gently. She moans more, pressing her cunt against my pubic region, demanding action.

With a combination of my hands lifting her shoulders and my hips thrusting from below, I use Kelsey’s body like a toy. Sometimes she bounces on me, sometimes I hold her still while I slide my rock hard cock in and out of her. I close my eyes and lay my head forward on her chest, enjoying the sensation of her breasts. Kelsey wraps her arms around my neck, laying her cheek on my head. Periodically, small squeaks or coos of desire escape her lips, non-verbal, but remarkably communicative.

I drop one hand down to her left butt cheek, grabbing a handful of her ass. With her body pressed against me and the other arm beneath her shoulder, I hold Kelsey aloft while I fuck her. She is helpless in my grasp. There is no slowness or tenderness in our cadence, only my raw hunger. I need to cum in this woman as quickly and as much as possible, and I lose control.

It doesn’t take long. In maybe two short minutes, I grab Kelsey and hold her, grinding her body against my hips as firmly as I can. With the head of my cock fully inside of her, I release a load, shooting inside of my woman as deeply as I can. I refuse to let go throughout my orgasm, holding her against me through spurt after spurt of cum.

When I finally release Kelsey, I’m exhausted and breathing hard. I drop back on the log, relaxing. She stands up, climbing off me and releasing my flaccid penis from her cunt. I tug my pants back up, fastening my belt. When I look up, I see the most wonderful sight.

Kelsey stands three feet in front of me, her chestnut brown hair a tangled mess as it tumbles down around her shoulders. Her small, shapely breasts heave as she catches her breath. She stands with her feet shoulder width apart, and a steady, thick drizzle of my cum runs down her leg. Above it all, she wears the happiest smile I’ve ever seen on her normally stoic face.

“You needed that, huh?” I ask. Kelsey dives on me again, raining kisses on my cheeks, mouth, and nose. We fall off the log and land in a heap. I kiss her back, and we lay on the ground beneath an old birch tree, making out like teenagers who snuck away to be alone. The weight of her body is comforting on top of mine.

I can’t help but worry that I’ve failed somehow. I was entrusted with two lovely, innocent women - and now I’ve violated both of them. I know I can justify it to myself if I want to - both girls were eager and excited. But I really didn’t put up a fight. I close my eyes and smell Kelsey’s hair.

I’m only a man.

The walk home somehow feels shorter than the original climb, despite our added loads of berries. At the top of Mt. Cindy, I stop by the radio tower and lower my buckets from my shoulders.

“Hang on a second,” I order Kelsey to wait. She’s far more clever than her sister, and waits on me patiently without further prompting.

With my leather case around my neck, I set my boots to the rungs of the tower’s maintenance ladder. Normally, a technician climbing one of these would have a copious and redundant number of safety mechanisms to make this climb, but four years post-apocalypse is a far cry from normal.

I take to the ladder slowly and carefully, climbing above the tree line and to near the top of the tower. Locking my arms around the rungs, I carefully pull open the leather case and remove a pair of binoculars. Like most things, they’re from my Father-In-Law, and though I know nothing about binoculars, I’m sure they’re top of the line.

I have a few things I want to check from my vantage point atop the radio tower. I first check toward the once-bustling city of Aurora, Oregon. I gaze across the grown-over buildings, through the shaggy parking lots. Until recently, I’d have been able to see my friend Red’s gas station lit by solar power, or burning a campfire. Today, scanning the town reveals nothing. That’s about fifteen miles East.

Next, I check the end of my driveway and the small dirt road that leads to my property. SR 571 leads back to the main highway, about ten miles past my driveway. Even if someone is hidden beneath the trees, it’s likely that they’ll be raising enough dust to see through the binoculars.

That’s about ten miles East.

Finally I scan the horizon in all directions. To the south, I spot it. A long line of dust, trailing up to the sky. With the binoculars fixed on the location, I can see the bare outlines of the vehicles. On the far side of a river, three pickup trucks trail each other, forming a convoy along a dirt road. I watch them for a few minutes, relaxing as they make a turn to go even further south. So they’re in the area, but not heading toward me. That’s good. Maybe they’ll leave.

That’s about fifteen miles south.

After half an hour, I climb down the tower and reshoulder my buckets.

Injured Woman meets us at the back door. Kelsey and I dump the buckets in the kitchen, and I light fire in the wood stove while Kelsey watches. Searching around the house, I find Lacey in my bedroom, seated on the end of my bed in front of the dusty, unused flatscreen. It’s a strange scene, as she appears to be staring at the television as if it were on.

“Hey, you alright?” I ask. Her head flicks to me, and then back to the blank television. She points at the dark glass.

“It’s not working anymore,” I squint at the dust. For all I know, it could be functioning, even after years of silence, but I’m not about to waste precious minutes of my daily solar charge to power up an old TV with nothing to watch. “I’ve got to teach you some things,” I try to explain, “Prepping food, canning - I’m teaching Kelsey and Injured Woman too.”

Lacey doesn’t listen. She just stares at the screen. Finally, I walk in front of her, breaking her line of sight and grasping her wrists. I pull her to her feet. Now compliant, she follows me mindlessly into the kitchen.

None of them are very good at canning, but I had cracked similar problems before. Afflicted women can learn simple tasks through repetition. It is possible. As the sun sets, I finish the canning and prep. Injured Woman seems to be the best at it, so hopefully I can get some use out of her before she goes back to Tanya.

Finally, after dark, I’m finishing the job with battery-powered lights. We’ll have several jars of huckleberry preserve off of this, and the rest will be eaten… with elk.

After a bedtime song from Leo over the HAM, my women are ready for bed. With Lacey spending every night in my bedroom, I decide it’s time for Injured Woman to move into the guest room with Kelsey. After settling her new roommate, Kelsey shuffles off to the guest room, I follow her, stopping her at the door.

“Hey,” I call. She turns to face me, and I’m suddenly as nervous as a high schooler asking his crush to prom.

“Hey, uh, do you want to dance with me?” I ask. She stares blankly at me. I don’t know how I keep forgetting that she can’t understand me. I grab her by the wrist and lead her back through the house to the back porch. On the way, I call out.

“Lacey! Come here! We’re dancing.”

My women figure out pretty quickly what I’m doing. They remember when I danced naked with Lacey the night I got the elk. Lacey is trembling with excitement, bouncing up and down. She hovers over me as I connect batteries to my speaker and charge the iPod. Kelsey sits to the side, prepared to watch.

“There we go,” I mash play, and Whitney Houston plays over the bluetooth speaker, inviting us all to dance with someone who loves us. Lacey practically jumps me, she’s so excited to dance. I’m excited too, and let my arms wrap around her middle. We swing side to side, bouncing along to the music. She’s clumsy, and steps on my toes a lot, but we’re having fun.

As I suspected she would, Kelsey watches from the doorway. But I didn’t stop her from going to bed so she could watch me dance with her sister. As I swing the lovely Lacey around the makeshift dance floor, we pass by Kelsey. I separate from the younger sister, and with no warning, grab the elder. Kelsey’s eyes pop open when I snatch her into the dance floor. With synth-laced 80s dance music bumping, I wrap an arm around Kelsey’s waist and bring her close, bopping along to the beat. She’s hesitant at first, and I feel a bit foolish dancing alone next to her while she watches. But Lacey won’t let her older sister kill the mood, and she bounces over to her sibling, grabbing Kelsey’s shoulders and wiggling her back and forth to the beat. Rather than be annoyed at her goofy sister, Kelsey starts in on the dance.

We stay up much too late. I dance with Kelsey for the rest of one song, and then switch to Lacey for ‘She’s a Maniac’. Finally, the sisters dance together to ‘Footloose’. I cringe with every track change, but it’s not my music. Still, it’s fun music to dance to. I have to pause between each song to skip through eight or nine tracks of Johnny Cash, Garth Brooks, or some other old country singer I don’t recognize. Finally, I’m too exhausted to continue. I kill the music, power down the iPod, and prepare to store all my batteries. Lacey is disappointed at the conclusion, but Kelsey’s smiling. I’m glad I could include her.

Before I can finish breaking down for the evening, Lacey has an idea. It’s unfortunate for everyone, because she can’t communicate the idea very clearly. She bounces excitedly, pointing at the iPod, then at herself. I pause over the speaker, trying to understand what she wants. She points to herself, then the iPod, then herself.

“It’s late, babe. We’re going to bed,” I power down the inverter, and she grabs at my wrists, trying to stop me. I look to Kelsey for help, but she’s as confused as I am. Lacey can only gesture and whimper for so long. Finally she stomps in frustration, then storms out of the room, throwing open the door to the guest room. I watch her go, my inverter in my hands, confused as all hell.

“What was that about?” I ask Kelsey.

Before I can make it to bed, Lacey comes racing back through the house. She’s grasping a transparent DVD case in her hands, with a single disk inside. Something from her suitcase, no doubt. She thrust it at me urgently, waving it and bouncing her body. I accept it, reading the words aloud.

‘LACEY WALKER - NAT’L ANTHEM COUGERS Vs. KNIGHTS 2015’

“No way,” my heart leaps. I wish I’d known about this disk sooner. “No way!” I grab the inverter and the batteries, racing into my bedroom. After minutes of frantic plugging and switching, I power up the flatscreen and the ancient DVD player beside it. Lacey is so excited she’s walking in circles. She keeps pointing to the DVD, then touching my shoulder, then moving to Kelsey, then back to me. Finally, despite her constant distractions, the DVD player is working.

The Disc has no menu, and begins to play. It’s a camcorder view of a small high school football stadium. Amidst crowds of people, I hear voices for the first time in years, and it gives me shivers. In front of me are a group of people - humans interacting, socializing, eating hot dogs.

I could have watched a movie at any time. My Father-in-Law had a collection. But it never seemed worth the power. Now, it’s shaking me to my core.

A voice echoes over the speaker in the stadium, announcing the at-home Cougars, who tear through a paper poster as they make their entrance onto the field. Their opponent follows soon after, young, gangly kids in helmets and football pads. I can’t help but wonder if any of the people in this stadium are even still alive.

At least one of them is.

The announcer echoes once more over the TV speakers, announcing for the national anthem: Miss Lacey Walker. I hear Leo’s voice in a whisper, and I suddenly realize he is holding the camcorder.

“Hon, Lacey’s up. That’s her.”

A slow zoom worsens already sloppy camera work, shaking and jolting around the field. Finally, the frame rests on a dorky teenage version of Lacey. My Lacey. She holds a microphone and smiles awkwardly around shiny braces.

I’m elbowed in the side as Lacey jumps in real life, pointing to the screen adamantly.

“I see! I see!” I cry. She drops back onto the bed, intently watching the screen.

Back on the screen, the teenage Lacey takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and I hear her voice for the first time ever. It’s beautiful. She warbles a little, but as she finishes the first line, I’m crying. Her voice is a loud, confident soprano, powerful and keen. She conquers the football stadium in an instant. When she reaches ‘Home of the brave,’ I clap with the crowd. Her voice was genuinely gorgeous.

“Way to go Lace!” a woman’s voice pierces the camcorder, and I instantly turn to Kelsey. She stares at the television with wide eyes and open mouth, confused.

“Was that you?” I ask. She doesn’t understand the question, staring back at me quietly. I can’t know for sure, but somehow I know. I’ve heard the voices of both my women now.

The DVD concludes there. Lacey is still excited. She can’t stop smiling as she rubs up closely to me, waiting for her praise. And it comes quickly.

“Nice job Lacey,” I can’t stop crying while I take her hands, stroking them gently, “Your voice is so beautiful. So beautiful.” I hug her, and I never want to let go.

For a time, all three of us stare into a shiny black reflection, unable to escape back into the daydream we just witnessed.

When we head to bed, everyone shuffles away to their spaces, but this time it is Lacey who chases after Kelsey. She grabs her sister, and makes her follow back to…

My room.

“Oh, no, no. We … It’s king size, but it’s not that king size,” I complain.

Lacey does not listen. She pushes, nudges, and tugs her poor sister into my bedroom. Across the hall, Injured Woman peers curiously around her door frame, then nervously ducks back and shuts the door.

I follow the sisters into my room, protesting, but Lacey is miles ahead of me. She strips down to her skin and jumps into the middle of the bed, rolling on to her back and inviting me in with open arms. Her large, jiggly breasts immediately draw my eyes.

“I don’t think this is appropriate.” I protest. We’re sharing a bed, which is innocent enough, but it feels wrong with a naked sister. Two naked sisters, I realize, as Kelsey drops her own top onto the ground. I glance at her small, perky tits as well, trying to calm myself. She’s still smiling as she climbs into bed. With a long sigh, I join them, laying between the girls.

That night, I sleep with both of my women in my arms.

-

“Tanya!” I drop the tub of greens, waving my arms to earn her attention. She’s already seen me. The woodsy, street smart woman probably watched me for some time before making herself known. I wouldn’t have seen her if she didn’t want me to. She strides into the garden slowly, hatchet in hand. Even after everything, the tall, muscular woman is wary of my presence.

“Kelsey, go get Injured Woman,” I motion to the house, speaking quietly. Kelsey’s brow is covered by a bandana, soaked through with sweat, and she pushes it up at the sight of Tanya. Obeying my order, Kelsey stuffs her work gloves into her overalls and sets off.

“Your friend is doing well.” I promise with a smile, gesticulating with a big thumbs up. I don’t know why, but I hope Tanya will understand me if I’m more emotive. I doubt it works, because she stares at me rather neutrally.

I lead her to the house, and we find Kelsey holding the door open for Injured Woman. The latter limps out on her cane, and brightens instantly at the site of Tanya. They hug, and I’m ecstatic.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” I speak quickly, excited, “she’s pretty much good to go on that leg - won’t be as fast, but she can get around.”

Even as I say it, I know how stupid it is. Injured Woman will never keep up with Tanya and her tribe of women in the woods. All I know is that I don’t want to be responsible for feeding the poor girl through the winter.

Tanya leans down, inspecting the damaged leg. We’ve removed most of the gauze and there’s virtually no bleeding now. The calf of the leg is badly deformed, as if an enormous spoon has scooped out flesh and muscle. Indentations across the leg show how serious the damage from the bear trap was. Her injury certainly means she will never regain full use of the damaged muscle tissue.

Slowly, the stoic chief stands to her feet. Her glum expression and downcast eyes tell the whole story. She will not take Injured Woman with her. She hugs her friend again, and then begins to back away. My lip curls in a deep frown. I had hoped, but deep down, I know she can’t go back to the woods. Life is difficult in the hunter-gatherer tribe, and she simply would not survive the winter.

As she walks by me, Tanya reaches for my hands. I clasp hers, and we make eye contact; a wordless thanks.

The tall, dark woman is gone in an instant, bounding between trees as easily as a light-footed deer. I watch her leave while grinding my teeth.

“FUCK!” I look away from Injured Woman, who jumps when I shout. Even Kelsey seems to back away in fear from my reaction. I take a moment to compose myself, swearing under my breath. Injured Woman stares at the ground. She refuses to raise her head. I should be nicer, but I’m not in the mood.

“This is what I get for being a nice guy,” I complain, gesturing vaguely in the air, “a useless mouth to feed.”

It’s good that the women can’t understand me. I’m angry, and being unfair, but mostly I’m scared. Summer is too short. I can’t store enough food for the three of us and this damaged female also. I brush past the poor woman on my way into the house.

In the kitchen, I lean on the sink, which is stained red from the processing of huckleberries. I hear the door behind me as Kelsey and Injured Woman shuffle in. I set my jaw and stare down into the sweet, red juice, remembering how dangerous the spring had been. I remember how close we’d come.

“It came down to a fucking elk.” I ball my fists in frustration. “Starvation came down to a fucking elk, and now I’ve got a winter with three extra stomachs.” I close my eyes, fighting back tears.

Soft hands touch my shoulders, and I open my eyes. Kelsey stands beside me, her face worried as she gently rubs me. She lays her head against my shoulder, and all the stress of life fades from my body. I turn and embrace her, remembering to breathe. My stress, my anxiety, my overwhelming fear ebbs in her arms. These feelings never go away, but in the loving arms of Kelsey, the pain is dulled, and I’m able to relax. I squeeze her body tightly to mine.

Across the room, the woman with the injured leg watches us with forlorn sadness. She leans heavily on the cane. When our eyes meet, she glances around the room, apologetically searching for something else to look at. I consider her for a moment.

“You’ll need a name. You like Whitney?” Whitney doesn’t respond.

-

LATE SUMMER

Whitney can can. Better said, Whitney is able to use canning as a method to store food long-term.

With the harvest coming in, we’ve grown squash, potatoes, sweet corn, and the huckleberries coming in weekly from Kelsey and I. I’ve had to demonstrate several times, but Whitney catches on to the process of canning food for the winter. I’m terrified every time she touches one of my precious mason jars, but I teach her to take it slow and do one thing at a time, a simple series of tasks that even an afflicted person can understand.

She’s useful. I remind myself constantly that she is useful. While she’s canning food for the winter, I’m free to fish - the season has brought the trout out. The bathing hole in the shadow of Mt. Cindy is now also my favorite fishing spot. Our main protein is fish, our carbs are berries. My three women and I are full every night.

And I encourage it. I carefully watch them eat, then try to convince them to eat more. I pile the plates and no one leaves the table until they’re done. We must pack on fat. We have so much food, we cannot possibly store it all… but our bodies can. If the winter times are lean and difficult, as I suspect they will be with the three extra bodies in the house, we will need all the excess fat we can store. We’re like grizzlies preparing to hibernate.

Lacey puts on weight easily. She loves to eat, and needs little encouragement. If I didn’t make her work, she would probably eat all day. Her thighs and butt are naturally thick anyway, and she grows a belly under my force-feeding regiment.

Whitney begins to bulk too. It’s easier for her, as she’s quite sedentary with her damaged leg.

I cannot make Kelsey gain weight. She works circles around the other two girls, burning off more calories. The older sister is naturally very thin and athletic - I worry about her when winter comes. She’s barely gaining any weight at all.

-

It’s only too late that I realize it is a dream.

They’re here.

Pickup trucks, three of them, rumbling through my head. They kick the door down, and I see Rob’s smiling face. He’s upset that I lied. He wants my food. He wants my weapons and ammunition. He wants my wives.

Kelsey and Lacey are cuddled in the bed with me, and he climbs into bed after them. I kick at him, hitting his face and aiming to knock his teeth out, but he’s so strong, I can’t turn him back. His hands clasp around Lacey’s throat, and I jump on him, howling with rage, and toss him across the room. He smashes into the wall, screaming in a woman’s voice.

Screaming-

Kelsey?

The bedroom is dark. I hear wailing, undirected shrieks of a wordless voice begging for mercy. I’m standing at the end of the bed, waking up. I stumble to the bedside table, and flick the light on. It breaks my heart to see Kelsey and Lacey, backed up to a wall, quivering in fear. The two women watch me, frightened, and I wonder what I’ve done.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” guilt floods me, and I approach cautiously. Lacey backs away, and Kelsey steps in front of her sister defiantly.

“Jesus.” I’m crying, and I back up, dropping to the bed. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” I repeat myself, slumping onto the bed. I hang my head. In my dreams, I was fighting a monster. I hope to God I didn’t hurt my girls.

Kelsey approaches me first. She’s cautious. Standing in front of me, the slim woman bends down in front of my face, watching me. I look up slowly. My sweet, intelligent woman - she seems to understand. She knows I wasn’t myself moments ago, when I did… something.

I feel Kelsey’s fingers on mine, and she lifts my hand into hers. She squeezes me reassuringly. She still loves me.

I can’t handle the flood of emotions. I’m terrified of those men, Rob and his thugs. I’m anxious about winter. About feeding my family. I’m wracked with guilt, because I don’t know what just happened, and I might have hurt my women. I’m relieved that Kelsey understands.

It’s too much for me, and I break down sobbing. It’s too much. I wrap my arms around Kelsey’s waist, and bury my face into her stomach. Her arms come up and she gently wraps my head, petting my hair and giving me a place to release. I wail like a child, sobbing like I haven’t sobbed since I lost my wife and son.

Finally, after minutes of terror and grief and anxiety and fear, I catch my breath, and lay down on the bed. I stare at the ceiling, the tack of dried tears streaking my face. Kelsey crawls onto the bed next to me, snuggling between my right arm and my body.

“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you. I’m so, so-..”

I’m interrupted by the bed shaking and bouncing as Lacey flops down next to me. She kneels next to me and looks down. There’s a bitter happiness in her face, and I hope, forgiveness. She pushes her face into my neck, nuzzling me. With both of my women by my side, I slowly drift back to sleep.

-

I can’t be mad that Lacey can’t read the room. If she can’t put a shirt on the correct way around, I can’t expect her to pick up on social cues. That’s why I’m not upset when I wake up with my cock in her mouth. It was a difficult and painful night, but Lacey has the social sensitivity of a horny jackrabbit.

My eyes slowly drift open, and I’m aware that I’ve overslept. The light from the windows overlooking the garden is bright and golden, a sure sign that it’s mid morning. Normally I’d be awake for three hours by now.

Under my right arm, Kelsey cuddles me, clinging to my chest. She watches her sister work with a bored expression. To my left, Lacey’s bare ass and pussy are inches from my face as she kneels beside me, bending her head down to my crotch.

Lacey holds the first two or three inches of my cock between her lips, suckling my penis head gently. She doesn’t move her head up and down, as with a traditional blowjob. Instead, she just suckles my cock, holding tightly with her lips and moving her tongue around me.

“Oh, uh, Lacey…” I start to object. Her sister is right next to me, watching. It doesn’t seem right. But Kelsey either doesn’t understand or doesn’t care. She seems distantly uninterested, watching her baby sister suck my cock. I decide if she doesn’t mind, neither do I.

My right arm is occupied with the small of Kelsey’s back, so I snake my left arm down Lacey’s body, finding her lovely, heavy tits hanging from her chest. One breast is more than a handful, and I lift and cup her chest, feeling the pleasant roundness and smoothness. I close my eyes and groan, overwhelmed by the feeling of her body and mouth at the same time.

Lacey sinks her mouth another inch further down, and my hips involuntarily buck, pressing even further. It doesn’t bother Lacey, and after a few more of the same movements, she begins to understand. She slides her warm, suckling lips up and down on my cock.

Kelsey, not wanting to be left out, reaches her hand across my chest and turns my head. She plants a gentle kiss on my lips, and I reciprocate. I make out with Kelsey while Lacey sucks my cock.

I groan into Kelsey's mouth and squeeze Lacey’s tit hard. With a few more quick bobs of Lacey’s head, I’m spurting my cum into her gorgeous mouth. Shot after shot passes between her lips until finally I’m done. She doesn’t seem to understand my completion, and continues to suck. I’m forced to press my hand against her sternum, literally lifting her mouth off of my cock.

“Too sensitive now,” I explain as I sit her up.

Lacey smiles at me, and I smile back. Then she leans her head forward and opens her mouth, dumping a massive load of creamy-white sperm onto my chest. I watch the mixture of spit and cum pool around the center of my torso and begin to run off my stomach.

I can only be irritated for a second, staring down at the mess. Lacey smacks her lips, as if ridding her mouth of an unpleasant taste. It’s impossible to be cross with her.

“Lacey,” I chuckle, “at least grab me a towel.”

-

I am copulating with the sisters openly now. We’re already quite comfortable being naked with each other, and the morning where Lacey sucked me off while I held Kelsey breaks the last barrier of modesty any of us have.

Lacey’s voluptuous, full-bodied curves are hard to resist, but so is Kelsey’s lean, athletic thinness. I use them freely, and they use me.

I fuck Kelsey in the garden, between tall rows of corn. She approaches me while I’m harvesting ears and drops her pants. Standing next to me, she presents her bare ass, wiggling backwards towards me. I’m more than happy to set aside my bushel and spit on my cock, taking her outdoors. I fill her cunt before returning to work.

I fuck Lacey after breakfast, bending her over the table and mounting her doggy style. She squeaks and moans until I cum in her pussy, while Kelsey and Whitney finish breakfast. They’re only mildly irritated, holding their plates up to avoid the rocking tabletop. When I cum inside Lacey, we both sit down and finish our meal.

On a rainy day, I fuck Kelsey on the couch. She lies on her back, with her legs spread. Her hands catch each ankle, spreading herself and holding her legs out of the way. I look down at her naked body, enjoying the sight of her small, firm breasts jiggling with each thrust of my cock into her body. She has her eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of me inside her. Her long hair is splayed out on the cushion and across the arm of the couch. Kelsey is stunningly beautiful. I memorize every inch of her naked flesh and close my eyes, ready to finish.

With gentle footsteps on the hardwood floor, Lacey appears.

I open my eyes, my cock still buried in her sister, and glance up at Lacey. I pause my thrusts, but do not withdraw.

“...Yes?” I ask. Lacey looks down at our point of penetration, turning her head curiously. She reaches for my cock quickly, wrapping her fingers around the exposed part of my shaft, and pulls. Besides being a bit weirded out that the back of her hand just mushed against her sister’s vulva, I’m irritated by the interruption.

“Wha-... stop. Stop that,” I swat her hand away. Lacey withdraws fingers, glaring at me with cross dissatisfaction. Kelsey’s eyes are now open, and she looks between me and her little sister, annoyed. Poor Kelsey just wants to get fucked, but her sibling won’t let her.

I try to ignore Lacey, and refocus on thrusting into Kelsey.

Lacey will not be so easily pushed aside. She slides her shirt above her breasts, letting her large, gorgeous tits hang freely in the air. She moves them closer to me. In her mind, it’s a surefire way to earn my sexual attention. Usually, she’d be correct. I try to ignore her, continuing to fuck Kelsey’s pussy.

Lacey’s big warm boobs smush against the side of my chest.

“Stop- stop it! Jealous girl,” I push her back with a coy grin, my hand on her clavicle. I hold her back with one hand while I continue to fuck her sister.

That's how we finish. After a few minutes of stroking, Kelsey orgasms. She releases her feet, wrapping them around me, and holds my hips against her. Her eyes clench shut and she grunts animalistically, her pussy clenching. Her abs quiver and tense as she cums, and I stroke in her until she relaxes.

I do not have the luxury of an orgasm. Lacey pushes her fat tits at me throughout the interaction, and the distraction, as sexy as it is, keeps my mind off of fucking.

“Stop - I’m in the middle of… damn it, Lacey.”

I decouple from Kelsey and sink down to the couch, where Lacey happily kneels between my legs. With no heed for the creamy white froth of her sister’s pussy juice, Lacey begins to happily slurp and suck on my erection. She’s won, and earned her prize.

Laying back on the couch, I watch the woman work between my legs. I see that Lacey has an oral fixation - while she enjoys penetrative sex, she loves having a cock in her mouth just as much. I know she will be careful not to finish me, maximizing the period of my time she can keep my dick down her throat.

And so I lean back, happy to let her work. Kelsey shifts around beside me, getting comfy next to me on the couch and laying her head on my shoulder. She sighs with perfect contentment, kissing my neck. I cuddle with her while her little sister sucks my cock. With my women around me, I’m in heaven.

-

My blood turns to ice. The sweat on my forehead tickles my skin, beading down beside my nose, but I am locked on the sound in the distance.

Trucks.

“To the house. Go!”

Kelsey follows closely behind me as we sprint to the house, tearing up clods of tilled Earth with our boots. I reach the back door, ready to throw it open and panic in ten different ways, but the sound fades. I hear the telltale grinding of a down shift as the vehicles descend the hill west of my property, passing by my home. I let out a sigh of relief. The adrenaline filtering out of my blood causes me to sag against the door like a sack of lead shot, and I catch my breath slowly. Within a minute, the trucks are gone.

I’m stupid. I’m so, so stupid. I haven’t been preparing like I should. If they come for me, for my women, for my food and my weapons, I must be ready. Harvesting potatoes is forgotten in an instant as I reorder my priorities.

Kelsey does not like training with the rifle. I know this. She follows me with heavy sighs and uncomfortable fidgets. She can tell I’m different when the rifle is out in the open, and it makes her nervous. I march to the edge of my property, where an old car door leans against a tree, riddled with bullet holes. I drop the case on the grass, several dozen yards from the car door, and I point to the lock.

“Assemble it,” I order purposefully. Kelsey rolls her eyes, and does not move. I’ve never been disobeyed before, and it surprises me. But I’m not their dad - I can’t tell the girls what to do. I need to remember that.

“Kelsey, listen. I know you hate this. I know it’s loud and scary and I’m not fun when we train with it. But we have to, okay?” I’m not being very persuasive. She watches me with a scowl on her face, her arms crossed. “This is our life, sweetheart. We die without this,” I plead with my eyes, patting the case.

“Please, I know you hate it. Please. We need to do this.”

I repeat my pleas several times before she uncrosses her arms. Slowly, she kneels by the case and opens the lock. She pops the latches and begins to assemble the rifle, the way I’ve shown her a dozen times. Even in this, which we’ve practiced so much, her affliction shows. I must help her with several pieces, turning the barrel around and reminding her to lock the stock in place with a firm push. Once the rifle is assembled, we begin to practice.

I watch her stance, her grip, and politely correct where she shoulders the weapon. With my permission, she plinks at the car door. It hops with every shot, wiggling against the tree.

She’s not a bad shot.

-

Lacey seems to think that calling her dad requires her to be on my lap. Like everything else in this fucked up family dynamic, it’s my fault. I rub her soft tummy while I hail Leo, and she wiggles her butt.

“Come back Big Man, Over.” I call.

“Jim…”

I hear a faint wheezing through the mic, his breath crackling like tin foil.

“Jim, how’s my girls? Over.” He replies. I cringe before replying, trying not to think about why his voice is so weak.

“They’re great, Leo. They’re fat and happy right now. The trick is just making sure we got enough for winter. Over.” I reply.

“...That’s good, Jim…” I wait for him to close the comms, but he’s not done, just taking a breath. “And how’re they treating you? They pretty good wives? Over.” No matter how stupid the lie is, I can’t bring myself to say it.

“Not wives Leo. Just, you know, coworkers. Over.” I feel like I can’t just tell this dying old man I’m fucking his daughters senseless twice a day, every day. He doesn’t need to hear that.

I remember my dream, where I thought of them as wives. I push that thought away as well.

“That’s fine, Jim… Hey, Jim? I think of you as a son all the same. Over.”

“Leo… Thank you. Over.”

I tear up, feeling guilty about lying to him. Maybe I should tell him. But I’m spared having to make that decision by the longest, wheeziest rendition of ‘You Are My Sunshine’ to date.

As we make the walk back to the house, Lacey skips ahead. I notice that Kelsey hangs back, so I stop to wait for her. In the fading dusk light, I can just barely see her shape in the door of the RV shed. She stares back inside, watching the radio as if wishing it to tell her good news. Clever girl, even while afflicted she can tell something’s wrong.

“Kels?” I call. She snaps out of it and turns to me, as if woken from a daydream. “We’ll talk to him tomorrow,” I promise. She follows me up to the house slowly.

I hope it’s true.

EARLY FALL

Kelsey and I struggle to heft the heavy buckets full of thick, sweet huckleberries. They’re in prime season now, even as the weather begins to cool off a bit. As we come plodding up the well-worn path between Mt. Cindy and our home, Lacey rushes out to meet us. Kelsey happily lowers her buckets to allow her sister to feast, and the young woman accepts with gusto. She’s been a glutton for berries all summer, and I can’t help but smile as she scoops them up, searching her palm for the ripest ones. Once she has a load of berries in her upturned shirt, Lacey’s happy to let me and Kelsey carry the buckets the rest of the way to the house.

Whitney’s happy to see us, helping us unload the buckets and offering each of us a hug. She sets right to work canning - though there’s not many jars left. Even that simple thought splits my stomach with fear. I shake it off, trying to remind myself that I’m doing everything I can to store food for winter.

Lacey sits at the kitchen table, her generous helping of berries scattered across a towel before her. With her face resting on the palms of her hands, she studies the berries intently, comparing size and color to find the ideal fruit. When she locates the chosen berry, she delicately raises it to her face, eyeing it closely to ensure perfection, then pops it in her mouth, and the search begins anew. I can’t help but chuckle at her antics. I’m glad she’s a happy eater. Unlike her sister, Lacey has been packing on the pounds, and now as a cute little belly to show for it.

I wash my hands in the bucket by the kitchen sink, turning over the problem of winter-long food storage in my head. Canning what I can is ideal, but obviously I have a limited number of jars. Smoking meats is a close second. I’ll catch as many fish and hunt as much game as I can for the winter. I’d give anything for a survival guide detailing different methods for storing food.

When it hits me, I almost tip the bucket over:

Cute.

Little.

Belly.

My eyes go wide as I turn back to Lacey. My heart pounds in my throat. I approach her with trembling hands. She has found a candidate huckleberry, and moves to munch on it, but I catch her wrist. Without explanation or pausing, I drag her to the bedroom.

Gently, I push her back on the bed, laying her on her back. She thinks it’s time for sex, and happily begins pulling her shirt up. Instead of her breasts, which I would usually be fondling, my hands go to her belly. Her round, pudgy tummy, which previously I thought was summer fat stores, is suspiciously firm.

“When’s the last time you bled?” I ask breathlessly. Lacey is confused by my attitude, but utterly incorrigible when it comes to sex. Refusing to have her spirits dampened by my unbridled panic, she spreads her legs, inviting me in.

“No. No! You… you haven’t bled in… fuck. In forever.” I cover my face with my hand. Normally the women’s periods would be an unlucky surprise, something we’d clean up when it happens. If I hadn’t been preoccupied with the grim possibilities of a million different deaths, I’d have noticed that Kelsey and Whitney’s last few periods had been skipped by Lacey.

“Fuck. Fuck!” I stumble out of the house, down the front porch steps, and onto the gravel driveway. I begin pacing, racking my mind for a solution. The continuous crunch of my footsteps comforts me as I whip back and forth, circling.

“FUCK!” I shout, gripping my head with both hands.

How stupid could I be? I’d been nutting directly into the deepest part of Lacey’s pussy I could reach every single day for months. What was I thinking? How could she not be pregnant?

“...I’m so stupid.” I bend over. My stomach hurts.

Footsteps on the porch draw my attention, and I look up to see Kelsey watching me with concern. She always catches on when something is wrong, the clever girl. Whitney stands in the doorway, hobbling out with her cane to witness my misery. I sink down onto a porch step, resting my elbows on my knees.

I feel a hand in the center of my back, rubbing small circles, comforting me. I love this woman.

“Another mouth to feed,” I whisper to Kelsey. She touches her forehead to mine. I feel as if I could cry.

Eventually, I make my way into the house, a permanent frown etched on my face. Every thought of my mind goes in one direction: Food. Winter stores. Hunger.

As I reach the kitchen, I glance around, and I don’t find Lacey anywhere in sight. Curiously, I hurry into my bedroom, searching for her, and my anxiety and fear shift instantly into guilt.

Lacey lays on the bed in the fetal position, her legs pulled up over her new belly. She coughs and chokes on spit as she sobs. Her cry comes out as pitiful, wordless little whimpers between her sniffles. In a feeble effort to hide her face, both her arms wrap up and over her head.

She doesn’t understand anything. She doesn’t know what’s going on. And I bolted out the door the second I touched her. This poor woman thinks I hate her. I’ve been so selfish, I didn’t consider how my reaction would impact her. Once again, I didn’t think of her as a person.

I lean over the bed, gently touching her arm. Lacey lowers her hands, facing me with red, swollen eyes.

“Hey baby,” I whisper. She watches me carefully, as if deciding whether I’ll fly off the handle again. Admittedly, I haven’t been the most stable person these last few months. “I’m so sorry. Can I hold you?” I extend both of my arms in an apologetic invitation.

Lacey hesitates, but slowly, she sits up and scoots towards me. I scoop her up gently in my arms, lifting her into the air. I sit on the bed, resting her sideways on my lap. I hold her knees with one arm and her shoulders with the other, and rest my cheek on her head. Tiny, sad sniffles emit from the poor woman as I comfort her. I want to say something, even though I know she can’t understand me.

“I wish it wasn’t like this,” I finally say. “I wish I could… take you and Kelsey to a shitty fast food restaurant, and we could eat salty french fries and gossip about how stupid whatever the ‘big thing’ on social media is. And we’d all laugh at each other's jokes, and... You’d be so funny I bet, and so happy. I know you would. And Kelsey would be so, so witty. We’d be a family.

Then you and I could discuss what school we want to send the kid to, and pick out a name and get a nursery together…” I fade off, and squeeze Lacey. She watches me intently now, and I fantasise that she can understand me.

“...I don’t hate you, Lace. I hate this…” I gesture around vaguely, as if pointing at the entirety of the apocalypse.

“But you, I love you. I will always love you.”

She wraps her arms around me, hugging tightly.

-

The wheezing on the HAM set breaks into another unbearable cough. I wait for it to end, and after ten seconds, it finally does. Lacey squirms uncomfortably on my lap, urging me to fix her dad. She points at the transmitter, then looks at me accusatorily, as if I can make things better. I grimace and shake my head. After a few seconds of silence, I speak, technically interrupting a comm that was never closed.

“You alright, Leo? Over.” I ask.

“...It’s hard, Jim.”

I pause for another ten seconds. The old man doesn’t close his comm, or come back.

“...I know Leo. Just click to let me know you’re listening. Over.” I reply.

The channel opens briefly and closes, a ‘click’ on the comms.



“Leo. You’re gonna be a grandpa. Over.” I release the comm and cringe. It’s not news I want to share, but how the hell could I not?

“Jim… that’s good news for this old man… I’m… I’m crying here.” Even in his sickness, he finds the strength to come back. I almost reply, but realize he hasn’t closed comms.

“Which of my girls? Over.” He finally asks.

“I reckon Lacey’s about four or five months on, Leo. Over.” I respond.

Another long pause.

“Take care of my grandbaby, son. Over.”

“I will. Thanks, dad. Over.” I reply. The comm opens, and his gravelly voice follows, weakly:

“You are my sunshine,

my only sunshine…

Please don’t take my sunshine away…”

He can’t finish.

“Goodnight, girls. Out.”

I power down the radio with the intense feeling of dread. I look up to find Kelsey crying. Even Lacey looks grim, as if she understands in some small way. The feeling in the shack rests on us heavily. No one moves. My arms sink to my sides. I have to say something. Smiling, my eyes brimming with tears, I look between my wives.

“He’s a little tired right now, I think. We’ll call him again soon.”

-

Lacey struggles with a load of corn. Normally, this would be a trivial task, even for the distractible young woman. But this time, carrying the bushel is proving too much for her. As she stumbles towards the house, she tries to support the load with one hand, her other hand clutching to her jeans. She trips, tumbling corn across the yard and falling to her knees. My heart pounds in my chest, and I find myself running full tilt to her side.

“Lacey!” I shout, dropping to one knee and offering her a hand, “Are you hurt?” She looks quickly up at me, more afraid of me than the fall. She must think I shouted because I’m angry with her. She lets me lift her to her feet. I’m worried sick about her pregnancy, and I visually check her over before pulling her to her feet.

“You have to be careful, baby,” I whisper, pulling her into a hug. When she understands that I’m only worried, not angry, she breaks into a smile. I hold her gently, and smile back.

“I’ll get the corn. You can rest.” I direct her to the house with a nod. Lacey kisses me (eyes open), and then leaves for the house.

As I scoop corn into the upturned bushel, I watch Lacey walk away. Her pants slip down her thighs, and she fights to pull them up continually. I realize the issue my poor pregnant wife is struggling with.

When I arrive at the house, I leave the corn with Whitney for processing, and find Lacey in the living room. I walk past her to the attic’s retractable ladder and pull it down, making my way up into the dusty storage above the living room. After rooting around, I return two cardboard boxes, covered in dust.

“My wife delivered our son here, right after our wedding,” I explain to Lacey, who watches with fascination. “Was a home birth. She insisted,” I open one of the boxes and rifle through the contents, retrieving a pair of long slacks. I display the slacks for her, including the maternity bump, suitable for pregnant bellies.

“This will stretch up, over your stomach,” I show her the extra fabric, “That way your pants don’t slip down.” Lacey stares at me, patiently waiting for something to happen. She doesn’t seem to understand, so I help her remove her pants (It never takes much encouragement), then replace them.

My wife was a bit taller than Lacey, but the legs are easily rolled up to accommodate Lacey's body. She struts happily about the living room, pleased as can be with her new, hands-free trousers.

Somewhere inside, it hurts to see someone else with Cindy’s belongings. I cringe at the sight of the beautiful young woman happily showing off my wife’s clothes. It feels wrong. But I know Cindy wouldn’t mind.

Lacey turns to me and smiles, holding her arms out, demonstrating that the pants do not fall. I force myself to smile back at her, pushing the bad feelings down.

“My wife, well, fiance at the time, we uh, we got married with a baby bump.” I laugh, “Hank didn’t care for me after giving away his daughter in a maternity wedding dress,” I shake my head at the memory. Lacey, of course, doesn’t understand a word, but she’s thrilled to try on some new clothes.

“I’ll leave you with it,” I push the boxes in her direction, “Pull out whatever fits - I’ll leave everything else in the attic.” Lacey happily digs into the box, more excited than usual, which is really saying something for the perky young woman. I slide past her and out the backdoor.

Kelsey and I have lots of repair work to do. With my loyal woman’s hard work, I finish replacing the roof on the chicken pen and insulate Tina’s goat hut for the coming cold. By sundown, we’re both exhausted and hungry. We head back to the house, and I eagerly check on Lacey’s progress. When I walk into the living room, I almost black out from shock and anger.

Lacey stands in the center of the living room, proudly displaying a floor length white gown. She absolutely glows in the elegant, lace wedding dress. The V-neck perfectly hugs her generous breasts, and the cream straps run over her shoulders with frills of white. The folds of the dress are designed for maternity, and allow for her growing belly. Her brown hair falls about her shoulders, and light skin fairly shines in evening sunlight that streams through the window. Lacey’s bold, happy smile is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I am filled with disgust and rage.

“Stop!” I shout. Lacey’s smile drops instantly. Her shoulders sag, and I start crying. I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood, and remind myself she doesn’t know any better.

“You… you can’t wear that.” I explain, “Anything but that,” I hadn’t even realized the gown was in those boxes. I would never have let her see it. Then I see that the attic light is on, and realize suddenly that it wasn’t in the boxes.

Lacey continues to stare at me. She is afraid and unsure now, looking at me stupidly.

“Take it off!” I yell, impatient. I want her out of my wife’s dress right this second. Lacey doesn’t understand the words, but she takes the meaning. She struggles with the shoulders on the dress, and can’t reach the zipper (fucking Whitney must have helped her get it on), so I’m forced to assist. I jerk the straps from her shoulders and pull the dress over her belly. Despite my rage and irritation, I am careful with her baby bump. I fairly rip her from the dress, leaving her naked in the living room. She is crying by the time I’m done, and so am I.

“You can’t wear this,” I shake it in front of her face. She looks away, ashamed. Without any heed to Lacey, I quickly place the wedding dress back in its plastic sheath, and back on the hanger. I hurry up the ladder to hang it in the attic once more.

In the living room, Lacey is naked and moping on the couch. I’m so fed up I could shout, but I remind myself it’s not her fault. She doesn’t know any better. I’m not able to calm myself much. There’s a pile of clothes on the floor next to the boxes, and I kick it.

“This everything you need?” I hiss. Lacey turns away from me, scared. I grab the boxes wordlessly, and chuck them up into the attic with little dignity. I slam the retractable ladder into place, still angry. Lacey pulls her legs up onto the couch, balling up and crying. In my stupid, enraged state, I don’t recognize her fear. I think maybe she’s manipulating me to feel bad for her. It’s stupid, but I can’t control myself.

“I know you can’t think,” I say angrily, “But don’t fucking touch, what you don’t fucking know is your fucking-...” I’m about to chew her out, and my words aren’t making sense. Luckily, the one sensible person in the house checks me.

Kelsey is small, but strong as hell. As I’m preparing to verbally tear her sister apart, she grabs the collar of my shirt, jerking me back. I stumble and catch myself on the mantle of the fireplace, looking down into her cold, steely eyes. Kelsey is exhausted and sweaty from a long day of work, covered in chicken shit and soaked with sweat. Her rage burns through it all, and she grits her teeth at me, choking me with balled fists in the collar of my shirt. The message is clear: Back off.

I huff for a few seconds, catching my breath, then nod my head. Kelsey releases me, then backs away. She slips back to the couch, wrapping her sister in a conciliatory hug.

When my head is clear, and the red mist is gone, I think more clearly. My poor, lovely Lacey. She’s terrified of me. At this point, I’ve exploded so many times, so unpredictably, how could she ever trust me again?

“I’m sorry,” Kelsey’s eyes flick to me, lizard-like, but Lacey doesn’t respond. “You deserve better. You deserve to be treated better.” I can’t articulate it. I just feel defeated. “I’ll take a walk,” I say, “I need to cool down.”

I trundle through the kitchen, practically knocking poor Whitney off her cane. Once I’ve steadied her, I burst out the back door. The evening autumn air is cool, much too cool, and I feel it eat right through the sweat in my shirt. I’m shivering by the time I make it to the barn. With no idea of why, I grab the shovel from behind the gate, dragging it behind me. I steam out past the goat pen, into the wood line, and finally come to a stop at a random pine tree.

I shriek as loudly as I can, a bellow of pure disgust and anger, and smash the blade of the shovel into the trunk of the tree. I roar as it bites in the bark. I wrench at the handle, dislodging the blade, planting my foot, and swinging again.

Smash.

We’re hungry. Do we have enough food for winter?

Smash.

Will my child die at birth, or be disabled? Or both?

Smash.

Will Rob and his thugs come back? Will they rape my wives and steal our food?

Smash.

Why did they have to die?

Smash.

Why did they have to die?

I only stop when the shovel breaks. I curse and scream at the stupid piece of equipment, as if the shovel itself is at fault. I needed that tool, and now the handle is splinters. I sink to the ground at the base of the pine tree, and sob. I cry like a baby, weeping openly.



I was never mad at Lacey for wearing the stupid dress. I didn’t want her to wear it, but it wasn’t really anything. It was everything. It was everything else, and I couldn’t control myself. Lacey and Kelsey deserve better. Leo expected better. I can’t feed them, I can’t keep them safe, and I can’t even treat them right.

It’s past dark when I stumble into the house. I check on Lacey, and she’s soundly asleep with her sister in the master bedroom. I’m just glad they didn’t run away. Embarrassed, I softly close the door and slink into the living room, where I drop down on the couch. I wordlessly lay back, kicking up my feet and staring at the ceiling. I wait for sleep to come.

The master bedroom door creaks open, and soft footprints pad across the hardwood floor. I open one eye, and see Lacey, wearing one of my T-shirts and nothing else. She watches me for a moment, unsure of herself.

“Everything okay, baby?” I ask softly. She moves tentatively closer. I don’t know what she wants. “What do you need, Lace?” I ask. Slowly, she inches closer, then sits on the edge of the couch cushions.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. She knows. Somehow, she knows. Lacey runs a dainty hand along my jaw line, tracing my stubble. She cups my cheek, and in the low moonlight I can just barely make out a sad smile on her face.

“You deserve better.” I repeat myself, “You belong with someone who makes you feel safe. Someone who can feed you all winter and treats you right. You don’t belong with me. I’m so sorry.” Lacey turns to the side, laying across the couch in front of me. She pushes back against me, snuggling close. I feel her warm body against mine, and I wrap an arm around her, beneath her breasts and atop her belly. I can smell her hair. I feel her forgiveness, her love, her devotion. She trusts me, even though I don’t deserve it. I feel so close to her, I could melt into her body.

“I love you,” I whisper. She clutches my arm, squeezing me tightly.

LATE FALL

I lift my head slowly, staring into the sky with disbelief and horror. I could almost shout at the sight of it. This terrifying view is second only to a literal end of the world.

Little white flurries of snow filter between the trees, filling the void between the sparse branches. I tug my coat tighter over my shoulders and tighten the button on the front. My boots crunch against the leaves, and I keep my head down as I make my way back towards home. Little by little, the snow increases, and it piles on the cold dead leaves.

The young buck over my shoulders bounces against my back with each step. It reminds me of Whitney, and the time I carried her through the woods. When it was warm. When it was spring.

I’m surprised when the winding path at the edge of my garden is blocked by a human figure. I glance up, and make eye contact with Tanya. She wears the most ridiculous imaginable thing, a dark purple ‘Minnesota Vikings’ sweatshirt, part of her winter gear. Her dark hair is swept over her shoulder, and her eyes gaze at me keenly. She is as fierce and proud as ever, an image of power and beauty against the bleak backdrop of a greying forest.

“Heard they’re having a rough season,” I say, nodding to her shirt, “being dead and all.”

Tanya tilts her head.

“It wouldn’t have been funny even if you could understand it,” I push past her on the path, walking for the smokehouse.

The meat from a dozen fish is currently smoking inside, likely the last I’ll catch for a while. The deer crashes to the ground, and I roll my neck, groaning in pain. I’m not a young man anymore, and carrying the hundred-pound carcass was rough. I flip the buck over and spread it, beginning to clean, when I hear footsteps behind me. I look up, and Tanya has followed me onto my property.

“What?” I ask. She draws the ever present hatchet from her bra-belt, presenting it to me. The handle is split and flakey, shaven and splintered beneath the blade. She demonstrates with a few swings that the hatchet head works its way off the handle and flings off. Her face is neutral, but I understand. This issue is beyond her power to fix.

I study the blade for a moment.

“I could fix it, Tanya. I just have too much food gathering to do right now. And I need to make some charcoal, smoke this meat.... I’ll work up a new handle this winter - if you want to bring it back.” I return to my kill, showing her my back, but Tanya is insistent. She pokes me with the handle of the axe, nudging it toward me.

“I’m sorry,” I explain, “I really don’t have the time to…”

Tanya grips the handle of the hatchet in one hand, holding out for me. In her other hand, she extends a crinkled pile of dollar bills. I look at the currency with raised eyebrows. The paper money is absolutely useless, obviously. Curiously, she understands, somewhere in her mind, that money has value. I tentatively accept the bills, unwrinkling them to check the type.

“Looks like about eleven dollars,” I say, amused. Tanya’s permanently stoic expression is turning deeply concerned. A frown tilts the corners of her lips. For the first time that I’ve ever met her, she looks worried. Her wrinkled eyebrows and deeply lined face tell me, more than anything, how important this hatchet is to her.

Of course it must be. It’s her only tool. I’ve never seen any of the other women in her tribe so much as hold a butter knife. If she is the most intelligent of them - and I suspect she is - then she’s earning the food. She’s catching and cleaning the meat, and keeping them warm with fire and building shelters. She’s their leader, and their provider. The hatchet means life - for her whole tribe.

The tiny white specks filling the air between us emphasize the urgency.

“Let me see what I’ve got in the barn.” I begrudgingly agree.

Tanya follows me past the garden. Wilted stocks of corn lay across the dirt, killed from the shock of an early frost. Kelsey stands amidst them, picking the few remaining fruitful cobs from their corpses. I smile at her, and she smiles back, watching Tanya with curious eyes.

Tina bleats hungrily at me as soon as the door swings open. The goat stands in the open stall, screaming about how long she’s been forced to go without food. I quickly huck an armful of hay over the fence into her pen, complaining about Lacey. She’s forgotten to feed again.

My tools are arrayed on hooks across the timbers of the barn wall, an eclectic collection of both wood and fiberglass handled shovels, axes and hoes. My eye lands on the old sling blade, and I pull it down from the wall. It’s roughly the right size and shape, and I think I could make it work. I’ll need a new one come summer, but that’s something to worry about later.

“You okay with a long handle?” I ask. Tanya watches me work as I take a brick and beat the blade off the handle, setting the blade aside. Working quickly, I set the longer wood into the eye of Tanya’s hatchet head. I hammer a small steel wedge into the top of the handle, firmly setting it into place. When I’m done, I place the tool in Tanya’s outstretched hands.

Her hatchet is more of an axe now. The axe handle is twice as long, suitable for two hands, but Tanya isn’t aware of that. Her muscled forearms bulge as she whips the axe around her body with one hand, controlling the tool skillfully despite the increased heft.

“Damn, girl,” I laugh. For a brief second, Tanya smiles too. I hold out my hand again, and she cautiously places the axe on my palm. Working my way around to the less used side of the barn, I power up my grind wheel. It’s a horrific draw on my batteries to use any of the 110 stuff that requires the inverter, but I’m too soft to be smart. Working as quickly as I can, I shave the jagged edges off the axe, then switch the power back off and work it with a leather strop to sharpen it.

In the end, I present Tanya with a fresh handle and an expertly sharpened axe blade.

“You and your family stay warm out there,” I say, pushing open the barn door. The moment Tanya sees daylight, she disappears into the woods. I watch her vanish between cold grey tree trunks, and I pray she can keep her people safe.

I suppose I can use the money for a fire starter.

-

He’s missed calls before, missed entire days before. But never two in a row. Never three.

It has been four days since we’ve heard from Leo. Lacey sits on my lap, her head on my shoulder. She is dejected, and for once in her life she sits completely still. She does not bounce, does not wiggle, does not lean over the radio controls.

Kelsey takes a deep breath, leaning against the wall of the shed. I glance up to meet her eyes. She’s not worried, like I expected. She’s given up. Kelsey knows it’s over.

“Big Man, this is Rooster. Come back, over.” I call again, and we listen to empty air.

“I’m sorry girls,” I lay the transmitter down, “we’ll try again tomorrow.”

Suddenly, the radio clicks. Someone opened, then closed the airwaves. Lacey turns her head curiously, and Kelsey stands up from the wall. I snatch the transmitter up, but wait a second longer. The click repeats… and repeats. I’m about to chalk it up to a malfunction, but a thought occurs to me.

“Sally?” I call into the transmitter. There’s a pause, and then the radio clicks.

“Sally, click twice if you can hear me. One click, and then another click again after,” I try to explain what ‘twice’ means. Leo once told me she was very smart and could understand some words.

The radio clicks once, then again, then falls silent.

I suck air through my teeth, cringing. There’s only one reason why the girl’s stepmom would be attempting to use the radio. I hold the transmit button down.

“Sally,” I start, and have to pause to hold back tears, “He was a good man. We’ll all miss him here.” I close the channel, then address my wives.

“He’s gone, girls. He’s gone,” I whisper.

Lacey is very confused. She looks between Kelsey and I, demanding an explanation. Her head jerks back and forth between us, her eyebrows wrinkled. She doesn’t understand, but she doesn’t like it. I squeeze her gently, trying to calm her down. Kelsey walks to us and rests a hand on her sister’s back.

“Sally,” I touch the transmitter again, “Sally, you gotta get him out of the house, okay? He can make you really sick if you leave him inside.” I try to explain. I receive silence.

“Sally, can you hear me? Click twice if you can hear me. Leo needs to be taken outside. To the woods at least. He can’t stay in the house.”

Two clicks calm me. I transmit one last time.

“We’re going to hold a service, Sally. We miss you. We’ll call again. Over and out.”

The transmitter clatters into the cradle, and my little radio shed is heavy with a penetrating silence. I hold Lacey gently in my lap. She stares at her knees. Kelsey watches the door, her eyes distant.

“He’s gone,” I’m not sure they understand. I’m also not sure that explaining it will help.

I tap Lacey, my usual sign for her to stand up. She follows me from the shed quietly, dragging her feet on the dusty floor. At the door, I pause before powering down the lights.

“Kels?” The older sister leans against the OSB wall of the shed. She watches the radio, begging the little piece of equipment to say something.

I step back from the door, setting a hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s head back,” I say, nodding towards the house. She pushes my hand away, turning away from me and facing the HAM setup.

I step closer still, trying to make her understand.

“Kelsey, he’s gone. He’s gone. I’m sorry.” Stupidly, I try to turn her around to face me.

Sometimes, still, even after this time I forget. I forget to treat women like people.

Kelsey releases an angry shriek, a low, indignant growl. She slaps my hands away violently, and I see tears running from her eyes. With a lowered shoulder, she bursts past me, running from the shed and up toward the house, kicking up dried leaves in a whirlwind behind her.

I squeeze my fists, cursing myself. I’m still an idiot with these poor afflicted women.

Lacey watches her sister’s furious rampage, her back to me. Slowly, she turns around, revealing her frightened face. Her mouth is open, her face shocked. Lacey crumples into despair as she begins to understand. Up to that moment, she had no comprehension of what has just occurred.

My beautiful, pregnant wife collapses to her knees, a sob of unbearable agony breaking her throat. I try to catch her, but I stumble, falling on my ass to avoid hurting her or the baby. Lacey pitches forward, weeping on the floor of the shed. I can do little but rub her back gently, whispering reassurances to her. In the end, I carry her to the house.

When we prepare for bed that night, Kelsey doesn’t join us. We’ve been sharing the master ever since I began copulating with the girls, but Kelsey isn’t with us now. I’m fine with her decision, but want to check up on her all the same. From my view across the kitchen, I can see a light beneath the crack in the guest bedroom’s door. Kelsey had borrowed one of my flashlights.

I knock, then peek the door. Whitney sits on one of the beds, watching Kelsey distantly. Kelsey’s bed is scattered with papers, pictures, and books. Things that Kelsey must have had in her suitcase. I catch sight of a large photo of Leo, an old portrait from when he had a full head of hair. Kelsey turns her head, eyeing me warily.

“May I come in?” I ask.

She grabs a small piece of notebook paper, and holds the crumpled sheet up to me. Taking this as a yes, I enter the room and graciously accept the slip of paper. I unfold it to find words.

“Do you want me to read this?” I ask. She taps it. I begin to read silently, but she taps the paper more vigorously, interrupting. “Oh,” I understand her intent, “You want me to read out loud. Uh, it says:

Kelsey, my lovely daughter

We are so proud of you for all your hard work, and that brilliant brain of yours. We knew ever since you were a little girl ravenously devouring those mystery books that you would be the first of our family to conquer university. Hold your head up high. You are our hero. Today you have made us the proudest parents in the world.

Love,”

‘Mom’ is clearly legible in neat, well-spaced handwriting, and ‘Dad’ is a messy scribble beside it. It is dated 2019, the year before the pandemic hit. I finish the note, and see tears in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Kels. I’m so sorry,” I try to hand the note back to her, but she shakes her head, tapping it again. I reread the letter, then try to give it back to her again. She taps it.

I am forced to read the note three more times. Finally, I’m able to push the note back into her hands by pointing at the other items in her collection.

“Can I see this?” I lift a yearbook, class of 2014. “I was a young man then!” I crack a smile, leafing through the pages. Kelsey sits next to me, unsatisfied with how I’m using the book. She interferes, directing my search to the most bent, wrinkled, and visited page. A picture of a zit-faced, skinny teenager is near the bottom of the page.

Kelsey Walker - Chess club, Softball, Salutatorian

“Imagine Sisyphus happy”

“You look like such a nerd. Nerdy quote, too.” I can’t help but chuckle. Kelsey looks up at me for only a second. She doesn’t understand and she doesn’t care. She searches through her belongings, turning up the picture of Leo. With desperation, she shows it to me.

I looked between Kelsey and the photo, unsure what she’s asking. Slowly, I realize she wants me to confirm it. I frown deeply.

“He’s gone,” I hope desperately she’ll understand. This is not like yard work, there’s no hand motion or simpler phrasing I can use to explain this.

The picture slips from her fingers, drifting onto the bed. She leans into me, and her head thumps on my shoulder. I hold her while she cries.

Kelsey packs up her belongings before bed. I leave her to it, and make my way across the kitchen to check up on Lacey.

The pregnant woman watches me from the door to the master bedroom. She’s naked, and her body is a striking silhouette in the moonlight. Fear runs through me as I see my lady’s baby bump.

Another mouth to feed.

But I banish the thought. My women need me to be strong tonight. They’re hurting. A hurt I know well.

I walk to Lacey and gently wrap my arms around her. She doesn’t hug me back, and I hold her at arms length by the shoulders.

It is as if all light is gone from the world. My heart is ripped in half. I could never imagine what devastating pain is required to steal the eternal, unyielding joy from Lacey. She stares blankly past me, her eyes hollow and empty. She doesn’t fidget with her hands, she doesn’t bounce, she doesn’t look around. She simply breathes, slowly, in and out.

I want to tell her everything will be alright. I want to comfort her. I want to say that her dad will answer the next time we call. I know he won’t.

I hug her again, and gently guide her to bed. She allows me to lay her back, and doesn’t respond when I kiss her forehead.

“Try to sleep, baby,” I whisper, covering her with a blanket, “I love you.”

The sisters follow me through the woods, clutching their bundles tightly. I hack aside brambles, kicking broken and dead branches out of our path. Above, the morning is gray and eerie. A crisp wind bites through our jackets, irritating me with a reminder of the season. There’s a million things I could be doing to prepare for winter, but this is more important.

“Here,” I declare, stepping into a small clearing. I dump the lumber from beneath my arms and set to work. My wives cluelessly add their loads to the pile.

Three wooden crosses are erected in the clearing, each at the head of a mound of stones. Through weather and age they have rotted, and barely stand. I must replace them. The farthest grave is the first, and I toss the old cross, sticking a new one made from green timber at the head. Across the width is burned the name ‘Hank’. I pat the stone pile affectionately.

“Still taking care of the place for you, old man,” I say with a smile.

Tears begin to form as I work on the second grave, removing the ancient and rotted cross. When I’m done, the new head board reads ‘Cindy’.

“Hey baby. I miss you every day. I - …” My voice breaks. “You always said to remarry if something happened. I bet you didn’t expect I’d bag two,” I try to laugh, but the pain and the memories are flooding me too quickly.

Finally, I come to the last grave, tossing aside the aged cross and planting the new one hastily. The final grave is smaller, marked ‘Cameron’. I can’t say anything. I can’t make myself speak. I bend down, laying my forehead on the cold stones of the grave. After a few minutes, Kelsey comes to check on me. I feel her hand on my shoulder, and I stand up. Both of my wives hug me. They understand.

I clear my throat and rub my gloves across my cheeks, smearing my tears.

“Thanks girls. I love you too. Let’s get to work,” I say.

Once I drag the first stone up, the girls understand. With their help, we draw from the surrounding loose rocks and form a pile next to Hank’s grave, approximately six feet long and two feet wide. Finally, at the head of this pile, I dare not place the marker. Instead, I press the wooden cross into Lacey’s arms, and I ensure Kelsey’s hands touch it as they bury it together. A cross that reads ‘Leo’. When our work is done, we stand side by side, staring over the pile.

“I know you girls can’t say anything. So I think we just take a couple of minutes, and then I’ll say my own bit.” I don’t know who I’m explaining this for. No one can understand me. We stand and watch the stone pile as snow flakes begin to collect atop the arms of the cross. Finally, after a few minutes, I speak.

“Leo, you were a good friend.” It feels hollow, cheap. Too distant. That’s not what he was. “Leo,” I start again, “...dad. You were a father to my wives, a father to me, and my only friend left in the world. I loved you. I’ll… I’ll do better. Taking care of your girls. They deserve better.” I’m crying again, and I prepare my last goodbye.

“You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine,

You make me happy,

When skies are gray,

You'll never know, dear,

How much I love you,

Please don't take my sunshine away.”

The girls lose it. I think maybe I fucked up singing that. They clutch each other, weeping. I don’t interfere. In this moment, they are the best comfort possible for each other.

After a long, long time, we turn and march back home.

-

WINTER

Lacey’s feet are in constant need of resting and massage. With the harvest dead, and the food stored, that’s become my main job. I rub her feet gently while we sit by the fire. I sing softly. She ‘s naked, and sits across the couch with her body exposed. Her breasts are larger, fat and heavy. Her nipples are darker too, going from a bright pink to deep red. Her large belly moves slowly up and down as her breathing relaxes. She is the most beautiful being on Earth.

My lovely wife finally falls asleep, and I leave her to rest. I stoke the fire, pushing past Whitney to reach the fireplace. She sits in a rocking chair, slowly creaking back and forth with her cane across her lap. I smile at her and finish poking the fire. Whitney can’t look in my direction and bows her head nervously. She’s still unsure around me. I can’t blame her.

The kitchen door bursts open, and I hear footsteps. Kelsey has returned. I hurry to meet her, pushing the door closed behind the petite woman. She hustles into the living room, warming herself in front of the fire. Flakes of snow settle from her cloak, leaving drops of water on the hardwood.

“Welcome back,” I break a long silence, my voice low to avoid waking Lacey, “Find anything?”

Kelsey is holding her hands in front of the wood-burning stove, and quickly reaches into the satchel at her side. She reveals a stack of brown mushrooms, several tree nuts, and a hardened tuber of some kind.

Ever since her first winter trek, I’ve learned not to question the food Kelsey brings back. It’s always edible. I suspect Leo had taught her about edible flora in Oregon. Her current pile of victuals totals maybe five hundred calories, but it’s something.

“Well done, Kels! I’ll get dressed.” I smile at her as she unwraps her winter coat, dusting even more snow onto the floor. She pauses to give me a pained, concerned look.

Whatever. I don’t have time. Kelsey and I have been taking turns. As soon as Kelsey comes in, I’m out. We must be gathering food at all times. She forages, finding her usual pile of roots and shrooms. She even once brought back a rabbit. I will probably never figure out how she managed that.

When I go out, I hunt. It’s been a thin winter, frustratingly sparse of game, and our larder is shrinking. With help from the girls, I’ve gathered and stored a little less than double the supply of food I’d normally have for a winter. This is hugely problematic with four times the mouths to feed.

In my bedroom, anxiety courses through my veins like adrenaline, and my hands shake as I pull my long johns up beneath insulated pants. If I can’t find at least a deer every month or so, it may be a very difficult winter. I must spend every spare hour hunting. And when I’m out, Kelsey watches the girls - mostly Lacey. I don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone this far along.

I’m startled by a set of arms appearing around my middle, and I pause. Kelsey has shed most of her outdoor clothes and now stands behind me in a sleeveless undershirt and panties. She wraps me tightly in a hug, squeezing my tummy. I smile, squirming to turn around and face her. She hugs relentlessly.

“Hey, baby, you okay?” I hug her back, smiling. Kelsey’s face is lined with worry and fear. She doesn’t release me. I hug her back, kissing the top of her head.

“I gotta go, sweetheart. Need to hunt as much as I can.” There’s no response, and the bearhug around me doesn’t loosen. I push her away firmly.



“Kels? Let go.” I order. Finally, my woman backs up. She drops her gaze to the floor, embarrassed, or maybe worried, I don’t know. I wish I had time to sit and chat, but I must be constantly searching for food. I don’t have time. I return to dressing, pulling a long sleeve T-shirt on top of a second, layering up.

Kelsey pulls her tank top up, showing me her cute little titties.

“I can’t babe,” I smile and wink, “They are lovely, though.” She frowns deeply.

As I head to the door, I grab my rifle, checking the bolt and the scope. I’m almost out of the bedroom when Kelsey grabs me a second time. She is more aggressive than ever before, and practically climbs onto me, one arm over my shoulder. With her other hand, She reaches straight down the front of two layers of pants, feeling for my cock.

“Whoa, tiger. Whoa! Damn.” I quickly set the rifle aside. A negligent discharge could be the worst outcome from a voracious sexual appetite.

“What’s gotten into you? Are you that fucking horny?” I turn back into the room. Kelsey is groping desperately for my cock in the front of my pants. Not satisfied with that, she grabs my hand and drags it to her left breast. I am frozen in place, confused and concerned, as Kelsey is doing all of this with a face full of frightened tears.

“What…?” I don’t understand at first. She sobs, a sad, constrictive cough caught in her throat as she chokes on snot and tears. She holds my wrists so tightly it hurts, her fingernails digging into my skin where she holds me against her breast.

She’s desperate.

God, what a piece of shit I am. My woman… wife, I had called her once, is desperate to be loved. She can think of only one way to earn my attention. I wish I could crawl into a hole and die.

“Stop… stop.” I push her hands away from my crotch.

Her sister hasn’t been very present, mostly paying attention to me. I’ve been paying more attention to Lacey too, since the pregnancy. Her dad died, for God’s sake. She just wants someone to love her.

I fight with myself internally. I have to find food. I have to. But Kelsey’s desperate, sad eyes pierce my soul. I wonder if this loneliness, this need to be noticed, is what caused all of our sexual interactions. I hope not.

I pull my coat off, and the outer layers of all my clothes. Kelsey follows suit, beginning to pull her shirt off, but I stop her.

“No,” I say, lowering the shirt to cover her modesty. She is confused and hurt, but I can’t explain it to her.

Back in my comfortable clothes, I take the sheets and blankets from my bed and haul them into the living room. Whitney looks up as we enter, but Lacey snores softly on the couch. I spread the blankets on the ground in front of the stove, then add cushions and pillows. Both conscious girls watch me curiously.

“It’s…” I stand, gesturing to the comfy arrangement of soft bedding, “Me and my wife used to do this. When we needed some time together. I’m not fucking you. Not while you’re lonely and desperate. Come on,” I recline in front of the fire, and open my arms to Kelsey. She’s happy to join me, snuggling closely.

My mind races, my anxiety pounds in my head, I must find food, I must be hunting, we will STARVE to DEATH… but I push that all away. My wife is lonely, and sad, and she needs her husband right now.

With a deep breath, I wrap my arms around her. I hold her closely, and wrap us both snugly in a warm blanket.

I tell Kelsey a story. I tell her jokes. I sing, even songs I’ve forgotten the lyrics to. I recount the names of my friends who are all probably dead. I talk and talk and talk to her, until the fire burns low and our eyelids are heavy, and all my words are just whispers in her ear. And when she is happy and snoring, I close my eyes and fall asleep too.

-

There’s blood on the trail, and a thrill in my heart. I race through the woods, heavy boots pounding on the fluffy snow.

Yes, yes, yes! I know I hit the doe, well enough that her rapid flight from the garden left a trail of blood half a mile long. She’s a fighter, but she will go down. Another month at least, I’ve bought us another month.

The blood spots are harder to see as the sun sets. It’s dusk, but I can’t afford to lose her. I barrel through low branches and high thickets, the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears. I pause to search the ground, and see nothing. I panic, doubling back to the last spot of blood and searching from there. I choose a path, and leap forward, and back, and forward…

Through the night. If I can’t find anything, I go back to the beginning of the blood trail and start from there. I go to the end of the trail and fan out in all directions, returning and picking another direction if I fail. I search every direction matching the digits of a clock. One o’clock, two o’clock…

By noon, I am exhausted. Undoubtedly the doe is dead. She has bled enough that she ought to be. I cannot find the carcass anywhere. I search back and forth across the forest, cursing, shouting, and kicking trees. I search over my own trail, and then turn at a ninety degree and angle and cross back and forth.

It is fruitless. I am tired, hungry, and so exhausted I can’t even see straight. I lay down beneath an evergreen, staring up at the sky. I begin to cry. I had her. She didn’t even get away. She’s dead somewhere nearby, a month of meals for my wives, and I can’t find her. The unfairness of it brings a taste like bile and ash in my mouth. In that moment, I truly believe we will starve.

And then I hear the sound of a diesel truck in the distance.

I bolt up, listening. All weariness leaves my body in an instant as I tilt my head, searching for the sound. Yes, there it is again, I can hear the engine roar in protest as someone brakes with a down shift. And it’s getting louder. I scoop up my rifle and race toward the edge of my property, where months ago a cattle guard allowed vehicles over a small ditch. They’ll have to stop there if Rob and his thugs are coming back. I plan to sit in the forest and watch, to make sure they’re not coming my way. If I’m lucky, they’ll see the gap and give up.

It’s about a half a mile run to the crossing. I stop in sight of the fence, lowering myself and searching. I spot the trucks on the far side of the ditch. I’m still hopeful. Maybe they’ll turn back. The men are stepping out of the truck, and I can’t quite make out what they’re saying as they yell at each other. They walk to the back of one of the pickups, dropping the tailgate to reveal a shiny, brand new, bright red cattle guard. I almost scream in terror when I see it. Have they scouted my home recently? How did they know to bring it?

I’m panicking. I decide to try the same ploy as last time - play stupid.

Hiding my rifle, I step directly out onto the road, facing them down across the ditch. They notice me immediately, and two of the men shout. They point rifles at me, and I raise my hands in surrender.

“Whoa, hey relax, fellas. Just heard the noise and wanted to check in.” I say, innocently. Grinning and obviously thrilled to see me, Rob steps around the pickup, waving a hand in my direction.

“Jimbo, good to see you. Honestly figured you’d be dead.” He says.

“Wasn’t far from it a couple times. Found some lucky berries in the woods,” I shrug, “Say, you guys got any of those crackers we talked about last time?”

Rob shakes his head pityingly. When he speaks, his silver tooth glints in his mouth.

“‘Fraid not, friend. We thought maybe you’d share some of yours with us, though. Mind if we winter at your place?” There’s a coyness to his tone that worries me. He knows something.

He’s not seriously asking permission. They plan to stay at my place for the winter, my opinion be damned. Behind Rob, the other men have already begun to unload the cattle guard, dragging the steel pipes out of the truck and dropping it to the gravel with a cacophonous clang.

“Ain’t got food for myself, much less you guys,” I say, “No heat either.” He doesn’t buy it for a second time.

“Fuck that, Jimbo! You got enough food for those sweet honeys you’ve been fuckin’. Yeah, we watched you, dickhead.” Rob doesn’t seem as jovial as the last time we talked. He’s not playing around.

Fuck.

“Shoot him.”

FUCK.

I bolt for the woods as the rifle crack behind me. I eat a mouthful of dirt as I catch my foot on a tall root, then jump back into my feet as more cracks fill the air. I claw my way through a bramble thicket, heedless of the thorns that slash at my face.

“We’re gonna fuck your sluts, Jim!” Rob shouts, screams really, his voice angry. I sprint with reckless urgency through the forest, fleeing the hunters.

After a few hundred yards, I pause to catch my breath. I’m fighting with myself on if it’s worth my time to double back and grab the rifle, or if I should just run straight home. The choice is made for me. In disbelief, I hear the curses of men trundling through the forest after me. They must’ve jumped down into the ditch and climbed up my side.

I peek from behind the tree. There’s two of them, not even a hundred feet back. One carries a large revolver, holding it akimbo as he shoves and curses at the switches that whip his face. It’s the type of handgun my father-in-law Hank would have called a ‘Hand-cannon’. The other man holds tightly to a double barreled shotgun, using the butt to smash branches. I hide again.

If I sit here, they might pass me by. Or, they might stumble on me and stuff a barrel down my throat at point blank range. Still, my odds of hiding seem better than my odds of outrunning buckshot. I crouch against the tree, pressing into the bark, and wait.

In the quiet, tense few seconds, the only sound is the crashing of heavy men through the underbrush. I wonder if my girls will be okay.

Not if I’m dead.

In seconds the men are on me. They pass right by me, not five feet away, their eyes still focused on the forest ahead of them. I think I’m safe, but they stop.

“Well, damn.” One of them curses, “Think we lost him?”

“Yeah, fuck this,” The other agrees, “He’ll turn up when he’s hungry. Let’s go.”

In an instant, I realize they are turning around. Back towards me. I strike first.

Heaving myself off the ground, I burst forward, barely having time to register the surprise in the pistol-wielding man’s eyes before I tackle him to the ground. I reach for the revolver, and we struggle, discharging it into the air twice.

“Shoot him!” The man yells, his voice cracking as I attempt to wrestle the firearm from his grasp.

“You sure ‘bout that Dale? You’re right next to him,” His companion seems to think the suggestion is laughable. I roll on the ground with Dale, trying to pry his fingers from the gun. He kicks at me as we fight. He doesn’t have time to reply to his comrade.

Suddenly, Dave’s pointer finger slips from the trigger, and I grab it, wrenching backwards. There’s an audible crack as the bone gives, and Dale shrieks in pain. He involuntarily releases the weapon into my hand. I turn it on him, stuffing the barrel into his chest and firing twice.

I whip around, intending to shoot, but the other man has the drop on me. He has already lifted the shotgun to his shoulder. He will murder me. My life flashes before my eyes, and my one regret is that I can’t keep my wives safe.

The man seizes, twitching the gun’s barrel off to the side. He blasts a chunk of dirt to my right, missing by inches. His shoulder jerks in, and he slowly collapses to the forest floor. As he falls, he pulls a purple sweatshirt-wearing woman down with him. Tanya grips the axe handle all the way to the ground.

She stands up quickly, wrenching at the axe. Her weapon is buried in his skull three inches deep. I laugh, so overjoyed I could shout. She continues to tug at her weapon, unable to pry it free.

I stand quickly, dislodging her blade with a single hand. After returning the weapon, I quickly collect the firearms from the dead men. Tanya watches me quietly, bits of blood speckling her tawny face. I roll the shotgun-wielding man, plunging my hand into his jacket pockets to find spare shells.

“Thank you, God, thank you,” I shout to Tanya, exhausted, “They’re going after my wives. Help me, please.” I beg. I pocket several rounds of .44, glancing up at Tanya.

Tanya looks back with her sharp, intelligent eyes. I feel certain she is with me. I tuck the .44 into my pants, and we go.

We run straight to my house without delay. Tanya doesn’t seem phased by the two mile sprint, but I’m fighting for my life by the time my property comes into view. We pause at the edge of the woods, peering through branches and around the RV shed.



I can see the three trucks in the driveway. From behind the garden fence, I carefully scan the yard and exterior of the home for any sign of the intruders. It bothers me that I can’t see them. It could mean they’ve already breached into my home. With my wives.

I can’t waste another second. Tanya breaks into a run when I do. I sprint for the rear door of the house, but Tanya is lighter and swifter, beating me by several seconds. She tries the door, finding it locked. With all her might, she bashes a shoulder into it fruitlessly. Tanya may be quicker, but I’m much stronger. The door gives beneath my boot, and we storm into my kitchen.

Two of Rob’s thugs are already in the kitchen. One man, portly and bearded, is on the floor. He wrestles with Whitney, who is half naked. He’s on top of her, pulling the clothing off of her body. The other man is across the kitchen, holding a fistful of Lacey’s hair. She’s on her knees in front of him, and his cock is out. He stands with his fist raised, halfway into throwing it at her face.

Lacey’s face is wrinkled in an agonized cry of pain. She fights to back away from him, squealing in pain. Her right brow is split, already having been hit. When I see her in danger, my rage breaks.

I’m on him before he can blink, smashing the butt of the shotgun into him blindly. He brings up his arm to block my attack, and I miss his face. But that’s okay. I have time to try again. And again. And again. I completely forget about the other man, and about poor Whitney.

I raise the butt of my shotgun over and over, smashing down on the would-be rapist, enraged, overwhelmed, screaming mindless babble of hatred and fury as I smash his arms, chest, and face repeatedly. It is not a struggle. The man is caught completely off guard. Only when I connect the shotgun with his face, splitting the air with bone-shattering crack, do I stop to check on Whitney.

At first I’m frightened, because I don’t see Tanya. Just Whitney crawling away, screaming and crying, and her assaulter lying on his back in the kitchen. Then I realize he is lying on top of Tanya. Like a spider, she has latched on to his back, and has the handle of her axe beneath his chin. Her legs grasp around his large belly. She squeezes, crushing his windpipe, and his arms flail helplessly, clawing at her face. He cannot reach her, and she holds her head back out of the way.

I return my attention to my mark, and see the wounded man crawling towards his weapon. A nice AR, similar to mine, is propped against the door frame of the kitchen. I dash forward, stepping around him and snatching the rifle. I toss it onto the kitchen table, then level my double barrel shotgun at the monster’s head. He rolls over onto his back slowly, raising his hands in surrender.

“Please don’t kill me,” He begs.

“No,” I reply, and I squeeze both triggers at once. It’s a waste of ammo, an animalistic act of hatred, an unnecessary act of pure vengeance. Both barrels of the shotgun discharge buckshot at point-blank range, smashing through his skull. His head bursts apart like an over-ripe cantaloupe lobbed from a second floor window. His body jerks violently from the explosive force, and his remnants are painted on the floor, the wall, and even some of him spatters the ceiling.

I turn back to help Tanya with her mark, walking quickly. The man’s face is purple. He’s still alive, struggling, and looks up at me. He tries to say something, tries to beg. Tanya is grim and determined, her elbows hooked under the axe handle as she crushes his life from him.

I lock eyes with the nameless man, and I watch him die. He struggles weakly, and then begins to seize.

“He’s dead,” I finally say. Tanya doesn’t understand me. So much adrenaline is coursing through her, she wouldn’t stop even if she knew exactly what I said. I leave her to it, and run to check on Lacey.

My poor baby has crawled under the table, weeping pitifully. Her shirt has been torn off, and her face is bruised. Her eyebrow bleeds where she was struck. If I could revive that monster and kill him again, I would. I crouch by the table, reaching a hand out to her.

“It’s okay love, I’m here. You’re safe.” She grabs my arm with trembling hands, tugging me closer. She wants me to hide beneath the table with her. She’s frightened, and wants her husband.

“I can’t. I can’t. Where’s your sister? Where’s Kelsey?” At the mention of Kelsey, Lacey does the most communicative thing I’ve ever seen her do, and looks outside.

Of course. She’s damn clever. When I never came back last night, she went out looking for me.

“Okay. Okay. I love you. Stay here. Stay here, baby! There are more of them,” I stand up quickly, hurrying to the bedroom. My boot slips in what’s left of the man I murdered, and I catch myself on the table. I stumble into my bedroom, searching for my AR. I wish I’d taught Lacey how to shoot, no matter how much she struggles with simple tasks.

I turn the corner into the master bedroom, and see my rifle case out on the bed. It’s open, the contents missing.

“Huh?” I exclaim stupidly. Maybe that was my rifle the man was using? I check the kitchen table, and no, his rifle shares a similar make, but is customized with rebel flags and college football tags.

I check the case again, shocked. The lock is open and has not been broken. I can only assume that Rob and his thugs somehow stole my rifle.

“There can't be more than two or three left,” I return to the kitchen, talking to Tanya. I grab the big man who lays on top of her, trying to roll him aside. She finally releases her long dead opponent, and he rag dolls to the floor as she stands to her feet.

“I haven’t got a clue where they are. You two stay here and stay down,” I order Whitney and Lacey. Hurrying to the front window, I peek through the blinds quickly, taking stock of the three pickup trucks arranged around the gravel parking lot. They seem to have parked and left the trucks. I don’t see any of the men. I know they had to have heard the shotgun firing. My ears are still ringing. Frustrated, I turn back from the window.

“I don’t want to go outside until I see these guys. Let’s check windows. Be quick and be careful.” I motion her in one direction, hoping she understands.

Quick and low, I dart through the house, pausing by each window, peeking slightly around the frame and scanning for any sign of the missing men. I search my son’s room and the guest room. Before I can finish, Tanya knocks on the master bedroom door, waving at me frantically. I hurry across the kitchen and crouch beneath my bedroom window.

When I check, I see three men, all huddled behind the empty propane tank. They’re not even ten meters away, clutching their weapons tightly, whispering and cursing at each other. Through the glass, I can’t hear what’s being said, but it looks like they’re… hiding from something?

I spot Rob on the left of the line, and my blood boils. He is, like his comrades, crouching behind the tank in fear, covering from the direction of the woods. All three of them are easy pickings from my vantage point, but I won’t have long to hit all three once I start firing.

“Can you shoot?” I ask Tanya a very stupid question. She looks back vacantly. I reach into my waistband and retrieve the obnoxiously large .44 revolver, showing it to her.

“Can you? Bang bang?” I mimic firing the piece, mock jumping the barrel at the wall. Tanya thinks for a moment, then accepts the weapon. It looks absolutely massive in her small hands.

“Pull the hammer back. The hammer. Here. Don’t touch the trigger. The hammer is - Let me do it,” I take the weapon from her and cock it, handing it back to her carefully.

I motion her closer, and then point outside.

“That one,” I point to the man farthest to our right, a nasty-looking older man with a curly grey beard. She points the pistol at him.

“Okay, shoot when I do. I’ll aim for Rob on the left, and we’ll both go for the middle guy. I’ll open the wind-...”

Tanya fires the revolver, deafening me in my right ear. The glass in the window shatters violently, and all hell breaks loose outside. My intended mark, Rob, jumps up and runs. The middle man jumps up in surprise as well. He’s shocked because the man on the right, Tanya’s mark, suddenly developed a new hole in his chest, big enough to roll a golf ball into. Tanya shrieks and drops the revolver. Fortunately, it does not discharge.

I take aim at the middle man, lifting my borrowed rifle and nailing him in the chest from fifteen yards. I quickly squeeze the trigger twice more, ensuring a kill.

Rob is running for his life. I can’t let him get away. He knows I have food, weapons, and women here. I know if he escapes, we’ll never be safe. He may find friends.

I smash out the remaining glass in the window, showering glass onto the cold ground. With boots crunching on snow, I turn, and watch Rob running for the trucks. I let off two quick shots, the report cracking the calm winter air, but I miss. Rob disappears around the corner of the house. Lurching forward, I dash after him. When I see him next, he’s not going for the trucks - maybe he thinks unlocking and starting up would take too long. Rob is running for his life.

“ROOOOOB!” I shout at the top of my lungs, hoping to distract him or cause him to trip. No luck.

Pulling my borrowed rifle to my shoulder, I aim carefully. The iron sights draw a bead on the middle of Rob’s back. I breathe out and squeeze the trigger. The rifle cracks, but he keeps running. A miss.

Rob is moving further and further away. My heart pounds. My blood boils. If I don’t stop him, if he gets away, I know he’ll be back. I know my family won’t be safe.

I steady myself, sight down the barrel, and prepare for one final shot. He’s at a dead sprint, nearly two hundred yards away and moving fast. Even on a stationary target, this would be a tough shot. If I miss, he’ll make the bend in the driveway and be gone. I take a deep breath, hold it, and -

Another rifle shot sounds from behind me, in the woods some distance back. Rob is tossed to the ground, rolling cartoonishly. A split second later, I hear him scream in pain.

I turn around, shocked. Fifty yards back, standing in waist deep brush, Kelsey has my rifle to her shoulder, lowering it when our eyes meet.

“Kelsey!” I shout with excitement.

She tosses the AR to the ground, holding her hands up as if she’s done something she shouldn’t do. Her beautiful eyes are filled with worry and apology. She thinks she’s in trouble.

“That was perfect love! That was perfect.” I smile, “Pick up the rifle! You might need it.” I want to run to her and hug her, but I have to make sure Rob’s finished first. I hurry to where he lays in the muddy, snow-melt soaked gravel driveway.

“Ah, God. God Damnit!” He wails as I approach. Rob lays on his back in the driveway, writhing in pain. Blood stains the snow around him. He twitches,clawing to cover the wound on his left leg. I point the rifle at him. From this distance, I won’t miss. He looks up at me with hatred in his eyes. Rob takes a breath, and shrieks an enraged curse.

“You motherfucking-...!” I don’t give him time to expand on that thought. I place three quick shots around his chest and neck. Warily, I approach closer, confirming the kill with a point-blank shot to the temple.

“Kels, get inside,” I turn back, jogging up the driveway to my house. When I reach the porch, Tanya stands outside, blood-covered axe ready. Kelsey hurries inside, which is perfect. If there’s more invaders, someone will need to keep an eye on Lacey and Whitney.

“Stay behind me,” I order Tanya. She grips her axe handle tightly and nods in understanding, and follows me.

-

I lap my property three times before I’m convinced we’re safe. Tanya and I systematically search and clear each building like a bizarro SEAL team. The purple clad woman sticks tightly behind me as we move to the RV shed, barn, smoke house, and all three of the thugs’ trucks. When I’m satisfied that we’re alone, we check in with my wives.

Lacey and Whitney are fine, more or less. They’re both somewhat beat up - Lacey mostly around her face, thank God. I don’t have any way of checking the health of our child, but she doesn’t have any bruising in that area. I’m coldly furious as I use the med kit to attend to the cuts and bruises of both of my poor women.

I convince Kelsey to keep the rifle, and she stands by the kitchen door while I do patch work. She watches the window, her laser focus devoted to the fresh falling snow. She is a warrior, and a serious threat. When I look up at her, I can’t help but feel that it’s her rifle now. Hank would be proud.

Tanya paces like a cat, spinning her axe, breathing heavy, and fidgeting. She stalks around the room on the verge of panic, hyped on adrenaline.

“Watch them,” I finish disinfecting a cut on Lacey’s cheekbone, right below her eye, and give Kelsey a terse order. Grabbing the dead man’s AR, I motion to Tanya.

“Help me. Please,” It doesn’t feel right to give her orders, but that hasn’t stopped me yet. Tanya grips her axe tightly in both hands, and nods. She’d be highly intimidating if not for the bright purple ‘Vikings’ sweatshirt.

We creep from the house in the dying light, slinking down the driveway towards the parked trucks. I suspect all the invaders are taken care of, but I can’t be certain. Tanya and I approach the trucks with caution. The first is a large Ford with a covered camper shell on the back. I pull open the door to the cab, then pop the hatch on the back, quickly ensuring that neither contains a threat.

The second truck is similar, and quickly cleared. Finally, we come to the last truck. This one sports a large animal cage, now tarped over and covered. I hurry through the cab, finding discarded food, trash, cigarettes, and scattered ammunition. Finally, Tanya and I approach the rear of the vehicle.

The cage is locked externally, and doesn’t require a key to open. I pop the latch, and swing the door open. The cage is clearly meant for animal control, standing about three feet high and twice as deep.

I can’t see anything at first, but as my eyes adjust, I gradually spot a human shape. Just as I suspect, Rob and his thugs were catching women. For what deplorable reason, I don’t need to guess.

“Can you move?”

She looks back at me, face contorted with pain and fear. The poor woman clutches her knees tightly to her body. She’s naked, laying on her side in the fetal position, and seems to, justifiably, not trust me at all. A pathetic scrap of blanket is wrapped tightly around her body, an attempt to fight the freezing wind which whips past us.

“Tanya, you try,” I motion her over, stepping back from the door of the cage. Tanya peeks her head in and gasps. Immediately, the caged woman comes tumbling out into the snow, wrapping Tanya in a bear hug. Tanya smiles. I breathe a sigh of relief. The little woman must be one of Tanya’s clan members. She’s young, maybe late teens, and emaciated. However long the poor thing’s been with Rob’s thugs, she hasn’t been eating enough.

“Get her inside by the fire,” I walk back around the truck, “Lacey can make her a hot meal. Poor thing.” As I watch Tanya lead her clan mate to my house, I’m starting to believe we really are safe.

I continue investigating the parked trucks. I approach the side compartments of one of the trucks and try the handle, opening the hatch. The interior is filled with little brown plastic packages. I lift one up, squinting in the low light. Words are printed boldly on the face of the plastic.

MENU 13

CHEESE

TORTELLINI

VEGETARIAN

I scream. Tanya jumps, pushing her friend behind her and raising the axe. I’m babbling with joy as I dig through the compartment, spilling little plastic packages all over the ground.

“Beef, shredded!” I shout, “Chilli and Macaroni!”

I turn to Tanya, exuberant.

“MREs, Tanya! MREs. We’re going to make it. We’re going to make it!” I shout so loudly, the girls in the house hear, and Kelsey comes running, rifle to the ready. She stops on the porch, staring at me in disbelief. I’m a raving lunatic, snatching at the brown packages and waving them around..

“We’re gonna make it!” I shout again. I toss the packaged food into the snow, running to Kelsey and wrapping her in a hug. I lift her in the air and spin around, laughing with glee. It's a pretty reckless move while she clutches the rifle, but I’ve lost restraint. I plant a huge kiss on Keley’s lips, almost knocking her over.

Grabbing a few of the packages, I burst into the house, stumbling up to where a confused Lacey lays on the couch, keeping warm by the fire. I crouch before her, displaying the MREs like bars of gold before my pregnant wife. I’m physically shaking, I’m so overwhelmed. I’m exhausted, and shocked, and excited, and relieved.

“My baby’s gonna be okay,” I whisper, rubbing her belly with one hand. Lacey is confused, but smiles, accepting the package hesitantly. She hasn’t got a clue what they are, but she holds them with both hands, feigning thankfulness. It’s hilarious, and I laugh.

Returning to the truck, I grab up handfuls of the little brown packages and begin to cart them inside, hurrying through the brutal cold. The girls, not having a clue why I’m so excited, happily lend a hand. Within five minutes, we have a small, knee-high stack of military Meals-Ready-to-Eat in the living room.

-

The fire burns brightly in the fireplace, warming everyone.Freezing winter whips past the window, carrying even more snow. Once the sun sets, the outside temperature drops to a brutal level, and the darkness is absolute beneath blizzard clouds. We’re not going outside for a while. My house is warm and inviting. I set about lighting a few candles, giving us vision in the house.

Tanya sits crosslegged beside her friend, arms wrapped around the poor woman. She rubs the girl’s arms, forcing warmth into the shivering girl’s body. They sit closest to the fire, clutching each other warily. The captured girl has gone through some horrific things, and watches every single move I make with distrust. I don’t blame her. Nearby, Whitney rocks in her chair, clutching her cane.

Lacey lays on the couch, wrapped in quilts and reclining. She still holds tightly to the package I gave her, perhaps thinking that one was specifically for her. Her face is tender and curious as she watches me.

Kelsey stands by the door, occasionally checking outside. She is cautious as well, perhaps not trusting that we’re safe. I’m grateful to not be the only. In her hands, she holds her rifle in both hands, ready to protect her family.

I kneel in the midst of everyone, fingers shaking as I rip at the brown plastic packaging of the MRE. I pour water into one of the heating pouches, shaking it and setting it aside. I can’t read much in the low candle light, so I pull every package open in a hurry. I first make sure Tanya’s friend has some food - the poor girl is so thin I can see every bone in her body. She demolishes the offered peanut butter crackers. Once she’s fed, I tear into a second MRE. No one is going to bed hungry tonight.

Each of my women is full. Each of us is warm, and safe, and together.

For the first time in a long time, I begin to believe everything will be okay.

EARLY SPRING

“It’s important we get started now,” I say. Kelsey wipes the preserve from mouth, taking another bite into her corn biscuit. She listens carefully as I explain.

“We’ll need to keep expanding the garden - it’ll be a whole lot easier with the tractor running.” It feels good to say that. With a spare eighty gallons of diesel, tilling the garden will be a breeze.

Kelsey lowers the biscuit from her mouth. Lacey watches her closely, ravenous for extra huckleberry preserve. She has her gaze fixed unerringly on her older sister, begging silently for leftovers. With a roll of her eyes, Kelsey slides the remainder of her breakfast to her sister.

“Careful,” I reach across the table, chiding Lacey as she rips into the biscuit, “You’re spilling.” I wipe crumbs from my son's head as he stirs. He’s content now, latched and feeding at his mother’s breast, but the sprinkle of cornbread on his bald head bothers him. I gently dust the food away as Lacey slows her eating. She holds our child closely with one arm, jealously protecting him. He coos, then resumes his breakfast. I smile at him, and at my lovely Lacey.

“C’mon Kels,” I stand from the table, and Kelsey follows closely behind me. There’s plenty of work to do, and she’s as eager to get started as I am. Outside, the sun has warmed the garden, melting the snow away. In the distance, fog rolls off of Mt. Cindy, spilling down to the river and across the huckleberry patch on the far side. I wonder if Tanya’s tribe is around somewhere. I haven’t seen them in a while, but I feel like they’re still around.

If they need me, they’ll let themselves be known.

As Kelsey and I prepare to start the day's work, I give my son a gentle kiss on the top of his head. He’s not bothered, and carries on suckling. I squeeze Lacey gently, proud of the young mother.

“Love you, baby.” She catches me by the shirt collar as I pull away, dragging me into a kiss. I chuckle as I press my lips against her. Before I break away, I nod to Whitney.

“Keep an eye on her,” I order. Whitney nods back.

I step up beside Kelsey, slipping an arm around her waist. I bring her close, and she lays her head on my shoulder. She closes her eyes, nuzzling my shoulder.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” I remark, “We’ve got mouths to feed. Let’s get started.”

THE END

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