- - End of All Things, The (33 page)

Justin saw it in his mind, his fate written as clear as day. Carly would have a little girl with her beautiful eyes and caramel hair, and she would only have to smile to wrap her father around her little finger. And Justin would go crazy when she started dating. No man would ever be good enough for her, especially guys like him. Or the child would be a boy, with dark eyes that sparkled with mischief, and he’d give his father heart attacks with the adventures he would get into. But just like the little girl in his vision, all his son would have to do is give that wicked little grin and he would get away with anything.

Doomed
, he thought, but it made him smile.

Justin went over to her and knelt down by the rocking chair. “I’m not trying to talk you out of it, but I want to make sure you understand all of the risks.”

Carly nodded. “I had girlfriends who’d had kids. I know a lot about it, and I saw some of the things they went through that modern medicine could fix, but if it happened to me . . . Yes, Justin, I know what I’m facing and what could happen, but I truly believe this is what we’re supposed to do.” She took one of his hands in hers. “And I know what you’re facing, too. This can’t be easy for you.”

She had no idea. The thought of losing her sent Justin into a blind panic. But he forced himself to remain calm. Carly was young and healthy. Statistically speaking, even without modern medicine, her chances were good. He would just have to keep repeating that to himself. But she was so small, and she’d lost way too much weight over the past few weeks. The thought cheered him a little. Here was a problem he could solve. He’d find a way to fatten her up. His mind started racing, and he thought about french fries, chocolate, and all of her favorites he could somehow find for her.

“Justin, are you at least a little bit happy?” she asked with a timorous little smile.

“Oh, Carly, honey.” He squeezed her hand. “Yes, I’m happy.” And he was. The idea of a baby to love, to raise and protect, a part of himself and Carly, delighted him. His practicality nagged but couldn’t gain a foothold in his mind. He would think of the problems and fears later. For the moment, he wanted to concentrate on the woman he loved and the tiny life within her.

They were both uncharacteristically quiet as they traveled. They were both occupied with thoughts of the baby, as Justin revealed when he would suddenly mention something they needed to get for her or the baby. Carly was vacillating between excitement, worry, happiness, and fear. She wasn’t as confident in her maternal nature as Justin was. She needed to get some books—books on pregnancy and how to care for a baby. Maybe she could even find a book on pediatric medicine somewhere. Justin had training in adult medicine, but he probably wouldn’t know how to treat a sick baby.

Carly didn’t feel very well, but she tried to conceal it from Justin as much as possible. She didn’t know if it was the residual hormones from the pills causing it or the pregnancy.
Morning sickness isn’t supposed to last all day, is it?

For lunch, Justin made her some rice with powdered milk and sugar, something he said was supposed to be inoffensive to the stomach, but Carly could only force down a couple of bites. She tried, God help her, she tried. She knew Justin was worried she wasn’t eating enough, but she just couldn’t do it. It smelled like powdered milk, a stink that made Carly nauseous most times, let alone while pregnant. He offered to remake it using canned milk, but Carly didn’t think it would be any better.

“Is there anything you want?” he asked. “Anything that sounds good at all? Aren’t pregnant women supposed to crave things?”

Carly thought hard, going through every food she could think of, and then found one she thought she could keep down. “I want a baked potato.”

After that, Justin was a man on a mission. He stopped at every house they passed and searched gardens for potato vines. Shadowfax thought he was finding gardens for her to plunder and was just about as happy as a horse could be. He found some potatoes that evening, and they set up their camp right beside the garden. Justin dug up the whole bed of them, stacking them on one of the tarps. Shadowfax headed over to nibble on the pile and was crushed to discover he wasn’t unearthing them for her. She consoled herself with cabbage.

Justin washed the potatoes carefully, and then stored the extras inside a pillowcase. He wrapped a few in tinfoil and put them in the embers at the edge of the fire to bake. Carly dozed off while he was working on setting up the camp, and she woke with a guilty start when he said her name softly. He held one of the plates out to her, and there was a big, fluffy baked potato on it. “I didn’t know if you wanted butter,” he said.

The powdered butter was a bit more palatable than the powdered milk, but Carly declined. She took an experimental bite, and her stomach considered the matter.
Success!
She ate the potato with a sense of relief. Finally, they’d found something her stomach didn’t object to outright. Justin looked relieved as well and offered her a second. Carly declined that, deciding not to push her luck. 

She scraped up the last bite and laid her fork on her empty plate. “Justin?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you think the baby will be immune to the Infection?” Faith wasn’t easy, she reflected. Though she believed everything would work out as it should, thoughts like those still niggled at the edges of her mind.

It was a moment before he answered. “I believe so. If we’re carriers, as I suspect, the baby has already been exposed to the virus. If we’re not, it’s possible we passed down some genetic resistance since we’re both immune. And the baby will get antibodies from your breast milk.”

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

He took her plate to wash, and Carly dozed off in her chair. She woke when Justin picked her up to carry her into the tent.

“Mmm, I like this.”

Justin smiled down at her. “Being carried?”

“Yes, like a heroine in a romance novel. Are you carrying me off to your bed to ravish me?”

“You’re feeling well enough to be ravished?” Justin asked with a faintly surprised lift of his brow.

He laid her on the sleeping bag and stretched out beside her. He’d taken his T-shirt off at some point during the evening, and Carly traced her fingertip over his tattoos. “I think I could be convinced. And a thought has occurred to me . . .”

“What’s that?”

“No need for condoms. I can’t get
more
pregnant.”

A slow grin blossomed on Justin’s face and he pounced.

Justin was looking for something. Carly could see it in his eyes as he studied every farmhouse they passed. They would stop, he would look around, and then they would continue down the road while he muttered under his breath. Carly wasn’t in the mood to interrogate him. She was tired; she was tired all the time. She knew it was a phase; her friend Michelle had experienced the same exhaustion early in her pregnancy.

What made things worse was Justin had found another pharmacy and brought back a big pharmacist’s supply bottle of prenatal vitamins, which Carly was certain had been designed solely to torment pregnant women. She took them at night, as was recommended to keep down the side effects, but in the morning, the metallic nausea made her curse the pill makers.

On the third day of Justin’s mysterious search, they came upon a brick farmhouse. It was a simple, rectangular building with flat sandstone sills at the top and bottom of the windows and an unadorned facade. A porch had been built onto the front and side of the house, relieving some of the stark look with jigsaw decoration in the woodwork. Each end had a chimney poking out of the roof, almost as if the house had horns, Carly thought. On the back there was a clapboard addition. On the far side of the yard stood a small, red painted barn, and a windmill turned in the backyard.

Justin’s eyes had sharpened when he saw the house, and he brought Carly up onto the little porch on the addition and laid one of the sleeping bags and a pillow on the swing for her. It was a lovely place to nap. Sam lay down on the porch floor beside her, dozing, but still alert to every sound. 

There was an apple tree in the front yard where Shadowfax parked herself, chomping the fallen apples with apparent delight. Sam trotted over to see what was so delicious and returned disappointed. Carly smiled as he lay down with a “Hmph!” and she drifted off to sleep.

Justin couldn’t believe his luck. The house was ideal. Had he been asked to design the perfect winter home, he couldn’t have come up with anything better. He cast a glance up at the sky and fleetingly wondered if there might be something to Carly’s belief in fate after all.

The house had a simple four-up/four-down floor plan with a hallway and staircase set in the middle. The walls were a foot thick, brick covered with plaster. Justin entered through the backdoor into the kitchen. Wood cabinets, dark with age, lined the walls. The floors were bare wood—wide boards battered and scuffed by a century of wear. They creaked as Justin made his way through the room, something he would have to fix. His instinct for stealth, honed by his time in The Unit, made a squeaky floor unbearable.

An old-fashioned cast-iron stove sat in front of a brick fireplace, the only stove in the kitchen, which meant it had actually been what the residents used for cooking. The top had round plates that could be lifted with a detachable handle, and he peered inside to see wood ash on the grate. He grinned to himself. Carly was going to
love
this. She thought cooking on a modern stove was difficult enough, never mind a stove where the only way to control temperature was to close the damper or add more wood.

He turned on the tap and water poured out into the sink. He saw no sign that electricity had ever been installed in the house. He didn’t know if there were any Amish in North Dakota, but the residents of this house had lived as simply.

He passed from there into the dining room, which had an unvarnished oak table, pale with age, with a bench along each side for seating. A sideboard stood along one wall, and in the corner was a triangular cabinet with punched tin door panels.

The living room across the hall had a small grouping of four armchairs around a central table and one beneath the window. There were no family photographs or trophies—none of the little souvenirs of life a family home acquired. The mantle over the fireplace was empty save for a set of matching vases that adorned both ends. It was as impersonal as a hotel room, which Justin saw as a benefit. Carly wouldn’t be as uncomfortable living in a place that had little evidence of the previous owner’s personality.

Behind the living room was a small bathroom that appeared to have been installed in the 1920s or 1930s. It still had one of those toilets with the high, suspended tank that flushed by pulling a chain. He flushed it and was pleased to hear the tank refill. There was only a tub, no shower; he’d have to fix that for Carly.

Beside it was a bedroom. Judging from the home medical supplies, the occupant had been elderly or had a chronic illness. The body lay in the bed, wizened and nearly mummified. Justin went back to the kitchen door and peeked at Carly to ensure she was asleep before he bundled the body in the bedding and carried it from the house.