Initiation (Gypsy Harts #1) (5 page)

“More explosives,” she guessed out loud.

“Yup,” Em confirmed. “If someone gets in, we’re going to kill a bunch of ‘em before they get to us. That’s the point.”

At the top of the stairs a second set of double doors stood open, and they passed through into another hallway. This one was brightly lit with oil lamps and lanterns, giving the institutional space a surprisingly warm glow. There were voices here, and, impossibly, Oakley thought she could hear music, too.

“We’ll find you somewhere comfortable,” Em assured her. “Believe it or not, we’ve got a lot of room.”

Oakley was quiet as they passed through a door that must have been a classroom. Inside, bed sheets hung from the ceiling denoted make-shift rooms, allowing the bunks beyond a slight measure of privacy. Em ducked around one such barrier, then lowered Oakley onto a low cot comfortably mussed with blankets and pillows. It made Oakley frown, then she looked up at her chauffeur as the woman moved about, kicking a pair of boots out of the way and moving a jar to a shelf made out of wooden crates.

“This is your bed,” she realized, feeling like an intruder again. “I can’t stay here.”

“Sure you can. I can sleep somewhere else for a few days. I actually find a soft bed unsettling after a few nights. Sometimes I just need to sleep on the floor. Got used to it after the bombs.”

Oakley reached out and put her hand on Em’s hand, stilling her in her fussing. “I’m sorry. About what happened to you. With those…Madmen.”

Em’s eyes got hard but she nodded, unaffected. “That’s history.”

“It wasn’t
that
long ago, was it?”

Em swallowed hard. “Not really, but long enough that I sleep at night now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Anne, you got nothing to be sorry for.”

That was a tone that indicated the conversation was over.

Oakley nodded, but said out loud, “I think I prefer
Oakley,
actually.”

Em’s face broke into a grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, It’s kinda cool.”

“Then Oakley it is. Now stay here, rest up. You likely wiped yourself out with that hero act today. I’ll go find you some dinner.”

With a flip of a hanging white sheet Oakley was alone, so she let her eyes adjust to the dim and studied her new accommodations. The cot was of the camping variety; a folding frame with a piece of canvas strung across. With the blankets and pillows it was comfortable, actually cozy. She used both hands to pull her legs up onto the bed, relieved that she was aware of her hands on her own body as she did so. Her legs weren’t numb; they were just rusty from lack of use. She’d get them back. She was growing more and more confident of that since the incident at that house.

She leaned into the tall pile of pillows at the head of the cot. The angle meant she was staring at the corner of the room where two block walls met each other. There were papers tacked up to them, and while she couldn’t make out what they were, she got the impression they were drawings.

If she could have she would have gotten up to examine them but they weren’t in a place she could get to without falling on her face in the attempt, so she just stayed content with getting settled. She could use a nap. Even though all she’d done all day was sit in a van and have other people cater to her.

“Hey! New girl!”

She started out of her nap, heart hammering and biting back a silly shriek of surprise. The laugh next to the bed was playful and she felt herself relax marginally, her eyes taking in the form now in this sheet-partition with her, holding a lantern up to peer down at her.

It was an incredibly pretty woman with bright, sparkling eyes, a beautifully smooth complexion and thick, curling blonde hair. Oakley too slightly longer to realize the woman was wearing only a corset and a big, puffy skirt with cowboy boots.

“Hi..?” It sounded like a question.

“Hi there, New Girl! I’m Billie Holardie.”

She swallowed and tried a smile. “Hi. I’m not sure who I am, but call me Oakley for the time being.”

“It’s true then?” Her eyes got even wider, if that was possible. She was almost doll-like. “You have amnesia?”

Oakley shrugged. “It appears so.”

“Wow! What a trip!” The woman plopped onto the edge of the bed, setting her lantern on the wooden crate next to the bed. “You don’t remember
anything
?”

Oakley struggled to sit up straighter. “No.”

“Wow. You’re lucky. The world was really shitty
before
the bombs dropped. And then it really went to spit. This is a good place. I feel really safe here.”

Oakley had to smile. The girl was just so earnest. “That’s good. I kinda feel safe already, too.”

“Good! May’s awesome. We’d follow her anywhere, honest to God. She’s smart and tough and so brave. She pulled most of us out of that Madmen hellhole with her. I’d lay down my life that that bitch.” She tilted her head, eyes running over Oakley with curiosity. She felt unattractive for the first time. “But obviously you can still talk and all that. And you’re not paralyzed, right?”

“No, I think my problem with my legs is just that they weren’t used for so long.”

Billie nodded. “But you can’t remember specific things?”

“Like what?”

Billie shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re really cute. Just wondering if you remembered if you liked cock or pussy.”

Oakley felt her comfort flood right out of the room, compressing her chest. “Umm…”

“I mean, I like both. And there isn’t a lot of variety around here on either front, so—”

“I don’t like girls,” she blurted out, hearing how rude it sounded. “Sorry, I mean, I don’t think I like that. I’m pretty sure I’m…into guys.”

Billie nodded, nonplussed. “Cool. But if you ever get the urge, just come find me. Yeah?”

The world just kept getting stranger and stranger.

“She’s fine for the time being, Billie.”

They both jumped at the voice. Em stood at the open curtain holding a board with a bowl on it, next to a glass of water.

“No need to get all jealous, Em,” Billie said, and even Oakley could hear the teasing tone in that. She got to her feet. “I was just bringing a lantern for the new girl, like you asked. I’m just making nice.”

“And now you’re done.”

Billie gave Em a kiss on the cheek before sauntering out of the partition.

Oakley was watching Em’s face, now more than curious what that whole conversation meant. Em avoided her eyes as she set the board across Oakley’s lap. “Vegetable stew, naan bread and water. We’re out of meat for the time being, but the Young Bloods should be back within a week. In the meantime, this was made with beef stock.”

Oakley nodded, the smell of the stew making her stomach growl. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

As Em went back to straightening her things Oakley began eating, feeling uncomfortable to be lazing about like this while someone else worked, but she was hardly useful. As she was balling some clothes into one mass, Em finally spoke.

“I like guys, for the record,” she said, stuffing the items into a corner of the crate shelves at the foot of the cot. “But she’s right. It can get lonely around here and sometimes…well, you make do.”

Oakley swallowed a chunk of bread she’d dipped into the stew. “Okay.” She hoped it sounded indifferent.

“Billie has a big mouth. But she’s mostly stupid. That’s why she’d one of the ones that makes her living spreading it for the guys when they come by. She prefers the rougher trade.”

The food almost turned to dust in her mouth. That lovely woman was a… “She does?”

Em shrugged. “Everyone has to have a skill, right? A gift? She’s attractive, and she does the sex kitten act well. They eat it right up.”

Oakley really wanted to know why Em seemed jealous, but she felt so out of place it would be stupid to ask any such question.

“Some of the guys that come by
are
quite kind. And Brit’s right, they’ll all like you plenty, too. Plus, you’re new meat. That’s half the allure right now.”

“And if I don’t want to be new meat, I don’t have to be. Right?”

Em nodded. “Of course. You can just stick close to me until you’re comfortable, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

Oakley nodded, giving a slight smile. “Sure. Thanks, Em.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t spent enough time in this place to know if it’s what you want or not.”

Oakley shrugged. “I might have been killed if you guys hadn’t come by. And I really feel like we could be friends. So…thank you.”

Em sat on the bed where Billie had been. “You’re welcome. I want to be friends, too.”

Oakley was swallowing another mouthful of stew when it grew quiet again, and she looked up to catch Em studying her.

She was just so confident in herself. Of course, she was quite beautiful. Her skin was creamy while maintaining an olive complexion. Her wild hair was pulled back, but even then parts were trying to escape in curls and waves. Her lips were full, almost the same color as her skin. And her dark eyes were nearly blank. She was incredibly pretty, and she was staring at Oakley now.

Oakley was stuck like a deer in the headlights. She didn’t want to overreact or misread the situation, but she wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, either. Really, she was just wondering what Em was thinking.

“What is it?” she whispered, feeling the heat peak in her cheeks to hear the roughness in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

Em shook her head, sitting up straight and running a hand down her face. “Yeah, sorry, just zoned out for a moment there. You’re…you’re very pretty.”

Oakley frowned, tearing another piece of bread. “Am I?” She’d seen the photo in the bunker where they’d been, but she couldn’t remember having that impression of her own appearance.

Em laughed, then leaned over to grab a flat item off the shelf next to the head of the cot. When she turned it over Oakley realized it was a hand mirror. “Yeah, Oakley. You’re pretty. You’re gorgeous, actually.”

Oakley popped the bread in her mouth and took the offered mirror. She turned the reflective side to herself, blinking a few times and squinting at her reflection.

Her blonde hair had been tied over one shoulder because that was more comfortable for sleeping. It hung in one big dark blonde curl to the front of her neck. She had a long neck, she supposed. Her skin was fair, eyes blue. Freckles crossed her nose like it was a bridge. Her eyebrows were fair like her hair, but they arched high. She didn’t know how to evaluate her appearance. It was still such a surreal thing that she didn’t even recognize herself.

She brought the mirror down to see Em still staring at her. Oakley offered a small smile. “I don’t know that I’m really that pretty.”

Em shook her head and took the mirror back. “You’re nuts then. Do you think Brit’s pretty?”

Oakley brought Brit to mind without the snarky comments and hard demeanor. Her hair was a deep chocolate brown. Her eye brows and eyes themselves were just as dark, and her skin was nearly as fair as Oakley’s. Her lips were full and almost pouty, her body small but curvy. “Yeah, I suppose she is.”

“And Coral?”

Coral’s face was long and slender, her grey eyes shrewd. Other than her two-tone hair style there wasn’t much extraordinary to her, but she was tall. Her legs and arms were willowy and long, and the whole combination made her distinctive. “Yeah, she’s pretty.”

“May?”

This was maybe starting to get uncomfortable now. “May? Yeah. She’s pretty. Physically imposing, too. Confident. That makes her attractive.”

“Me?”

Oakley tilted her head. “You?”

“Yeah.”

Oakley frowned. “Yeah, you’re beautiful, Em.”

The woman’s expression softened and she allowed a slight smile. “Thank you.”

Yes, definitely a strange conversation now. But she could hardly get up and walk away. “Why did you ask me that?”

Em lifted an eyebrow. “Because you think we’re pretty, and you’re prettier than all of us.”

Oakley snorted before she thought of it. “No.”

“Yeah, you are.” Em got to her feet again. “Finish your dinner then rest. Tomorrow we can start testing your legs. If you can manage it, try to move them around, keep the blood flowing.”

Oakley nodded then watched Em leave. After a moment of contemplation, she turned back to the meal she’d been given and lifted the bowl and spoon to dig in.

It really was quite delicious.

Chapter Four

The women really did call themselves the Gypsy Harts. They were named after May,
Hart
being her last name. Em told her all this while they were working some physiotherapy on her legs.

Two days after arriving she could actually stand, walk a few steps, but then her muscles would give out. Em helped her with stretches, showed her how to massage the large muscles in her thighs. Then, after a pause, she’d get her up and moving again. In between, she’d tell the stories that brought the Gypsies together.

Most of them had been captives of the Madmen, just like Brit had said. Em had lasted longest, and she admitted that the leader had a fondness for her. She had no idea why, but she used it to her advantage. In return, no one else was allowed to touch or make use of her. Only Jasper, their leader. A small mercy. Em still felt a lot of guilt over that. She saw it as selfish now, but at the time it was hard to worry about the other women. Especially when they would turn on
her
. The men brought that about as well. They loved a good fight. Em had to shank a few to stay alive.

She recounted the day that May had been brought in. She said that right from the start it was like she’d been a Trojan horse. May saw the divide of the women and knew she had to fix it by giving them hope.

It was as if she’d allowed herself to be captured just to get them free. And after meeting Jo, that didn’t seem like an insane possibility.

May had brought them together, and when the time came they staged a revolt that cost three women their lives, but they’d killed five Madmen in the process and injured many, many more. The leader, Jasper, had managed to survive, which was too bad. Everyone seemed to think that he was the smartest of the Madmen, and despite also being the cruelest, he was the one who made that group work. Forced their dogged loyalty, which was forged with absolute fear.

But May inspired loyalty due to her quiet intellect and dedicated nature. She didn’t seem to be anyone’s
friend
. She kept all at a slight distance, except for Jo.

On her third day at the commune May had brought forward a thin, tall, lithe woman wearing a cowboy hat. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and someone was getting her makeup because her eyes were thickly ringed in liner with dramatic cats’ eye edges. She wore a long, flowing skirt with her loosely knit sweater that hung off her shoulder and drooped almost to her knees. Without looking Oakley guessed she was barefoot. She looked like a complete hippie, other than the make-up.

May introduced her as Johanna Wayne, or
Jo
for short. She looked to be Asian in some way, but her heritage was somewhat diluted, an opinion Oakley based on the woman’s bright green eye color. And Em told her that Jo had
the gift
.

Oakley hadn’t known what
the gift
was, but soon she learned that it meant Jo was psychic. Or they believed she was. Instantly, even without the knowledge of her past experiences, Oakley was a skeptic.

At their first meeting Jo had approached her, held her by the hand and smiled. “So you’ve taken the name Oakley?”

She’d just nodded, mute. As much as she might think
the gift
was bunk, there was no denying that the woman had some kind of energy to her. It was hard to explain. There seemed to be an electric storm building in the room. The hair on her arms stood on end, and the back of her neck tingled like someone was right behind her, watching.

Jo had smiled, a lovely welcoming smile, and said sagely, “You real name is Darlene. You were named after your mom. She died minutes after you were born.”

The name
Darlene
didn’t bring memories flooding back. Oakley felt no reaction to it at all, nor the story of her mother. Nothing returned to her form her past.

She nodded. “Thank you. But I think I like Oakley.”

Jo had laughed, a musical tinkling sound. “I do, too. And your aim is terribly impressive. Your father liked target shooting. You made him so proud when you took it up, too.”

There was a slight sting to her eyes when the women brought up her father. That was the only remnant she had, and for her own comfort she clung to that as though it had to be true. “Thank you.”

Jo had turned to May and nodded with a smile. “She’s the one.”

May swallowed and eyed up Oakley again, unconvinced.

The one? As in, The One. The way Jo said it gave the words some weight of importance. What the hell was that about? Some prophecy that Jo had, she had to assume. No one else was filling her in but it didn’t take
the gift
to know that May had no faith in Oakley being The One.

She’d tried to ask what this
One
stuff was all about, but no one was willing to tell her. She was assured she’d know when it happened, or if Jo thought she should know before then.

It was annoying but she didn’t want to make a nuisance of herself. So she threw herself into her physical therapy and training. And every night she fell into bed exhausted.

She was slowly earning the trust of the group. Now she knew how to get into the back hallways, and she’d been shown to the hydroponic room.

The lights were powered by solar panels, the water came from the aquifer below. Eventually all the water was farmed back downward after it was used. Somehow the septic system was rigged to trickle out downward. Nothing was wasted here. Waste was used for compost. The vegetables were cared for and farmed by a group made up of the designated green thumbs.

Laundry was washed by hot water only. They didn’t risk washing laundry soap or any unnatural cleaners into the water source. But while things were stained they were undoubtedly clean and sanitary. The huge boiler ran on electricity too, so once a week all hot water was strictly used for laundry. Water use was monitored, but the fact that they could still have showers was amazing to Oakley.

The huge bathrooms and shower rooms were the only such facilities. There was no real privacy here, but she was learning to adapt to that, too.

There really
were
fifty women living here, fifty-three with addition of Oakley and the two women they’d found on the outside. They’d eventually gotten the names Susan and Gwendolyn. The younger woman went more commonly by Gwen. They were still incredibly quiet, not venturing out of the small room that the commune women had designated as strictly theirs. It must have been a janitor’s closet or something similar. There was a giant cast iron wash basin in one corner, dwarfed by floor to ceiling steel shelves. But the rest of the room had been appointed with two cots and a wooden crate between that served as table. Those two rarely ventured out, and they weren’t being pushed to get active like Oakley was.

Not that Oakley would forsake that, of course. Their hollow eyes and skittish nature were plenty a reminder that they’d earned the right to be left to themselves as long as they needed. They didn’t eat or visit with the others, just stuck to their own space.

There were already women here that Oakley thought of as friends, over and above Em. Billie had remained friendly, perhaps
too
friendly at times, but she was a bubbly and likeable person. She added a certain spark to any group when she came into a room. It almost felt like the world hadn’t been destroyed when she was around.

Maxine Frederick was a curious one. She wore heavy, black-rimmed glasses and kept her hair pulled up in big fat curls using bobby pins. Her denim shorts were terribly short, a flannel shirt tied up underneath her breasts to show her belly at all times, and somehow she had an unending supply of fire engine-red lipstick. Em told Oakley the style was somewhat rockabilly with some added
slut
, but Oakley thought it suited her quite nicely. Well, maybe not the slut part. Maxine looked for all the world a bombshell but she was quiet, surprisingly shy despite how she presented herself physically. And she was really,
really
smart.

The called her their
tinker
. She fixed their vehicles, kept them running, and she’d adapted them to run on water somehow. At first Oakley had wondered about wasting such a scarce and precious resource on engines, but Em had quickly filled her in on that. Water on the surface was contaminated, it couldn’t be consumed anyway. So their cars ran on this dangerous exposed water that was still lying around in a few places. The underground aquifer was what the commune really relied on.

There was a collection of modified dirt bikes in an outbuilding they called the garage, all painted with the Gypsy Hart logo featuring a woman with wild, dark hair, scarf tied over her hair. She looked like a combination of Brit, Em, and May to her.

On shorter raids, patrols, or just to chase trespassers out of the yard the bikes were used. Em promised to show her how to ride one. Oakley was excited about this, the memory of her father’s lost motorcycle egging her on.

These women were all very comfortable here, and used to each other. There were fights, shouting matches and cold silences, but from what she’d seen they never lasted for long. It wasn’t the necessity of survival; it was the feeling of family. She’d seen catfights, complete with hair pulling, her first full day there. But later that night those two women made up loudly for the whole commune to hear, in a hall closet.

It was very free-love. Oakley wasn’t entirely comfortable with that, but no one was forcing her to do anything. She just had to get used to being
asked
. They were so open and frank about it. It was starting to be just another part of her day.

“Good meal, thanks.”

“Anytime. You lonely tonight?”

“Umm, no thank you, anyway.”

She knew that May and Jo were lovers. That was obvious, and they were the only two—other than Susan and Gwendolyn—who had a room to themselves.

Alone at night, the sound of people trying to be quiet while making love was distracting. Again, she could recall none of her own experiences. It was just one more part of life making her feel like she was outside the group looking in. And she was maybe a bit restless now, too.

As far as things to keep her busy during the day, she helped out wherever she could as a floater. As long as her wheelchair wasn’t getting in the way she threw herself into tasks assigned to her, desperate to be helpful.

After a few days of PT on her legs, Oakley was walking. Not just stumbling on stiff joints and grabbing onto things to stay upright. She was
walking
, and then two days after that she could jog. And that’s when Em really started kicking her ass.

Light weights, which was embarrassing. They’d had to hunt down three-pound dumbbells because no one here touched anything less than fifteen pounds. Then Em had her jogging up and down the stairs with her until her lungs were burning.

She felt pitifully weak; there she was curling three pounds per hand while next to her Em was swinging twenty-five pounds up and down like it was nothing.

She wasn’t the only strong one. All these women seemed tremendously fit. They assured her it wouldn’t take her long to work her way up, especially now that she was eating just as well as the rest of them. As her body fell back into walking on a regular basis her appetite had returned. They ate very well here. There was some cured meat that was sparingly shared, and most of the diet came from their own vegetables.

Body wise she was growing stronger, but she had gained no new memories of her past. She worried at times that she might be going insane, for every night she was woken by new nightmares of things that had never happened to her, just from the other women’s stories. But every now and then she’d had a fleeting glimpse of that same dream of her father. Her curiosity of what became of him grew more with each passing day. The dreams didn’t come every night, perhaps twice since they’d arrived. It made her feel protected.

There was a buzz in the commune, too. The men, the Young Bloods, were due to have visited a week earlier and were still unaccounted for. There was worry something might have happened to them. Personally, Oakley kinda hoped they stayed away. She knew they were trusted here but it made her nervous thinking of having them around.

One night following lights out she carried out patrol detail with Em, just the two of them wandering the halls, looking for anything out of the ordinary. All the power was shut down so they each carried a lit oil lantern fueled by kerosene. It was early enough after bedtime that the more amorous of the group were still up. One room was known to be adventurous, and Oakley had heard that it was where groups could get…frisky with each other.

It sounded like they were. The door was open, and the whimpers and gasps and giggling spelled out what was going on. Em paused by the door, cocking an eyebrow at Oakley. “Every night,” she whispered. “Those are some horny bitches.”

Oakley giggled then covered her mouth. “It’s nice they have an outlet. For stress.”

Em grinned. “Yeah. Lotsa
outlets
.” Then she jerked her head at the room. “We should take a look.”

Oakley was confused by that. “What? Why?”

“Just to see. They don’t mind. This door is always open.” Em turned for the opening and Oakley hung back, right at the jam, facing the opposite wall. When she heard her name whispered, she turned for the door, bracing herself. The room was dark, but as her eyes adjusted and her lantern was added to the few candles here and there she could make out bodies, shapes, writhing and caressing and clutching each other. She tried not to stare long enough to identify who was who, she kept her eyes on Em.