Love in the Dark

Chapter Eleven

Seth woke up in a cloud of confusion. He was warm and comfortable, and he had an intense urge to urinate. He opened his eyes and rubbed the grit out of him.

He had thought it was nothing more than a dream, a starvation-induced hallucination. But as he stared at the unfamiliar surroundings, he realized it had really happened. He was in a small, homey cabin, with blue curtains fluttering in the open windows.

"Good morning sunshine," a big black man boomed from the stove. "You look a bit better today. You might live after all."

Seth sat up and groaned. His whole body felt bruised and achy, as though he had been run over by a car. Which was ridiculous, because there hadn't been a running vehicle since the blackout. He rubbed his face with his hands. "I need a piss."

"Watch your language; there's a kid." George cautioned him. And then he gestured with his spatula. "Bathroom is through there. It's a composting toilet. Put some sawdust in after you make a deposit."

Seth shook his head in confusion, but staggered in the direction that George had indicated. When he had relieved his bladder, he came back, and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Where is she?"

"Where is who?" George asked, flipping something in the skillet. Seth couldn't see what he was cooking, but it smelled delicious.

"The woman, the angel."

George snorted. "You mean Laura. She's out doing the animals."

"Laura," Seth said the name reverently. Something niggled at the back of his brain, some forgotten memory.

After a few minutes, there was a commotion at the door. A small girl tumbled in, followed closely by the woman in question. She paused and looked at Seth, her expression unreadable. "Good, you are up. How are you feeling?"

"I feel like a new man, with a sore ass." George sent him a glare. "I mean butt." Zahara giggled, unphazed by the rough language. "Its been a few years since I've been in a saddle."

The woman pursed her lips. "Make your bed."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. Make your bed."

Seth blinked in surprise and turned around to look at his bunk. Then he noticed that George's bunk and the big bed were already neatly made. He shrugged his shoulders and did as she requested, smoothing out his sheets and pulling the blankets into place. "Better?"

She gave him a cold look. "If you sleep in my house, you make your bed first thing."

His eyes widened slightly. "Yes ma'am."

Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling, and she went to the sink to wash up. George hummed to himself as he plated up breakfast. He slid the plates into place before he took a seat himself.

Seth stared at the plate in amazement. There was a fried egg and a small mound of corned beef hash, the kind that came in a can.

"Eat slowly," she cautioned him. "I don't need you puking all over." George smirked behind his cup. Whatever softness and gentleness Laura had shown last night was all gone this morning. If anything, she seemed sharper than usual.

Seth forced himself to take small bites, chewing the food carefully between each bite, savoring the salty flavor.

"What's the plan today, boss?" George asked as he scraped the rest of the hash onto his fork and shoveled it in his mouth.

"We are planting potatoes," she said, collecting Zahara's empty plate and stacking it on top of her own.

"I want to help," Seth said, pulling himself to his feet. He took the empty plates from the table and carried them back to the sink. Laura shook her head and made a face, like it was just too much work to even speak to the man. George washed up the dishes while she got Zahara dressed and ready for the day.

Seth observed that Laura and George seemed very comfortable with each other, and seemed to have a routine established. Laura brushed out Zahara's black curls and pulled them back in a ponytail before she zipped the girl up in a warm coat.

Seth looked down at himself. He was still walking around shirtless in a pair of sweats that were four sizes too large. Before he could open his mouth to ask, George tossed an old, faded t-shirt in his direction. Seth caught it against his chest. "Thanks man," he grumbled, as he pulled the clean shirt over his emaciated torso.

Before he'd finished lacing up his shoes, everyone else was clumping their way out of the small cabin. The morning was pleasantly warm, and insects were buzzing around close to the ground. Bright green spring grass was sprouting, and the trees were just beginning to leaf out.

George materialized out of a shed with a wheelbarrow loaded with sacks of potatoes, while Laura emerged from the barn with two strange-looking tools that looked like elongated hoes with short handles. George started pushing the wheelbarrow back into the woods behind the house.

Seth fell in behind them, and found himself struggling to keep up. His lungs burned as he struggled to suck oxygen into his lungs, and his limbs trembled with the effort of climbing the mountain paths. After a considerable distance, they emerged into a clearing. An area had already been cleared of undergrowth and staked out with twine. Without speaking a word, George and Laura went to work, swinging the funny hoes over their heads and bringing them down into the sod. The blade of the hoe cut threw the dead grass and roots and pulled away with a clump of earth. Every few swings they would pause, and use their hands to shake the grass and roots loose from the soil. Slowly they advanced, plowing up the area. When the soil was loose and clean, they dug long furrows. Seeing the opportunity to do something useful, Seth followed them, dropping the seed potatoes into the furrow. The potatoes were shriveled and wrinkly, with long white eyes already sprouting. Laura watched him with a critical eye, but she must have approved of his work, because she said nothing.

George occasionally got bored with the silence and would offer up random commentary. When he couldn't get a response from the other adults, he would talk to Zahara, who was flitting around the clearing, amusing herself with the natural objects she found. She collected spring violets, a pinecone, the empty shell of a bird egg. "What's your favorite way to eat a potato, Zar?"

Her little pixie face popped up from behind a tuft of dead grass. "Baked! With butter on top!"

"Not bad, not bad. But what about French fries? Remember what a good fry tastes like? Crispy on the outside, hot and soft on the inside, nice and salty?"

"Dipped in ketsup!" The little girl piped up.

Laura half smiled as she swung the tool again. As she held it up over her head, her eyes suddenly became unfocused, and she stared away into the forest. Seth followed her gaze but saw nothing under the shadow of the trees. He turned back to her in time to see her slack arms suddenly lower the hoe, until the wooden handle slid out of her lax grasp and fell to the ground. Her glazed eyes still stared forward, her face strangely relaxed.

Suddenly, it hit him like a kick to the gut, and all the pieces finally clicked in place in his brain. The absent stare, the familiar features of her face, the confident way she sat astride a horse.

"Laura... Laura Remington!" He blurted out her name, startling her out of her reverie.