Sudden Independents

Scout raced the hot sun as he rode in the wrong direction from Independents. His older sister, Vanessa, was about to give birth to his little niece or nephew and yet here he was looking for Jimmy’s brother again. Stupid, Hunter! Scout shouldn’t have to go fetch him every time he ran a couple days late. Hunter knew he ought to check in on schedule. When you rode out into the Big Bad, people who cared about you worried. Simple.

Scout, like Hunter, traveled through the countryside, watching for disturbances and rummaging for stuff to take back to Independents. They hardly traveled together anymore, but Scout thought it wouldn’t take long to find him; that is if Hunter followed the route he marked down on the map before he left.

With less than three hours before dark, Scout stopped on top of a hill, turned off his engine, and listened. The wind sang to him and he stretched out his arms to feel it pass around him like a forgotten spirit.

The world was too beautiful to leave behind, but he, like every other teenager in Independents, worried about dying. Still, he tried to reason with himself; he needed faith in something. Otherwise what was the purpose of riding out every day?

Some days his job made him sick. He picked through the dead, collecting their treasured belongings for the kids at Independents or his own collection of trinkets. Growing up in a low-income neighborhood of St. Louis, he owned very few possessions during his first nine years. Now he snagged anything he wanted like an archeologist raiding an Egyptian tomb. He didn’t worry about a curse. He lived one.

His reason to persevere, supplying him a moderate supply of hope, was the life his sister was delivering into this world. Only he wouldn’t be there when it happened. Stupid Hunter! Scout punched his gas tank and regretted the pain instantly.

A few minutes more of silence gave way to the familiar humming of another motorbike zipping up the distance. The hum changed into a buzz, then a high-pitched whine, and finally the motorbike broke into sight.

Scout leapt on the kick-start of his Suzuki and rolled a couple throttle turns before tapping into first and riding the gears up in a hurry, cutting an angle downhill so he slipped ahead of Hunter without scaring him into an accident. Sudden appearances tended to make people nervous in the Big Bad.

Hunter caught sight of him and slowed to a stop. Scout pulled in front and they shut their motorbikes off together as the wind scattered the remaining dust from their trails. Scout noticed the girl behind Hunter, but then Hunter opened his mouth.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

Scout balled his fist, fighting the urge to jump off his bike and punch him in the face. Hunter wore his usual irritating smirk, half-cocked across his lips. His wavy, brown hair caught the breeze and lifted. Scout silently counted to ten, but his mind’s eye kept flashing images of him clobbering away on Hunter’s pretty-boy face. It wasn’t easy, but somehow Scout managed to push the images away.

“They sent me out here to find you. Jimmy’s worried you’re dead or something. I told him we couldn’t be that lucky, so here I am.” Scout slid off his bike and dropped the kickstand. “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been working. Tell Jimmy to get a hobby. I got everything under control.”

Scout grabbed his water bottle and took a drink before offering it over. Hunter guzzled half the contents before handing it back with another smirk.

“Sure you do,” Scout said. “Who’s that behind you?”

“Her name’s Catherine. Catherine, say hello to the Boy Scout.” Hunter’s eyes sparkled.

The little girl hopped off Hunter’s seat and gathered Scout in an eye-popping embrace.

“Hello, Boy Scout,” she said.

Hunter hooted behind her. Scout pictured clobbering him again.

“It’s just Scout,” he said, trying to pry one hand through her arms before she ruptured one of his kidneys. “My name’s Scout.”

Catherine tilted her head. “Why did Hunter call you Boy Scout?”

The first response that sprang into Scout’s mind was too colorful for his audience. “I took the nickname because I use the Boy Scout Handbook as my personal guide. I dropped the ‘Boy’ just because.” He leveled his gaze at Hunter, who spread his hands in innocence.

As Scout finally broke away from Catherine’s grip, she studied him for a moment. “You look like a David.”

“Hunter’s real funny today,” he said. “What else did you tell her?”

Hunter frowned. “I didn’t tell her anything.” He pointed at the side of his head and twirled, giving Scout the loony sign.

Scout looked at Catherine. “How’d you know my real name?”

Catherine pointed at her head, without the twirl, her face serious. “Hunter found me. We’re going home.” She snatched the bottle from Scout and drained it with one gurgling pull.

Scout glared at the horizon, noting a possible source to refill his water and then looked back at Hunter. “Where did you find her?”

“Under a tree, ten miles back. She’s not answering any of my questions, but you can give it a shot. God knows I tried.”

“You should know by now, God doesn’t care anymore,” Scout said. “He stopped listening to me six years ago.”

Hunter frowned and narrowed his eyes. Scout looked away and shifted his attention back to Catherine. “So who’s been taking care of you?”

“My tree, silly. She’s a wonderful tree. Right, Hunter?”

“Yeah, wonderful.”

“Am I missing something here? What’s the joke?”

“No joke, Scouty. Big tree, little girl.”

Scout considered the blonde girl again. Her blue eyes shimmered, reflecting the late-afternoon sunshine. She was holding something back, but he didn’t want to waste any more time with his sister about to go into labor. If they left now there probably was enough daylight to make it home.

“So that’s it, Catherine? The tree took care of you.”

“Uh huh, that’s it,” she said, nodding.

“All right then, we better get going.”

“Did Vanessa have her baby, yet?” Hunter asked, lifting Catherine up behind him.

“Not before I left, but she could be having it right now. That’s why I’m pissed I had to come all the way out her to find you.”

Hunter revved up his engine with an unnerving whine that pierced Scout’s brain. “Race you back!” he yelled, and popped the clutch, releasing a rooster tail of flying debris. He let loose of the front brake and leaned over the handlebars as his bike sped up like a bull chasing red.

“Idiot,” Scout said, springing onto his motorbike.

Their small engines cried across the prairie, riding past dilapidated farmhouses surrounded by overgrown windbreaks. Scout hung twenty yards behind Hunter, who pushed the limit with a passenger, as the airstream whipped through Catherine’s golden hair.

An hour slipped away and the sun began fading into the west. Hunter’s speed and the fleeting light made choosing a safe path impossible. Even with the little headlights mounted on the motorbikes, the high grass and the meager washed-out trail were too extreme to travel this fast. Both were capable riders, but Scout was nervous about Hunter’s recklessness.

Scout tried catching up to tell Hunter to slow down, but the fool took it as a challenge and twisted his throttle harder. Hoping Hunter would ease up, Scout dropped back a hundred yards without any success. Hunter pushed his speed for over an hour as they closed within thirty miles of their destination.

Without thinking about it, Scout sent out a prayer. “Please Lord, let Hunter be safe. Don’t let anything happen to him or the little girl. Please, please make him slow down.”

He waited. A gleaming red light quickly washed over Scout in sudden brilliance. The light sailed off the ground and winked out. Catherine catapulted over Hunter. Her arc was incredibly high and the distance was even more stunning as she flew upwards and then plummeted on her return, disappearing in the darkness and tall grass. Hunter followed her over his handlebars, straight out like a human cannonball. The motorbike flipped after them, and Scout feared that the blunt impact of the wreckage would do more damage than their falls.

Scout’s stomach pitched from witnessing the devastation ahead. Every nerve in his body shrieked, leaving his arms and legs rigid. He almost buried his front wheel in the same depression that chucked Hunter and the little girl. He stopped his motorbike before he lost all control, and cut the engine. Vaulting off the seat, Scout allowed his bike to fall over and sprinted into the swirling cloud of dust.





Molly was bored. Outside her open window, where the summer breeze did little but shove the heat around, the city maintenance kids gathered around yet another pothole. Holes in roads happened frequently in Independents, and they were never repaired properly. How many slack-jawed kids would it take to fill a hole? Looked like about four.

She couldn’t believe she was trapped in the middle of downtown Independents for the rest of her life. Calling the place downtown was a joke. One block of two-story buildings, that’s about as urban as it got. Who could’ve lived here before the plague performed a mercy killing?

Molly was born in Dallas. Now that was a city. In the world that was, she’d be hitting her prime, starting her junior year of high school. Molly would be dating the captain of the football team, or the cutest guy in school. She’d definitely be dating someone with a really hot car.

The whole plague thing was so unfair. She hated that she would never attend a senior prom. She would have worn a beautiful, full-length evening gown that her daddy bought her from Nieman Marcus; low in the back and cut from chiffon or possibly silk. She’d have chosen teal blue to set off her eyes. If only she had grabbed her mother’s pearls before her twin brother made her leave home.

When the plague took her parents, Mark forced her into their mom’s Lincoln Navigator. He tied a wooden block under his shoe because he was too short to reach the pedals, and it was goodbye, Texas. The roads were horrible because of all the dead people in their wrecked cars strewn about everywhere. Going around the thousands of traffic jams was a huge inconvenience and did nothing but make a miserable trip worse. They drove up into Oklahoma and Molly begged Mark to drive faster. That place was so flat and ugly. She didn’t realize the further north they traveled the landscape became even more desolate. Eventually they joined up with a group of kids heading in their direction. That’s how they stumbled across the little refugee camp of Independents. Landing here was the worst possible thing that ever happened to her.

Molly was now the head seamstress, responsible for clothing the town. Being responsible for something was nice and all, but she’d rather be pampered. They mended worn out rags at the sewing shop and rarely sewed anything new. Well, Ginger did most of the sewing. Somebody had to manage the help.

“Molly, I’m all done cleaning up,” Ginger called from the back of the shop. “Shouldn’t we head over to dinner?”

Molly and Ginger were the same age, but officially, Molly was the boss. She always gave Ginger plenty of work to keep her out of the way.

“Just hold on. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

Ginger drifted past the doorway of Molly’s office. Molly upheld a strict policy: No one was allowed to enter her personal space where she kept her private stuff. She would truly be lost without all the makeup and trinkets that Hunter brought her. She refused to permit Ginger—or anyone—touching her things and leaving a mess. And for some reason, Ginger would always track in dirt from God knows where.

Molly capped her red lipstick and checked the corners of her mouth. Perfect. He had better notice her tonight. She brushed her hair one more time before leaving her office.

Ginger waited by her sewing station, wearing the yellow blouse she designed. It was simple and plain, Molly thought, and she knew all the girls asked Ginger to make one in their favorite colors. It wasn’t really Molly’s style. She liked her clothes tighter, but then she was gifted with a sleeker build than Ginger and the rest of them. If Ginger had any guts, she’d lower the neckline and expose some of her better qualities, but of course she was Ginger. Gentle, little Ginger with a breast size Molly would never acquire without serious rediscoveries in plastic surgery. All the good it did Ginger, covered up by that blouse.

Molly thought some boys might find Ginger attractive, even with the dirt, but she would never be Molly’s equal. Molly was the princess in this town, and she was determined to capture the king so she could be crowned the queen.

Molly noticed the muddy stains on Ginger’s knees. “Did you sweep up that dirt?”

“Yes, I got it all cleaned up. Sorry about that.”

Molly walked past her toward the front door, and Ginger followed. “Why are you always so dirty? Where did you go this afternoon? You were gone for over an hour.”

“I ran some errands. That’s why I came in early. I got all my work done. Plus, the Jenson sisters are coming along great with their training. I think they’re going to be exceptional seamstresses. Lisa is a natural.”

“Yes, yes, okay already,” Molly broke in because if you didn’t cut Ginger off, her mouth really motored on. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just glad they’re working here. You’re so slow sometimes, and then all your errands every day. It’s like you’re never here when I need serious work done. If we don’t repair and hem these clothes, everyone will be going around naked. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Ginger lowered her head and wiped her eyes that glistened with tears. She was so weak. Molly tried her best to toughen her up, but really, how was Ginger going to survive in today’s world?

“I’m sorry, Molly. I’ll work harder, I promise.”

“Are you crying?”

Ginger turned away and walked back to her station.

Molly smiled. Ginger would learn. Life wasn’t roses and chocolates anymore. They all needed to make sacrifices, like the one Molly was forced to make when Mark moved out to live with Vanessa. What a tramp she turned out to be. And now she was about to have a baby!

Ginger blew her nose, making an awful sound like a dying elephant. Molly decided to ease up on torturing her for the day. Bossing people was simple when they were on their toes. Usually, Ginger was ready to pirouette.

“Look, Ginger, I’m sorry,” Molly lied. “I’m just nervous about Mark and the baby. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“I understand,” Ginger said, still sniffling. “Having the baby could be dangerous for Vanessa, but it’s so exciting, isn’t it? Mark and Vanessa are creating a future, right here, right now. We’re saved!”

Molly frowned. “Okay, drama girl, settle down. It’s just a baby.”

“Oh, it’s more than that. It’s hope.”

Ginger painted everything with a thick coat of sweet emotion that made Molly queasy. Molly needed some fresh air, but then a stack of white material and lace next to Ginger’s overgrown flower pot caught her attention.

“What’s this?” Molly unfolded the cutest little baby outfit in the whole wide world.

“It’s something I designed for Vanessa and the baby.”

Molly glared. “You’re kidding. I thought it was a new hat for Jimmy.” Molly noted the way Ginger blushed at the mention of Jimmy, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

“So you and Vanessa have been working on this?”

“Well, I just wanted to put together a little wardrobe for the baby.”

“But Vanessa and I agreed to wait until the baby was born to see if it was a boy or a girl.” Molly gripped the outfit in a tight fist. “Why would she go behind my back?”

“She didn’t go behind your back. I offered to make a couple newborn outfits because I thought it would be nice for the baby to have something to wear.”

Molly threw the outfit onto the pile and placed her hands on her hips to keep from tearing out a patch of Ginger’s tawny hair. “Where on earth have I been during all this?”

“In your office.”

After Molly pulled out her hair, she would strangle her with it. “You probably knitted the baby a blanket with teddy bears on it.”

Ginger bit down on what was left of a dirty fingernail and looked away.

“You mean you actually did?”

Bending down, Ginger pulled a faded blue milk crate from under her table and lifted out a soft looking, yellow blanket. Then she brought up a fuzzy brown Teddy bear.

“Where on earth did you get that?”

Molly was the aunt. She was the head seamstress. She should have been included. Anger surged into her like something more solid than emotion. The anger carried weight and heat and filled every ounce of her body. Her hands trembled with the strain of keeping the anger inside as she waited for Ginger’s answer.

Ginger scratched the fur on the Teddy bear’s head. “I made it.”

Molly’s knees dipped with the added weight of jealousy. For a second, she fought back tears. Why was Ginger better than her at everything?

From the look in her eyes, Ginger’s evident concern rekindled Molly’s fury. She clawed the bear away, dug her fingers into the seam of the neck and tore off the fuzzy head. White stuffing gushed out the decapitated section of the bear’s body. Molly threw both pieces at Ginger’s shocked, pretty face.

Molly’s lungs tightened with each new breath. Spinning away from Ginger, she stormed through the front door of the shop onto the brick cobbles of Main Street. Distracted, she almost tripped into the unrepaired, gaping pothole. An orange cone marked the hazard, and Molly kicked it a good ten yards down the street.

The stifling heat surrounded her as she prepared to face the dinner crowd. Deep inside, Molly bottled up her rage. This was all Vanessa’s fault. First she’d taken Mark from her. Now she was corrupting the people in her shop. Molly refused to allow anymore of Vanessa’s interference in her life.