Sudden Independents

Hunter felt the impact and his back tire flipped up, pitching him forward. He reflected on his situation for an instant.

Oh shit.

He swooped through the air, arms stretched out like Superman on a collision course with the planet. Violent pain accompanied a terrible snap.

Hunter howled over the blaring roar his motorbike made lying on its side, throttle stuck once again, the rear wheel grinding through dirt, making the air thick with dust. His right arm trashed. Drawing in his courage, he looked at the jagged shard of bone jutting out of his skin. Hunter kicked as the sight and the pain all registered at once. Another agonized, rattled howl escaped past his lips. He quickly stifled his screaming when Scout silenced the motorbike.

Hunter couldn’t focus on anything with the light of day totally gone. He tried to sit up, but the pain kept him down. He stopped screaming and settled for squirming on the ground.

Scout slipped past him and vanished like a fox through a patch of fog.

“Where are you going? I’m dying over here!”

His shrieks went unheeded. He waited anxiously for Scout’s return, until he remembered the little girl, Catherine. He wanted to sit up, but failed again. Scout’s surprised voice floated out of the night.

“You’re all right. I don’t believe it. You flew over twenty yards. How can you be all right?”

“That was fun. Can we do it again?”

“Let go. I have to take care of Hunter. Please, you can hug me later, I promise. Catherine, let go!”

Another burst of pain exploded through Hunter’s broken forearm. He gasped, bearing up for Scout, who finally slid down beside him.

“Yeah, you broke it good. I never thought you could be so stupid. What were you thinking?”

Hunter gritted his teeth. “I was trying to get you back home before the baby came.”

Scout searched his backpack. He lit a small candle, shielded from the wind by a tin can with one side hacked off. He gave a low whistle when the light shined over Hunter’s arm.

Hunter looked away.

More rustling in the backpack and Hunter heard pages flipping, which meant only one thing: Scout was consulting The Boy Scout Handbook.

“What are you going to do with that, dig a latrine?”

“Don’t mess with me about my book, Hunter. It’s going to save your sorry butt. Give me a minute to read up on broken bones and then I’ll get you sorted out.”

“Why aren’t you going for help?”

“Because before I could make it halfway home, you’d go into shock and die. Now shut up and lie still.”

Hunter closed his eyes through another tortuous throbbing. The pain progressed in peaks and valleys, although the valleys didn’t descend very low before ramping back up, and the peaks spiked higher and higher.

Catherine stepped into the glowing circle of light with a solemn expression. She knelt beside Hunter and laid her hands on his forehead.

Hunter’s pain lessened immediately. He looked into her blue eyes and found his pain registering there. “Are you okay?” he asked her.

She bit her lip and nodded.

Scout laid his book aside. “Okay, Hunter. Do you feel lightheaded or have shortness of breath?”

“I’m a little dizzy and my chest feels tight.”

“Okay, that’s normal. Do you think anything else is broken or do you have pain anywhere else?”

“No. Actually, I’m starting to feel better. But Catherine isn’t.” When Scout looked up, Hunter tilted his head toward the little girl.

“Catherine,” Scout said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Her hands felt warm and she swayed slowly back and forth. Her face eased a bit, but Hunter still saw pain in her eyes—his pain. He looked back at Scout.

Scout shrugged. He reached for Hunter’s bag that fell off the bike, dug out the water bottle and used the bag to prop up Hunter’s feet.

“We’ve got to stop the bleeding,” Scout said.

Hunter looked at his arm again, this time in fascination. Blood trickled off his elbow and pooled in the dirt.

Scout held the water bottle for Hunter as he drank, before emptying the rest over the wound, washing away the blood and grime. Hunter winced from the contact of cool water and thrashed his feet around some more at the tingling jolt. Then Scout pulled a small brown bottle from his pocket and unscrewed the cap.

“What’s that?” Hunter asked.

“It’s my bottle of iodine. It will kill all the germs just like when we put it in our bottled water. The iodine will keep the wound from getting infected.”

“Will it sting?”

“Hardly. You shouldn’t feel a thing.” Scout squeezed the bottle and red liquid shot over the open wound.

A cold, raging fire from hell singed every nerve in Hunter’s arm. Catherine winced. Hunter screamed. “Hardly my ass, you lying son of a bitch!”

Scout smiled, then gently wrapped Hunter’s arm with a clean shirt from his own backpack. “Hold your other hand here and apply some pressure until I get back,” Scout said.

Hunter, panting like a mad dog, did what Scout instructed. “Where are you going?”

“I have to find sticks to splint your arm. I won’t go far. Call out if you need me.”

Hunter watched Scout disappear into the inky darkness of the early summer evening. The stars illuminated the night, but probably not enough for speeding across the prairie. Scout would never let him forget this one. He realized that when Jimmy discovered what happened, Hunter would be lucky to leave town riding a tricycle.

Catherine’s warm hands and tiny fingers caressed his head. She smiled at him. Her eyes, brighter than the stars, contained a promise that everything would be all right.

Hunter’s worries dissolved. “Are you doing this?”

“Doing what, silly?” She scooted up on her knees and settled back down without moving her hands.

“Are you making me feel less pain, somehow?”

“I’m returning the favor. You found me, and now I’m helping you. Isn’t that what a friend is supposed to do? Plus, I hate when people suffer.”

“Yeah, but how is this possible? What are you?”

“I’m a little girl, silly.” A breeze stirred through Catherine’s hair and the candle went out. Her eyes still sparkled among the stars, even with the absence of candlelight.

Scout slipped out of the wind-lashed prairie grass and dumped a bundle of sticks with a loud clatter. He prepared a miniature teepee of twigs and then flicked open his silver Zippo, releasing the sweet smell of butane. He ignited a tiny fire and added sticks to the flames. Warm light filled their surroundings.

“Aren’t we going to leave soon?” Hunter asked.

“Not a chance. We’re going to have to make camp and wait ’til morning. You can’t ride like that, anyway.”

Scout lifted Hunter’s bike and set the kickstand, inspecting the handlebars while Hunter worried that he ruined his bike for good this time. He might be forced to ride a new bike, but he liked his Kawasaki. They had covered a lot of miles together over the past two years. The bike started on Scout’s second kick, the engine hummed and Hunter relaxed.

Scout cut the motor, restoring quiet. “We’ll see if it still rolls straight in the morning.”

They ate apples and dried meat from Scout’s backpack clustered beside the jittering flames. Scout left with the water bottles. After a while, he brought them back full and disappeared again, returning with another armload of firewood.

Scout examined two sticks before placing them away from the fire. He pulled a shirt from Hunter’s bag. “Is this clean?”

Hunter nodded. “I washed it in the Platte yesterday.”

“I guess that will have to do,” Scout said, dropping the shirt on the two sticks.

Hunter tracked Scout’s movements around until it made him dizzy. “Why are you so busy? Sit down. Take a break.”

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Scout said. “Good news is I don’t think your Kawasaki is that bad off.”

Hunter stared at him until the dramatic pause stretched too long. “And the bad news?”

“You won’t be riding for a while with a broken right arm. Can’t throttle, can’t brake, and you certainly can’t steer, but I think that last one is what caused the accident in the first place.”

Hunter understood the real bad news. “I’m going to be stuck in town.”

Scout’s grin flashed in the firelight. “Yeah, that sucks for everybody.”

Hunter groaned, but not from pain.

“One more piece of bad news,” Scout said. “I have to set the arm back in place.”

A shiver ran through Hunter’s body, causing a sudden urge to flee that he was totally unable to muster. “Shouldn’t we wait until we get back to town and let Luis take a look at it?”

Scout nodded. “Sure, we could wait and you could go into shock, but I know how to set a broken bone. Remember, I helped Luis last year when that tree fell on Brady’s leg.”

“Brady! You mean that lumberjack kid with the limp?”

Scout spread his hands. “I don’t want to do this anymore than you, but I’m thinking we might as well get it over with and let you start healing.”

Hunter stared into the flames of the campfire; terrified of the pain to come no matter what magic Catherine worked. A spasm triggered in his right leg. He had never experienced fear like this before, and hated it.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Yeah,” Scout said.

“Do you have any liquor?”

Scout shook his head. “None that lasted.”

“This sucks.”

“Yeah,” Scout said and scooted closer with a grim, determined expression. “Ready?”

Hunter looked at Catherine sitting quietly with her hands resting on his brow. “I want you to let go.”

“I’ll be all right. I’m a big girl.”

“Seriously, I don’t feel right.”

“What’s all this?” Scout asked.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Hunter said.

Catherine pushed a lock of Hunter’s hair aside and smiled. “Everything will be all right, Michael. I promise. Go ahead, Scout. We’re ready.”

Hunter closed his eyes and took several deep, rapid breaths as Scout removed the makeshift bandage from his right arm. He gritted his teeth, wincing as every little movement scattered pins and needles throughout his arm and into his chest.

Scout placed his foot into Hunter’s armpit, grabbed Hunter’s wrist and pulled before anyone could change his mind.

Hunter shrieked from the excruciating agony of bones grinding back into place. Catherine cried out and crumpled to the ground and Hunter quickly followed her into unconsciousness.





Jimmy loved summer with the extra hours of daylight. They made him feel like there was still time to do something—besides work.

As he and Samuel headed into town, they passed rows of hanging clothes, towels, and sheets. The launderers hustled about collecting the dried articles and the smell of clean cotton and denim filled the air. Jimmy watched the multiple colors rippling on their lines in the evening breeze like the flags of defunct countries. The metal basins on the ground were flipped over and drained.

Each kid in Independents brought their laundry to be washed on a specific day, then after supper on their assigned days they picked up their duffle bags of clean laundry and headed home to fold. In Samuel’s case, he left his clean clothes stuffed in his duffle bag.

Jimmy also loved summer’s freshly dried clothing. In the winter, they hung their laundry in one of the barns on the outskirts of town with the aid of wood-burning stoves, giving every item—and everyone—the scent of a smoky campfire.

The boys followed a swarm of barefoot kids onto the red bricks of Main Street. Most kids didn’t wear shoes during the warm months if their work allowed it. Shoes wear out. Feet get tougher. Everyone in Independents hoarded their Nikes for times of true need.

Main Street was a block of two-story buildings set together like books on a shelf. The buildings were fixed up and painted with bright colors. Kids love to paint. Apartments on the second floors were for those who missed city life. The ground floors were filled with different necessities. There was Molly’s sewing shop, where they patched holes and hemmed cuffs. Mark’s seldom-used sheriff’s office was next door, where the harshest offense so far was staying up too late. Down the line was Luis’s clinic, or rather the Band-Aid station for bumps and scrapes. Luis dealt with the flu and a couple cases of strep every month or so, a broken bone or two, but so far major surgery was not a job requirement. There was also a general store where Hunter and Scout dumped stuff they salvaged for the other kids to play with or use. And the school, where Vanessa taught the younger kids how to read and write and use arithmetic. She taught history too, for a reason Jimmy failed to understand.

Overachievers in science and math got bumped up to the honors program. Jimmy knew Independents needed more smart kids, like Luis. An intelligent kid could unravel and comprehend the resources they’d lost and those they desperately needed.

A cure for the plague would be a good start.

Four girls, all named Brittany, ran the cafeteria, appropriately called Brittany’s. The double doors stood open allowing the air to circulate inside, and for laughter and high-pitched squeals to trickle out. The aroma of butter, garlic and onion also drifted outside, arousing the hunger in Jimmy’s stomach.

By the time he and Samuel approached Brittany’s, sweat from the summer heat ran down the side of his face. The collar of his clean T-shirt was sticking to his neck. He adjusted his hat in the reflection of the large windowpane and a couple of kids made faces at him from the opposite side. He crossed his eyes and pretended to pick his nose; one of the many ways he gained respect among the little ones.

Jimmy followed Samuel into the dining hall and was greeted by the youngest Brittany.

“You guys are early,” she said, handing over blue cloth napkins wrapped around utensils.

“We would have been here sooner, but somebody wanted to change his shirt,” Samuel said.

Jimmy bumped into Samuel as if by accident.

Brittany just smiled. “Right this way.” She guided them to the large table in the center, their usual spot. Soon the table would fill with other hungry town leaders. Eating together helped the older residents of Independents keep tabs on current events in town.

Chatter swelled within the building that was already a restaurant when Samuel’s brother filled the town with abandoned children six years ago. To get things running, the electric oven was replaced with wood-burning stoves collected from empty homes. One good thing about farmers is that they never threw anything away; so salvaging items after the plague like the stoves was easy. You just needed to open the right barn to find one. Barns dotted Nebraska like pimples on a thirteen-year-old.

Food was prepared fresh; refrigeration was lost along with electricity, indoor plumbing and cable television. The Brittanys decorated the walls with lots of things that belonged in either museums or garage sales, reminding Jimmy of Chili’s and Applebee’s restaurants from long ago. Those who recalled the canned-food years with dread jokingly referred to Brittany’s as TGIF: Thank God It’s Fresh.

“What’s on the menu tonight, Brittany?” Samuel asked.

“Chef Brittany has acquired a large amount of catfish, thanks to Dylan and the boys. They were up all night and in their words, ‘they killed.’ Our side dishes will be mashed potatoes and eggplant, thanks to you guys.”

“Don’t thank me for the eggplant,” Samuel said, discreetly pointing in Jimmy’s direction.

“I saw that,” Jimmy said.

“Excuse me.” Brittany scurried back to her post.

“Why do they wait for her to seat them?” Samuel said. “It’s not like they’re going to sit somewhere different.”

Jimmy glanced up front at the impatient cluster of boys and girls; some with freshly washed hands and others with permanent stains. “The younger kids switch it up a lot. They’re still working out their friendships.”

“Hey, I can take a hint. You’re welcome to move if you need to branch out.”

“You’re so sensitive.” Jimmy stood up. “Anyways, I’m done making friends. I got a town full of them.” He slid out the wooden chair beside him for the very pregnant young woman waddling his way. “Good evening, Vanessa. How are you holding up?”

“I’m just fine for a walking balloon. I’m ready to pop and get this experience over.” Vanessa maneuvered into the chair and thanked Brittany for her wrapped napkin.

“Can I get you anything else?” Brittany asked Vanessa. Everyone in town was overly helpful ever since Vanessa started to show. Jimmy smiled at the elected mother of their community, voted in by a silent majority.

“I’m all right, sweetie. You better get back up there before they start to riot.”

The mob at the door was spilling over trying to get out of the sun. Brittany dashed away.

Vanessa separated her napkin from the utensils and wiped the sweat from her face. “How hot is it going to get this summer?” She waved toward her boyfriend, Mark, as he entered the room. “I can’t believe how much I sweat.”

“The temperature has been climbing a lot higher lately,” Jimmy said. “Maybe we should bring one of the generators to the school so you can run a fan or a window unit.”

Mark eased into the chair on the opposite side of Vanessa. “I already tried that once,” he said. “She wouldn’t allow it.”

“We don’t need to waste our resources on my comforts,” Vanessa said. “Besides, the heat is keeping me in shape.”

“And what shape would that be?” Samuel asked.

“Bite me, Sammy.”

A thin boy joined their group, collapsing on the empty seat next to Samuel and dropping a thick book and black leather bag underneath his chair.

“Hey, Luis, do you know what to do yet?” Samuel asked.

Luis started to speak, but croaked instead. He grabbed his water glass and gulped the contents. “I think so,” he finally answered. “It’ll be my first delivery.”

“Hopefully not the last.” Samuel nudged Luis in the ribs. “Does that big medical book have any pictures?”

“Mark, we might have to move,” Vanessa said.

“Why’s that, honey?”

“Because I’m about to throw my fork at Sammy’s head and see if it sticks.”

“That’s cool,” Samuel said. “I think Jimmy wants to move to another table, too. I don’t mind eating by myself.”

Jimmy clapped Samuel on the shoulder. “It might be easier if you moved, instead. Or you could behave and let everyone enjoy their supper in peace.”

“I’ll be good. I promise. Hey, look over there. Here comes the fashion squad, running fashionably late.”

Jimmy gazed up at Ginger as she passed to sit at their table, appreciating the way her hair fell over one eye, the soft tan of her skin, her curves. She glanced his way and Jimmy quickly averted his interest to ceiling tiles.

Mark pulled another chair out for his twin sister, Molly.

Only two seats remained empty and it didn’t take long to be noticed. “So where’s your brother?” Vanessa asked Jimmy. “And mine?”

Mark cleared his throat. “Uh, Scout went searching for Hunter this morning.”

“Again? I bet he was real happy about that.”

“Not really,” Mark said, glancing at Jimmy, who fidgeted with the brim of his hat.

“I’m sorry, Vanessa,” Jimmy said. “But I needed Scout’s help. Hunter’s two days late.”

“Hunter’s always two days late.” She leaned over and offered Jimmy’s hand a little pat. “Scout will find him. Don’t worry; I’m sure Hunter’s fine. If anyone can handle themselves in the Big Bad, it’s those two.”

Chef Brittany assumed her position at the head of a long table where the prepared food waited for takers. She lifted a small musical triangle. The room quieted for a short anticipatory second while Brittany surveyed the room with a smile.

“Dinner is served,” she announced, and rang the triangle.

Wooden chairs knocked against hardwood floors and everyone formed two lines on either side of the buffet. The other two of the four Brittany’s circled the room, replacing the empty water pitchers. Jimmy moved slowly through the long line, loading his plate with warm, buttery food and then he hustled back to his seat.

Samuel sat and immediately stuffed his face, heedless of Jimmy’s disapproving stare. Jimmy waited patiently for his other dining companions to return before eating. He forked into his eggplant and remembered the flowers. “Hey, Vanessa, did the kids plant a flower bed at our house this afternoon?”

“No,” she said, pausing over the full plate of catfish and pickles that Mark gave her. Everyone in town went crazy when one of the Brittanys rediscovered the pickling process. “Maybe you have a secret admirer.”

Jimmy shook his head with disbelief. Samuel laughed with his mouth open and full of food. Then Jimmy caught Ginger staring at him as he topped off his water. He smiled back, she dropped eye contact and he sloshed water on the table.

Sponging up the mess with his napkin, Jimmy noticed Molly glaring at Ginger. “How are things at the sewing shop, Molly? Are the new recruits working out okay?”

Molly perked up with a big smile and batted her eyelashes at him. “They’re doing wonderful, Jimmy. Thank you so much for the extra help. I desperately needed it. We were getting a bit behind on the winter clothing. My assistant decided to take on some extra work.”

“What extra work?” Jimmy asked.

“Ask her.” Molly stabbed her fork in Vanessa’s direction.

Samuel coughed and whispered, “Disengage,” in Jimmy’s direction.

Mark stopped eating. “What’s wrong, Molly?”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about it, Mark. It’s really nothing,” Molly said, refolding the napkin in her lap.

“Sounds like you want to make it something,” Vanessa said.

Jimmy chewed on a piece of catfish, careful not to choke on a bone. Molly glowered at Vanessa while Vanessa appeared annoyed, like she’d been playing this game since she started seeing Mark and was really over it. Mark wore his concerned brother expression, after setting down his fork and giving Molly his full attention. Ginger and Luis did the smart thing and gazed at their plates. Jimmy seriously considered finding a less combustible dining party.

“Jimmy’s afraid of dying,” Samuel said.

The bone Jimmy was chewing around snapped.

Vanessa rubbed circles on his back. “We’re all afraid of dying, Sammy, but thank you so much for sharing. I bet Jimmy will want to thank you later personally.”

“Count on it,” Jimmy said under his breath.

Vanessa regarded Molly like sunshine on morning frost. “What’s your problem this time?”

Molly’s smoldering composure ignited. She stabbed her fork through her catfish filet and left it standing there. “I don’t have a problem. It’s obvious you have a problem with me. I can’t believe you went behind my back to have your baby clothes made.”

“Oh, that.” Vanessa directed a sympathetic look toward Ginger, and then faced Molly again. “You weren’t interested when I asked you for help a couple of months ago, so I asked Ginger. But I did ask you first.”

“I thought we decided to wait to see if the baby was a boy or girl. I would have thrown something together if I’d known it was so important.”

“I didn’t want something thrown together. I wanted something special for my baby, your niece or nephew, and for all we know the first child born since the plague started. I wanted my baby brought into this world properly.”

Mark focused on his plate; his jaw clamped shut, as if willing his forgotten catfish to offer a solution. Jimmy felt sorry for him. The last thing he needed was his sister starting trouble over something this trivial. Molly was always worked up over something. She was spoiled before the plague with instant attention to her every whim, and her expectations hadn’t changed since. But spoiled didn’t work anymore in this world.

Molly stood up, her chair screeching across the hardwood floor. “If you wanted things done properly then maybe you should have gotten married first!” she yelled.

The raucous roar of the dining hall stalled out with the clink of metal utensils slipping from fingers and bouncing off plates. All eyes zeroed in on Molly, and then Vanessa.

Mark stood up in the middle of the swirling chaos with his napkin clutched in a knuckled fist. He spoke to Molly in a tight, strained voice. “I don’t want you to sit here with us anymore.”

Molly’s eyes were gorged with sudden tears. Her lips trembled. She laid her hands on the table like she might fall if she lacked the support. “But, it’s only because…”

“Molly, I don’t want to hear another word out of you.”

Molly scanned the unsympathetic faces at the table. Then she looked around the dining hall. “Quit staring at me!” she screamed, and bolted out through the kitchen.

Mark plopped back in his seat, spread his napkin in his lap and reached over for Vanessa’s hand.

Vanessa’s face twisted as though somebody had kicked her in the gut. Jimmy slid his chair back. “Are you okay?”

Her expression relaxed a bit after she puckered her lips and blew out a long stream of air like a deflating balloon. “It’s time. I think the baby’s coming.”

Mark, Samuel and Jimmy jumped and their chairs crashed backward. Luis’s chair slammed over with him still occupying it.