Year's Best SF 17

By the third day Jane and Kaylee have developed a routine. They’ve run out of bottled water for washing and cooking, so Kaylee hauls it a bucket at a time from the cistern—the pump house is gone but the cistern is below grade and is still there, still full—and Jane purifies it with tablets from the first-aid box. They take turns feeding and changing the hatchlings, all six of whom are eating and pooping up a storm, and have grown amazingly on bites of low-fat kibble; they’re all-over gray fuzz now, with open eyes and big yellow mouths. Jane and Kaylee don’t bother with a fire except at night, when they wash up all the dishes and then themselves with minimal amounts of water from the kettle. (Kaylee washes out her underwear, the only pair she’s got, and dries it by the embers.) They take naps after lunch. Kaylee’s period starts: no big deal, she’s got pads and cramp pills. Kaylee changes the bandage on Jane’s arm, which doesn’t seem infected and has started to heal, though if it doesn’t get stitched up soon she’ll have one humongous scar. They’ve shoved all the loose junk in the basement against the walls, so they have more room in there, and a clear path from the shelter to the window.

On the third afternoon it rains. Their ceiling, which is the upstairs floor, leaks in a few places, so they retreat to the shelter with their bedding and Jane’s chair, and bring the dogs back inside. “No fire tonight,” Jane prophesies, though they’ve anticipated rain, and brought some firewood inside to keep it dry. “We’ll have one in the morning if it’s still raining at dinnertime.” Jane breaks out an old board game, Clue, which they play by solar lantern light.

In the middle of the second game the dogs leap up and dash to the open window, barking wildly. A moment later they can both hear it: the deep nasal roar of a helicopter, flying low. Kaylee skins out of shelter, basement, and window in a flash, and jumps up and down in the rain, waving a blanket, yelling, “We’re here! We’re down here!” They couldn’t have actually heard her over the racket, but an amplified voice from heaven thunders, “We see you! Stand by!”

Jane comes carefully through the window too now, wearing a rain jacket, and waves too, and tells the dogs to be quiet. The chopper hovers, then gradually settles in the hayfield next to the garden, and a guy in a yellow rain slicker jumps out and hurries toward them. “Jane Goodman? Kaylee Perry? You ladies all right—any injuries?”

“Jane’s got a bad cut,” Kaylee says, dancing around in the rain, excited by the suddenness of rescue, “but I’m fine! Are my mom and dad okay?”

“They’re just dandy, and they sure do want to see you!” To Jane he says, “The tornado passed west of Lawrenceburg but Frankfort got clobbered. An EF3, they’re saying. We been busy.” He looks Jane over critically, sees she’s not too badly hurt. “Okay, let’s get going then,” the guy says, turning to head back to the chopper.

Kaylee starts to hurry after him, but stops abruptly. “The hatchlings! Wait, I have to get …” she doubles back and pops through the window.

While she’s stuffing a few things into her backpack, and putting the bowl of tree swallows into a rainproof plastic bag, she can hear them talking. “Baby birds,” Jane’s explaining. She’ll just be a second. But I’ve got two dogs here, I can’t leave them. I’ll stay till we can all be lifted out together. Or till the road’s open.” Kaylee’s mouth falls open; Jane’s not coming?

“What about the cut?” says the guy in the slicker, and Jane’s voice says, “It’ll keep.”

“Supplies?”

“Running low, but enough for another day or so.”

“We’ll drop you a bag of stuff on the next trip out. Should be able to pick you all up tomorrow.”

Jane’s not coming! Kaylee pops through the window between the dogs, who are barking again because of all the commotion, without the bowl of hatchlings or her backpack. “Jane, listen, if you’re not leaving, I’m not either. You need me to change your bandage.”

She’s the only one not wearing rain gear and she’s standing in the rain getting soaked. The adults look at her with surprise and consternation. “Honey, your parents need to see you, I’ll be fine here for another day or so.”

“We’ll be back tomorrow to pick up this lady and the dogs,” says the EMS guy. “You need to get on home.”

“No,” Kaylee says. She backs away from them. “I won’t go so don’t try to make me. Not till Jane does. As long as my parents know I’m fine, I’m staying here with her.”

“I appreciate it, hon, I really do,” Jane starts to say, “but—”

“No!” She stamps her foot; why won’t they take her seriously? “I’m not leaving you here by yourself!”