Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(39)

And the spiders. They were everywhere. As soon as humans disappeared from a building, the bugs took over. It was disgusting.

Their new nanny goat ambled around the corner, busily chewing grass. A collar and rope tethered to the house ensured she didn’t wander far.

Because she was white with black splotches, Milo called her Oreo, which just made Quinn hungrier every time she called the damned goat’s name.

Gran glanced over at Oreo and grinned. “Better than a mower.”

A few days ago, they’d visited Mr. Atkinson’s homestead on Snow Road to trade Gran’s jarred peaches for more honey. They’d also traded a bottle of fish antibiotics for a single female goat. Mr. Atkinson’s wife, Sherry, had contracted a bad urinary tract infection.

“You should have traded for that cute black Angus cow,” Quinn said. “I think they would’ve traded half their barn for those antibiotics.”

Gran clucked her tongue. “No reason to take advantage of folks in need. Besides, goats are easier to care for than cows. With a goat, we can still make our own milk, yogurt, and cheese.”

“Mmm, cheese.” Quinn’s mouth watered as she imagined freshly baked bread hot from the woodstove slathered in melting slices of scrumptiousness. “I love you already, little goat.”

“I’ll trade for a billy goat as soon as I can. If we can get a herd going, Ghost will guard them from coyotes and those cursed feral dogs that keep slinking around.”

Quinn glanced at Oreo again, blinking back the sudden wetness in her eyes. The stupid goat made her think of Milo.

She could feel him circling her warily, a satellite always close but maintaining a steady distance. Whenever she tried to approach him, he scampered off like a skittish colt.

She’d hurt him by pushing him away. Now, he was the guarded one.

She’d messed up, but she wasn’t sure how to fix it.

Lately, she’d messed up a lot of things with a lot of people.

Quinn put down the watering can. She blew her too-long bangs out of her eyes. Guilt nibbled at her. She’d made things right with Bishop, Hannah, and Liam.

Gran, though…

She loved Gran with her whole heart, but even at the best of times, the woman was prickly as a thistle. Still, it was time to talk.





26





Quinn





Day One Hundred and Nine





“Gran,” Quinn said.

Gran pretended she hadn’t heard.

Quinn knew she had. “Gran.”

Gran bent and watered the healthy green Swiss Chard leaves growing from the soil in the plastic grocery bag. Her ever-present Mossberg on one side, her cane on the other. “With the weather finally turning, these should be ready to transfer soon.”

“Gran—”

“How are you on feminine hygiene products?”

The question so abrupt that Quinn just looked at her.

“Pads? Tampons?”

“Yeah, Gran, I know. I have some from the store run after the Collapse. As soon as they’re gone, I’ve got the menstrual cup, like you told me. And those washable, reusable absorbent cloths.”

Gran nodded to herself. “Good, good. And birth control?”

Quinn balked. “What?”

Gran shot her a look and waggled her gnarled eyebrows. “I may be a church-going woman, but I’m neither blind nor senile. Girls are going to get into trouble, and there won’t be a thing I can say to stop it. So—”

Quinn sputtered, her face hot. “I’m not—!”

“I’ve seen how that Marshall boy looks at you. Figure it won’t be too long before you notice and start looking back.”

“Jonas doesn’t—”

“You can’t just run down to the pharmacy and pick up birth control pills anymore.”

“I’m aware of that fact.”

“I’ve stockpiled some pills in the basement for you. Spermicide, condoms. They won’t last more than a year or two, though.”

Horrified at the words coming out of Gran’s mouth, Quinn stared at her.

“There aren’t safe herbal alternatives. Some semi-effective natural preventative methods—”

Quinn clapped her hands over her ears. “La, la, la. I can’t hear you!”

Gran talked louder. “Be glad I thought ahead and stocked these for you. Otherwise, you’d be stuck making condoms out of pig intestines.”

Quinn about died right there. “Gran!”

Gran gave a casual shrug. “What? Blood and guts don’t get to you, but the birds and bees do?”

Quinn’s face burned. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. “I’m not gonna do that stuff. Okay? Not for a long, long time.”

Abruptly, Gran turned serious. “This is no time to be bringing a baby into this world. In sub-Saharan Africa, the death rate among women during childbirth is one in sixteen. That’s almost seven percent of all pregnant women. Are you hearing me? That’s where we are now. No prenatal vitamins or check-up visits. No ultrasounds. No C-sections.”

“Hannah—”

“Hannah almost died of pre-eclampsia!”

Quinn set her jaw. A stubborn, boorish part of her wanted to argue just to argue, but she pushed her frustration down. “I have no intention of—”