Chapter 1

"This will help you get up." I raised the chipped teacup to the blonde woman sitting against a tree. She stared back at me as though she didn't hear me.

I started to rise, but she croaked, "No." My knees cracked, kneeling down beside her.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

Her lost blue eyes trailed slowly to the cup and she raised a shaky hand. "I'll take it."

"Don't you gypsies make coffee? That'll help me get up, d****t." An old man sat across from me; he eyed the cup with a wrinkled nose.

With my back still to him, I responded, "Gypsy, Roader, Traveler, Witch, though preferably Romnichal, whatever you care for bawlow."

"Bawlow?" His voice raised.

I glanced at him allowing a subtle smirk on my face. "What we ate last night."

He bristled as I imagined he realized I called him a pig. Finally standing, I walked back to find my little brother. He stood, arms crossed, and gave a hard swallow when we made eye-contact.

Gilderoy, though only twelve-years-old, spoke as though he were ancient. "Mother would slap you for treating Rick like that."

I tensed at the mention of our parents: who was recently taken from us. Like many others, we were attacked by blood-thirsty zombies while traveling. My brother and I escaped by sheer luck. But our parents succumbed to a horrible death though we did not see. Mother made me promise to find a safe place for my brother and me. And so I did. "Mama is not here."

"What are you giving that woman?" Gilderoy followed me as I prepared to make breakfast.

"Mama taught me to heal the sick, so I am."

"What's wrong with her?"

"You don't want to know." 

"I do." 

I squinted my eyes at him, then dropped my voice to a whisper, "Liam and Harper had a child in daycare when the minds of those who took the vaccine had finally turned. She lost her baby; she is now lost with it."

He seemed to mull this over, so I grabbed a pot out of the many bags.

"You're didn't answer my first question?"

I sighed and put the pot down on a raised rock. "I'm giving her St. John's wort, ginseng, passion flower, and lemon balm."

"Is that why she sleeps so often?

"Yes and no - hopefully the other herbs are healing her pain. But I can't tell. She rarely speaks." 

"Mama always said '... you worry too much. Stop hanging on to damaged goods.'" He looked at me with a half-smile and eyes twinkling. 

I avoided his gaze, and looked back at the woman with stringy hair in her eyes. Though we were a mile from the Republican River - she refused to bathe. Refused to move except to relieve herself and ate rarely. My eyes found her husband, Liam, sitting on a stump and watching her with elbows on his knees.

"I know." 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I liked the pace of the story. I liked the place, the conversation and the use of the description of life and things. Thank you for sharing the amazing chapter.
Coyote