He looked around again and shrugged, then took a bite of his sandwich. Okay, Mary thought. Have it your way. Sometimes when Kyle was in a mood there was nothing you could do but wait it out.
"I wanna live in the Big Apple," he suddenly said.
She turned to stare at him. "Where did you hear about that?"
"One of the soldiers said he was born there." He took another bite of his sandwich and spoke unattractively around it. "Is it like James and the Giant Peach?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full. And no, it's not. James and the Giant Peach is a story; the Big Apple is a nickname for New York City. That was a big city full of tall buildings."
"Why did they call it an apple, then?" His face wore the perfect expression of "boy meets wacky adult nonsense."
Mary thought about it. She knew, she'd just never had to explain it. "Well, a lot of people used to go to New York to seek their fortunes. And there were so many of them that New York kind of became identified with the sort of self-confidence that sends someone out seeking success in a new and challenging place. Aaaaand, I guess their attitude might be summed up by saying that they saw the city as a great big apple that they were gonna take a bite out of and make it their own."
Kyle considered that. "Huh," he said.
"It's not there anymore," she said. "Well, its ruins are. Quiet!"
Kyle got quiet in a hurry as his mother rolled behind a bush and brought her carbine up; even then, her heart gave a little wrench as she saw him freeze like a rabbit, motionless. That was something kids had to learn in a hurry these days.
A woman came into sight, rifle held up over her head. "Sorry I'm late," she called.
"Hey," Mary said, standing up. "Hi, Gerri." She bundled up the sandwich wrappings. "No problem, it gave us a chance to eat."
"Where were you talking about?" Gerri asked. She was a dark-haired woman of medium height, thin as they all were, but heavy-boned.
"The Big Apple," Kyle said importantly.
" 'New York, New York, it's a hell of a town,' " Gerri sang.
" 'The Bronx is up and the Battery's down,' " Mary joined in.
"You said no singing!" Kyle said, considerably offended.
"Oops," Mary said. "You're right, sport. Sorry."
"No singing?" Gerri asked.
"Well, not while we're riding along. It's probably not a good idea in general," she said, blushing. "Distracting."
"Yeah, I guess there's a time and place for everything," Gerri agreed.
"Ahem. So, how're you doing?"
"/am fine. But Charley may have broken his ankle."
"Ooh. Okay, then. Let's get going."
* * *
Gerri's group had an excellent setup; a disused road tunnel nearly a quarter of a mile long, giving onto a ravine, making it easy to get in and out without leaving traces. The inside was smoky and chilly at the same time, and the inhabited part had a smell like old socks—partly actual old socks, partly just unwashed human and unlaundered clothes—combined with horse. Dinner smelled a lot better.
There was a resistance joke: When the sun rises in the east, it means we will probably have stew for dinner.
By the scent, this one had squirrel and rabbit; she'd become a connoisseur of field cooking, and thought she detected Jerusalem artichoke as well. It smelled savory, in fact—which meant thick and brown, usually.
Charley was another skinny man of indeterminate age with heavy stubble and weathered skin; she'd have pegged him as homeless, back before Judgment Day. His ankle was well and truly broken; the amount of swelling and the tense way he lay on a pine-bough bed near one of the hearths told her that.
She knelt and did a hands-on anyway; there were a lot of bones in the ankle. The talus ground together under her fingertips, the accident having happened only hours before. Her patient grunted and wheezed in lieu of screaming and gave her a wild-eyed, "what the hell are you doing?" look, while his flesh went cool and sweaty from the shock of pain. She gave him a shot of morphine, quickly set it, and wrapped the ankle in plaster.
"He's got to go back to base," she told Gerri. "That's going to take weeks to heal and he won't be any use out here while it does." Mary didn't have to mention that he would be an outright liability "out here." Even he knew that.
"Can you take him with you?"
Mary just looked at her, one eyebrow raised. Gerri refused to back down. So Mary broke it down for her. "I have two more stops today and four tomorrow. It's going to be agonizing enough for him to ride to base directly; a day and a half on horseback is something that hasn't even got a name. Not to mention it will set him back on healing."
"Short two people and two horses…" Gerri began, and followed them out. Then she smacked the heel of her hand into her forehead. "I'll ride to the ford with you."
Mary looked at her, and the unit leader went on, speaking a little louder to cut through the purl of water over rock—the white noise was good camouflage. "I needed to do a restocking run anyway, pretty soon—we're short on explosives and gun oil.
That's on the way, and we'll take Charley along on a horse stretcher; the horses can carry freight on the way back. The sooner we get him back to headquarters, the sooner we can get things back to normal."
* * *
"It is inconvenient," Mary said, .after a moment's uncomfortable silence.
The ford was where the creek ran out from the gully into flatter country, and an old graveled road ran down into it and then eastward; weeds were growing over the old ruts, bushes in some spots, and even saplings.
" Damned inconvenient."
"But accidents are inconvenient. And they'll send a replacement back with you. Don't roll your eyes at me, Gerri. I know you've got a tight group and you know each other's moves, but they won't send you a novice and there's just no way around it. Unless you plan to shoot him like a horse."
"And then we'd still need a replacement." Gerri rolled her eyes again.
"Yup." Mary gave Gerri a consoling smile. "It's not like you're light-years away from base, y'know."
Gerri grumbled something inaudible in response. Mary handed her a container of pills.
"Give him one every four hours for pain. Guard them with your life; those are hard to come by. I gave him enough morphine to make him comfortable for a while, but it's not going to last forever."
She looked at Gerri. "So how are things out here anyway?"
"Quiet." Gerri's eyes squinted as she looked around at the forested hills. Water purled around the hooves of her horse where it stood with its head down, lips slurping at the shallow rills that ran over gravel and rock.
"Way too quiet if you ask me. Nothing's moving out there but squirrels, and even they're quieter than usual." Her mouth twisted. "Makes me feel all twitchy."
"Yeah, I noticed that," Mary said. "I thought you might have an infestation. Gotta watch the personal hygiene; typhus, you know."
"Bitch," Gerri said pleasantly.
"That's Nurse Bitch to you, soldier."
Gerri grinned and opened her mouth to respond just as a rifle barked. Her face took on a distracted expression and then she slowly crumpled out of the saddle; the horse turned and pounded up the creek again, eyes wild and stirrups thumping its ribs. The more phlegmatic mules carrying the injured man merely tossed their heads and snorted.
Mary fought off her shock; she slipped to the ground and slapped the mule's rump.
"Run!" she said. "Go home!"
She turned for Kyle's mule and a bullet spanged into the ground at her feet, causing the creature to shy away, then break into a trot. She jerked toward cover and another bullet hit the ground at her feet. Mary's heartbeat was almost choking her; she looked desperately toward her son only to see a man burst from cover at the mule's feet, scaring the normally placid creature into shying.