60

Blizzard

Epilogue: Season's Change

Greta leaned against the rail of the watch tower. Fifty feet up she expected to feel dizzy, but the height did not affect her. Exhilaration, accomplishment, a sense of real pride were her only sensations. The air was so light and easy to swallow this high up; nothing seemed out of reach. She was enjoying this newness of life.

She could see for miles; over the sea of ready corn that washed up on her land. She'd worked day to night planting, and she was finally standing above her final product. She was content. She contemplated the last few months, gathering her fulfillment like she'd gathered the ripe blackberries from the patch at sun break to make Daryl's favorite fruit-studded oatmeal. It was a twice a week ritual now that picking season had begun.

Aside from the massive corn crop, she'd cleared the land, skimming back on the corn to make room for wheat and soybeans. Something new Samuel had always wanted to try, but he creature of habit routines had never allowed. She could smile now thinking his name. She felt him still, but in peace and acceptance. She knew he was above her, holding their son, pointing down and cooing, "Look what mommy made."

But she had help. Two extra hands, Daryl and a young drifter from Kansas they'd taken on early in the planting season. Just in time, she grinned. Steven, the drifter, knew his wheat and his beans, and she'd proven to be an apt pupil, studying and mimicking his procedures for successful planting. So far, as the crop neared harvest, she was happy with the progress.

And he'd brought another horse; a male. They'd had a new pony born late in the birthing season. This made her think of the animals, what used to be her friends and family. But now she could think of them for what they really were-her bread and butter; the meal they shared at the table, because she had true family now.

The manly rumble of Daryl's Bonneville 650 pulled her from her reverie. She watched, laughing, as he idled onto the farmstead, parting the sea of wild turkeys that had migrated and gathered on the property. He kicked and called at them playfully. He tried to sound as tough as he really was, but Greta knew better. She'd unearthed a decent man with a good heart and an honorable soul despite the brawn and hard past that might suggest otherwise.

She watched him rustling with the cans, hauling them to the metal tool shed. At the door, he turned, giving her a thumbs up, and she waved down to him, acknowledging his success. He'd found more gas! Fuel for the truck and tractor for harvest time.

She waited for him as he locked the gas away then climbed the never-ending ladder of the tower to get to her.

"Well, how'd it go?" She asked as he hopped onto the landing.

"Real good," he said, squinting against the amber sun. "You were right about that farm on the other side of the cornfield. Frickin' gold mine. You wanna expand?"

Her eyes wide with wonder, she shook her head at his good mood and enthusiasm. "Slow down, Cowboy. Let's see how we do with this harvest and our other little expansion project first."

She patted at the bulging belly she'd been absently rubbing all morning. Still trying to get used to the idea of it, really.

It was an invitation for Daryl to kneel before her. He smoothed the thin fabric of her shirt over her tight milky skin. "Speakin' of the holy terror, how's ma boy treatin ya?"

"Or girl," she quickly corrected.

He kissed her protruding navel. "Naw, it's a boy. My pa told me bad ass Dixons only breed more bad ass Dixons. Gotta be a boy."

Greta rolled her eyes. "I don't feel like having this conversation for the seventy-ninth time. But since you asked, I'm being treated rough. I've been kicked repeatedly and made to throw up three times today."

Daryl tapped at her taut skin. "Hey, behave, boy." He lifted his face against the sun to shrug her some consolation. "He's gonna be like his ole man, I guess. Stubborn and ornery as a som'bitch."

"Watch your language!" She scolded. "She can hear you."

Daryl flashed her a snarly grin. He stood, caging her in his arms. His hands were locked firmly across her belly, taking possession of what he cherished most. "Then he'll hear this. I love you. And him, too. Already. Just never thought it possible, ya know. We got som'thin here, woman."

Looking down at the farmstead at all the something Daryl mentioned made Greta swell with satisfaction. We may be isolated and tired and fighting off zombies once in a while, but we have a life. And each other.

She waved down to Steven as he patched a tear in the chicken wire fence; again. "He was a good risk," she said. "Such a hard worker."

"And sexy too," Daryl teased in his best imitation of her voice, but Greta knew there was a slight underlying tone of real envy there. He hasn't been changed completely. And for that she was thankful.

She played along. "Hmm, yeah, a little."

Daryl squeezed her to him tighter. "You tryin' ta tell me som'thin?" He growled.

She turned her cheek until she was able to catch a glimpse of hard set eyes testing her. "Only that I like a man that knows when to be jealous. Especially when his wife is seven months fat and looks like crap most days."

"Wife?" He squawked.

"I thought we were past the point of just dating."

"Yeah, but I don't remember signin' on ta that deal," he whistled.

"I don't think we're going to find many churches open to marry us." Carefully, as if not to wake the sleeping child within her, she moved his hands over her belly. "I think this baby has officially declared us man and wife, Cowboy."

She silenced him. Like so many times before when his temper fired up or his hatred for the world consumed him. Or even when his uncertainty about himself or his past had him second guessing the path he'd chosen to ride. She was there.

Quietly, he muttered, "Ya know what I'm thinkin' we need?"

She ventured a guess. "More sleep?"

He chuckled, "Naw, we need a dog."

Greta raised her chin toward the outlying woods. The trees were ablaze with the fiery colors of autumn's arrival. Many of the burned leaves still clung lifeless but loud to their branches. She loved the sound of them rustling in the breeze.

"But we already have a dog," she said.

He chuckled again; this time a little grittier, so amused by her. "No, that'd be a wolf."

"I wonder what our white widow is up to. We haven't seen much of her lately. Do you think she's moved on?" she asked him.

He followed her gaze out to the glorious fall foliage. He shrugged, absently kissing the top her head. "Could have. On to the teach the next hard-headed man a lesson."

"Or woman," she taunted.

He sneered, giving her a hearty, playful slap on the ass. She took her lashing, her deviant laughter echoing out over the farmstead to Steven who looked up, saw their horsing around, and waved them off.

Daryl thought momentarily of Merle. He imagined him watching from the doorway of the pisser down below, snickering and shaking his head, disgusted.

But Daryl didn't back down. He stood taller with her in his arms. I'm not jus' playin anymore, Big Brother. This is the real deal.

She turned into him; tried to hug him but her big belly kept them at an awkward distance. She didn't care. She just reached a little further until she could wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down for another too-long and too-deep kiss.

"Hate me, need me, love me, tease me, beg me, please me, take me, breathe me. Baby, you know I'm trouble still you wanna be the one to smash my bubble. How strong, how tough, how sweet, how must you feel to rough me up for real. In love I trust; I put my faith to make me happy to keep me safe. In you I find a way to lose myself. Thrill me, baby. I need nothing else…" I Need Nothing Else by Sophie B. Hawkins