Deadland Rising (part 3 of the Deadland Saga)

Ambition (Chapter 7)

For the first time in weeks, I awoke feeling fully rested. I would've slept later except for the forgotten sound of a toilet flushing snapped me from dark dreams.

I stood and stretched. The small scar—the one shaped like a bullet hole on my calf—burned just like it did every morning until the muscle loosened. Once my old wound quit sending tiny spears of fire through my leg, I headed out into the hall and ran into Deb exiting the bathroom with a hand over her mouth.

I frowned. "Morning sickness?"

She nodded, swallowed, and then turned right back around and disappeared into the bathroom again.

I shook my head slowly and went down to the kitchen to make her some tea, one of the few foods not counted against our weekly rations. It took another ten minutes before she reappeared. Back when Deb announced she was pregnant, Doc had estimated she was about four months along since she had started to show. That was a month ago. Deb was losing weight with every passing week since there were fewer and fewer things she could stomach. Vicki had said it was normal for certain women to be sick throughout their entire pregnancy, but I had seen the worry even in her eyes.

I watched Deb as she slowly took a seat at the table and rested her head on her crossed arms.

When she didn't move, I spoke softly. "How are you doing?"

She raised her head ever so slowly and took a deep breath. "As well as can be expected for being knocked up after the end of the world."

I winced. "When you put it that way..."

She slowly leaned back. "Sorry. I'm not trying to be a Debbie Downer—"

A sharp burst of laughter escaped before I could muffle it.

"The name fits," she said with a shrug. "After everything we've been through, I should be thankful to be in a real house with real electricity and an honest-to-god working toilet. I'm tired of being tired and sick and cranky. I blame it on the hormones. Those prenatal vitamins are awful for nausea. The smell of oatmeal makes me sick, yet I would kill for a breakfast burrito with jalapeños right now. Go figure."

I handed her a cup. "I'm running low on jalapeños at the moment, but how about some tea? It's the real thing."

She grimaced before reaching out for it. "Not quite the same, but it seems to be one of the few things I can keep down."

While Deb and I sat in silence, sipping our tea, I heard the rustle of others getting ready for the day. Vicki was the first to make an appearance. She poured herself a cup and then waved as she headed to the door. "I'll see you after work."

Deb pushed herself to her feet. "I should be going, too."

I put my hand on her shoulder. "Rest. They'll understand."

"Late for my first day? I don't think so."

"Trust me," I said. "They know you're pregnant. They'll understand."

She watched me for a moment and then sunk back into her seat. "Thank you."

Clutch walked stiffly in. He eyed us both before heading to the teapot and pouring himself a cup. Whereas my calf ached, Clutch had to deal with an entire body that had taken more abuse than most bodies were made to handle. Dislocated joints and vertebrae, broken bones, and too many years of treating his body like an ATV were taking their toll. Headaches, stiffness, pinched nerves, and aches plagued him. Especially in the mornings.

After several long sips of tea, he turned around to make eye contact. "Ready to head?"

It was just like Clutch to pretend last night never happened. I pursed my lips. "I just need to grab my coat," I replied before turning back to Deb. "Need me to pick you up anything?"