Survival

Chapter 31 Loss

Cynthia cleaned one of the boys' most recent scrapes at the hand of the saw. The reason Mr. M let the boys run around building furniture out of scraps, especially without a good tetanus shot, evaded her. Yet every night, Winston would come home raving about the things he had made or works in progress. His enthusiasm was hard to argue with, but she still didn't like to see the boys walking around with cuts that required gauze or butterfly closures. She didn't even want to think about what she would do if she needed to reattach anything.

"All patched up, Russell, but you stay away from that saw, now."

"Yes, Mrs. Ross!" he said as he ran back to the group of boys down at the far end. Cynthia let her smile fade when she was no longer in his view. She had never imagined being anyone other than Mrs. Ross since her wedding day, but she couldn't be married to a man who no longer walked this earth. The name would stay, for John. Luckily, no others could witness the tears she still shed on a daily basis from her new, deserted 'office'.

Her work space consisted of a barely stable wooden table hidden behind a piece of drywall mounted on a temporary stand for privacy. She had a couple first aid kits to work with, and she supposed that it was at least something. The boys were working on a new table for her and maybe even a patient bed. Their gestures were sweet, but she wasn't sure how much would actually be carried out. They were only boys after all.

Peyton hurried into her nurse's station in a pair of flowered gardening gloves, dirt streaked across his forehead. "Going to need your help clearing out the greenhouse. Old man Peters says a storm's on its way."

Cynthia left her latex gloves on the table and walked with him past the kitchen, into the greenhouse area where several others were picking up pots and bringing them into the free storage area in western corner. She picked up a couple strawberry plants gently and followed Peyton who rescued some rather tall bean plants.

"You do this every time there's a storm?" Cynthia asked. She couldn't imagine this was a practical use of time.

"Only for the bad ones. We evacuate the plants and glass panes. All of it comes out to limit the projectiles' damage. We'd lose everything otherwise."

"Did they tell you how often this occurs?"

"It's only the second time they had to do it, in three weeks."

Cynthia laughed, and she set down the two plants before they went back for more.

"Have you found out anything about the group that has Amelia yet?"

Peyton's dreadlocks bounced as he shook his head. "Mr. M has been too busy to talk but he promised to have supper with Holly and I tonight, if you'd like to join us."

"Sure, I don't think Vita minds watching Winston. She's really grown into this mother role."

Peyton smiled. "Do you think it'll stick?"

"Only time will tell."

At supper hour, they sat down on the ground at one of the larger tables. Cynthia sat down beside Mr. M., and her body tensed slightly in his presence. She had had little to do with him after their discussion on her work role last week upon her return. His presence sent her mind racing with thoughts of John and his last moments at that gym. She couldn't even imagine how alone he must have felt in his final moments coupled with the crushing fear of Winston's fate. This stranger had rescued her son while she foraged with others for food and medical supplies. She kept pushing back the mission to find her family, always distracted helping others. She owed this man more than she could repay.

 "Cynthia, how have you enjoyed the first week?" Mr. M asked.

"It's different."

"You do not need to lie. I have been here long enough to realize how primitive it can be at times, much like the stories of my parents from back in Africa. Winston is thrilled to have you back." He could be pleasant when he wanted to be, soothing voice, charming smile. Regardless of whether it was an act or truth, Cynthia smiled.