on his face, berated two recruits on a poor showing in hand-to-hand.
She let him run through the insults—lead-assed, shit-for-brains, mama’s babies, and so on—then signaled him over.
“Clipper, take over here. And if one of these dance-arounds doesn’t land a punch, punch both of them.”
He strode to her. “Make it fast, okay? I’m still behind because of this morning, and I’ve got to drill with the Arlington platoon.”
“It’s about Arlington—or after Arlington. I’m asking Mallick to relocate there.”
“Good choice,” he agreed.
“And some others,” she continued, “including Aaron and Bryar.”
“Huh.” He considered it as he watched the—obviously by his standards—pitiful show of hand-to-hand. “Yeah, I see that. They’ve got a couple of kids, but they’d do all right. Both of them are smart, good teachers, resourceful.”
“I’d like you to go. Help secure, hold the base, train. Lead.”
He turned to her slowly. The old Colin would have leaped with a: Hell, yeah! And she could still see that in him. But over it the man he’d become studied her, took his time.
“Why?”
“Because you’re smart, a good trainer, resourceful. You’re a damn good solider, you even know some of the IT stuff. Because holding Arlington is as important as taking it. And I trust you can do it.”
“What about Travis?”
“I need him here, for now at least. I need you there.”
“Then I guess I need to pack. Except…” He rubbed his jaw. “Mom and Dad may be a problem.”
“No, they won’t. We’ve talked, and it’s your choice.”
He took another minute, looked around. “I like this place,” he told her. “I like the people. I even like the candy-ass recruits. I love the farm, you know? But I’m never going to be a real farmer.”
“You’re never going to be president, either,” she said, and made him laugh. “You’re a soldier, Colin.”
“Hey, soldiers can be president. I’ll hold Arlington for you. But one thing. What’s my rank?”
“Since when do we do ranks?”
“Since now. What’s mine?”
“How about Five-Star Dickhead?”
He gave her a light punch in the arm. “I like ME Commander.”
“ME?”
“Most Excellent.”
She just rolled her eyes. “Pick ten recruits, willing and able to go with you. If they have families, the families have to be willing to let them go or relocate with them.”
“Got it. Jesus, do you see those two? I’ve got to get back to this.” He strode away, glanced back. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know it.”
Still watching him, she mounted Grace. Then she turned the horse and rode toward New Hope.
When she rode past the community gardens, she saw groups of volunteers hoeing weeds, others harvesting vegetables and fruit into baskets woven by other volunteers and craftspeople.
Kids too young to help, or to help for long, played on swings and slides, seesaws and jungle gyms, all scavenged and repaired or built from scavenged parts. Members of what New Hope dubbed the Triple Cs—Community Child Care—kept a watchful eye.
Parents, she knew, bartered for the babysitting with other services, food, crafts. She watched a faerie, no more than three, try out her wings. One of the watchers scooped her up before she went too high or too far.
The system worked, she thought as she continued on to the clinic. Just as the bartering for medical services worked, or for the milk and eggs and butter and so on produced on farms, the wool sheared, the fabrics woven.
She’d seen it work in other communities, just as she’d seen in some the lack of center, of leadership, of structure. And in others still a subtle segregation and lack of trust between magickals and NMs.
Winning the war wouldn’t be the only challenge. Establishing that center, that structure, that trust would be its own kind of battle.
After tethering Grace, she walked into the clinic, past the waiting area—only a handful of people today—and turned to the desk.
“I need to talk to Rachel when she’s free. Hannah, too, if it’s possible.”
“Rachel’s with a patient. I think Hannah’s doing a round in maternity and peeds.” April gestured. “All the way down, turn right.”
“Thanks.”
She moved down, past exam and treatment rooms, beyond a ward—only three beds taken, a good sign. When she turned right, she heard the fretful cry of an infant, and Hannah’s soothing voice.
“Somebody wants her mama. It’s feeding time, isn’t it, sweetie?”
She turned into what had been a classroom, saw Hannah pick up a swaddled infant from one of the clear baby beds. In another, one wearing a little blue knitted cap slept on.
Across the room a woman sat in a rocking chair with a tiny baby at her