Free Fermata: The Spring: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series (The Fermata Series: Four Post-Apocalyptic Novellas Book 2) by Juliette Harper Page A

always heard the same sound. That click just before the shot. Logically, she knew it was impossible for time to still to the point that she could hear the firing pin strike the shell, but she always heard it just the same -- and it always sent the same realization through her. Hell had no fires that could damn her more than that sound or make her feel more searing pain.
    Vick put the front sight between the child's startlingly clear, blue eyes and breathed out slowly as she squeezed the trigger, only to swear sharply when Lucy’s arm struck her hands. The bullet hurtled wide and exploded a gumball machine.
    “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Vick yelled, re-sighting on the child. She just wanted to get it over with. Once was bad enough.
    “Vick," Lucy barked urgently. "Stop! Look at her. She’s crying.”
    And then Vick saw it. The rivulets of tears washing away the filth on the gaunt cheeks.
    The sound of the muffled shot had been enough to send the child into hysterics. Lucy approached her carefully, talking in gentle tones. When Lucy held out her arms, the little girl allowed herself to be picked up, and instantly locked her arms around Lucy’s neck. Through gasping sobs she gave her name as Beth.
    As Lucy comforted the terrified girl, she looked at Vick imploringly for help, but the other woman simply turned on her heel and walked away.
    Lucy stared after her in disbelief. “I have to get some things for her,” she said to Vick’s retreating back. “We’re not set up for a kid back at the house.”
    “Fine.”
    “Vick, I need you to watch her.”
    “I can see her from here.”
    When Beth’s sobs subsided, Lucy sat her down in a circle of stuffed animals and alphabet blocks. “Now you stay right here,” she said, kissing her little forehead. “I’ll be right back. You stay here. Promise?”
    The child’s eyes were still enormous with fright, and she was clutching a stuffed rabbit, but she nodded her head vigorously.
    Lucy walked over to where Vick was staring fixedly out the front window of the store watching for signs of activity in the street. “What is wrong with you?!” she hissed.
    “I don’t like children,” Vick snapped.
    “Since when?” Lucy shot back. “There’s a child’s room back at the house on the second floor.”
    Vick turned toward her. If Lucy hadn’t known her so well, she would have recoiled from the force of the look. Instead, she stood her ground when Vick said menacingly, “I told you never to mention that room.”
    “And I don’t mention it,” Lucy whispered angrily, “but don’t tell me some cock-and-bull story about not liking children. And don’t scare an already terrified child because you can’t deal with your memories.”
    “You mind your own business, Lucy,” Vick said in an icy tone.
    “Last time I looked, lady, you are my business.”
    The drive back to Maine was long and silent. Vick kept her eyes fixed on the road while Lucy sat in the passenger seat with Beth asleep in her arms. Once back at the house, Vick stalked off to her study and slammed the door.
    Lucy carried the filthy child upstairs and gave her a bath, dressing her with the clothes she’d taken from the store in Boston. Then she carried a couple of straight-backed chairs up from the dining room to use as make-shift bed rails and settled the child in the room next to her own.
    She watched Beth sleeping and smiled, remembering how her own younger brothers rolled out of bed when they were this child’s age. Then they were pains in her backside. Now that they were gone, they were a pain in her heart.
    When Lucy was satisfied that Beth wouldn’t wake up, she went downstairs. The door to the study was ajar, and for a second she thought about going inside. Instead, she stood in the shaft of light falling from within and shifted her field of vision until she saw Vick sitting at the desk.
    There was an open bottle of brandy in front of her friend and a shot glass in her hand. As Lucy