Free Bitter Waters by Wen Spencer Page B

yet blend in with the other customers. They rotated through the list so that their visits appeared random. It was a necessity dictated by the lack of time for food shopping and cooking, the desire to travel light, and the need to stay one step ahead of both the Ontongard and the law. Bear’s careful study of the mushrooms, though, indicated that they planned to eat the food instead of abandoning the full cart later.
    â€œWe’ve decided to have a cookout,” Rennie explained. “And do some howling at the moon.”
    They paused at the bakery counter.
    â€œDesserts?” Bear asked.
    â€œCheesecake.” Rennie patted Kittanning on the back as he eyed the selection. “Carrot cake. And Key lime pie.”
    â€œKey lime,” Bear agreed happily.
    They left Bear there, waiting his turn like a normal person. Hellena, alpha female for the Dog Warriors and Rennie’s mate, stood in the next aisle, reading a can of baked beans’ label. Like Rennie, she seemed devoid of weapons, leather pants too tight for anything concealed, her black lace camisole too skimpy to hide a weapon. Ukiah could smell gunmetal on her, an exotic perfume of forged steel, oil, and old powder. He wondered where she had it hidden.
    There was something mind-boggling about the Dog Warriors food shopping. They were Pack. Protectors of the planet. FBI most wanted. Hardened killers. Elite soldiers. It didn’t seem right for them to stand in the stark clean aisles of a supermarket and study nutrient guides on food packages. All much younger-looking than their sometimes hundred years ofage, they looked like art students stocking up for a tailgate party.
    â€œNatural flavor,” Hellena said without looking up. “What do you suppose natural flavor is when it’s an additive?”
    â€œWe can make beans from scratch.” Rennie picked up a large bag of loose dried beans. “Your beans are better than anything we’ve had out of a can.”
    â€œI don’t put chemicals into my beans and call it natural flavoring.” Hellena took the bag and put it in the cart. “I’ll need to get bacon, onions, brown sugar, and the rest of the makings.”
    She went off for the other ingredients.
    Ukiah consulted his mother’s list and added a bag of dried beans to his own cart. “Why are you having a cookout?”
    â€œBecause life is good,” Rennie said. “We’re home safe from Oregon. Hex is an urn full of ash and we’ve made a sizable dent in his Gets. For once, we’re on top and we’ve got our teeth in their throat.”
    The cantaloupe woman wheeled past them as Rennie talked about teeth and throats with the baby on his shoulder. She gave Ukiah a look that indicated she thought he should retrieve his son from the scary man, family or not, and edged on by.
    They moved on to the baby goods’ aisle. The smell of baby powder perfumed the air from a thousand sources. They paused in the flood of baby sweetness.
    â€œAnd this is what it’s all about,” Rennie said, tracing a chubby baby smile on a diaper package. “Life, fresh and new, individual as snowflakes, innocent of yesteryear as it is of yesterday, free to be as good and noble as it chooses to be.” Rennie picked a bright rattle off the shelf, stripped it of its tag, and handed it to Kittanning, who crowed with delight. “And you’re going to be a very good boy, aren’t you?”
    â€œRennie!”
    The Dog Warrior laughed. “We’ll pay for it.”
    Ukiah picked up a package of diapers, made sure they were the right size, and dropped it into his cart. “So we’re winning this war finally? It sounds like it.”
    â€œI’d like to think we are,” Rennie said. “The problem ofcutting the head off the hydra is finding the body before it grows new heads. We’ve lost the trail and all the Gets left seem to have gone into deep