Free H10N1 by M. R. Cornelius, Marsha Cornelius

shoulder.
    “There’s a colony on Cape Charles, just across the bay from Virginia Beach,” Rick explained. “Everyone there is healthy. They have food, medical facilities, a place to live.”
    Sanchez jumped in, giving Lily and Bobby Ray instructions on delivering the baby if they didn’t get to the colony in time.
    “Don’t lie down, squat,” she said. “Use gravity. It makes the pushing easier.”
    Rick tried not to listen when she told Bobby Ray how to cut the cord and tie it off. “And make sure all of the placenta is delivered.” For a split second, Rick heard a woman cry, heard a doctor urging her to push.
    Jumping to his feet, Rick ran to the Doc’s car. He hauled most of her supplies back to the van, leaving Bobby Ray and Lily a case of rations and water. The work eased his panic. And spared him from watching the Doc drain off Bobby Ray’s knee.
    Rick twisted his stiff neck, flexed his clenched fingers. After a couple deep breaths, he felt back in control.
    Sanchez gushed about how great it was that the fluid she sucked out was only water. Then she wrapped Bobby Ray’s knee, and Rick hefted him into the back of the SUV. Once he was settled, Sanchez asked if Rick thought they should give Bobby Ray a gun.
    “Why? So someone can take it away and shoot him with it?”
     
    Finally back in the van, all the tension Rick had been holding back spewed out. “What the hell were you thinking back there? Did you even stop to think it might be a set-up, like the crippled guy with crutches? That maybe the girl wasn’t even pregnant?”
    Taeya lashed back. “Did she really look like she’d pull a gun on me? Or that Bobby Ray could wrestle me to the ground?”
    “That’s not the point.”
    “No, it isn’t. And what exactly is the point?” She twisted in her seat to face him. “You did a good thing. Why are you so embarrassed by that?”
    “I’m not embarrassed.”
    She choked on a laugh. “For a minute back there, I thought you were going to get all misty-eyed about that girl.”
    Shit. The hamster wheel was squeaking in her head.
    “Wait a minute.” She lowered her elbows onto her armrest. “You lost your girlfriend.”
    “No.”
    “Your wife. Was she pregnant?”
    “No!”
    Sanchez’ voice got all soft. “So you had a child. How old?”
    “Shut up!”
    Bam. Just like that, little Richie came toddling into the kitchen like he’d never left. “Dad—dy.”
    His little arms shot straight into the air, waiting to be picked up and buckled in his high chair. “Feed me.”
    Then, like a Chinese fire drill, all these other memories pushed to get out — the doctor gently laying his newborn son in Rick’s arms, Michelle sitting in that second-hand rocker, breast-feeding Richie, Rick standing in the doorway, leaning on the doorjamb for support, dizzy with love, little bitty tennis shoes, stinky diapers, the silky feel of baby hair on his cheek.
    Sanchez reached over and touched Rick’s shoulder, and he realized he had slowed almost to a stop.
    “Tell me,” she said.
    His happy memories drowned in a tidal wave of rage. He squinted his eyes in anger. “Ever hear of Williamsport, Pennsylvania?”
     
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    Williamsport. The name hit Taeya like a punch.
    “Every summer,” Rick said, “kids gathered there to play their annual World Series Little League Championship. Four teams from the U.S. competed against teams from Canada, Japan, Latin America and Europe.”
    Cupping her hands, Taeya pressed them to her lips. She never heard the name Williamsport without getting a nauseous roil in her stomach. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
    “Yeah. Everyone was, the officials of the league, the city council, the state government, the feds. Hell, the bastard who wasn’t paying attention to the scumbags hanging around his airplanes even shot himself. Course, he had to before somebody else did. He’s the one who let those pricks fly the banners around the stadium during the tournament.