THE RED WAKE

Chapter 29/Chapter 30/Chapter 31 (Pt 1)

"I... have no family," the girl said. "Not here. Not... in this place."

Odd, Jenny thought.

She wondered if the girl had been injured in some way.

Maybe she's feeble in the head.

"What's your name, child?" she asked.

"Iris."

"Imus?" Jimmy hollered.

He had grown a little hard of hearing over the years. Jenny turned to correct him.

"Isis, dear," she told him.

"Iris," the girl corrected.

"Oh. Are you hungry, child? I know I am," Jenny said. "We were just going to look for a place to pull over."

At her words, Iris' eyes lit up.

"Yes," she said. "Yes I am. I'm very hungry."

"Well when was the last time you ate?" Jenny asked.

Iris' brows furrowed in concentration. Jenny thought the poor thing looked like she hadn't eaten in good long while. From the way she craned her head, as if the idea of eating was new to her, a person might have thought she'd never eaten in her whole life.

*

Night had fallen by the time they reached the empty house just off the highway. The place was set on an old dairy farm. As they knocked on the door, hoping to find a friendly face, Jimmy swore he could hear cows moaning in the fields behind the house. But no one answered.

Trying the door, Jimmy found that it was unlocked.

Against Jenny's wishes, Jimmy had pulled the gun from the glove compartment. As he walked into the kitchen, gun held at the ready, he looked warily around the room.

"You look ridiculous," Jenny said, brushing him out of the way. The young woman helped her bring the picnic basket indoors.

"Have to check for an ambush, woman," Jimmy said impatiently.

The place was dark, but Jenny had candles. The three of them ate from the picnic lunch that Jenny laid out for them. Supplies were tight, but they found enough in the cellar of the old house to make up for any shortages caused by the new girl's presence. They ate by candle light in the dining room of the old farmhouse. In the flickering circle of light, Jenny got a look at their odd passenger. She looked mulatto, or possibly Arab.

Maybe some kind of Latino, Jenny thought. But she wasn't sure.

Iris was pretty enough. Long, dark hair that fell in curly ringlets past her shoulders, an olive complexion that reminded Jenny of old Nick Loutas, the owner of the Greek restaurant over in Macomb. Sometimes, in the summer, Nick would work outdoors, cutting down dead trees for the locals or repairing rooftops damaged by tornado strikes. By midsummer, Nick could pass for a Mexican an Indian or a light-skinned black.

That's how this gal looks, Jenny thought.

The most striking thing about her, though, were her eyes. They were gray as windswept winter seas. Jenny thought the woman's eyes looked nearly white in the half-light thrown by the candles. They seemed to contain secret depths, mysterious, swirling vortices. It made Jenny a little uncomfortable to look directly into those stormy orbs. They seemed to see through her, sifting among her most guarded secrets.