Chapter 8: When The Rain Falls Down

Casey's first night in her tent with Etta wasn't without issues, all of which were compounded by the fact it had started raining at about midnight and was still raining late into the next morning. Though Casey wasn't at all an expert when it came to baby knowledge, she was very aware that sleepless nights were more than common. And that night Casey had her first.

Up until then, Etta had been a good sleeper. Even when she had woken up screaming in the past, Casey was generally already awake. But for whatever reason, whether it was the rain or just general misery, Etta decided that night that she was going to cry, cry and then cry some more.

When Casey finally gave in and got out of bed to tend to Etta's demands, the morning sky was grey and greenish clouds were huddling together promising quite a nasty storm to come. After feeding Etta and grabbing some leftover rabbit stew for her own breakfast, Casey settled just outside her tent under the tarpaulin shade roof.

In a brief break of the rain after breakfast, Casey had borrowed three crates from a neighbour and set herself up outside her tent. Etta was beside her in her basket sitting underneath an umbrella with red hearts all over it, just in case the tarp roof succumbed to all the rain.

Though Etta seemed happier exploring her mouth with her fingers, Casey still attempted to teach her Blackjack. And an hour later, despite never actually picking up a card or being aware of what was happening, Etta was winning. Casey was complaining about her run of bad cards to the baby when Pope arrived.

"What are you two talking about?" He was looking at her like he had just caught her talking to herself.

"Blackjack," Casey she shuffled her cards. No tricks, just generic shuffling. She'd never mastered the card shuffling flair that her mother had. "Etta wins about half the time. I ask her Hit or Stay, if she makes a noise I take it as her calling a Hit. She stays quiet, it means Stay. Mostly I go Bust, but it's still a win for her. I should be keeping tally. She's beaten me at cards more than you"

Pope glared at her and then sat down on the crate opposite her. "Rematch. No Texas Hold 'Em. Five Card Draw, and I'm dealing."

Due to the relentless rain, Casey had planned to spend the day playing cards and maybe, if she could entice someone to watch Etta, finding time to nap. "As you wish." She handed him the deck. "What are we playing for?"

"Bragging rights."

"I don't brag," Casey said politely. "It's not classy."

Pope didn't look amused. "That supposed to be funny?"

Casey tried to glare but she made herself laugh. "Just deal." Etta began to whinge, so Casey retrieved her pacifier from her pocket and stuck it in her mouth. She quieted almost immediately. Casey made a mental note to be on the lookout for more of those things, she was certain to lose this one and it worked wonders.

After a few minutes of boastful talk about their respectful "perfect" hands, Pope laid down his cards with a slightly less enthusiastic flick of his wrist than the one from their first game. Casey spied his Jack high straight and bit her lip. "Damn," She frowned and set her cards facedown. "You win."

For a very brief millisecond, Pope looked like he might whoop out loud. But instead his eyes narrowed. He reached across the crate table and flipped over Casey's cards. Four twos stared right back up at him. "Oh, come on!"

"Even when I lose, I win." Casey laughed. That was a thing her mother did to her father, pretend to have a bad hand when in fact it was a winner. Her Dad had appreciated it about as much as Pope. "Wanna play Go Fish?"

"You're funny," He shuffled the cards with tense hands. "Y'know, if this was darts, I'd be owning you right now."

"But it's not. And you aren't." Casey reached over to Etta and stuck her pacifier back in her mouth before the baby started to whinge. "I thought you'd be good at cards," Casey teased Pope. "It would go with your whole vibe."

"My "vibe"?"

"The prison ink, the bikes, the leather, the epic facial hair?" Casey listed. "Cards kind of go with the package."

Pope smiled, but he didn't look at all happy. "Well, since you know so much about me, let's talk about you," He started dealing again. "What did you do before this lovely apocalypse?"

"I was a copy editor for an antique magazine," Casey said. "DéjàNew."

Pope raised an eyebrow at her. "Bluffing?"

"Sadly, no," Casey admitted, briefly checking the cards she had been dealt. Pair of Jacks. "And if you think that sucks, we had a monthly reader write-in column called Mantiques. Which was generally just guys bragging about sport or music memorabilia they thought was worth a fortune."

Pope scoffed, but actually did seem slightly amused. Casey was used to it, her friends never let up about the lame puns that seemed to accompany the particular magazine she worked for. As Casey was debating whether or not to fold just to mess with Pope again, Etta made a very loud squeal. So loud it made both Pope and Casey squint back a little.

"What's her problem?" Pope asked.

"She's bored," Casey said as she once again replaced Etta's pacifier. "Deal her in."

Casey woke up with a violent headache and the feeling like she had spent the night downing can after can of cheap beer. Her whole body was lethargic and slow to react. Her blurred vision focused on a dizzying mess of colours above her which, when cleared, revealed an advertisement for some type of fluoro coloured candy. It was an ad that Casey knew was on the inside roof of the medic bus. Why was she in the medic bus?

The light above her was way too bright and seemed to pierce through Casey's eyelids, so she covered her face with her hands and that was when she heard Anne's faraway voice. "Casey? Can you hear me?"

Casey took her hands from her eyes and saw Anne's serene face above her. The light behind her gave her a soft, angelic glow. "Anne?"

"Do you know where you are?" Anne still sounded like she was two rooms away.

"Yeah, Anne, I'm in the damn bus," Casey replied, though her voice sounded a lot slower than she anticipated, and had none of the snark she expected to hear. "The hell is going on?"

"Follow my finger," Anne slowly waved her forefinger from side to side in front of Casey's eyes. "You got hit in the head."

After a few seconds Casey squinted her eyes shut; following Anne's finger made her temples throb. The last thing she remembered was going to bed after a rainy day of repeatedly slamming Pope in cards. "By who?" She briefly wondered if Pope had been so furious at his epic losses that he clocked her in her sleep.

"We think it was Abigail." Anne said, her voice finally sounding normal again.

It took Casey a second to even remember the redheaded skitter girl. But it all came back in a rush. The woods, Abigail's busted harness, Lee with that shotgun, Ben not able to heard her. But after finding depositing her with Anne, Casey hadn't spoken to the girl again. "Why would she hit me?"

"We're not sure," Anne admitted. "She's missing."

Casey coughed. Her throat was dry and scratchy as sandpaper. Anne gave her a water bottle and helped her take a drink. "Is Etta okay?" Casey coughed again. When Anne didn't respond, Casey felt a strange squeezing in the pit of her chest. "Anne?"

Anne looked grave. "Etta's missing, too."

xxx