Finding Mikayla Page 4

  He shakes his head at me with a smug smile. “A shower would be nice, Mikayla. Thank you.”

  I go into his room to strip the bed sheets only to see he’s already done it for me. Amanda’s words from yesterday echo through my head. He’s a keeper.

  I gather up my backpack and walk out into the main area where he is waiting for me. “Shower first, then food. After that, we’ll spend the day getting you acquainted with the base. You’ll have to tell me if you get too tired. I don’t want you overdoing it on your first day.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m tougher than I look.” He gives me a wink. “Anyway, if I do collapse, I’m in good hands, right?”

  Jamie comes through the front door for her shift. She eyes Mitch all dressed in his street clothes and it’s more than obvious what she’s thinking when her jaw drops slightly as she takes him in from head to toe. “You’re leaving?” she asks, with a look of disappointment. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “Mitch has been cleared by both Dr. Jacobs and me. We’ll keep a close eye on him for a while just to make sure.”

  “Oh.” She looks directly at Mitch. “Can I show you around after my shift?” she asks, practically batting her eyelashes at him.

  I roll my eyes at her. Must she try to garner the attention of every man in camp?

  “Thanks for the offer,” he says to her. He turns to look at me and he continues, “But Colonel Andrews assigned Mikayla here to give me the grand tour.”

  “Mikayla?” she says, my name laced with disgust.

  “I know everyone around here calls her Dr. Kay, but I think Mikayla has a nice ring to it, don’t you?” he asks her.

  “Whatever.” She walks straight past us and into the office.

  I shout after her. “Jamie, don’t forget that Mr. Skala is coming in this morning for his checkup!”

  I turn back to Mitch. “Pneumonia,” I say. “We don’t see a lot in the way of colds and flu anymore, but every once in a while someone will pick up a nasty bug. At least there’s no shortage of antibiotics. The army stockpiled plenty of those.” I walk towards the door. “But we’ll wait on the clinic orientation until you start work. Today, we find you a place to live and tour the base.”

  When we emerge from the clinic and Mitch gets his first look at our little community, he stops in his tracks and puts a hand on my arm.

  “What is it?” I ask, feeling the slight burning of my flesh where he’s touching me.

  He shakes his head as he looks around and takes everything in. “I don’t know,” he says. “I guess I expected to walk into something from the Wild West. You know, with dust balls, tall weeds, and dilapidated buildings. But whatever I thought, it wasn’t this.”

  I try to see it through Mitch’s eyes. I guess it would seem strange to some that we have appealing grounds adorned with flowers and freshly cut green grass. I explain, “Some of the older ladies have taken it upon themselves to beautify the grounds. They even found one of those old lawn clippers to keep the grass cut. And you’ll probably see them out here watering the landscaping every day that it doesn’t rain.”

  Mitch cocks his head in wonder so I add, “It’s nice for people to have a hobby, you know, to keep their mind off everything. We’re trying to make things as normal as possible around here. Seeing the beautiful flowers is just part of that. It reminds you to stop and smell the roses even after all that’s happened.”

  “Do you have any?” he asks.

  “What, flowers?”

  “No. Hobbies. Do you have a hobby, Mikayla?”

  A smile plays on my lips when I think about how I spend much of my free time. “Not so much a hobby. I guess it’s more like a passion.” I point over in the direction of the barracks. “Behind the barracks there are horse stables. Early on, we realized that we would need transportation, so in addition to all the bikes we could find, we took in local farmers who would bring their horses. I had never ridden before. But the first time I looked a horse in the eye, I knew I had found a kindred spirit. I go out as often as I can.”

  Mitch looks at me with fascination, so I ask, “What?”

  “My granddad had a farm just east of Sacramento where I grew up,” he says. “He had a half-dozen horses. I was practically raised along with those horses.”

  “Oh, so you know how to ride—that will simplify things when we take a tour of the grounds.”

  His eyes light up. “That will be great!” he says. “It’s been forever since I’ve ridden.” He reaches up to grasp the material of the shirt over his chest like I’ve seen him do so many times in the past few days. “At least I think it has.” He looks to the ground as he obviously mourns the years that he has lost.

  We stand in front of the clinic as I point out the general location of everything around camp. To our left is the old commissary, which isn’t in use anymore, and the PX, which is our version of Walmart. Beyond those are the chapel, the old bank, and the old post office. To our right, down a winding road is the housing development. I explain, “Some people still live there, but not many because it’s a hike back to the main camp.”

  “Does everyone live in the barracks?” he asks.

  “Most do. Some of us have gotten together to live in the apartments over there between the barracks and the daycare center.” I point them out over the top of the community center. “The good news about the barracks is that you don’t have to use your own lantern or flashlight. The barracks have been allotted community lanterns. Of course the downside is that everyone sleeps in bunks in very close quarters.”

  “Where do you live?” he asks.

  “I room with Holly, Amanda and Rachel in a three-bedroom apartment. We pool our resources and it works for us.” We start walking down the sidewalk across from the medical center. “The only other downside to the apartments is the latrine situation. The barracks have community latrines. However, it’s about a hundred-yard walk from the apartments. You can make your own latrine behind the apartment building, but then you are responsible for it.”

  “Who takes care of the community latrines?” he asks.

  I laugh because there’s a story behind the answer to his question. “That would be Lieutenant Camden.”

  Mitch furrows a brow at me when he asks, “You have an officer on latrine duty?”

  I nod my head and tell him the story as we walk over to the community center. “Jerry’s wife was in labor with twins when the base lost all electricity. He was so distraught over her difficult labor that he got some enlisted men to help him get out the generator and some other medical equipment from a Faraday cage.” I tell him that the base had two Faraday cages specifically for events such as this. “A Faraday cage is a hardened room that protects electronics from things like solar flares, EMPs and nuclear attacks.”

  “I know what a Faraday cage is, Mikayla.” He rolls his eyes at me so I elbow him in the ribs.

  He doubles over in pain so I quickly run my hands along his rib cage to check for injuries as I apologize to him. “Mitch, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” When my eyes meet his and see them dancing with laughter, I punch his arm—right over his sexy medic tattoo.

  “You are so easy,” he says, laughing, as I start to walk away in a huff. He pulls me back by my hand and says, “So, he got assigned to latrine duty for breaking the rules? My guess is that the first pulse was followed sometime later by a second one that took out any equipment you had pulled from the cage.”

  I notice a twinge race up my arm and I realize it’s because he hasn’t released my hand yet. When I look at our entwined hands, he follows my gaze. He pulls his hand away then gives me a shrug and a smile.

  “Yes, Lt. Camden broke the rules by getting the equipment out too soon. But he is one of the happiest men around camp. He never complains about having, as he says, ‘the crappiest job on base.’ He’s got two healthy boys, so it was all worth it.”

  We are almost to the community center, the main hub of camp, when he asks, “You said you had two Far
aday cages. What about the second?”

  I shake my head. “It’s just a generator and some minor medical equipment. We only use it in case of emergencies at the clinic. We used it for you the day you came here, to run an EKG. We can also run a ventilator and a nebulizer, and run lights and fans, of course, but that’s about it.”

  I give him a tour of the community center which, thankfully, has lots of activities to keep the masses busy. There are some pool and Ping-Pong tables, shuffleboard, a gym, even two bowling lanes—which we set up by hand. At the far end of the center is The Oasis—the base bar and grill that has simply become a nightly hangout for the adults.

  Mitch eyes the empty bowling lanes and looks at me inquisitively. “Oh no,” I say. “We need to get you settled first. Plus, you have nothing to wager yet.” I grin at him.

  “Do I have to have some kind of makeup or tampons for you to play me?” He winks.

  My face heats up. “No, but when you have a roll of toilet paper, come find me.”

  He laughs. Then, realizing what I just said, his eyes go wide as the actuality of our situation hits him. I walk him over to the far doors of the community center so that we will emerge on the opposite side. He once again holds the door for me. I take him through the barracks, and then the dining hall next to them. To the left of those is the old Burger King and coffee shop. Towards the front of the base is the gas station, where we hand pump gas into the few working vehicles that are still in operation. Across from that is a large outdoor recreation area with a baseball and soccer field.

  “So, Sgt. Matheson,” I say, “where would you like to call home?”

  He looks around at the camp, turning his body in each direction as he takes it all in. I’m watching him as he absorbs the reality of what happened almost a year ago. I wonder how long it will take before he demands that off-base trip to see the outside world. Civilians aren’t allowed past the main gates unless there are extreme circumstances, but he is army. I’ve only been out once since I arrived the very day of the event, and that was to help save a trapped woman who would have died without immediate medical attention. It wasn’t until then, almost six months ago, that I fully realized the scope of the situation. I also realized how nice we have it here. Our little community is somewhat of a post-apocalyptic utopia. As I watch Mitch view each facet of our camp, I hope he comes to see it that way, too. A part of me wonders if he will leave once his memory returns. Surely he was searching for someone, being that he was on the road alone.

  All of a sudden I find myself wishing, just a little, that he never recovers his memory. And the guilt I feel over that floods through me like a tsunami.

  “Are there any apartments left?” he asks, pulling me back from my thoughts.

  I hesitate to even tell him. I shouldn’t say the words, but somehow they come out anyway. “You can ask Austin about rooming with him. His roommate recently moved in with my friend, Pam, leaving Austin alone in his apartment.”

  The apartment that is directly across the hall from mine.

  Chapter Five

  Mitch and I head over to the barracks for a shower. I brought clean clothes in my backpack, but he hasn’t been issued any yet—that comes later. I look at him guiltily and say, “I hope you don’t mind putting those same clothes back on. We did wash them for you so they are fresh.”

  He cocks his head to the side and replies, “I did two tours in the sand pit, Mikayla. I think I can handle it.”

  I smile at him. “Right . . . sorry,” I say, with a wrinkle of my nose that leaves him staring at my face.

  The sun is bright this morning as he examines me and I wonder momentarily if yesterday’s eyeliner is smudged down my cheek. In our hurry to leave the clinic, I didn’t even look in the mirror. Ordinarily, I don’t wear makeup. But, yesterday when I went home to grab my overnight bag and poker supplies, I was compelled to put some on. I was sprucing up for Girls’ Night. Or at least that’s what I tried to convince myself I was doing. I think back over the past year and can probably count on one hand the number of times that I bothered with my appearance. It was usually because the community was having an organized affair such as a dance, or when the girls and I got together to give makeovers out of sheer boredom.

  I quickly run a finger under my eyes to wipe up any stray liner when Mitch says, “You have the most unique pattern of freckles spanning your nose. It really does flatter your face.”

  Heat creeps up from my neck as a blush warms over me. What is wrong with me? John doles out compliments to me left and right without my body betraying me like this. “Uh . . .” I’m flustered as we enter the barracks. I point him in the direction of the men’s showers. “You can wash me over there.”

  Mitch snickers at me as my mind replays what just came out of my mouth. “I mean, you can wash up over there.” I turn in the direction of the ladies’ showers and walk away, but what I really want to do is dig a hole in the ground and stick my head into it.

  I stand under the tepid stream of water, that only gets slightly warmed making its way through the long maze of pipes from the aquifer, and I try to wash away the embarrassment. I grab my small personal shampoo bottle and measure out a dime-sized portion of the fruity liquid to wash my hair in lieu of using the community soap that smells of lye. After my shower, I decide to forgo the makeup that is packed in my bag. Who am I trying to impress, anyway? The only person I care about looking good for is thousands of miles away.

  I run my fingers through my still-wet hair in an attempt to give my stick-straight locks a slight lift. My reflection shrugs back at me as I decide this is as good as it’s gonna get. I quickly dress and go out to the common area to find Mitch surrounded by some of the kids who are heading off to school this morning. He is doing a magic trick with a rock, pulling it from the ears of the children, causing fits of laughter and giggles to come from the youngsters. I take in his dark, dampened hair as he brushes a chunk of it away when it falls into his eyes. He catches me watching him and sends the kids on their way for their morning lessons.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, picking my pack up off the floor.

  Mitch takes the bag out of my hands and flips it onto his shoulder. It’s the exact same thing that Austin has done for me numerous times, but somehow this small gesture coming from Mitch chips away at my heart. “I could eat.” He opens the door for me. “Lead the way, doctor.”

  Waiting in line for breakfast, I introduce Mitch to an endless number of people who are all very curious about the new addition to our camp. I notice the women stand a little straighter and try to fix their hair as we approach. Some of the men shake their heads and sneer at him due to the simple fact that the male-to-female ratio went up yet again. The men in camp already outnumber the women by about three to one.

  We make our way through the buffet line and take our trays over to join Pam and Craig. I set my tray down and say, “Mitch, you remember Pam from last night? This is her boyfriend, Craig.”

  Mitch shakes Craig’s hand. “Mitch Matheson. Nice to meet you, Craig.”

  “Craig Nolan. You, too, man. You army?” Craig asks, nodding his head at Mitch’s tattoo.

  “Yup, you?”

  “No, I work the crops. You been out that way yet?” Craig asks, but Mitch is busy looking around and taking in the hard stares of some of the soldiers at nearby tables. I notice that John is among the rude culprits.

  Pam grabs Mitch’s arm and points her thumb at the onlookers. “Hey, don’t worry about them. They are just mad that you lowered their chances around here. With your good looks, the ladies will be cat-fighting.”

  “Hey!” Craig sulks at Pam, causing the three of us to laugh.

  “Just sayin’,” Pam replies. Then she looks at me. “Oh, God, has Jamie seen him yet?”

  I nod and Mitch looks at me with a smirk and says, “You mean the one with the batty eyelashes and the big . . . teeth?” He looks at Craig and they bump fists as Pam and I roll our eyes.

  Over breakfast, Craig explains
to Mitch about the large buried propane tanks that are used only for cooking and sterilizing equipment. Pam enlightens him about the youth population here since she works at the daycare. There are about fifty kids under the age of eighteen. Most are on the younger side, going to daycare or the community school that we set up a few months after the blackout.

  Mitch says, “I thought there would be more kids here. Weren’t there a lot of families stationed here before?”

  “There were,” Pam replies, “but since the outage occurred on Easter, which also coincided with the local school’s spring break, many families—or should I say women and their kids—had gone off base to visit family for the holiday since their men were deployed.”

  Craig adds, “That’s why there were just ten officers on base at the time. There was a skeleton staff for the holiday.”

  I feel a hand on my shoulder, but before I can turn around to see who it belongs to, I see Mitch’s eyes burning a hole into it.

  “Hey, Dr. Kay,” I hear John say, as he rubs a possessive thumb on my neck. I lower my shoulder and lean away from him, grabbing the piece of toast from Pam’s tray. Mitch locks eyes with me and tries to stifle a grin as I introduce them.

  “Major John Burnell, meet Sergeant Mitch Matheson. Sgt. Matheson will be staying on and helping in the medical clinic.”

  Mitch stands and address John with, “Hello, sir.”

  “Matheson,” John says dryly. “You’re the head injury, eh?”

  “Well, sir, I prefer to think of myself as the combat medic,” Mitch retorts.

  I feel Pam kick my leg under the table.

  “Well then, let’s just hope the accident didn’t scramble your brains so much that you can’t pull your weight around here,” John says.

  “No, sir. My brains, along with the rest of me, seem to be working perfectly fine.”

  John ignores him and turns to me. “I’ll see you later, Dr. Kay?” he asks, like we have plans to meet or something.