The stink-rooms weren't bad to deal with. At first Chris tried to explain to Layla the concept of sewage lines and pumps, but she could not picture what he was trying to describe. The notion of digging special tunnels for waste did not make sense in her mind. Waste was for making plants grow. Why separate it off? At last he simply enlisted her help in filling in the stink-holes with dirt. And the toilet in the room with the skylight became a planter.
There was plenty to eat in the overgrown garden. Layla's greatest skill lay in tending plants. She was delighted to discover a wide variety of plants gone to seed: potatoes, lambs' ears, daylilies, onions, and more. Within a few weeks she had set up a larder in the basement. Braided bulbs hung over shelves of tubers. Using the marvelous tools they found, Chris built a rack so she could dry herbs. Every day Layla was thankful for the blessing of the house.
Chris also built some small animal traps, and some nights they feasted on squirrels and rabbits. They hauled stones up from the river bank and built a fire pit. Chris used the scythe and the loppers to clear a space for it.
One night as they lay under the stars, Layla said, "I've been thinking about something."
It was unusual for her to have an independent idea.
"Yes?"
"I've been thinking about ... not taking my tea anymore."
She kept staring up at the inky sky, not at his face. It was as if she didn't want to see his reaction.
Chris studied her profile. "Do you want to make a baby?"
She rolled to her side and looked at him. "Is it safe now?"
"As safe as it will ever be." His eyes glimmered into hers.
"Oh, Chris. Really? Can we?"
His mouth fell to hers in a no-holds-barred kiss. "We can try."
They made love in the moonlight, naked as Adam and Eve. A new hunger infused their desire. Though the weather was growing chill, they coupled with only the sky above them and the earth below. Chris laid his lips to the place where the baby would come, mouthing his woman into ecstasy before he mounted her.
"I love you, Layla."
"I love you, Chris."
He rode her with his eyes on hers, telling her with his body and soul. Then he rolled them both over and held her aloft.
"I feel your heartbeat inside me," she whispered.
Chris looked up at her, dazzled by the sight of her breasts silhouetted against the constellations. Her face was radiant. It was as if he'd never seen her before. Layla who followed, Layla who was younger than he. Layla who knew nothing of the old ways, the magic and luxuries the previous generations had enjoyed. Now she would bear his child.
Drunk with desire, he imagined her a queen, a mother to a new race. He planted his seed in her belly with a groan. Immediately she rolled to her back and lifted her knees. Chris knelt before her, as a man worshipping a goddess, and lifted her hindquarters. They held the pose as long as they could, hoping his sperm would mate with her egg.
It didn't take much practice; Layla's next blood-time never came, but the morning sickness did. Chris was very careful with her. He worked twice as hard to provide every comfort he could, and stayed her hand from any heavy lifting.
For the second time in their relationship, he consulted her regarding a major decision.
"Winter will come calling," Chris announced. "We have two choices. We can travel south, so you can have the baby in a warmer climate, or we can stay here, so you don't have to travel."
"I don't want to leave our home."
"I don't want to leave, either. But I had to offer you the choice. Besides, if we had no Marauders til now, it seems to me they would be the ones heading south. If there are any."
Layla nodded in sage agreement. "That makes sense. What do we do next?"
A fireplace would have to be built; Chris studied the design of the house very carefully before he selected the site. He dragged in stones and fussed with the existing duct work. One by one, he closed off the smaller rooms, so only the center of the home would be heated.
The glass jars were handy for keeping food fresh in the running stream. Sometimes animals found their cache, which irked them. Chris plundered the basement for supplies, rigging different designs for lids and locks.
He also refused to make love to Layla as her belly rounded. "We can't take a chance," he told her.
She wanted other kinds of sexual play but Chris resisted. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea for her to have an orgasm. What if it dislodged the baby? But Layla convinced him that the mother's happiness would be good for the child; so after a while, he consented to mutual masturbation. He pleasured her often with his mouth, talking love-words to the mother as well as the unborn.
Layla squealed softly with delight. "What are you saying down there?" She wiggled.
"I'm telling our son all the secrets of a lifetime."
"Do you think we'll have a boy?" She kissed him, tasting her own sticky juices on his face.
"Or a girl. A daughter. She'll be as beautiful as you."
"Mmmm, I love you so."
The next day the first flakes of snow appeared.
Layla asked, "You're sure you can help me when the time comes?"
He took both his hands in hers. "To be honest, I've never seen it done. But if women and men have been reproducing for thousands of years, well, how bad can it be?"
Layla shrugged and giggled. "I guess we don't have much choice now anyhow."
"That's right."
The fire made their haven cozy. Layla stretched her feet to its warmth. She was starting to say something to her mate, wondering what to name their child, when a sound reached their ears. Something, or someone, was banging along the side of the house.
They hushed.
Chris was on his feet in a lightning strike. He met Layla's eyes and pointed, south, then straight down.
Silent as falling snow she obeyed, creeping toward the room where the door to the basement was her portal to safety.
She hesitated. Just around the corner she turned and paused. Her breathing was very slow and quiet, like a deer holding still in the woods.
The banging sounded again. Layla hurried down the steps, as fast as she dared with the baby in her belly.
The ceiling dots weren't working because it was night. She didn't dare light a candle, either. But she knew the rooms very well by feel. The cool hard canister was where it had always been.
Voices sounded above her head. Layla squeezed her eyes tight for a moment and prayed. Oh, God, if You exist, please, protect my man and my baby.
Back up the stairs she trundled. Her back ached. She rounded the corner just as Chris was saying, "What do you want?"
"You know what I want. Everything that's yours." The man was dirty and cold-looking. His face was pinched and his hair was greasy. He held Chris at bay with a blade in one hand, a club of some kind in the other.
The man's gaze flicked at Layla as she entered the room. "I'll be takin' your woman, too." His lips curled back in an ugly semblance of a grin.
"Leave her alone! Can't you see she's pregnant!"
"Bet you had fun gettin' her that way. Whatcha got there, missy?"
Layla advanced, holding the red container in front of her like a peace offering. "You know what this is?"
"Layla! No!"
They ignored Chris. He didn't dare move.
"Where'd you get that?" The stranger's voice was hoarse. He looked angry, lustful, and a little frightened. He gestured with the knife. "Take off the lid. Slow. Let me smell it."
Chris stood transfixed. Layla could feel the tension emanating from his body. She knew he was waiting for an opening.
She fumbled with the cap.
"Don't fuck with me, woman, or I'll kill your man in front of you."
Layla focused. She finished removing the yellow phallic thing. Then she lifted her eyes to the intruder's face.
He set down the club and held out his hand. "Throw it here."
She tossed him the lid. He waved it under his nose, inhaling the fumes.
"It's real," he marveled. "Where did you get this?!"
Layla hadn't thought that far. She looked to Chris for the answer.
"There's more where that came from. Listen. It doesn't have to be this way. You can live peaceably with us. There's plenty of room and enough to eat."
"Fuck you!" snarled the stranger. He darted toward Chris in a sudden attack.
Chris jumped out of the way; the knife left a bloody trail down his arm.
Layla shrieked and threw the red thing at the stranger. Gasoline rainbowed through the air, landing in the man's face. He sputtered and whirled, lashing out in a blind fury. Chris kicked him into the fire.
Whoosh! The body caught in a terrible blaze. The man pitched and yowled but only succeeded in stumbling against the stone walls. The couple stared in horror as the victim rose to his knees, staggered, and fell a final time.
"Shit!" yelled Chris. He grabbed the bucket of sand by the hearth and coated the floor in front of the fireplace. "That was close," he gasped.
The pungent smells of petroleum and burning flesh filled the room. This would be a much harder stink to clean up.
Layla buried her face in her husband's shoulder. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she sobbed.
"Sshh, ssshhh. It's not your fault, honey." He held her and rocked her. "It's like I told you. Some people will do anything for a gallon of gas."
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