Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Martha and Jonathan Kent had only been married for a year and still on their honeymoon. No one had believed it would last.
What others believed didn’t matter to either of them. They were each other’s entire world.
The moment Jonathan moved in bed, she was up. They were always up before the sun; the life of people tied to the rhythm of the land.
She used her time to start cooking and to get a jump on her housework. By the time that Jonathan got in from his earliest chores, she had breakfast ready for him.
She sat down with him, but she didn’t touch her food. The moment she saw his handsome face bruised and swollen, it was enough to take her appetite away.
“Stop worrying,” Jonathan said. “It’ll all work out.”
She looked up and smiled. She tried to make it look authentic and bright, even though her husband was telling her that with a fat lip.
He reached for her. They held hands.
“If a Kent and a Red Wing can get married, anything in this world is possible. Right?”
She smiled for real this time, which in turn made him smile.
“I love you Jonathan Kent. I trust you.”
“Good. Eat. We have a lot to do today.”
“Yes,” she agreed wholeheartedly. “We do.”
That day was the usual morning. Johnathan tended to the horses and cows before going to his work on the fields. Martha went about tending to her chickens, ducks, and rabbits before finally tending to her garden.
She constantly checked her watch that day. After lunch, she stood at the sink washing the dishes. Jonathan was already getting his hat, so he could go back out.
Casually, she said, “Oh, honey. I forgot to tell you I wanted to put up some of my mother’s herbal cough remedy. Figured I’d go picking up by the lake. I shouldn’t be gone long.”
“Are you sure that you want to go alone?”
She smiled. “Jonathan Kent, It’s right in our backyard! I know exactly where I need to go. I’ll be fine.”
He believed the smile. He believed her tone.
She waited for him to get back to it. While she did, she prepared for dinner…just in case.
She had a pack full of clothing ready. She’d hidden it in the hall closet. She put it in truck and drove out.
She waved at her husband as she drove by. She drove right to the lake towards the back seven hundred and forty acres of the Kent property above the arable farm land.
Why would a Kent marry a Red Wing?
She loved him. She hadn’t wanted to, but she did. He was a good man. He also owned the lands. The lake and the caves above were more than important to her people.
She parked her truck in the usual place. She grabbed her pack and marched quickly up the trail to a particular cave.
She reached the cave and set the pack down.
She stripped her clothes off. She opened the pack and put on the clothes inside. She would have preferred skins but settled for an old shirt and pants; clothes that she could move in and then burn.
The last two items that she pulled out were her weapons. The tomahawk was her great-great grandfather’s, it had passed from one male descendant to another until only she was left. The tomahawk had been the one used by Red Wing’s hand. The knife came from her uncle. John Clark had carried it while he'd been in Vietnam. The sling shot had been made by her husband. The crows had been bad this year, and they’d both gotten pretty good at hitting them on the first launch.
She braided down her bright red hair and wrapped it with a long black cloth.
Then she walked towards the back of the cave. The last time she and Jonathan had been there, they’d started a small fire to keep warm. They’d made love all night. There was still charred wood. She rubbed the char between her hands and then smudged her arms and white face.
She wasn’t sure if it was enough to hide her identity, so she pulled at the cloth that wrapped her hair. She rewrapped it stretched across the lower part of her face.
Once she was ready, she headed out.
Martha had six sisters. Not by birth. They were friends in her tribe, all of whom she loved dearly. She pulled all of them into it by twisting their arms till they agreed to do as she asked without knowing her intentions. For the last week they did nothing but spread rumors that the caves and the lake were haunted. The dead Comanche were still there fighting a lost war. Angry. Feral. Seeking vengeance on the whites that killed them.
It was good imagery. Curses and ghosts. It was the stuff of movies. It was from the movies.
Five sisters all worked serving food and the two of them worked on the side as sometimes prostitutes. Which was perfect for spreading uncertainty to the right people. The kind of people that could put their hands-on Jonathan Kent for money.
She headed out with a smile on her face. The last time she did anything like it, she’d come within a heartbeat of burying the tomahawk in her husband’s head.
She was glad she hadn’t killed him that day. Love at first sight had saved him. Her grandfather had called it a woman’s weakness.
She agreed.
One of her sister’s worked at the County Surveyor’s Office. That’s how she found out about today.
There was a man. He was rich. He was interested in buying the Kent land, all of it. Today, like the last two days, he would be trespassing. He’d hired a survey team. He’d already tried to intimidate them into selling.
Maybe if he had only wanted the farm, she might have been able to let it go. The situation was now impossible. The man had sent men to the farm. They’d caught Jonathan alone. They had dragged him off his tractor and beaten him raw.
It wasn’t just the farm. This man wanted all of the land, the caves included. They were special. They were equal parts history and burial places.
They’d already lost enough.
She couldn’t allow it.
Martha knew exactly where they were going to be today. She took the cave routes that she’d spent her childhood learning how to navigate. They wound through the mountain and were the easiest, fastest, and stealthiest way to move in the region.
Once she left the caves, she was on the hunt. It wasn’t hard to even find them. She heard them long before she ever saw them.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He loved the area for a summer home. He wanted to build his first. Afterward would come the land development and infrastructure that had been planned out. Several people still thought that he was crazy. But that’s how money was made; through taking chances while providing wealthy individuals with exclusivity. He’d already sent pictures and a slick prospectus to certain people; it had been a short list with Thomas Wayne at the top.
The lake, the view, even the trees would sell the project for him. All he had to do was show the profitability…the vision…the return on the investment.
Once he’d breathed in the air and affirmed his choices, he started back towards the surveyors.
His plan all depended on the Kent’s selling their land. 808 acres in total. Almost all of it was lake, mountain, and forest land. It was astonishing how anyone could own so much land and be so dirt poor.
His steps faltered on the path back to their staging area. One of the men was on the ground.
“Hey,” he called out. “You okay?”
He started running towards the unmoving man but stopped 20 or so feet away from him.
He could see that the man’s head had been hacked apart. There was blood everywhere. A little farther down there was another body. This man had fallen onto his back. His throat was sliced open. Flies attracted by the blood had already found them. They crawled around, several were flying into and around the wounds.
He wanted to scream. The panic reached up and made him run.
He ran for his life.
The trucks were right where they’d left them. The men had cautioned him against bringing his Continental onto the mountain terrain. So, he hadn’t.
He quickly got into the truck. The moment he reached for the keys, he realized that they weren’t in the ignition. A quick panicked pat down told him that they weren’t in his pockets either.
He got out and ran for the other truck. The keys weren’t in that truck either.
For a glimmer of a moment he thought he might run back and check the pockets of the dead men for a set of keys.
Then, he came to his senses and simply ran. The forest was thick with trees and undergrowth. Every plant on the mountain seemed to be fighting against everything else for every available ray of light. Branches wiped at his face, scratching at him as he sped throug.
Still, he didn’t dare to slow down.
It wasn’t long before he tripped and fell.
The fall stunned him. It took him a moment to pick himself up enough to wonder what he tripped over.
That’s when he saw what he had tripped over. He was looking into the lifeless eyes of the last member of the surveying team. There was blood. There was a large chunk of his skull missing.
He began to cry.
He stood because he couldn’t stand the idea of moving towards the gruesome body. He backed away. The tears fell from his face.
So much blood.
He heard heavy footfalls as someone ran towards him. It was fast. Whoever, whatever, it hit him with something heavy.
The blow landed on his right arm, and he screamed out as the pain shot up through his shoulder.
He ran blindly into the trees. His arm hung useless. Every step hurt his arm more and more. But, he was too frightened to stop.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed. He wasn’t sure how far he’d gone.
He stopped. Not because he thought he was safe but because he wasn’t sure where he was. He wasn’t sure what he was running towards.
Everything looked the same.
He heard a whooping sound like in Western movie. It came from behind and it made him freeze in terror. A moment later the next blow hit his leg. The killer, the ghost, was gone like a flash.
The only thought going through his head was the stories they’d heard several times. Ghosts on the mountain. Superstitious warnings about white men not venturing into the woods. Bloody savages needing unending revenge.
He was bent over and in pain, but he didn’t fall. Before it or he could attack again. The man moved as fast as his hobbled leg allowed him. The hit had been low on his thigh. On the outside, right. He couldn’t even reach for it and brace himself.
The tears blinded him.
It wasn’t long before he fell again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Martha got home before Jonathan.
As she lifted her leg onto the back steps, she felt a sharp pain slice through her. She immediately reached down for her belly. She didn’t feel wet. She didn’t think that she was bleeding, but it hurt enough to take her breath away.
She steadied herself and grabbed the railing. She went up the three steps carefully. Slowly.
Once inside she threw her backpack into the pantry closet and closed the door.
She went straight for the cabinet where she kept her herbs, tonics, and infusions. The cabinet was full of mason jars; all of them full of something vital when illness or accidents happened. He found her mothers herbal tea.
God how she hated it and the taste of it. Only pain could make her take it.
And, this qualified.
She brewed a pot of tea and left it steeping next to a cup. She chose a clove infused honey of her own making, to help the taste.
As the tea steeped, she finished dinner. She’d made the soup earlier. It only needed to be boiled and the homemade dumplings added. She’d baked the bread the night before. All she had to do was slice it.
She set the table. She moved the pot of tea. Then, she sat.
She didn’t have to wait long for Jonathan to come in.
It was when he came in that Jonathan smelled the herbs said, “You only drink that disgusting tea when you’re hurting.”
Tears began to fall before the emotions bubbled up.
“I fell,” she admitted. “I fell wrong. I fell on a rock. I felt a sharp pain.”
She reached down and gently placed her hands on her womb. “I don’t think I’ll be able to give you children, Jonathan.”
He was already moving to her side. He wrapped his arms around her and held her as she cried.
She didn’t normally cry. Mostly because she hated tears. Tears were weakness. They were useless.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was not until the next day that they heard about the disappearances. It was a call from a gossiping neighbor.
“Oh, God! Martha?” Jonathan said when he relayed the information.
Martha had already practiced that look in the mirror. Shock. Horror with just a touch of disbelief.
“I didn’t see anyone up there!”
“We should go into town. Tell the Sheriff.”
“Tell the Sheriff what? I didn’t see anything or anyone.”
Jonathan thought about it for a long moment. Finally, he slowly said, “Still. We should tell them you were there. It’s the right thing to do.”
“You’re a good man, Jonathan. I just hope that the Sheriff is too.”
He gave her that look.
“I’ve seen it over and over again, Jonathan. It’s just how it is.”
“Let’s just go and tell the truth.”
“Fine,” she said. “I wanted to stop by Doctor Walter’s office anyway.”
She smiled. She had too. It really was so simple for him.
They drove into town, so they could sit for a half hour waiting on the Sheriff.
Then they were separated.
Jonathan was interviewed first. She was sure that if they had a second interrogation room, she would have been sitting in it. She watched as Jonathan was escorted to an office an hour later. That’s when she was asked to step into the interrogation room.
She knew this dance.
She walked in and sat.
The Sheriff was waiting for her.
Casually, he said, “Been a long time, Martha.”
She chose not to rise to the bait. Anger. One wrong word. She wasn’t exactly there for shoplifting…again.
The Sheriff pulled out a folder, a pen, and a notebook. “Your husband says you went up to the lake yesterday.”
“We went fishing two weeks ago. I saw the herbs that I would need to make my mother’s cold remedy. I figured they were ready to pick. I drove up yesterday. I was on the south face of the mountain. I told Jonathan that I didn’t see anything. Didn’t run into a soul. But he thinks it’s important to come here. So, we came.”
She already knew that look.
“When did you leave? When did you get back?”
“I left after lunch, around 12:30. I came back just after four.”
“Why so long?”
“I fell down and I hurt myself. I hobbled down to the water and cleaned myself up. It was a while before I could get up and walk to the truck.”
“Were you hurt badly?”
She immediately met his eyes. She knew enough about him as an individual to know that the question alone was disingenuous and out of character.
“Yes and no,” she answered.
“More yes, than no?”
It felt as if he were playing with her.
She thought it through before saying, “Miss Holly is out there at her desk. This is a woman’s issue. I’ll discuss it with her. Not you.”
That’s when she stopped talking about it. They both knew how stubborn she could be. So, he got up and went to fetch Miss Holly.
Once a woman was sitting across from her, Martha leaned in and said, “I wasn’t paying attention and I fell forwards. I landed on a rock. Right here.” Martha pointed at her lower abdomen. “It felt like I got kicked between the legs.”
“Are you bleeding?” she asked immediately.
Martha shook her head. “That’s the only reason I didn’t ask Jonathan to drive me straight to the hospital. After this I was going to go over to Doc Walters.”
“Do you have any wounds or bruising on your body?”
She really had to think. “I skinned my knee. The left one.”
Miss Holly left quickly.
It was when Doctor Walters and his nurse walked in less than two minutes later that she knew something odd was going on.
“Hello, Martha. Now I want you to know that I told them they couldn’t stand on the other side of that mirror while I examine you.”
“Examine? For what? Why?”
The man genuinely looked sorry as he said, “The Sheriff believes that you’re being forced to be here.”
It took her a moment for the full realization to hit her.
“You’ve known Jonathan Kent his entire life! You know full well he isn’t capable of hurting anyone!”
“Martha, this is serious.”
“Actually, Doctor Walters it’s laughable. I honestly thought I’d walk in here and that idiot of a Sheriff would try to arrest me. I never in a million years would have thought that anyone could come up with something this stupid!”
“I have to ask,” he said almost tired. “Take your dress off. I’ll verify that you’re not bruised or beaten. And, it’s over.”
“It’s never over,” Martha declared. “It’s been going on since you people invaded our land and started killing us. And, it’s been going on every day since.”
Martha reached up and unbuttoned her dress. She gave it to his nurse. She turned when she was asked. He pressed on her lower belly and she pulled away with a shock.
“Are you bleeding?”
She shook her head tightly. She took a deep cleansing breath. “Ma said there would be a sacrifice to bring the lands back to the people.”
She reached for her dress and began dressing as she said, “I wanted children. l married him knowing that the Kent blood will die with him. It’s the curse placed on his family. That’s why he married me. Love and punishment. I’m both.”
He didn’t answer.
She was left along for along while in the room with no clock and nothing to do.
The Sheriff arrived later…finally. He dropped in the chair across from her sloppily. At first, he just watched her. Then, he started to laugh. When he finally was able to speak, she said, “You really believe in this curse bullshit, don’t you?”
“All the male children were thrown into a pit. Four were given mercy. Four children, four generations.”
He shook his head. “I have three boys. They’re all fifth generation.”
“They won’t make it to adulthood.”
He slammed his large hand down on the table. “Are you threatening my family!”
Quietly, she said, “I’m trying to extend my deepest condolences.”
“And, I’m sorry that my great-great-grand daddy didn’t disobey orders and wipe out the rest of your dirty tribe while he had the chance.”
She met his eyes. “All I have to do is sit and watch with a smile on my heart as you lose everything you love and hold dear.”
He leaned forwards and said, “I know what you are. The others don’t see it, but I do.”
In that moment, it took everything that she had to keep her mouth shut. And more importantly, to keep the smile off her face.
She and Jonathan were still kept waiting for another hour before Miss Holly walked over and said, “Thank you for coming in. You can go.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
There were 27 men at the massacre of the Red Wing clan’s children. 27 men that raided the village to rape the women and young girls. All the boys were gathered. 17 boys, too young to hunt were taken up the mountain.
As the first boys were thrown into a pit, five men spoke out and refused to participate. Five men tried to stop the massacre. Because of it, four boys were able to get away.
The residents of Smallville hated that story and wanted to forget it. People like Martha Kent refused to forget. As a matter of fact, she kept score.
Of the original 27; five didn’t participate.
Therefore, the list began with 22 in generation one. Eight of those soldier’s never married or produced children. They died from a variety of situations and maladies common to the time they lived in: snake bite, falling off a horse, poisoned well water, killed in action, etc.
In the second generation, a beloved wife tripped in the night. She had been very pregnant. She and the baby died.
14 left.
A young boy carelessly raced his horse and fell.
13 left.
In one family, a son fell down a well, and a daughter got sick with typhoid.
12 left.
One family died of Scarlett Fever, another of Small Pox.
11 left.
At the height of the Depression, money was scare. Red Wing’s granddaughter worked as a healer and midwife, like her mother and her mother’s mother before her. She offered her services for cheap. She switched the usual herbal remedies and made sure that a wife remained barren.
World War I took its toll and many young men didn’t return.
10 left.
A farm accident killed the eldest of one family. What was left of the family sold the farm and moved away.
9 left.
Generation three.
World War II happened. Many more died.
One family died out with no heirs to continue the line in the years following World War II because the daughters never remarried after losing their true loves.
8 left.
Generation 4.
Martha Kent is at school one day. She is bullied often because her mother is Comanche. She prefers to be alone.
One day she’s watching when she sees a boy choking on a small toy. She watched as one of her tormentors turned red. Then, blue. He fell over and never breathed again.
It would be a few years later. For no reason at all her uncle would ask her, “Do you ever feel guilty about just watching that boy die that day?”
She shook her head.
“When that boy died, he left 7 families remaining. The 7 have only this generation. The fifth may have to be killed.”
There was a car accident; it was just an accident. It left one brother physically crippled and mentally impaired. A few days later the second younger brother was outside of a bar when he was beaten and left to drown in his own blood.
6 left.
The Vietnam War began. Her uncle like all the other men that were able to fight, went to do their duty.
It was different time.
Most of the men that were labeled 4F and couldn’t go wound up killing themselves. They simply couldn't live with the shame.
One night her uncle John Clark found himself sitting in a foxhole surrounded by snow and ice. According to him, it was too cold to do much other than talk. They couldn’t even smoke because the lit ends of their cigarettes would have given their positions away and made them targets.
Apparently, in the darkness he became good friends with one fella. Her uncle said that when they both realized that they were from Kansas it was a wonderful surprise…for the other man.
John Clark already knew the man’s surname. John Clark said that he’d hated asking, because he’d already known. “You’re from Smallville, aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“Your last name.”
“I don’t know you. I don’t know any Clark’s.”
“I’ve only bothered to leave the rez a few times. Nothing out there for me.”
“Oh,” the other man had said.
John Clark was sorry too. He said that he had actually liked the guy…till that moment. During the next heavy fire fight, he shot the other man.
5 left.
The Vietnam war ended.
John Clark came home to his sister Ann. She had fallen in love one summer. He was gone by winter. It was John that helped.
Martha was ten when she realized what her uncle was doing.
It wasn’t odd for her uncle to disappear. The war had left him with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In those days it was still mostly called shell shock.
From time to time, it was just better for him to be away from other people. It was safer for everyone if he went to the woods. Ma called it, his alone time.
One night, Martha heard sounds coming from the pole barn. There was a lamp light on. Even in the meager flickering light, she could tell that it was him lying on the ground under the pole barn.
She walked out of the house.
“Uncle John,” she called out not wanting to surprise him. “It’s me! It’s Martha!”
She walked up slowly. She gave him plenty of time to see her and make sense of who she was. Where he was. What was really happening. To remember that he wasn’t still in Vietnam. That she wasn’t the enemy. No reason to fight or kill.
“Martha?” he asked quietly, still unsure.
“Yes, uncle John.”
“I got another one,” he said insistently.
She saw blood running down his hand. She realized quickly that the wound was up higher on his arm.
He let her touch him. There was an open wound on his arm. It was probably from a knife.
She fetched water from the pump. She had to run inside and get what she needed. She let him talk as she took care of him.
“It’s the women, Martha. They’re the problem. I can’t get close, not without big problems. Five families left. Tonight, I killed the Wallace boy. But he has a sister. How to get the sister? Captain Kent still has a boy. When he gets older, it’s his turn. Lt. Harding, one living boy. Bastard’s a cop. Too hard. His wife hates us too. No way in. We have to wait. Sgt. Everly has one granddaughter. Always the women! Her husband just got a job down at the quarry. I’m going to cut the breaks on his car. Tactically, it’s the easiest move.”
When he stopped talking, she asked, “If I make tea, will you drink it?”
He nodded jerkily.
She left him.
She went to the kitchen and started a small fire in the old wood stove, so she could boil water. She found the herbs by candle light.
She returned to him with a hot cup of sweetened tea and a blanket.
He sipped as he watched her.
At one point, he reached out and caressed her face. “I know why…now. You look like them…camouflage.”
He finished his tea and lay down.
She made sure that he was warm and let him be.
The Wallace sister was a thirty something spinster. She was a small woman with a big temper. She was extremely superstitious. Her temper and her ridiculous beliefs came out after her brother went missing. All of Smallville was talking after the news had been given to her and she had gone into hysterics about omens and signs. Some people even wondered if she practiced witchcraft.
It was three months later that the Wallace man’s body was found. It had mostly been eaten by animals. She screamed and cried like a crazy person in the middle of the street.
Martha had been a witness to that show. It had mostly looked like a show put on for those watching.
That night Martha’s mother had to work late. John Clark drove her into town. He parked a few blocks away. Martha walked to the Wallace house pushed a letter under her door.
The Wallace woman killed herself that night.
Martha hadn’t done much. She simply sat down at the kitchen table wrote a letter in her brothers’ name blaming her for his death. As an afterthought, she poured some salt and a few fragrant herbs inside the letter. As uncle John drove, she found a lighter in his truck. She picked up the lighter and burnt the edges of the envelope.
That was it.
4 left.
Corporal Gilmore had one great-great-great granddaughter.
Martha became friends with Lisa Gilmore at school. She liked Lisa, which was bad. Long before she ever even really became friends with her, Martha had started inviting her to go for a hike with her. She brought it up every once in a while and made sure that it stayed in the conversation in one way or another.
Corporal Gilmore had thrown the first boy into the pit. It was only right that she end up there too.
It took months but finally her mother agreed to allow them to go for a hike on their own.
Martha was leading her straight to the pit, one step at a time. Her feelings were mixed, but it had to be done.
A third of the way there, they had to stop and rest. They ate sandwiches, chips, and warm sodas.
Martha was looking up the mountain as she said, “I want to get up there. It’s the coolest cave. The view is fantastic.”
That’s when her friend tried to kiss her. Martha pulled away at the last possible moment. There was a moment of freak out where Martha had to take a few steps back.
“I’m sorry! I thought you wanted too!”
“You like girls,” Martha said as the truth sunk in. Then, she smiled in relief. “That is so great!”
“Does that mean I can kiss you?”
“No,” Martha said gently. “We are going to be friends. I will always be there. I won’t judge. Homosexuality doesn’t bother me. It’s part of my culture.”
3 left.
It was the first summer that Martha had to go to work with her ma. They worked at a dinner down on Main Street. They worked long hours, mostly for tips and the food that they got to take home.
They had just started to catch up on bills and save money, when the car broke down. The mechanic turned out to be a descendant of Private Manning; the man that put a gun to the head of Red Wing’s infant son. He shot the baby before throwing him into the pit.
Martha smiled brightly.
They made eye contact.
He adjusted his baseball cap. He watched Martha the entire time her ma was speaking. His eyes went up and down. Slowly.
“Where’s the problem?” Martha asked.
“Oil pan leak,” he said as authoritatively as a young man wearing greasy overalls could be.
“Would you show me?” she asked innocently.
She squatted down and looked under the car.
He hesitated for a moment but then got down onto a big piece of cardboard. He had no trouble shimmying underneath.
Martha stood. She put her foot on the car jack and pushed. She turned away and took her ma’s hand.
Martha pulled her along.
Her ma pulled back after a few steps saying, “Martha, it’s enough!”
Quietly, Martha responded, “There are chairs over there. Let’s sit, please.”
Her ma hesitated. She looked back at the long unmoving body under their car. Finally, she nodded.
They walked over to a tree where old chairs had been set out for anyone waiting. There usually weren’t people waiting. The chairs were dirty, but not so broken that they couldn’t take their weight.
It was a good place where the other garage mechanic could see them.
“This is your uncle’s influence on you.”
Martha looked right at her mother. “This is my choice. No one has ever forced me to do anything. No one ever will.”
Her ma thought carefully before she said, “I want you to be happy. I want you to have a good life. I’m going to pray for that.”
“In a few minutes, there will only be two left. We’re all going to be happy.”
The problem was that right from the moment that the police arrived, one person in particular wasn’t happy.
The newly hired Deputy J. G. Harding immediately hated Martha and didn’t trust her from the first moment. Everyone else thought the dead mechanic had simply suffered an accident.
His daddy, 3rd generation, Sheriff A. G. Harding had been more than a little upset with his boy. J. G. went and openly challenged his daddy in front of everyone. His daddy who was the Sheriff at the time hadn’t appreciated it. He didn’t strike his son, but he gave him a verbal tongue lashing to put him back in his place.
Martha was watching the deputy as he left the garage. It was in his eyes every time he looked at Martha. She could feel his hate.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Her ma prayed for her a lot. She went to a sweat. Then she went to ten. Then, she stopped suddenly which was suspicious.
It was a few months later, at dinner, her ma suddenly said, “The vision was always the same. Your children will be warriors who will protect the people.”
She moved the food around on her plate. “I would have preferred to see happy, fat grandchildren and my daughter living a normal life. I hate dangerous and insane dreams. It feels like you’re making choices that will put all of your children in danger too.”
That was it.
They didn’t talk about it again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
cam·ou·flage
/ˈkaməˌflä(d)ZH/

A word that can be a verb noun or additive depending on its use.
It can be defined as the disguising especially of military equipment or installations with paint, nets, or foliage: concealment by means of disguise; or
behavior or artifice designed to deceive or hide.
That is what uncle John Clark said to Martha. As time passed, she began to understand that he was wrong. He should have used the word viper or reptile. Something cold-blooded that kills without regard.
There were generation 4’s in Martha’s class. All girls.
Her uncle was a man of fairness, justice, and doing what was right. That meant honoring his word. He would never attack anyone before the age of 18. He made it clear that gen 5’s, if there were any, couldn’t be allowed to reach adulthood.
It’s too bad that she wasn’t her uncle.
She was standing in the gas station convenience store down the street from her school one day. She was staring at the candy as a genius idea hit her.
Earlier that day, she’d overheard a few girls in her class excitedly talking about how the weekend would be so groovy! They had it planned. A ‘girls only’ night down at the lake.
As Martha stared at the candy, she smiled brilliantly.
“Are you going to buy something!”
She turned to find the cashier staring her down. His mouth was a hard line.
She carefully picked out the best candy. She bought more than she’d need. When she got home, she separated the hard candy by colors. Each color went into a different mason jar. She topped the jars with moonshine.
“What’s that for? Her uncle asked suddenly somewhere behind her. She was used to him suddenly appearing and disappearing. It was his gift. And, it was also how he got so many confirmed kills in action.
Ma used to say that he could fly.
It was one explanation for his sudden movements from place to place.
“Gen 4 party at the lake, girls only.”
“What’s in it?” He asked suddenly quite interested.
“Candy and your moonshine.”
He made extra money by making moonshine. He didn’t drink it. And, ma always liked to have it around for medical uses.
“Add honey for more sweetness. Sugar gets you drunk faster.”
Martha turned to him and said, “I was thinking of also adding something from ma’s herbs. Something unexpected like jimson weed or ergot. Maybe some rat poison.”
It was one of the last projects that she and her uncle worked on. They set the cleanly wiped mason jars on the boat landing with a little note from one of their boyfriends and a freshly picked wild flower.
In the end, she decided not to use ergot because it slowed heart rate. Uncle John reasoned with her that there had to be harmony in those jars that worked towards a common goal.
She wound up choosing her herbs accordingly. Senna leaf is very common and is used to treat constipation. The diarrhea and cramps can become uncontrolled with a large enough dosage. Syrup of ipecac can also cause diarrhea, increased heart rate, uncontrollable vomiting, cramps, trouble breathing, and weakness in the body. It’s mostly known for the vomiting thing. Among other side effects, Jimson weed can cause hallucinations, increased heart rate, and blurry vision. And lastly, she soaked in a mushroom that her uncle brought her from the forest.
He’d put a brown paper wrapped thing on the table where she was macerating herbs into the moonshine.
“Don’t touch it with your skin,” he’d warned.
She opened the small paper bundle and found mushrooms; bright, colorful, and very dangerous.
She smiled.
She looked up to thank him, but he’d already flown off.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John Clark and she sat up on a hill over the lake. They sat in the darkness.
She leaned her head on his strong shoulder. It didn’t take long before the girls had a fire lit on the shore. They began drinking once they found the jars. Some of them were even in the water.
The first signs of distress came from the lake with a scream. It pierced through the night so loud that even the crickets and cicadas stopped singing. Then another scream rang out.
The next sound was vomiting. Then there was the sound of a lot of vomiting coming from many, probably all of them.
It wasn’t long before there was panic. They were all experiencing the side effects; spewing vomit from one end while diarrhea shot out the other. The stomach cramps were probably pretty bad.
“Let’s go,” John Clark said before long. “It’s done.”
She wanted to argue because they were still alive. But, she would never question him.
“Patience,” he said as he walked through the dark forest with ease. “You have to watch. Learn when, and more importantly, how to attack. Every situation is different. Most importantly, we have time on our side. Nothing is urgent.”
It was the best advice she ever got.
He died of a heart attack a month later. Her heart broke. It felt as if she’d never be whole again.
Little did Martha know that two years and two months after John Clark’s death, her ma would drive her grandfather to the doctor. A drunk driver would kill them both on the road.
All of her family was dead less than a month after her eighteenth birthday.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Six months after John Clark’s death, she turned 17. More importantly, her birthday meant that it was the Kent boy’s turn.
She’d only seen him from far away. She’s often climbed the mountain and look down at the Kent farm.
His father had died young shortly after the boy’s birth. It had probably been John Clark’s work. The Kent boy and his ma ran the farm.
The Kent woman wasn’t Kent blood. She also couldn’t keep a man alive. She was good looking enough and had a large spread of land, it was all enough to attract one man after another. But each time the husbands died.
She raised chickens and kept a garden… especially in-between husbands. When her son was old enough, he started running the tractor.
She watched him. She learnt that he often went fishing on Saturdays. The rest of the time, he worked. She home schooled him. They hardly left the farm. The one big reason was church, and they went to any of five different churches every Sunday. Different denominations. Different ends of town.
There was no other way in.
He had been almost a year old when she was born. It’s how she knew it was time.
For her birthday, Martha asked her ma for a red sundress to go with her boots.
It was the early 80’s and big hair was in. Loud colors and teased hair. Short skirts.
Makeup was bold and pouty. They didn’t have money for that kind of thing. She didn’t wear any, not that she ever did.
Martha would have liked a something in-style, but she needed a good dress that she could wear out. She reasoned in her mind that she didn’t have to do much more than stop him for a moment.
One distraction was all she’d really need. After, she’d wear the dress for real reasons.
She wore it and carefully fixed her hair. She braided her bright red hair and pinned it up into a crown. She liked it out of her way, so she could move if she had too. Besides, her hair was a so bright that it usually caused a reaction in people. Sometimes that was positive, sometimes it wasn’t. Either way, she was going to use it.
She’d noticed that his ma hadn’t been to church in a few weeks. Neither of them had gone anywhere. Still, she was hopeful.
She didn’t know that his mother had started to feel sick. The cancer was starting to make itself known to her. She died later that year.
Her great-great-great grandfather’s tomahawk had passed to her uncle. The first thing that she did when she found out that he was dead was to take his weapons and hide them from her ma. She wrapped them in an old cloth and hid them deep in the woods in a rotted-out stump.
She retrieved the tomahawk and wrapped it in a towel.
She walked to the mountain. She knew that ‘if’ he came, it would be along the southern face of the mountain. She knew where he would park. There was only one footpath down to the water.
As she walked the path she said, “Captain James Lester Kent, murderer of children and rapist. Today your bloodline ends.”
She had her hand on the towel-wrapped tomahawk’s handle. All she needed was to get close enough.
Jonathan Kent was a hard worker. Since he was eight, he practically ran the farm. The evidence of it was on his strong, suntanned body. Big farm boys were nothing new in the land of Kansas.
It was his eyes that did it.
When he looked up from the dirt path and saw her, he stopped.
Martha had never imagined that his eyes would be kind.
They stared at each other.
Then he smiled, and for the first time, she felt doubt. It was confusing.
“Hi. I’m Jonathan.”
Finally, she remembered herself. She smiled back. “Martha.”
She looked down at his rod and bait bucket.
“You going fishing? I love fishing.”
“Where’s your rod?”
She shrugged. “I’m just on a walk today. It’s my birthday. I didn’t want to ruin my dress.”
“Happy Birthday,” he said gently. “I wish I’d known. I would have brought you a gift. Would you like some fish? I’ll give you whatever I catch.”
She nodded shyly and went with him.
A part of her wished that he would attack her, but he was a perfect gentleman. She spent the entire day with him. Occasionally, she’d look down at the towel on the ground next to her. But then he’d make her laugh, or he’d say something with such integrity that he’d remind her of her uncle.
She wanted to hate him when he said, “You know, my family has owned this mountain and the surrounding land for generations.”
“Really?”
He sat down next to her and added, “Technically, you were trespassing. Everyone is.”
“Are you going to do something about it?”
He smiled. “I could, but then how would anyone get down to the lake.”
“I bet you own that too.”
“Yes,” he went quiet for a long moment as he thought. “It’s better if we hold it. This land is too beautiful to ruin. I don’t think I could live with the idea of ever losing it.”
He looked right at her.
She felt the conviction of his voice when he said, “I belong to this land a lot more than it belongs to me.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d kissed him. It just happened.
After she got the towel wrapped tomahawk and ran all the way home.
She couldn’t help but think; wherever John Clark was, he was shaking his head in disappointment.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She watched him for a month.
He came back to the lake everyday at the same time. He searched. Sometimes he stood watch on the path. He usually stayed about an hour and then went back to his farm for his evening chores.
She watched him from the trees and bushes. As always, she was careful about tying down her hair.
On the last day, she came out and met him on the path.
He walked right up to her and opened his mouth. She very quickly reached up and put her hand over his mouth. He had a lot to say, maybe even a speech. She could tell from his expressive mouth.
She looked into the dark blue eyes and said, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
She nodded and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Tears gathered in her eyes. It was an effort, but she finally said, “Yes.”
Then, she laughed.
She removed her hand and kissed him. She felt him pick her up off her feet as he held her tight to his body.
“Yes,” she said again.

Chapter Text

Jonathan had been so angry that he didn’t hardly talk for two days. It was the worst she’d ever seen him. The only reason that he let it go was because Doc Walters had done the exam. And, she was going to go in and see him anyway.
He was still angry three months later when they heard that Sheriff Harding’s youngest boy had drowned.
The boy had been five at the time of the accident. He had simply been too young.
They were told by a friend of his ma while they were at the hardware picking up a few odds and ends.
Jonathan said nothing. He simply walked away.
Martha felt stuck and obligated to stay. She said her, ‘Oh, my’s.’ She agreed that ‘it was a terrible tragedy.’ And then, she got away as fast as possible.
She found her husband sitting out in the truck.
She got in and sat down in her place. Then, she waited.
“You ever feel that the bad thoughts in your head made something terrible happen?”
She reached out for his hand. “Darling, unless you did something to directly hurt that boy, you caused none of it.”
They stayed in town because there was a meeting at the library for the Ladies Auxiliary. They were planning a luncheon and a float for the Smallville Founder’s Day parade.
Her real reason to be there was because of the Gen 4 females that she was keeping an eye on.
She’d walked into the first meeting because she’d been following Miss Holly from the Sheriff’s Office. Martha wanted to be friends. She found out quickly that Miss Holly disliked her. She always had a touchy nature. And, she also seemed kind of gay.
The next time she went to a meeting, Martha dragged Lisa Gilmore along. They were still friends and always would be. Lisa met Holly. It must have been love at first sight. That’s when Miss Holly really started to hate Martha; apparently, she was quite the jealous woman.
Aside from Lisa and Holly, there was another female that she was watching. It was not a person she was worried about marrying or reproducing. Karen had a personality and a disposition that were going to keep her a childless spinster.
Still, Martha was monitoring the situation.
Martha was at her meeting when the police came. She was put in handcuffs and put in the back of a squad car.
Martha was already sitting in the interrogation room waiting when she heard Jonathan’s raised voice. He was yelling at the cops, demanding answers. She hoped he wouldn’t get himself arrested; they really didn’t have bail money for both of them.
No one ever questioned her. She was released without knowing why she’d been there in the first place.
It was only later that Martha found out from Lisa, that Holly had told her [Lisa], that Holly had heard at work from deputies that had been talking, that Sheriff Harding had suspected Martha in his son’s death.
Greif does odd things to people’s heads.
She took the entire thing in stride and tried hard to be understanding. She even made sure to keep Jonathan from taking a swing at the man.
A month later, Sheriff Harding’s eldest son killed himself. There were rumors that the boy blamed himself for his baby brother’s accidental drowning.
Oddly, no police arrived for that one.
The remaining Harding boy was the middle son, at 15 he was still too young.
She began watching him though. Or at least, she tried to. It was nothing close to the surveillance that she had been capable of when she was a minor. At 24 and a married woman, she couldn’t just follow a 15-year-old boy. She saw him a few times around town. She’d watched from a distance at the lake. It didn’t come together for her until one day.
Jonathan and she were riding into town for date night. Every Friday night, they went to watch a movie and have dinner. As they drove by, a car parked on the side of the road caught her peripheral sight. She saw the Harding boy sitting in that car with another boy. They were close. For a glimmer of a moment, it had looked intimate. They pulled apart when they noticed their truck.
Martha sat back happily. She enjoyed their date night. When they got home, she pulled her husband into their bedroom. She ripped off his clothes. She reached down and moved her underwear aside. She fucked him. And she did fuck him wildly, while still wearing her best dress.
She shuttered through her orgasm. She pushed up off him. Her hair had fallen out of her hair pins. She probably looked a horrible mess still gasping and sweaty.
She dismounted him slowly and staggered a little. She managed to take her clothes off. At the last moment, she decided to leave her heels on.
“Jonathan,” she called. “Take your clothes off. I’m going to lay down and you are going to pleasure your horny wife.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said jumping like a soldier.
And pleasure her, he did.
The next day, Martha ended the Harding bloodline with one five-minute visit.
She drove the truck over to Lisa and Holly’s home. They had recently moved in together. They were the only openly gay couple in town.
Miss Holly answered the door. Her mouth turned down when she saw Martha on her door step.
“It’s an emergency,” Martha said quickly.
Holly didn’t look happy, but she let Martha in.
Martha found Lisa in the living room drinking beer and watching a game.
“Five minutes. I just need five minutes. I know how much you love your baseball.”
Holly sat down in a chair nearby. Her legs crossed as she watched them. There was an unhappy look on her face.
“What’s going on?” Lisa said sitting up. She looked ‘aware’ of her angry girlfriend.
“Something only you can help with. Yesterday, I saw Dexter Harding making out with another boy.”
“Oh,” she said simply.
“Both his brothers are dead. What do you think Sheriff Harding will do when he finds out? His ma is dead and his pa’s crazy.”
Lisa fell silent.
“That boy has no one.”
Lisa took a moment before she asked, “Is this your subtle way of pushing me to start the gay and lesbian group?”
“You’ve only been talking about it for years. And we both know that gay youth has a higher incidence of suicide than other kids.”
Lisa still had the cut marks on her wrists from when she was 18 and had attempted to kill herself. That had been a bad time for her.
“He’s going to need help and I can’t go near him. Ever.”
She left as soon as she’d made her point. No sense causing problems between Lisa and Holly. She liked them together.
Three weeks later, Martha and Jonathan were there for the grand opening of the Smallville LGBT Foundation dedicated to suicide prevention, education, and AIDs awareness. It was the eighties, everyone was worried about the AIDs epidemic. The foundation made front page news because of it.
It was just a small storefront off Main Street. It was a storefront that no one wanted because it had no bathroom, no running water. So, they got it cheap.
That event was a huge leap into the modern age for their little town.
Martha even got Jonathan to wear a tie.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Three months after the opening of the LGBT Foundation, both she and Jonathan wound up in handcuffs.
They were at church. Sheriff Harding walked in and pulled her out of the pew. Before she could say ‘Good morning,’ he spun her and cuffed her.
“What happened now?” she asked as she was pushed out of the church.
Jonathan quickly started yelling, “Why are you persecuting my wife? What the blazes did she ever do to you, Harding? Why?”
“This is a lawful arrest!” Harding yelled back. “If you interfere, you’re going in to a cell too, Jonathan!”
“What charge, Sheriff?”
“Suspicion of grand theft!” Harding shouted back just as loud.
The Sheriff and his deputy got her into the back of Harding’s police car.
The doors closed. First one, then the other.
Then, it was just the two of them separated by a metal grate.
“Suspicion,” she said poignantly. “Kind of thin isn’t it, Sheriff?”
“It’s just you and me, you crazy bitch.”
“Name calling is the last resort of desperation for someone who has lost a war.”
“We’re at war?” He asked watching her through the rear-view mirror.
She looked right into the mirror, so she could see his eyes. “The war never ended.”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
“And malicious. I’m playing a very long game, Marshall Harding.”
He nodded. “I knew you had something to do with it. I knew it.”
She smiled.
She looked out the window. The church had emptied. Everyone was there. It was as good a time as any.
Without shame or guilt she said, “Your two boys were too weak to make it to adulthood. And, your one remaining son will spend the rest of his life sucking cock.”
He didn’t even hesitate.
Sheriff Harding jumped out of the squad car and pulled her door open. He yanked her out just far enough of the squad car that he could wrap his hands around her neck. He screamed down at her. He choked her as he slammed her head into the car’s metal body.
Her hands were still cuffed behind his back. There was nothing she could do except black out as the Sheriff experienced a psychotic break.
She woke up later and instinctively pulled away from the hands that were touching her.
“Stop, Martha! You’ll hurt yourself!” a familiar voice called out. “It’s Doc Walters, girl. Calm down. You’re safe.”
It took her a moment to fully realize what she was looking at. Jonathan was face down on the ground. His hands were handcuffed behind his back. His nose was bloody and one of his eyes were already starting to swell.
Sheriff Harding was standing by his car. She realized that he wasn’t just standing there. He had been secured to his car door with a pair of handcuffs. He was bleeding from the nose and mouth. There was a big goose egg swelling up on his forehead.
The Sheriff’s deputy was holding the Sheriff’s weapon, ammo, and badge in his hands. The deputy, who looked like a very tall, skinny teen, was talking to the man.
Sheriff Harding didn’t seem to be too talkative. The moment that Harding noticed her awake, he pulled on the cuffs and tensed up.
The young deputy walked to the back of the police car. He set the Sheriff’s property in the trunk and locked it.
“I demand that you take these cuffs off, boy! I need to examine my patient!”
The deputy came over and apologetically said, “She’s still under arrest, Doc.”
“Are you really this stupid, boy? You may want to do some damage control, son; before the Kent’s decide to sue the county.”
The kid was kind of slow, but not completely stupid.
Her cuffs were removed and then she could roll over onto her back. It was staring up at the sky that she was able to finally relax.

Chapter Text

They were getting old.
Martha realized it one day when she took a step and collapsed. Her knee gave out for no reason. She laid out in the yard hurting too bad to even attempt to move.
A shutter of pain went through her.
She realized that she was afraid.
She wiped angrily at the tears on her face and said, “You were wrong, Ma. You were wrong. There won’t be any children. Our line will be sacrificed too. No warriors. No one to protect our land.”
She tried to get comfortable on the ground despite the pain radiating from her knee.
“In the end, we’ll lose everything again. It was all for nothing.”
She laid in the yard for two hours before Jonathan came in from his work and found her. Jonathan put her in the truck and was driving her into town when she said, “Pull over.”
When he didn’t, she more loudly said, “Jonathan! Please pull over!”
This time he pulled over.
He looked at her and she at him. They were both scared.
“I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“That we don’t have children. That there won’t be any other Kents.”
“That,” he said poignantly. “Is not your fault. It’s just how it worked out for us. I love you.”
“I love you too.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I think maybe we should adopt, but then I realize what a horrible mother I’d be.”
“That is nonsense. You are an amazing wife. You are the best woman I’ve ever known. You’d make a wonderful mother.”
He said those words. She believed that he believed them. But there were so many things she couldn’t tell him.
She turned away.
She stopped responding. She was simply tired. She was in pain.
Old Doc Walters was retired. His son Doctor A. J. Walters was now attending to Smallville. He took one look at her and sent her to the hospital.
Jonathan drove.
It was a three hour drive. She sucked up the pain of every bump that sent pain up her leg and then up her spine for some reason. By the time she got there, she was soaked in sweat. She was ready to pass out. The desperation for drugs to relieve the pain was overwhelming.
Jonathan stayed at her side.
She was examined, x-rayed, and after three more hours, she finally received some kind of pain killer. She was put in a room and told that the surgery was scheduled for tomorrow.
When they were finally alone, Jonathan said, “I think we need to talk.”
“No.”
“I think we should.”
“Do you like our marriage? If you ask me the kind of questions that I think you have, we aren’t going to be married for much longer.”
“Is that what you think?”
She looked right into the dark blue eyes that she loved. “I have never told you everything.”
“Neither have I. That’s why we need to talk. When I’m done, hopefully, you’ll still want…us.”
She didn’t respond.
He breathed out. It was a long, deep breath.
“The best place to start is at the beginning. My ma used to say that my father was really proud of our history. Captain James Lester Kent who fought in the Civil War. The fearless Indian killer who helped settle the Kansas Territory.”
He chewed his lip.
She felt a bad taste in her mouth. She knew that she had a scowl on her face that she couldn’t help. Didn’t want to even try and hide the disgust.
“That was on the surface. My ma hated talking about him. Before she died, I asked. She told me that when they had first married, she found James Kent’s papers and read them. She said he was a coward, a thief, and a murderer. She said that my ma got very angry that she’d used those words. He’d said she hadn’t understood it right. They fought over it. After he passed, she burnt all the papers. Called it a proper end.”
Jonathan adjusted his seat.
Carefully, he said, “Apparently, the Army couldn’t prove that he stole from them. They brought charges but couldn’t convict. They sent him out to the Kansas Territory to get rid of him.”
Jonathan shook his head a little as he admitted, “He used the money that he stole during the Civil War to buy our land. At the time, he thought it was valuable.”
“Sacred!” she barked.
Jonathan calmly replied, “He thought there must be gold and that is what the Red Wing was protecting.. He killed those children to break Red Wing, so he’d go to the Rez. Instead of gold, he wound up penniless. He wasn’t a very good farmer. Good thing his son was.”
She didn’t respond.
“By the time I came along, my ma was just trying to keep us alive. That’s why she married my first step-father. He beat my ma and went after me more than a few times. On the bad nights, I slept in the barn. The night he died I saw someone in the yard tampering with the tractor. The next morning, I went out and found that someone had dropped something. It was a tomahawk of all things. Old. Deer bone handle. The carvings were simple and memorable. I kept my mouth shut. My step-father died that day.”
His mouth crinkled as he said, “Tractor accident. That night, I put the tomahawk back in the same spot on the ground.”
“I worked like a dog trying to prove to my ma that we didn’t need some looser to take care of us. But she kept on getting married, over and over. The ghost kept coming back. Five husbands. Five accidents. If I found that old Tomahawk somewhere, I’d pick it up and avoid the area. Then, after the guy was dead, I’d put it back.”
She studied him. It was all she needed to see the pain in his face. She saw the truth.
“Ma must have seen…something because she didn’t want me to go far from her. Even before she got sick with the cancer.”
“Uncle John Clark didn’t kill women or children,” she said simply. “He was probably trying to keep her from having more children.”
“Why didn’t you kill me?”
The question was out in the open. And, it was horrible.
It was he that said, “It was a week to my eighteenth. I saw the tomahawk, darling.”
Just like her grandfather had said all those years ago, she simply responded, “A woman’s weakness.”
“Do you regret it now.”
She let her head roll to the side a bit as she watched him. “My mother was weak. She wasn’t like her brother, mother, or grandmother. I knew that I had to finish it.”
He sat back and thought about her words. As usual, his face expressed every thought and every emotion.
“It’s oddly poetic,” he said. “Hate and death brought us together. Two really messed up people who carry the weight of history on their shoulders.”
She watched him carefully. “You aren’t going to ask, are you?”
It was his turn to go silent.
She nodded. “Yeah, I’d probably be thinking it too. You are married to a serial killer.” She shook her head. “I don’t kill kids. I didn’t kill the Harding boy.”
“Technically, I did.”
Those terrible words created a different kind of silence in the room.
A few heavy tears fell down Jonathan’s face.
When he was ready, he said, “You know I like to fish on Saturdays. One day I found one of those floaty tubes down by the water. Three brothers were walking down to the water for a swim; I gave it to the little one.”
“Only you would blame yourself for that.”
“And everything that came after.”
“Honey, Harding hated me because he suspected that I was hunting. He just couldn’t prove it. And…I may have said a few things to provoke him.”
“You? Provoke someone into murderous rage?” he said looking quite confused. It was a deep perplexation.
She didn’t want to smile. She didn’t want to laugh. But, she did.
Then, he laughed.
“You, woman, are the most infuriating, wild creature that I’ve ever met. You are also sexy as hell. My dream woman, my angel and a certifiable pain in the ass.”
“At your service.”
Finally, he asked his one real question, “Is there anyone else left on this list of yours?”
“No. And, hopefully it stays that way.”
“And by that, you mean….”
“You’re married to me and I’m barren. Three are gay. And the last one is fat, mean, and ugly. Also, former Sheriff Harding is now the unemployed town drunk. I don’t think anyone is going to want to have children with him.”
“Does that mean that this is all over?”
“It dies with us,” the emotion of it.
She heard it in her own words.
He took her hand in his. He stroked it as he said, “I always thought that we could talk to a lawyer about turning our land into an animal sanctuary, then leave it to Smallville in trust. Write it in that they can’t develop it.”
“I’m not saying, no. It’s just that it wouldn’t be the same as warriors actively protecting it for generations to come.”
“Are there supposed to be warriors?”
“According to my mothers’ visions, my children would be protecting warriors.”
“The mission has changed? I guess it would since vengeance has been fulfilled and now there can be peace.”
“If you’re making fun of me, I’ll break your best fishing rod when we get home.”
“I’m not making fun of you. You know damn well that I love those fishing rods! You’re sure that she said protecting warriors.”
“Yes.” Then a little unsure she added, “She also may have heavily implied that my personal bullshit would lead them to not a normal life. She may or may not have used words like dangerous and insane.”
He smiled a little. “I only met the woman twice, but I believe it.” He tilted his head. “When our warrior children come, we are just going to have to fill them up with all the love, patience, and grace that we possibly can. We teach them to be a guiding light in this world.”
She shook her head. “That is exactly the kind of corny nonsense that I would expect from your mouth, my love.”
“What? That I believe in truth, justice and-
“The American way?”
“I was going to say apple pie.”
“You prefer peach cobbler.”
“Who doesn’t? But, truth, justice, and peach cobbler doesn’t really ring out. Does it?”

Chapter Text

It was an ordinary day.
Jonathan drove them into town that morning. He wanted to pick up a part for the tractor and she had a meeting at the library. The women’s auxiliary had yet another meeting.
The road home from town was a straight fifty-five minutes of corn fields and nothing else. Just like every other time they’d taken the road home; Jonathan had the truck on cruise control. The radio was on and he was singing along. One hand sat on the steering wheel and the other around her shoulders. Her head was resting against his chest as she listened to his chest rumble along as he sang in his deep voice.
It was the kind of moment where they could simply enjoy being together.
They heard the sound over the music. She had just enough time to pick her head up. Then a fireball landed in the south field on their right. In a flash fire exploded on the road ahead of them and then traveled just as quickly into the north field on the left creating an impenetrable wall of fire. Jonathan swerved the truck hard sending them into a ditch as fire erupted everywhere at once.
The truck came to a drastic stop as fire flared up filling their vision. They ducked down. Martha screamed.
As the moment passed, so did the flames. Then, smoke filled the truck.
“Out!” Jonathan screamed as he turned off the ignition.
The truck was tilted on an angle. Martha pulled on the door latch as she jerked the weight of her body against it without success. She finally got it opened only to have the door close back on her.
“Come,” he shouted at her from his side. He was already out of the truck and reaching for her.
Martha scooted back on her butt along the bench seat till her husband could reach her. He pulled her out into his arms. The corn filed was on fire and the heat was immediate. He carried her up out onto the road and away from the truck. She could feel the heat coming from both the north and south field.
Jonathan put her down saying, “Stay away from the truck!”
She watched him run back towards the truck as he removed his jacket. He ran towards the south corn field to put out the fire that was surrounding their truck.
The corn fields were mostly dry, just enough that they were catching fast. The fire was spreading fast. She stood helpless she watched it. It was only a matter of time.
She turned towards their farm which wasn’t far. They had installed a brand-new water pump not more than a year ago. It was a quarter of mile closer to their house and just off the roadside.
The fire on the dirt road ahead of her had mostly died down. She began to run before they lost either the north or south field.
She ran because she knew her husband. He’d get himself killed fighting a fire in a half-dried field with no tools in his hands. Batting at it with a denim jacket would only do so much.
She was hurting when she got to the water pump. The knee replacement had happened, healed, and she had use of it. But, her version of a run was at best a light jog.
The control panel was locked. She remembered the extra key that they hid after the last time they couldn’t find Jonathan’s keys. She found the fake rock sitting on the ground near the concrete pad that the pump sat on. She found it, opened it, and used the key.
She turned the pump on and gave it a moment. Once she was sure that the water was flowing, she turned the water on to the south field.
She saw the black smoke as the water did its work. Jonathan walked out of the south field. Even from a distance she could see that he was wet and dirty from soot.
His attention seemed to be drawn to the north field. He quickly began to wave his hands at her and pointed to the north field.
She stopped the water flow to the south field and turned the water on to the north field.
She put the key back while she waited for the water to do its work.
She turned the water off with a smile.
She began to walk back towards her husband. It took a few steps to realize that something was wrong. He was standing in the middle of road rooted to the spot staring off into the north field. He seemed to be mesmerized.
She began running again because her instincts started screaming at her. She moved as fast as her sometimes-not-so-great knee would allow.
She didn’t stop until she was at his side, holding his arm.
She was breathing heavy.
He was still mesmerized.
That’s when she turned her head and froze.
In the north field, surrounded by smoldering corn stalks and dirt was a metal ship. At it’s landing it had dragged its way across the filed and come to a stop in a mound of churned earth and corn plants. All of it still so hot that they could feel the heat on their faces.
“At first I thought maybe it might have been a satellite or maybe even a plane.” He shook his head as he quietly said, “It can’t be. It has to be the government. An experimental ship maybe.”
“It’s someone’s ship.”
A moment later, the metal ship made a big hiss making them both jump back. Steam vented from the sides and Jonathan grabbed his wife and pulled her close to his body.
A section of the ship popped up and pulled away, opening itself up. And then, for a long moment nothing happened.
“I thought little green men were going to jump out. I was going to shit myself.”
Martha turned to her husband. The regular streaks in is underwear came to her mind. She opened her mouth and took a breath in when she heard it.
A baby cried.
“No!” she howled as she charged forwards towards the opened little ship.
Jonathan ran after her. He caught her and grabbed her securely.
“Let me!” he growled. “It’s too hot! Let me do it!”
She fought him till he said, “You could hurt the baby! Let me!”
Finally, she stopped because her knee hurt. She reached back and pushed him forwards.
He didn’t hesitate to run over the hot ground towards the opening.
She got as close as she could, twenty feet or so. The metal of the ship was so hot that heat waves were rolling off its surface.
Jonathan got close and quickly peaked to look inside. He pulled away and held his already burnt jacket in front of him. He dashed forwards in a quick move, he threw the jacket against the ship, leaned against it, and reached inside. The jacket caught on fire just as he pulled away with a red bundle in his hands.
He ran back towards Martha, as the hot earth underfoot became too much. As he got closer, she realized that red bundle really was a blanket wrapped baby.
She took the baby from him the moment she could.
Jonathan put and arm around them both as she looked down at the baby’s face. He moved them all towards the safety of the road. She moved mechanically as she stared down into the baby’s perfect little face. Even over the smoke she could smell the soft, sweet baby smell of him.
“I feel like I just burnt the soles off my boots!”
“Jonathan?”
“What?”
“I think I’ve fallen in love again with another man.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she realized. She pulled aside the cool, silken red cloth that the baby was wrapped in. “Yeah, it’s a boy.”
“Martha,” Jonathan said shaking his head.
“He’s perfect,” she marveled.
The light caught the baby’s eyes just so. For a moment they looked like the lake water when she stood on the mountain on bright sunny days.
“He’s our protector. This is the warrior we’ve been waiting for.”
“Martha aliens don’t look like us. This poor kid was probably put in there by NASA or the Air Force. Maybe the Ruskies. They’ll be here any minute.”
She smiled down at the beautiful angel in his arms. “No one is coming. There aren’t any markings on that ship. And if I was going to put my baby in a space ship and send it somewhere, it would be to a populated area so that I knew that my baby would be found.”
She looked into Jonathan’s face as she again said, “No one is coming.”
“Martha,” he said in that tone that said that she was winning but he wasn’t all the way there yet.
“Let’s get home,” she insisted. “You can come back with a tarp and the tractor. Fetch the ship and then the truck.”
“Martha what if….
She turned and met him directly. She didn’t hesitate to say, “We don’t live that far out. Someone always drives down this road, at least once a day. Exactly how long do you think we have?”
He shook his head. His emotions played out on his face as he ground his teeth and then finally laughed a little.
She patted his chest saying, “I just don’t understand why your first instinct is to always argue. You know you aren’t going to win. The wife. Is. Always. Right.”
“Yes, wife,” he said dutifully.
She began walking towards their home. It was only half a mile to their front door.
“So,” Jonathan said, “What should we do with the space ship in the corn field?”
“Water it again and throw a tarp over it.”
“I could bury it out in the back forty.”
“No, we need to keep it close. One day, Clark might ask questions.”
“Really? Clark? Not John Clark?”
“John Clark was the name of a warrior needed during a long and brutal war. And, Clark will guide us down the path of peace.”
She smiled down at her son. “It’s a good name. Our son will be a good warrior. We just have to teach him the right things.”
“What do we tell people? We didn’t exactly find him in the cabbage patch.”
She thought for a moment and said, “I have a cousin. Maybe she was careless. Unmarried. Can’t raise him on her own.”
“You’re scary good at this.”
“Thinking fast keeps you out of jail.”
“Also, a scary response.”
Jonathan put his arm around his wife. “Maybe it’s best if little Clark doesn’t find out about all the handcuffs in our past.”
“We’re thinking of former Sheriff Harding or our private fun times in the bedroom? Or, both?”
“Yes, my smart-ass wife, both. He doesn’t need to know everything about us.”
She looked down at little Clark.
So happy.
So innocent.
“I’m going to be a good mom,” she promised her son.
Jonathan laughed a little. “There was never any doubt. Never a single doubt.”
Fin.