Ren takes a breath. “I’m pregnant too,” she says. She begins to sniffle. “I peed on the stick. It turned pink, it made a smiley face … Oh God.” Lotis Blue pats her. Crozier makes a move towards her, then stops.
“Three’s company,” says Swift Fox. “Count me in. Bun in the oven, up the spout. Farrow in the barrow.” At least she’s cheerful about it, thinks Toby. But whose bun?
There’s another silence. “I don’t suppose there is any point,” says Ivory Bill with heavy disapproval, “in speculating as to the paternity of these … these various imminent progenies.”
“None whatsoever,” says Swift Fox. “Or not in my case. I’ve been doing an experiment in genetic evolution. Reproduction of the fittest. Think of me as a petri dish.”
“I find that irresponsible,” says Ivory Bill.
“I’m not sure it’s any of your business,” says Swift Fox.
“Hey!” says Rebecca. “It is what it is!”
“With Amanda, it may be a Craker,” says Toby. “From something that happened the night she was … the night we got her back, from … That’s the best possibility. And that may be what happened with Ren too.”
“It wasn’t the Painballers, anyway,” says Ren. “With me. I know it wasn’t.”
“You know that how?” says Crozier.
“I don’t want to go into the gory details,” says Ren, “because you’d think it was oversharing. It’s girl stuff. We count the days. That’s how.”
“I can definitely rule out the Painballers,” says Swift Fox. “In my case. And I can rule out a few other guys too.” None of the men look at each other. Crozier suppresses a grin.
“And the Crakers as well?” says Toby, keeping her voice neutral. Who’s on her checklist? Crozier, definitely, but who else? Have there been multitudes? Maybe Zeb was one of them, after all; if so, soon there may be an infant Zeb. Then what will she herself do? Pretend she doesn’t notice? Knit babywear? Brood and sulk? The first two options would be preferable, but she’s not sure she’ll be up to them.
“I did have an interlude or two with the big blues,” says Swift Fox. “When no one was looking, which didn’t give me a huge window of opportunity, since everyone here is so snoopy. It was energetic, and I’m not sure I’d want to make a habit of it. Not much foreplay. But the pink smiley face doesn’t lie, and I will soon be heavy with young. The question is, young what?”
“Guess we’ll find out,” says Shackleton.
Zeb and Black Rhino return from their inspection of the fences. “This place is hardly a fortress,” Zeb says. “Thing is — if we take the weapons with us on the hunt, we leave everyone in the cobb house undefended.”
“Which may be what they want,” says Rhino. “Lure us out the front, sneak in the back. Make off with the women.”
“We’re not just packages,” says Swift Fox. “We can fight back! You can leave us a couple of sprayguns.”
“Good luck with that plan,” says Rhino.
“We need to move our whole group out of here when we go hunting for those guys,” says Crozier. “We can’t leave anyone behind. Take the Mo’Hairs too. If we’re all together, it’s harder for them to ambush us.”
“But easier to stampede us,” says Zeb. “How fast can we all run?”
“I’m not running,” says Rebecca. “And I need to point out here that there are three pregnant women in this crowd.”
“Three?” says Zeb.
“Ren and Swift Fox,” says Rebecca.
“When did that happen?”
“They told everyone else when you were checking the fences,” says Rebecca.
“They got knocked up by elves overnight,” says Jimmy.
“Not funny, Jimmy,” says Lotis Blue.
“Point is, bad for them to run,” says Rebecca.
“So, we can’t keep our end of the deal? We can’t go into battle with the pig militia?” says Shackleton. “They’ll have to do it alone?”
“They can’t,” says Jimmy. “They’re fucking lethal but they can’t climb stairs. If the pigs chase those Painball guys into the city, they’ll just move up a floor and shoot down. The pigoons will be decimated.”
“Crozier’s right, we should all relocate,” says Toby. “To a more secure place, with doors that lock.”
“Like where?” says Rebecca.
“We can go back to the AnooYoo Spa,” says Toby. “I holed up in there for months. There’s still some basic food left.” And maybe some seeds, she thinks: I can collect seeds, for the garden. And more bullets, she’d left some there.
“They’ve got real beds,” says Ren. “And towels.”
“And solid doors,” says Toby.
“Could be a plan,” says Zeb. “Vote?”
Nobody votes no.
“Now we must prepare,” says Katuro.
“First we should bury the piglet,” Toby says. “It would be right. Under the circumstances.”
So they do.
Fallback
It takes them a day to get organized. There are many things they need to take with them: the basic supplies for cooking, a change of daywear bedsheets, duct tape, rope. Flashlights, headlamps: most of the batteries are still good. The sprayguns, of course. Toby’s rifle. And any sharp-edged tools, because you wouldn’t want such things as knives and picks to fall into the hands of enemies.
“Keep it light,” Zeb tells them. “If all goes well, we’ll be back here in a few days.”
“Or else this place may be burned to the ground,” says Rhino.
“So if you really need it, take it with you,” says Katuro.
Toby worries about her hive of bees. Will they be all right? What could attack them? She hasn’t seen any bears, and the Pigoons have made a no-bees deal, or so she must believe. Do wolvogs like honey? No, they’re carnivores. Rakunks, perhaps, but they’d be no match for an angry hive.
She covers her head and speaks to the hive, as she’s been doing faithfully each morning. “Greetings, Bees. I bring news to you and your Queen. Tomorrow I must go away for a short time, so I will not be talking with you for several days. Our own hive is threatened. We are in danger, and we must attack those that threaten us, as you would in our place. Be steadfast, gather much pollen, defend your hive if need be. Tell this message to Pilar, and ask for the help of her strong Spirit, on our behalf.”
The bees fly in and out of the hole in the Styrofoam cooler. They seem to like it here in the garden. Several of them come over to investigate her. They test her floral bedsheet, find it wanting, move to her face. Yes, they know her. They touch her lips, gather her words, fly away with the message, disappear into the dark. Pass through the membrane that separates this world from the unseen world that lies just underneath it. There is Pilar, with her calm smile, walking forward along a corridor that glows with hidden light.
Now, Toby, she tells herself. Talking pigs, communicative dead people, and the Underworld in a Styrofoam beer cooler. You’re not on drugs, you’re not even sick. You really have no excuse.
The Crakers watch the departure preparations with interest. The children hang around the kitchen, staring at Rebecca with their huge green eyes, keeping a distance between themselves and her flitch of bacon and her dried wolvog jerky.
The Crakers don’t seem to fully understand why the MaddAddams are moving house, but they’ve made it clear that they themselves are coming too.
“We will help Snowman-the-Jimmy,” they say. “We will help Zeb.” “We will help Crozier, he is our friend, we must help him to piss better.” “We will help Toby, she will tell us a story.” “Crake wants us to go there,” and so forth. They themselves have no possessions, so there’s nothing they need to carry; but they want to carry other things. “I will bring this, it is a pot.” “I will bring this, it is a wind-up radio, what is it for?” “I will bring this sharp one, it is a knife.” “This one is a toilet paper, I will carry it.”