Abolition (Insurrection Book 3)

by DJ Cooper

  Aeryn woke shivering and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. The fire had burned down to just coals, and he raised his head squinting at the thin beams of gray light that spilled across the sky. A shiver ran through him and he rose rubbing his hands together to warm them. The stick for poking the fire was beside him, he fumbled with it getting black soot on his hands before flipping it around. Angrily, he poked, jabbing at the coals in hopes of sparking life back into the dying embers.

  He realized it needed fuel and made his way into the woods. Another curse escaped his lips, “Dammit, a guy could freeze to death or die in these briars.”

  He continued into the wooded area, tripping over sticks and low brush. “This’ll do,” he said when he paused to relieve himself. He glanced around the area, a sudden awkward feeling coming over him. He looked in either direction, shrugged his shoulders, and began to gather more sticks to revive his nearly dead fire.

  Back at his small camp, Aeryn took stock of his body. He felt a bit stronger this morning, not a lot, but enough so that it gave him hope. His stomach growled with hunger that he tried to shrug off. Grasping some of the sticks he tossed them onto the coals, “First, I’ll warm up, then today’s task is to find some food. If a guy doesn’t freeze, or get eaten by the briars, he could indeed starve out here.” It was then that he spied the two squirrels and the small bag on one of the edging rocks.

  This startled him and he stood peering into the woods. “What the… where did these come from?” He gasped.

  Jerking his head in either direction he saw no one. He squinted into the morning sunlight, wiped his dirty hands, and looked back at the squirrels. He wasn’t going to complain and grabbed a long, slender stick to spear each of them. He squatted next to the flaming pit, waiting for the flames to die down so that he could lay the meat across the hot coals.

  A creepy-crawly feeling rushed through him. “Okay,” he stood and yelled into the forest, “I don’t know who you are,” he waved the stick with the two squirrels above his head. “But thank you for my breakfast.”

  Feeling foolish, but yet thankful, he bent and slid the stick with the squirrels over the hot coals. The scent of roasting meat was mouth-watering, when the smell reached his nose his jaw clenched in anticipation.

  He didn’t like the feeling of being watched, that plagued him. In fact, it gave him the creeps. His grandmother used to tell him stories of specters that roamed the woods. The ways they would entice a traveler with food and treats, only to lure them to their deaths. This was what it reminded him of, and while he questioned if they were real, he also didn’t care at the moment, he was so hungry. Laughter came out unexpectedly at his silly childhood fears, he scolded himself for being so foolish. There were no such things as ghosts and goblins, it was just what grandmothers told their grandchildren to keep them from wandering too far out of the village. There were some bad things in these woods, but they were all very real.

  Still, he wondered where the food had come from. He remembered that old man and thought that perhaps he may have left it, there was no way to know. It didn’t matter. As long as whoever left it meant him no harm, then he was thankful for the kindness. He was content to think that the kind stranger was a passerby who took pity but also didn’t care if they wanted to follow him all the way to the badlands. It wouldn’t change his journey one bit.

  He carefully lifted the stick with the meat from the coals and blew on it ever so slightly. Aeryn hungrily bit into it, sucking air across it in his mouth as it scalded his tongue. He sat, eating hungrily, as he watched the sun rise higher above the mountain range.

  The food sent signals of joy to his stomach as his mouth watered with every bite. He finished one then looked at the other longingly… taking a moment to consider that there might not be more later. He struggled with indecision while he licked the juice and flecks of meat from his fingers and all while his stomach demanded more. He quickly turned and reached for his pack, sighing and exhaling a moan of longing, before taking the second squirrel, wrapping it in a green leaf, and stowing it in his pack. He nibbled some of the berries and cake-like bread and then also stowed that along with the meat. He would save it for later. Who knew when his next meal might be?

  Chapter Seven

  Kael didn’t like the sound of Mischa’s cough. It sounded deep in her chest, a low phlegmy sound, and it worried him. Her mishap in the water was what concerned him and he wondered if there could still be water in her lungs. He didn’t know much about medical condition stuff... but he did know that when his friend got sick a few years ago and almost died; it was because of the water. One of the Guard was miffed at a job he’d done and held his head under in a water barrel. He’d nearly drowned. If her lungs hadn’t expelled all the water then that could lead to pneumonia. Concern weighed heavily on him and he rolled over on his bedroll. He shivered when the morning air chilled his skin and with a gentle touch he pulled her closer to his body, wrapping his arms around her. She moaned and snuggled into his warmth.

  “Mischa,” he whispered, “are you okay?”

  He gasped in shock when he heard her voice come out in a raspy croak.

  “Yes, I just can’t get rid of this stupid cough,” she replied, breathless as she choked on another deep cough rumbling up from her chest. She turned toward him and even in the weak light of early dawn he could see how rosy her cheeks were.

  “Fever?” he asked as he reached over and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. Instinctively he pulled it away with a hiss when he felt the fiery warmth of her skin.

  “Damn it, Mischa. You’re sick!” he growled, jumping up from his sleeping roll and standing over her. A moment of panic that rolled through him, he didn’t know what to do. She was really sick and they didn’t have any medicine, he had no idea of how to help her.

  “Oh, quit worrying, I’m just a little warm with a cough, it’s probably a springtime cold.”

  She didn’t like to see the worry in his eyes and sat up, pulling her blanket around her shoulders. She clasped the blanket together in front of her with her shaking hands and scowled. Her teeth chattered from the shivering.

  “Okay,” he said, nervously walking about. “Let me go get some wood and get this fire going so we can warm you up.”

  He was worried about her cough and fever. He knew it was more than a springtime cold and wished he knew more about what plants he could find that would help her. But he didn’t. As he gathered sticks and a few larger, thicker branches he scolded himself for not paying more attention to her breathless coughs yesterday. This time of year everyone he knew coughed and snotted with seasonal allergies and he didn’t really think anything of it.

  His steps quickened and he hurried to carry the armload back to the camp. There were still a few hot coals. He stirred them up, adding little bits of twigs until they caught flame. Once the tinder caught into a small fire he tossed in the larger branches. Soon he had a hot fire roaring in the pit. Mischa sat shivering even harder than before. She was so cold. He bent down and scooped her up in his arms. Carrying her shivering body, he sat by the fire with her on his lap, giving her his body heat along with the warmth from the flames. He sighed in relief when her body began to quiet and calm. He relaxed some and smiled when her breathing became deep and rhythmic. He knew she had fallen asleep.

  Some time passed while sitting there holding her, and his legs were going numb with her weight on them. He didn’t dare move, afraid that if he did he’d wake her. So he remained still, sitting with his arms wrapped tightly around her staring into the flames. He thought it would be best if they waited to resume their journey. He would insist that they stay at the camp and rest for the day. The journey would still be there tomorrow when she felt better.

  The afternoon turned out to be cloudy and cool, a welcome reprieve from the black flies. Kael sat silently behind a scrub of thorny brush, watching a small grouse as it pecked at the ground looking for grubs. It was small, and wouldn’t make much of a meal for two of them but
better than no meal at all. Perhaps it would be best if he simmered it in water with a few other things, it would make a hearty soup to help Mischa’s fever and cough. He was silent when he drew the bow, holding it back, his breath suspended. He would have one shot, and if he missed, he’d be going back to the camp empty-handed. He glanced upward sending a silent prayer before he launched the arrow. The bird flapped briefly before becoming still and he grinned happily, pleased with his catch.

  Quickly he retrieved the small grouse and sat on the ground, his hands roughly plucking the feathers. Once done, he took his knife out, or should he say Mischa’s knife, and made a small cut at its tail end, reaching in and removing the innards. Before he brought it back to camp, he stopped at the stream and washed it thoroughly. It was a good hunt. They would have a fine soup in a few hours.

  Mischa lay curled up in her blanket by the fire when he arrived back at camp. The fevered glaze in her eyes worried him. Even after a day of rest, he could see she wasn’t getting better. In fact, he thought she looked worse. He looked at her helplessly, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, not knowing what to do.

  “In my bag are several small brown bottles, can you bring them to me?” she whispered.

  A gritty sound in her whisper and the raspiness of her voice made it difficult to hear her. Setting the bird down on a stone near the fire pit, he retrieved her bag and dug through it looking for the bottles. There were four of them tucked into a small paper sack at the very bottom of the bag. Bottles in hand, he rushed it over to her.

  “What are they?” he asked curiously, watching her pull out each one.

  “Medicines,” she replied with a tired sigh. After looking at them all, she chose one bottle, held it up to the light, and gave it a gentle shake.

  “It’s a combination of ginger, black pepper, and cloves,” she explained as she uncapped the small bottle and drew up a dropper full of amber liquid. A hot, pungent, and spicy odor drifted up to his nose.

  “And this will help?”

  Mischa nodded to him. “I sure hope so Kael, or you could find yourself finishing this journey alone,” she whispered weakly as she emptied the dropper into her mouth.

  The teary expression in her eyes tore his heart in two and sent terror bolting through him. He couldn’t lose her. He shook his head in denial. “No, you are going to get better,” he growled, pulling her into his arm.

  She leaned heavily against him. “I think I have pneumonia, and this medicine will help with the fever and a little bit with the infection but what I really need is antibiotics,” her voice weak.

  Kael felt the heat of rage biting at him. Antibiotics? Only the elites had access to those powerful medicines! Antibiotics would help her, but he had no way to get these or to help her. He felt helpless.

  “Okay, tell me what to do, I don’t know how to help you,” he groaned.

  “Later, just let me sleep now okay?” she said as she laid her head against his shoulder.

  Kael sighed as his heart shattered. He pulled her tighter against his chest and in mere minutes she fell into a deep, fevered sleep.

  “God help me, I can’t lose her too,” he wept silently.

  Chapter Eight

  Grandfather sat, his legs stretched out in front of him, gazing into the fire. His belly was more than full, it was too full. So full it made him uncomfortable. The loud noise startled some when he belched loudly, trying to ease some of the pressure on his gut. He grinned at them and winked in satisfaction.

  The women of the group had the same idea that day. They all set out to forage for food and between his scavenged eggs, the bear that Millicent harvested, and fresh wild berries. Abundant and varied options presented a wonderful bounty. Among these, there were also cattail roots that one of the ladies had gathered and grilled over the fire, wild garlic shoots, and violet flowers for a soothing tea. It was a feast compared to what they had been eating. Their supplies were dwindling fast and this was a much-needed resupply.

  “Oh my God, I ate too much,” Candice, Millicent’s sister groaned, settling back to relax and digest with her little one fighting sleep that soon overtook them both.

  It had been a good day. He’d felt better than he had in weeks and he was thankful. There was joy from everyone who sat around the fire, and to see the contented smiles on their faces made his own heart swell with happiness. The fighting was behind them, along with the fear of the Honor Guard. He settled, with the thought that he had made the right choice for his people. Although he loved his mountain village, he was excited to start a new life. Excited to build a new village... beyond the reach of the guard. Blessings abounded and he’d finally been able to spend some time with his own grandchildren without the shadow of secrecy and fear hanging over his head. Today offered him a view of the true beauty of what life had in store for him and those he loved. Comforted, he sat back, smiled, and contentedly yawned.

  “I think it’s time we all turn in, I want to get an early start,” Grandfather murmured. Indigestion burned in his throat and he swallowed hard to push it down. He pushed himself up off the ground with a groan and winced as his leg muscles screamed in protest. Perhaps he was getting a little too old to be climbing trees, but damned if those eggs weren’t a yummy treat.

  His bedroll called out to him and he made his way to it. Like many other days, he was tired and sagged down onto it. Although he was tired, tonight, sleep eluded him and he stared up at the blanket of stars covering the night sky. His mind drifted, thinking one minute about the village they’d left behind, and the next, skirting what lay ahead. Almost a week had gone by since he and the villagers had begun this journey, and many miles were behind them. He expected the village warriors to be catching up to them at any time and thought of how bravely they’d stayed behind to fight.

  It worried him, wondering how many of them had died in the battle against the Honor Guard. He wouldn’t know until they caught up. They knew the route and shouldn’t be too far behind. Hope lingered that they’d been successful. He prayed they were able to reduce their numbers for Zyla and Kael’s sakes. He couldn’t dare hope the warriors eliminated all of them, but if those two could make it to the Badlands before the Honor Guard soldiers caught up with them then they had a chance at freedom. He was betting that the Honor Guard would not dare follow Kael and Zyla into the unknown territories.

  A touch of nostalgia hung in the air. If only he could have been there for them more. He sighed heavily and rolled over onto his side, willing sleep to take him. His chest pounded with a familiar ache and he sucked in a deep breath.

  “No, I’m not ready,” he moaned, fighting the pain that ratcheted across his chest. He gasped and another pain ripped through his chest. He slipped away silently into the arms of death. Staring upward as the night sky spun before him, beckoning him to his final peace. “Be safe, my children,” he sighed.

  Millicent

  Millie woke to the sun beating down on her face. Confused, she yawned and opened her eyes, momentarily disoriented. It felt so late and yet there were no playing children. Sitting upright she gazed around taking stock of the sleeping group. Glancing at the sky, the sun was well up and the day was well underway.

  “Damn, we overslept,” she muttered as she crawled from her warm blankets.

  Suddenly a dark foreboding sank in her chest. Grandfather! He was usually the first one up. He took great pleasure in rousing the rest of the group. She glanced over to where he slept at the edge of the wood line and. Motionless, he remained in his bedroll, still asleep. It struck her as strange. A frown crossed her face, and she began walking toward where he slept, her mind still foggy with drowsiness.

  “Grandfather, sleepy-head, we all overslept,” she teased in a sing-song voice.

  No movement, he remained still beneath his blanket. A feeling of dread filled her chest and for a moment she gazed at him. Concerned, she bent down and placed her hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. When he didn’t respond she nudged him again, this time a lit
tle harder. Her eyes widened in horror as his body rolled from its side toward her and she saw the faraway look in his vacant eyes.

  “Oh, Grandfather,” she moaned.

  Overwhelmed, it was as if a dam inside her burst; she let out a wail of sorrow. Sobs caught in her throat and she looked around for help, overcome with panic.

  “Oh, Grandfather,” she moaned and clutched her chest. Both knees slamming into the ground beside him, she hung her head pulling the blanket over him. Tears streaked her face and she wept silently for a few moments before wiping them away with the back of her hand. No one had heard her cries.

  “Peace be with you, Grandfather. May you find peace and rest now,” she cried.

  She drew in a deep hitching breath, stood, and squared her shoulders, gazing out over the camp.

  “I will lead them, Grandfather,” she whispered as tears rolled silently down her cheeks.

  She had to tell them, wake the others, and begin the day. It would be a long hard day and she dreaded this task that lay before her.

  Millicent started the morning fires. Tears burned her eyes and she wiped them away. Time was spent mourning for the group, each in their time walked to where Grandfather lay and bent their heads in prayer.

  “We will honor him right here,” Millicent said. “In this meadow over near that tree he sat by last night,” she sniffed.

  Her sister beside her nodded. “He would like that,” she replied.

  They all needed time to mourn, and as the group started setting about their morning routines, Millicent called them all together around the campfire. She gazed at the expressions of sorrow on each face. Sadness and loss lay etched in each of their faces and her heart ached. Grandfather would be sorely missed.

  “Today,” she said, glancing at each person in the group before looking away. Her face twisted in grief, she tried to calm it before continuing. “Will be a day of mourning for us all. We will take the proper time to lay Grandfather to rest this afternoon and have a small service,” she finished.