by Richard Dusk
"Eh, thanks?" she took the can and unwrapped her face. She felt the bliss in her mouth after the first sip. "My God, that's good," she whispered and drank the soup.
He finally saw her. An undeniably familiar face, though dirty but with lightly showing freckles and a healed scar running from her lips across the left cheek almost to her ear.
"Just don't throw up," Garrett handed her another can and sat on the ground at her feet.
As they silently ate, he noticed that the girl examined him by sight. Her body subtly turned towards him, and her eyes sought after any sign or mark of threat.
Run or stay, Garrett thought about her deliberation of his presence.
He dug through the first half of the can and listened to the storm outside getting stronger.
"We're going to be pinned down here for much longer than till tomorrow. Just a few hours passed, and another one came," he shook the head, placed can aside and walked to pull the bed away from the hole a bit. Gale immediately pressed against him and blew coolness inside. "Twister is moving back from north to south," he pushed the bed back to plug the hole and walked back to sit on his spot. "Where's my soup?" he looked around.
"I finished it for you," she handed him an empty can, and he frowned.
"Girl, don't you ever dare to steal from me again. Is it clear?"
"Whatever. I'll accept death with a belly full of warm food," she smiled smugly.
"You find this funny, don't you?"
"I'm starving, and you threw away my can," she snapped. "Don't turn back if you don't want others to seize the opportunity."
Garrett loudly exhaled, recounted the food that left in his bag, and took out another one.
"Why are you doing this?" she said while he stood with a can in hand.
"I've got more than I'll need, and you've said you're starving," he forced it into her hands.
"What do you want from me?"
"Nothing."
"What do you want?" she stressed the question. "Answer."
"Nothing. What else do you wanna hear?"
"Man, you've got to be out of your mind," she began eating. "No one shares food these days."
"Yep, maybe I'm," he watched her guzzle. "How did you know about this place?"
She gulped and wiped her mouth with a sleeve.
"I came from the west to Hanstown. Is it Hanstown, right?" she waited till Garrett nodded. "I went through several houses to find anything, but they're empty. What did I expect? People took everything. I didn't dare to go deeper in the town alone, so I scoured uptown where I could. But it's not safe enough either. I heard people on the streets more often than I expected, so I moved somewhere safer. I found a map with a mark of this place nailed on the door in one of the houses. It's not far away from the town, and I wanted to have a place where to sleep with no risk of running into someone. I got here, but storm caught me, and I spent last week here," she finished and sipped the soup. "Today, I was lucky and found another dog can back in the town."
"Are you wandering around alone?" Garrett examined her face and the scar.
"I had a group - seven of us in the beginning. We met in an emergency camp, but it burnt down within a month since I got there. So we decided to go on our own rather than escaping to a different one. After all, they ended the same. Burnt or wrecked. My last friend died three weeks ago. They are all gone now. We managed pretty well. Took care, split food, built shelters, protected each other. I relied on those people, but with all those things appearing and falling, knocking down everything standing in their way, we lost somebody every month. Gabriel and Mike died as the house fell on them, Mary was killed by a falling barrel, Chris crushed under a car, Samantha pierced by a metal rod and the last one, Andrew, died saving me. Some psycho shot him. He took a bullet for me," she counted her dead friends on fingers.
"So you drew the longest straw," said Garrett. "You know how to fight wolves. Where did you learn that?"
"I didn't. It was just fear and reflex," she sipped again.
They sat there, both in the presence of a stranger, listening to gravel falling on the shack and wondering why they are here together at this very moment.
"Your face is cut," Jillian pointed at Garrett's face, and he placed a hand on it.
"It's just a scratch," he scraped off dried blood.
"What are you doing here in the middle of the forest?"
He reached into his coat, and she immediately groped after her knife. Garrett took out his maps.
"What?" he noticed she stared at him, while she wondered whether he saw it.
"Nothing," she shook the flashlight again. "Wow, how long is it?" she gaped at the stack and long pencil lines crossing the maps.
"Since the beginning. But this is the seventh map already - I needed a larger scale. Otherwise, the line would be longer."
"And where are you going?" she pointed at the end of the line marked with X.
"To get answers, warm food, clear water, and meet a good company."
"Good company? Man, you've got bats in the belfry," she chuckled, shaking her head. "Why don't you go through the woods? It would be shorter."
"Why did you go through the woods? To search for wolves? The emptier space is, the better it is. You can see everyone and everything."
Jillian didn't answer and put the maps aside.
"Did you kill somebody since the beginning?" she lay down on the bed with a hand under her head.
"Yes, I took a few lives, and I owe one. Why do you ask?" he wondered about this common question of these days.
"I'm stuck in the middle of woods inside the log shack with somebody I've never seen before, and you're asking why? Man, were you born yesterday? There are insane people out there," she placed the hand on the knife again.
"If I were as they are, you wouldn't stand much chance. No cans, no fire, no chatting," he watched her. She blinked more than usual and seemed to be striving to keep herself awake. "You would be lying down here and bleeding with open eyes. That's not the way I deal with people. You look harmless. If you're afraid of me, don't count on having my knife. I won't give it to you, but I won't use it against you unless I have to."
"You wouldn't be the first one," she looked into his eyes in the flickering light of the fire.
"You're not the only one who suffered losses," he sat on the chair. "It took me a lot to get so close, and I'm not taking any risks. You killed a wolf, that's something. You may also be the worst survivor ever, still alive just because of coincidences. Whatever your past is, you are here with me now, and I won't let you take my future away just by accident," he folded the map. "Do you think I'm in need to stab you while you don't look? Or steal that flashlight or anything you got in that holey bag?" he chuckled and waited for the answer, but she lay motionless with closed eyes, and her chest raised and fell regularly.
She had to be exhausted as she fell asleep in the middle of the day. Maybe it was easier for her to end the conversation this way rather than talk to him. But watching her for a while, he soon understood that she just pretended sleep, probably to test him before the moment when she'll be dead to the world. No one would do such a risky thing as falling asleep next to a stranger. Same as with the dog can. She let him know she has some food only to see what he will do. After all, he had to admit she played smart moves to find out who he is. Her hand held the knife, and she would be able to strike in a second. He let her play-act in the hope she'll trust him enough not to kill him in his doze.
There wasn't much to do than wait out the storm. Garrett took out his jotter to write a few words again but didn't know where to begin. He couldn't erase the movie of recent moments from the mind and the fact that Jillian crossed his path the way he didn't expect in the slightest. He climbed on the bed at her feet, leaned against the wall and shut his eyes.
The stress inside him subsided, the warm air filled the inside. The hypnotizing cracking of burning wood made him fall asleep before he could allow it and woke up in a pitch-dark room, lying on a cold, s
teel floor for the hundredth time. He always spreads hands around, searching for anything solid to grab. Crawling on all fours, he explores the ground to find any unevenness, groove, or line leading out of the room, but he discovers nothing. As he moves forward, he hears that somebody is tiptoeing behind him with water droplets falling on the ground, and another one in front is pulling a heavy screeching object. No matter how fast he runs, they are always at the same distance. When he falls exhausted to the floor and fear of the unknown is driving him to madness, he sees a bright light coming in through a French window. An unclear whispering echoes behind him as he runs again with the hope of saving himself. The more he sprints, the louder the whispering is and turns into a powerful woman screaming. Her voice tears his brain apart. He wants to jump out of the window but can never reach it. Striving to run away, the window recedes endlessly, and he always remains lying on the ground with a pounding heart while subtle girl voice whispers indistinctly into his right ear. Now she kicked him for the first time, and he woke up covered in cold sweat. It was a girl, but it was Jillian kicking his left shin.
"Ouch, why?" he breathed shallowly, rubbing his leg where she struck him.
"Listen," she pointed with a finger to the wall.
They heard muffled coughing and footsteps coming from outside.
"What now? There are too many people in this shack already."
"Stay there. Speak to him as he enters," Garrett took the pole and stood next to the opening.
Footsteps moved and approached the hole. Suddenly a pair of hands waggled the bed. Garrett looked at Jillian clutching the knife. Hands waggled the bed again and pushed it in. The wind blew dust inside, and the fire wavered.
"Hey! Who are you? What do you want? Get out!" she yelled at the figure entering the room.
The man laughed and walked towards her, reaching for something in his leather jacket. Jillian saw shadow flick behind him and heard sharp, swift swoosh followed by a dull hit. The man fell to the ground right away, and Garrett stood above him, holding pole ready to strike again.
"He didn't see you?" she got off the bed.
"That's why you spoke. You stole his attention," he bent down to man and moved the hood off his face.
"Is he dead?" Jillian kneeled down.
"Does it matter?"
A tall, well-built man in a black jacket with a side bag hanging off a shoulder and crossing his chest, lay there unconscious. He had shaved, tattooed head with ink running down to the neck, and dustproof goggles protecting his eyes. Garrett strapped them down and revealed his face.
"I know him. I know the tattoo," whispered Jillian, and Garrett froze, staring at her. "It's Zack."
Chapter 03 Too Good To Be True
Sitting back to the fire warming themselves, they were silently getting used to the presence of the man securely tied up to the bed leg with his own rope. Garrett searched through stranger's bag but found nothing valuable except for a scratched military bottle filled with water, and a half-empty medkit. Jillian sitting on the bed stared deadpan at the slit in the wooden floor while thousands of questions spun in her head. She wasn't comfortable with two men around in such confined space. Garrett saw her contemplation and didn't raise the same doubts she thought about.
Just a couple of hours ago, he walked alone only a few miles away from the destination of his journey. Now there are two strangers with him in the shack that is a step away from being hit by anything the storm throws on the roof. He stood up and walked to the man to check the knot. The guy panted but didn't wake up while Garrett searched through his pockets, seizing dagger and a can opener.
Chest touched man's bearded chin every time he heavily breathed in. His shaved head was inked on the right side with a gorgeous banshee. A flawless one, sitting on a stone under a patulous tree with feet in the creek and moon with stars above her. She was drawn lightly with soft features, almost like an angel. Beautiful, deadly angel. The wind played with her black hair over his nape to the other side of his face and down the neck. Moonlight covered her delicate curves, and she sang over her palms holding her own heart turning into a stone. She was graceful, mesmerizing, calling for touch, but her eyes, staring right into watcher's soul, frightened weak men. No irises, just black ink.
Garrett squatted at him, caught the man by the chin and turned his head from left to right, examining scars and marks of wounds from a recent fight. He checked the tattoo, frowned, and walked a few steps away.
"What did you mean that you know him?"
Jillian looked at Garrett a bit disconcerted as if he blamed her for that.
"Well, yes, I know him. Zack Reed. I met him in Safe Harbor, one of the emergency camps where they relocated our district, but that was hundreds of miles away from here."
"He followed you or what? Hope he's not your prince or somethin'."
"Yeah, funny, ha-ha," she snapped.
"Go on then."
"The military shut Grandon City at the end of the first month. The town took a severe hit. The earth split open, buildings collapsed, and dam flooded what left of it. Those who survived were taken far away from the zone. Soldiers restricted the area and drove us away. And they had a good reason for that. Soon after that, the downpours of metal began. Anyone who left in the city couldn't survive it. Not with the storms that followed.
I was new to the town. I came less than a month before it started, and I had to leave. Got that one right, didn't I? So knowing no one, I had to go with others to the emergency camp where they relocated us, and that's where we met. We got sleeping bags," she tapped on hers in the bag, "and spots next to each other."
"Cut the rubbish. Get to the point. What's he like? Tell me everything."
"I am, back off," she glared at him. "I don't know anything about the last nine months of his whereabouts. But I didn't like him much, same as most of the others. Every time I passed by him, I had a strange feeling as if something weird lingered in the air around. He just stood and stared at everyone until they disappeared around the corner. Most of the time, he didn't say a word. We barely heard him talk even when they asked him. He somehow lived deep inside his own world, maybe a nightmare but not a happy place. He was kind of vicious and arrogant. Sometimes he surprised and offered help when somebody needed it. However, that happened rarely, and he expected ten times more in return. He shared a slice of bread and wanted your dinner the next day.
Of course, people didn't take this very well. They wanted to help each other, not start fights, and make use of others. So the way he behaved quickly made him a lot of enemies, and they forced him to leave the camp. One day he disappeared with several mates and never came back. No one searched for them. After that, I have no clue what happened to him."
"Okay, that's enough," Garrett looked at the man, thinking about the dangers that came with him.
This world favored the vicious ones and strengthened all the heartless features they had. Garrett felt he couldn't just let him sit there anymore.
"Time to wake him up. Don't tell him anything," he walked to the man and slapped him twice across the face.
"Wake up! Do you hear me? Wake up!" he shouted and slapped him again.
The man moaned and slowly moved, "Damn it, my head," he wanted to touch the sore spot, but rope stopped his intention. "What?" he strained hands to release them, but the knot didn't give an inch. He looked down at Garrett's shoes and traveled up with eyes to his face. "Let me go!" he shouted, fighting with rope to tear it.
Jillian came out of the shadow. She wanted to see him awake and stood behind Garrett. When the man saw her, he calmed down at once and looked from one to another.
"Well, I get it. You protect your daughter. That's understandable. Just set me loose, and you will never see me again. I'll disappear in the storm," he promised with negotiating voice.
Garrett didn't answer and silently stood. He didn't want to reveal anything to this man, not even the sound of his voice.
"I'm not his daughter. I'm Jillian," she said, and Garret
t lightly nudged her arm. "You're Zack Reed, right? Do you remember me? Safe Harbor."
"What? Who? Jillian?" he firmly shut his eyes. "Yes, I've heard that name before, but I can't focus right now. My head hurts."
"Sure you can," Garrett harshly slapped the man again.
"Don't you dare!" he shouted but quickly understood that he is powerless against the rope and is entirely at Garrett's mercy. He sighed and looked at Jillian. "I recall your name. Yes. And the scar you have. I see you survived," he looked at her cheek.
"Yep, still alive."
"Yeah. How are you holding on?"
"I've been better. Almost ripped to pieces today. He saved my life."
A sardonic smile appeared on Zack's face when he looked at Garrett as if he symbolized an insurmountable obstacle separating him from freedom.
"Good work, greybeard," he sneered, but Garrett didn't answer, just nodded lightly.
"What are you doing here?" Jillian said.
Zack gulped and slowly began to talk, "I was with my group, coming from the eastern crossroad church not far away and-"
"There is no church. I know that crossroad," butted in Garrett, but he knew the road only from the map, which missed a place of worship symbol.
"When did you go that way the last time? Maybe there wasn't before, but now there is. It's a meeting point for our group. We met with our people there and gave them the supplies we took from the city. Food, medicine, batteries, and everything useful we found. It takes hours to trip over something valuable, but what else can we do? We have to climb in those buildings or fight with roamers, and that's just hell. A lot of things we bring in are scrap, but fortunately, we have guys who have the skills to turn it into anything we need. As we gave them full carts, they gave us food, water, and all we may need for the next days. Then we headed back to the city to search again. It's a never-ending cycle," he paused, waiting for any sign from his listeners, but they only stood stock-still there. "Nobody wants to do it. It's risky. Deadly. Weather and all the falling things may crush you or cut through your body. No one wants to be out there when it comes. But people are the worst.