by Lopez, Rob
Smart as it was, the pleasant mountain park couldn’t sustain that many people, and there were others living here already who knew the mountains better and relied on hunting to keep their larders stocked. Clashes between locals and newcomers were inevitable, as Josh’s own group soon discovered.
Barely a mile had gone by since leaving Gastonia without them finding some isolated settlement at an intersection, the inhabitants unhappy at the sight of strangers. The narrow back-roads were easily blocked, and nobody was willing to let the convoy pass. Some even went so far as to fire warning shots before Josh’s father got anywhere near the barricades. The convoy would turn around to try another route, only to be turned around again. The closer they got to South Mountains, the harder it got.
A crack sounded in the distance and Josh froze. He was carrying an air rifle, but the gunshot he heard was definitely from a more substantial firearm. He moved to unsling his own Ruger .22 from his shoulder, then noticed that Scott and Rick had both dropped to the deck. Josh followed suit and all three listened to the resulting silence.
Josh laid down the air rifle and sighted along the Ruger. Bracken was only just beginning to sprout in little green curls from the carpet of brown leaves, so visibility in the woods was good, but there was no movement to detect. Josh couldn’t tell how far away the shot had been. He wasn’t familiar with hill-country, and the walk up the slope had already tired him out, his heart-rate high and his shoulder aching from where the rifle strap chafed. The fact that his father and Scott listened passively rather than springing into action indicated that the shot maybe wasn’t close enough to disturb them much.
Josh took the moment to enjoy the rest.
His empty stomach growled, and when Rick signaled for them to continue, Josh switched back to the pellet gun, looking out again for potential food. The tough and chewy squirrel meat, lightly fried or grilled, was something to look forward to. He might even get to bag something bigger like a raccoon, which so far he’d only seen in documentaries, cartoons and the Guardians of the Galaxy movie. Thankfully, he wasn’t likely to see one armed with an impossibly sized, big-ass rocket-launcher, but it’d be funny if he could.
Wouldn’t stop him from eating the damned thing, though. Even the sight of a bear would be welcome for that.
They tramped uphill until they reached the edge of the treeline. The bare slopes rising to the hilltop showed there wasn’t much else worth climbing for. Not even a jackrabbit. The setting sun silhouetted the nearby hills, all equally bare, and barely discernible plumes of smoke, like ghost marks on the horizon, rose vertically into the air, showing the location of the particularly cantankerous settlement that had already turned them away, though not before putting a bullet hole in the Humvee. Scott had been keen to pay them another visit and teach them the errors of their ways – preferably with a little ballistic therapy – but Rick dissuaded him from escalating it further. Josh personally would have liked to see Scott get it on, as it sucked to be treated like a pariah by those goons, but time was pressing and their ammunition wasn’t unlimited. And while his father’s point was a boring one, it was true that there wasn’t much to be gained in looking for a fight simply to vent some anger.
Empty handed, they descended the slope, the gloom in the woods growing deeper. On the way, they passed through an abandoned chicken farm, the long sheds barren and the feed silos depleted. Josh guessed that most of the chickens had been taken by the surrounding settlements, which was maybe why they were so defensive. Judging from the condition of some of the locals at the barricades, though, it was possible they’d eaten them all already. According to Chuck, the birds were so used to being filled with antibiotics that they wouldn’t have lasted long before succumbing to diseases.
“They ain’t as tough as your traditional farmyard chicken,” he’d said. “Kind of like most of us, really.”
The vehicles were parked on a sloping gravel track, and the multicolored tents had been pitched among the trees, near a creek. Josh could see some effort had been made to camouflage the gaudy dwellings, but they still stood out from their surroundings. Harvey had dug a cooking pit for their kills, and he was disappointed to see that the hunting party had returned with none.
“Jerky and canned peaches again,” said Josh, propping his rifles against a tree.
“That’s a luxury we don’t have,” said Harvey. “Peaches are gone.”
“Got kale,” said Chuck, adding kindling to a pile. Behind him, Lizzy and Daniel carried armfuls of twigs, dropping them gratefully by the cooking pit.
“Yay,” said Josh without enthusiasm.
“Is it worth even lighting the fire?” asked Scott.
“We can boil water,” said Rick. “We need to top off our containers. No telling what tomorrow might bring.”
“And what will tomorrow bring?” asked Harvey. “Done a lot of running around today and we haven’t gotten very far.”
“No. It’s been a little disappointing,” admitted Rick. “Prospects around here don’t look too good, so we’ll continue north as best we can. When we hit the interstate, maybe the going will be easier.”
“Or maybe someone can see us and shoot us from farther off,” said Scott.
“There is that, but unless we’re prepared to ditch the vehicles and hike cross-country, we’ll get either one problem or the other. If things get bad, we can always switch back.”
“Told you we should have gone east,” said Scott.
Rick glanced at him. “I seem to recall you agreeing with my decision to come this way.”
“Sure, if it works out. If it doesn’t, I want to claim credit for saying I told you so.”
Packy walked into the clearing, wiping motor oil from his hands. “Did you guys get anything good?” he asked. “What’s on the menu tonight?”
“Kale,” said Josh.
Packy screwed up his face. “Is that the best you can do after being on the road all day? Man, after a long drive, I like to get myself a burger, jack and coke.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, we haven’t really driven that far,” said Rick.
“Far enough. Kale and crushed bugs might be okay for you survivalist types, but this figure here needs something a little manlier and redder, if you know what I mean.”
Josh looked at him and wondered what figure he could possibly be talking about, as Packy was almost as scrawny as he was.
“If you want,” continued Packy, “I’ll take a visit to a couple of the local establishments and see if I can’t trade us a better meal for the night.”
“You’ve seen what they’re like,” said Rick. “They’re more likely to shoot you and take your vehicle.”
“And the ones that ain’t shooting are saying they ain’t got no food anyway,” said Harvey.
“They always say that,” Packy said airily. “First point of negotiation. You have to approach it with the right amount of tact and charm, and luckily for you guys, I’m the right man for the job.”
“Forget it,” said Rick. “These people aren’t interested in that. They just want to survive.”
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” stated Packy. “You see, you’ve got the military mindset. Every problem’s a nail and you’re the hammer. If you can’t drive the nail home, you call in an air strike. Me, I’m a people person, and what people want is good stuff, and sometimes they don’t know what they want until you offer it to them.” Packy tapped his own skull. “Always analyzing. There’s, like, unseen waves you’ve got to tap into. You’ve got to groove your way in, check out the feels, pass a few compliments, get them to see what a great day it would be if they could have that one thing that you may just have at your disposal. You gotta drop them hints and really engage with them. As soon as they get your drift, they’re grooving right along with you and it’s like a dance of minds. It’s beautiful.”
“Or they can just shoot you and take your vehicle.”
Packy threw up his hands. “That’s the kind of negative attitude that
gets you nowhere. You’re just sowing discord, man. Let me show you how it’s done, and I guarantee we’ll be eating deer steaks and whatever else these hicks have been shooting their load at.”
Rick gazed at him for a moment. “No,” he said.
*
Lauren patrolled the perimeter of the camp, checking again on the vehicles, and returned to see Sally and April dragging fir branches to drape over the tents. Lauren took hold of April’s load.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” she told April. “It pulls you in all the wrong places. You’ve got to think of the baby now.”
“I’m okay,” said April, re-shouldering the shotgun that had slipped down.
“Exercise is good for a pregnant woman,” said Sally. “Worst thing you can do is just sit around.”
Lauren looked over to where Dee sat on a log, cradling Jacob. “Tell me about it,” she said bitterly.
April caught Lauren’s glance, and gazed at Dee too. “She’s already got her hands full, so I think we can cut her some slack.”
Lauren turned to April. “Can we?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Doesn’t it burn you that all she does is sit on her ass?”
April gave an uncertain smile. “No. Why would it?”
“She’s freeloading,” stated Lauren.
“That’s a little harsh.”
“No it isn’t. Name one thing that she’s done since she joined us. All she does is hang around, treating people like dirt.”
“She’s had a hard time.”
“Who hasn’t? I mean, at least she can show a little gratitude once in a while.”
“Well, maybe she could, just a little. But she’s got PTSD, right? I mean, what do you think, Sally? The trauma ends someday, doesn’t it? People get better with time, with a little love?”
Sally looked at Dee, reading the body language of utter exclusion. “I’ll plead the fifth on that one,” she said.
“People change,” asserted April adamantly.
“Sure, but not always for the better,” said Lauren. “Meanwhile, the rest of us carry on busting our asses. And for how long?”
“I don’t know,” said April, rubbing her belly. “I just like to think we can be there for each other when we’re not feeling so strong.”
8
They left the South Mountains area next morning, turning around at every obstacle and re-routing until they reached the outskirts of Morganton. There they found overturned cars blocking the road, with Leave or die and Looters will be shot spray-painted on them, though there wasn’t a soul to be seen who might enforce such warnings. Turning onto I-40, they headed west, the horizon craggy with hills and distant mountains. Outside Marion, they spied armed men keeping watch over the interstate from a bridge, and the convoy mounted the steep embankment in a grinding detour that had them bumping over scrubby fields until they were far enough past to venture onto the freeway again.
Old Fort was the first town they found that didn’t have a barricade. Looking down from the interstate, the main street appeared deserted. Descending the ramp, the convoy crawled cautiously past wooden houses, bare concrete lots and old diners, all smashed and looted repeatedly. The streets were arrow-straight, and the mountains loomed behind the little town, the slopes covered in brown winter-bracken and stark, leafless trees. In half a mile they reached a railroad crossing and the end of town, marked with a monument that resembled a giant spear head, an old caboose by the small station building and tangled weeds smothering the lumber piles at the side of the tracks. Beyond the crossing lay a T-intersection. To the right the road passed through town toward Marion. To the left it began its winding journey into the mountains. Scott rolled the Humvee to a halt and Rick got out.
Unlike Gastonia, Old Fort felt truly empty. Rick couldn’t see any movement at all. There wasn’t even a dog. It was like a ghost town of the old west, with trash instead of sagebrush.
“Doesn’t look like the place is worth a shit,” observed Scott.
“First place we’ve seen that doesn’t hate our guts,” said Rick.
“That ain’t saying much.”
“Right now, that says a lot.”
“It doesn’t say enough.”
A sign by the monument indicated this had once been a frontier outpost held against the Cherokee, and it certainly looked like it was perched on the edge of wilderness. The place reeked of obsolescence, the faded signs painted on the sides of buildings pointing to businesses long gone. The station had been converted to a museum. The store fronts at this end of town were solid-brick Victorian, and looked sturdy enough, but they stared down main street at the raised interstate that was too close for comfort. Bullet holes in most of the buildings told their own tale of why the town had been abandoned. Whatever its name, there was no fort here now. Rick had to admit Scott was right. The town was an obvious target and difficult to defend without more people.
Difficult didn’t mean impossible, however, and Rick felt the place had potential. At least it was empty.
A creek ran through the town, with another small museum close by, and Rick moved the vehicles there in the shadow of the main street bridge, out of sight of the interstate.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” he said. “Get the fishing net out. Let’s see if we can get some fish from the creek.”
“I think we should go deeper into the mountains,” said Scott. “We’re still too exposed here.”
Rick climbed the slope to the bridge, looking around. There were two small wooded hills at the edge of town, one to the east and the other to the west. Both overlooked the interstate. The eastern hill was steep and had a rusting water tower at the top. The other looked flatter, with a glimpse of buildings through the trees.
“We’ll check the place out first. Once we’ve done that, we can use it as a base to explore the mountains. I don’t want to take a convoy up there without knowing what we might come up against.”
Scott shook his head. “There’s got to be a reason this place is empty.”
“People died out.”
“Or they were driven out. I don’t see a lot of bodies.”
Rick glanced up at the mountain behind the town. Movement caught his eye. Through his binoculars he spied a single figure coming down through the trees.
“Heads up,” he said. “We’ve got company.”
“See? Didn’t take long, did it?”
By the time the figure came into town, Rick had everyone hidden and ready. The figure, however, seemed to know they were there, and he walked openly down main street, waving his arms. He had wild hair and a beard, and his clothes were worn and filthy. Rick wondered if he was the town lunatic who’d somehow got left behind. He also wondered if he was just a distraction for others who might be sneaking around from another direction.
“Hey,” called the man. “Over here.”
Rick moved into view, holding the man in his sights. “Stop right there,” he ordered.
The man stopped, an insane grin on his face. “It’s good to see you,” he called.
“Keep your arms out.”
“I ain’t going to hurt you.”
“Keep your arms clear, then.”
Scott moved out behind the man and frisked him.
“Got nothing on me neither,” said the man, bemused. He glanced at Scott’s combat gear. “Nice rig.”
Finding no hidden weapons, Scott pushed him forward.
“What are you doing here?” asked Rick.
“I live here. I’m a Cherokee of the Bear clan, and these mountains are my home.”
Rick studied him. He looked about as Cherokee as Scott did.
The man caught the skeptical look. “One-eighth Cherokee on my mother’s side. You won’t be able to pronounce my clan name, but everyone calls me Doug because I like to dig for old artifacts to put in our museum. Dug. Get it?”
“Not really. You alone?”
“Hell, no. A bunch of us live up on the mountain. Bad elements come into town,
so we keep ourselves out of sight. No point looking for trouble, right?”
“How do you know we’re not trouble?”
“Because you have children. I’ve been watching you from the mountain. You don’t look like the sick fiends we’ve had to deal with.”
“Told you this place was too exposed,” said Scott.
“Oh, for sure,” agreed Doug. “You don’t want to stay down here too long, in case you attract the wrong kind of people. Come on up the mountain. I’ll introduce you to some better folks.”
“Why would you want to do that?” asked Rick. “Everyone else has been turning us away.”
“We’re hospitable. This is Old Fort. As we like to say, once you arrive, you’ll never want to leave.”
“Give it a week,” said Scott.
*
Rick was in two minds about accepting Doug’s invitation. The old guy seemed friendly enough, and genuinely happy to see them, but with the way things were, it struck Rick as odd. He wasn’t used to it. He didn’t want to take his whole group up the mountain in case it was a trap, but he didn’t feel easy about leaving them either. If Doug’s invitation was a ruse, there might be others waiting nearby to take advantage of Rick’s absence.
In the end he settled for housing the group in a secure building and leaving Lauren in charge. He’d been tempted to leave Scott behind and take Packy instead to see if he could make good on his fatuous claim to be able to sell anything to anyone, but he trusted Scott’s tactical judgment more, and if things got sticky up the mountain, he might need him. So he left Packy behind to bolster the defense.
Doug led Rick and Scott up the mountain, chatting amiably. Rick largely ignored him, scoping the mountain for signs of danger. Even at the lower elevations, it was colder than down in the town, and after about an hour they reached a collection of rough shacks built among the trees. A fire burned in a pit and four men, each looking as ragged and dirty as Doug, sat around it, warming their hands. Two skinned squirrels hung from a tree branch, and there was a large pile of firewood, but there were few other signs of occupation, and the shacks were all empty. There were no women and children, and while none of the men were armed, it didn’t look right to Rick. He gave Scott a silent nod to stand guard at the edge of the settlement.