by Lopez, Rob
They came down en masse to search them and grew a little more suspicious and belligerent when they found Rick’s Glock. They were even more baffled when they found the jars of honey, soap and makeup, among other things. Herded up the ramp, they were taken down a tree-lined road to a construction supply yard, where various materials had been used to make a fortified encampment. Through the trees and from houses, more people kept coming to gawk at the strangers.
Seated under a corrugated sheet metal canopy in the yard was a man with rough features and the hands of a construction worker. Standing by him was a thin young woman. The confiscated goods were laid out on the desk in front of him, and he cast a slow eye over them, settling on the Glock, which he picked up. Ejecting the magazine, he checked the rounds, slammed it back in, and looked directly at Rick in his uniform, as if trying to figure him out.
“Howdy,” said Packy.
The man turned to look at him, but didn’t say anything.
“These goods are just a sample,” said Packy. “Having been in business for, well, a few months, I have developed the talent of acquisition. You won’t find a better supplier this side of the Mississippi, or, dare I say it, a more talented or resourceful business partner. If I say I can get something, you can be assured of prompt delivery, because my word is my bond.”
The man stared at him for a while, then gestured his hands in sign language.
The woman interpreted. “What do you want?” she said.
“Oh wow,” said Packy. “Can he understand what I’m saying? Like, can he read my lips?”
The man signed, his hands moving in brusque, cutting movements.
“Don’t talk like I’m not here,” said the woman.
“What, you mean you? Or him?”
Affronted, the man signed some more.
“Who are you and what do you want?” said the woman.
“That is so cool,” said Packy. “Are you two, like, together? Man, the pillow talk must be great.”
More furious signing.
“Mind your own expletive business,” said the woman.
Packy laughed. “That is amazing! You can swear in sign language?”
The man flipped him the bird.
Rick had seen enough. “Packy, shut up.” He looked directly at the man. “He’s here to trade goods if you’re interested. If not, we’ll be on our way. I don’t want to waste any more time.”
“Whoa, dude,” said Packy. “A little more diplomacy is needed here. This is a mission of goodwill.”
The man scrutinized Rick, then signed his question.
“What’s your story?” said the woman.
“I’ve got another reason to be here,” said Rick.
“And what is that exactly?”
“I want to know what problems you’ve had with the raiders.”
The man pondered his words, then signed back: “Send the idiot with you away, and we’ll have a talk.”
*
“My name is Lou, and this is Farah,” said the woman, interpreting.
Rick took the offered seat, wondering how to address this incongruous conversation. “What’s your role here, besides interpreter?” he asked her.
“Lou’s my partner,” said Farah candidly, “and this is, or was, our business. Lou handled the external materials, and I handled the interiors like carpets and flooring. I don’t like your friend. He’s very rude.”
“He’s not my friend,” said Rick. “He works his side of the street, and I work mine.”
Lou signed, “Are you really a soldier, or do you just dress like one?”
“I did my time.”
Lou picked up the Glock, gazed at it with a certain nostalgia, then slid it across the table to Rick. “So did my brother,” he signed. “He died in Iraq.”
Rick holstered the pistol. “I’m sorry. What unit was he in?”
“I don’t remember what unit. I only remember my brother.”
In spite of being invited to sit down, Rick sensed antipathy. “You want to talk about the raiders?”
“No.”
“You have to understand,” added Farah. “It’s a sensitive subject. We’ve lost people to those animals. Very good people.”
Lou signed: “I want to talk about what you know, and how you’re going to help.”
Rick felt that Lou had stolen his line. “I know where the raiders are based. I know they’ve got vehicles, and they strike out along these roads. I know they take women as hostages. I know Old Fort asked you for help against them in the past.”
“Old Fort is far away. We have our own problems. Nobody helped us.”
“Old Fort’s been wiped out. The survivors have been driven out of their homes.”
“It’s Old Fort’s problem.”
“Are you being attacked by the raiders?” asked Rick.
Lou glowered at him.
“Then it’s not just Old Fort’s problem,” said Rick.
“We’re not fighters, Mr. Nolan,” said Farah. “We cannot leave our homes undefended, and we cannot afford to lose any more people. It was impractical to send anyone to Old Fort.”
“We defend what we have,” signed Lou.
“You’re a sitting target, while the raiders get to go where they want,” said Rick. “How many women have been taken from here?”
Farah was about to answer when Lou cut her off with a wave. “What do you want from us?” he signed.
“An alliance,” said Rick.
“No,” signed Lou. “You want more. Who do we ally with? Where’s your army? You don’t have one. That’s why you come to us. You want us to fight for you. What do we get in return? Dead bodies. That is what we get.”
“The raiders used to take our food,” explained Farah quickly. “But after the winter, they kidnapped people.” She squirmed uncomfortably. “Women. Some people here mounted a rescue operation, marching toward Old Fort. The next day, the raiders dumped their bodies on the interstate.”
“Everybody wants our help,” signed Lou furiously, “but nobody helps us. The expletives at Lake James won’t even let us get fish there. They supply the raiders but they shoot our people if we try to go near the lake. It’s a big lake, but we cannot go there.”
“It’s the lake on the other side of Marion,” added Farah. “The raiders blackmailed the community there to supply them with fish in return for taking no more hostages.”
“They’re expletive cowards,” signed Lou.
It seemed to Rick that the situation was more complicated than he thought. “How many more communities are around here?” he asked.
“There’s a few,” said Farah, “but none of them are strong enough to take on the raiders.”
“On their own.”
“On their own,” conceded Farah. “They won’t cooperate, though.”
“Forget your alliance,” signed Lou. “We’ve all got our own problems.”
The answer seemed obvious to Rick. “The raiders aren’t invulnerable. If we work together, we can beat them.”
“My brother died in Iraq because people like you in Washington used him to further their own interests.”
“I’m not like the people in Washington.”
“You are, and you want our people to die for your cause. Forget it. Fight your own battles.”
Rick came away from the meeting without an agreement. On the way to the interstate he found Packy, who seemed a lot happier.
“Got my first orders,” said Packy. “This is looking good.”
“Glad you think so,” said Rick. “Look, there’s a bunch of communities around here. I want you to try to connect to them.”
“See? You understand the need for trading networks.”
“Not really. I just want to see who else is out there and how friendly they are.”
14
Chuck and Josh foraged on the west side of the camp, where the hill sloped down toward Highway 70. Josh had his air rifle out, scanning the trees for squirrels. Chuck, on the other hand, was searching the
ground, looking for fiddleheads. He’d identified a wide area of Ostrich ferns among the trees, and the curled, edible fiddleheads were sprouting through the dead matter on the forest floor. With his good arm, he snapped them off and put them in his bag. Elbowing back the slung shotgun that kept swinging around every time he bent over, he sidestepped down the slope. The tender shoots were everywhere, and he was eager to get as many as possible. Properly cooked, they were rich in nutrients, but once they uncurled and grew into ferns, they weren’t so good, and in the woods, they grew fast.
The air rifle cracked and Chuck turned in time to see a squirrel tumble to the earth. “Good kill,” he said, stepping over a fallen branch. He wasn’t looking where he was going, and his foot settled on the side of a stone, sliding off. Still straddling the branch, Chuck struggled to maintain his balance. The heavy shotgun swung low, and he could feel himself going. He hooked one leg onto the branch, but it rolled with his weight. Impulsively, he reached for a sapling with his right arm. It was his bad arm, and as he stretched it out, he got a stab of pain from his shoulder, causing him to retract it hastily. By now, he was sliding down. He tried to plant his feet more securely, but the branch between his legs hindered him. The branch got caught between two trees, stopping abruptly, but the effect caused Chuck to trip over it. Before he knew it, he was sliding and rolling down the slope, fiddleheads raining over his head as his bag emptied. When he finally came to a halt, he was dazed and his ears were filled with a low roar.
He thought it was because he’d knocked his head. Then he realized it was engines he was hearing.
Below him, clear between the trees, was the highway. Vehicles rolled along it, and he saw armed men with their elbows out of the windows. One of them looked up to him, and in the next second the vehicles braked hard. A door opened, and a lanky individual in a leopard-print vest stepped out.
“Hey you,” the man shouted to him, drawing back the bolt on his rifle.
*
Josh stooped to pick up the squirrel and heard the clatter of a branch and the snapping of twigs. He looked up and Chuck was nowhere to be seen. Sliding down to the next tree, he leaned out in time to see Chuck making an untidy descent. Moving from tree to tree, Josh tried to keep pace with him, thinking that the old man was going to hurt himself real bad if he didn’t stop soon. It was almost amusing to see him going down, and had he watched it on YouTube, he’d have probably laughed. But the world had changed since the age of internet memes, and Josh’s awareness had changed too, cognizant as he was that there were no hospitals around for accident-prone victims to take it easy in bed with their leg in a splint, accepting soft jibes from relatives and friends as they brought gifts and cards. It was no longer a joke.
Surfing down the slope, Josh missed the sound of vehicles, but caught the sight of movement beyond the trees as he got closer. Hugging a tree to stop his progress, he heard the guttural command from below, and watched Chuck awkwardly trying to lift his arms in surrender.
Josh shouldered the air rifle and switched to his Ruger 10/22. Through the curtain of twigs, he could only see a car wheel and a man’s feet. Aiming his rifle at where he judged the man’s body to be, he fired five rapid shots, the rifle’s rotary magazine feeding each one quickly into the chamber. The feet disappeared, and the impact of bullets hitting the car body rang out.
“Chuck,” shouted Josh. “Move!”
Car doors opened, bolts clacked on rifles and bullets began cracking and whining. They had no idea where Josh actually was, though, and were firing randomly into the woods, with nothing actually coming close. Judging the extent of the convoy by the sounds, Josh emptied his magazine in a long slow staccato sweep, hitting car metal and smashing glass. Fishing in his pocket for a fresh magazine, he tried to insert it into the rifle, but his fingers shook. Realizing that he still had the empty magazine loaded, he took a deep breath and concentrated on removing it and putting in the new one, exhaling slowly as he slid back the bolt to chamber the first round.
Chuck crawled up the slope. Dirt kicked up alongside him from a near miss, but he appeared too exhausted to notice. He was moving slowly, his face contorted with pain. It was obvious to Josh that he wasn’t going to make it without help. Firing until his second magazine was empty, Josh finally broke cover and scrambled down the hill. Moving fast and flinching as rounds flew close to his head, he skidded to a halt by Chuck and grabbed his arm. Planting his feet against a tree root, he pulled as hard as he could. Bullets struck wood nearby, and Josh strained with all his might.
But he was too weak and Chuck was too heavy.
*
Lauren heard the sound of vehicles on the highway and moved around the camp alerting everyone. The crack of rifle fire caused her to run when she realized Chuck and Josh were out. Grabbing Harvey, she bounded down the slope, spurred on by the thought that her son was in danger. Careening from tree to tree and sliding down on her butt when she lost her footing, she caught sight of the vehicles down below. Arresting her descent, she looked around desperately and saw Josh trying hard to lift Chuck up. The ground around his feet churned with bullet strikes. A gunman stepped in front of a vehicle to get a better shot. Lauren aimed her rifle, flipped the selector to automatic fire, and fired a long burst.
The gunman jerked with each bullet hit, staggering back and flopping onto the hood, leaving a blood smear as he slid off.
Lauren moved farther down, stopping at a big tree. She could see the convoy clearly now – three vehicles – and the heads of the gunmen as they sheltered behind them, firing up into the trees. Steadying herself, she delivered measured bursts at each head, pocking bodywork and forcing them to duck out of sight.
Harvey came down the slope much slower than Lauren, planting his feet carefully. Reaching Chuck just as the gunmen stopped firing, he handed his shotgun to Josh and bent his knees to pick Chuck up. Steadying himself, he turned around and began carrying the old man slowly up the hill.
Josh, having struggled to move Chuck even one inch, looked a little surprised by the ease and calm with which Harvey picked him up. With the shotgun in his hands, he took aim at the convoy below and squeezed the trigger. The resulting blast, much stronger than his .22, caused him to stagger backwards.
Changing her magazine, Lauren was conscious of using too much ammunition. Switching to single-shot, she looked for targets, but the gunmen were hunkered down.
Now was a good time to get the hell out.
Waving at Josh to get him moving in Harvey’s wake, Lauren began her ascent. After only a few yards of attempting to run, her heart pounded and her lungs labored. She had no idea how Harvey was managing with the extra weight. Halfway up the hill, she had to stop, leaning on a tree for support. Josh too was red-faced as he clambered like a spider up the slope. Nobody was shooting at them now, however. Car doors slammed and tires screeched as a vehicle drove off at speed. Lauren resumed the climb, catching up with Harvey. His impressive feat proved too much even for him, and he had to stop, lowering Chuck to the ground.
“Are you okay?” she said to Chuck.
“No,” wheezed Chuck, breathing in short gasps. “But I can walk.”
Lauren glanced back down the hill. She couldn’t see the road anymore. Nor could she see anyone following them. She could hear the vehicles, however, moving around to the south. They were looking for the road that led to the mobile homes on the hill.
“Josh, help Harvey get Chuck up. And hurry.”
Forgetting her tiredness, Lauren sprinted up the slope until her lungs burned. There were only two armed adults left in the camp, and she was afraid they were about to come under attack. With Rick, Scott and Packy still not back, it all came down to her to lead the defense, and her troops were either scattered or vulnerable.
She dashed into the camp, waving her arms. “Get the children,” she cried. “Head to the rendezvous point. Go, go, go!”
Lizzy stood transfixed with the sudden display of tension. Sally picked her up and ran to the woods on the ot
her side. April grabbed Daniel. Dee fled past them all. The rendezvous point had already been agreed upon – Rick had insisted on somewhere to meet up if they got separated. It was standard operational procedure. In broad daylight, though, it was going to be difficult to get anywhere undetected. Especially with the raiders in pursuit.
Lauren had to delay the raiders long enough for the others to escape.
She could hear the vehicles already coming up the sole access road. Throwing herself down in the weeds, she sighted her rifle and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long. The first vehicle, an old sedan, struggled up the incline. As soon as it came into view, Lauren put a round through its windshield.
The vehicle came to an abrupt halt, and its occupants, three gunmen, bailed out, diving into the trees on each side of the road. The sedan’s parking brake either hadn’t been applied properly, or it was defective, because the vehicle crept backwards down the slope. The vehicles behind came to a halt, but the sedan kept going, its brake shoes squealing within their drums. With a gentle crunch, it made contact with the next vehicle, stalling the whole column.
Lauren, meanwhile, peered through the foliage, looking for targets. The gunmen, equally cautious, did the same, their faces briefly showing up then disappearing before she could get them in her sights.
“Mom,” shouted Josh.
Lauren looked back. Harvey helped Chuck limp along, heading for the trees on the other side of the camp. Josh, however, ran toward Lauren.
“Get back,” hissed Lauren.
Rifle fire cracked in the trees, and Josh ducked down to a crouch by a mailbox. He was festooned with weapons, two of them useless, but he racked the slide on the shotgun, braced himself and fired a cloud of shot into the woods.
“Josh, go,” cried Lauren.
The recoil of the shotgun knocked him onto his butt, and as he attempted to rack the shotgun again, bullets splintered the mailbox above his head. Unable to stand it anymore, Lauren leaped up, sprinted over and grabbed his arm, rounds whistling past her ears. Hauling him up, she ran with him to the other side of the clearing, entered the trees and slid down to the ground.