After the Fall- The Complete series Box Set

by Charlie Dalton

  “I understand why you defended yourselves, and defended yourselves with honour,” the Mantis said. “I would have done the same. But you are the losers, and we the victors. You’ve put me in a difficult position. How am I to punish you for killing my men without sacrificing too many lives? Do I hear any suggestions?”

  A hollow wind blew, ruffling the hair of the onlookers. They had plenty of suggestions but not one man or woman was dumb enough to voice them.

  “Come now,” the Mantis said. “I won’t bite.”

  One of the community spoke up, voice muffled and unclear. Unsure.

  “What was that?” the Mantis said, cupping a hand over his ear.

  “I said, leave us in peace,” a stout woman called Holly said.

  “Sure, I could do that,” the Mantis said. “Then what about my men? Don’t they deserve full bellies for their victory? And what honour for my fallen men?”

  “Take half the food and leave,” another commune member said.

  “Aye, we could do that,” the Mantis said. “But then we’d need to reave another community. Would you really wish for us to descend upon them as we did you here?”

  Uncertain looks from the commune inhabitants. So long as the Reavers were out of their hair, let them be someone else’s problem. They might succeed where Mountain’s Peak had failed.

  The Mantis turned to Donald, his hands behind his back. He spoke as if conversing with an equal.

  “How about your leader?” he said. “Perhaps he has an idea. You know these people. What would they respect?”

  Donald thought long and hard before he answered, considered whether or not he should even answer. What more did he have to lose?

  “Mercy,” Donald said. “For everyone left alive. Let them go.”

  The Mantis nodded as if considering Donald’s words.

  “A wise answer,” he said. “But not without its flaws. Just where would they go? To another commune? To spread the word about how we defeated you here so they can better defend themselves? I think not.”

  “How about you quit the charade and tell us what you want?” Stephen said, raising his head and peering with hatred in his eyes.

  The Mantis stepped toward him, a tight-lipped smile morphed into pursed lips.

  “Now here’s a man comfortable with death if I ever saw him,” he said. “Judging by your jacket, I take it you’re the doctor here? I would imagine you came to terms with death a long time ago. But you’re right. I do have an idea. We worked very hard to get in here. We’re not about to turn around and leave. Meanwhile, we do not wish to kill any more of you. Here’s my proposal. We need communities to grow crops and dig wells—to do all the things you’re already very capable of doing—and give us a reasonable percentage of everything you produce. In return, we will protect you from any other Reaver clans out there, and slaughter as many Rages we can get our hands on.”

  Donald could understand the Mantis’s way of thinking. It meant having a reliable and consistent source of food and it required him to do nothing for it. He could continue living his reaving lifestyle while sucking communes like theirs dry. There would be no opportunity for growth, no development. But it wasn’t the end of the world. It was a way out of this mess.

  The Mantis held out a hand. The Worm placed a clipboard into it. The Mantis took one glance at the details and handed it back. The Worm stepped forward.

  “After we replenish ourselves here, we will leave,” he said. “You will give us a tribute every week. We will not attack you. You will go about your business and do what you will. These are the conditions and they are non-negotiable.”

  Donald’s eyes moved to the pistol at his temple. Hard to say no under duress.

  “I’ll tell you what,” the Mantis said, crouching in front of Donald. “Take some time to think it over. My men need to relax anyway.”

  He stood, then nodded to his men. Donald and the others were hoisted to their feet.

  “Wait,” Donald said. “Let us bury our dead. They died defending this place. The least we can do is bury them.”

  The Mantis pursed his lips. He thought for a moment, then looked at the Worm, who nodded.

  “I supposed we can let you do that,” the Mantis said. “On one condition. You bury our men too. The last thing we need is for a gang of Rages to pick up their scent. I don’t think either of us want that. You and I might be enemies but we can at least unite against those creatures.”

  At least they don’t turn on each other. Donald really didn’t know what was worse. At least the Rages were stupid and easily outwitted. They would never evolve or change. But people, they always managed to come up with new and more creative ways to do each other over.

  “Not you,” the Mantis said. “You’re the doctor. You can see to my injured men.”

  “I need to see to our injured,” Stephen said.

  “Ours first,” the Mantis said.

  For a moment, Stephen didn’t move, didn’t back down. He drew himself up, gaining an extra inch from his lean frame. His eyes were sharp and cold, and for a moment, Donald thought he was going to deny the Reaver leader’s request. Donald opened his mouth to tell Stephen not to be stupid, to help their people in whatever way he could but the Mantis stepped forward first. He fixed Stephen with a piercing look, a frown on his brow.

  “Have we met someplace before, my friend?” the Mantis said.

  “No,” Stephen said. “I would have remembered.”

  “Are you sure?” the Mantis said. “I could have sworn. . .”

  He shook his head.

  “I must be mistaken,” he said. “But you do have a certain way about you. I suppose it must be something you doctors develop with time. With your close proximity to death and all.”

  “Maybe,” Stephen said. “I’ll take care of your men. One of yours, then one of ours. It’s only fair.”

  The Mantis pursed his chapped lips.

  “Yes,” he said. “That’s reasonable. Once the injured have been seen to—on both sides—you’ll be taken down to the cells to join your other council chums.”

  The rest of the council were led away, taken to the cells at the back of the commune. They didn’t put up a fight. After they were gone, the Mantis turned to what remained of the community. Their expressions were sad and forlorn, not without strength. There was a deep well of resentment. Expected, perhaps, but certainly not wanted. He’d try to nip it in the bud here and now.

  “Your leaders will consider the best course of action for you all,” the Mantis said. “While we wait for their decision, we will enjoy the fruits of your community. A victor deserves the spoils of war. I realize that some of you are not yet beaten, some of you still have the look of resistance about you. Some of you might already be thinking about ways to cause me and my men trouble. So I make this promise to you now: Every time one of you makes trouble, one of your leaders will die. I take no pleasure in this. I hope you all behave yourself. Don’t fight, don’t resist, and you will come out of this alive. If you fight, your leaders will die. And then so will you.”

  Perturbed looks of concern amongst the congregated. He’d sown a seed of doubt in their minds. They knew the rules. Now it was up to them to follow them.

  “All right,” the Mantis said, clapping his hands together. “Let the victory celebration begin.”

  Half the Reaver men immediately made for the community women, who pulled away. Their fathers, husbands, and brothers attempted to defend them but hobbled as they were by the Mantis’s threat, what could they do?

  The women wailed as they were dragged away.

  62.

  FINGERTIPS TOUCHED the grooves in the tree’s bark. Wounds inflicted by wild beasts. The woman’s middle three fingers fit perfectly in the deepest gouges, her thumb finding an indentation she hadn’t seen earlier.

  The woman moved around the tree, identifying more of the scratch marks, a crosshatch of shading, like an old drawing. They weren’t attacking this tree for no good reason. Something had to
be in it for them to act so aggressively. The woman looked up at the branches.

  Most of them were weak and spindly, incapable of holding much weight. Certainly not that of a fully-grown adult. Perhaps a child might clutch that branch there, the thickest one, and hold on for dear life. But how would she escape? She was surrounded.

  The woman knelt at the pair of dead bodies, quickly advancing to the skeletal stage, picked clean by buzzards and left to bake in the sun. Gray frizzy hair and torn clothing. The second skeleton was a little fresher and likely died later than the first. His hair was also shorter. They held hands at the end. The woman stared at the gesture, turning her head to one side, curious.

  The woman turned and surveyed the area. There. The moonlight was bright and made the salt flats glow. Something black had been spilled across it. The woman approached the abstract shape and crouched down. A splatter of blood, absorbed and enlarged by the salt. Already dry and fading. The woman looked up, scanning, and saw again what she was looking for. Two yards away, another small drop.

  She stood and followed each droplet of blood. The girl wouldn’t be far now.

  63.

  CROW’S NEST was located on one of the lowest mountains in the neighbouring range. Still, it was too high to see the top from the bottom. The edges were steep and the angle prevented observation. It was a natural barrier against Rages who could not make the climb. With the altitude advantage, it was possible for a small number of men to hold a medium-sized Reaver clan back.

  The emergency compound had originally been an outpost for local rangers to operate from. To preserve wildlife or intercept those attempting to cut across state lines. More often, it was used as a basecamp to launch rescue missions when a hapless tourist got lost or disorientated.

  After the Fall, the community clubbed together to source materials and build a series of small huts. The buildings weren’t meant for long periods of occupation, merely short-term relief should an emergency arise and the commune had to temporarily leave Mountain’s Peak. Donny always thought Crow’s Nest should have been Christened Mountain’s Peak, considering its location, and the commune to be known as Crow’s Nest—as the commune members had to evict several nesting crows in order to set themselves up there. But, that was when Donny was young and he didn’t get a vote.

  One time, Mountain’s Rest had an infestation of mice. They’d set up a ton of gas traps and took up residence at Crow’s Nest until they’d been killed. When they got back, the entire compound was covered with furry carpet. The amount of meat on a mouse’s body was tiny but when added together the combined weight added up to a lot. Enough for a whole month of meals.

  It was dark by the time the small band of kids arrived. The stars twinkled freely and without reservation. They were exhausted and collapsed on the flat floor of the main square, gulping in great lungfuls of oxygen.

  “Get up,” Donny said, out of breath himself.

  He unsheathed his pistol.

  “What for?” Fatty said. “This is the emergency compound. No one else is here.”

  “Are you sure of that?” Donny said.

  Fatty went silent as Jamie and Lucy drew their weapons. They carried short bows, designed for close hand-to-hand combat, as they didn’t have the strength nor skill to shoot a target from any great distance.

  Donny went first, leading them toward the storehouse. If anyone had been there any length of time, they would have raided the storehouse for sure. Donny pulled the door open, his pistol immediately up. He entered the room in the half-squat of the initiated. The room was dark but small. Not many hiding places in there. The food, contained in small sliding boxes, were untouched.

  The Reavers they’d faced were smarter than the ones they were used to dealing with. It was possible they knew about their emergency compound in the mountains. Thankfully, they hadn’t known about the secret passage that led out of the community. They could have entered the community that way and planted bombs from the inside, shooting the guards in the back.

  Donny recalled there had been a lot of discussion about whether or not they should build a secret entrance out of the community or not. After all, a way out could also be used as an entrance. If an enemy knew about it, the community would be open to attack. That was why they’d installed locks on the door from the community end. It was a danger but one the council had decided was small enough to take the risk.

  “I’ll check the other rooms,” Donny said to Jamie. “You start cooking. Make sure to use the hole for the fire.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Lucy said.

  Donny looked as surprised as Jamie by her suggestion. Lucy wouldn’t provide much in the way of resistance should he be set upon but an extra pair of eyes was always useful. Donny shrugged.

  “All right,” he said.

  Fatty emerged from the storage room with an armful of ingredients before anyone noticed he’d gone. He clutched them to his chest.

  “Jamie, get the pot and start a fire,” he said. “And I’ll need your knife.”

  Fatty clapped his hands together, a beaming grin on his face.

  “The hardest part is getting the ingredient measurements right,” he said. “It takes a real master with a ton of experience to do that. I’m not sure I can do it. The trouble is, all the vegetables are different shapes and sizes. Far too much variety for my liking. But I’ll do my best. Now, as for the dried meat. . .”

  He went off, talking to himself. He was quite content to do so. Donny and Lucy headed into the depths of the Crow’s Nest, amongst the individual rooms the commune shared during times of need. Jamie watched them go with a jealous eye.

  64.

  DONNY MOVED from one room to another, checking they were empty. He expected they would be. No one would sleep here without enjoying the food. If anything, it would be the other way around. Someone would take the food and hastily leave before the purveyors returned and discovered them. Best not to push their luck if they’d already managed to get their hands on the most valuable commodity—food.

  But there was another reason to check the rooms. Rages. They wouldn’t be interested in food that didn’t have fresh blood or a pulse. Still, they’d been known to scale the steep slopes from time to time. Mostly, it was by accident, fumbling and stumbling until they happened onto this place. On a long enough timeline, anything was possible.

  He pushed another door open and scanned the space with his pistol as if they were his eyes. He’d learned long ago that if you wanted to do anything well, you needed to do it with your eyes and your brain, not focus too much on the tool you were using. The moment he understood this, his skill at shooting dramatically improved. He shot faster and with greater accuracy, from the hip. It was hard not to become cocky when you advanced to that level.

  Lucy held her six-inch knife like the amateur she was. Donny doubted she’d be able to defend herself if a Rage was really barrelling down on her. But she was the only one with the courage to join Donny making his rounds. Lucy noticed him watching her.

  “What?” she said.

  “You’re holding the knife all wrong,” Donny said.

  Lucy looked at the knife in her hand like it was an alien object.

  “What’s wrong with it?” she said.

  “It’s your posture,” Donny said. “Try like this.”

  He pushed her forward slightly so her back was hunched, and placed both arms at right angles.

  “Good,” Donny said. “Now try thrusting upwards. Like this.”

  Donny made vicious short upward stabbing motions with his hands. Lucy copied him but lacked Donny’s animalistic aggression.

  “Better,” Donny said. “Keep practicing like that. After you get the basic attack right, we’ll work on defensive techniques.”

  As she practiced, Donny moved to the next door. He performed the sweep, again finding the rooms empty. Mats leaned against the walls. They would later be placed on the floor to sleep on. There was little else in the rooms. They were for temporary accommodation
only.

  Lucy stood in her hunched stance, her knife-wielding arm bent at the elbow. Donny stifled his smile. She was a sweet-looking girl, despite her bald head. In fact, her lack of hair only served to make her features all the more striking. He could see why his brother liked her. Armed the way she was, trying to look aggressive, she reminded him of a little mouse, attempting to look dangerous.

  She relaxed after seeing the room was empty and massaged her arm. New movements always produced sore muscles. To her credit, she didn’t complain.

  “It’ll take some time for your body to adapt to the position,” Donny said. “We call it ‘breaking your body in.’ The way we need to defend ourselves isn’t a very natural posture. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “Thanks for teaching me,” Lucy said.

  “With any luck, you won’t need to use it,” Donny said.

  They were on the highest part of the Crow’s Nest. It looked out on the seemingly endless desert on one side and voluminous mountains on the other. The desert afforded the best views of the night sky. Unobstructed, clear of pollution.

  “It’s beautiful up here,” Lucy said.

  It really was. Donny breathed in the fresh night air and let it out slowly. Performing the sweep of the compound was only a pretense. The repetitive nature of performing sweeps helped clear his mind. Donny wanted some quiet time. To think. To absorb. To reflect.

  Lucy either under understood his need for tranquility or it was what she needed too. The events of the afternoon had been a life-altering moment in the community’s life cycle. A mini-Fall restricted to their own commune. Nothing would ever be the same.

  They wouldn’t need to begin completely from scratch again. They had the knowledge necessary to run an effective compound. That was, in many ways, the hardest part of any new endeavour. Taking the wrong roads and making mistakes, always plowing on in an effort to continuously improve. The key wasn’t to avoid mistakes—though it was certainly an advantage to skip the avoidable ones—but to learn from them and ensure you didn’t continue to make the same mistakes in future. Sacrifices and donations of past errors did not require multiple payments.