With a rumbling growl, Bryce shucked out of his knife straps and tossed them aside.
Shane flicked his chin toward a man to his left, who collected everything and ran off somewhere behind the blacksmith’s forge.
“I’ll be getting those back,” Bryce said.
The blacksmith returned, following an older man with a pristinely groomed goatee. He wore knee-high boots, a thigh-length leather vest, and a metal guard on his left shoulder, helmet tucked under his right arm. “What’s all this about?” the newcomer demanded. This had to be Sarge.
Shane stood at attention. “Trespassers, sir!”
“We didn’t trespass, you let us in,” Sinna said. “We came looking to trade.”
“Is that what you’re looking for?” Sarge asked, an amused twinkle in his shrewd eyes. He turned to Shane. “Why wasn’t I informed there were people outside our walls?”
Shane stuttered to answer, but Sarge raised his hand.
“Never mind. Get back to your post. All of you, back to the towers!”
The watchmen scattered, except for Dave, who stood his ground at Sarge’s back.
Without turning around, Sarge said, “You too, David.”
“I know them, Sarge,” Dave said for the tenth time. “I was trying to tell the others, but they wouldn’t listen.”
Sarge raised a white eyebrow as if having his orders disobeyed was unfathomable. He turned to face Dave. “You know them?”
Dave nodded.
“How well do you know them?”
Dave gulped. “I… I—”
“We lived together for years,” Sinna supplied. “Dave and I, and a few others. Back in San Francisco.”
Something shifted across Sarge’s expression. “That true?” he asked Dave.
“Yes.”
“You told me there was no one else.”
“I didn’t think there was,” Dave returned helplessly.
“They thought she was dead,” Bryce said. “Very nearly was.”
Sarge studied Bryce for a moment, expressionless. “You aren’t telling me the whole story.”
“You didn’t ask for it,” Sinna said.
Amusement lifted the corner of Sarge’s mouth for an unguarded moment, before he smoothed it out again. “So, you’re here to trade.”
“Yes,” she replied, and reached for one of the packs.
Sarge caught her hand before she could touch it, and almost in the same instant, Bryce had the man’s very human, very fragile wrist in his grasp. The two locked gazes, and Sarge gave a curt nod, releasing Sinna. Bryce held on a second longer to drive his point home before he let go. “You’re friends of David’s. I remit you to his custody until it’s decided what we’re going to do with you. You may come in, make yourselves at home. I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen if anything goes missing or anyone gets hurt, do I?”
“No,” Bryce said. “We understand.”
Sarge nodded. “Good. Then off you go.”
“And the packs?” Sinna asked.
“They stay with me for the time being. Can’t very well risk you having another arsenal in them, now can I?” When she would have argued, he raised that hand again. “I give you my word they will be exactly as you left them when you return.”
“He may be a lot of things,” Dave said, “but he’s honest to a fault. You can trust him.”
“Do we have a choice?”
Sarge smiled. “Not that I can see. Guests are welcome in Hopetown. If I were you, I’d try to stay in that definition. Believe me when I tell you, you won’t like the alternative.” He jerked his head sideways, dismissing them.
Dave scratched the back of his head. “Uh, this way. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
The courtyard was a bottleneck. At the closest and widest stood two shacks with smoke billowing from massive chimneys—two smiths opposite each other, closing up shop for the day. Metal hissed when dipped into barrels of water, clanged when tossed onto piles of other unfinished weapons. Each smithy had a large shop attached. One displayed weapons and tools of all kinds, while the other had racks and shelves filled with chainmail and armor, jewelry and various defensive odds and ends.
Beyond them, the path narrowed down to single lines of shacks. Empty, as far as Sinna could tell; built more for defensive purposes than anything else. Once they’d passed through to the interior, however, the entire village opened up.
It was like stepping into the past. Small wooden houses with straw roofs lined wide-open streets winding left and right like a snake. Merchants and craftsmen stacked their wares to be stored inside for the night. They talked and laughed together, the young helping the old. Weavers, basket makers, stone masons, wood carvers—people whose bodies showed the wear and tear of physical labor, but whose eyes shone bright with joy.
Sinna couldn’t hide her wonder. So many of them, all together in one place. How is this possible?
She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud, until Dave answered. “An unimaginable stroke of luck. This site was used for annual Renaissance Faires and historical reenactments. These people came here to show off their talents and sell to the tourists. Back then, their crafts were just hobbies, sometimes trades. Most of them had part-time jobs to support themselves and only did this sort of thing on the side.
“Then everything went to hell in the big cities. A couple of the old timers here told me the Grays crawled out of canals in Gilroy. People panicked, the roads became blocked; it was a massacre. But the few who were camped out here had a huge advantage. They were far enough from the city to go unnoticed, and close enough to everything they needed to survive. There’s a lake over there. They farm fish in it. The horses they’d brought for jousting tournaments turned into beasts of burden so they could farm the land, haul wood, go out on patrols…”
“Sounds like they won the biggest lottery ever,” Sinna said, watching a group of women wash clothes in a big wooden tub.
“I suppose,” Dave agreed, though it was halfhearted at best. “Did they survive? Sure. I guess that’s a win. But most of them had come here from other cities, some from other states, and when it all went down, they lost everyone they’d ever known and cared about. We’re safe here, but we’re also kind of stuck. Going out there is pretty much suicide.”
“Are you saying this place never saw a convert attack?” Bryce asked. “No raiders? Looters? Gangs?”
“No, there were attacks. But, as our general likes to say, this place is a sweet spot of ‘defensaliciousness.’ You have to walk pretty far out of the city to see any sign of us, and you have to know where to go. When the Grays came, they were stragglers who’d wandered here by accident, few and far between. The guards cut them down, buried the bodies so their scent wouldn’t carry. There were survivors, too. Some stayed and made their homes here, others tried to make out with tools and supplies. They didn’t get far. One guy tried to steal a horse, if you can imagine that. I don’t think he ever rode one before. Old Nellie bucked and threw him off. Broke his neck on impact.”
This wasn’t a survival colony; it was a thriving town. So many people all in one place, smiling, working together. They had dog kennels, animal barns with chickens, ducks, goats… Sinna couldn’t take it all in. It was like she’d stepped into some enchanted fairy tale. In the middle of the town square stood a big gathering hall where children sat together in the dying sun, listening intently as the adult at the front told them a story.
Dave noticed her looking. “We each take turns as mentors,” he said. “We teach the kids about the world as it used to be; about computers and cars, and cell phones, things they’ll probably never see again in their lifetimes. But we teach them useful things, too—reading, writing, math, trade skills. When they’re old enough, they apprentice with one of the masters to learn a craft so it gets passed on and lives another generation.”
“This is amazing.”
Bryce grunted, but Sinna could tell he was impressed. Who wouldn’t be? What these people had ac
complished went beyond anything she would’ve ever dreamed possible. They weren’t just surviving; they were rebuilding. Going back to the basics and creating a new society, a new world—and doing it the right way.
Storytime ended, and the children dispersed in all directions. Several came around Sinna, giggling and waving in welcome. When they saw Bryce, their eyes went wide as saucers. One little girl halted in front of him, jaw slack, and stared.
Bryce tried to ignore her, but his face was starting to turn red—a bad sign.
Sinna decided to rescue him. “Hi there,” she said to the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Lilianna,” she said distractedly.
“It’s nice to meet you, Lilianna. I’m Sinna, and this is Bryce—”
“Did that hurt?” she asked, pointing a tiny finger at Bryce’s scars.
Bryce shifted, clearly uncomfortable with her unflinching regard.
“You should run along, Lilly,” Dave said, trying to defuse the situation. “Isn’t Willowmina expecting you to help her with the sewing?”
“It looks like it hurt.”
“Lilly, what did I say—”
“Maybe a little,” Bryce said gruffly.
That pointing finger crooked for him to come closer.
Tilting his head like a confused beast presented with a puzzle, Bryce carefully lowered to one knee.
Little Lilianna patted his scarred cheek, then leaned in and kissed it. “There,” she proclaimed. “Now it won’t hurt so much.” And with a brilliant, gap-toothed smile, she ran off, leaving Bryce thoroughly shell-shocked.
He touched his cheek where the girl had kissed him, then looked up at Sinna, confused.
Sinna smiled, and held her hand out to him.
Bryce took it and pushed to his feet.
“Amy must love it here,” she said to Dave in wonder. “And Matt! I’ll bet he’s doing so much better out in the open. Where are they? Can we go see them?”
Dave’s expression darkened with sorrow. “Sinna…there’s something you should know.”
Dread settled into the pit of her stomach. “Where are they, Dave? And where’s Nate?” What was Dave doing up in the watchmens’ tower, when they had perfectly good, trained soldiers to keep the perimeter safe?
Bryce squeezed Sinna’s hand, but instead of calming her, it made everything worse. She had no memory of what had happened in San Francisco after Connor shot her. Until this moment, she’d just assumed they were all okay and hiding somewhere, struggling, but alive. Sinna had believed it so strongly, it never occurred to her to wonder. “Answer me! What happened?”
Dave sighed, and shook his head. “Come with me,” he relented.
Sinna met eyes with Bryce, suddenly wishing they’d never come here, that she’d never run into Dave again. Bryce held steady, waiting for her to make the call. This was her territory. His expression said she’d found her “good people,” and he was leaving it up to her to decide what to do next.
Swallowing dryly, Sinna nodded and followed Dave.
Past a smelly brewery, the buildings became sparser. “This is where we store grain,” Dave explained. “It has to be packed properly and kept dry, otherwise it gets moldy and we lose the whole harvest.”
Two storage sheds, three, four, then a rickety old barn. Dave reached for the barn door, and paused to look over his shoulder at Bryce. “Maybe you should stay out here.”
Bryce clutched Sinna’s hand tighter.
“It’s okay,” Sinna said. “Four walls, one door. I won’t be far.”
“Are you sure?” he pushed.
Sinna nodded.
“All right.” He pressed a small knife into her hand, just in case. “I’ll be right here.” How had he managed to sneak it past the watchmen? She took it, grateful for the small bit of security.
Dave opened the door. “Just go slow,” he advised.
Sinna blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The barn was empty, except for piles of hay and a godawful smell. A series of pushed-together planks created the roof, enough for shade, but not much else. Light filtered through huge gaps, creating dusty shafts like laser beams that cut the darkness.
“This way,” Dave said, guiding her toward the back.
Sinna stared at her feet, tracing one step after another, too scared to look up until the very last. When she did, when she saw what Dave wanted to show her, she pressed a hand to her mouth.
All the way at the back and curled up in the corner, sat the once-handsome soldier boy, Nate. He was filthy, covered in dirt and dried blood. His hair was matted, his face mud-smeared, with a beard that almost concealed his deathly sunken cheeks. But nothing could disguise the sallow tinge to his skin, the dark circles under his glazed eyes.
Sinna lowered to her knees before him. She couldn’t believe this to be the same man who’d led them all out of that shelter and into the light of day. “Nate?” she whispered. She laid a hand on his up-drawn knee and felt nothing but bone. He was starved, lips so dry, they flaked. Her touch went unregistered.
“Nate,” she tried again, a little louder.
He blinked slowly, turned his head a little, but stared right through her, and his lips moved, mouthing words she couldn’t hear. Sinna leaned closer. Nate’s hand was bandaged from fingers to forearm in an old-fashioned splint, wooden sticks tied in place with torn strips of cloth; hardly enough to help him heal. His entire hand was swollen and bruised, fingers puffed up like sausages. Sinna touched the skin where his thumb met his wrist and felt it was burning hot.
“We think he might have an infection,” Dave said. “He should be outside, walking around, eating properly, but we can’t even get him out of the corner.”
“Just like Tam,” Sinna whispered.
Nate’s mouth moved again. “Tam,” he said softly.
“Nate? Can you hear me?”
“Tam. Isaac. Connor. Sinna—”
“Yes, Sinna,” she said. “It’s me, I’m here.”
“Connor. Sinna,” he repeated, as if she hadn’t spoken at all. He kept repeating their names, faster each time, a horrible fear opening his eyes more and more. Tears welled. “Connor. Sinna… Oh, God,” he sobbed.
“Nate, I’m here,” she tried again. “Please, look at me.”
His eyes darted left and right. “Amy,” he gasped. “Take Matt. Run.” He wailed, thumping his head back against the wall. “Get uuup! Run! Please run.”
Sinna’s heart broke for him. She reached out to touch his cheek. Nate’s chanting eulogy trailed off into silence. He rolled his head back and forth until he looked at her again, and his eyes briefly focused on her face. “Sinna,” he breathed.
Sinna tried to smile.
He blinked slowly, with resigned reverence. Then he gasped a sigh. “Forgive me,” he whispered, and his eyes went blank. What little comprehension he’d managed to build up, was gone.
Sinna sat back on her heel, saddened by what had become of him. “What happened?”
Dave guided her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you guys some tea, and I’ll tell you the whole thing.”
He took them to a little cottage nearby. It stood apart from the other houses, almost like a segregation between the newcomers and everyone else. Dave ushered them in. “We were supposed to share it, Nate and I,” he explained, “but the moment he was strong enough to get up, he just went out there and stayed there.”
The house wasn’t much, with a central fire pit underneath a hole in the roof so the smoke could escape, a small table with two chairs, and two thin pallets on either end. The window was tiny, but it let in light, and someone had attached an outside window box planted with cheerful little flowers.
Dave opened a wooden chest behind the table, and took out two plates and a loaf of bread carefully wrapped in cloth. He set it before them while he put on a pot of water to heat. A hunk of smoked meat hung on a hook from the rafters, and Dave cut off a generous portion to add to the bread. Looking over the selection, he held up a finger. “Wait h
ere.” He went out, and came back with a basket full of eggs, three tomatoes, and a bigger cooking pot. He set the eggs to boil while he poured the tea. “I hear it’s been a good year for vegetables so far. Look at this. When was the last time you’ve seen a fresh tomato?”
“You didn’t have to do all this,” Sinna said. She was hungry, sure, but she was used to being hungry.
Dave shrugged. “It’s not like Nate’s been eating his share. And besides, it’s nice to have company. The folks around here are friendly enough, if you can do your fair share of chores. But I’m still an outsider. I don’t think they trust me yet.”
They each took two ovals of bread and a tomato. Bryce sniffed at the bread and made an approving sound. Sinna almost laughed. “Good?”
“It’s from the best baker in town,” Dave said.
Bryce took a healthy bite. “I believe it.”
They ate a good meal and shared a cup of tea in companionable peace, while listening to people outside going about their lives. A little boy was teaching his dog how to bark on command. Somewhere in the other direction, a deep-voiced man shouted orders to his men-in-training. Horses galloped hard around a nearby arena, and Sinna could almost feel the earth tremble.
They were good sounds, comforting. No sirens, or cries of fear or pain. Even the fighting was good to hear, and she smiled as a couple of old men passed by Dave’s window, arguing about who would have won the World Series.
“Thank you for the meal,” Bryce said when they were finished.
Dave raised an eyebrow. “Not bad for a wimpy geek you left behind to die, eh?”
Bryce inclined his head. Not an apology, but there was a world of respect in the simple motion, and Dave nodded his answer in return.
“This is a good place for you,” Sinna said.
“Yeah, it really is,” he agreed. “It’s like the last shred of goodness and humanity left in the world. A miracle we managed to get here.”
“How did you get here?” Bryce asked.
Dave sighed. “I still ask myself that same question every day. We did what you told us—soaked up as much of Sinna’s blood as we could.”
Sinna winced. She’d almost bled out on that garage floor.
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