The Survivalist (Freedom Lost)

by Arthur T. Bradley

  “Then I think it’s about time he knew what he’s feeding to his citizens. I have a hunch it might be the source of the colony’s unexplained illness.”

  “You think the food bars are causing the Craze?”

  “I don’t know for certain, but the timeline sure fits.”

  “I’ll take care of letting Stinson know what’s going on. But you need to get back here ricky-tick so we can sort things out.”

  “Before I come in, I have a favor I need to do for someone.”

  “A favor’s important enough to risk being shot?”

  “This one is.”

  “Okay, but you need to understand that I can’t clear this alone. Until you come in and explain yourself, the colony’s going to consider you a criminal. That means if they get wind of your location, they’ll send a team out after you.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Watch yourself, Marshal. This thing may get a little muddy.”

  “You do the same, General. Mud has a way of getting everyone dirty.”

  When Mason caught up with Jessie, she was standing in the kitchen, folding a basket of clothes.

  “Did you get it all straightened out?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

  “I made contact. That’s a start.”

  “From what I could hear, it sounded like they want you to go in and explain yourself.”

  “I’ll report back like a good soldier, but only after you and I do something first.”

  She set the clothes down and turned to face him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been kind enough to feed Bowie and me.” He glanced out the screen door to see the big dog lying on his side enjoying an afternoon siesta. “Not to mention letting me use the radio. I thought I might return the favor by helping to find your father.”

  Jessie eyes grew wide. “You mean it?”

  He nodded.

  “And I can come with you to Grey’s Point?”

  “I think you’ll have to. I’ve never met Jack in person and would probably walk right by him.”

  “I won’t be any trouble. I promise.”

  “I’m not worried about you being trouble, only about trouble finding you.” He gestured toward her nearly see-through blouse. “You might want to put on something a little more, well, trail worthy.”

  Jessie glanced down, and for the first time seemed to realize that there wasn’t a lot between her breasts and his gaze. What might have embarrassed another woman merely brought a smile to her lips.

  “And here I thought you didn’t notice things like that.”

  “I notice, believe me. The problem is, so will others.”

  “Give me a few minutes to change,” she said, snatching up a handful of clothes and hurrying from the room.

  While she was busy dressing, Mason pushed open the screen door and stepped outside.

  Bowie sat up, his eyes struggling to stay open.

  “Better wake up, boy. We’re getting ready to move.”

  The dog yawned, letting out a high-pitched yeeaww.

  Mason glanced back at the screen door.

  “We’re going to have company on this one, so I need you to be on your best behavior.”

  Bowie’s head turned to follow his master’s gaze.

  “I know it’s dangerous to bring her along, but we don’t have a choice.”

  Bowie cocked his head sideways.

  “This isn’t like that. This is a good deed. Nothing more.”

  Bowie shook his head and let out a little snort.

  “Yeah,” said Mason. “I thought that’s what you’d say.”

  Chapter 7

  By the time Tanner and Samantha jumped off the old Country Squire and put in some fresh fuel, it was getting near lunchtime. A quick trip back inside the home yielded six cans of chicken noodle soup, an unopened box of crackers, and a Costco-sized tub of fruit cocktail. After everything was opened, they hopped up onto the hood of the car to enjoy their afternoon feast.

  Sister Mary Margaret seemed less than enthused by their culinary choices.

  “Shouldn’t we warm this in a pot with some water?” she said, eyeing the soup.

  “No need,” Samantha said with a noodle hanging out of her mouth. “All you gotta do is pour a little water in on top every few bites.” She used her water bottle to demonstrate. “See?”

  Sister Margaret took a quick whiff of the soup and set it aside.

  “I think I’ll wait to eat until I get back to the monastery.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Tanner. “More for us, right, Sam?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, her mouth full.

  The nun checked her watch and let out a frustrated sigh.

  “Believe me,” said Samantha, “it’s better to let him eat. Tanner turns into an ogre when he’s hungry.”

  “I do not.”

  Samantha looked at Sister Margaret and mouthed, “He does.”

  The nun turned and stared down Highway 11 as if hoping to spot a taxi.

  “How much further is it?” asked Samantha.

  “At least two hours. Maybe three,” she said, not hiding her frustration at their slow pace.

  “You’re worried about the nuns.”

  Sister Margaret said nothing.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “I feel like you’re going to ask either way, so go ahead.”

  “Why didn’t you and the other nuns fight those men? Is it against your religion or something?”

  “Defending oneself is not against our religion. Unlike your father, however, we don’t prescribe to the idea that violence solves every problem.”

  “But you have to admit that it’s needed sometimes, right?”

  Sister Margaret was slow to answer, and when she did, her eyes were distant.

  “During my time in the war, I saw enough violence to last a lifetime. Never once did I see it actually solve a problem. For every person who was killed, two more were convinced to take up arms because of his death.” She shook her head. “Violence solves nothing.”

  “You know, Sister, you may be right,” Tanner said, tipping the can up to pour the last bit of soup into his mouth.

  Samantha wheeled around in disbelief. “Huh?”

  “I’m just agreeing with her. Violence probably isn’t the best way to solve problems. Unfortunately, your enemy often doesn’t share this enlightened view and keeps coming with hatchet in hand.” He wiped his mouth with a sleeve and let out a little burp. “That leaves you to either accept the moral shortcoming of putting a bullet in his eye or have him cleave your skull in two. Like it or not, that’s the reality we face.”

  Sister Margaret frowned. “You’re doing your daughter no favors by putting these notions into her head.”

  “You say that, but yet here she is—fed, safe, and of a mindset never to become a victim. All in all, I’d say she’s doing just fine.”

  “Don’t forget loved,” Samantha said, brushing cracker crumbs from her shirt.

  He leaned over and kissed her on the head.

  “And loved.”

  “Yuck! You just got soup in my hair.”

  “Get used to it, darlin’. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you—love’s messy.”

  Sister Margaret seemed little amused, and walked to the rear of the car to sit on its bumper.

  Tanner leaned over and whispered to Samantha.

  “I don’t think she gets us.”

  “Give her some time. She’ll come around. We’re pretty adorable.” She paused. “Well, I am, anyway.”

  After retrieving the remaining fuel from the Power Wagon, Tanner turned the Country Squire north on Highway 11. For the next two hours, they passed through a handful of small communities, including Pulaski, Dublin, and Radford, without seeing a single soul.

  As they neared Salem, Samantha said, “It’s awfully quiet out here.”

  “Nothing wrong with quiet,” answered Tanner.

  “I guess.”

  “You don�
�t like quiet?”

  She shrugged. “It’s sort of like the dark. You never know what’s out there, hiding.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “I’m making up for you not worrying enough.”

  A series of gunshots sounded from up ahead. They were still some distance off, perhaps a half-mile or so. Even so, Tanner rolled to a stop.

  Sister Margaret turned to look at him. “What are we doing?”

  “Tanner and I have a strict rule about staying out of other people’s troubles,” explained Samantha. More gunshots sounded. “And that is definitely other people’s troubles.”

  Sister Margaret pointed to an on-ramp.

  “Maybe we can get on I-81 and avoid Salem all together.”

  Tanner glanced back at Samantha. “What’s the map say?”

  She studied the map lying beside her on the seat.

  “Sister Margaret’s right. The interstate goes right around Salem. We could get back on Highway 11 in Cloverdale.”

  “How far?”

  She used her fingers to estimate the distance.

  “Six miles or so.”

  Tanner looked from the highway to the on-ramp. Both had risks.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Sister Margaret.

  “The problem is that interstates are dangerous,” said Samantha.

  The nun craned her head, attempting to see up the on-ramp.

  “Dangerous how?”

  “Bandits and wild dogs for sure. Who knows what else?”

  “Bandits?”

  “It means robbers.”

  “I know what it means. Are you saying they frequent the interstates?”

  “Yep. One time, we got cornered by a gang of them on motorcycles. They even zapped Tanner with a cattle prod.”

  “Lovely, I’m sure,” the nun said, cutting her eyes at him.

  Samantha seemed puzzled. “I don’t think you understand. It was a real cattle prod. You know, one of those things they poke cows with to get them to move. It wasn’t lovely at all. Poor Tanner fell to the ground, twitching like a nervous cat.”

  “I think she was being facetious,” said Tanner.

  “Facetious? What’s that mean?”

  “Callous and snooty at the same time.”

  Samantha looked at Sister Margaret and furrowed her brow.

  “Nuns shouldn’t be allowed to be facetious.”

  The sincerity of Samantha’s scolding put Sister Margaret on the defensive.

  She tipped her head. “My apologies.”

  “It’s okay. I forgive things super easy.”

  Sister Margaret worked to strike a more conciliatory tone.

  “I’m glad to hear that your father has at least taught you the importance of forgiveness.”

  “Tanner? Forgiveness?” She cracked up. “That’s a good one.”

  “It’s from your mother, then?”

  “I guess so. She always said it’s never good to go to bed angry.”

  Sister Margaret glanced over at Tanner.

  “The woman must truly have the patience of a saint.”

  Samantha shook her head. “Not anymore. She’s dead.”

  Sister Margaret’s voice softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. I really am. Perhaps if she and your father had raised you together—”

  “Oh, Mom and Tanner were never together.”

  Sister Margaret looked confused.

  “He adopted me.” Samantha looked over at Tanner. “That’s okay to say now, isn’t it?”

  “In present company, I think it’s fine.”

  “He rescued me from a burning building last year, and we’ve been together ever since.”

  A concerned look came over Sister Margaret’s face.

  “You’re telling me that this man is not your father?”

  “He is now. I decided to let him raise me.”

  “You? A twelve-year-old girl decided that?”

  “Actually, I was eleven at the time.”

  “But he’s a—”

  “Criminal?”

  “I don’t know. Is he?” She looked at Tanner with a mixture of apprehension and dismay.

  “Not anymore. I think he escaped. That’s right, isn’t it, Tanner?”

  “Let out for good behavior,” he said, relishing in her discomfort.

  Sister Margaret was absolutely beside herself.

  “Don’t you have other family who could take you in? An aunt or a grandmother, perhaps?”

  Samantha pursed her lips, thinking. “I don’t really know. Maybe.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter though. Tanner and Issa are my parents now.”

  “Who’s Issa?”

  “She’s my new mom. I don’t call her that though, because it feels kind of funny. We met her when we were down in the tunnels under Washington, D.C. Tanner fought for her hand in marriage. You should have seen it. It was so romantic.”

  “And where is she now?”

  “Missing. That’s why we’re on the road. Issa went back to her colony to show them she could get pregnant.”

  “Her colony?”

  Before she could answer, Tanner said, “I think you’ve said enough, Sam. We don’t want to bore the good sister.”

  Samantha was confused for a moment, but then her face cleared.

  “Oh, I get it,” she said in a stage whisper. “We don’t know if we can trust her yet.” Samantha pretended to lock her mouth with a key. “Tick a lock.”

  “If only it were that easy,” he muttered.

  Another round of gunshots from the road ahead settled the decision, and Tanner steered the wagon onto the on-ramp.

  “You watch behind us,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Right.” Samantha spun in her seat to get a better view out the rear window.

  Like every other interstate, I-81 was congested with abandoned cars, trucks, and tractor trailers. Most had been pilfered, leaving purses, clothes, plastic cups, and human bones strewn across miles of roadway. Trapped on the cold stretch of asphalt, people had slowly settled into their cars to die, like elephants into a dark cave spilling with ivory.

  Sister Margaret began to whisper a prayer, and neither Tanner nor Samantha interrupted her. A little heavenly protection was welcome by convert and heathen alike.

  Tanner steered the big car through a winding path that meandered its way around the wreckage. A pack of dogs dug through an abandoned bakery truck, pulling at blue plastic crates with their teeth. The animals were little more than skin and bones, their ribcages visible through their sparse fur. As the station wagon approached, a few scattered, but most stood and watched it pass, hoping for an opportunity to feast on something tastier than stale hamburger buns.

  “Sister Margaret,” Samantha said without taking her eyes off the road.

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Why does God allow so much suffering?”

  Sister Margaret seemed startled by the question.

  “Tanner says that suffering’s just part of the world, but he’s a Buddhist. I wondered if you might see things differently since you’re a nun.”

  “My faith teaches that suffering is a result of sin. When God first made the world, there was no sin, and thus no suffering. Once we began to sin, however, suffering forever became part of our existence.”

  “Are you saying that God is punishing us just because we made a few mistakes along the way? That doesn’t sound very fair.”

  She offered an understanding smile. “No, dear. God isn’t punishing us with suffering. We brought that upon ourselves. Even so, perhaps He does allow it to exist because of all the good that comes along with it.”

  Samantha looked out at the starving animals.

  “What good could possibly come from those dogs dying of hunger?”

  “The good, dear, is that you saw their suffering and felt compassion.”

  Samantha sat quietly for a few minutes, staring out the rear window as she mulled over Sister Margaret’s words. In the end, she filed them away to sit alon
gside other tidbits of insight that Tanner and her parents had shared with her. One day, she thought, she would need to sort through them, deciding what to keep and what to throw out. For now, though, they could stay, each doing their part to make the world a bit less mysterious.

  They drove on for several more minutes, and whether it was due to divine providence or simple dumb luck, they managed to travel the brief stretch of interstate without being accosted by man or beast.

  Tanner took the off-ramp just past Cloverdale, and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief at being free of the interstate. An immediate left turn put them back on Highway 11, a Hardee’s to their right and a Pilot gas station a little beyond that. A school bus sat parked in the center of the four lanes, a steady cloud of pale gray smoke puffing from its tailpipe. Its windows were covered with newspaper, and a handful of bullet holes riddled the back door.

  Tanner brought the station wagon to a stop twenty yards behind it. Going around the bus would put them at risk of taking passing fire from its windows, the equivalent of being broadsided by a pirate frigate.

  “What do you think happened to them?” asked Samantha.

  He slipped the car into park but left it running.

  “Nothing good.”

  “Are we checking it out?”

  “Have to,” he said, climbing out with his shotgun in hand.

  Samantha snatched her Savage .22 rifle from the seat and reached for the door handle.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Sister Margaret said with a disapproving tone.

  Samantha pushed open her door. “I go where he goes.”

  “But it might be dangerous.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I’m going.”

  As they approached the school bus, Tanner and Samantha heard sobbing coming from within. It was a deep emotional weeping that was uncomfortable to listen to. Together, they hugged the right side of the bus, ducking beneath its paper-covered windows as they shuffled forward like members of a SWAT team. When they arrived at the forward door, they found it partially ajar.

  Tanner leaned around and peeked into the bus. The driver’s seat was empty and the interior nearly dark. He motioned for Samantha to stay put as he leaned forward and pushed the door the rest of the way open.

  Voices could be heard, someone pleading, “Please! We have to do something!”