by M. Barnette
It was quiet. A bit too quiet.
He found the dishes in their crate, dripping water, balanced on a rock by the edge of the creek.
He scanned the ground, analyzing a myriad of tracks. His own from last night. Two sets of much larger tracks. Hawk and Chet. The footprints of a woman. Nikki. She was in hiking boots. Anya had sneakers.
He followed Chet's tracks to the edge of the water. Focusing his gaze to the far side, about twenty-five feet from where he stood, he could see where water had sprayed as Chet climbed out.
Frowning because he was going to have to wade across, Bells paused.
Twenty-five feet.
He went back up the bank, walked away from the edge of the water and paused. Gauging the distance, he took off running.
Blue and aqua mist swirled around him as he jumped. He came down at the edge of the far bank, his right heel making a muted splash in the water. Climbing up the bank he followed the drops of water and the well-marked prints of the other man. While a small part of his mind wondered how he'd just made that kind of a jump, the rest of him took it for granted. It was just something he could do. Like fixing a truck, or breathing. Nothing remarkable.
The real questions were a bit more immediate in nature. Where had Chet gone? And, more importantly, why?
Bells stopped at the edge of the tree cover. There was an old farmhouse, the place showing no sign of recent use. Probably either abandoned during or right after the plague.
Plague? Just another of those random bits of knowledge that rose up out of the fog in his mind. How did he know there'd been a plague here? It could easily have been some kind of war. But there weren't any bomb craters. No itch of slow radiation or burn of chemicals. Biological war? He didn't think so.
Just the fact that he found himself selecting one form of Apocalypse over another told him things about himself that, once again, he would rather not have known.
The tracks led to a farmhouse. Faded blue pain peeling from the walls. Dirt dulled yellow paint framing the windows.
Bells followed. He was cautious, yet he felt nothing here that pointed to any immediate danger. He was also beginning to get the impression that Chet wasn't the brightest light in the string. Well meaning, he probably had the best intentions. But the road to hell was paved with the good intentions of well meaning people. He knew that for a fact because he'd added a few of those paving stones himself on the way down that good old road.
He decided to risk making a bit of noise. “Chet?"
Chet came out of the house. “The folks here died. But there's lots of clothes and stuff we could take,” he said around a mouthful of fruit he was eating right out of the can.
"I'll tell Hawk,” he replied, watching with narrowed eyes as the young man stuffed the food into his mouth. It wasn't any of his business, but the young fool was risking food poisoning, and quite probably an unhealthy dose of anger from his friends if he was any judge of things.
"I'm gonna stay here and look around more.” Chet grinned as a bit of heavy syrup ran down his chin.
"Okay,” he replied and spun around, intending to return where the others were. By now they'd be getting anxious over how long he'd been gone. He jumped the stream, picked up the dishes, and headed back. He hadn't even reached the far side of the trees before he heard someone coming his way. Nikki was carrying a shotgun.
"You find him?” She looked worried.
"Yeah. There's a farmhouse that way,” he gestured behind him. “Chet's there."
"Any way to reach it?"
"Might be.” He held out the dishes to her. “I'll look for the bridge."
She offered him the shotgun.
"I'm good,” he told her and turned away.
"Watch out for barbed wire."
He waved his hand in acknowledgment of her warning and kept walking.
* * * *
Nikki sighed. No, he definitely wasn't a talker, that was certain.
Taking the dishes, she tramped back through the screen of trees and crossed the field.
"You found them, I take it,” Hawk said as she put the crate into the back.
"Chet found a farmhouse, Bells is looking for a way we can get the truck to it across the creek."
"I wish Chet had something resembling a brain in that skull of his,” Anya muttered. “Going off and not telling us where he is could get us all killed one of these days."
"You know what he's like,” Dal replied.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I have to like it,” she retorted.
"No, I guess not.” He was giving the auburn haired woman a smile.
Nikki saw Anya give Dal an answering smile.
"Everyone in the truck and let's see if we can find this bridge,” Hawk ordered.
"It might be behind us,” Dal pointed out.
"That was the way Bells went,” Nikki confirmed.
Anya jumped into the cab, Dal climbing into the driver's seat. Hawk took the lookout post behind the cab. “Take it slow. Driving through those weeds will make it all too easy to run off the road into a ditch or hit a deep hole."
"Will do, Hawk,” Dal told the other man. He started up the truck and carefully turned it around, while Nikki clung to the side rail to keep from getting banged around too much.
"Chet must have found something worth salvaging or he'd have come back sooner,” Anya remarked.
"Probably,” Dal agreed. “Maybe some food if we're lucky."
"I won't ever forgive him for finding those packs of beef jerky and eating all of them back at that convenience store,” Anya said loudly to be heard over the rattle and crash of the stuff in the bed of the truck as they bumped off of the road into the grass.
"Me, either,” Hawk stated firmly. “He knows the rules. Food belongs to everyone, not just whoever found it."
"Yeah, but you know Chet,” Nikki said as she stood up beside Hawk. “He acts before he thinks."
"One of these days he's going to get himself a case of food poisoning he won't forget,” Anya shouted as the truck rattled its way back onto the pavement.
Dal pushed the accelerator and the truck sped up, gears grinding as he shifted to second.
"Try not to wreck the tranny,” Hawk requested.
"It's getting stiff again."
"Probably needs fluid. We'll check it out at the house,” Hawk told him.
"Geeze, Dal, take it slower, you're rattling my fillings loose,” Anya yelled as they bumped over a shallow washout across the road.
Nikki smiled, relieved that they hadn't had to go far before they saw Bells standing by the road. There was a lot of damage to the pavement that appeared to have come from localized flooding.
Dal slowed the truck. “Heard Chet found a farmhouse."
The man nodded. “The road's there, under the grass and weeds. The bridge is about two feet wider than the truck, but it's good and solid."
"Shouldn't be a problem, I'm used to bridges like that. Had a farm of my own before the Collapse.” He grinned at the blond, “Want a lift?"
"I'm going back for my bike,” he said. “See you at the house."
"Sure,” Dal told him.
He turned, the chiming from his hair nearly drowned out by the noise of the truck.
Nikki watched the blond as he walked away, head up, relaxed but alert, the sword still clutched in his hand. The way he held it showed he was perfectly confidant in his ability with the weapon. Hawk walked like that when he was carrying an assault rifle.
"Not very friendly, is he?” Anya remarked.
"His kind don't trust easily. But then, in these days, who does?” Hawk remarked. He was watching the blond as intently as Nikki.
"Odd guy,” Dal commented. “Carrying a sword and an antique gun when everyone else uses automatic weapons."
Nikki saw the man vanish into the brush just off the road. “Real lone wolf,” she said.
"Yeah, well that's his business. Let's just give him time. Like I said, he doesn't know us,” Hawk urged, giving Nikki's sh
oulder a little squeeze.
"I'm getting the impression he doesn't want to know us,” Nikki muttered.
A motion in the corner of her eye made her look up to see Hawk looking down, a smile lighting his eyes.
"They don't warm up to people very fast, but once they do...” he grinned, “well, you'll see."
"You think he'll ‘warm up’ to us?” Anya asked.
"Just treat him decently, Anya, the same way you treat us."
"Yeah, but isn't he like Roderik?” Nikki asked.
Hawk frowned. “Yes and no. There are two kinds of Dragons. Roderik is a ravager. He takes what he wants and destroys what he can't use."
"And Bells?” Nikki questioned. She couldn't have said why, but she wanted a reason to trust the blond. Wanted him to be someone they could rely on the way she could rely on Hawk and Dal.
The man's grin returned, “I'm not sure what he is, understand. He might not be a Dragon. It's just a suspicion, something in the way he moves makes me expect to see wings. What I can say definitively is he's about as different from Roderik as a man is from a worm."
Anya didn't seem completely reassured by Hawk's words.
Dal nodded thoughtfully. “There's something special about him,” he remarked, “more than I'd feel from someone like me. He's got the same—I don't know—aura of power that Hawk has, I guess."
Hawk grinned. “Go on, finish your thought,” the Fenyx urged.
"You feel it too, don't you?” Dal asked.
Nikki was looking from one man to the other, Anya was watching Dal.
"Yeah. I feel it. Like a coiled spring, just waiting."
"What the hell are you two zen gurus yammering about?” Anya asked.
Hawk laughed. “Zen is a type of Buddhist, they don't have gurus, Anya."
"Whatever,” the woman retorted shortly.
"He was trying to say that Bells has a lot of power,” Nikki told her.
"Oh.” Anya glanced back at Nikki. “Enough to kick Roderik's ass?"
"Maybe,” Hawk remarked, a grim smile curling his lips.
"Maybe hell,” Dal muttered as he eased the truck forward, being cautious. They couldn't afford to lose the truck.
They bumped across the dirt road and rolled slowly over the bridge, which creaked a bit at the weight of the truck, but held just as the blond said it would.
The farmhouse wasn't in great repair, but it wasn't a ruin either.
Chet was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, stuffing his face with canned fruit. There were two empty cans at his feet.
"I'm going to kill that lousy bum!” Anya snarled as she jumped out of the truck before it had even stopped moving.
Nikki sighed. “Here we go again."
"No kidding,” Dal muttered and he cut off the engine.
Chet howled in outrage as Anya slapped him repeatedly with her open hands, flailing at his shoulders and head like a little girl scolding a younger brother.
"Bad Chet! Bad! Chet doesn't eat food without mommy's permission. Bad boy!"
"Hey! Stop it!” Chet shouted as she took the can from him.
"Naughty Chet!"
"What am I, a dog?” he asked in annoyance at her scolding tone. “I ain't found no beef jerky! It's just some fruit!"
"Damn right, you're a dog! A selfish dog! And you aren't getting any dinner since you ate three cans of fruit.” She smacked him again. “Bad boy!"
She knew Chet wouldn't hit a woman, not even if she was smacking him. And Nikki knew what Anya was doing to him only stung a bit. She'd been on the receiving end of a few similar slaps herself. Besides, Anya would never hurt Chet. Not really. But Nikki knew the man had to be mortified from the way his face flushed. They all knew how Chet hated being treated like a child, or a pet who'd done wrong.
"Hawk, make her stop it!” Chet said, a bit of a whine in his request for aid as he got out of the chair in a bid to escape the woman's repeated slaps.
"Hell no!” the big man replied. “You earned what you're getting, Chet. You act like a selfish dog, you get punished like one. I explained this before. You don't eat food that you find, you share it."
"Bad boy!” Anya repeated, swatting him on the shoulder.
Chet frowned and looked at the empty cans at his feet. “Aw, hell ... I forgot.” His expression full of contrition over how thoughtlessly he'd acted by eating the fruit, Chet gave a soft bark and tried to lick Anya's face, wiggling his butt as he did so, looking for all the world like a dog with a docked tail as he squirmed and licked at Anya.
It was too much.
Nikki started to giggle at the picture the big man made as he imitated a dog in an effort to get Anya to see he was really sorry for being a dolt and that was it, they all broke out into peals of mirth.
Chapter Four
Bells didn't join the others in their search of the house, he headed instead for the barn. There were no signs that of any animals had been left inside to die. The stall doors were open, as was the barn door which led to freedom. There were signs that there'd been some chickens, a bin marked chicken feed written with laundry marker on the plastic lid, but he didn't see any live chickens. Cats and foxes would have put an end to them.
As he made his way toward the ladder to the loft he spotted a cat that ran from him; either a barn cat gone totally feral or one born that way.
He could see signs that there had been other animals here at one time. A saddle for a pony hung on one wall beside a sled, and there were the remains of a bag from dog food. Where the animals had gone were anyone's guess. He climbed the ladder to the loft and found an assortment of old junk. Bits and pieces of old tractors, hand saws, the kind people had used before there'd been any electricity. They were badly rusted and their handles had rotted. Inside a trunk he found old photo albums, some warped vinyl records, and a broken record player. A pair of cobweb draped bicycles hung on one beam, the hooks holding them as rusted as the bikes themselves were. There weren't any tires left, time had eaten them away.
Nothing up there they could use.
He went down the ladder and continued his search of the barn, finding a generator under a tarp in a stall that had been used for storage rather than livestock. There was a wealth of farming tools, the kind used in a kitchen garden. Shovels, rakes, hoes, and a hand cultivator. There was even a gas powered rototiller.
There were also several metal gerry cans of gas, and three of them were full. He tapped the cans. They could use them for the truck. On a shelf above his head were bottles of kerosene and lamp oil.
Leaving the barn, he wandered over to another out building, pulling the doors open to the accompaniment of screaming hinges. There was a newer car parked inside, a patina of dust dulling the bright blue of the sedan to a dulled, listless shade. The keys weren't in the shed, but it wouldn't take much effort to find them They'd be somewhere in the house where one of the others could locate them. Whether the car would start or not was another story. After sitting for a year, it was a fifty-fifty proposition whether the battery would even recharge.
He found a the remains of a dog curled up in its house behind the garage, its chain and collar lying in the dirt. It had been set free.
Bells stood there for a few moments, staring at the animal.
More death.
Sighing, he went back into the barn.
It only took him a few minutes to find a shovel and part of an old quilt. He found a likely spot under a tree near the dog house and started digging. It didn't take long. Even wrapped in the old quilt there wasn't much left to bury.
Done with the first grave, he started digging another not far from the dog's, putting it near a big spreading oak. The remains of a wading pool under the spreading branches sat there in mute testimony to the death of at least one child. A few toys partly covered by last fall's decaying leaves sat in the scummy puddle of water at the bottom. A few weeds choked lawn chairs and a plastic table sat nearby. There was an empty tea glass sitting in the grass, big bright yellow daisies on its si
des. A rotting paperback lay in one of the chairs.
It had been summer when the world died. The evidence was plain for him to read.
An ache started deep in his chest. He refused to feel anything and started digging with a will, piling the dirt to one side. Work could hold back any pain. Any pain at all.
He didn't need to go into the house to know what the others had already found. A woman, a man, and their two little girls.
It was all there.
Their lives to be read in the remains they'd left behind. In the frozen tableau of toys in a pool, a book left lying in a chair, a spilled glass of tea. In the panicked taste of a mother's fear that still lingered in the air, ghosts of strong emotion that he could feel sliding along his consciousness the way a distant sound played at the edge of your hearing.
They were long dead, but the family deserved a decent burial since they were going to help themselves to whatever was available. He'd find out what their names were and make some kind of marker because that was the least they could do for them.
He swallowed down the bitterness, pushing emotions that weren't his own aside, blanketing his reaction with indifference. He hadn't know them. They meant nothing to him. The dead couldn't be helped.
But the living could.
And he had five of those now.
It was a good start, but it was hardly more than that. A start.
But what it was the start of, he had no clue whatsoever.
* * * *
That was where Nikki found him. Digging a single grave for a dead family.
He had his heavy jacket off, and there was a line of sweat down the back of his T-shirt, more under his arms, across his chest.
He didn't even look up from what he was doing.
"They had two little girls,” Nikki told him softly.
"Yeah, I know. Between three and six."
Nikki blinked. “How did you know that?"
She saw him gesture at something in the grass. A wading pool with toys suited to younger children. The sun-faded plastic ponies were a dead giveaway.
"It took them fast,” she told him. “I think the girls were dead before they even realized they were sick."
The bells in his hair rang as he nodded in acknowledgment of what she'd said.