Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1)

by R. R. Roberts

  “Let’s see. What do you want to hear?”

  Nicola spoke up. “Are there any legends about our destiny, about a brighter future for man here on earth?” Her question was raw, striking at the heart of all their questions. Mattea was surprised at the directness of her words, but understood she needed hope. They all did.

  “Yes. There is. It has a lesson, as I warned you, but it does give hope for a future for men on earth, if they heed the warnings the spirits have given them.”

  Malcolm bounced in place. “That’s the one. Spirits telling us stuff.”

  Mattea drank sweet tea from his mug, thinking back, recalling the stories his father and grandfather had told him as a child. One story stuck out, above the rest, because it was the most important story to his family, to his people, and fit so well with what was happening all around them. Because this story presented itself in his memory, this would be the story he would tell tonight, around this fire, to his new family.

  “My name is Mattea Greyeyes-Apsassin, and I tell you this story as I was told by my father, also Mattea Greyeyes-Apsassin, who was told by his father, my grandfather, the first Mattea Greyeyes-Apsassin. This story is passed down from the Old Ones.” He let his gaze move from face to face around the circle, meeting the eyes of each person. “In the beginning, Mother Earth was an ice-cold, dark place, with no life, and no love. No forest, no flower, no bee, no bear, no beaver, no buffalo, no bird, no fish. Mother Earth’s breast was empty. She went to Sister Moon and Brother Sun and asked for their help. Sister Moon and Brother Sun loved Mother Earth so much they shared with her half their gifts.

  “Brother Sun gave her warmth and light, and by melting the ice, created the oceans, giving her water. But this gift was a sacrifice. Now Brother Sun could stay with Mother Earth but half of each day, and could meet Sister Moon only in the early morning and in the late evening of each passing day.

  “Sister Moon’s gift to Mother Earth was the power to move the waters. This created winds and rain, lakes and rivers. Together with Brother Sun’s gift of light and warmth and water, Sister Moon’s gift of movement and weather, Mother Earth was given the four seasons. Each season pleased Mother Earth very much. Together, they coaxed life from Mother Earth and Mother Earth’s children were born. Forests sprang up and in the forests many spirits came to live, taking on the form of many plants and animals and humans, who called themselves, ‘The People’. In the sky were thousands of birds, in the waters were many fish. Mother Earth was content.

  “But Sister Moon’s gift to Mother Earth was also a sacrifice, which visited Sister Moon every night. Sister Moon would forever first grow large and strong, then small and weak, again and again, an endless cycle of sacrifice. This meant Sister Moon’s powers to move the water, create the winds, was somedays weak and other days strong.

  “Watching The People from the heavens, Brother Sun and Sister Moon became worried for Mother Earth. They warned her that her favored children, The People, did not always honor her other children, the animals of the forest and the sky and the waters, and The People did not always honor and follow the seasons. But Mother Earth so loved The People and had faith in them that she did not believe their warning. This was when Brother Sun told Mother Earth that if his gifts of light and warmth and water were misused, his gift would also punish. Like Brother Sun, Sister Moon gave her own warning. Should her gifts of wind and rain, rivers and lakes be misused, these gifts would also punish, bringing harsh times to all of Mother Earth’s children.

  “We’re ‘The People’, aren’t we, Mattea?” Malcolm asked, his young face worried.

  “Yes, we are,” Mattea replied.

  “And we did something wrong, didn’t we?”

  Mattea filled his lungs with cool night air and let it slip back out slowly as he considered his answer. “You did nothing wrong, Malcolm. Many people did nothing wrong, but, yes, many did do wrong here on earth. The truth is, Mother Earth is fighting for survival now, and her survival depends on The People. What’s happening now was foretold by the Old Ones many generations ago.”

  Malcom shifted closer, his thin features intense in the dancing firelight. “Did they tell us how to fix things? Can we fix things? Can we go back home and…” Here he faded off.

  Catherine reached out and squeezed her son’s hand and shook her head. “It’s getting late, Mattea, too late for Malcolm, and frankly, for me. Tomorrow comes early and Coru, you said you wanted to be packed up and moving by daybreak.”

  Coru nodded and got to his feet, stretching his arms to the sky, his knee snapping loud enough for everyone to hear. “I did. And you’re right, it’s been a long day. I’m done.”

  “But what about Mother Earth…?” Malcolm pulled away from his mother. “I need to know what to do.” His voice broke and he rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve.

  “Malcolm—.” Catherine began.

  Mattea held up his hand to stop her. “I know you have questions—we all have questions. I can’t explain what’s happening now. I’m as confused as you.” Mattea swung his gaze around the circle again. “I think we all are. For now, all you need to know is you should be kind to Mother Earth, for if you are, she will provide you with everything you need to live a good life. Be patient, young Malcolm, there will be other fires, other stories.”

  Young Malcolm’s eyes were huge, his need for Mattea to be telling him the truth naked for all to see.

  “I promise one day I’ll tell you the rest of Mother Earth and The People’s story and then you can make up your own mind about what’s happening here now.”

  Annie jerked to her feet. “Yeah—like we’ll still be alive then. Thanks for nothing, Mother Earth.” She flounced into the darkness, making her way to the women’s tent.

  Malcolm and Nicola’s expression were frightened now, Catherine’s angry. Coru’s expression closed, returning to remote and unreadable.

  For the thousandth time Mattea wondered, who is this man we travel with?

  10

  THE WOLVES OF SUMMER

  Bill returned to where Wren sat by the river. “Finally, asleep. Rhea was pretty pumped she got all that loose rice into the pillow case. Thanks for that, by the way. It was the perfect job for her.”

  Wren smiled into the darkness. “I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long. It’s been one hell of a day for them.”

  “They’ve waited for weeks to escape the house. Outside is paradise for them. They’re exhausted, but afraid to close their eyes; they think they might miss something.”

  Wren finished her tea. “You had no choice, Bill. By locking them up, you saved their lives.”

  “They know that. They never complained. I could see it in them, though; it’s not natural to be locked up when you’re young.”

  They stared across the river for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. The truth was, Wren was exhausted, but she needed to talk to Bill now, in private, to tell him about herself. It was the right thing to do.

  Bill said, “The wolves are quiet, finally.”

  She nodded. “I guess they caught whatever they were after. I hope it was a quick kill.”

  “I hope it wasn’t a human kill.”

  She stared at him, alarmed. “You think they’d go after a human? Isn’t there plenty of game?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. Just sayin’ – I hope it wasn’t a survivor. Would be a hell of a way to go, after surviving the plague.”

  She searched the far shore of the river with new eyes. Could a wolf swim the river? She hadn’t considered the fact that wolves were now a potential opponent as well as strange people could be. She sighed. “Geez, Bill. Tell me a bedtime story, why don’t you?”

  “Coulda’ been coyotes.”

  “That’s better?”

  “They don’t hunt in packs.”

  “Oh, my God, Bill. Stop it.”

  He chuckled. “Sorry. But, we should be armed at all times now. In fact, I want to train you and the kids with the rifles. It’s too dangerous out here
without one.”

  “Rhea’s so young.”

  He dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know. But the alternative … Wren, I can’t get it out of my mind. I need to equip these kids with every tool I can to stay alive. I might not be there when… you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “In fact.” He was watching her now, looking for her reaction. “I know I won’t.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s no way to pretty this up, Wren. I have a bum heart, along with high blood pressure with no more meds to control it. I’m a walking time bomb.”

  “But we just found each other! I can’t do this alone!”

  He put his arm around her and hugged her to his side. “I know. Hardly fair. We’ll do the best we can.”

  She sagged against him, allowing herself to weaken for the first time since this whole nightmare began. She’d thought she’d found a partner, someone to have her back. Now she felt more exposed than ever. He rubbed her arm up and down with his warm hand, soothing her. Soothing her!

  Snap out of it Wren. Ashamed of her selfish thoughts, she pulled herself upright with a sigh. Bill was telling her he could die at any time, and she was worrying about herself. She peeked up at his profile, faint here in the moonlight and could see the toll this experience had taken. He’d aged a decade at least in these last few months. Bill was such a wonderful man. He’d been decent to her at the paper, the father figure she’d lost along the way somehow, guiding her newbie self along with kindness and humor. She would never forget the day he’d taken her side against the owner, Richard Hume, defending the unpleasant facts she’d uncovered in a story about a local city councilman. What was that guy’s name, anyway…

  She jerked upright, blurted, “Mathers. They’re all afraid of Curtis Mathers!

  Bill turned toward her, his eyes large. “Who’s afraid of … How did you get that name?”

  “Everyone. Everyone still alive in Rushton is afraid of him. I didn’t put it together at first. He’s the guy I wrote that story about and Richard snuffed it. It was never published! That guy!” She turned away, remembering Curtis’s smug face as she’d interviewed him about the new town lagoon, he not realizing she knew already the truth about how the funds to build the thing had been allocated—mostly into two companies in which he was the major stakeholder. The money was gone, and the town still didn’t have a new lagoon and that was all right with good old Curtis Mathers. He even had a fall guy in mind, should it all come to light.

  She looked back at Bill and stopped at seeing the fear in his face. “What?”

  He drew himself away from her. “How many people did you have contact with in Rushton?” She could hear he was rethinking her freedom from the virus. He’d trusted her so completely and so quickly.

  “Oh no. I didn’t speak to anyone. Not really.”

  “Not really?”

  She turned to face him. “Okay. I’ll explain, but you have to hear me out—the whole way.”

  “Uh-huh.” His expression told he was not in a listening mood. His thoughts told her he was spinning out ideas to get the children away from her as quickly as possible, before they were infected. He was so angry with himself, after months of shielding them, he’d made this horrible mistake!

  Before he bolted, she was on her feet, towering over him. “I can read minds.”

  He gaped up at her. A bomb went off inside his head. Crazy. Little Wren Wood was crazy. “You wha …”

  She shifted her weight from foot to foot, clenching and unclenching her hands. “I-I can read your thoughts. Anyone’s. That’s why I came here. To escape. It’s exhausting.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re telepathic?”

  She nodded.

  “And you read minds …”

  “Yes.”

  Now he was thinking, What kind of games was this nutcase playing at?

  She couldn’t blame him.

  He said, “And it’s exhausting.” Crazy and self-involved. A drama queen.

  She bobbed her head some more, trying not to take his assessments personally. This was the first time she’d ever told anyone about herself. No one outside of her family knew this about her. She half expected him to run screaming back to the tent and throw himself inside.

  His expression changed to skeptical. She could read he’d decided she was delusional and it wasn’t possible that she read his thoughts. Almost reeled me in there, sweetheart. “You mean, you can tell by watching someone what they might be—.”

  “No. I can hear thoughts. Like, I know you killed Rhea and Wyatt’s father.”

  Bill scrambled backward, dislodging river rocks, and staggered to his feet. “What the hell!”

  “I know! I’m so sorry!” she wailed. “I shouldn’t have looked into your head, but I needed to know you were safe. And then, I promise, I shut it right down. Nothing after that.” A lie of course, since she was monitoring his thoughts right now. She made herself stop, forcing her shield back into place. She owed him that much.

  “Are… are you kidding me?”

  “I’ve been like this all my life. I hear people’s thoughts and feelings, I can see their memories, their plans, their fears. All. The. Time.” Running on nerves, she paced in a circle. “I put up a kind of wall between me and everyone, but it takes a lot of energy. A shield, to protect myself—.”

  “Protect yourself!” Bill exploded. “How about all the dumb shmucks whose brains you’re traipsing around inside? Whose protecting them?”

  Wren stared back at Bill in shock. Bill, of all people—she’d thought he’d understand. Suddenly the whole ugly, poisonous, frightening world rained down upon her—brown, desiccated bodies, scrambling, bobbing ravens, burnt out shells of houses, pimple-faced, sniping teenaged cannibals, spilled trails of white rice on dark pavement, pecked-clean eye sockets, stacked, waxen bodies, dead telephones, scurrying rats with glinting eyes, fearful whispers nudging, always nudging, the painful, spikes of survivor’s fear … It was too much. It was all too much.

  She whirled away and ran. She ran as if the wolves were snapping at her heels, inches from tearing her apart, moments from devouring her whole. She ran so the ravens couldn’t find her, and cock their heads, their beady eyes searching for soft spots, weaknesses, ways to get inside her. She ran for her life, though what kind of life it would be …

  She ran up river, along the narrow gravelly beach, staggered, slipped, lunged, fell, bloodying her palms, her elbows, her knees, then lurched to her feet and ran again. She ran and ran until it felt as if her chest would explode and she could run no further.

  She collapsed on the beach, her cheek against cold wet gravel, the rattling whoosh of air racing in and out of her lungs the only sound in a dark, dark world. How far she’d come, where she was, what dangers were all around her—she knew none of that, could change none of that. She just knew the cutting stones against her cheek, the hammering of her heart thundering out of her body and burying itself into the cold ground beneath her.

  She stared, vaguely registering. Light. Glinting. The river glinted in the moonlight.

  After a while—how long she couldn’t guess—she imagined she could hear the sounds of small animals scurrying close by in the shore grass and in the underbrush below the trees that lined the river’s edge. Had they been silent, awaiting her next move? Had they been afraid, and were now confident she was powerless against them?

  They were right. She was powerless against them, against anything. Powerless.

  She closed her eyes and let go of any thought, any image. She let her mind fly up into the dark sky and hover there. Blank. Empty. Free.

  She woke to the sound of whimpering. God. She was so cold. Shifting, she gasped in pain. So sore. Stiff. Placing her injured palms to the gravel, she raised herself up, the pain in her shredded hands, and scraped knees sharpening her senses at once. She hissed and sat up, curled into a tight ball, and tried to see how damaged her palms were in the dark. Hard to see
, but she could feel. Crusted blood. She hissed again, drawing in a ragged breath. She touched her knees with a fingertip. Yup. Her jeans were torn, her skin ragged.

  Good one, Wren. Smart. Just sashay down to Walmart, why dontcha, and pick up some new jeans. Maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips while you’re at it.

  The foolhardiness of her run along the river hit her. No matter what happened between her and Bill, they had to stay together. They had those children to take care of. Bill’s heart was weak, which meant it was her responsibility to care for Wyatt and Rhea, maybe even Bill himself when the time came. She didn’t have the luxury of childish flights for freedom.

  In Bill’s defense, she had dumped one spectacular bomb right in the middle of their escape plan. She’d blurted out the fact she knew he’d killed the children’s father, but she hadn’t told him she understood it had been necessary. The man was in a sick, murderous rage, out of his mind with the virus. It was either kill him or the children were dead. Anyone in their right mind would have done what Bill had done. Sheesh! She should have thought of his heart. What if he was in trouble now?

  She heard the whimpering again, closer now, it seemed. So, it wasn’t herself she’d heard, moaning as she came awake. Someone, or something out here, closer than she liked, was hurt. Or… Was pretending to be hurt?

  The whine came again, louder, insistent. A call for help.

  This wasn’t pretending. She was certain. She willed her eyes to see in the darkness. The sound came from the river’s edge.

  She got to her feet, cringing at all the noise she made in the loose gravel.

  The whining came again, this time more frantic, as if the animal—she knew it was an animal; there were no human thoughts to hear—as if the animal could see her somehow, or maybe only hear her, but knew she was close, knew she might help. She stayed still, straining for the sound again. When it didn’t come, she called out softly, “Where are you?”

  The whining started immediately, louder, urgent, eager.