Then a second shot sounded.
They spurred their horses as quickly as they dared, crouching low in the saddle to avoid low hanging branches, reversing their journey into Deklin’s family farm. The path led them south for a mile to where they had left the women and Malcom camped, hidden in a heavily forested area about two hundred yards in from the highway.
Mattea reined in his horse, pulled his rifle free and was off and running silently ahead. Coru followed suit. Nearing the clearing, they slowed and ducked behind two trees. Coru motioned for Mattea to go around the back. Mattea nodded and slipped away, making his way on silent feet. Raising his rifle, Coru eased in closer and surveyed the camp. It was deserted and in disarray, boxes and bundles pulled apart, clothing and supplies strewn across the ground. His heart sank. Where were the women? Stepping out into the clearing, he moved around the perimeter, looking for signs of life. He stopped short at seeing a man’s boot, a relatively new boot, sticking out from under a bush. Training his rifle steadily, he moved around until he could make out the man. He was dead, his chest peppered with shot, his grubby shirt crimson with blood. His gray eyes stared sightlessly. His clothes were a ragged collection of layers, with a collection of leather belts slung from both shoulders, that were fitted with at least a dozen wicked-looking hunting knives. Hope bloomed inside Coru’s chest.
Okay. This explained one shot. Where did number two end up?
He’d left both Catherine and Annie armed with two shotguns they’d picked up at the horse farm.
The underbrush rustled and Malcolm’s big-eyed face appeared from behind a huckleberry bush, deep in the woods and several yards beyond the dead man. Then Coru saw a second body. He waved Malcolm to stay where he was and stepped quickly to examine it, afraid of who it would be. This one... He gagged.
This body had been savaged.
The second shot had not killed this man outright, just taken him down. It appeared as if whoever had shot him then turned the shotgun around and beaten his head in with the gun’s stock until it was pulverized, blood, bone and brain matter hammered into the ground. The brutality of the action was… was more than Coru had ever witnessed. He stepped over the body, another man, obviously, and jogged over to Malcolm.
Shielding the boy from the two dead men, he guided him around to the clearing, keeping himself between Malcom and the gruesome scene. “Where is your mother?”
“She told me to run and hide. I… I think she went to find the horses. They got scared when the gun, and when the men…” Malcolm stopped, swallowing hard. “The men came after you left. They wanted… our stuff, they wanted the horses and they wanted…” Here his eyes dropped in shame.
Oh Malcolm. You’re seeing the very worst of men, aren’t you?
“That’s okay, kid. I get it. Which way did they go?”
Relieved, Malcolm pointed.
After weeks of Mattea’s tutelage, Coru recognized where the foliage had been disturbed by the fleeing horses and women. “Let’s go help your mom.”
Keeping the boy close, he followed the signs.
ANNIE HEARD THEM FIRST. This had to be because she was always listening for something, someone, just out of range. Nicola noticed these things now, watching from her safe little space in the world where she didn’t have to step out and interact with the others. It was interesting, really, watching each of her companions operate. She felt as if she knew things about them they didn’t even know they had shown her through their actions. Actions don’t lie.
She’d had hours and hours to observe them, analyzing them, picking them apart and putting them back together again, creating an in-depth profile of each which she now had filed safely away in her head.
It had even occurred to Nicola what it was that Annie was listening for. Nicola believed Annie was listening for Topher to come rescue her. How bizarre was that? The man was dead. No one would survive a plunge into a frozen river, not even Topher, a man they’d all come to believe was too evil to die like a mere mortal. But here Annie was, knitting on a simple hat as Catherine had insisted she learn, on guard, always with her head cocked, listening, waiting for someone to appear, only this time, her expression was different. This time, it appeared she’d heard something, and was glad.
Interested, Nicola stopped brushing the bay she and Mattea shared and followed Annie’s gaze into the forest. What did Annie think she knew no one else did?
Nicola staggered when two men materializing from the green that surrounded them, grubby apparitions, draped in belts decked out with glinting hardware that hurt her eyes; men straight from her personal nightmares. One of the men held little Malcolm by his thin arm, jerking him along. All the air inside her lungs evaporated, leaving her clutching her chest, gasping. Catherine turned from sorting tonight’s dinner supplies, took in Nicola’s expression and whirled around to see what would make her behave in such a way. Catherine cried out and darted toward her son.
The man shook Malcolm to warn Catherine off. She froze, midstride.
Annie dropped her knitting to the ground and stood up. “Hi,” she greeted, her voice breathy with anticipation.
The two men did a double take. This was not what they’d anticipated. They’d expected resistance, not welcome. Nicola saw for a second, they were unsure how to proceed. The man holding Malcolm shifted his gaze to Catherine. Nicola watched his confidence flood back. Here was fear, something he could work with. Nicola’s stomach turned in revulsion, but she remained unchanged on the surface, biding her time. It seemed she had learned a thing or two from Topher.
Annie stepped forward. “What are you two fellas doing out here in the woods?”
The man without Malcolm smiled a slow smile. “Well, looking for you, pretty lady.”
Annie ducked her head, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Looks like ya found me, then.”
Nicola could not believe what she was seeing. Annie was insane if she thought these men gave a fig about her. What was she playing at?
Annie asked, “What should I be calling you?”
“God,” the first one laughed. “But Gerry’ll do in the meantime.” He messed Malcom’s hair before returning his hand to the hilt of a wicked-looking hunting knife.
Nicola saw David’s terrified face, Topher’s blade at his throat, felt darkness prick all around her, but fought to remain present, alert. This was not the time to check out.
Gerry surveyed their horses and supplies with satisfaction, then pawed through a few saddlebags, pulling out clothes, blankets and food, all the time keeping hold of Malcolm. “We’re liking this little outfit you got going for yourselves. We’re looking to expand our operation and what you got here suits us just fine.”
Catherine said, “Why not let the boy go? You can take the horses, the rest, we won’t fight you on it.”
“Oh, I know you won’t, as long as I got this kid.” He jerked his chin at the far horses. “Tim. Check out them saddlebags. See what’s in ‘em. And kick that shotgun over this way.” His gaze returned to Catherine. “We like the horses just fine. It’ll be good to get off our boots. But it’s you gals is what’s the prize.” His smile made Nicola shutter. She knew — they all knew what was coming.
Now his gray eyes landed on Nicola, crawling up and down her body like fire ants, burning into her flesh. Pulling Malcolm along with him, he came closer, grabbed her by her collar, tore her shirt down to expose her skin. She fought back the need to cover herself, remaining motionless, staring dully back at him. “Nice,” he breathed, pawing at her then sliding his hand under her shirt for more. “And you got another one just like it. Real nice.”
Annie interrupted him. “You’re wasting your time with that one. She’s a zombie. Can’t speak, can’t barely function. We just bring her along ‘cause she’s good at chores.”
Gerry’s eyes dimmed. “I likes me some action in my gals.”
Annie approached him, pushing Nicola back against the bay, presenting herself to Gerry. “Then, I’m the girl you want in
this camp. That one’s dead inside and that other one’s too damned old to even think about.”
Gerry turned away from Nicola. Annie’s offer had all his attention now. Nicola was sickened by Annie’s betrayal.
Annie’s eyes flicked to the bay and back to Gerry, her face all smiles and invitation. She raised her hand and squeezed his arm, turning him to face her. “You’re a strong one, now, aren’t you Gerry?”
What? Nicola had almost missed it. Annie had sent her a message—she was almost sure. Nicola glanced at the bay and away, not wanting to let the men follow her train of thought. They thought she was a zombie? Good. Let them go on thinking that. It was immediately apparent they had discounted her as any kind of threat. She left her shirt as it was, and just stood quiet, unmoved by what Gerry and Tim were saying and doing, and saw she had faded into the background of the lucky situation the two men found themselves in, filed under “meaningless”.
Still puzzled by Annie’s signal, she risked another furtive glance at the bay, then understood. The second shotgun was strapped to the back of the bay’s saddle, out of sight from where the others stood.
But it was tied down. They’d see her go for it and Malcolm would be dead before she could make any difference. Like David. Her brother’s frightened face appeared before her, his eyes beseeching her to save him, paralyzing her with sorrow. She swayed. Oh David…
No. She would not check out.
This time, she’d protect David… Malcolm.
Clutching her fists, digging her nails into her palms to sharpen her senses, she waited, biding her time, waiting for Gerry and Tim’s attention to be firmly embedded elsewhere. This was David all over again. She would not turn away, she would not let that happen. She would die before she would allow it to happen. She’d had the power to save David hidden under her arm for almost an entire day and had been too afraid to use it.
Today she wasn’t afraid. She had only her life to give, and without David her life meant nothing to her; she gambled nothing.
Annie was moving Gerry along now. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waitin’ on a real man to show up here, Gerry. This virus has severely stunted my love life!”
Gerry let go a laugh and grabbed her by her behind, dragging her against him.
Annie laughed in appreciation, and pressed closer with a seductive wiggle and promising smile.
How was this guy buying this? Tim was on Catherine now, rubbing against her from behind, his expression vacuous, Catherine’s stoic. There was nothing Catherine could do, nothing she would do as long as Malcom was in Gerry’s grasp. Which, Nicola could see, had grown loose.
Now. Now was her chance. She slipped around the bay and untied the leather holding the shotgun. She knew it was loaded. Mattea had told her it always would be, to be careful with it. “No good to us empty,” he’d said, as he’d tied it down. She hadn’t answered of course. She had been biding her time, checking him out.
But that was a thousand years ago.
She knew this close she could not miss.
The shotgun was free. She stepped softly around the bay. Annie had her hand on Gerry’s neck. Her eyes met Nicola’s over Gerry’s shoulder. Nicola raised the shotgun, nodded once.
Annie pulled Malcom free, screamed, “Run!” while shoving Gerry backward, toward Nicola. She dove to the ground, he turned, faced Nicola, his angry expression slapping into fear.
She pulled the trigger, the gun slamming back hard against her shoulder. She barely felt it. Hit squarely in the center of his chest, Gerry flew up from the ground, landing on his back in the brush. She swung the barrel toward Tim, who’d dropped his hands from Catherine in surprise—this was a good thing; Catherine leapt away, rolling across the ground.
Topher, no, that was wrong—Tim stepped back, his hands raised in protest, back peddling into the forest. She followed deliberately, easily stepping over Gerry’s inert body. Tim was saying something to her, begging, she guessed, but the blast of the shotgun had taken her hearing with it. His expression, his talk, meant nothing to her. He meant nothing to her.
She pulled the trigger again. The gun slammed back against her body, this time almost knocking her off her feet. She staggered, but kept on advancing. Tim was down, but he was still alive. The shot peppered his sweater, with blood blooming into the stitches—stockingette stitches.
She knew this because Catherine had taught her this stitch; it was a beginner’s stitch, good for hats. Like the hat Annie was knitting. Such a pretty blue wool they had found at that last place they’d stumbled across... Blood also speckled Topher’s shiny collection of knives. She saw she’d caught him on the shoulder only. She couldn’t have that. Oh no, that would not do the job.
The shotgun was empty, but it wasn’t useless. With one smooth action, she swung it around, gripped the barrel with both hands and smashed Topher’s stupid, ugly, predatory, killer’s face into the ground with the stock. She did it again. And again, until Topher wasn’t talking, Topher wasn’t anything anymore. She dropped the shotgun, stepped over the dead man and walked into the forest.
12
SALT CAVES
After crossing the old Dawson bailey bridge, they’d followed the river for much of the day, counting on the river’s edge gravel to disguise any trail they left. It was a good move, in consideration of the map they’d poured over this morning. By following the river, they saved themselves over a hundred miles of highway, highway they knew was too dangerous to trust. This way, Wren’s hideaway was secure.
The ride was hard on Hero, so they went slow, easing over bumps and dips, with Rhea holding him gently. Hero slept much of the way, opening his eyes when they stopped to rest, accepting bits of cooked rice by hand from Rhea. It was good he was eating, at least.
By nightfall, they had circled around and past the southernmost part of Wren’s thousand-acre tract of land. If they had calculated correctly, they could slip through a safely accessible passage old Jacob Spencer had pointed out to her on a map when she’d bought the place. Strictly speaking, he’d warned her, she would be crossing private property to get to her land, but the access was there. Maybe Jacob had imagined she had enough money to buy that tract of land as well.
Didn’t happen, of course, but, it was a moot point now. Were the former owners even alive? She didn’t imagine her little entourage would be encountering resistance out here in the wilderness. The whole point was to enter without being seen and it was working. They hadn’t come across anyone since leaving Rushton. This was both good and bad news. Good because there were no hostile encounters, bad because—well, because, where was everyone? Surely there were more survivors, people like themselves who wanted to live a decent, safe life among trusted neighbors.
They were approximately one day’s travel from their destination. Wren could hardly contain her eagerness to get back home. She wanted to keep going, but the children were exhausted and poor Hero had stoically taken hours of being shaken. It was time to rest.
During their lunch break, Bill had pointed out the salt caves along the river, suggesting they camp inside the caves rather than out in the open. The small heaters he’d brought along, charged by solar energy, could keep them warm inside a small cave, without much heat loss. Wren agreed, first because she thought his idea was a good one, and second, because someone else was making a decision. It was nice to just go along.
They found the caves easily enough, though, if they hadn’t had Bill’s maps, they would have missed them entirely, they were so well hidden and not generally known. The children brought sleeping gear into the largest cave. Bill brought in the cold supper they had prepared ahead at lunch and set up the heaters to be used when it grew colder. Wren set up a rest area for Hero and carried the dog into the cave on her back. It was a bit of a chore strapping the dog on. Bill did this, being as careful with the wounded dog as he could. But it was the only way they would get the animal into the cave with the steep incline from where they’d secreted their vehicles within the forest.
The access was by a narrow path along a sharp forty-foot drop-off down to the beach. They couldn’t see the river from the cave; it was shielded by brush. Wyatt wanted to cut it back so they could see the river, and anyone coming, had his knife out to do the job when Bill stopped him at the last minute. ‘We might want the cover,” he said.
Wyatt put his knife away reluctantly. Wren understood. She liked the idea of seeing what was coming their way, as well. Forewarned was forearmed.
Wren knelt before the dog. “Let’s check Hero’s wounds while we still have some decent light.”
They all crowded around the animal. Wren washed her hands in the bucket of water Wyatt had provided and began to peel off the dog’s bandages. They were relieved to see everything looked good. The stitches had held up well, the wounds looked clean and pink. Bill gave the dog another pain pill inside a rice ball, the same as they had done at breakfast and at lunch.
Rhea lifted Hero’s head. “Look at this, Uncle Bill. Aunty Wren. This doesn’t look so good.”
She was right. The right side of hero’s face, the side that had been against the blankets all day was swollen. Wren laid her hand on the dog. And hot.
“It’s the punctures, here in his cheek. This one in particular.” She pointed close to Hero’s eye, now swollen as well. “They’re not clean. They drive bacteria deep into the tissue, where it festers and can get infected. I wish we had antibiotics. Hero will have to fight this off on his own.”
“We’ll lay him so this side of his face is up tomorrow,” Bill said.
Wren cleaned all Hero’s wounds, applied more antibiotic cream, and redressed them. The dog watched her face throughout the whole procedure with warm, chocolate eyes, his faith plain in their depth. Oh, how she needed this dog to survive. He had her heart already.
It wasn’t until later, much later, that they knew they were in deep trouble.
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 13