Sandy stood frozen in place, her face white. Wren heard that she wondered if she would be able to keep the corn down she’d just eaten.
“Mind over matter, Sandy. Keep that corn. Food is precious, as you know.”
Sandy blinked. “You really can …”
“Yes. We’re—.”
“We’re? There are more of you?” Sandy glanced around, looking fearful once again.
“Yes. Two children, a man and an injured dog. We’re hiding in the cave just above you, waiting for when it’s safe to come out and leave ourselves. Drake’s interest in that pistol is a mighty good motive to stay hidden.”
Sandy gasped. “Children! You have children?”
Wren was surprised to see Sandy’s face harden at the thought of Drake getting his hands on children. This, right here, was the way into Sandy’s heart. She loved children.
“We’ll help you get away from Drake. You can come with us.”
Sandy nodded her head eagerly, her wariness tossed aside. She wanted to see those children, touch and hug those children. Wren smiled, knowing she’d made the right decision to approach Sandy. “Okay. Let’s pull out some supplies and slip back into the cave. We’ll have to stay there ‘til Drake, Kira, Andrea and Todd move on.”
Sandy smiled ruefully. “Trust me, it won’t take them long. Drake’s a lousy fisherman.”
“Sad but true. They’re leaving the only person worth knowing in their group.”
Unprepared for the compliment, Sandy blushed.
They loaded up a bag with supplies and slipped back to the lip of the cave’s roof. Sandy’s three companions were safely out of sight. Wren and Sandy ran lightly along the salt cave’s roof ridge, down the steep side path and along the narrow path that ran before its opening, brushed past the scrubby greenery screening the entrance and slipped inside in under a minute.
Bill came forward, his rifle in one hand, but his hand other extended. Quietly, he said, “Welcome, Sandy. So glad you could join us.”
Sandy stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, then threw herself into his arms, crying silent tears of gratitude. Oh Gramps! You’re just like Gramps! Sandy’s thoughts rang out, followed by an exploding jumble of childhood memories with a man who looked remarkably like Bill.
Wren smiled, watching them, loving the sight of this happy Sandy, this kind Bill who held the girl tightly, understanding her tears.
Something new buzzed in Wren’s head; a warning. She strayed to the mouth of the cave, drawn by a new emotion emitting from the river’s edge below. Things had shifted in the last few minutes and not in a good way. What had happened?
“Okay, I heard something for sure this time,” Drake was telling them. “You guys can sit on your butts, but there’s something happening up there and I’m going to see what it is.” He pulled out his pistol and started up the incline, using exposed roots for handholds.
Wren whirled toward Bill and hissed, “Gun! Gun!”
Inside Drake’s head, she saw him grasp each exposed root, hauling himself closer to their hiding place, grunting with the effort, graceless, fumbling with his right hand, the hand still holding the pistol. You want to play games, huh, Sandy? I’m up for games.
His head popped over the top ridge and at eye level, scanned the narrow plateau, his gaze narrowed, missing the cave entrance completely.
He’d see it the moment he pulled himself up onto the ridge.
Bill thumbed off the safety and snugged the rifle to his shoulder.
Drake swung his left leg over the ridge, missed, lost his hand hold. Inside his head, in rapid fire Wren felt surprise, disbelief, then horror. She knew his terror as he grappled for a new hold, his clarity at seeing his hand, so close, miss, grasping only air. He pitched backward, in slow-motion, the pistol firing once, twice, three times in succession, sharp reports echoing back across the water. Before the last shot echo died, Drake’s world wheeled: He saw land, he saw green trees, he saw blue, cloud-streaked sky, he saw glittering silver water. He saw wet, shiny rocks. He saw black.
Wren fell to the floor of the cave like a stone.
13
TRAVELING CIRCUS
After Coru had gotten a jumbled story from Malcolm and Annie of what had occurred in their absence, he loaded Catherine and the gorily blood, bone and brain spattered Nicola onto Mattea’s horse. The horse was not happy with its new, gory burden, no doubt frightened by the smell of death. Coru mounted his own with Malcolm in front, and led them back to the Biczek farmhouse. Mattea and Annie were tasked with finding and bringing in their spooked horses along with their precious supplies.
At the farmhouse, Coru sent Catherine inside with Nicola to take advantage of soap and hot running water with the promise he’d keep a close eye on Malcolm. He, for one, would be glad to see the last of what was literally pasted to Nicola’s body. How she wasn’t freaking out, he had no idea. Seeing the burning satisfaction in her eyes was worse than the dull and distant stare he’d grown used to. She was practically vibrating with joy at what she’d done. They would no doubt be unpacking the emotional results of today’s attack over the next few days.
This he’d leave to Mattea—the man had worked magic with Nicola since they’d found her. Yes, somewhere under all that damage, Nicola might be a nice enough person, but Coru didn’t have the time or the patience for “nice enough”. This whole incident was his reminder he was here for Wren Wood and that was all. Then he was gone from this insane place. He ran his hand over his chest where his tablet was secreted inside his jacket, his passage back to his own time. God, let Payton be safe, and able to return to our world. And let me find Wren Wood.
But first he was about to assemble a parade of farm animals to bring along with him in his Wren Wood search.
His shoulders sagged at the thought. With every passing day, it seemed as if he was further away from his goal than the last. Where had his warm and fuzzy feelings that these were his people disappeared from only an hour ago? He recalled his father’s accusations that he was a dreamer when he’d insisted on going to surface to reclaim the ruined land.
He recoiled at the thought of his father. He couldn’t afford to think of him. The man who’d been so cold toward him his entire life had teared up just before Coru had jumped through the Time Bore. If Coru had blinked, he would have missed it—the only evidence he’d ever witnessed that his father had genuine feelings for him. It was a revelation he barely trusted after years of distance between them.
“Coru?” This from Malcolm, his expression puzzled. Coru saw he’d zoned out, his thoughts pinging around inside his head like a Zepher game. The two boys stood awkwardly here on the porch, waiting on him, Deklin’s face ashen, Malcolm’s lost.
Right. He was in charge of the boys.
To distract the opened-mouthed Deklin from Nicola’s shocking appearance, he introduced him to Malcolm, moving them away from the farmhouse toward the barn. The boys trailed along with him, Malcolm sticking close, Deklin bouncing with excitement. By the time they hit the barn doors, the boys were bonded, having instantly recognized a fellow lost boy, and Coru had himself an eager team, fully occupied with corralling and loading Deklin’s collection of animals into the cages fastened to the four ATVs.
Missy waited patiently in her stall with Junior laying in the straw by her side. A pretty little tricolored goat—her name was Daisy—jumped up on Missy’s back and looked around her domain from this new angle, her eyes bright with curiosity. Missy didn’t even flinch. Coru took one look, shook his head and turned away. A cow. I’ll think about this later.
He inventoried the barn for useful items, collecting them in a pile in the center of the barn while keeping an eye on the two boys, but staying out of their way. The goats, Coru’s first experience with the animals, were a revelation. A little black goat with hair that seemed to fringe the edge of its body like lace—almost like she was wearing a summer dress—danced and twirled, sprang up into the air and turned, landing nimbly facing in a new direction. Co
ru caught himself laughing at the animal’s antics and had to stop himself from reaching out to pet her. She was a charmer, all right. Her name was Smudge, and judging by Deklin’s smile-wreathed face, was his favorite, though it was so obvious the boy loved all his pet goats. Daisy leapt down from Missy’s back and joined Smudge in a game of tag up and down three-laddered bales of hay. These were Nigerian dwarf dairy goats. Toby and Grizzly, both a collection of white, tan and black markings, with white faces and black masks appeared to have a bit more decorum in their behavior, stopping from time to time for a few friendly head butts before returning to munching on an alfalfa bale. The littlest goat was Daisy’s daughter, and was named Echo. Still only the size of a cat, she danced joyfully around the others on the tips of her tiny hooves, sometimes joining in on the play at hand, sometimes off in what seemed to be an imaginary world of her own.
“Two boys and three girls,” Deklin explained to Malcolm. “Daisy and Smudge give milk, and we drink it and make butter with it.” Malcolm’s eyes were round with wonder. “Goats are like people. They like to stay together. They play together and they eat and sleep together. If they don’t see their friends, they get very, very sad. The meanest thing ever to do is to leave a goat all by itself. I never do that to my goats.”
Malcolm shook his head in agreement that this was a terrible thing to do to one’s goats, and drank it all in, his face a revelation. This was Malcolm when he wasn’t afraid. A normal, engaged kid. Coru was glad of the break from the reality the boys would be facing all too soon.
In the end, the goats went into the travel cages easily enough. Deklin had a definite way with the animals, which he was eager to share with his new friend, Malcolm, telling him he would show him how to milk Daisy and Smudge, when Daisy knew Malcolm better. “And I’ll show you how to make cheese. I have the stuff. My Pops got it for me.”
Cheese? We’re going into the cheese making business? Coru closed his eyes and breathed deeply, praying for patience before continuing with his scavenging for supplies, the new imperative here in WEN 2046.
For his part, Malcolm drank in Deklin’s words as if there was a test scheduled for the end of the day. Despite his sour mood, Coru did appreciate the effect the handicapped boy had on young Malcolm. God knew the boy had seen enough since the virus hit his life. He deserved this little bit of happiness corralling the bleating goats, bundling their gangly little bodies into the cages amid peals of laughter and comical games of tag with the frisky creatures.
The two bee hives were already carefully loaded onto the ATVs. Checking them out gingerly, Coru had to appreciate Deklin’s complete faith his signal fire would bring someone to him today. The surprise was, he’d been correct—they had come, like … he stopped, considering the irony, then shrugged and carried on with his thoughts—like honey bees to nectar. Deklin’s signal fire had drawn them in, just as he’d planned.
Mattea appeared at the door, leading the spooked horses. The man was a miracle worker.
“How’d you catch them?”
“Simple. They wanted to be caught.” He burst open a bag of oats with the sharp edge of a shovel and tossed the grains across the barn floor for the horses, who eagerly took him up on his offer.
Catherine appeared at the door. She was wearing a navy sweater and wool pants, cinched at the waist with a belt, clothes Coru hadn’t seen before. Doubtlessly she had gone through the Biczeks’ closets for usable clothing for their group. With her hands planted on her hips, she said, “We should get started soon. I want to be far away from this place before we camp for the night. If you want a hot shower before we go, now’s the time, gentlemen.”
Mattea and Coru exchanged looks and broke for the door, racing for the house.
Within the hour, their parade of animals and vehicles left the Biczek’s yard. This time, they rode in the ATVs, with Mattea and the two boys, who wanted to stay together, leading the group. Catherine drove the second with Nicola seated contentedly at her side. Annie was third, her ATV loaded with supplies taken from the Biczek’s farm, with Coru driving the last ATV, this one carrying the bee hives and bringing up the rear, their small herd of horses and two cows trailing behind.
It was dusk now, and Coru was surprised at how quickly they moved along. Missy was a nimble little cow and Junior a strong calf, willing to follow his mother anywhere. They easily kept up with the horses. They passed the place where the two men’s bodies lay in the forest. Tim and Gerry—were those their names? Coru didn’t recall and had no wish to do so. The good news was his little tribe was onto a fresh path, traveling north to Rushton, following their planned route and shielded from the highway, making decent time. Not as flexible as the horses, there were places the ATVs had to traverse to get through, but get through they did, with little sound. They were charged by an archaic solar system that worked well and ran remarkably quietly. WEN 2046 was much more advanced in this area than he’d anticipated. What if they’d had to rely on the old fossil fuel vehicles he’d read about back in school? They’d been noisy, dirty old things that polluted the air, drank up fuel, and had limited range, announcing their presence to everyone. These ATVs weren’t your best transportation, but they were stealthy, and that made them perfect.
Yeah, if he was going to land in the wrong time-period, this would be it, he thought wryly. Silent getaway vehicles.
A shout—was that a shout he heard? With the animals in tow, he had fallen behind somewhat. The sound was coming from the front of their column, now out of sight. He hadn’t noticed how dark it had gotten, having grown used to the slight illumination the moon offered him.
There were more voices, raised in some sort of confrontation, and it was centered where the start of their traveling group would be. This could not be good.
He jumped from his ATV, grabbed his rifle and dodged into the woods. Crouched down, he wove through the trees. It wasn’t long before he could make out Mattea and the rest of their troupe. They were standing in a circle, backs together and facing out, and were surrounded by a group of men and women, all armed with rifles, shotguns, handguns, knives—any and all weapons were on display.
Coru counted. There were nine of them, four men, five women, every one of them armed to the teeth. Mattea was speaking for his group, trying to calm a bearded mountain of a man, their apparent leader, who rambled on incoherently, his ownership of his weapon flaccid, his actions sloppy and overblown. It was as if …
Coru dropped to his belly and inched forward. In dim moonlight, he squinted, homing in on the eyes of the armed circle of people. Those close to him seemed to be glaring at his captured troop with unnaturally dilated eyes.
It was as if they were high. On drugs, or booze? He didn’t smell alcohol from here and saw no bottles. It had to be drugs. What drugs were available back in WEN 2046? And who was stupid enough to get high out here where the next person you met might be willing to kill you for your shoes? There was a thriving drug culture back on Surface in his own time. It was the only escape many had from the unescapable reality of living in desperate times. He’d understood it, to a degree. These were certainly desperate times here in WEN 2046, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around someone’s choice to go down that road. It would almost certainly lead to a bad ending.
Now that he looked closely, he saw that Mattea and the boys had driven right through the middle of these people’s badly set up camp, catching them unawares, sending them staggering to their guns. This was a comedy roadshow—with weapons—the most dangerous kind.
Yes, now that he watched them closely, he saw that more than a few were swaying on their feet. They were all under the influence of some substance.
This could work in Mattea’s favor or against it. There were ugly, confrontational addicts and there were mellow, everyone’s their friend addicts. At first blush, this group seemed to be the ugly, confrontational addicts. Mattea had obviously concluded resistance at this point was a mistake and had allowed himself to be tied with the others, though Coru knew from
experience that Mattea could easily have gotten away, taking out more than a few as he did. This was not the time for flashy heroics.
They were bunching Mattea, the boys, Nicola, Catherine and Annie into a small area, tying their hands behind their backs and to each other, forcing them onto the ground. From the druggies’ behavior, they had no idea Mattea and his group were not alone. Mattea’s eyes swept the surrounding forest, searching before flicking away to face their captors. His expression told Coru Mattea would bide his time, waiting for Coru to act.
Coru had to be careful his rescue didn’t result in those in his own party being sacrificed. There were too many weapons, too many ways a bullet could find its way into one of his friends.
A screech of delight brought everyone’s attention away from their bound prisoners back to the captured ATVs. A skinny, blonde woman, missing a front tooth had discovered the caged goats in Mattea and Catherine’s vehicles. One of the cages was opened at once, little Smudge was dragged out, swung through the air by her two front legs. The tiny animal screamed in terror, a human cry that thrilled up Coru’s spine, bringing him to his feet, fighting the need to charge out into the camp, take the place by storm, smash these people into the ground, save Smudge, save his friends.
Deklin’s sobbing cries filled the night air at Smudge’s treatment. “Stop it! Stop it, you mean, mean people! You’re scaring her! Stop scaring Smudge! Goats are people, too!”
A knife was produced and little Smudge’s throat was cut, and she was gutted, her entrails tossed into the fire with a searing sizzle that brought torrents of screams and tears raging from Deklin and a dance of celebration from the druggies. Coru dropped onto his elbows and knees, squeezing his fists closed, moaning deep in his throat, rocking back and forth, a physical outlet for his need to run and seize and tear apart.
Happy, joyful little Smudge with her saucy, lacy dress, dancing across the barn floor filled his thoughts. Torture, pure torture, but he needed the image to block out that other one, that other one he could not allow his brain to see.
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 15