All he could hear was Smudge’s screams, Deklin’s cries. “You’re scaring her!” echoing over and over in his head.
Smudge’s screams.
“You’re scaring her!”
He made himself look up, staring out at the throng of revelers. A spit was swiftly devised. These people weren’t that drug addled. They saw fresh meat and wanted it.
All the while, Deklin sobbed and screamed, struggling against his bonds, a situation the missing tooth woman seemed to take a measure of pleasure in, holding Smudge’s head up in the crying boy’s direction. She shook it at Deklin, laughing, and attempted a few staggering dance steps before dropping the head into the dirt and falling beside it, her own head lolling. The sound of Deklin’s grief was a blade through Coru’s chest, sharp and savage, shredding his heart. He’d promised the boy a safe place. Not two hours from the Biczek farm, he’d failed in that promise.
Weapons flashed in the firelight. Coru had no choice but to watch and wait for an opening.
Over the next few hours, with their prisoners safely trussed up, the hungry captors roasted and devoured Smudge, the smell making Coru’s stomach heave. A lifetime later, they finished their meal by passing around a bottle containing tiny tablets. Each swallowed one. Coru watched as they began to drift from the group, find places to lay down, to zone out.
But was it enough that he could set his group free?
He moved closer to where his friends were tied together, watching the prone bodies as he did. No one moved. He coughed loudly. Still, no one moved. He ghosted from the trees to behind Catherine and cut her bonds, handing her one of his knives. Together they swiftly and silently freed everyone, then Mattea and Coru—and surprisingly, Nicola—tread softly through the camp, gathering abandoned weapons with care. Deklin walked through the camp as if it weren’t there, crawled inside the goat cage, shutting the door behind him, and lay silently amongst his pets. Catherine and Malcolm tied the ankles of those they could without disturbing their sleep, with whatever they could find on hand. That left only three for Coru to take care of, which he did with a satisfying knock to the head with the butt of his rifle. Standing over one person, he scared himself with his need to kill her. Staring at her face, he raised his rifle. Mattea’s hand appeared out from the darkness and stopped him.
“You’re not an animal.”
Coru looked at his friend and after what seemed a hundred years, blinked and recognized him and his words. He nodded and moved on.
After soaking the fire with water and blanketing the camp in darkness, they loaded the gathered weapons into their vehicles, climbed in and quietly drove away.
They backtracked, moved out onto the highway, where, though they were exposed, they could make much better time. They traveled all night on pavement, putting many untraceable miles between themselves and the passed-out drug gang, dropping back into the forest at dawn twenty-five miles south of Rushton. Quietly they set up their tents and all fell into their beds.
All through the night, staring up at the stars, Coru heard Deklin sobbing and Nicola’s steady, comforting murmur and knew he was powerless to stop the boy’s grief.
14
PATHS CROSS
Sandy was guiding The Beast along a narrow path, aided by the dim moonlight and the soft glow of Wyatt’s ATV’s rear reflectors; Wren was wrapped in blankets, with more piled on, in the passenger seat and still wasn’t warm. It felt as if she’d never be warm again. Being inside someone’s head when they died was not the place to be when you’re a telepath.
Sandy saw Wren was sitting up straighter now and looking around. Sandy reached over and squeezed Wren’s hand. “Feeling any better?”
“Not so groggy.” Wren made herself smile, which was an effort as her face felt like a stiff mask. Her whole body felt like she’d just arrived inside it and was learning how to operate the awkward thing.
Sandy’s smile was kind, but Wren could see the terror of abandonment inside her head. She—no, all of them—had been completely freaked out when Wren had dropped onto the cave floor and laid there unresponsive for nearly an hour. Especially Bill, who was counting on her to take over with the kids when his heart gave out. Didn’t Bill’s plan just break her spirit? The man knew his heart would betray him, that he was going to die, and soon. He so badly needed to know Wyatt and Rhea would be in safe hands. And Sandy. She was so new to their group, but already counting on Bill and Wren to keep her strong. If she knew about Bill’s heart …
It had been torturous for them, trapped inside the salt cave with her inert body and two frightened children. Below them by the river, the three remaining travelers screamed at one another as they scrambled to pull their stuff together to escape the sight of Drakes’ vacant stare up into the sky. They made no attempt to bury him, or secret his body. They just pulled up stakes and ran, with, surprise, surprise — Andrea in charge. Would they meet them again? What would happen if they did?
Wren shifted in her seat. Stop obsessing! She needed to get beyond this… this funk she was in. Releasing one of her arms from her swaddling of covers, she reached for the water bottle little Rhea had placed beside her when they’d started out and drank from it for a long time. Snap out of it, Wren.
Blinking her eyes, she took a good look around at where they were. Bill and Wyatt’s ATVs were ahead, traveling slowly for her benefit. Still they were making good time and should be on her land by dawn. Her stomach twisted at the thought of her own land, her safe little home in the woods. It was paradise compared to out here in the wild.
She knew, intellectually there would be people like herself, hiding, staying safe until they knew who they could trust. The real question was, how many of the others were out here? What was the proportion? Mostly bad, mostly good, half and half? What did it say that she could easily believe any of the three options? People were inherently good, right? People were inherently selfish, looking out for themselves and their own as well. People struck out at others before they were felled themselves. Fear was acted out in anger. She knew this inside and out, seeing it from angry people’s thoughts. Angry people were scared people. And there had to be a lot of scared people all around them. What was the death toll of the Boy Scout’s Virus? God, reading Bill’s reports in that claustrophobic little room was a lifetime ago. Was it 99% of the population dead? There were … She strained to remember.
“How many people were on the planet before the virus?” she asked Sandy.
Sandy blinked at the randomness of her question, then shook her head and shrugged. “Billions?”
“Yes—but how many billions?”
How hard did she hit her head? Flicked through Sandy’s thoughts.
Wren laughed softly. Yeah. Her question was a stupid one. She should be asking how many people had been here, in North America, and more precisely, lived here in the Peace Region, when the BSV ravaged the place. North America had, if she remembered correctly, maybe 600 million, and here in the Peace … Close to 60 thousand? Okay, say she was right and there were 60 thousand, and 99 percent were dead, that left 1 percent which was … She slowed down. That meant that throughout this whole region, made up of millions of miles of fertile farmland and forest, and criss-crossed by dozens of rivers and lakes, dotted with bustling little towns—was now on life support with only six thousand souls? In North America—the whole of North America—there were only six million people left?
The entirety of the devastation washed over her anew. And the irony. “Ha!”
Sandy looked over at her, then back to the trail. “What?”
“The Preppers were right.”
“The Preppers?”
“The nut-cases telling us to prepare to look out for ourselves; that the government wasn’t always going to be there to prop us up.”
“I knew a guy like that. He had a ton of stuff in his garage. Generators, tools, meals in packages. There was talk he’d dug out an underground shelter in his backyard. He was a strange one. Dressed funny too.”
; “Where are you from?”
“Dawson Creek.”
“Think all his stuff would still be there?”
Sandy shrugged. “I know he had the place all wired up against intruders. But, he died, just like everyone else. Generators and water tablets don’t protect you from viruses.” She glanced at Wren again. “You’d have to go get it.”
Wren sighed. “Yeah—there’s that.”
“God, where on this godforsaken planet are you, Wren Wood!?”
Wren gasped, grabbing Sandy’s nearest arm for support. This mind—a man—was close and powerful and reaching out in desperation. “Stop. Stop!”
Sandy stopped the Beast abruptly and turned toward Wren. “Are you going to be sick again? You want me to help you out?”
Wren shook her head, not trusting her voice. She closed her eyes and mentally reached out into the night. Where are you?
Sandy grabbed the walkie-talkie out of the dash compartment and told the others to stop, come back, something was wrong with Wren. Wren held her head in her hands and blanked her out, pushing, pushing her mind farther, farther, searching for the mind calling her name.
“Everything, everything depends on me finding you, Wren Wood.”
She saw a fire, a group of dancing, out of control people. She heard a sobbing boy. She felt the man’s tortured heart at what he was witnessing, helpless to stop it. He kept a neutral countenance—he had to—but inside he was raging. Raging! He’d wanted to murder tonight. He’d wanted to smash and destroy those who had hurt that sobbing boy. She turned away from his mind and searched for the boy. There were others, all asleep now, though their rest was broken with disturbing images of what they had experienced this night. All but one other, a woman, who watched over the boy. This mind was also tortured. David. David. David.
Wren opened her eyes, looked up at her family, all around her, their eyes worried. “We need to find them. We need to bring them with us.”
“Who?” Bill asked. “Who are you picking up?”
“People. Like us. They’ve been collecting survivors, like us, hiding them, protecting them, looking for a safe place. Something happened tonight. Something terrible. They’ve lost hope.”
“Can you locate them?”
She shut her eyes again and reached out into the darkness. She picked up several restless dreaming minds. Two minds remained awake, and were easier to follow. Coru was the man. He thought of his friend, another man named Mattea, this man had long flowing hair—it was an image Coru would never forget, the man with the long black hair, saving his life in a back alley in a small southern town. Coru had dragged this new friend along in this hopeless search for Wren Wood. The woman, named … Nicola. Nicola Zamora. She was grieving. Deeply grieving. She had a ball of fear inside of her now. She had killed someone. A grinning, evil man. No. She had killed two men and now she was afraid. She was afraid because she loved killing those two men. Loved it. But now she had Deklin …
Deklin! Deklin was the boy, crying in his sleep. Nicola lay beside him, stroking his head.
She opened her eyes. “I know where they are. I can follow their minds.” She pointed east. “We go that way, not far, to a small clearing off the highway. They’ve made camp there.”
They started up and turned around, with Bill driving with Wren at the front, Sandra with Rhea second and Wyatt and Hero at the end. This way, Bill had the idea he was protecting the children to some degree from an unknown group. Wren let him have his way. She knew already there was nothing to fear, but Bill had feelings, and she respected them.
They stopped at the edge of the clearing where the new group was making camp, and watched. As she knew they would, Coru and Mattea ghosted out of the darkness before them, their shotguns raised menacingly. She had caught snippets of what this group had faced these last few weeks and understood the men’s stance.
She put her hand on Bill’s arm. “It’s okay. They have children with them too. They’ve just had a horrible event. I would be shocked if they didn’t approach us in this way.”
She held out her hands, showing Mattea and Coru they were empty. “Can I get out?”
They scanned the three ATVs, taking in Bill, Sandy and the two children. She read the sight of two women with an old man and children allowed them to rein in their guard, but it wasn’t all hearts and flowers in their minds either. From their perspective, she would be wary as well.
“My name is Wren Wood.”
Coru dropped the point of his shotgun to the ground and staggered back. Mattea reached out to catch him, his face surprised at Coru’s reaction. Ah—so Mattea knew of Coru’s search, though he had no idea why his friend was so driven. Mattea had guessed Coru was in love with this mysterious Wren Wood, and had been searching for her for that reason. She blushed in the dark when she heard Mattea decide she’d been worth the search. Well, wasn’t it nice to know you still had it, even if you no longer enjoyed the luxuries of regular showers, fresh clothes and conditioner for your rat’s nest, tinder-dry hair. Mattea’s view of her showed she also now had a big bruise on her cheek from her time on the salt cave floor. Nice.
Back to Coru, who was gazing at her as if she were an apparition. In love with her? No. She’d never met the man before, she was sure of it. Who could forget a massively-muscled bald man whose head was decorated in strange tattoos? And he was so young to be bald, maybe in his mid-twenties, same as her? The tattoos were deliberate—definitely a strange life choice. She’d never seen anything like them before.
These two were quite the pair, like salt and pepper. Mattea was obviously native, and was tall, lean and well-built, with dark skin, long glossy black hair, no facial hair and had accepting, soulful dark eyes. Coru was white, though tanned, and also tall, but big and bulky, with that strangely tattooed head and a full reddish beard and was staring at her with piercing blue eyes as if he were a drowning man suddenly about to make shore.
Could they look more different?
And why was this Coru so desperate to find her?
She reached into his mind, then frowned. The man was running math equations, blocking her out.
She blinked, and tried again. The math equations sped up, louder this time, more determined. She stared at him in surprise. Defensive. He knew she could read his thoughts!
Mattea stepped forward, extending his hand to Bill. “I’m Mattea and this is Coru. You’re welcome to rest here with us.”
Bill took his hand. “That’s a kind offer, but we …” He looked at Wren before continuing. “We’re almost to our place. A safe place. We’re here to ask if you want to pack up now and come with us. There’s room for you all.”
Mattea’s eyebrows shot up at this. He was asking himself how they knew the number of his party. Reasonable.
Bill said, “We’re so close, and have come such a long way, we don’t want to stop.” He indicated Rhea and Wyatt, both of whom had come to hug him on either side and were staring up at the new strange men as if they were circus animals. “The kids are almost all in. Wyatt here drives one of our ATVs and it’s been too many hours.”
Mattea answered, his voice having a soothing cadence Wren liked. “Why not rest a bit, warm up by our fire? We’ll wake the others, do the introductions. You can tell us about your place and we’ll vote.”
Bill and Wren exchanged glances, then turned to get Sandy’s opinion. She nodded.
Bill said, “Okay. If you have coffee, you have a deal.”
Mattea grinned. “We have coffee. We even have cream for our coffee. Goat’s milk cream.”
Coru cringed then, an image of a pretty little goat.
Wren gasped, horrified by what he remembered of what had occurred only hours before. “I-I’m so sorry!”
Mattea looked puzzled. “You don’t like goat’s milk?”
She pulled Bill back to the far side of the Beast and whispered, “I have to tell them about me. Now, or this will never work.”
“So soon? Your ability to see what others are thinking is kind
of our ace in the hole, Wren. I’ve gotten used to my own private early warning system. If you—.”
“They’re alright. I know it. We won’t tell them all. Only Coru and Mattea. Trust me, it will go much easier if they know.”
Bill inhaled deeply, considering her face, then exhaled with a nod. “You know what you’re doing.”
She grinned. “You think?”
He grinned back at her and wrapped her in a hug. “Glad to have you back, kiddo. You had me worried there.”
“Try dying with someone. That’ll put a kink in your day.”
Coru stepped closer, an anxious expression on his handsome face. “Is there a problem?”
Wren and Bill moved apart. Wren chirped, “Nope. I was just conferring with my partner here, and we’ve decided you need to know something before you agree to join up with us. To be fair.”
His eyes changed. He knew what was coming and was deciding if he should confess he already knew or appear surprised, just as Mattea was about to be. She heard him decide to keep his knowledge to himself. Oh yes, he couldn’t recite math equations twenty-four seven, she thought with satisfaction. She’d figure this guy out.
“Don’t freak out. I’m a telepath and I found you when we passed by and I heard your thoughts.” She nodded toward the few tents set up in the moonlight. “And their dreams.”
Mattea smiled, skeptical.
“I know for instance, you all had a pretty terrible night.” She watched Mattea, letting herself be guided by his reaction. “Some druggies … You were tied up …”
He shook his head, not wanting the image back. She didn’t blame him.
She murmured, “Sorry. Just thought you should know. I can shut it off. I mostly do. But for now, I use it to make sure the people we meet are good people.”
Mattea turned to Coru. “Did you know this?”
Coru shrugged ignorance. She could see Mattea believed him; her story was too incredible. And he trusted Coru. Maybe too much.
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 16