“Good to know,” Coru said, wheeling his horse to follow. “Are they mounted?”
“Yes.” Mattea looked over at Wren. “Anything?”
She shook her head. They took off at a fast clip, banking on Wren to signal when they needed to back off. After about three miles south east, steadily climbing, Wren signaled for them to stop. They dismounted and secured their mounts, looking to her for direction.
She closed her eyes, her body tense, and listened. After several minutes, she opened her eyes and smiled. “Jarvis and Nicola risked traveling up on the highway blacktop, circled round and gave them the slip. Jarvis obscured their re-entry tracks. With no more tracks to follow back here, those guys are headed toward Dawson Creek. They have no idea they’ve already lost.”
Mattea asked, “And Nicola and Jarvis are okay?”
“Right as rain, headed right toward us.”
“Will those four come back, looking for their friends?” Sean asked, still worried. “We should maybe make sure now, while we know where they are?”
Wren barked a little laugh. “They won’t come back; they were never friends. They’re glad to be rid of them. We’re clear.”
Coru literally sagged in his saddle. Mattea knew what they’d done in the woods to protect the family at D.O.A. had taken its toll on him. Yes, he had the ability, but it was something he loathed to do. Coru would be withdrawn for the next few days, as he processed what he had done, the same as any other encounter Mattea had witnessed. The street fight in Hope, the incident in Prince George — even he didn’t like to recall that one — and the rescue from Topher. All had been hard on Coru, and this would no doubt also take time for Coru to make peace with himself over.
Wren interrupted his thinking. “They’ll be coming over the crest of that hill in a few minutes. They’re feeling testy at the moment, so don’t do anything rash until they recognize us.”
As predicted, Nicola and Jarvis did crest the hill, and did startle before realizing who they were seeing. There were two dogs with them. After a telling moment of hesitation, they urged their horses and the mule forward and galloped the rest of the way, closing the gap between them in minutes. Nicola threw herself off her horse and into Wren’s embrace. Jarvis was slower to dismount, but his expression was no less happy to see allies instead of enemies. Two skinny dogs, a collie and a golden lab raced around the group with joy. The mule set about eating whatever he could reach while they were stopped, his ribs apparent, but he seemed in good health.
With their arms still entwined, the women paced away, heads together, exchanging news. The men smiled and clapped one another across the back, giving short, terse statements.
“What’s up, man? You’re looking kind ’a peaked.”
“Almost didn’t make it.”
“Way to avoid chores, ya bastard.”
“Those other guys?”
“Taken care of.”
“Gotta say, my ass is as sore as hell.”
“Where’d ya’ pick up the mutts?”
“Same place as the Mule. Locked inside the barn. Ripped open a giant bag of dog food. Trickling hose kept them in water.”
“Still got the cabin to scrub out, Bud. No more skatin’ for you!”
“This was no picnic!”
“You won’t be sluffin’ off tomorrow.”
Short and sweet and it was all good. But this wasn’t the time to exchange news. Mattea had them back up on their mounts and headed back to D.O.A. the way he and Sean had traveled earlier today, excited about bringing toys and a bunkbed for the kids, so long ago. It was almost dark now, and the family would be anxious to hear all was well.
Careful to leave no trail back into D.O.A., Mattea’s gaze was riveted on Nicola, grateful she was still here, healthy and alive. If he’d found different, what would he have done? These feelings were a surprise. Mattea liked everyone, accepted everyone, lived to get along. Watching Nicola now, slumped in her saddle, bone weary, he knew his easy-going days were done.
Today, they’d gotten lucky. He wouldn’t put her life at risk again.
21
NESTING
The screening of the boat launch was moved up as the most important task, ahead of the old cabin. The men would just have to stick it out in the barn for a few more nights.
A wide thirty-foot frame was constructed from odd pieces of lumber. The children were tasked with weaving cut willows in and out, leaving enough of each cut sapling to dig into the soil once the structure was in place. Mattea explained that the saplings would quickly root out and spring foliage, screening the structure by the end of summer. So, not helpful now, but by next year, the boat launch would look like any other part of the river’s edge. In the meantime, the men dragged beached river logs into place, filling the space, leaving other logs up and down river so the boat launch logs looked like all the rest—haphazard, and exactly where they should be.
Next, they cut evergreen branches and stuck them into the ground all around the structure, protecting the willows ‘til they sprouted. The evergreens, if they were lucky, would last for weeks. If needed, they could be replaced with fresh greenery. Lastly, they found young trees in the forest, carefully dug them up and planted them in a natural pattern all around the area. Once they took hold, there would be no trace of the boat launch. This took four days of back-breaking work, but the results were astounding. The screen was perfect, and the hidden belt did its job beautifully, ringing all day as they worked. Catherine never complained at the incessant bell, claiming that the sound was music to her ears.
By now the garden was awash with weeds, and needed tending. Everyone worked an hour at weeding first thing, before the sun hit and it grew too hot to work. The chickens were the happy recipients of the pulled weeds, chickweed being their favorite. Already there were pink and green berries on the raspberry and strawberry bushes, with Saskatoons not far behind.
Wyatt and Malcolm put the bunkbed back together up in the loft, with Sandy’s patient guidance. Once they were done, Dan secured it to the wall, and the boys made up their beds with pride. Now the two double beds they had been sleeping on had to go. There was no more avoiding the pit that was the old cabin.
Everyone was drafted, save Annie, as she was getting around more and more awkwardly. Even Bill was put to work, in charge of driving needed supplies back and forth in Beastette. It took half a day to sweep out the filth, and three more to scrub it out to Catherine’s high standards.
It was quickly discovered the garden hose stuck in through the wall was the highway to paradise for the local field mice, of which there were plenty. The highway was closed down at once.
Dan had a commercial grade counter with a stainless countertop from an old restaurant, up in a storage shed at his place, which he installed in the kitchen. Once that was in place, he was quick to change out the sink, installing a double sink and proper taps. The fridge was still decent, so it stayed. The stove was a loss, but the men didn’t plan to cook in the old cabin in any case. It would be chock full of beds and seating around an old table for relaxing in the evenings. There was little storage for food or kitchenware. Sean and Jarvis built a sturdy, insulated addition on the back of the cabin, behind the kitchen area. They built the new structure up and around a hundred-gallon fresh water tank, with access to fill it from the outside. They built it with room for a small vented generator to charge up the cabin’s power batteries should their charge fall too low during the winter, with its short days and limited sun for the solar panels. One of the batteries would be dedicated to warming this new water and power shed to above freezing, and keep the men’s cabin in fresh running water through the winter months. They wouldn’t have a lot of water—it would have to be either pumped from the river or taken from Wren’s well into a tank on the back of Dan’s truck, driven to the back of the cabin and filled. But, they would have enough for a quick wash, or to heat up on the wood stove for coffee or tea.
Sandy and Wyatt hauled the old composting toilet down to th
e river and let river water run through it for a few hours, then brought it back on shore, took it apart and scrubbed it from top to bottom. By the time they had put it back together again, it looked brand new.
Back it went into the tiny bathroom, with a bucket of sawdust and a scoop. The wash stand was functional as it was, now that it was no longer encased in spider’s webbing, and was clean. It was a pretty blue set, with a handy matching dish for a bar of soap. A crude but functional overhead shelf was installed for washcloths and towels, and a mirror added for the men, should they ever grow tired of their beards and take up shaving again. L.E.D. lights were strung around the inside perimeter, courtesy of Dan’s post-apocalyptic emporium up on the hill.
Still, they all agreed that during the summer and into the fall, they would stick to the outhouse unless at night. Much easier on everyone.
The men fashioned rough wooden frames for the mattresses they’d collected, getting the mattresses in the overhead loft up and off the floor. They were made up with miss-matched but clean bedding and blankets, and each was topped off with one of Mona’s cheerful quilts. Again, L.E.D. lights were strung around the inside perimeter of the loft for at night. Wood side tables were constructed for beside each man’s bed, and hooks were attached to the walls to provide places for clothes. Low plastic bins slid under each bed for more clothing storage.
A heavy iron kettle and pot for their wood stove and some dishes, cutlery and mugs were liberated from Dan’s house and set up in the men’s cabin, along with a few decks of cards, a chess set, a checker board and a ton of classic movie disks that fit an old disk player he had.
By the time the men’s cabin was ready, Catherine had to turn her attention to jam making. The strawberries and raspberries were plentiful, with Catherine claiming half for jam, Mattea claiming the other half for drying. Mattea’s dried berries could be added to baking or hot cereal, or trail mix for when they were on the move and needed supplies that were light and easy to store and transport.
Mattea had constructed an amazing food drier, all draped in fine mesh to keep the bugs away. Once dried to his satisfaction, he would store the now tiny berries in glass jars. Every morning the children picked berries, eating their fill as children will do, bringing the rest to Catherine and Mattea to divide and preserve.
Mattea and Dan got together and built a large smoker, which they fired up on overcast days only and gradually worked their way through the elk Dan had frozen up at his place, thawing and smoking it over time, then storing this too inside glass jars. How long power would stay on they didn’t know. This way they could save it all. Wren’s pantry shelves began to fill in.
Coru spent much of his time away from D.O.A. once the men’s cabin was complete and the garden irrigation system was up and running. He, Sean and Jarvis groomed the two extra escape routes, created a third and set up caches of supplies, buried in easily accessible spots along each. This was a big job, but as important as a bed at night, or food on the table. They had to have a way to bug out if it came down to that. Where they’d go, though…
Coru couldn’t afford to think of that yet. Building a second, larger cabin, maybe, or digging a living space into the side of the hills had crossed his mind. They’d need to bring in support beams. Underground was insulated, was easy to keep warm… But he was just delaying the inevitable, wasn’t he?
He took out his tablet and ran the tips of his fingers along the coordinates his father had set, glowing on the screen, beckoning him home.
Home to what? What would he find there? How had this pandemic effected the future? Had Payton made it home? Coru knew already Payton hadn’t found Wren in WEN 2036. She was here now, ten years later, on her own, with no brilliantly successful scientist father in tow. What had happened to Charles Wood in the last ten years? His research was supposed to have leapt forward in great ways by now, sending shockwaves through the scientific world. But not a peep.
Then his thoughts would drift back once again to his group of survivors, and how he could make them safe before he left them. Underground hideaway? It sounded good.
This is what kept him up at night, his mind always coming back to the slide up Wren’s road. What if another slide happened and they were trapped inside? He went round and round. He should be satisfied they were all safe now, well on their way to settling in for the winter.
With a sigh, he tucked the tablet back into the inside pocket of his shirt, and settled into his sleeping bag out here in nature, under the stars. He was on Dewdrop Hill watch, as usual. The story was, when it got real cold, he would join the others inside the men’s cabin. That would never happen. It was time, now, he knew. Time to approach Wren, reveal himself to her, and ask for her help. He’d done all he could for the group.
WREN WAS on the prowl once again, searching out ways to listen in on Coru’s thoughts. His mind was endlessly fascinating, a strange mixture of practicality and fantasy world. By day, he worked hard to make sure D.O.A. was secure, that they had escape routes out if they needed them, with supplies planted along each. He’d rigged the garden’s irrigation system up as a “set it and forget it” system, releasing the D.O.A. family of that time-consuming chore. This ensured that their garden would produce enough food for all. He’d patiently assisted Deklin in setting up his two precious beehives, and made sure Deklin was able to make his cheeses, encouraging and praising the boy along the way. He’d spent days with Dan, up to his elbows in grease, basically rebuilding the old square bailer in time to harvest the alfalfa, which was almost ready. He and Mattea had built a shed big enough for all the ATVs and well hidden in the woods, with a quick drive forward option should they have to bug out quickly. All commendable.
The strangest thing she’d witnessed him do, this when he thought no one was watching, was to slip into the woods and wrap his arms around a big old tree, and press his ear to it, as if listening to it. She’d snuck a peek into his thoughts and had been surprised to learn he was trying to detect and absorb the tree’s energy. To Coru, the trees all around them were sacred.
She’d been ashamed of her spying and had quietly withdrawn, determined to keep her curiosity about Coru at bay with constant activity. She concentrated on canning foods with Catherine, de-hydrating foods with Mattea, practicing her archery over in the small six-acre field, where the children never played. She prepared baby diapers and clothes for Annie’s coming baby and made soap bars and shampoos and laundry soap with Sandy. Read to the kids, threw sticks for Hero, Xena and Ninja. If all else failed, she milked Missy and churned butter, which got old very fast, she had to admit. You could churn butter and still speculate about a man, it turns out.
But now, her curiousity about the man was back and was overpowering. There would no sleeping for her tonight. She knew for sure he’d been a gamer in his pre BSV days, maybe even a game programmer. She even thought she might know the name of the company he’d worked for — Timebore. At night, he dreamed endlessly of alternate gaming worlds, and seemingly had two favorites. One was that of a rich, privileged society where the people all lived in luxury in the clouds, with political intrigue and dramas that rivaled Rome’s when it was in power. The other was a survival game that took place in a ruined earth-like landscape named Surface, where a beaten civilization scraped out life amidst ecological disaster. It was always one or the other.
Tonight, she was driven to seek him out again, to listen to his dreams again. She was becoming obsessed. As she drew closer to where he usually bedded down, she heard that he was asleep already, and tonight’s dream was taking place on Cloud Rez. She settled down beside a tree, wrapped herself inside the wool blanket she’d brought along and listened.
This new man, Tetla, was good, and Coru had had no hesitation to introduce him to his father, First Council, Cyprian Wisla. Cyprian knew it was a feather in Tetla’s hat to even be here on Cloud Rez and Coru was glad to make it happen; Tetla had been more than decent to Coru on Surface and deserved the hand up.
Tetla’s technique wa
s nearly painless, though Coru knew the tiny needles would send an unsettling vibration through his father’s skull. The fact that Cyprian could continue working at his control boards while his newest tattoo, this for Level 12 Clearance, was applied just behind his right ear, was motivation enough to bring this guy up from Surface. Tetla was cheap — all Surface workers were — but, ultimately, he was better and available, and that suited Cyprian’s busy schedule perfectly.
Wren was surprised. Surface World and Cloud Rez World were linked worlds? The haves and the have nots? Interesting.
Coru was thinking—the goons from Stratosphere Ink Artists were the opposite of artistic. Typically, they were the offspring of privileged Cloud Rez residents who had no career options beyond what Mommy and Daddy could purchase for them in order that they remain living above Surface, safe from the real labor of restoration. What annoyed Coru most was the Stratosphere Ink guys’ attitude of entitlement as they clumsily doled out pain and poorly rendered certifications. Though each soul living on Cloud Rez was required to display their station and accesses through head symbols, it didn’t necessarily follow these souls were required to be permanently disfigured by Cloud Rez brats on the loose with a fist full of needles.
Tetla wiped at Cyprian’s shaved skull with a warmed cloth. “Anti-biotic,” he murmured before tossing the used cloth into a small bio-burner at the corner of Cyprian’s work surface. With barely a whisper, the cloth burned cleanly away. “All done, First Councilor.” He raised two mirrors to display his handy work.
Cyprian glanced at the new insignia, a black dragon. “Fine work, Citizen Tetla.” He extended his forearm to Tetla. The skinny tattooist laid his wrist against Cyprian’s to receive the agreed upon 1000 credits, a fortune to Tetla. Surface was a very tough place to be these days.
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 23