Drury Road was quiet, the unattended fields overgrown, the houses empty of life, their dark windows like hollow, dead eyes staring across the river to the far banks, bewildered at being abandoned so cruelly. Wren was both sad and glad she had not known these people, her neighbors; sad she hadn’t taken the time and now missed them without even knowing them, glad because losing them would be like losing Mona, heart-breaking.
At the end of Drury Road, they stopped and considered the highway and the Rushton Bridge in the distance. Once on that bridge, there was no getting off until they reached the other side. They would be completely exposed. Coru turned Beastette onto the Alaska Highway toward the bridge. It was eerily empty here, no shadows from the trees with so little moonlight. Crossing the bridge, the vibration shaking her whole body, Wren felt sick, like when she was a child, in a moving vehicle. Today, seeing only black below, knowing there was a fast-moving river that had the power to seize her, carry her away with only this metal grid between her and that long, long fall made her stomach turn.
A previous incarnation of this bridge had failed, years ago, taking with it two little girls. Their father had had a tiny white steepled church built in their names in Rushton, at the edge of town. Rushton had grown of course, surrounding and dwarfing the tiny church, but it was there still.
She’d been inside that church. It was small, almost miniature, with a short central aisle, flanked by miniature oak pews that creaked when you sat in them. Pretty little stained glass windows let in the light. There was a stillness there, a peacefulness. She’d felt something in that little church, a connection.
Coru leaned toward her, and asked over the humming of Beastette’s tires on the iron grid of the bridge. “You okay?”
She nodded quickly, but kept her grip on the overhead strap tight.
Twice a year, in the spring and the fall, crews came, and for weeks welded this bridge, keeping it safe for travelers. Where were the welders now? How long before this bridge would fail? The enormity of the loss of life hit Wren anew. We need one another to survive. Why do we hunt one another down, kidnap, rape, enslave, trade, kill?
When they were across and met solid ground again, and the bone-vibrating sensation of the bridge was behind them, she released the air from her lungs with a whoosh. She’d never been afraid of the Rushton Bridge before.
Coru took them into the cover and relative safety of the trees and brush growing along the highway and they began the last leg of their journey. Rushton was not too far away now. Wren filled Coru in on all the little, important things she could remember about Rushton, things that were not apparent on the simple north and south street map of the town she’d carefully drawn out for him the night before. These details were small, but could mean the difference between success and failure. Like the fact the dumpsters lining main street could be cover, but the back lanes in the center of town could be traps as they were fenced in on both sides by high wire fencing. He should know that the park in which the museum was located also had a skate park, with high curves, low dips formed in cement, with high grassy berms, and a biking trail through a wooded area. Both could be good places to hide.
She told him the code to her father’s house in case she wasn’t with him by then.
He’d snorted, “Not going to happen, Wren.”
She ignored him, mentally going over the town in her mind, searching for vulnerabilities and potential secure places. If they were separated, familiarity with Rushton might save his life. The more he knew, the better off he’d be.
As they neared the outskirts of Rushton, she saw at once something was wrong. Something was different. Had it only been a month ago that she and Bill had torn out of this place with the kids, vowing to never come back? One month and something was definitely different. She could feel it in her bones. She caught hold of Coru’s arm. He brought the beast to a stop. “What … what’s that on the power pole up ahead?”
Coru slid his night vision glasses up to his forehead, replaced them with binoculars, adjusted the focus and scanned ahead. He stared for a long, telling moment. “Not good,” he murmured finally. “Not good at all.” He lowered the glasses and looked at her. “They’re crucifying people, Wren.”
“No!” Wren yanked off her goggles, snatched the binoculars from his hands and peered through them, adjusting the focus as he had. Up ahead, in Rushton proper, the street lights still worked, illuminating the big-box store part of town, the main entrance of 100 Street that led to the downtown core—and a grizzly truth. A man was pinned to the power pole, his arms outstretched across a timber perpendicular to the pole. His head sagged in death with a sign strung around his neck that flapped against his chest. The sign read, “Thief”.
She inhaled with a hiss, scanning other poles, saw other people, other signs. One said “Cannibal”, another said “Rapist”. “Hoarder”. “Thief”. She saw power poles, up and down both sides of the highway, similarly occupied, displaying dead people with signs she could not read. She moaned, “No,” dropping the binoculars into her lap. She closed her eyes against the vision, but it was still there, seared into her memory. “No.”
“It is a natural development in this situation, I’m sorry to say. Look at history, it’s happened again and again. In the absence of law, with no leader, a bully will seize power with the backup of a select following of like-minded believers. These followers deliver violent punishment to those who do not fall into line. As a reward these enforcers are at the table, have first choice of the available women, and gain respect from their association with the man in power.”
Coru was so matter of fact about it all—teaching a history class here on the Alaska Highway, strung with victims of a horrific monster. His neat, tidy summation angered her, knowing what Nicola had suffered at the hands of Topher. “Yeah, I get it. And that’s not respect, that’s fear.” She shoved the binoculars back into his hands harder than was necessary.
He wrapped the strap around the binoculars and stowed them away, then studied her, his expression patient. When she said nothing, he finally asked, “What do you want to do? I can take you back to D.O.A. right now and come here alone tomorrow.”
“Yes, yes,” she wanted to shout, but said nothing.
He said, “I can leave you here and go in on my own.”
She noticed neither of his suggestions included him not getting those tablets. So single-minded!
“Whatever you want, Wren, we’ll do.”
Listening to his focused, patient tone, her anger seeped away, leaving her to regret her outburst. Why was she angry at Coru? It was Coru and Mattea who had rescued Nicola. And Catherine and Annie, though Annie still pondered what life would have been like if she was with Topher. The foolish girl loved the man!
Wren shook away her knowledge of Annie’s strange obsession. What Coru was saying was all true. She said, “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. We all studied it in school. The rise and fall of civilizations.”
He nodded. “These crucifixions are a warning to others, both in the town and to those coming here. It’s telling intruders, ‘Step softly. This is how we keep everyone in line’. Soon, one of this man’s followers won’t be satisfied with his role as second and will challenge this leader, kill him, take his place and it begins again.”
“Much of civilization is thin-skinned, isn’t it?” Wren replied softly.
“It is. Man is both terrible and heroic. What path you take …” He slowed, then stopped, history lesson over. He shook his head. “Honestly, I can’t tell you how these choices are made.”
“‘The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior’.” Wren quoted. “So they say.”
Coru smiled at her. “What makes them think they’re so smart?”
She couldn’t muster the smile he was trying to bring from her. “You don’t have to protect me.”
“I’ll do it anyway.”
His vow felt strange. People didn’t vow to protect other people to the death, which is what he meant — s
he could read it in his mind. People helped one another by giving them a letter of reference to get that new job, by holding the door open at the bank, or letting someone with a “baby on board” take the close parking space at the mall. Being back here, in the shadows of her former home, her world tilted and that motion sickness feeling was back.
People did kill to protect.
One day she would kill to protect.
Could she kill a man? Could she be that brave? Or would she freeze up and let her own people down, show herself to be a coward? At the idea of protecting someone, say one of the kids, in her head she was all brave and would stop a killer in a heartbeat. But in real life, faced with a flesh and blood person, could she say, stab them? Or … or loose an arrow into their body?
She shivered at the thought, envisioning the sharp arrow slicing through a human body, because that’s exactly what an arrow would do. She needed to talk to someone about this. She should have talked to Bill before she came here. She’d been hiding from herself the fact she was horribly afraid to be here, to be trying this crazy plan, sneaking amongst the monsters for treasures. If she and Coru were discovered, could she protect him?
“Stop it!” she burst out.
“Stop what?”
She shook her head, erasing her weakness. “Nothing. I’m in a mental loop. It’s got to end.” She looked at him, recognized his concern. Why had she chosen now to have her doubts bubble to the surface? Coru deserved so much better than her at his side. “Remember those power poles. That’s what it has come down to Wren.” Oh, she’d said that out loud. Nice place to have a meltdown.
“Are you alright?”
“No. But, I’m working through it fast.”
He took her hand. “This is a whole different world now, right?”
She nodded, his acceptance of her struggle making her unable to speak.
“No one was ready for this Wren. None of us. There are no rules, just the rules of survival, and hopefully, somewhere in there, respect for self and others remains. You’ve heard of ‘Dog Eat Dog’? These people are living it. Out in D.O.A., we’re making other choices, and I believe there are pockets of people, all around us and who are just like us, grouping together, hiding to stay safe, helping one another.” He dipped his head to catch her gaze. “It will end. People will rise from this.”
She bobbed her head, wanting to believe as he did.
“You ready for this?”
She wasn’t, but she’d have to be. For Bill. She bobbed her head some more. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
He smiled at her encouragingly, flashing strong white teeth in his dark beard, lines crinkling the skin around kind eyes. His smile was a beautiful thing. A warm wave of gratitude flooded through her. Coru was a good guy to have by your side. She saw he believed they could do all they had set out to do here in Rushton. She decided she would believe in Coru.
She pointed to the right. “We go in, but we go in the back way. There’s a lazy little gravel road up here, Sand Pit Road, we can take. We’ll leave Beastette hidden in the bush as close as we dare, and go on foot.”
Coru started Beastette again, its low humming a familiar comfort. Before guiding it to the right, as she’d indicated, he caught her gaze and held it. “Know this, Wren. This man’s days are numbered. He has vulnerabilities. Decent people are scared now, but decent people will rise up.”
She fought the emotional tidal wave of wanting so badly to believe he was right. “But when, Coru? How many people will suffer before that happens?”
“As many as it takes for people to say, ‘Enough. This ends now’.”
“And that will be?”
He shrugged, and started the Beastette toward Sand Pit Road. “When it’s finally enough? When there’s no going back, only forward?”
“Let’s just think about getting out of here alive.”
They traveled up Sand Pit Road as far as they dared, set up the solar panels and hid Beastette, consulted their map to orient Coru, loaded up their gear, donned their night vision glasses and headed in. Coru’s weapon was a gadget he’d brought to this time, a high-bred stun gun. It was silent and effective. Wren had brought her cross bow, also silent and effective.
They headed straight for the Museum. They were running out of darkness and needed to get the tablets and find cover before it deserted them altogether. Their plan was to hide, if possible, in the drugstore nearby, if it was abandoned. They could search records as they waited. Failing that, they’d try for Wren’s father’s house. If it was safe, they’d spend the day there, resting and again, searching, only this time, for any trace of her father’s work.
Nearing the museum, Wren, who was in the lead, motioned for Coru to stop. They huddled in the shadow of the skate park. The museum stood in darkness, museums not being a priority in this man’s world, Wren guessed. This was good news for them. She and Coru could easily see there was no one around, with their glasses; it was unlikely others in the city had the same advantage. Others would see a shadowed building, absent of light. She had her shield down and heard no thoughts nearby. There were nudges, of course, from distant minds. As long as she kept scanning, they should be safe.
She tapped Coru on the shoulder. Crouched down, they raced across the open area from the skate park to the public washroom building, from the public washroom building to the farmer’s market entry booth, then to the museum. They rested here, and waited. Nothing. No sounds, no evidence they’d been seen, no mind perking up nearby at their actions.
She led Coru to the entrance, rejoicing when the door opened at her touch. The inside was torn apart. What the person trashing the place was after, she couldn’t guess. But had they gone down to the basement? She went straight to the basement door, again, still unlocked. She sent Coru a glad smile and they both slipped through and descended the stairs. This two was tossed about, but she could see already the box in the corner remained. Please, please, please. Please be there.
Coru saw where her gaze had gone and was at the box before her. He grunted and fell to his knees before the box and pulled up a handful of plastic tablets. He growled, “They’re here, just as you said,” and sagged down onto the floor in relief. “I was so convinced this would be futile, that …” He flipped off his glasses and declared, “Thank you, Wren Wood. You may have just saved my world.”
She peered into the box, at the ordinary, yet potentially extraordinary plastic tablets. “I so hope they have what you need in there somewhere, Coru. I really do.”
“Let’s pack them up and get out of here.” Coru shed his pack, unzipped it, pulling the opening wide. Catherine’s last minute package was on top. It was a stack of cut flannel sheets, diapers they had fashioned for Annie’s baby. He held them up for Wren to see, a bewildered expression on his face. “Catherine in her right mind?”
Wren frowned. “What …”
The diapers already dismissed, Coru dropped them and stuffed tablets into his pack. It took them only a few seconds to realize Catherine’s logic. The tablets made a hell of a racket, jumbling together inside the pack. They would telegraph his every step when they were on the move. Wren’s and Coru’s eyes met and they laughed softly. Catherine was brilliant.
They dumped the tablets back into the box, then began again, this time wrapping them carefully in the squares of flannel. Working quickly, they were done and ready to move within ten minutes, the tablets packed snug, tight and soundless in Coru’s pack.
They left the museum the same way they’d come in, with Wren again in the lead. Their next stop was the pharmacy one block up and the darkness was holding. The streets were empty, her scans only picking up distant minds. She nodded and they sprinted up 100 Street, which was well lit, crossing the empty parking lot, not as well lit, and ducking into the pharmacy, which was blessedly dark inside. They could see at once the place had been tossed and anything of value taken. The rows of shelves were still there, affording them lots of hiding places should anyone decide to drop in to look around. She led him to t
he dispensary at the back. The shelves here were bare, the file cabinets were not, filled with neatly labeled files and documents. The computers were untouched. They exchanged tentative glances of hope. Could they be this lucky, this soon?
They shed their packs once again and began searching files, Wren at the computer, Coru at the paper files in the cabinets. The computer came alive, was still functional. She typed in the proper name of Bill’s first prescription and struck pay dirt. There, on the screen were the names of people who had regular prescriptions of this medication. She glanced at the nearby printer. Would it work? Did she dare?
She looked at Coru. He nodded his head and she pressed print doc. Nothing happened. Coru moved to the printer and examined it, reached behind and pulled up the cord to show her. It wasn’t plugged in. He searched for an outlet and plugged the machine in. It whirled in response. Wren resisted the impulse to clap with joy. “Now just print this page and I will love you forever,” she told the hulking machine.
She turned back to the computer and keyed in print doc once again. There was no response. She’d be writing this list of names and addresses. It would take forever! Forever they didn’t have.
Then the printer gave a shutter and another whirling sound and began pumping out pages—one, two, three, four, five. Five pages of possible sources for Bill’s most vital medication.
She keyed in the next medication, repeating the process, this time getting eight pages of possible places to look.
Coru was back beside her. “We should take the time to match up names. Find people who had prescriptions for both, then mark out the address on your map. We’ll stop and search the addresses following the logical path to your father’s house, as long as we have darkness on our side. Kill two birds with one stone.”
“You’re right. We’ll start with the short list, these five pages. I’ll call out a name, if you have it, circle it.” Coru produced a pen from his jacket and Wren began reciting. No luck. The first page had no matches. She moved onto page two. Here they got lucky. Three matches. Page three had five matches, page four had none, page 5 had eight!
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 28