Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1)

by R. R. Roberts

  He moved onto the wounds to the trunk of Coru’s body, wiping away crusted blood and dirt. “These are messy, but are mostly for show,” he murmured.

  For show!? To what end? To find out something he was unwilling to tell? To frighten the people watching? For pleasure? Wren’s chest closed around her lungs, and suddenly she couldn’t take in a breath. She tried, couldn’t do it, her head bobbing in panic. She made a sound, reached to Olivia, grasping at her arm.

  Olivia called out to Randy, “It’s Wren. She’s having a panic attack.”

  Randy abandoned wounds he was tending and moved to Wren. Gripping her shoulders, he focused his gaze on her. “Look at me, Wren. It’s okay, Wren. You can breathe. Just relax. Breathe through your nose. That’s it — slow and steady. See? Told you. You can breathe. In and out. That’s right.” He breathed along with her, his eyes trained on hers. She looked away, finally, closing her eyes, monstrously tired by everything that had happened since she’d left her tidy little cabin, tucked safe in the woods. Why had she come? She couldn’t remember now, couldn’t imagine anything worth the price Coru had paid. She slumped to the ground, laid her head onto the dirt, closed her eyes, and murmured, “Ignore me. Tend to Coru.”

  Randy turned back to his patient. “We need to stitch these up.”

  Lamenting the lack of stitching supplies, he settled for taping instead, using thin strips of duct tape Dan had left in Beastette. He’d already depleted the first aid kit. With Wren’s help, Olivia tore up more clothing into bandage strips as Randy deliberately and carefully worked his way down Coru’s body.

  “Broken ribs, left and right. This will hurt just to breathe,” Randy cautioned, his expression taking on a deeper worry. She could read Randy feared internal lacerations from Coru’s broken ribs. “We used to wrap the patient up with tensors, but it often heals better left alone. But for the trip to your place, we should do it. He began to wrap, using the tensor bandages Wren had in Beastette.

  Once Randy and Olivia were done, they all worked together to get Coru into Beastette again, supporting him in the most comfortable position they could in light of his broken bones. Randy told her it was a blessing Coru was still out, though how much longer he couldn’t guess. “The human brain is a crazy thing. It protects us,” he explained. “Your friend Coru could awaken at any time.”

  “I have pain meds,” she remembered, pulling her backpack out from Beastette’s storage area. She pulled out all the meds she’d collected with Coru.

  Randy looked them all over. “This will work,” he said upon reading one container, then glanced at the pile of containers she’d assembled in the dirt. “But what about all these? These are all heart medications.” He raised questioning eyes to hers.

  “We have someone back at D.O.A. who needs these. We came here to search for them. Then we got caught.”

  “And that’s how you got the bruise on your face?”

  She smiled slightly. “Yes and no. Coru saw we were caught, so knocked me out so I wouldn’t try to stop him, then drew them away from me.”

  Both Randy and Olivia looked at Coru with fresh eyes.

  Then Randy’s stomach rumbled. He rubbed it, smiling sheepishly.

  Wren blurted out, “I am so sorry! I have food.” She got to her feet and rummaged around in the back of Beastette. “There’s lots here. You’re welcome to have it.” She brought the food bag Catherine had packed for them, enough for six people, not two, and sat down before them cross-legged. She spread her jacket on the ground and emptied the bag on it. “There’s smoked elk, biscuits and honey, soaked oats with berries and honey. Goats cheese, bread. Apple cake. Peppermint water. Trail mix. Take what you want, as much as you want. Take it all.”

  They fell on the food, tried to show restraint at first and failed. She could read they hadn’t eaten real food for many days. She smiled at them and rose to sit with Coru, allowing them time together to enjoy the food without guilt. Seeing how well Coru had been cared for and bandaged, she would have paid any sum, much less the paltry bits of food she had to share for Coru’s vastly improved situation. She had hope now he would pull through, just now recognizing doubts she’d kept even from herself.

  And she had pain meds to offer him when he did awaken.

  She reached out and stroked his face, feeling at once forward, as she’d never touched him before, and shy. She frowned, shyness forgotten. His skin was warm — warmer than it should be. Maybe he was running a fever? Did trauma do that to a person? Could there be an infection already at work inside his body?

  Fear for Coru’s survival took on a deeper dread. Broken bones, cuts — given a chance, and Randy and Olivia had done just that — healed. Infection? That was another thing altogether.

  She craved the darkness they needed to cover their flight back to D.O.A. It was yet hours away. Coru needed to be home. He needed a quiet bed, round the clock nursing and the love of his family.

  She leaned forward, pressed her cool cheek against his feverish one and whispered into his ear, “I’ll get you home safe, I promise.”

  THE ROUTE they took back around Rushton was not the route she and Bill had taken. There was no time for that distance. Coru was unconscious but he was not still. He was already shifting, struggling against his restraints, moaning his protest at Beastette’s movement, confirming their suspicions he did indeed have infection already coursing through his battered body. No, this time they swung around toward Montney, then through the Rose Prairie Coulees, traveling dangerously close to where her father’s house stood at the north end of Rushton, before swinging away again. Once clear of Rushton, they headed straight south to where Randy and Olivia had been hiding until hunger had forced them to search for help.

  Randy took over driving now, guiding the little tranny along faint trails only he and Olivia knew, bringing them to little more than a shack in the woods. Here, he and Olivia both hurried inside, collecting already packed supplies and personal belongings and tying them onto the back of Beastette. Wren stayed in Beastette, swabbing Coru with cool cloths, gently guiding his reaching arms before he could damage his fingers and broken hand more, bringing them back to rest on his chest.

  In under five minutes, the McCalls were back in the tranny and they were on their way toward the bridge, then Drury Road and home. Coru’s protest against the bumpy ride increased, and he was very vocal in his expression. They stopped the tranny and tried changing his position; nothing seemed to help.

  Randy shook his head, considering. “Here are my thoughts. And you’re probably not going to like them. We force some pain meds down him now. He may very well swallow them and that would be good. Then—here’s the part you won’t like.” He raised worried eyes to Wren and Olivia. “We travel out on the highway, in the open and pray no one sees us. It’ll be faster and a hell of a lot easier on Coru. He can’t take the banging around. His ribs … We could puncture a lung, lacerate his liver. We could be damaging him irrevocably moving him this way. We just have to find a smoother track.”

  The women exchanged glances. The decision was out of their hands. There was no other choice — they’d have to risk the highway.

  They adjusted Coru again, employing any and all blankets, clothing, even taking their jackets off to help pad his body. They were able to get some pain meds down him, though he fought them hard. In the end, he swallowed three tablets, the most they dared, then set out again. Olivia was in the back with Coru, cradling him as best she could and Randy drove with a shotgun close at hand. Wren was in the passenger’s seat, her cross bow laid across the top of the half windshield, poised to fire. Randy and Wren wore night vision gear, allowing the best chance at recognizing trouble the moment it appeared — they gambled.

  They popped out from the woods just north of the bridge, having avoided the downed-tree/highway pile-up that had been Wren’s first introduction to the pandemic and stopped. They studied the area for a long moment before venturing out into the open. Wren and Randy exchanged wary looks, Randy nodded,
then they raced across. Cold river winds chilled their bare arms to goosebumps. As expected from the iron grid bridge, their bodies vibrated, their teeth chattered as they crossed — Coru’s moans increasing as they went. Randy gunned it, making as short a work of their time on the bridge as he could. Reaching blacktop on the other side was a blessing; the noise, the vibration dropping to normal. They charged up the hill south of the bridge toward Drury Road. Wren leaned forward, her entire body alive with tension. If anyone was here, the entrance to Drury was the perfect ambush location, with the pair of highway lights still functioning, showing the way off the highway and onto Drury.

  Randy guided the tranny off the highway, onto Drury, and sped along the gravel road as fast as he dared, reaching the relative safety of the half-darkness that remained of the night. The vibration increased, but it was nowhere near that of the bridge.

  “How much longer?” Olivia called out from the back.

  Wren turned, “If we can—.” She saw a flash of something on the bridge. A light, a signal? Someone was on the bridge. Someone was following them.

  She seized Randy’s arm. “Turn around! There’s someone on the bridge. We can’t go home. We can’t lead them to D.O.A.”

  “Oh, my God,” Olivia moaned. “He’s not breathing! Coru’s not breathing!”

  29

  CURTIS

  PING! PING! PING! PING! PING! PING!

  Mattea jerked up to sitting in his bed, gripping his head against the assault.

  PING! PING!

  It was Wren—he knew it was Wren and she was terrified. Something had happened, something terrible.

  He was on his feet, dressed, armed and running toward the trannies.

  PING! PING! PING!

  Nicola was already there, backing the Beast from its spot, driving toward him, stopping long enough for him to throw himself into it before she gunned toward Dewdrop Hill.

  PING! PING!

  Nicola spat out, “Wren.”

  PING! PING! PING!

  Mattea held onto the roll bar. “Something bad,” he shouted back.

  “Ask her. See if she can answer you.”

  Mattea nodded. Made sense. Where are you? he projected.

  The Pinging stuttered to a stop, and a wave of horror washed over him almost taking away his ability to see. He closed his eyes, let it come, moving through it instead of fighting it. The Beast stopped abruptly, Nicola moaning. Wren’s emotional projection was paralyzing.

  Where are you? he asked again.

  Flashes of images filled his head. This was no code—this was what Wren was seeing! He was seeing what she was seeing. She was projecting her experiences into his mind.

  Nicola started up the Beast and charged up the road. “They’re on Drury, up by the highway.”

  Mattea continued to accept Wren’s messages. “There’s two others with her. Coru … Coru’s dead?”

  Dead! A cold fist closed around his heart. His friend? Dead? It couldn’t be — Coru was strong, steady, almost too much of a straight arrow. He… he just couldn’t be gone. Not yet.

  People from Rushton. Followed. We can’t come home. We have to make our stand here. Coru … This came as a wail of pain.

  How Many? Mattea asked, cutting through Wren’s grief. Can you hold them off ‘til we get there?

  How long?

  He glanced at Nicola. Ten minutes.

  We’ll try. We have to try. Her thoughts blurred. Hit him! Hit him again! Don’t stop!

  Nicola and Mattea exchanged baffled looks. Mattea fought back his need to tell Nicola to go faster, knowing there was no faster. If it was down to hand-to-hand combat already, what good would they be?

  Nicola jolted in her seat, and gasped, her foot leaving the accelerator. She closed her eyes, her head weaving. “She just killed someone. With an arrow. He’s … he’s not dead yet. Screaming. Screaming.”

  They heard a distant shot. The screaming inside their heads stopped.

  Without hesitation, Nicola had the Beast eating up the hill before them. They made the gate. Mattea jumped out, opened it wide and jumped back into the Beast, swinging from the crossbar as it passed by. They sped through the Thacker’s farm, landing onto the Drury Road with a thump, and raced toward Wren.

  More gunshots could be heard, clearer now. The thoughts Wren was projecting were a jumbled—images and emotions. Pain. Someone sneaking through the trees. She heard his thoughts. They were red— focused on killing ‘the witch’. She aimed her arrow where she knew he would appear. There. She let it fly. Another kill. Terror gripped her. Grief. A shotgun blast. A hit. One of her friends, hit. Down. Blood everywhere, soaking into the earth. Moaning, there was moaning, then silence. NO! NO!

  Wren’s pain exploded through their heads.

  Fear. She was alone now. Someone was coming—someone she knew. Fear seized her and she was unable to respond, to raise her arms, to aim her bow. She was withdrawing. Her mind was running away. It was too much. She couldn’t do this … Coru was dead …

  Nicola sobbed in desperation, pressing down on the accelerator, which could go no further. “Don’t give up, Wren. Don’t you dare give up! Fight! Fight hard!” She was sobbing now, driving crazy and sobbing.

  Mattea reached out and gripped the steering wheel. “We can’t help her if we’re dead.”

  Nicola screamed at him, “She’ll be dead if we don’t try!”

  What could he do? She was right. He kept his hand on the wheel, insurance maybe, against rolling the Beast before they even got to Wren.

  Wren dropped to the ground. She’d heard Nicola screaming inside her head; it was a slap, the slap she needed. She glanced around, saw where she was, what she might do. There was still Olivia; Olivia who would not give up. Wren’s mind was abruptly focused. She crab-walked to the edge of the road, took a breath, looked out and pulled back. She was right. Only one left. The one she feared the most. The one she hated the most.

  This was her chance to make him pay for what he’d done—for all the pain he had visited upon everyone he’d touched. For Coru. She’d read the minds of those around him; witnessed his atrocities both through borrowed memories and her own eyes.

  Mattea choked at the vision of Coru hanging, bleeding on the power pole on the highway, a highway filled with other power poles, other victims.

  “Oh, my God…” Nicola moaned, bowing her head against the sight, Mattea knew, against the knowledge that Coru was indeed dead. She kept plowing forward, her panic transforming into a steel wall of resolve. Mattea saw this, did not wonder why he saw this.

  Wren would not allow his hand to touch her family. This was her home, her territory — he knew nothing… Her heart a stone, she slipped into the trees, following a narrow deer path — so easy with her night vision gear — and moved past him, coming back around, up behind his hiding place. She was smiling now. Such a silly man. Did he truly believe he could come here and hurt her family?

  Bow raised, she stepped out into the open.

  “NO!” Nicola choked. “We’re almost there.” They could see Wren’s tranny up ahead.

  Wren flicked away Nicola’s protest, and narrowed her gaze. The time for rescue was over. The time to end this was now. Her target was crouched down, peering through the brush. He was holding something. Oh. He held a grenade? How apropos.

  Wren dipped into his disgusting mind, a necessary activity, considering the circumstance. He’d heard the approaching tranny in which Nicola and Mattea were streaking toward him. There were more coming? That’s where the first grenade would go. These little babies did it up right. The tranny slowed, skidded, pulling to the right. Something had spooked them. That was okay. He’d always been able to return a baseball from the outfield right into the glove of his intended receiver. They didn’t even have to stretch out their glove, he was that good. He pulled the pin.

  “Oh Curtis,” Wren called out.

  The crouching man startled, twisted around to face her, blanching at seeing her, seeing the crossbow. She let go her
arrow. It only winged him, her intention. He fell over onto his side, surprised to find he was wounded. He struggled to right himself, was slow to grip the bow, then saw the live grenade on the ground beside him. His eyes widened and snapped back to her face.

  “Bye Bye Curtis. It’s straight to hell for yo —.”

  The grenade blew, and Wren was out.

  NICOLA PICKED herself up off the ground and was running after Mattea before she could even put together a plan — there was no plan. Finding Wren Wood alive was her plan.

  They raced past Beastette then skidded to a halt at someone crouched, someone muttering. Nicola pivoted, ran toward the sound. She found a woman on her hands and knees, securing a wadded jacket against a man’s shoulder with a belt, while she instructed him not to die, because she would never forgive him if he did die on her and left her in this God forsaken place. She had dark hair, was bleeding from her head and paid no attention to their arrival.

  Nicola knelt beside her. “Are you Olivia?”

  Olivia blinked up at her. “Can you save him?”

  Nicola looked at the man in her arms. “How bad is he?”

  “If I can stop the bleeding and get him to a safe place, I can save him. What I can’t do is find him more blood. That means he needs to keep what he has.”

  Nicola grimaced. “We-we can do that. We have a place. Where’s Wren, Olivia?”

  Olivia nodded down the road toward the end of Drury, where the distant highway lights lent a little light, still. “She went to kill them all. I think she’s done now.” The starkness of her words was chilling.