For now, the plan was to first build a needed smaller, secondary fenced enclosure for the animals, a safe place which included shade trees for relief from the sun. There was a running creek of fresh water in the forest behind the ATV shed, making this the perfect location.
Second up was to plant the two fields with grain and this year’s all-important garden.
Only after these two tasks where done would the explore team venture out to find Freeland.
The secondary enclosure come together swiftly. The few trees needing to be sacrifices were removed easily, creating a beautiful, lush open area which flooded with light. They saw at once this had been a good decision. The animals seemed to agree.
The day the garden was all planted — the cold frames set up for the tomatoes, cucumbers and peppers, the poles lashed together for beans and zucchini, irrigation system put back on-line — was both reason for celebration and for dread. This was when Catherine added a few more items on the group’s to-do list.
A milking stand for the goats was suddenly extremely important.
The bee hives needed moving – closer to the garden orchard.
All the trannies needed a tune-up, making sure they were in good working order – just in case.
Nicola could see Catherine had a heavy foreboding about the trip out to Freeland and was now making stuff up for the family to do, to delay the explore team’s departure. They all knew what she was doing, but went along. She ran out of ideas after three days.
Nicola and Wren took advantage of the extra days together, and roamed the acreage, keeping their family safe and deepening their bond. Their one mishap was when Wren stepped on a board near an old shelter that had collapsed. She stepped on a rusty nail that went right through her boot—not a good thing, as footwear was hard to come by. She took off the boot and her double socks, examined the wound. It was deep and hurt like hell, but bled out well, ensuring the wound was cleaned. Then she examined her boot — this her real concern. Not bad. After pulling the old nail free, it seemed to self-heal. She sure hoped so.
She pulled her socks and boot back on. “Hey, maybe there’s a shoe store in Freeland,” she called out to Nicola.
“If there is, I’m a size eight and a half. Hiking boots; forty-below rating.
“What — no heels?”
Nicola snorted.
Those days were so over.
Wren leaned back on the tree behind her and studied her best friend in the world. Gone was the frightened young woman with the brutally chopped hair and shocked thirty-yard stare. In her place stood a lithe young woman, with a fixed blade shield strapped to her hip, a small caliber pistol hooked onto her belt at the small of her back, an old Mossberg 500 shotgun, with extended tube, ghost ring sight and a side saddle rig for additional shells slung across her back, and a light rifle cradled in her arms like a baby. These days her warm brown eyes were filled with confidence and compassion and more often than not, with merriment. At D.O.A., under Mattea’s tutelage, Nicola had come into her own. By making Nicola independent, Mattea had set her free.
She still kept her hair short, always would, Wren knew, but now Nicola allowed herself to be corralled by Sandy every couple of months, letting Sandy cut it for her. The resultant pixie cut suited her well. Cute.
“Oh, stop it,” Nicola complained. “Let’s go home. We’re done for the day.”
Wren got up and stepped gingerly on her foot, testing it out. Not too bad. “Nothing wrong with telling the truth. You’re awesome, Nicola Zamora.” She felt the flush of warmth that went through her friend at her words. These were the moments she loved about being connected mentally with those she loved.
IT WAS time to leave the protection of D.O.A. If there was sanctuary out there in the Kootenays, they had to know about it. If there was a plan to put things right in their world, they had to know about it as well, be part of it.
It was July third; it was dusk. The explore team was all packed up, their supplies divided into two trannies, the Beast and Beastette. These trannies were the most reliable and already camouflaged. They had food for several weeks, water purifier tablets and straws, clothing for an assortment of weather, tents and sleeping bags, weapons, and a bug-out bags should they have to abandon the trannies at some point. Sandy had drawn out a map of the home of the Prepper she’d known in Dawson Creek. They’d layover there during the day tomorrow, if it was safe, and maybe earmark some of his supplies, if they were still available, to bring back with them when they returned. No one talked of the possibility they might not return.
To any observer, Wren was checking Beastette over before they left, but she was concentrating on keeping her feelings to herself, putting on a brave face. She could feel the others doing like-wise. No one wanted to part. The inner circle felt it most — a feeling of something not right. It made her so reluctant to leave.
Nicola said, “Well, hell!” and strode to Wren, wrapped her in a tight hug and whispered in her ear. “I know this is hard. You’re not pathetic. Loving someone is never pathetic.”
Wren pulled back to look in her eyes. “What are you …?”
“I know you love Coru. We all do, so you can stop hiding it.”
Wren relaxed a bit. They all loved Coru — Nicola thought her feelings were family-ish. That was good.
Nicola gazed at her patiently. No. You love him in a different way. We all know that too. Get over it.
No fair! Wren protested, pushing her away and pinking up. When had she decided having an inner circle was a good thing?
Nicola was laughing. Mattea and even Catherine looked amused. Coru, thank goodness, was going over the map with Sandy and had missed this little exchange.
Deklin was already seated in Beastette, strapped in securely at Wren’s insistence, with his favorite action figure, Spiderman, recently rescued by Sean from a nearby farmhouse. When he saw Wren watching him, he began bouncing in his seat. “Let’s go!” His thick blond hair flopped over his forehead, his blue eyes alight with eagerness. How could you not fall in love with this kid?
She laughingly told him to stay put. To say Deklin was excited to be part of the explore team was a huge understatement. He’d spoken of little else since they’d told him he would be coming with them to Freeland, spending the last two weeks training up Wyatt to take care of his goats and Malcolm to take care of his precious bees. The cool thing was, each boy was completely honored Deklin was trusting him with his pets.
A shout from over by the garden caught their attention.
It was Sean and Dan, both running full bore along the new fence line.
Wren set her mind out, scanning the area swiftly, coming back with nine strangers, all on horseback, all—
Outlanders! And there they were, breaking free from the protection of the forest, five abreast, followed by four more, their weapons raised, shooting, shouting, digging their heels into their horse’s sides, fanning out. They were organized. They were here to kill, to grab all they could.
“Bug-out!” Mattea shouted.
The D.O.A. family scattered as they’d practiced, the children with Sandy and Catherine, heading behind the cabin, past the new enclosure to the hidden trail to escape to their secluded pond. Plan B in action.
Bill bolted for the cabin, returning with four rifles, two under each arm.
Mattea pulled his own rifle from the Beast and ran out into the open to meet the Outlanders, falling onto one knee and aiming, firing. There was a cry, and one went down.
Bill tossed a weapon to Dan, to Sean, to Coru, who caught his handily, turned and fired at a second Outlander bearing down on Mattea, taking him out.
With the Outlanders’ attention on Coru and Mattea, Sean and Dan headed to the right, using the trees as screening and aiming at the Outlanders’ unprotected side. They took down a third and a fourth.
Nearly half the Outlanders numbers gone.
The five remaining Outlanders split up, using the trees as cover as they advanced. They were still firing, though Wr
en could see they were not good. Their shots went wild. They were jacked up on adrenaline and bluster and fear.
She wrestled her crossbow from the back of Beastette, set an arrow, pulled back, tracking the closest rider in the trees, guided both by her eyes and by tracking his mind. Let loose. She missed. Rapidly setting another, she fired again and caught him high in the chest. He fell from his mount, but kept firing as his horse galloped away.
Mattea pivoted, aimed at Wren’s target. Another good shot and the man was dead. That left four. Four too many.
While Coru and Mattea reloaded, Nicola trained her rifle on the remaining riders to the left, who were skirting the edge of the forest. She targeted the Outlander who was now spraying bullets, pinning everyone down. A crack shot. She got him. A weird silence followed his demise. There were now three.
Mattea motioned for Nicola to move back toward the cabin. She nodded, turned, then slammed facedown to the ground, a single bullet in the back taking her down.
Wren felt a blast of white light from Nicola, then her light winked out without a sound, leaving dark silence. Just like that — Nicola was gone? Her wonderful, cheeky friend was gone? Forgetting all her training, Wren screamed and ran toward her.
“NO!” Coru roared for her to stop, “Get down! Get Deklin!”
Three more riders burst from the trees on the right, up from the river, behind Dan and Sean. Wren hadn’t even heard them! She dropped in her tracks, trapped in the open, glanced around, searching for escape. They were all pinned down, the Outlanders’ number back up to six.
Coru ran for cover behind the cast-iron water trough. He shouted out to Mattea, Dan and Sean. “There’s six now. Three to your left, three to your right.”
Bill shot over Coru’s head, winging one of the newcomers on the right. A second shot finished him. Bill turned, wounded a second. A shot from Dan and Sean’s side ended the second rider’s life. The four remaining Outlanders returned a rain of bullets.
Bill let out a soft grunt. Wren turned her head, watched Bill fall in slow motion, back against the cabin wall, his expression accepting. He slid down slowly, leaving a huge red smudge on the tin, ending in a heap on the deck. Pictures flashed in his head. Catherine laughing. Wren at his door. Little Rhea pressed into Hero’s side. Wyatt’s uncertain eyes looking up at him. So much undone. His light flickered, flickered, faded away.
Steady, solid, kind, “I’ve got an herb for that” Bill was no more.
Horrified, Wren ripped her gaze away, saw Deklin was still strapped into Beastette, an open target. He bucked against the straps, his eyes wide with terror.
Coru fired from behind the trough, at the man who’d just shot Bill, missing.
The group from the trees opened fire, bullets flying everywhere. An Outlander burst from the cover of the trees, made a show of dropping his now useless rifle and pulled out a handgun, wheeled his horse, attempting to escape, firing wildly as he turned.
Sean returned his fire, finishing him.
“Three.” Coru yelled, his tone steady. “Only three. We’ve got this gentleman.”
If she didn’t move now, she never would. She got to her feet, crouched, ran to Deklin, heard a gunshot, felt a stab through her arm, saw Deklin jerk back. Saw red appear in the middle of Deklin’s chest, spreading across his clean plaid shirt—this his ‘traveling shirt’ he’d labeled it, just this afternoon — his face splattered with blood.
In a flash she was on him, unclipping his seatbelt, pulling him into her arms, her one arm — her right one hung useless — out of Beastette, sliding his limp, unresisting body with her to the ground, behind the tranny. She covered his body with her own, holding him close. “Shhh, Deklin. Shhh. It’ll be over in a sec, I promise, then we’ll fix you right up, good as new.”
A soul’s scream rent the fabric of her brain.
Olivia! She’d forgotten Olivia and Randy, back in the men’s cabin. There was an Outlander inside the old cabin. He was big, he smelled, his hair was long, greasy, his front teeth had been knocked out. He grinned, advancing on the couple, his shotgun raised…
Olivia’s voice seared across her brain Not my Baby! A boomed thundered. In a flash of white light, both Olivia’s essence and the soft candle-light flicker that had been her daughter’s were silent, dark. Gone.
Wren clung to Deklin, squeezing her eyes closed against the vision, unable to block it from her sight. It couldn’t be that easy. Dying couldn’t be that easy.
Another gunshot. Randy’s anguished light flashed out.
She gasped, recoiling at the mental assault.
Another shot pinged, glancing off something, whined. Inside Dan’s mind, she grunted when the bullet thudded into his solid body. Mona was smiling, reaching out to him. Light flashed, disappeared into darkness. Dan. Gone.
Wren sobbed, clutching Deklin to her, rocking. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t happening. Everyone she loved…
Deklin raised his eyes to hers, full of questions. He didn’t understand.
She stilled, loosened her grip on the wounded boy. She wanted to stroke his face, but she couldn’t feel her arm. She pressed her cheek to his instead, listening to his thoughts.
He wanted to go to Freeland. He felt funny. Wobbly. He couldn’t see her, there was something in his eyes.
She backed off so he could see her face. “Shhh, Deklin.” She stuttered, her teeth chattering suddenly, her jaw, her body vibrating violently. “I-It’ll b-b-be ok-k-kkay.”
Deklin smiled suddenly. “Smudge!” he greeted, joy in his face. Inside Deklin’s head, Wren saw a dainty black goat with her saucy little skirt dance across the sun-dappled barn floor on the tips of her little hooves, a gentle clippetty clip, inviting him to play. White light popped, fading softly into darkness, taking Deklin’s precious essence with it.
His blonde head slumped to the side, his thick hair tousled with blood, his blue eyes still open, staring.
All she saw was his eyes.
His beautiful blue eyes.
Gripping him with her good arm, she pressed her face into his warm, sweet neck and lost herself.
32
NIGHTMARES
Wren unstuck her eyes, tried to focus. Saw only darkness. Slipped away.
Warmth. A balm of warmth passed gently across each eye, her face, her neck. Soothed her body, lifting first one limb, then the next. Someone was washing her, speaking to her in soft tones, calming, assuring.
There was pain.
Not ready, she slipped away.
Something hard clinked against her teeth. She moaned, pushed it aside and escaped back into the safety of darkness.
She woke to muted sunlight in her bed. She blinked weakly, focusing. She was alone in her room. No. Not alone. Coru lay beside her, on top of her covers. He was still alive, though he looked exhausted, with dark shadows beneath his closed eyes, the scar across his ruined cheek in stark contrast to his tanned face. He was waiting for her to awaken. Pain landed in the center of her chest and she gasped against it, and though the sound she made should have been loud, it was barely a whisper, her parched throat protesting the action.
Deklin was still dead; Nicola was still dead. Bill. Dan. Olivia and Randy. Their unborn daughter. She knew this. She’d seen this with her own eyes, witnessed it, lived it with her own mind. Their precious minds were dark, absent from her life.
She closed her eyes and wished herself back into oblivion.
It didn’t work. She was still here, in this quiet space, this room filled with, pressing her down with, the hope and expectations that she would rise, talk again, move in the world again, live on without these people. She would not.
She squeezed her eyes shut, burrowing her mind into a darkness that would not yield, would not allow her entrance.
She gave up and squinted against the harsh light, the relentless good cheer of her rustling curtains, moved gently by a passing summer breeze, the sound of a song bird, the buzz, tap, buzz, tap of a fly trapped between the curtain and the windo
w. She could hear movement outside her room, low voices. She looked around herself again. She was tucked neatly into her bed, covered by crisp clean sheets, and the colorful quilt Mona had made for her so long ago. A lifetime ago. Oh, how she wanted that life back. She wanted Mona back. Afternoon tea with Mona, talking gardens and chickens and local politics. And dear, cheerful, resourceful Dan …
She couldn’t stray far down that road. What waited for her there would finish her.
She changed her focus to the here and now. She saw she wore a soft cotton T-shirt. Her arm … She frowned. Her arm was not shot? But she knew that it had. She could feel her arm; it felt normal. She frowned again, slipping her fingers along her shot arm — her not shot arm. It was so thin.
She shifted, brought her arm out from under the bedding.
Coru woke with a start. At seeing her eyes open, his face transformed from exhaustion to joy. He shifted to sitting, moving carefully, as if she might break. “You’re finally awake,” he murmured, as if by speaking too loudly she might disappear. When had she become so fragile?
“What’s happened?” she asked him, her voice cracking, her throat surprisingly painful.
He stood, reached for a glass of water by the bed. “You need a drink.” He helped her up, supporting her back, and held the glass to her lips. She reached to hold the glass, saw her hand trembled and was taken aback. She was fragile. She managed a few swallows, and was grateful when he laid her back down.
“Hang on. The others will want to know.” He disappeared out her door. She heard low murmuring, heard it growing higher, quicker, excited. Her door opened and Catherine and Sandy were by her side, along with Coru, their faces wreathed with relief and joy. She could see she’d caused them pain.
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 36