Mattea whistled in appreciation.
Coru asked, “Where are you putting us?”
Doug consulted the map again, squinting at the numbers. “Damn, I need new glasses. Looks like … looks like you’re in the nose bleed section, son. Ave. F, number 9. Good news is, lots of sun for your chargers. Bad news — it’s a long walk to the lake, boys and girls. Good news is, the blueberries are out and you can eat your way there and back, making the walk not too bad.” He hesitated, looking at Deklin now, who had stayed quiet throughout the whole exchange. “He okay?”
Wren smiled. “Yeah – just tired. Deklin is a special boy — he’s quiet, but he’s very smart.”
Doug nodded his acceptance of her explanation and swung open the gate.
They thanked Doug for his hospitality, inviting him to drop by Ave. F, Number 9 later that night for a cup of tea and chat, if he had a mind to, then drove through the gates.
They drove through the community slowly, taking in the enormity of the gathering, the sometimes wary, other times friendly faces of the people here. All ages, all ethnicities, all walks of life seemed represented. They saw families were often made up of differently colored skins, a testament that this at least, was no longer an issue. Coru wondered if the pandemic had finally broken the back of racism. Only time would tell. Too bad he wouldn’t be here to see it.
That’s when he realized their D.O.A. family had done just that. Mattea was native American, Sean was black, Olivia was of Korean heritage, Deklin’s parents had been Russian. All he’d registered when he’d met each was they were alive, and they were friend, not foe. After that the question was — would they pull their weight, contribute in a positive way to the family? All the rest meant nothing. Well — Olivia was incredibly beautiful and she and Randy were sure to produce gorgeous children. He smiled at himself for this little trip down a random mental path. Sometimes it wasn’t all about survival strategies, was it?
They found the assigned space easily enough, set up their two tents and had a quick meal of bread and cheese, dried fruit and mint tea. Then they changed into clothes that most matched swimming gear and headed down to the lake as was expected, wanting to fit in. As advertised, the ground was literally blue, carpeted with millions of wild blueberries, and they did indeed eat their way down to the beach. Not a bad deception.
Coru and Mattea both ran in, Deklin was much slower, sticking close to Wren, hesitant but grinning from ear to ear. Soon he was up to his armpits, splashing around, being a kid. It was great to see Deklin happy. To Coru, the world was right when Deklin was smiling.
The swim was glorious, the water warm and silky against their skin, refreshing, relaxing, the late day sun just comfortable enough to keep away a chill. In fact, this was the first time Coru could remember since he’d arrived back in WEN 2046, now 2047 —. He stopped swimming, ripples flowing in sparkling concentric circles around him in the water.
Had he actually been here an entire year? He had. This was the first time since his arrival that he wasn’t operating with one ear cocked for danger. It was a foreign state to be in, completely relaxed.
They returned to their tents at dusk and found Doug waiting along with three other men. He’d already built a fire in their fire pit and he and their visitors were gathered around, generally making themselves at home.
“Hey,” Doug greeted, getting up from the stump he’d been seated on. “Brought you some people who can fill you in about Freeland. Thought you’d like the lowdown so you can make a good choice.” He held up a tin cup. “You threatened us with tea. Brought our own cups.”
“We can do you one better.” Mattea set up their coffee pot, sharing out a portion of their precious ground coffee. This proved to be a show stopper, four sets of hungry eyes following Mattea’s every action, like children before a toy store window. Coru laughed silently, glad Catherine had insisted they take the last five-pound bag. Greases the wheels, she told him, and she was so right. Mention coffee, and eyes lit up.
Mattea was thoroughly enjoying their visitor’s awe. When it was ready and he shared it out to their guests, there was no conversation after their murmured thanks. From the reaction when he topped this off with an offer of honey to sweeten the elixir, Coru thought Mattea could now run for president of this little tent town and be elected immediately. Each held their cup close, closed their eyes, inhaled the aroma, bathed their faces in the rich steam that billowed from their cup, a “come to poppa” moment.
He, Mattea, Deklin, and Wren stuck with mint tea and simply waited for the coffee to be consumed. A cup of coffee in these “after the pandemic” days had the same effect as half a bottle of whiskey in a dry town. These men wanted to talk. The explore team was here to listen.
Doug glanced around the circle. “I guess I should start with intro’s.” He pointed out each of his companions in turn. “Tony, Gill, Millman.” Then he switched sides. “Fellas, this here is Birdy. She’s the one I told you about that off’ed that crucifying idiot up in Rushton.” His friends nodded in admiration. “This here is Tatman, and our Barista for the evening is Matt.”
Chuckles rippled around the tight circle, everyone sitting forward, eager for news.
Doug got right to it. “So Tatman, what’s your story?”
Coru was taken aback, but quickly realized this was a necessary step toward acceptance. Each must expose something of themselves to the group in exchange for trust and information. But what could he tell them? So much was unbelievable and more likely to get them kicked out, not accepted. He had to make up an acceptable background, and in a hurry. He should have anticipated this. He stretched out the silence by rubbing his palm across his head and came up with his answer.
“I did tats for a living,” he replied. It was extremely unlikely his skills would be pressed into service up here. But where did he offer these skills? He couldn’t claim familiarity with any of the cities and towns around here, if questioned further. “I worked out of L.A. mostly. I was backpacking through Canada when the BSV hit. I’m immune.”
“Ah, a Yank.” Doug nodded as if this confirmed what he already knew about Coru. “That accent.”
He had an accent?
Tony narrowed his eyes and asked, “How’d you end up here in the north? How’d you guys hook up?”
Going for the juggler.
Mattea spoke up. “Hauled this guy’s ass out of a street fight down in Hope. I was on my way up here. Got… had family up here. Tatman didn’t know anyone, so we hooked up. Been mostly on the move ever since.”
Millman jerked his chin toward Wren. “What about Birdy? How’d you connect with her?”
Mattea reached over and pulled Coru’s arm out, displaying the silver scars on his wrist in the firelight. “Birdy cut Tatman down from a power pole in Rushton. Then she busted me out’a jail by plugging the two goons guarding the place while Mather’s and his flunkies celebrated crucifying my traveling buddy.”
“You were crucified?” Doug’s tone was hushed.
Admiring eyes clicked over to Wren. Doug asked, “How long before you sent Mathers’ straight to hell, leaving his scrapings on the highway?”
Wren shrugged. “Not long. Same day, actually.”
Millman whistled long and low.
Tony said, “Woah, Birdy. You’re my kinda’ woman.”
Doug elbowed Tony. “Don’t let Gayle hear ya’.”
“What do you know about women — you’re a confirmed bachelor.”
Ignoring the bickering pair, Gill asked, “Where’d ya’ over winter?”
Coru nodded toward Wren, “Birdy’s place up by Dawson, way off the grid. Hunted, smoked the meat in an old fridge, froze the rest outside.”
Wren rummaged inside her pack, pulled out a pack of smoked elk and tossed it over. “Help yourself,” she said. Gill caught it easily, examined it, then handed it on to Doug.
Coru grinned. “And lots of rabbit stew.”
Gillman pressed on. “So, what were you doing in Rushton?”
<
br /> Wren answered, “Looking for meds for my brother here.”
Their guests considered Deklin’s young face then exchanged glances. Tony shifted forward. “So, you want to know about Freeland.”
They were in.
Tony’s story was compelling. A drifter had landed on his front step in Tumbler Ridge with a message. Come to Freeland. It’s in the Kootenays, it’s secure, there is law and order, everything you needed. Technology. Modern conveniences. Doctors. Communications. A group of wealthy entrepreneurs and forward thinking scientific minds had anticipated the collapse of society due to some calamity, though they anticipated the tipping point would be a deadly disease. Over the last ten years they had built a massive facility within the mountains of the Kootenays. Now that the danger of the virus had passed —.
Here Wren stopped him. “No more disease? It’s over?”
“It’s changed, like all influenzas do, into a more benign form. It’ll make you sick, but isn’t likely to kill you.”
“Oh, my God,” she murmured, scrubbing her face with both hands.
The Boy Scout Virus was over.
“You know this for sure?” Coru pressed, knowing Wren was asking for Olivia’s baby.
“According to this guy it is. I have no reason to doubt him. He had pictures of Freeland. It’s damned impressive. The hard part will be getting there in one piece. It’s wild up here in the north, but twice as bad in the Lower Mainland, only they’re calling it something else now. Can’t remember what.”
Wren and Mattea exchanged worried looks.
Mattea asked, “Vancouver’s dangerous? I would have thought it would be a ghost town.”
“They’ve got Rushton beat all to hell, so I hear. Some guy’s running the whole place, nobody in or out he doesn’t know about. He controls the entire west coast, all the way to Mexico.”
Wren frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense. At least out here we can hunt, forage, farm. How do they survive in the city?”
“Apparently, this guy also saw it coming and warehoused all sorts of good stuff. He sends out raiding parties to the surrounding farmland. They’re well-armed and brutal. You wanna live, you hand over what they want.”
“How far apart are the Kootenays from the Lower Mainland,” Coru asked, looking to Mattea for the answer. “Is Hope in the Kootenays? Or is it part of the Lower Mainland?
Mattea replied. “On the cusp either way.”
“Not good,” Coru murmured. The Bore entrance was right between two opposing sides. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out there would be a bloody conflict between Freeland and the Mainland. How soon it happened depended on how strong each side became as well as how desperate, or even how confident. And he was leaving Wren and Mattea and Deklin to face this. He felt sick.
Wren reached out and grasped his hand. She said, “This guy have a name?”
Millman snorted. “Yeah. He’s calling himself Professor Rez if you can believe it.”
She said, “So what’s the plan to get to Freeland?”
The Bear Lake group exchanged glances, a message passing between them. “We’re heading out in six days. As a group. We’ll have a forward guard, clearing a path, scoping out the route. If there’s resistance, we’ll decide if we go around it or fight our way through. The more in our number, the better for everyone. We’re hoping to pick up more people rather than fight them. We think by sticking together, we’ll make it.” Millman looked around the faces in the firelight. “Sticking together, having one another’s backs, taking on allies rather than enemies is our plan.”
“What about Prince George? It’s a big city and you’re traveling through it with a big group. There’ll be no missing you. No getting around that, just going through.”
Gill was grinning. “That’s the beauty of our plan, we’ve just landed in a crap-load of good luck. Prince George recently had a turn-over in control. Garcia’s out. Now it’s being controlled by a biker gang, calling themselves the Road Lords. They’ve been in charge for about six months. They’ll let you pass unharmed for a price.” He paused for effect.
They waited for him to continue.
“You won’t believe what they want,” he teased, and waited some more.
Mattea caved and asked, “What do they want?”
Here Gill gave a little giggle. “They want cash. They’re calling it a ‘passage tax’.
“How original.” Coru cut his gaze toward Mattea and shook his head.
“They think things are about to return to normal and they think they’re headed for loaded in the new world.
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Mattea dismissed.
Wren frowned. “Do you even have cash?”
Gill laughed out loud this time. “Sacks full of the stuff. It’s freaking worthless, but we’ve got a ton of it.”
That was easy. Coru smiled. “So, we’re good in Prince George.”
Mattea scanned the group. “How can we contribute to this group — earn our way?”
Tony spoke up. “We need guards, good shots, light vehicles like yours to buzz in and out, up and down, make sure things are good. We need skills, practice, anything you know and you’re willing to share or teach over the next six days.”
Coru and Mattea nodded silently. Wren kept hold of Coru’s hand. Deklin watched from the sidelines, his face a study.
Coru broke the silence. “Can we talk about this tonight and give you our decision in the morning?”
Doug bobbed his head. “We wouldn’t expect anything else. It’s a big decision. You let us know tomorrow. Come by Tony’s place — you know where it is. We’ve got a lot of preparing to do. Training, strategizing. We’re excited to get started, don’t get me wrong, but we want to be smart about it, too.”
The four got to their feet, preparing to leave. Millman said, “Hey, Tatman. You got a brother or cousin or something up here in Canada? About ten years older, maybe? Same tattooed head and all.”
A thrill of danger shot up Coru’s spine. Wren squeezed his hand, hard — his lifeline to presenting a public face. “Yeah,” he said, feigning puzzlement. “At least I did before the virus. A cousin. He’d be around forty about now — if he’s still alive. Why?”
“Reenie over on Ave. B used to work in the post office up in Dawson Creek. Said there was a wanted poster for a guy looking just like you hanging there for years and years. A spitting image of you, according to Reenie, only much older, of course. His name was Cody, or Cory — something like that, she thinks. She wanted me to ask. Just a curiosity. The prize money was what kept it there so long. Fifty thousand dollars.”
Coru burst out in a happy laugh, surprising even himself at his acting chops. “Fifty grand? That loser never had two dimes to rub together his whole damned life. He should have turned himself in for the money — hell, if I wasn’t still a smart-assed kid back then, I would have turned him in myself.”
Laughter filtered through the group as they drifted from the campsite and down the rutted dirt avenue towards their own campsites.
Watching them go Coru bit back the question he badly needed to be answered. Who had wanted him found all those years? Was it his brother, reaching out, trying to reconnect? Or was it Zhang, looking to impede Coru’s bid to stop him here in the past? Was this all old news or was he still a hunted man?
The real zinger had been the mention of Professor Rez. A deadly dread nipped at the edge of his memory and he didn’t know why.
A little information can bite you in the ass.
33
HEY BARISTA!
Over the next six days the explore team shared their skills with the Bear Lake Outlanders, the largest number of them fresh off some isolated farm nearby that had ensured their survival of the first year after the plague. They’d come from Spirit River, Beaver Lodge, Tumbler Ridge, Chetwynd, Dawson, Sweet Water, Montney, even as far away as Fort Nelson and Onowon, all looking for others like themselves, for safety, stability, and social structure. They now needed the
security of a larger community—the kind of community Freeland offered.
There were rumors of huge tracks of abandoned farms and orchards in the Okanogan, going untilled, unplanted, the orchard fruits unpicked, all going to waste. These northern farmers and ranchers were looking to the future, when peace returned to their country and they could resettle these valuable tracks with their families and begin again. They were willing to risk their lives to get to sanctuary, fight to protect it and to expand it throughout the interior of British Columbia.
These were opportunities waiting for those willing to fight for them.
Wren taught tracking to all ages and both sexes; she turned no one away. It was her belief these skills would save lives. She taught them how to move through the forests and fields unnoticed, how to read the signs of others who had gone before, how to fade back, how to leave no footprint, just as Mattea had taught Nicola and Nicola had taught her. They developed a coded whistling system to communicate with one another at distances, sending messages. For days, Outlanders could be heard practicing their whistles. This made Coru smile.
Mattea and Coru ran the untrained young men through hand-to-hand combat, working them in shifts starting at dawn and ending at dusk with a refreshing swim in the lake. Their reputations flew through the camp, both for their combat skills and the good connection they were making with the youngsters. On the third day, some of the older, more seasoned men showed up, asking for pointers, wanting the unique skills Mattea and Coru had developed, to protect their loved ones. On the fourth day, women trickled in and joined, learning the basics themselves. Day five saw nearly sixty men and women practicing their sparring, leaning in, letting their attackers own weight work against them, learning vulnerable attack points, evasive moves and more.
And then there was The Barista, as Mattea was now affectionately referred to, and his nightly coffee love-fest. Each night, the same group gathered at the Ave. F, Number 9 fireside, each member arriving with another, new Outlander in tow, many of them women, encouraged by Wren’s presence and impact on those she’d taught. Granted, the brew was weak, necessary to stretch out the five-pound bag, but no one was complaining, they were just happy to share, eager to take part in the nightly ritual, with an open expression, cup in hand. After the brewing and inhaling of coffee, they got down to business and strategized. The group grew with each passing night, so when the coffee ran out, they seamlessly switched to mint tea, and when that ran out they showed up with their own hot drinks, and settled in. A definite strong connection was forming within the group, and with it, confidence in their chances to make it to Freeland.
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 38