There were fifty-five families in all, the total number of Outlanders coming to two hundred and thirty-one, forty-eight of whom were children. That left one hundred and eighty-three adults, all ready to fight for their families, freedom and a fresh start. There was the possibility of seventy-four on horseback, but the decision was made to ride only half the horses in a given shift. That meant thirty-seven horses would always be fresh, and ready to be switched out if need be. These riders would travel along-side the caravan, and could move easily up and down the column, keeping an eye out, ready to give a hand when needed, to keep the group moving forward.
There were thirty-two side-by-sides — trannies — that would occupy the front, strike out as point guards and bring up the rear. They were light, quiet, fast moving and could quickly carry well-armed men and women where they needed to be to protect the group. There would be two Outlanders in each tranny, with the exception of Tatman and Barista, who traveled alone. That left eighty-four adults to squire the main parade of thirty-four trucks pulling campers, and trailers filled with children and supplies, two, sometimes three to each — one to drive, the others armed and watching. The third riders were extras and were free to roam, filling in where needed, in cases of illness, injury, or exhaustion.
Or should they suffer casualties, Coru knew. He prayed it wouldn’t come to that.
In the short time they’d been with the Bear Lake Outlanders, Coru had grown close to several and what happened to them mattered. There was Dean the horse guy, who used to be an accountant and since the pandemic had taught himself how to shoe horses. A useful skill in these times.
There was Tammy Dearborn, a former dance teacher who now led morning stretches and warm ups to avoid injuries. The Bear Lake Survivors lived in fear of injury — no doctor and no rehab. They had to stay healthy — their very survival depended upon it.
Tom and Gary Hanson were twins, the only survivors from their extensive family, trained up on all things needed to brew designer beers. Now they worked on small engines, keeping the trannies in top running order.
Phil Braden was an electrician and had the luxury of following his chosen profession. He babied the solar panels at Bear Lake, and was treated as royalty by every Outlander. Those solar panels were the most precious commodity the survivors had. No solar panels, no power; no power — no light, no transportation, no security.
Coru’s list of those he cared about here at Bear Lake went on and on. Six days of shared occupancy with these families had had a huge impact on him.
Doug wanted to send a couple of the Bear Lake Outlanders up the highway to dismantle their security camera setup, but wondered if it was worth the risk. Around the campfire, he lamented the system was malfunctioning, but maybe could be fixed, and then be useful in their new place, wherever that would be.
Wren said, “It’s no use here anymore, you may as well bring it. Let Phil at it while we’re traveling. I’ll bet it’s fixed by the time we make Freeland.”
Coru liked how she’d linked a mundane task with the assumption they would succeed in their bid to find and become part of Freeland.
“What’s wrong with it?” Gill wanted to know, poking at the fire now that his coffee was gone.
“Sending ghosting images now. A kind of loop.” Doug nodded toward Mattea and Coru. “Shows these guys arriving twice. Wish it were true. We could use two of you.”
Wren laughed. “Not me — one pair of trouble makers is all I can stand, thank you very much.”
“Better than not showing them at all,” Gayle Antonelli replied. “Those cameras help me sleep at night.”
“Hey, Tony told us he’s the reason you sleep good at night!” This from Stanley Lemon, a former construction boss who now headed up waste management.
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
“How far the mighty have fallen,” was Stan’s constant lament when he and his crew came around each morning to remove domestic waste from the sites. The truth was, they needed Stanley Lemon to avoid disease, as badly as they needed Tammy to stay fit, Gayle to be mothered, Doug for security, The Hansen twins to stay mobile, Phil for power, Dean to keep the horses healthy and ready to serve. The Bear Lake Outlanders were tight, they needed one another, and had grown to love one another.
“He’s the reason we’ve got so many damned kids!” Gayle complained. Gayle Antonelli had a sweet face, mischievous eyes and a trim little figure that denied the number of children she had brought into this world
More cackles of laughter.
It was good to be part of this. Coru knew he would miss Bear Lake as well as D.O.A. when he walked back into the Time Bore. Where had this kind of comradery gone in his time? In WEN 2341 it was all politicking and infighting. In his time, people drew together to form alliances to further their agenda, to meet a personal goal, to jump ahead, to rise through the limiting levels of society. In WEN 2341, mutual benefits created partnerships, not genuine caring or interest.
On the final night, Millman and Tony Antonelli approached Coru and drew him aside from the fire pit gathering, which was over fifty strong tonight and buzzing with a mixture of excitement and dread.
“What’s up?” Coru asked the pair.
“We’ve been talking about Prince George.”
“Okay.”
“You know we’re prepared to pay the passage tax.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What we haven’t discussed is who pays the tax.”
“That’s true.” Coru tilted his head. “Who do you have in mind?”
Tony and Millman exchanged glances. Millman said. “You.”
“Seriously?” Coru frowned. “Why me?”
Tony gave a stilted laugh. “Because of your tats, man. We’ve been thinking, who would these guys respect, who could they relate to? The obvious answer is you.”
“Because…?”
“Bikers loved tattoos — they’re covered in them. It’s a status thing. These guys are members of a gang.” The way Tony emphasized gang told Coru he was afraid of these men. Coru wasn’t especially eager to meet the Road Lords himself, Rushton being an excellent example of what men were capable of under a cruel leader. “We were thinking they would be more … approachable if they were dealing with another guy who favored tats himself. You gotta admit, your head’s pretty freaky to the average citizen.”
How could he respond to this? He knew they meant no disrespect. They were right, he did look different from all the others. That fact had grown obvious over the last several days, when he’d caught more than one person staring at his head. Back at D.O.A., nobody seemed to care — out here everyone seemed to care. Plus, now that he knew about the wanted poster, he had to fight the urge to don a cap to hide his markings. The chances of whoever was looking for him still being alive were not good, but there was a chance, and he had no wish to bring ruin upon his traveling companions now. But if he did pull on a hat, hide his markings to protect them, the people he was protecting would know he’d lied to them. Who wore a cap in the summer heat? No one. Not if they had nothing to hide.
He joked, “How scary are these Road Lords?”
“Scary,” Millman and Tony replied with one voice. They weren’t joking back.
He could see this had been weighing heavily on their minds. These people, these Bear Lake Outlanders were farmers, family men, office workers, tradesmen. They knew little of biker gangs, beyond the wild tales of drug-running and crime protection. Facing the bikers in Prince George would take a lot of courage.
Hell, they couldn’t be any scarier than what Moses Zhang had wrought on this world. He nodded. “Yup. Will do.”
The parade of Outlanders pulled out of Bear Lake at dusk on the sixth day amid nerves and glitches. The nerves quickly settled, the glitches were rectified. The whole group was on the road and moving down the highway in less than an hour. The moon was at half, lending a decent amount of light, and they did use headlights, as they were not sneaking into Prince George. With two hundred and thi
rty-one people, there was no sneaking. They would approach the city with confidence. They would approach the city with lights ablaze.
Coru and Mattea were tonight’s point men, running ahead about a mile, each in their own tranny, watching for signs of trouble. Just north of the city, traveling through an area called Hart and down a long steep hill on their approach to the city, they found it.
Ahead Coru caught sight of the old “downed-tree” ploy. It wasn’t even a big tree, though they were surrounded by towering Ponderosa Pines. Whoever was behind this shakedown probably dragged this particular tree onto the highway in the evening, then off again in the morning. Like they hadn’t seen this one before — the macabre scene north of Wren’s place being the worst he’d witnessed.
Mattea was riding his tranny alongside Coru’s. They exchanged mirthless grins and each peeled off into the weeds and sandy soil on their own side of the highway, disappearing into the bush.
Once in the trees and close to the barrier, Coru stopped Beastette, hopped out and loped the rest of the way through shifting sand to the camp of the highwaymen. It was exactly where he thought it would be, off to the side and in about a hundred feet or so. A horse was tethered under a huge old pine and was dozing, one of its hooves turned up to rest its leg. The highwaymen had nodded off around a weak fire — strong smoky smell; wet wood — and were dressed in rags and looked to have few possessions with them. Looking up, Coru spied Mattea’s russet face in the trees beyond. Mattea grinned and winked. Coru nodded, advanced into the campsite, and kicked the outstretched boot of one of the men. The man woke with a start, his hat falling to the wayside, long hair spilled out. His companion jerked awake, leaping for his rifle, but too late — Coru already held the weapon. Coru found himself looking into the faces of two teens, one a boy, the other a girl. They couldn’t have been older than fifteen at most. Mattea strolled out of the trees and joined him.
“You own the tree out on the highway?” Mattea asked conversationally, dropping down to poke through their few possessions. The boy started to protest, but the girl shook her head, no, and he stopped.
“Got any food in here?” Mattea asked.
The girl bit down on her lips for a time, than finally answered. “Some.”
Coru tossed the rifle back to the boy, who reached out and caught it, surprise in his young face. “You’ve got two choices. One — drag off your tree, pack up your camp and come with us. We’re headed to Freeland. Two — drag off your tree and don’t come with us to Freeland, and continue this stellar career choice you got going here.”
The two stared at him blankly.
Mattea said, “Clocks ticking boys and girls. What’s it going to be, come with us or stay behind?”
The girl licked her lips. “How many you got?”
“Near two hundred and fifty. With kids your age.”
Her eyes widened. She glanced at the boy, asking with her eyes.
Mattea said, “It’s no free ride. You’ll work for your keep.”
The boy snorted. “You think we don’t work? You’re nuts if you do.”
Coru untied the horse. “Why don’t we discuss this while we clear the road. Kill two birds as they say.”
He led the horse out to the highway, hitched it up to the tree, and made short work of the roadblock. Unhitching the horse, he returned to the campfire. The two teens were shoving dry biscuits into their mouths, and chugging water from Mattea’s canteen their eyes large, wary, as if this good fortune would disappear before they got it down.
Coru raised his eyebrows in question.
Mattea replied, “Got ourselves two new recruits. Rachel and Thomas Bryant. Parents dead of the ‘flu. Been on their own ever since. Drifted down from Tumbler Ridge, looking for food. Set up shop about a month ago, trading food for safe passage.”
Coru tipped his head at Mattea. “Remind me to suggest you for the interrogation team. You can get more out of a stone in under a minute than most get from a gossip columnist in a week.” He looked at the teens. “So, what are your super powers?”
They looked back at him in bewilderment.
“What marketable skill do you possess that will help this group of Outlanders reach Freeland in one piece?”
Rachel stuttered, “I’m good with livestock, especially horses.”
Thomas looked at him blankly, then burst out with, “I’m good with small engines. And I can hunt.”
Coru nodded. “Well, there you go. You’re hired.” He kicked the fire out, covering it with sand, then poured the contents of a nearby water jug over it until it was out, then waved the teens to follow him. “Bring your horse. You’re riding with me.”
Wordlessly, the pair followed him, and once back at Beastette, both got into the backseats. He started her up, swung around, drove up onto the highway and floored it back to the Bear Lake Outlander column, now in sight. The horse galloped behind, seeming to sense its fortunes had just changed for the better.
He turned sharply, coming alongside Tony and Gayle Antonelli’s rig. Gayle was driving, Wren was armed watch. He said, “Got two more for ya, Gayle. Rachel and Thomas Bryant.” He flicked friendly eyes at Wren, who sent him back a little smile. He missed hearing her thoughts inside his head.
“Hey Rachel, hey Thomas.” Gayle signaled to the rig following behind her, then stopped and looked the teens over with kind eyes. “Jump in the back with the rest. Ask Therese to make you up a couple of sandwiches.”
“What about Ginger, my horse?” Rachel asked.
“Tie her to the camper why don’t you, Tatman. We’re not going fast. She should come along okay.”
Coru did as she asked and Rachel and Thomas scrambled from the tranny and disappeared into the Antonelli’s trailer without a word.
When Coru walked back to Beastette, Gayle asked him, “Everything good up there?”
“So far, so good. Thanks, Gayle.” Coru jumped back in the tranny and sped ahead, back to Mattea. He hoped they’d all be like this one, but knew that was wishful thinking.
After a long steady decline into the outskirts of the city, then crossing a bridge, they reached Prince George proper at four in the morning, and as predicted, they were met with an entourage of Bikers. This was no worn out tree across the highway; this was cinder blocks and barbed wire and weapons, many, many weapons.
Mattea and Coru approached cautiously, but were careful to show no fear. The caravan was about half an hour behind them, yet to have reached the bridge. Having all this cleared up before they arrived would be a good thing.
A bulldog of a man swaggered toward them, his thigh muscles so over developed he was forced to rock from side to side as he moved. As Tony and Millman had heard, these men were covered in ink, many of which, from where Coru sat, looked to be home grown prison tats from this period in history. Yes — he’d had a ton of classic comics loaded in his tablet as a teenager and he’d read them all.
Up close he saw Thighs had teardrop ink on his face. Six to be exact. Coru knew this meant six kills. Nice.
Thighs demanded, “What’s your business?” A few other bikers drifted forward.
“Coming through with a group of Outlanders, headed south to the Okanagan, then onto the Kootenays.”
“You figure?” Thighs replied, amusement in his tone. “And how do you think you’ll manage that?”
“I’ll pay you fine gentlemen a boatload of cash, half now, the other half when we reach the southern outskirts of Prince George, is how.”
That got him a barked laugh. “You pay up front.”
“We pay half.”
“I insist.”
Coru stroked his rifle thoughtfully. Mattea bared his teeth at Thighs, a chilling grin without levity. “Then we have ourselves a problem, gentlemen, because, easy or hard, we’re coming through. We pay for a quiet passage, or we split this town wide open. Your call.” He bore his gaze into Thighs until the biker understood Coru meant what he said.
“What you got?”
“One hundred gr
and. Fifty now, fifty at the other end.”
Thigh’s highbrows twitched in appreciation. He was smiling now, a sour new arrangement of his features that did nothing to help him out. Babe magnet, Thighs was not. “Let’s see your green.”
Coru nodded to Mattea, who strolled back to the Beast and pulled a canvas bag from behind the front seat and returned, handing the bag over to Thighs.
Mattea said, “You should start counting now, give yourself extra time.”
Unfazed by the inference, Thighs tossed the bag to one of the three men who’d drifted to his side. The bag was swiftly passed back and disappeared into a small, brightly lit trailer set up behind the barricade.
Coru and Mattea returned to sit together in Beastette to wait. Mattea chuckled, “Listen to you, going all gangsta on his ass. Made me proud, son.”
“Hang around Sean long enough, you learn all the cool catch phrases. I’ve been studying up.” He laughed softly. “Gotta walk the walk and talk the talk around here.”
“You’re fitting right in.”
“That’s the idea.” Coru looked past the barrier as far as he could. There were about twelve, maybe fifteen men, all armed, but the barrier wasn’t deep. It was made to be put up and taken down quickly. He said conversationally, “We coulda’ taken ‘em.”
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 39