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

by R. R. Roberts

  There was laughter and gardening stories began to flow — successes, too much success, miserable failures.

  “That zucchini was shaped exactly like a rolling pin – I swear I coulda’ rolled out pastry and baked pies with the darned thing…”

  “So many strawberries, we were feeding them to the chickens…”

  “First I scratched my kids’ names into the skin of all my young pumpkins, let them scab over and let them grow all summer, then, when I called the kids to go pick out a pumpkin from the patch. Well, I tell ya — those kids were over the moon with excitement when they found a pumpkin with their name on it…”

  The fire was set, a rack of green saplings constructed in short order by more stragglers who’d wandered by and been drafted to the task.

  “Only a pinch of salt. That’s where most go wrong, they’re all over the salt, which overpowers …”

  “Best sausage I ever ate was made from moose meat. You’d never know it was wild meat…”

  “And I told his teacher, if my child wants to play with the girls, skip rope, he’s entitled…”

  A few of the women put their heads together, and worked out the sides they needed: The baked potatoes, of course, hot biscuits, some greens for salad, pickles. One woman had dried apple slices she would plump up in water and make a massive apple cobbler, if she could get some donations of sugar. She had plenty of offers of both the sugar and roasters to put it together.

  The camp was slowly coming alive, people emerging from their hideouts, coaxed out by the smell of roasting meat that moved provocatively through the campsite, lingering between the trailers and tents. People’s steps quickened, busy now, driven at last to get their lives back in order. Many stopped to check out the state of the roasts and ribs laid out on the web of saplings, their eyes bright.

  “Not too much longer, now,” Mattea would answer, smiling as he turned the meat, keeping the roasts cooking evenly. “Maybe time to toss in those potatoes you were threatening me with.”

  As dinner approached, the camp was alive with activity. Mattea could hear snatches of soft laughter, conversations where there had been none before, the sound of children running and playing, falling, scraping knees, crying for their mothers. A boy protested, “But you went last round; this is my turn!”

  When it was time to eat, four of the men were tasked with carving up the meat. Three ladies arrived with huge containers of slaw — cabbage and carrots, they had aplenty. Six women had put together biscuits, producing over three hundred of the golden beauties. Mr. Potato Head — he took no offence — fished the spuds out with a rake. A colorful array of blankets appeared on the grass all around, and the odd assortment of cobbled together families settled on them with loaded plates and appetites they hadn’t had in days.

  The apple cobbler was served, still warm, with people licking their plates when they were done, casting their eyes about in case there was more.

  When the meal was finished, the sun was low in the sky and talk was hushed, punctuated often with gentle laughter. Children grew sleepy but resisted being put to bed. Their parents didn’t press. The atmosphere was relaxed, peaceful, accepting. No one wanted it to end.

  Mattea stood up near the dying fire and roamed the perimeter. “I have a story to share. Anyone up to hearing a story?”

  He saw eager nodding, heard cheerful, “Hear, Hears”; many clapped their approval.

  “This is the story of a contest between Sun and Cloud and Wind.”

  The children’s eyes rounded with interest. He saw many relax back into someone’s arms, their little faces focused, that haunted look they’d worn since Prince George gone.

  “Sun and Cloud and Wind were old friends. They all knew they were important to the people of the earth. With no Sun, how would people see? How would flowers grow? Without Cloud, how would the plants and animals and people drink? With no Wind, how would the season’s change, how would the seeds fly to a new place and grow a new flower, a new tree, new potato?”

  He acknowledged Mr. Potato Head with a nod.

  “There’s my problem — too much wind!” Mr. Potato Head complained cheerfully.

  Laughter filtered through Mattea’s captive audience.

  Mattea continued, “The sun said, ‘Let’s not argue. Let’s agree we are all important to the earth. We are all equally needed’.”

  “But Wind and Cloud were not happy with this. They were certain they were the most important. In fact, each of them thought that they were the most powerful of the three and they wanted it settled once and for all.”

  Mattea shook his head. “How silly they were.”

  The children shook their heads along with him. Silly.

  “Does it matter who is more powerful? Who is strongest, fastest, smartest?”

  The children stared back, some slowly shaking their heads, unsure and awaiting his answer.

  “Wind saw a man walking along the road, wearing a long cape to protect himself from the weather. Wind was excited. Here was the perfect way for him to show Cloud and Sun how much stronger he was than they. He said, ‘Sun, Cloud. I propose we have a contest. Let us each try to make this man remove his cape’.

  “Sun and Cloud agreed to Wind’s contest.

  “‘I’ll go first,’ Wind said, excited to show them how strong he was. He blew a strong wind against the man. The man shivered and held his cape tightly to his body and hurried along the road. Surprised, Wind blew some more, only this time, he blew his very hardest. The man could barely walk, and he bent over and fought to take each step.” Here Mattea acted out the man’s actions. The children giggled, the parents smiled.

  “But the man still clutched his cape close to his body against Wind’s efforts. No matter what Wind tried, the man would not let loose his cape. Finally, exhausted, Wind stopped. He said. ‘That man will never give up his cape. I know you cannot get him to give it up now.’

  “Cloud replied, ‘I know you are wrong. I can make him remove his cape.’ Cloud moved over the man and poured rain down upon him as he walked. The man looked up, saw Cloud and clutching his cape, hurried down the road, trying to escape Cloud. Frustrated, Cloud chased after the man and poured hard rain down on his head, soaking his cape, knowing that once the cape was soaked, the man would have to remove it. Soon, Cloud was exhausted, as Wind had been. He had no more tricks up his sleeve. He’d poured rain onto the man as hard as he could, and still the man refused to let go of his cape. Cloud said, ‘That man will never give up his cape’.

  “Sun just smile at Cloud and Wind. They did not understand.

  “Sun just beamed and beamed down on the man, sending warmth into his world, sending warmth all over the land in which he walked. Soon the man stopped running away, and soon after that, the man stood up straight and walked as he normally would. And then the man stopped and shrugged off his cape and folded it over his arm and walked slowly the rest of the way to his home and family.

  “Sun said to Wind and Cloud, ‘You are both important for this earth, and you are both strong. But being strong will not make people do what you want. That is the way of the Bully. By being warm and gentle you can change more in the world than any strength there is.”

  The children gazed at Mattea, drinking in what he had told them.

  “Does anyone know what that story teaches us?” he asked.

  There was silence, then a little voice piped up and said, “Don’t forget your jacket?”

  A titter of laughter followed.

  Another voice, an older voice this time, though still a child’s, ventured, “By being gentle and kind, you can change things, but being hard and strong, maybe not?”

  Mattea smiled. “That is a very good observation. And you’ve got it. Sometimes being soft gets you further than being harsh. Try being kind. Try smiling, helping. That’s how you change the world into a good place.”

  The first little boy piped up again. “I like that place!”

  “That’s how we all had a great meal together tonight
. We all pitched in with something we had. Some of us worked, others brought something to share. That’s how we’ll find a new land together, and a new life.” Mattea raised his hands to encompass everyone. “By loving each other, through kindness and warmth we can change the world. Let’s change it together.”

  There was a smattering of applause and the sounds of people packing up their dishes, their blankets, talking of bedtime for the little ones and planning time for the adults. They had a long way to go, and where they were headed would mean a new and better life for everyone. Many stopped to shake Mattea’s hand or thank him for his words before they headed home to their own place by the lake.

  The mood was better, it was lifted, just a little. Not the same — for many, life had changed in the killing fields of Prince George forever. But there was hope. There was looking to a better future. Mattea could feel it.

  It was a first step. The Bear Lake Outlanders were on their way back.

  CORU FINALLY FOUND Wren sitting on a rock down by the lake, her knees drawn up to her chest, gazing across the water. He called out, “Behind you,” so not to startle her.

  She turned her head and laid her cheek onto her knee and looked up at him. “Behind you?”

  “Sandy was a waitress in high school. She said that’s what the waitresses said to one another when they had a full tray and didn’t want to scare each other. They made her pay for any dishes she broke.”

  “You planning a future as a waiter?”

  He shook his head with a smile.

  Wren turned to look over the lake again and laughed softly. “Phew. Saved all those dishes.”

  He sat down on the sand beside her, stretching his legs out before him. “What are you doing down here by yourself?”

  “Contemplating my options.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “You’ve got options?”

  “Hey, don’t burst my bubble. World domination is still up for grabs as far as I can tell.”

  He leaned back on his elbows. “Notice no one’s clambering for the job?”

  “Sounds like ‘Professor Rez’ down in Vancouver might be making a play for it.”

  Again he experienced that hazy sense of recognition and didn’t know why. He let it slip away, not wanting to spoil this quiet moment. “Idiot. Didn’t anyone tell him it’s lonely at the top?”

  She didn’t answer, just looked at the water. It was smooth, the moon lending a splash of light on its surface. The only sounds were the occasional call of a loon — a lovely but lonely call, the gentle lapping of the water against the sand here by their feet and the occasional rustle of the grasses that grew all around them when a warm breeze came through.

  He laid down, lacing his fingers behind his head and stared up into the clear starry night. Millions of stars shone overhead, and his world tilted, making him dizzy for a moment. This place, this planet was such a tiny spot in a huge universe. “You live in a beautiful world, Wren Wood. Never forget that.”

  “I don’t; I’ve seen your world.” She looked down at him again. “How did it get so bad?”

  “Geez.” He thought about his answer.

  There was so much about the future he was unable to share. “It started here, before your time. The massive web of poison lying under the ground, never taken up, never undone. Left to rot, to contaminate everything. ‘Not my problem,’ should be man’s theme song.”

  He sat up, balanced his arms on his bent knees and laced his fingers together again. “I guess it all boils down to greed. The race for money and power. Fossil fuels were easier than innovation, a short cut to riches. Corporations run the world, not governments. I’m not saying the blame is here, in the past. It starts here, but it’s still going strong in the future, even in the face of disaster.”

  “How can you go back to it?”

  He didn’t want to go. Every selfish bone in his body was screaming for him to stay.

  “I have to. No question.”

  They were quiet again, each lost in their own thoughts. Coru heard an owl hoot in the trees behind them and smiled faintly. Another sound he would miss. He wished he had his sketch book with him now — his fingers itched to draw this scene, seated by the lake with Wren, add it to his now precious sketch book, the one item he intended to bring back to Cloud Rez with him.

  “This is where the highway splits,” Wren told him. “One way takes us to Freeland, the other to Hope and the Time Bore. You’re one hard day’s ride away from returning to your own times.”

  “Hope. That’s so ironic, don’t you think? The Bore is down by a town called Hope. I arrived in the town of Hope. I’m leaving by a town called Hope. You can’t make this stuff up.”

  When she only smiled, he answered her question. “Mattea and I had this very conversation not half an hour ago. He wanted to know if I would leave you now, go down a different road and go home, go see if I have a home, see if Payton is already there, waiting.”

  Wren turned to him in alarm. “Are you going? Is this good-bye?”

  “No. This is you and me sitting by a pretty lake, talking. I’d never leave you out here. I want you safe before I leave.”

  This was getting too close to exposing his feelings about her, about this place he loved. He couldn’t do that, he couldn’t muddy up everything he’d so carefully kept in check, not when he was about to walk away from it all.

  Another gentle hoot hoot drifted through the warm summer air from behind him, unlacing his resolve. Gripping his fingers tighter, he continued, “I care about every person we’re bringing to Freeland, and won’t leave until you’re all safe. I want your father’s work delivered into the right hands before I leave. I still have unfinished business.”

  She didn’t respond. He knew she didn’t like him distancing himself in this way, giving her this impersonal answer, but his heart hurt already. He had no choices here.

  He asked, “You ready for tomorrow?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” She didn’t sound happy.

  “You worried about what we’ll find there?” he asked, glad to be talking about something else.

  “Not really. Well, yeah, I hope it’s all it’s supposed to be, that it’s ground zero for getting life back on track, making it safe for people to live out their lives.” She stopped, moving her face ‘til her nose was pressed against her knees. In a muffled tone she said, “I know once we’re there, that’s when you’ll leave.”

  He didn’t know how to respond. He’d thought of little else himself since they’d left Prince George. Watching people you care about being slaughtered made you think differently than before. Knowing he was leaving people he loved here in this uncertain, crazy dangerous world was tearing him in half. There was so much he did want to tell her, but once he started, he feared he’d never stop.

  “Please don’t stay silent. Not hearing your thoughts, not hearing anyone anymore makes me feel so isolated. I’m not part of anything anymore.”

  He looked closely at her. She was crying.

  “I’m… I’m sorry, Wren, I just assumed… You said you hated hearing everything.”

  She swiped impatiently at her cheeks. “I was stupid. I had the power to shut it down whenever I wanted. I just resented doing the work. It was always such a pain to shield people out. The truth is, it was easy as pie. I was selfish and petty and judgmental. So off into the woods I flounced. I took my ball and went home.”

  “I’m sure there was more to it than that.” He knew there was. He’d been part of her mind for months, had seen the pain she’d felt at hearing people’s judgments of her, especially back in high school. She’d confessed to Nicola once that reading the thoughts of teenaged boys hopped up on hormones had sent her down the path of virginity she still hadn’t managed to veer away from.

  Nicola had told her she was lucky, thinking of Topher.

  It had been girl talk – and he shouldn’t have been listening in, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d wanted to know. They’d been debating their continuing single status and re
asoning why it wasn’t a bad thing.

  “No. That’s what it was. I was running away, hiding.”

  Wren’s voice pulled him back to the lake, the moonlight. He said, “Running away and hiding saved your life, and you’ve provided a home for all of us, you shielded us. You’re not a selfish woman.”

  She faced him, her eyes shiny. “When we could talk to one another inside. When it was just us five, Coru, that was the best.”

  He nodded. He’d liked it too. To be able to reach out to someone you trusted in that way had been … had been special and had given him such faith in them, in their alliance. He’d never felt so close to people before, so part of something greater than himself. When Wren was sick and they’d all been silenced, it felt like a death.

  He put his arm around her awkwardly, not sure if this was what she wanted from him. Touching her could be dangerous — for both of them. “I’m sorry it’s gone. We all miss it. It was good to be part of that connection.”

  “And I messed that up too!”

  He gripped her shoulder and gave her a little shake. “How is this your fault?”

  “I know I’m being stupid.” She leaned into him and sighed. “I miss you, Coru, and you haven’t even left yet. What will I do when you walk into the Bore?”

  “You… you go on living your life, you find your place here in this new world and make a difference. You have other gifts you —.”

  “That’s all crap and we both know it. You forget I was roaming around in your head for months. You can’t fool me, Coru. I know you feel the same way I do. We have maybe a week together, then you’re gone. Don’t you think we could at least be honest for that one week?”

  He pulled away from her. “I don’t know what you want, Wren. I’m not prepared to go down that road with you, it’ll be too painful for you when —.”

  “Back to Mister Formal.” She leapt to her feet. “Oh, get over yourself, Wisla — you’re not that freaking special!” She whirled and stalked into the darkness.

  His arm chilled where her warmth had been only a moment ago. This was what it would be like after he left her. Cold, silent, alone. And what was he returning to? He had no clue. None. His own death? Back to nothing? Would his work here make things better? Had he made them worse? Did it matter at all — was it all for nothing?