Mario’s wound was examined, the doctor complimenting Gayle on her handy work out in the field, but told her he had something much better. He clipped and removed her stitches, then laid what looked to Gayle like a dried empty snake skin along the wound, sprayed it down with a moisturizing disinfectant until it softened and adhered to the wound, then held a warm lamp over the wound until the ‘skin’ tightened up, both protecting the wound from infection and holding it together to heal. The doctor told Gayle and Mario he would not have a scar when he was healed. Wren had seen the wound—it didn’t seem possible Mario would walk away without evidence of the brutal slashing he’d taken in battle. Now, Mario was shoving food in as fast as he could, complaining no one would believe him when he told them he’d fought against the Prince George Road Lords.
It was very apparent things were advanced here at Freeland. This was a good thing. She nudged Coru and whispered, “We’ve come to the right place to share my father’s work.”
He was slow to nod, his eyes on Mario, his expression puzzled.
She whispered, “What’s wrong?”
He came back to himself and shook his head regretfully. “Sorry, my mind wandered off there for a minute. Mario’s medical treatment. That’s… never mind. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. That skinny stainless steel bed is sounding better and better to me all the time.”
“How long before we can show them what we have?”
He shrugged, widening his eyes in bewilderment. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“I don’t want to stay so long we can’t get back before the bad weather. Nicola will go out of her mind with worry. Catherine will be certifiable.”
He looked at her and frowned. “Certifiable?”
“It’s an expression. You know — when you’ve passed all the tests that confirm your crazy? They certify you and lock you away?”
He gazed back at her as if she were crazy herself. “They lock…? Never mind — I don’t need to know. But you’re right. We need to get out of here, the sooner the better. Hope is days away, who knows what we’ll encounter getting there, then you, Mattea and Deklin have that long journey home, alone…”
Elbows on the table, his food forgotten, he drifted off, his expression growing grim.
“Don’t worry about us. We’ll travel around Prince George — we won’t step a foot inside that place.”
He pushed his unfinished tray away, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. She knew he would speak no more about it and let it lie for now. She could not read his thoughts, but she could predict them. If he went on like this, worrying about their return trip, he might try to slip away to Hope alone to save them the extra days back to D.O.A. In fact, she could almost guarantee that was exactly what he was cooking up in his head right now. She glanced at Mattea in desperation.
He only shrugged. What could he do?
Watch him every minute was what she intended to do.
The children returned to the counter to select another dessert. The display was a dream come true. Fresh fruit: apples, pears, bananas, cherries. Red Jello, pumpkin pie, lemon pie, chocolate brownies, cream puffs, oatmeal cookies, banana bread, chocolate pudding with fresh raspberries.
The adults returned to the silver coffee urn and poured a second cup. Back at the table, Millman nudged Doug. He raised his coffee mug. “It’s good,” he said, “but they can’t touch the Barista here. Am I right?”
A chuckle ran along the table. A low, short-lived, exhausted chuckle. Instead of energizing them, the meal had brought home how very tired they all were. Soon people were excusing themselves and heading back to their quarters. Tomorrow’s orientation came early.
Back in their quarters, Deklin’s eyes were already closed when Wren guided him into his bunk, then undid her pants, let them drop to the floor, and fell into her own, dragging the covers over her with a heavy arm. She’d worry about the ‘personal drawer’ tidying up part tomorrow. The last thing she saw was Mattea and Coru sitting at the table, heads together, talking in low tones. What more they could possibly talk about she had no idea.
Wren was shaking. The whole boat was shaking. If this didn’t stop, they’d swamp their tiny boat, they’d all go under, be swept away. “Stop. Stop it. Deklin can’t swim. Stop it!”
“Wren, wake up.” The words were whispered by her ear. Urgent. Something was wrong. She sat up with a gasp, knocking her head against something hard. “Ow!”
“Geez, girl! You don’t make things easy, do you?” Mattea was rubbing at his forehead.
“Sorry. I was dreaming…”
“I noticed. Next time Coru wants you awake, he can risk his own head.”
She blinked, looking around the low-lit room. Deklin was in a deep sleep; both Mattea’s and Coru’s beds were still folded into the wall. “You didn’t sleep?”
Mattea nodded toward the door. Coru was talking with a man.
She frowned. “What time is it?”
“Two a.m.”
She swung her bare legs out from under the covers and slipped her feet into her gray Freedomland issued pants, standing up to pull them on and zip them closed. “What does he want?”
“I guess they’re more interested in what Coru had requested than Amy had anticipated.”
“Oh.” She sat back down and pulled on her boots. “What are they arguing about?”
“Coru’s trying to convince him they only want him. It’s not working out.”
She stood up and with four short steps was standing beside Coru, stuffing her hair into a ponytail and looking at the man at their door with interest.
He smiled. “Ah, Miss Wood. You are awake. There’s someone who is very interested to speak with you.”
“Right now? In the middle of the night?”
“No rest for the wicked.”
“Not a big confidence booster, I have to tell you,” she replied. She glanced at Coru. “Want to get this over with?”
He nodded, returned to his assigned drawer and pulled out his backpack. He and Mattea exchanged significant looks before he rejoined her and their escort at the entrance.
Wren sent Mattea the stink eye, just so he’d know she was on to him. If he thought he and Coru had hatched a plan for Coru to slip away after this, she would boil the pair of them in oil.
The escort held out his hand, an invitation to join him in the darkened hallway. He led them to the elevator, took them inside, inserted the identity card he had hanging around his neck into a slot she hadn’t noticed before. Now he pressed Level Q. She could have sworn there had been no Level Q when they’d first arrived.
After a moment, the doors opened, not upon another steel-lined hallway but on a private suite, this built and furnished in complete luxury. No stainless walls here, no folding bunks or personal drawers. Here the rooms were huge, the furnishing made up of soft comfortable couches and chairs, all white, and a tasteful scattering of carved wood tables and cabinets. There was an abundance of living plants, the sound of trickling water, faint background flute music, and large pieces of art everywhere, all depicting scenes of nature.
Was this the leader of Freeland’s suite or a health spa?
Seated on one of the couches was a lone man, dressed in white, one arm across the back of the couch, a glass of red wine in his hand, a smile on his clean-shaven face. Talk about setting the scene. Why go to so much trouble?
He saluted them with his glass, his eyebrows raised. “Please come in, join me.” Wren saw there was a silver tray containing two more stemmed glasses, an open bottle of wine and an opulent fruit bowl. She did a double take. Bananas again? Where were all these bananas coming from?
Coru was frowning at her and she made herself focus on why they were here. She and Coru moved across the thick carpet, hesitated a moment, then sat down across from the man.
He placed his glass on the table and reached his hand out to them. They both stood up, shook it briefly and sat back down. “I apologize for the late hour. First, let me introdu
ce myself. I am Luke Pendergrass. I am Mr. Courlisaw’s first assistant. Mr. Courlisaw regrets he cannot meet with you in person, but he wants me to convey his humble apologies and to extend a warm welcome to you and your followers here from us all at Freeland.”
Coru nodded his acknowledgement. Wren followed suit.
Pendergrass shifted forward. “Can I offer you wine?”
They both shook their heads.
“Let’s get down to business then, shall we? Your request mentioned you have the complete works of Charles Wood in your possession. Is this true?” His smile, meant to be encouraging was tense.
Wren could see under his polite façade. Luke Pendergrass was extremely interested in what they had to offer. This was a good thing, wasn’t it? And she had anticipated a struggle when they offered her father’s work. Instead, this man was practically salivating to get his hands on it.
Coru asked, “You’re familiar with Doctor Wood’s work and reputation?”
Pendergrass laughed pleasantly. “Isn’t everyone?”
Wren frowned, “Not really.”
Pendergrass’s expression morphed into disapproving. “Well, they certainly should be. We would not have the stellar subcutaneous drug delivery systems we have today without his influence. Thousands of drug addicts are now able to live normal lives, millions of people suffering from chronic conditions are now receiving their medications in a safe, sustainable manner, and living longer, better lives. All this is due to your father, I understand, Miss Wood, and I’m just scratching the surface.”
She gazed back at him, baffled. “All those drug addicts, those chronic condition sufferers? They’re all dead.”
He shook his head impatiently and frowned. “But of course — I miss-spoke. We do find ourselves in a very different world now.” His expression morphed into a sunny smile. “But here at Freeland, we will change that. We have been preparing for years for the fall of our precarious world. When it came, we were not ready, but we were so much better off than we could have been without Mr. Courlisaw’s guidance and forward thinking. We all owe Mr. Courlisaw a great debt.”
Wren found herself nodding in agreement, whoever this Courlisaw person was.
Coru asked, “What are Courlisaw’s plans for everyone?”
“Oh, that would take more time than we have tonight,” Pendergrass replied regretfully.
Coru smiled back. “The short version, then.”
“Do you have Doctor Wood’s work with you?”
“I do.”
“Oh. That’s good, then. You still want to entrust it to Freeland?”
“Once I know you’re a reputable organization and will use it well.”
Pendergrass’s eyes widen in offence. “I assure you, Freeland has the very best intentions for all concerned.”
Coru was still smiling. “Convince me.”
Pendergrass stared back at Coru, considering. Abruptly he sat back, his wine forgotten. “Alright. We knew things would go south one day. Under Mr. Courlisaw’s guidance, we gathered those with money and influence and coupled them with the best minds of our times —.”
Wren interrupted, “Except my father.”
Pendergrass took a moment to appear regretful once again. “Yes, except your father. A bad choice, I’m afraid. Mr. Courlisaw, in particular, was not pleased. He came to know that your father’s work had far-reaching influence in future advances in technology, in medicine, in space travel, and in…many areas we can’t even imagine as of now. But by then, it was too late. Doctor Wood had dropped out, could not be found. Your coming here with it is… extraordinary. A gift.”
“So, you will continue on with his work here at Freeland?” Coru pressed.
Pendergrass’s face registered horror. “But of course. It is our very great privilege and honor to be entrusted with such a great man’s work.”
Coru and Wren exchanged glances, then Coru asked, “And what about our followers, the Bear Lake Outlanders. Is there a future here for them, a place for them?”
“You ask as if you will not be here yourself. Are you not staying with us?”
“I have somewhere I’ve got to be; Wren here has family up north she must return to. The summer is coming to a close. It’s a long, dangerous journey and she must head back soon. Plus, Prince George is a mess.”
“We’re very concerned about Prince George. It’s a gateway and is choking off half the region. It was ruled with an iron fist before, but with those bikers in charge now…” Pendergrass’s façade was slipping, revealing a worried man. “We’ve heard horror stories about Prince George and have considered sending in a unit to clean it up. What stops us is New Pacifica — old Vancouver for you who’ve been out of the loop.”
Wren fought back a smile at his now almost quaint expression. Yeah, they’d been “out of the loop” all right. They’d been busy fighting for their lives.
Pendergrass continued, “There’s something coming our way from New Pacifica, in the form of a fringe group calling themselves POE - Protectors of Earth. Their organization is centered in New Pacifica, but their influence reaches as far away as California. There have been reports of skirmishes, with POE making the local small-time warlords look like amateurs in the terror department. It makes us hesitant to commit troops to Prince George, valuable troops we cannot spare.
Coru grimaced. “You might be surprised how easy it would be to clean it up now.”
Pendergrass frowned his puzzlement.
“We lost thirty-four of our best, seven of them children, in a field just south of Prince George. If our numbers are correct, there are only a handful of the Road Lords left. Now would be the time to send troops there to secure the city and assure safe passage from the north to the south and vice versa. The city itself is in good repair for the most part. With a strong leader, it could thrive again.
“How was your passage through the smaller towns?”
“We skirted many of them. No sense in riling up the locals. Others were friendly enough, though the people there still left and came with us. They feel unsafe.”
“Yes, like I said, small time warlords in charge of their little kingdoms. Nothing like the north, I’ve heard.”
“You heard right.”
Pendergrass nodded. “Thank you. This is information we need. I’ll inform Bert Beard, our acting Troop Director. We’ve long since debated Prince George. If Professor Rez were to bring Prince George over to his side, he could recruit the smaller warlords as well. We would be caught in the middle and squeezed out. Your intel is very welcome indeed.”
Wren said, “But we need to know what your intentions are with the people who come here. I see no development, no agriculture, no homesteads. What are your plans, Mr. Pendergrass? If my family is to join you next summer, what would they be coming to?”
Pendergrass look genuinely beat down by her question. “I’m sorry if I seemed cavalier. None of us are. Mr. Courlisaw was so animated when he learned of your father’s work, and the need to advance it, that I forgot how this must seem to newcomers. I apologize for my insensitivity.”
“So, you believe a war is coming?” Coru asked. His face was grim.
“It’s inevitable. We’ve set up support here to get agriculture, communications, transportation, security all back, up and running, but with New Pacifica festering, and looking to the east for supplies, we can’t yet set up our programs. We have the materials, and we’re slowly gathering the people needed to repopulate, but again, can we leave them out there, unprotected?
“That’s why we’ve pivoted, and begun military training. We need to be able to fight to restore our homeland. Once the local warlords are out and our people in, we have a decent chance of setting up communities, of repopulating the entire interior. Kootenays, Okanogan, maybe even as far up as your Peace Country. It’s a big task, with many moving parts. Never did we think the last of the survivors would then want to continue the carnage of the pandemic and kill the few of us remaining.”
Coru shook his he
ad. “Human nature at its worst. How far inland have the Professor Rez’s people strayed?”
“Chilliwack for sure, not as far as Hope, near as we can tell.”
Not as far as Hope! Wren bit her lips in an effort to keep from grinning. They’d needed this information so badly. Coru should be safe at Hope. She was so relieved, her muscles felt suddenly like butter. She didn’t dare look at Coru.
Coru continued, as if he hadn’t just received the best news ever, “We’ve been fortunate, for the most part, those we’ve met have been good people. All they want is a safe, secure place to raise their families, to build community and they’re willing to work hard to make it happen.”
“Then they’ve come to the right place. Together, we can move mountains, as they say.”
“Here’s what we found.” Coru pulled open his backpack, passed the notes he’d carefully transcribed with Deklin along to Wren and emptied the pack on the table that sat between he and Pendergrass. The plastic tablets clattered against the glass. One fell; Pendergrass’s hand shot out, catching it easily.
“You’re quick.” Coru observed.
“You have to be these days, Titus Wisla.” Pendergrass’s expression was sad.
“Let’s hope you’re fast enough,” Coru said.
Wren handed Pendergrass the notes. “These are the complete formulas. They’re actually more valuable than the tablets.”
Pendergrass accepted them with a grateful bow of his head. “You’ve brought your father’s work to the right place, Miss Wood. We won’t let you down.”
“We’d like to leave now, if that could be arranged,” she asked, fighting to keep her voice normal. “It would be best for everyone if we were gone before the orientation. Less emotional for all. You understand.”
Coru sent her daggers. She smiled sweetly at Pendergrass.
“Why of course. I’ll have your vehicles brought up front and ready for you within the hour. Stocked with supplies for your trip home. You need weapons of course. Name it and it’s yours.”
Lost Sentinel: Post-Apocalyptic Time Travel Adventure (Earth Survives Series Book 1) Page 45