by Scheer, Ron
“Nowhere near here!” The mayor exploded. “What do you think you’re doing? You know you’re not supposed to be here. Those Scavengers are going to attack any minute. Get out of here!”
“Dad, I can help!” Chane said.
“No! You know the law. Now go home before you get hurt.”
“Dad, I’m not a kid anymore. Besides, Josh and Jason fight. Why can’t I?”
“Never mind that, who gave you that shotgun?”
Chane thrust her shoulders back and tossed her hair over her left shoulder. “I went into the armory and got it myself.”
“Well hand it over and get out of here!”
“You never let me do anything!” she shouted. She shoved the shotgun at her father. Angry tears hung in her eyes. The town laws didn’t allow anyone under sixteen to fight Scavengers. “I’m going to Mom’s!” Then she turned and stomped out of the field. I watched her leave, wishing there was something I could do to help.
Trying to put Chane out of my mind, I looked to the Forager. I wanted to thank him for speaking up for me. Before I could, Old Bill shouted from inside the house. “Them blasted Scavengers are getting closer! They’re only about a mile out! Looks to be a big bunch of ’em, at least a hundred. They got horses pulling grain wagons. Looks like they mean to fill ’em!”
“I wish the governor would form a militia to take care of these Scavengers. Having to fight them ourselves wastes time better spent meeting the quotas,” the mayor said to the Forager.
“Yeah, and I wish I didn’t hear that same complaint from every town I visit. There simply aren’t enough people. You know that,” the Forager answered.
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” the mayor retorted.
Several people took cover near the house and some by the tree line, but most of us were left standing in and around the cornfield.
A queasy uneasiness filled me. Shooting a Scavenger wouldn’t be like shooting the deer. I only felt guilty about the buck because I was in trouble with the mayor. Something told me shooting a person would be drastically different. That, of course, reminded me that I needed a weapon.
I frantically searched for one. Jason had my bow, and I seriously doubted he’d give it back. The mayor carried Chane’s extra shotgun, but I’d sooner go looking for a Scavenger than put myself that close to the mayor. The only things nearby were dried ears of corn and dirt clods. Neither would do much good. Next to me, the Forager peered out at the advancing Scavengers through the scope of his rifle. “Uh, excuse me, but you wouldn’t have an extra rifle, or bow, or something would you?”
“You again? Yeah here ya go. Can’t have you unarmed in a situation like this.” He handed me an unstrung bow and a quiver full of arrows. “You can use that right?”
I smiled as I strung the bow. “I’m the one that shot the deer, remember?”
“Those aren’t deer out there. They’re desperate, hungry people. Most of ’em aren’t much different than you. Got themselves into a fix, and now they’re forced to survive by ganging up and robbing the towns they come across.”
I’d never thought much about Scavengers. Only that they were a threat to us. If what Sawyer said was true, these people were as much victims as we were. What would it be like, not knowing where the next meal was coming from? Being unwelcome everywhere? I shuddered. Not a life I wanted.
Old Bill shouted from the window. “Be ready! Here they come!”
From what I saw of the attackers, they were dirty and wore old, ragged, threadbare clothes that fit too loose on thin bodies. A few were only armed with sharpened sticks and rocks, but most carried guns and bows.
None of them were close enough yet to make good targets. Good—I didn’t want to shoot them. Yes, they were dangerous and threatening, but Sawyer’s words made me think. If I were forced into being a Scavenger, I’d have to do the same.
And then they were on us.
The rifles began their noisy chatter, accented by the roaring boom of the shotguns. Screams pierced the cornfield. Dark shapes darted like shadows through the stalks. I jumped to get a better look at what might be coming my way. “Keep your head down,” the Forager said. It didn’t matter. My brief jump only showed me running bodies. It was impossible to tell who was who.
The whine of a bullet passed close by. A grunt sounded from behind me, and I saw the Forager bend over in his saddle. A moment later he was back up and firing his rifle. He rode like a man born to it. With a nudge, the horse sidestepped left or right as needed.
As high as he sat atop his horse, I was sure that at least one of the Scavengers would take special interest in him, but he continued to sit the saddle and fire his rifle. Bullet casings littered the ground around him. How many Scavengers fell to his steady rain of fire?
The smell of gunpowder filled the air. Shots came from everywhere, and I cursed the corn. I couldn’t tell who was who as bodies darted through the stalks. More screams, more whizzing bullets. Shouts and cries of pain filled the air. Arrows sliced through the corn. Blood pounded in my ears. My heart raced. Terror gushed through my veins like poison. Pulling the bowstring back to half draw, fear gripped me so tightly that I wasn’t sure if I wanted an enemy to show himself or not.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there with the bow half-drawn, but suddenly there was someone moving toward me through the corn. The figure was big, and he pushed the cornstalks aside as if walking through heavy brush. He must have been a Scavenger; everyone in town would have been careful not to damage the corn. Pulling the arrow back to full draw, I waited. The figure stalked closer and closer. He was only four rows away when the butt of Sawyer’s rifle knocked into my forearm. The arrow jigged and jagged a short distance before it fell to the earth like a lifeless bird.
I didn’t realize Sawyer’s deflection was intentional until Josh stood before me. “What are you doing, Orphan Boy—trying to kill me?” I’d never seen that much fear in his eyes.
Briefly, my heart went out to him. If Sawyer hadn’t intervened, He’d be dead. I gave a heartfelt, “Sorry Josh.”
I don’t think he even heard me. Instead he asked, “Who gave you a bow?” As if I was the last person in town who should be armed. Maybe that was true after what just happened, but he didn’t need to make it sound that way.
“I gave him the bow, so if you have a problem with that you’ll have to take it up with me,” the Forager said.
Josh started to take a step backwards. He must have thought better of it, because he stayed where he was. “You should know, the Scavengers are fleeing. We’ve beaten them back, for now.”
A heavy sigh escaped my lips and I felt about fifty pounds lighter. I wanted to jump up and down and scream in victory. Instead, I held my emotions in check, except to give Josh a big smile.
“Yeah, Orphan Boy, looks like you live, at least for now. I guess we’ll get to see you dance on the square after all.”
The weight in my stomach came crushing back in.
“We haven’t got time for that right now,” Sawyer said. “I’m sure there’s wounded that need looking after. Come on, let’s help where we can.”
Retrieving the misfired arrow, I put it back in the quiver, and broke down the bow. Handing the bow back to the Forager, I noticed he reached for it with his left hand. His right was pressed firmly on his leg, just above his knee. Blood leaked out from under his palm.
“You’re hit!” I yelled.
“Yeah, but it’s not bad. I’m sure there are others in lots worse shape than me.”
He was right. Sawyer followed me as I headed back toward the house. People dragged bodies, some injured, some dead. The injured townsfolk were being tended to by Dr. White. He’d taken over when Mom died. The Scavengers that lay moaning and sobbing were dragged toward the road. A few of them hobbled away, but the dead and the badly injured would have to wait to be retrieved by the survivors until after the sun set.
“Do you normally treat the wounded Scavengers like that?” Sawyer asked from atop his hor
se.
Before I could answer, Josh stepped up and said, “They’re Scavengers. What else should we do with them?”
Sawyer closed his eyes and shook his head in disgust. When he opened them again, he said, “They’re still people. Their blood is the same color as yours.”
“They’re thieves, thugs, and murderers!” Josh shouted. “They get exactly what they deserve!” Then he stomped away.
Sawyer muttered under his breath “And they call the Scavengers savages.” To me he said, “Does everyone treat the Scavengers so shoddily?”
“They’re the ones that attack us,” I said with a shrug.
“Yes, but I’ve seen animals treated better. Not that I’m surprised. It’s pretty much the same everywhere. I hate it. Both sides need to find some common ground. Those people…they’re just trying to survive.”
It seemed strange to me that Sawyer could put bullet after bullet into that band of Scavengers one minute, and defend them the next, but I shrugged it off. He obviously knew more about them than I did.
I walked up to Dr. White. He was covered in blood. “The Forager’s injured. Can you help him?”
Dr. White looked up at Sawyer. “Is it life-threatening?”
“No.” Sawyer said.
“Then it’ll have to wait. There are people here who might not make it. I’ve got to attend to them first.”
I understood, though making him wait irritated me. If it hadn’t been for the Forager, our whole town might have fallen victim to the attack.
“You could help the Forager, Dillon,” Dr. White said. “Your mom knew all about injuries. Surely she passed some of it on to you.”
Me, a healer? I was about to argue with the doctor when the mayor tapped me on the shoulder. His light tap made my heart skip a beat every time.
“Glad to see you came through unscathed,” he said. “Good, because once the wounded are tended, I want you punished. I’ve spoken to Josh and Jason and both of them confirm that you admitted shooting the deer. Eric was going to administer your punishment, but unfortunately he was injured in the fighting.” The mayor pointed to another Bull. This one looked the part. He was big and beefy with a smile cold enough to freeze the sun. “This is Kurt. He’ll be our Head Enforcer until Eric recovers. You get to be his first enforcement.” Despite the mayor’s wording, all I heard was “first victim.”
“Excuse me, mayor,” Sawyer said. “Dillon here was just about to treat my injury. I would appreciate it greatly if you could hold off your punishment long enough for him to fix my leg.”
“I should let you suffer, but fine, take him home, Dillon, and patch him up as best you can.” Before we even took a step, the mayor locked eyes on me. “Present yourself for punishment in the square at midday tomorrow. If you fail to show up on time, I’ll have Kurt kick down your door and drag you there. Do you understand?” I nodded, glad to be given a reprieve. He turned to the mounted Forager. “As for you, Sawyer, as soon as you can, we need you to locate a new alternator for our combine harvester. The alternator failed shortly before the attack. Lucky for us you arrived when you did.”
Chapter Four
The news of the harvester’s breakdown explained why Josh and Jason stormed in on me right after I’d killed the deer. They were coming to get me to help with the harvest.
After being counted—reporting in that I was still alive—I walked down the road with the mounted Sawyer following. We passed other townspeople returning to their jobs, homes, or children. The crumbled ruins of a house that had recently collapsed served as a reminder of the state of our town. Most of the houses and former businesses were still standing, but none of them would endure the torments of time and weather without regular repairs—repairs we didn’t have the supplies to make. I sighed.
“Why such a heavy sigh, Dillon?” the Forager asked.
“I was just wondering what this town looked like, before the Collapse.”
Sawyer looked wistful. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe it’s been thirty years. But even before the economy crashed, there were houses that needed to be condemned. For whatever reason, their owners didn’t do the necessary upkeep.” He pointed at the house I’d been looking at. “That’s the result. It’s only a matter of time before all the buildings fall.
“It all happened so fast. The dollar became worthless, the stock market bottomed out, all over the world trade stopped. People in the big cities had it the worst. They only had so much food. When it was gone…”
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” I asked.
“Not unless you can repopulate the land, stop the Scavengers, restore the economy, and rectify the government. It’s all in shambles.”
I walked on, thinking over Sawyer’s words. I couldn’t do much about the population. Most of the dead were from starvation, or the result of a lack of medicine, or medical treatment. It drove Mom crazy when she had the knowledge to cure someone, but not the medicine or equipment. The Scavengers were always a threat. The only way I could see of stopping them was by exterminating them. Of course, that didn’t help the population problem. As for the economy and the government, I didn’t have a clue.
A walk of about fifteen blocks brought us to the door of my charcoal-black RV. It boasted silver swoops on the sides and could sleep eight. Not that anyone but me ever slept in it. Any unoccupied house could have been home, but the RV suited me better. After my parents died, our house was too big and too empty. The RV was a better fit, and still near enough to my parents’ house that old memories were just a few footsteps away.
I tried to tie Sawyer’s horse to a nearby tree, but he just took the reins and made sure they couldn’t drag on the ground, saying, “You’ve got good grass here, she won’t wander.” The Forager winced as I helped him down from the big animal. The tall grass reached to the bottom of my RV. It made good grazing for the horse, but treacherous footing for an injured man. Sawyer put his arm around my shoulder and we trudged our way to the three steps leading to the door. Once inside, he sat down on my beat-up leather sofa. Even with half the padding missing from the cushions, the couch earned a grateful sigh from Sawyer when he sat down.
In the kitchen, I used a water hose that ran from my old house into the RV to wash the dried blood from my hands and arms. With all of the things that didn’t work, I was glad the plumbing did. Just like in the old days. Even the toilets still flushed in most houses.
Mom’s instruments were in the old cupboard above the useless propane stove. I’d watched her manipulate those tools with a skillful hand many times. As for me using them, my hands shook so much I figured I’d make things worse for the Forager.
When I returned to the living room, Sawyer’s pants hung around his shins. A hole about the diameter of my little finger pierced the skin above his knee, a thin line of blood trickling down the Forager’s leg.
“The bullet didn’t come out, did it?” asked Sawyer.
I carefully examined his leg. “No, no exit wound.”
Sawyer grimaced. He must have been thinking how painful it was going to be for me to remove the bullet.
“Got anything to kill the pain?” he asked.
“Not really. There’s some grain alcohol in the bag here, but I wouldn’t recommend drinking it. It’s nasty stuff.”
“I really don’t care what it tastes like. Once you start probing around in there, I think I’m going to need it.”
“I’m not going to be probing around in your leg. The bullet stays where it is. I’d do more harm than good if I tried to take it out. Chances are good that bullet stopped when it hit bone. If that’s the case, your leg will heal on its own.”
“You sure? I always thought it was better to take the bullet out.”
“Taking it out could open blood vessels that it’s blocking, or worse, I could hit an artery. Either way, you could bleed to death.” I pointed at his leg. “The bleeding’s almost stopped. It’s not a good idea to reopen the wound.”
“Whatever you say, Doc.”
“I’m no doctor. It’s just stuff I remember from when my mom treated patients. The wound needs to be cleaned, though. It’s gonna hurt like crazy. The grain alcohol burns like fire.” I opened the bottle. “I’m going to count to three and pour this on the wound. You might want to close your eyes.” I took a deep breath. I’d seen other patients react when Mom poured this stuff on. It wasn’t pretty.
The word “one” was on my lips when Sawyer grabbed the bottle from my hand. “Nice try, Dillon, but I know that trick. You’ll pour on two when I’m not expecting it.” I blushed. That’s exactly what I’d planned.
Sawyer put the bottle to his nose, sniffed, and then shuddered. “You’re right, this is nasty stuff.” Then, before I could stop him, he put the bottle to his mouth and swallowed several times. He gave his head a great shake, probably as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. Then he placed the bottle over his leg and poured.
His jaw clenched and his left hand grabbed the leather sofa cushion so hard his knuckles turned white. I tried to take the bottle from him. A pungent odor filled the room as some of the liquid dribbled onto the floor. His grip on the bottle was even tighter than on the sofa. I let go of it.
How did Mom do it? Watching all those people suffer? In front of me was Sawyer. One man hurting so badly he couldn’t even scream. And me, standing there doing nothing. Gradually the color seeped back into his knuckles. I reached again for the bottle, and this time was able to pry it from him and put it away.
By the time I’d finished dressing the wound, twilight enveloped the RV. “I’m going to the Dining Hall to get some supper. I’ll try and bring some back for you, but I don’t know if they’ll let me.”
Sawyer scowled. “This is one of those kinds of towns, is it?”
I frowned, not sure what he meant. Maybe it worked differently in other places, but here having food in your home brought out the Bulls. All food was brought to the kitchens and shared equally, even the vegetables from our gardens. It was why the apple Josh or Jason threw through my window caused me such grief.