Forager (9781771275606)

by Scheer, Ron

  I shifted the conversation. “So tell me, what do you miss from the old days?”

  “Wow, that’s a big question.” His eyes shone in the light of the LEDs. “I miss everything. Grilled cheeseburgers, cell phones, driving, and going to movies. I miss grocery stores and peanut butter. I miss the city lights and the Internet. A better question is, what don’t I miss?”

  “So what’s a kid like me missing?”

  “The first thing that pops into my head is video games. Shooting aliens and zombies all afternoon was one of my favorite ways to kill a day. Heck, with an Internet connection, you could even play against players on the other side of the world.”

  My teachers tried to explain the Internet, but without working computers, I could never make sense of it. A knock on the RV’s door interrupted us.

  My first thought—hope, really—was that Chane had stopped by. I doubted it, though. She was friendly enough, but I realized she didn’t look at me the same way I looked at her. Then I thought the mayor wanted to punish me right now, and had sent a Bull. I’d never heard of anyone being jolted at night. Most likely, the mayor liked having people watch the punishments in full daylight. He wanted us to see what would happen if we broke his laws. I finally decided that the visitor was probably there to talk to the Forager.

  Opening the door, my jaw dropped. To my horror, it was the mayor standing there. My knees and elbows turned to jelly. He’d come for me after all.

  “Good evening, Dillon. May I come in?”

  Looking past him into the darkness, I hesitated. Surely he hadn’t come alone. The blackness was impossible to pierce with my eyes. As hard as I hunted, though, no Bulls lurked where I could see them. Of course, that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  I waited a moment too long. The Forager ahemmed. Finally, I stepped out of the narrow doorway and let the mayor enter. He looked around and to my surprise he actually nodded approval when he saw Sawyer’s LEDs next to mine.

  “I remember when you made one of those for the science fair that year,” the mayor said. “I don’t think I ever told you, but it was quite impressive back then. Now it’s much more relevant.”

  His friendliness seemed strange, suspicious. Especially after Sawyer had explained their history.

  We waited for the mayor to say something else. I wanted to ask why he was here, but I was afraid of the answer. After an uncomfortable pause, the mayor finally said, “The reason for my visit tonight is to see if you,” he pointed at Sawyer, “can find a new alternator for our combine harvester. It broke down shortly before the Scavengers attacked. I mentioned it earlier, but with your wound… I didn’t know if you’d even heard me. I’ve got people pedaling to charge our spare batteries, and the combine should be back to harvesting first thing in the morning, but without that alternator those batteries will drain quickly. We’ll be forced to do a lot of the harvesting by hand, and it won’t be possible to make our quotas that way.”

  Sawyer pointed as his injured leg. “I’m not sure I’m going to able to Forage for a while. I’ll see how I am tomorrow, but…”

  The mayor’s face crumpled. I don’t think he realized how badly the Forager was wounded. A moment later he regained his composure. To my amazement, he continued to display a friendly demeanor. “Well, see what you can do. If you are unable to go tomorrow, please let me know.”

  The mayor turned to me. “Since you and I have an appointment at midday tomorrow, it seems pointless to send you to the fields.” For a moment my heart leapt. I was getting a day off. That hadn’t happened since I was in school. Of course, the second half of the day didn’t look nearly as promising as the first. Plans for my morning began to form—visiting Chane seemed like a good idea—when the mayor crushed my hopes.

  “Instead, I want you on one of the generators, pedaling like you’ve never pedaled before. We’ve got to keep that harvester running.”

  What a runaway wagon ride this day had been. My emotions had tightened and loosened so many times, I felt like an overused bowstring.

  Sawyer turned his gaze on me. His raised eyebrow told me he wanted me to ask the mayor about his hunting law. I wanted to, I really did, but the question froze on my lips.

  Before I could gather any bit of courage, the mayor gave us a nod and exited.

  “That could be the nicest conversation I’ve ever had with that man,” Sawyer said. “He must really be desperate.” Then he frowned. He remained silent, but I could see in his eyes he was disappointed I hadn’t asked about the hunting law.

  I shrugged it off, like everything else. With all the bullying from the Mason brothers, my skin had become rawhide thick. Instead, I steamed about having to pedal a generator all morning. Usually a shift on the generators wasn’t more than two hours, like earlier at the slaughterhouse. My butt was still sore from that pedaling. Inwardly I groaned at having to spend tomorrow morning making it worse. Not that I wanted to walk fields and pick corn, either, but I’d have taken that over a whole morning’s pedaling.

  Sawyer yawned. “It’s been a long day, and I’m really tired. Can I sleep here on the couch?”

  I found him some blankets and gave him my best pillow. The lumps in it weren’t quite as hard as in my other one. I checked his leg one last time before he turned in.

  Sawyer wasn’t the only one with a long day behind him. I went through the kitchen to the back of the RV, into the master bedroom, and tucked myself in. After an hour of tossing and turning, I gave up on sleep. I lay awake a long time, but eventually, I must have dozed. Dreams of combines chasing me on a pedal generator that didn’t go anywhere mixed with scenes of Bulls pressing stun batons onto my sore buttocks. It was a long night.

  Chapter Six

  First thing the next morning I checked Sawyer’s leg. The inflamed red swelling concerned me. A trip to see Dr. White was in order before breakfast.

  The infirmary, the town’s former hospital, stood near the town square. It was a reminder I could’ve done without. I entered the soot-gray building through the main doors, which surprisingly still retained their original glass, and went looking for Dr. White. He was on the second floor looking after some of the injured from yesterday’s attack. “How’s everyone doing?” I asked.

  “We lost Helen and George. They both had multiple bullet wounds, but I think the rest are going to pull through.”

  I hadn’t known either of them well, but it saddened me to think I’d never see them again. This was why people hated the Scavengers. Why couldn’t they just leave us alone?

  I told the doctor about the inflammation in Sawyer’s leg. “It sounds like the wound might be infected,” he said. “I’ll stop by and see what I can do.”

  Later than usual for breakfast, Millie was limited to serving me scrambled eggs on toast. She reminded me to ask the Forager about the stockpot and knives. I’d forgotten. Not wanting to tell her that, though, I shoved a big bite of toast in my mouth and nodded. I glanced about for Chane, but stopping to see Dr. White had cost me my morning glimpse of her.

  Outside, the townsfolk rushed past me to their assigned tasks. No one wanted to be late and risk getting a jolt.

  I headed to the old lumber yard on the east edge of town. The steel building had at one time been painted yellow with red signage. Now only a few of the red letters could be distinguished and the yellow paint was almost all peeled off.

  The half glass, half plywood door opened to the familiar chime of the old bell that hung above. Frank Miller looked up from the counter. “Take number two and get at it. It won’t be long before the combine will need fresh batteries.”

  The old twelve-volt batteries were once used in cars and trucks. Most were in horrible condition. Many leaked acid, and bluish-green corrosion grew on their posts, but as long as they held a charge, we used them.

  I sat down on the worn seat of generator number two and started pedaling. My sore butt protested with a dull persistent ache, but I pedaled through the pain, gritting my teeth.

  The building
was empty except for the eight generators. Dull rusty-orange marks on the white tile floor outlined where shelves had once stood. I tried to picture those shelves full of tools, boxes of nails, cans of paint, and hardware of every kind. We had been without for so long, I couldn’t hold the image.

  The bell chimed, and Josh and Jason entered. Oh great, my favorite two people. Frank directed them to generators four and five. Four was about twenty feet to my left, and five was ten feet farther. Closer than I wanted to be to either of them. Josh called over from generator four, “Hey, Orphan Boy, after you get jolted, I think I’m gonna change your name to Sparky, or maybe Electro Boy.”

  “No,” said Jason. “After all the squirming he’s going to be doing, we ought to call him Worm Boy!”

  Leave it to those two morons to remind me. Just the thought of being in front of everyone in the town square, thrashing in the ropes with my muscles quivering uncontrollably, made me nauseous.

  Other townsfolk joined the pedaling, and before long, all eight of the generators hummed with life.

  After coming up with Dancer Boy, Jolty, and Stunner, Josh and Jason gave up on their ridiculing. Either they were getting winded from pedaling the bikes and talking, or more likely their small minds had run out of new names.

  The first shift ended, and thankfully, I was left alone for a few minutes. Even Frank stepped outside for a breath of air. I got off the bike and rubbed my sore behind.

  When the short break was over, Frank came back in leading a new crew. None of them looked eager to start pedaling, either.

  After we’d all been at it a while, four men entered, each carrying a dead battery. I estimated that the combine harvester ran a little more than half the morning on those batteries. Half a day of pedaling charged a battery. If we kept the pedaling going continuously, our eight generators and twelve extra batteries would keep up—barely. But if the pedaling fell behind, batteries and generators from the infirmary, the kitchen, the slaughter house, and elsewhere would have to be used. Other people would be delayed, making it harder and harder to fill the quotas.

  Eventually, Frank looked my way. “Dillon, you’d better go if you’re to get to the square on time.” Being off the bike was a relief, but I’d have stayed if it meant avoiding the jolts.

  Twenty minutes later I reached the crowded town square. Half the town must have been there to see me take my licks. I knew part of the reason was that, except for the field workers, it was one of the few times the townsfolk were excused from their jobs. Still, was me getting jolted that entertaining? I shook my head. It didn’t matter. My punishment would happen whether there were five people watching, or five hundred.

  The old clock near the top of the courthouse was frozen at three thirty-nine. I’d seen it hundreds of times before, but now, the hands seemed frozen in a frown just for me.

  Dr. White slipped out of the crowd and met me halfway to the platform. “Hello, Dillon. I looked in on the Forager. First, let me tell you that you did everything right.” I didn’t like the way that sounded.

  “But?”

  “But, his leg is infected. I cleansed the wound again, but you’ll need to keep an eye on it. Make sure that redness and swelling go away.” The doctor gave a heavy sigh. “I wish there were still some antibiotics. I’d be a lot more confident about treating that infection.”

  I nodded. My mom said the same thing many times to the families of the patients she’d tried to help.

  “If he gets worse, or starts showing a fever, bring him to the infirmary,” he said. “Otherwise, keep him with you for a few days.”

  Millie’s knives and pot would have to wait. Sawyer wasn’t going anywhere for a while. I threw that thought aside, worry gnawing at my stomach like battery acid. “Are…are you going to stick around…in case I need some medical attention?” I asked quietly.

  The doctor put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be here. You’re going to be fine, though. Might scramble up your nervous system a bit, but you’ll come through all right.”

  His words failed to ease the ache in my gut.

  Four wooden stairs led up to the platform. I placed my right foot on the first and looked up to see the mayor and three Bulls waiting for me. My knees wobbled placing my left foot on the second step, and I almost stumbled. A few titters came from the crowd, but I kept my head lowered and continued. My right foot landed on the third step, then my left on the fourth. I looked up. The mayor was smiling proudly at me. He whispered in voice low enough that only I and the Bulls could hear, “You made this easy on us by willingly submitting yourself. Thank you, Dillon.”

  What was I supposed to say to that? “No problem, any time, you’re welcome?” I kept my mouth shut in an uncaring frown.

  The platform was made of thick wooden planks. It stood about six feet off the ground and was open on all sides. The three Bulls flanked the mayor. The only other thing on the platform was a small table that held the stun baton.

  The mayor addressed the crowd. “Dillon Montgomery, by his own testimony, is guilty of hunting and killing a deer. The punishment to commence immediately is eight charges with the stun baton.”

  The word “hunting” made me bristle. As far as I was concerned, I hadn’t hunted anything. Hunting involved more effort than shooting from a window. My lips parted, wanting to ask him why killing the deer was so wrong. But fear caused the question to stick in my throat.

  The air stirred around me as the Bulls closed in. Two of them grabbed my arms and jerked them behind my back. They led me across the platform and inserted my wrists into ropes hanging from the overhead beam. The design made it so the Bull’s wouldn’t have to pick me up after each jolt. How convenient for them.

  I looked out into the crowd. Why were they packed so close together? There was space enough around the platform for ten times their number. They looked like a mob. Searching their faces, I recognized everyone. Not surprising, considering I knew pretty much the whole town. The hungry looks on all their faces was disturbing, like they’d come here starving for the show. In fact, their faces reminded me a lot of what people looked like right before movie night began.

  Old Bill was noticeably absent, as was Craig Black. I figured Craig was probably home sleeping off the night shift. Old Bill I couldn’t explain. There were several others missing, like Josh and Jason, which really seemed odd. There was no way they’d willingly miss seeing me get jolted. Of course, they might have been in the fields, and the mayor wouldn’t halt the harvest for anything. I expected Millie’s absence, but the one person I really hoped to see wasn’t there.

  I didn’t know if it was good sign or a bad one that Chane hadn’t come. Maybe, like Millie, she didn’t want to see me punished. Or maybe she simply didn’t care.

  After they strapped me in place, the mayor said, “Dillon Montgomery, do you hereby confirm that you are guilty of this crime?”

  Hanging my head, I whispered, “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Dillon, but you must speak loud enough so that at least five other people can confirm your statement.”

  I took a breath, and in a forced voice said, “Yes!”

  “Very well,” said the mayor. “Let the punishment commence.”

  Every muscle in my body tensed. Locking my jaw so I wouldn’t bite my tongue, fear coursed its way through my limbs. Thankfully, the ropes would hold me up. My chest tightened and my breathing became ragged and raspy. I wasn’t hyperventilating, but I was close.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Kurt, the mayor’s new favorite Bull, picking up the stun baton from the table. My breathing increased ever closer to full-on panic. I closed my eyes.

  Suddenly, gasps and murmurs rang out from the crowd. It wasn’t the sound of an angry mob looking for justice, more a surprised “that’s unusual” kind of cry. I clamped my eyelids even tighter. Had the mayor come up with a new way to punish me?

  I summoned the courage to peek an eye open a slit, just enough to let me see the crowd. Every head was turned to the west. Bot
h my eyes popped open and I saw a figure running through the grass toward the platform. It took a moment for me to recognize Jason Mason.

  He covered the ground quickly, waving his arms and yelling, “Dad! Dad!”

  Whatever the message, it was urgent. No one, especially one of his own kids, would interrupt the mayor at a public punishment.

  Everything came to a stop. All eyes but mine were fixed on Jason. Kurt stood with the stun baton lowered at his side. The mayor wore a heavy scowl that conveyed both concern and annoyance. The crowd turned to one another, and a low-pitched buzz of voices filled the air.

  Jason reached the platform and spoke so only those of us on it could hear. “Dad,” he said as he took a gulping breath, “Chane’s missing.” Another winded breath. “No one has seen her since last night.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jason’s words sucked the air from my chest. I inhaled pure terror. The fear of being jolted had nothing on this. My lungs were so tight, what air I could get came in gasps. Where was Chane? What happened to her?

  The mayor looked sucker-punched. His eyes bulged, his face paled, and he stumbled over his words. “I—I thought—didn’t—didn’t she go to your mom’s last night?”

  “She did, but Mom hasn’t seen her since Chane went to bed. Mom’s on her way with Josh,” Jason said.

  They spoke softly. No one in the crowd knew what was happening, but not for lack of effort. The mass of people inched its way forward, trying to eavesdrop.

  The coarse jolting ropes chafed my skin. I wanted loose. I needed to find Chane. She had to be in trouble. She wasn’t the kind of girl to run off and not tell someone where she was going. At least, I didn’t think she was.

  But if she’d left, where would she have gone? Part of a conversation we shared a few weeks ago came back to me. Frank Miller had assigned me to the kitchen, and after helping Millie clean up, I rushed over to the school to meet Chane and walk her home. She smiled when she saw me. That smile had me walking on clouds. What bothered me, as I awaited my punishment, was one particular part of our talk.