Forager (9781771275606)

by Scheer, Ron

  I’d done it. I’d found the combine.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I was afraid to look under the engine cover. My previous failures left me thinking that all I would find was a huge empty hole where the engine should have been.

  I quit being stupid and popped the hatch. A big smile stretched across my face. Resisting the urge to jump up and down like a five-year-old, I did let out a loud, “Oh, yeah!”

  Sitting right where it was supposed to be was the alternator I’d spent the last two days looking for. Now, I needed to remove it from the engine and haul it back to town without damaging it.

  Running to Fred, I rifled through the saddlebags. I grabbed what I thought was the right size wrench and hurried back to the combine. Naturally, It was a size too small. Back to Fred, this time grabbing a bigger wrench. This one fit. I strained with all the muscles in my arm to loosen the first bolt. No luck. I moved to the second and then the third all without budging any of them.

  Sweat dripped down my face from the effort. Wiping it away with the back of my hand, I went back to the first bolt. The wrench must not have been on the bolt securely. It slipped and my knuckles crashed into the side of the engine block. The tool fell out of my hand. It clanked a couple of times on various engine parts before a soft thud let me know it found the dirt floor of the shed.

  Mom wouldn’t have been proud of the words that escaped my mouth. I put my injured knuckles to my lips and tasted blood.

  The light coming in from the open door wasn’t great, and what with the wrench being under the combine, my body blocked most of it. I spent far too long scrabbling around with my hand in the dirt, trying to find that stupid wrench.

  This time, when I put the wrench on the bolt, I tried turning it to the left. The bolt broke free and busted up my knuckles again. Naturally, the wrench clanged and banged its way to floor. I clenched my jaw in a completely unsuccessful attempt to keep more swear words from pouring out.

  Wiping the blood on my jeans, I played fetch with the wrench. The next two bolts (once I turned them the right direction) didn’t give me any problems. With the bolts free, I removed the belt and tossed it out the door toward Fred.

  I gripped the alternator with both hands knowing by my failure in the repair shop how heavy it would be. It came free of its mount, but wouldn’t come completely out.

  The wiring harness. I’d have thunked myself on the forehead if I’d had a free hand. The alternator was too heavy to let hang, so I placed it back in its mount, and went back to the saddlebags for something small and flat enough to lift the tab that held the wiring harness together. I stumbled across a flat-blade screwdriver, grabbed it, and rushed back to the combine. Pushing the screwdriver into my forefinger wasn’t part of my plan, but I did my best to ignore the new pain as I wiped more blood on my jeans. It took a few minutes, but in the end, the tab released its hold.

  Finally free from the harvester, I lugged the alternator back to Fred. The darned thing weighed around fifteen pounds and was ten or eleven inches around. It wouldn’t fit in the saddlebags, and it couldn’t just dangle from the saddle and bang on Fred all the way back.

  The saddle horn was my only choice. Gathering what was left of the rope I’d used to tie Fred that first night, it took me several tries before I found a way to secure the alternator so it wouldn’t jostle too much as I rode.

  After packing up the belt, I mounted. The air hung humid and heavy. Riding under the brutal sun, I wiped the sweat off my forehead with one hand and swatted away the swarms of gnats with the other.

  If I continued west on this road, I’d eventually hit the blacktop. After that it was a simple matter of turning north and following the highway back to town.

  I hadn’t been riding long when a white two-story farmhouse caught my attention. It wasn’t so much the house as the wheel tracks in the yard that surprised me. I wasn’t a tracker. I didn’t know how long grass and weeds stayed bent over after something heavy, like a wagon, rolled over it, but I guessed it couldn’t have been long. I assumed the wagon, or whatever it was that left the tracks, belonged to Scavengers. It was the first sign of activity, besides my own, that I’d seen since I’d left town.

  Sawyer’s voice echoed in my head. “Don’t get distracted.” I knew I should ride on and get the alternator back to town, but I had to know. Besides, the place looked deserted. After riding around the house to make sure, I dismounted and left Fred in the front yard to graze.

  Opening the door, I found myself in a large foyer with a staircase to my left and two closed panel doors to my right. I slid the left door into its pocket, and stepped into the strangest room I’d ever seen. There were two couches and six chairs spread throughout. By itself, that wouldn’t have seemed strange, but every seat cushion was missing.

  Throughout the rest of the first floor, the scene continued to confuse me. Empty bedframes and cushion-less chairs were everywhere. Nothing else seemed out of place.

  I climbed the stairs to the second floor. A long hallway divided four bedrooms. The first three were like the rest of house, nothing unusual, except for the missing mattresses and cushions. Then I approached the fourth bedroom.

  Pushing open the door, I strode inside. The wallpaper, the carpet, and even the bedcovers were all covered in a busy, repeating pattern. It took me a moment to recognize that it consisted of a mess of tiny roses. I’d never seen a room so sickly girlish. There were so many roses I didn’t at first realize the room hadn’t been touched.

  The bed’s mattress and bedcovers were still there, which made me realize that the bedcovers from the other rooms were also missing. I stepped closer and saw small lumps under the covers. Totally baffled, I strode to the edge of the bed, my mind filling with questions. Why was this room left alone? What was behind the Scavengers’ strange behavior? And what were those strange lumps?

  Grabbing the comforter, I pulled. My heart stopped. I know it did, because I couldn’t get enough air to scream. Lying under the covers was a perfectly arrayed skeleton. My heart went from a dead stop to triple time. I gulped air and finally shrieked. It probably sounded as girlish as the room looked, but luckily no one was around to hear it.

  It took a bit for me to get my breathing, and my heart rate, back to normal. Enough blood finally pumped into my head for my brain to begin working. It was pretty obvious why this mattress was still here.

  Once more, I took hold of the comforter. I tried not to see each separate finger bone or the holes in the jaw where teeth had fallen out. I didn’t want to look at any of it, but as I covered the remains, I saw it all.

  I rushed out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. It was definitely time to get back to town.

  Fred and I were a fast mile down the road before I remembered the missing cushions. Why would Scavengers take only the mattresses, pillows, and such, but leave the beds and chairs? Did the Scavengers want the comfort of something soft without the extra weight of the actual furniture? I was stretching an answer to fit the situation and I knew it. The real answer was probably much simpler.

  The temperature continued to climb. Sweat rolled down my face, and the swarms of gnats multiplied. Trying to push them, the skeleton, and the strange behavior of the Scavengers out of my head, I instead imagined the reception I’d get when I got back to town.

  I was positive Sawyer would be happy with me. Frank Miller probably would be too. Millie’s blue eyes would light up in pride, and Charlie Meyer would give me a huge pat on the back. But what would the mayor do?

  “What do you think Fred? Is the mayor going to banish me?”

  Fred didn’t make a sound.

  A voice from beside the road did. “Stop right there, Forager!”

  I’d gotten so caught up in my thoughts, I’d forgotten about the dangers of the road. I cursed. The wheel tracks in the grass by the farmhouse should have made me more alert. Not that it would have done me any good, the man was well hidden. I liked that he called me a Forager but that pride deflated at
having been discovered.

  The voice came from the left, behind a sprawling thicket of bushes fringing the road. I couldn’t make out much for details, but I didn’t really need to. The man’s tone was clear enough.

  Assuming he was armed, I slowly reached down by my right leg and put my hand on the stock of Sawyer’s rifle. In most of my riding, the rifle, the bow, and the quiver full of arrows were a nuisance. They were just something else to bang my leg on and make me more awkward in the saddle. Now, I was glad to have them close.

  I continued to walk Fred at the same pace as before.

  “Stop that horse and get down, now!” the voice from the bushes said.

  I was positive that if I did as he said no one would ever see me or Fred again.

  I rode on, teeth clenched, and my lips sealed as tight as one of Millie’s canning jars. My knees shook with fear and my breath quickened. I was glad Fred was the one doing the walking. As unnoticeably as I could, I pulled the rifle from the scabbard.

  I’d never actually fired a rifle. I knew how. Everyone in school was taught the basics, but bullets were too hard to come by for actual practice.

  “I said stop! Last chance, Forager!”

  I flipped the safety off the rifle and bumped Fred hard as I could with my heels.

  She took off like a lightning bolt.

  I heard a round whistle past my ear. I’m almost positive the bullet zoomed by before I heard the bang.

  I tried to turn in the saddle and aim the rifle at the thicket hiding the man. The motion almost caused me to fall out of the saddle. Deciding it might be a better idea to stay as low as possible in the saddle, I held on for my life.

  The Scavenger’s rifle let go with another round. I ducked even lower.

  I worked Sawyer’s gun back into the scabbard as Fred galloped up a hill. If we can get over the top we’ll be safe.

  I was wrong. Again.

  Five more men, all armed, stepped over the crest. I yanked the reins hard to the right. Fred turned and galloped directly toward a barbwire fence. Sawyer hadn’t given me any instruction on jumping. I hoped I was a fast learner.

  Fred leapt and almost left me behind. Before I lost my seat completely, her hooves touched down and tore through the overgrown field in front of us. My rump slammed back into the saddle, and the horn jabbed me in the stomach as I rebounded forward.

  Sawyer and I had galloped through town a couple of days ago, but whether it was because she was now only carrying one rider or because she was as scared as I was, her speed was amazing. Tears streamed from my eyes every time I tried to look ahead to see what was coming.

  I resisted my instinct to rein in. Riding this fast was terrifying but necessary. I wasn’t sure which I was more scared of, the men shooting at us or Fred’s whirlwind pace. Another bullet buzzing past decided me.

  I hoped Fred wouldn’t misstep. One hoof planted wrong, and our race for safety would be over. Every second was an hour, but every second put us further and further away. I tried to think of something to do to help us escape, but my mind was filled with rifle reports and the thudding hooves.

  I risked a look back. I wished I hadn’t. All six of the men pointed their rifles right at us. I even saw smoke come out of the barrel of one of the guns a split second before the dirt kicked up where Fred’s hoof had landed just a step before. We were moving fast, but bullets traveled faster. Our only hope was to keep going. I considered taking the reins and moving Fred in a zigzag as she ran, but decided against it. It would only slow us down.

  Fred ran on and I tried not to throw up.

  Risking a second look back, I was amazed at how far we’d come. Little by little, the men shrank into the distance. I’d been taught in school that a rifle bullet could travel as much as mile, but it was next to impossible to be accurate at that range. We were far enough away from the men that I began to relax. Fred galloped on until we neared the barbwire fence bordering the road of the next mile.

  Fred’s front legs lifted, and for a split-second I enjoyed our shared weightlessness as we arced over the fence onto the road. Naturally, that’s when it all went wrong. My feet lost the stirrups, and as Fred’s front feet landed, my butt lifted out of the saddle—leaving my head to follow.

  It could have been worse. That hard gravel road could have been asphalt. I could have broken something, or multiple somethings. Fred could have left me there with my scrapes and bruises.

  Picking myself up, I brushed gravel out of my abraded skin and clothes. Fred waited for me on the far side of the road. I looked back across the field, but didn’t see the bandits. Fred snorted. What’d you do that for? I imagined her saying.

  I refrained from retorting. She had just saved my life.

  Before I remounted, I checked to make sure she wasn’t hurt, and that the alternator survived our wild ride.

  We were half a mile down the road before I collected myself enough to wonder why the Scavengers had tried to stop me. Sawyer had told me they rarely bothered Foragers. Maybe they were desperate. Maybe I’d been traveling the wrong road at the wrong time. Whatever the reason, having bullets zinging by my head was not an experience I wanted to repeat.

  Was this the same band that kidnapped Chane? I hadn’t gotten a good look at any of them, but short of seeing Rasp, the leader, I doubted I’d recognize them anyway.

  Mile after mile I rode on. Whatever was waiting for me back in town, it couldn’t be worse than being shot at by Scavengers. I sighed with relief when the outskirts came in sight. I’d only been gone a couple of days, but the old buildings welcomed me with their familiarity.

  I wondered if I should avoid riding through the middle of town. I wasn’t sure if I wanted anyone to see me. Word would spread, and I’d have to deal with the mayor. At the same time, I wanted people to know I was the one who found the alternator.

  Who should I see first? Sawyer, to tell him all about my trip? Or Millie, to let her know I was safe. Or Frank Miller, to inform him I’d found the alternator. What about Charlie? He was the one that really needed the part.

  Riding past the buildings in the late afternoon, I wasn’t surprised to find the town quiet. Everyone would be on the south end, hopefully ransoming Chane.

  The thought of seeing Chane freed from the Scavengers spurred me on to the rendezvous. Frank would be there and, unfortunately, the mayor. I’d have to deal with him sooner or later. Would Sawyer be with the defenders? I hoped his leg was better.

  It took a little time to ride Fred to the other end of town. I searched for Sawyer among the crowd, but with six hundred weapon-laden people all massed together and facing away from me, it was impossible to tell one person from the next. As I got closer, I stared over their heads at the highway beyond.

  The mayor sat on horseback with a Bull on either side. Josh and Jason were also mounted, their horses behind those of the Bulls. The five of them were in a heated discussion with Rasp and her guards. Along the side of the road were the wagons that held Chane’s ransom.

  I didn’t see Chane. Was she riding behind Rasp like last time? Or was she in the huge pack of Scavengers on the road a hundred yards back?

  I was too far away to hear the words, but I could tell things weren’t going smoothly. The mayor pointed at Rasp and even from behind the crowd, I saw his angry red neck.

  A moment later, Josh’s arm came up. Bang! Muzzle fire flashed. Rasp swayed, and then toppled out of her saddle.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The crowd erupted. Everyone began yelling at once. “What happened? Is she dead?” Somebody screamed. It was a loud, piercing shriek that echoed into silence. For five seconds nothing happened. Then, like it was ordered, everyone flipped their safeties off and trained their weapons directly at the Scavengers.

  Rasp climbed to her knees. Her guards pointed their rifles straight at the mayor’s group, who, with the exception of Josh, were unarmed. Jason snatched the gun out of Josh’s hand and rode forward, handing it to the mayor.

  Rasp stood. Her
lips moved, but the sound failed to reach me. Whatever she said, her guards didn’t like it. One of them shook his head no. She spoke again, this time pointing at the defenders. Both men hesitantly lowered their rifles. The crowd, me included, exhaled as one.

  Some of the townsfolk followed the guards’ example and lowered their own weapons, but most stayed poised to shoot. Rasp pointed an angry finger at the mayor, said something, mounted, and rode off. Her guards followed.

  The mayor’s group rode back to the now murmuring crowd.

  “Quiet down, everyone!” he yelled. His face, which I expected to be inflamed with anger, was bleak and grim. “Thanks to my son here,” he pointed an angry finger at Josh, “the Scavengers have tripled Chane’s ransom. I—I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

  The crowd started its jabbering again. I didn’t blame them. No one had ever heard those words come out of the mayor’s mouth.

  I was wondering what I should do when Frank Miller stepped up beside Fred. “Dillon, get down off that horse before the mayor or anyone else sees you,” he hissed. “And take off that hat.”

  I did as he instructed.

  “Did you get it? Did you find the alternator?”

  Nodding, I pointed to where the part was secured to the saddle horn.

  “Good. Look, I’ve only got a minute before the mayor calls me, probably less. Take that alternator out to Charlie Meyer. He’s still in the east fields.”

  “Okay, but why do you care if the mayor sees me?” I asked

  “He doesn’t know you left. I never told—”

  “Frank—? Frank, I need you here with me.” It was the mayor.

  “I’ve got to go. Get out of here before someone sees you. Get that alternator to Charlie!”

  “But—” It was too late. Frank slipped into the crowd, away from me.

  I led Fred around a corner and out of sight. When I was confident we wouldn’t be seen, I remounted and headed out to the east fields.