The Book of Kell

by Amy Briant

  Soft rhythmic breathing was the only sound. I turned my head to see East asleep at my side. Her hand was loosely in mine. Flannel sheets, a heavy blanket and a quilt covered us in the full-sized bed. The air had a lingering warmth to it as well—I turned my head the other way to see the remains of a fire still glowing in a fireplace.

  I sat up slowly, careful not to disturb East. I felt weak but good. I could feel my strength, that essential “me-ness” at my core returning. I stood, noting along the way with surprise that the clothes I was wearing—socks, long johns, T-shirt over my long johns’ top—were clean. My body felt clean too—I decided not to speculate about that for the time being. The rest of my clothes and gear were neatly stacked by the door. I finished dressing and packed my bag since it was all laid out for me right there. There was a mini solar-powered camping lantern on the windowsill. That must have been the flickering white light that had drawn us to the cabin. I threw that in the pack as well. An Army green knapsack made of tough canvas was also by the door. Looked like East had found herself a new bag. I took a peek inside. Beside her few clothes, it was full of protein bars and other food. Maybe she was trainable after all.

  The cabin had a tiny bathroom and kitchen, both with running water. There must have been a well on the property or a rainwater catchment system. Either way, the cabin’s owner seemed to be well prepared for life off the grid.

  A large sturdy box made of bright orange plastic was open on the kitchen floor, its hinged lid propped open. A veritable prepper’s treasure trove of nonperishable food, tools and other useful objects lay within. It looked like East had already delved into the box, as there were various items on the counter next to our plastic jug from the beach, now full of water. My canteen and our other water containers were there as well, all full. Ripped-open plastic and foil packaging alongside was marked “water purification tablets.” Since East was still breathing—I checked the bed once more—it seemed safe to assume it was okay to drink it. I drank long and deeply, quenching the thirst the fever had induced.

  As hungry as I was, the Dupont in me made sure I stashed our water containers with our bags before I ate. You never knew when you might need to leave in a hurry.

  All the food packages had U.S. government markings on them. Expiration dates still had a year or two to go. I tore into an MRE (meal ready to eat), scarfing it down cold. Gnawing on a protein bar, I took another look at the lid of the orange box. More official markings: UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT ISSUE SURVIVAL BOX, FAMILY OF FOUR and a bunch of letters and numbers that meant nothing to me.

  I knew what it was, though. I recognized it from Gran’s stories. It was a Tucker box, so-named for some assistant deputy underling of the Department of Homeland Security called Alonzo Tucker. Mr. Giovanni had mentioned him in history class too. When things started to go downhill right before the Bad Times began, Mr. Tucker was instrumental in developing and distributing the bright orange survival boxes to just about every family in America. Besides food, each box contained other emergency supplies like a first aid kit, a few basic tools, a space blanket, water purification tablets, etc. It was said that each box could keep a family of four alive for a week, as long as that family had water and no life-threatening injuries or diseases. Of course, since the Bad Times lasted a lot longer than a week, some thought they were a colossal waste of the taxpayers’ money, but there was no doubt that Tucker boxes were highly valued. The occasional find of one by the Settlement’s Scavenger team was always cause for celebration. Gran had one at the foot of her bed that she used as a linen chest.

  Having satisfied my most immediate needs, my curiosity and powers of observation were both returning. I noticed there was a thick layer of dust on the floor and other surfaces. Crumpled wrappers and used plates and cups in the kitchen bore testament to several meals East must have eaten. I didn’t see any indication that anyone else had been there. The dust pointed to an absent owner as well. Where was the cabin’s inhabitant? Or inhabitants? I thought uneasily of another book in the Settlement’s library—the one with the bears coming home to find the girl asleep in their bed.

  On the other hand, we’d been there for days with no problem so far. I looked in a few drawers and cabinets, but I didn’t find any clues as to the identity of the cabin’s owner, other than it was probably a single, large, adult male based on the clothes I saw. Maybe it was Alonzo Tucker’s cabin, I joked to myself. Ha.

  Munching on my second protein bar, I took the first aid kit, an entrenching tool, a space blanket, some water purification tablets and an armful of MREs from the open box on the floor and added them to my backpack. We wouldn’t be able to tote an entire box with us, but at least I could fill my pack with as much as I could carry.

  I poked around the rest of the cabin for a bit, still being quiet although I don’t know if wild horses would have awakened East, who was now gently snoring, one bare foot sticking out of the covers. As I pulled the quilt over her foot, I caught a glimpse of orange under the bed—three more Tucker boxes down there.

  The sunlight was growing stronger outside. I peeked out the window to see patchy snow on the ground, brilliant among the pines, with blue skies overhead. There were coats hanging on hooks by the front door. I grabbed a dark green parka which was only about nine sizes too big for me, and eased outside to explore some more.

  It was amazing how much better I felt. I guess you never really appreciate your health and your body until something goes haywire. I felt full of pep, ready to resume our trip to Segundo. The snow and cold weather was a bummer, though. In days gone by, we probably never would have seen snow that early in the year and certainly not that close to the bay. These days, the weather did what it wanted when it wanted and the humans just had to deal with it. I was glad to have the parka as I investigated the outside of the cabin. Besides the nip in the air, the winds were really starting to pick up.

  A cord of wood was chopped and stacked on the porch, so someone had obviously planned ahead for the cold. The cabin was a one-story rectangle with the porch across the front. The front door was the only entrance. Beyond the clearing in front of the cabin was forest on three sides. We weren’t on the top of the hill—the peak rose above and behind us.

  On the side of the cabin with the best sun, a small garden was enclosed inside a chicken wire fence. Weeds looked to be the main crop. I didn’t see anything edible other than a few shriveled tomatoes drooping from their stems.

  Behind the cabin, a rocky cliff rose some forty to fifty feet. A large lean-to had been built against it, which I guessed was the barn. I approached it cautiously. All I heard was the twittering of birds and the gusts of wind in the pines. The lean-to was enclosed at both ends. The door was closed but not locked. With some difficulty, I finally succeeded in wrenching it open with a horrible screech that seemed to echo off the hillside.

  I paused at the entrance, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dimness within. It was pretty much a cave, with the roof sloping down at a forty-five degree angle. A pen had been constructed—for a goat? A pig? It looked too small for a horse or cow. The gate to the pen was open. It was empty of everything but dried-up dirt and straw. Tools and even more Tucker boxes were stored along the walls. A hatchet hung from a peg. I took it down, wishing I’d brought the gun with me. The thick layer of dust on everything was just like the cabin. Plus cobwebs galore—kind of spooky.

  On the far wall of the pen, three wooden barrels were lined up, blocking my view of what lay beyond. I wished I had brought the flashlight. There was enough light to see by with the door wide open, but it was darker in there than I liked. I could no longer hear the birds tweeting outside. There was a dank and musty smell to the place.

  I edged past the empty pen and reached the barrels. As I turned to peer in the shadowy recess of the end of the lean-to, I stopped.

  I had found the owner of the cabin.

  He’d been there at least a year, I thought. The skeleton was mostly intact, although the bones had settled with the passin
g of time. The skull had tipped jauntily onto the left shoulder, the eye sockets staring up at me blankly. There was no flesh, no smell, just clean white bones. The closed door had kept out the bigger varmints, but time and insects had done their jobs. A perfectly round hole in the side of the skull showed me how he’d exited this vale of tears. Poor bastard.

  In his lap, another smaller skeleton reposed, this one four-legged. But also with the perfectly round hole in the skull. The man had come out to the lean-to, closed the door behind him, sat down with his faithful hound and blown both their brains out.

  I could understand why.

  I stood there for a long time, thinking of those I had lost. And those whose fates were still uncertain.

  Finally, I shrugged, trying my best to shake off such dark thoughts. I sank the blade of the hatchet into the nearest barrel, gave the skeleton a sketchy salute and said a silent thank you that he hadn’t done it in the cabin. I left his rusty gun undisturbed amid the bones.

  It was with relief that I returned to the fresh air and bright sky. I breathed deeply of the pine trees and felt grateful that I was still alive. That we were still alive. I smelled wood smoke in the air. Puffs of smoke from the cabin’s chimney told me East must be up.

  She stepped out onto the porch, wearing the other jacket I’d seen hung by the door—a light brown corduroy jacket with sheepskin-lining. It was also way too big on her, which somehow made her look cute, while my giant parka no doubt made me look like an idiot. She was shading her eyes with one hand, looking for me. I smiled and started to wave, but froze as the unmistakable and unnatural whine of a drone came to my ears. It was far off, but getting closer.

  I sprinted for the cabin, nearly knocking East down as I thundered past. She gaped, looking at me like I was crazy.

  “DRONE!” I screamed. “DRONE! GRAB YOUR STUFF, WE GOTTA RUN!”

  That last bit probably came out more like grabstuffRUN, but she picked up on the panic, if not the actual words. Her new knapsack was right next to mine. I threw it at her, hauling my own pack on at high speed, then seized the sleeping bag and tent.

  “COME ON!” I roared at East, who was looking desperately about the cabin as if wondering if she could fit it in her pack as well.

  “But—” she started. I simply pushed her out the door, caught her hand and ran for the trees as the high-pitched whine of the drone passed right over our heads.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  You Will Not Be Harmed

  Down the hill was the freeway, which was our best chance of finding Segundo. So where did I run?

  Up the hill.

  Sigh.

  Stupid, maybe, but instinct told me to run up the hill, so that’s what we did. We were under the trees in the thick of the forest in just a few seconds. There was no clear pathway, but I made a path, crashing through the undergrowth in full-blown flight mode, dragging East along behind me. After about five minutes of that, my brain kicked back in, coincident with my lungs giving out. I wasn’t completely back from the fever yet.

  Huffing and puffing, the two of us huddled behind a tree. I was trying to listen for the drone, but couldn’t hear anything over my own heart pounding and gasps for breath for a minute or two. I strained to hear the whine or any other giveaway noise, but the forest was eerily silent, except for the blustering of the wind.

  “Do you hear it?” East whispered, her face taut.

  I shook my head.

  “What’s the plan?”

  I looked at her, trying to think. We’d been taught that the drones were spies. I didn’t know if this one had been on a routine patrol or if the smoke from the chimney had drawn it. Either way, we were moving on. The drones had cameras and computers onboard. The one that had just flown over the cabin had no doubt already reported back to its masters. We wouldn’t want to be there if and when they came. It wouldn’t take much to blow up such a little place. One well-placed grenade ought to do the trick.

  The drone might now be looking for us, but I still didn’t hear anything. It might have been recalled by whoever sent it, or continued on its rounds. There was no way for us to know. Maybe it hadn’t seen us at all, but there was no way it had missed the cabin with the telltale smoke coming from the chimney. If we were really lucky, they would deem the cabin unimportant and not send anyone at all. If we were a little lucky, it would take them a day or a week or a month to send somebody. And if we were unlucky…

  The staccato beat of a helicopter’s rotors was coming in our direction.

  “Oh, fuck,” I said.

  East looked terrified. She clutched the front of my ginormous parka with both hands, but didn’t say anything, her eyes huge. I looked around us, but saw nothing but trees and more trees. There was nowhere to run. No time to run. I could hear the chopper hovering. I assumed it was over the cabin and was glad the clearing was too small for them to land.

  “Get under my jacket,” I told East, shrugging out of my pack and holding the extra-extra-large dark green parka open. I thought her beige coat would be too easy to spot from the air. We huddled together under the parka. I threw handfuls of pine needles, dirt and grimy snow over the rest of our gear to make it blend in with the forest floor. It was the best I could do under the circumstances and I knew it wasn’t nearly enough. I dug through my backpack frantically and pulled out the gun. If this was it, I wanted to make sure I had at least two bullets left. One for her and one for me. I’d heard stories of other people being captured by the enemy and they weren’t pretty.

  The helicopter began to slowly move over the forest, methodically searching for us. East was shaking as she clung to me under the parka. I was fighting back the fear rising within me, knowing I needed to focus, but distracted by the nasty metallic taste at the back of my throat.

  I could hear the change in the engine tone as the helicopter hovered over another section of the woods, maybe half a mile away. Maybe farther—without a visual, it was hard to pinpoint either distance or direction. It sounded like some sort of announcement was being broadcast from the chopper, but with the wind whipping, it was impossible to make out any of the words. After a minute or two that felt much longer, the chopper began its search again, quartering the forest for its prey. It was getting closer and closer.

  A pinecone fell with a thump to the ground about a foot away and I damn near shot it. I looked up—the boughs of our tree and its neighbors were rocking to and fro from both the natural and helicopter-produced wind gusts. The chopper was visible through the branches, hovering over us like a giant malevolent hornet. Monstrous and scary, it was black with large, official-looking white letters painted on its side and underbelly. I could only see it in snatches through the treetops, but the letters appeared to read FBSA, which meant nothing to me. The strong winds were buffeting the helicopter. The pilot must have been fighting for control. Down on the ground, we were struggling to hold on to the parka. Pine needles and dirt were flying everywhere in the powerful downward draft from the chopper. I sent up a silent, urgent request for them to immediately crash and burn, but that went unanswered. As usual.

  Could they see us? They were hovering practically overhead. If they had infra-red technology to see our body heat, then hiding under the parka was just foolish. On the other hand, they hadn’t shot us yet, so I was sticking with the hiding plan for the moment.

  The racket alone from the helicopter was overwhelming. But suddenly an even louder noise boomed from it—the apparently pre-recorded announcement.

  “THIS IS THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF SURVIVOR ASSISTANCE. WE ARE HERE TO HELP YOU. YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED. PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.”

  East and I goggled at each other underneath the parka, but they weren’t done yet.

  “WE HAVE FOOD, WATER, SHELTER AND MEDICAL ASSISTANCE TO OFFER YOU. WE CAN HELP YOU LOCATE FAMLY MEMBERS. THIS IS THE FBSA. YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED.”

  The deafening announcement then repeated in Spanish and (I guessed) Chinese. While this was going on, East and
I tried to talk.

  “I’ve never heard of the FBSA. Have you?” I yelled at her.

  She shook her head.

  “Maybe we should accept,” she yelled in my ear, then pulled back a little as if fearing my reaction.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I hollered in disbelief.

  She grabbed me and put her mouth right up to my ear, still having to yell to be heard over the chopper.

  “Listen to me, Kell. If they are the government and they know where Segundo is, they can take us there in about ten minutes in the helicopter. Think of that. You could be with your sister in ten minutes.”

  Her breath was hot and moist on my ear. I shrugged out of her grasp and stared at her. Ten minutes…so easy…Then I came to my senses.

  “It’s too risky,” I told her fiercely. “We can’t take the chance, East. We’ve gotta be smart.”

  She drooped and wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  The helicopter had finished blasting its trilingual announcement. Either a bigger gust of wind caught it or it drifted a little too close to one of the pines. There was a nasty sound of the blades shearing off some branches, then the pilot recovered and sharply corrected the chopper’s position. A moment later, it rose, turned and then soared back toward the west, the direction from whence it had come.

  The silence was as startling as their abrupt departure. I surmised the winds had become too powerful for safe hovering. Or at least I hoped. The nearest place they could land was probably the freeway—which wasn’t all that far away. A vision of armed men trooping up the hill to find us was extremely alarming. I waited another minute to make sure it wasn’t a fake-out, but the chopper did not return. I jumped up, tucked the gun in my waistband and pulled East to her feet.

  “Come on, we gotta go!”

  “Okay,” she said, starting back toward the cabin.

  “Whoa, where are you going?”

  “Can’t we at least get some more supplies from the cabin?”