by D. I. Telbat
About midway between the cabin and River Camp, they were crossing a flowery meadow when Eric noticed movement along the tree line. Movement itself wasn't too rare, since the whole forest was alive with wildlife. Spotting deer and the occasional elk wasn't abnormal. Rabbits and squirrels were everywhere, and birds fluttered about constantly. The movement he noticed was something of mass, something solid and lumbering.
He took a knee in the tall grass and eased his rifle off his shoulder. Andy, familiar with his body language from hunting trips, crawled up to Eric's side.
"Bear," Eric whispered, and pointed to their right. "Stay low."
Andy nodded, his eyes wide, as he hugged Runner to the ground. Eric was surprised Runner hadn't caught the scent of the beast already. Normally, they would've given a bear space to move along, but Eric's mind was on the prospect of meat. One hundred hungry people were five miles away.
Sliding his pack from his back, Eric steadied his nerves against fear. His rifle was a deer rifle, not a bear gun. The .223 cartridge had little stopping power against a charging bear. But the bullet was adequate enough if he could place it carefully in a vital organ. Such a shot would take precision, which wasn't something he could do if he were panicked.
After signaling for Andy to remain there, he stalked straight into the trees to approach the bear from the side. If it hadn't sensed him yet, he could take his time and place a shot without damaging meat or risking his life.
This area was full of young growth trees, burned and reseeded in the last twenty years, so there were no trees for several hundred yards large enough to climb if something went wrong.
Eric halted his advance as he heard the bear ahead, perhaps eating or digging, but definitely distracted by something on the ground. The trees weren't hindering his view of the animal now only thirty yards away, but the foxtail grass was waist high and thick. Swallowing past terror, Eric realized he'd have to get closer to get a clear shot.
Suddenly, on his left, Runner bolted across the meadow! She'd broken free from Andy, and bounded straight west, yipping as she went. Whether chasing a squirrel or a bird, she ignored the bear. Andy's blond head popped above the grass, focused on his loose dog.
Just as startling, the beast Eric was hunting rose up to a stand. It wasn't a bear at all, but a man! The man held a bow with an arrow aimed at the field. An instant later, he loosed his arrow and Runner yelped.
Andy jumped to his feet in his hiding place and screamed as he ran toward his dog. The man, with half his face visible to Eric, appeared shocked by this turn of events. Eric quietly moved up behind the stranger and noticed a dead deer at his feet. The bow hunter had been gutting a deer. When he took a step toward the meadow, Eric raised his rifle and aimed it at the man.
"Stay where you are," Eric said.
The man froze, then turned slowly, his hands raised. Though he still held his bow, he didn't hold any arrows, but his quiver was full on his back. Andy wailed from the meadow as he found Runner.
"I thought it was a coyote," the bow hunter said. He wore black and gray fatigues and worn-out boots. His face was shaved and his hair was cropped short, like a soldier. Eric didn't recognize him from Major Milton's resistance fighters, and the man wore no armband. "I honestly didn't know there were other people out here. I'd heard there was a mad man somewhere in the mountains, maybe farther east."
"I've heard of the mad man as well." Eric aimed his rifle at his feet, easing the tension, but the bow hunter kept his hands up. "So, where are you from? I know for a fact you don't live out here."
"That's true. I'm just hunting. I live in Mastover."
"Mastover's a long way from here."
"Most of the other men go antelope hunting out on the range." He licked his lips nervously. Eric wondered if he would try to attack him, using a knife or reach for another arrow. "But I'm a bow hunter. I come down here and hunt deer a couple times a year for my wife and kid."
"You said the other men. From Mastover?"
"Yeah, the other—" He hesitated, then glanced northward. "You probably know who I'm with."
"I do. Your uniform says a lot." Eric cradled his rifle across his chest and the hunter lowered his arms. "I also know if you live in Mastover, you guys joined the Liberation Organization when it rolled through here last year."
"Everybody in Mastover works for them now." He shrugged and Eric noticed he was missing a front tooth. "For years, we barely survived. We had no gear to even fight the Meridia Virus. Now, we wear military surplus, and I do what I want when I'm not on patrol. We all have someone to take care of."
Andy walked up then, a bloody arrow in his hand, tears streaking his face.
"She's dead, Eric." He wiped his cheeks. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."
"It was an accident, Andy." Eric knelt down. "I wish it hadn't happened. This man thought she was a coyote. He really didn't mean to hurt her. Runner was a good, loyal dog."
Andy looked up at the man. The boy's fists were clenched. Pain etched his face, and grief pooled in his red eyes. He was about to say something, but then he turned and walked back to Runner.
The bow hunter sighed and glanced at the deer half-gutted.
"I don't think you could say anything more to make me regret what I did." He leaned his bow against a tree. "The look on your boy's face was more than enough."
"He lost his father to bandits last year, then his mother to a mountain fall." Eric frowned. "No boy should witness this much blood."
"I know it's not much, but can I give you a quarter?" He motioned at the deer. Eric noticed the arrow wound just behind the animal's left shoulder—a perfect shot.
"We could use the meat." Eric drew a buck knife from his belt and helped the stranger carve up the carcass.
The man's name was Joel Grayport. He'd lived his whole twenty-eight years in Mastover, and was now married to a neighbor girl named Lena. Perhaps Joel's regret opened his heart to speak freely to a stranger, so Eric let him talk. Eric's own feelings were mixed about the run-in. On one hand, Runner was dead, Andy's closest friend. The boy he considered his son had been horribly hurt. On the other hand, a man who could be considered an enemy was now indebted to Eric. God was working out something, but what?
A hindquarter of the deer was cut off, and Joel cut a sapling to help skid the rest of his kill out to a Humvee he said was parked on the highway a few miles north.
"So, who are you?" Joel asked, wiping his bloody hands on the grass. "I've been doing all the talking."
Eric considered what he could say to a man who belonged to the Liberation Organization. Such a soldier would want to know all that was going on in those woods. Major Milton Pickford was staging an offensive against the Lib-Org's oppressive presence in Mastover. Not far away, the major's forces were gathering, and Eric had assumed charge over the families of the resistance.
"Just a man who needs to bury a dog."
"Well, take care."
Joel left, skidding his carcass through the trees. Eric looked down at the haunch of meat at his feet. It seemed a poor consolation for the loss caused by their meeting. The meat was needed back at River Camp, but nothing could replace Runner. From his gear, Eric drew a short shovel and joined Andy in the meadow where he was sitting next to his friend.
Kneeling next to Andy, Eric put his arm around his shoulder, and tried to find the right words to comfort the boy.
"She knew how much you loved her." Eric placed his hand on Runner's head. "We will always remember what a good friend she was to you."
When Eric and Andy reached River Camp, they were met with more death. One of the wounded soldiers of the resistance had died that morning, and a brief funeral was underway. A burial site downriver under a stand of trees had been selected, but only a few people gathered—Eric, Hank, and a woman who'd been the soldier's nurse. The fact that the whole camp didn't attend told Eric much about the weary hearts around him. They'd already seen too much death. Attending a funeral would simply remind them about the death tha
t seemed to stalk them all.
"I think his name was Bill," the nurse said. Her hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in months.
"Someone said he was from North Dakota," Hank said, leaning on a shovel near the mound of earth. "He came to fight for us, but none of us really know anything about him."
Gazing back at camp, Eric saw the people had been busy over the past twenty-four hours. The tents had been moved off the riverbank, and women were at the river washing clothes. Others were in the trees, digging latrine pits. Andy had joined other youths who were stacking tree branches for firewood.
"God didn't design us for death," Eric said softly. "We chose to sin, which brought death. Every death around us reminds us of our own mortality. Eternity is a gaping mouth, and we all must enter it through the grave. May we entrust our lives to the Creator while we're still alive, because death on this side is so very final."
"You sound like a preacher," the nurse said. "I knew a preacher once."
"Major Milton warned me that you were a man of the Bible." Hank's voice sounded bitter, and Eric was reminded that there'd been a movement to remove Christians and Bibles a year earlier in Mastover. "Is there any truth in that?"
"Any truth in what?" Eric smiled. "That I'm a man of the Bible, or that there's truth in the Bible?"
"Both." He snarled, revealing his stained teeth through his beard.
"God's Word settles my heart through all this, and about eternity. If everything in our lives is stripped away, and we look closely, we see our need for God to save us from our sinful condition. That's the truth."
They stood in silence for a few minutes, then left the grave one at a time.
In camp, several women assigned as camp cooks chatted casually as they sliced into the deer haunch Eric had brought.
Between the tents, an older woman instructed three younger women how to tie line from pole to pole for a clothesline. Several youths collected rocks, piling them in a semi-circle as a boundary for the camp. The boundary served no practical purpose, Eric guessed, but the people needed to mark their new home. The boundary of rocks gave River Camp a sense of possession.
Near the river, three women waited for him, cradling hunting rifles in their arms. One of them was Gretchen, even more attractive in the full light of the afternoon sun. She wore a leather belt with a skinning knife on it, and her fiery hair was tied back in a loose ponytail.
Eric sat cross-legged on the ground and created a model of the area with rocks and river sand. The three women understood and knelt around the model.
"This is the river, and here's River Camp. The mountain range runs along here, and we're about in the middle of it all. The highway is along here, ten miles to our north. Never get any closer to the highway than you are right now, including when you shoot game. Otherwise, people in Mastover or travelers on the highway will hear your gunshots.
"Now, you have three mountain peaks to remember. None of you know this wilderness, so pay attention, or I'll be tracking down lost hunters instead of wild game."
After Eric's instructions for hunting and getting back to camp alive, he studied the other two women hunters, eyeing their rifles and gear. Both were brunettes. One was stocky and strong-looking, and the other was tall and slim. Each wore patched jeans and hiking boots, like Gretchen, and their faces seemed determined to accomplish the hard work ahead of them.
"Well, you three know each other," Eric said. "The last thing to sort out for an afternoon hunt is—who pairs up with me?"
"She already told us she's going with you." The stocky one pointed at Gretchen. "It's fine with us. We both have men already. They're fighting for Major Milton."
Rather than meet Gretchen's gaze and get swept up in the coupling idea that seemed to permeate the survival atmosphere, Eric stood and signaled to Hank. He was helping two women build a turkey coop.
"We'll be back by nightfall," Eric yelled. Andy heard, and waved. He had a stick in his hand, and was teaching several older boys and girls how to trap turkeys for the coop. Runner would've been a pleasant companion at his side, but such were the tragedies of those last days in America.
"Dad said you've lived in these mountains since Pan-Day." Gretchen matched Eric's pace as they crossed the river and headed south. The other hunting pair worked their way up the ridge to the east. "You lived alone, or did you have a wife?"
He stopped suddenly and smiled at her, remembering what Hank had said about her sadness for years. The world had changed, and worry had lined the young woman's face. Before Pan-Day, marriages and divorces were frequent and careless. Now, he hoped the strife would cause marriage to return to its rightful place—as an enduring and endearing relationship. Gretchen was husband-hunting while they were supposed to be deer hunting. Eric was flattered, but he had a job to do.
"Let's bag a deer before dusk, okay?" He nodded briefly. "We can talk back at camp as much as we want."
"Okay. Sorry."
"No apologies necessary." He climbed the ridge that overlooked a clearing to the south. "It's only natural to want to know the people we're supposed to work with."
From the top of the ridge, Eric used binoculars to scope the clearing, then directed Gretchen to sneak down to the edge of the expanse. Meanwhile, Eric intended to make a wide circle around the clearing, hoping to drive an animal or two into her range.
Suddenly, Eric saw several bounding white-tailed deer fleeing into the clearing from the forest where Gretchen had just entered. If he and the other hunters were successful this early on their first hunting attempt, packing the meat the two miles back to camp would be a quick trek. It looked like this would be an early night.
Less than a minute later, Eric heard a gunshot. He froze. The echo of the blast bounced off the mountains around him. A second shot sounded, and he measured the possibility of an enemy hearing the noise. But miles of forest, hills, and mountains separated them from the highway, and there'd been no inhabitants in the rugged land except him, as far as he knew.
Rather than continue his drive around the clearing, he walked directly toward where he figured Gretchen would be. Nearing the meadow, he stumbled upon a deer hiding in a thicket. It hesitated to run, and Eric aimed his rifle to quickly conclude the hunt.
Reaching the clearing, he found Gretchen standing over another deer.
"You got the other one?" She was grinning proudly, a small buck at her feet. "I did it. I mean, we did it. Three shots and we got two deer. That's not bad, right?"
"Not bad, Miss Worcester."
"So, we make a good pair, don't we?"
Eric sighed as she winked, apparently sensing his discomfort, but flirting anyway. She drew her skinning knife and knelt to gut the animal as he returned to his kill. By the time he dragged his doe to the clearing, the other two hunters had reached them and readied to help haul the deer back to camp. After cutting two poles with a compact hatchet from Eric's pack, they started the trip back to camp with the day's provision from God.
The other two women, Liz and Joy, chattered excitedly over the successful hunt, which pleased Eric. Their kills were viewed as success for all of River Camp. It seemed they were growing closer already.
But as they reached the river and started across, Eric could see that River Camp was far from rejoicing with them, as they stood near the tents. In the few hours they'd been gone, something had happened. The campfires were out and no one was moving about preparing the evening meal. The four hunters lay the two deer beside the cold coals of a fire circle, then Eric and Gretchen walked briskly toward the gathered crowd.
Eric wondered if calm would ever reach River Camp.
*~*
Chapter 4
Leaving the two deer in the care of Liz and Joy for skinning and butchering, Eric led Gretchen through the crowd gathered near the wall tents. They found Hank in the center, sitting next to a soldier Eric recognized from the resistance army. He had blood on his cheek, and his assault rifle stock was broken, perhaps smashed by a bullet.
Ever
yone waited for Eric's reaction, so he took his time assessing the situation. They all knew if fighting men were ever found in their camp by the Lib-Org soldiers, they would be targeted as the enemy, and attacked. For that reason, no one even wore the red, white, and blue armbands in camp, not even Hank.
"Whatever happened," Eric said loudly for the hundred people to hear, "we still need to eat tonight. It's dark now, so get the fires going and go about your business. Go on now. I'll hear what the man has to say, and you'll all know soon enough."
The crowd reluctantly dispersed, except for Gretchen, who sat on a log with Eric. Andy also remained and set his hand on Eric's shoulder. Hank gestured at the newcomer.
"This is Sergeant Zellick of the Resistance. He was part of an offensive against Mastover." Hank held up his hand. "I already told him, Eric. He knows he's got to leave as soon as he gets patched up."
Eric studied the man, who was a little younger than himself, with soft features and sad eyes.
"Tell me what happened."
"We took the bridge south of Mastover." He sipped from a dented canteen. "We were trying to cut off the supply route through town. The Liberation Organization continues to traffic supplies up from Denver. Most of us used to live in Mastover. We just want our homes back and freedoms restored. We don't want any part of this Liberation Organization. They're butchers!"
"I understand."
"How'd you take the bridge?" Hank asked.
"We were dug in with a couple RPGs and machine guns on the west and east flanks. Then we just blocked the bridge. We didn't even fire on the first convoy that met us. They rolled up, we told them the bridge was closed, and they turned around. One was even a tank. We thought we were finally making a point."
"They probably radioed Mastover," Eric guessed.
"Yeah, they must have. They hit us from the north, then got around us somehow. We took heavy losses on the south side before we pulled back. That's where I was. When we were retreating into the trees, the north side of the bridge had fallen. Major Milton was there. No one got out, but some were still alive."