Alive, he thought sourly, when everyone else he’d ever known was dead.
He took a thin, worn track around the slope of the small hill he occupied to follow what was clearly an animal track. Cole guessed it was frequently traveled by the wounded animal, but took its presence as a good thing. If there was enough food in the area to sustain a good-sized predator, then there should be enough to keep him fed. He hadn’t eaten a hot meal in two days, and the strips of dried meat were all gone. With the primary task of securing clean water taken care of, he turned his attention to food.
The thicker line of trees snaking off into the distance told him where the water source snaked its way through the landscape, but his only reason for needing to go there would be to search for edible vegetation or fish.
He only ate fish when the situation dictated a lack of other food sources, which was why he spent a few minutes standing and observing with his eyes slightly out of focus waiting for the smallest of movements to trigger his senses. He waited, breathing in the warm, clean air, just watching.
Something moved. Below him and to the left of the winding track that carved lines down the slope like an imprint of lightning. He swung his head to look directly at the patch of low scrub where his eyes detected the disruption and waited again, breathing slowly and calmly. Movement again, and this time, he focused and brought up the broken half of the binoculars to zoom in on what he hoped would be food.
Three of them moved slowly, their heads jutting out ahead of their awkward bodies as the hint of fleshy red skin beneath their beaks lit up his view. There were turkeys there, and as if to remind him that he needed to fill his belly, it growled loudly at him. Cole lacked the patience to take his time, to trap them, instead electing to walk slowly towards their position among the scrub on the hillside and stoop to keep his size from being obvious. He held his face up to the air as he walked, feeling the breeze lightly touch his right cheek and nose to tell him that he wouldn’t be sending his own scent ahead of his advance and make his stealth pointless.
He stopped when he was closer, angling slowly and carefully into the brush to gently pluck handfuls of dark red berries from a bush as the gobble-gobble sound echoed further ahead. They were aiming straight for his position on the track and he gambled on them not having seen a human before in their lives.
It was often the case. In areas where the human population had simply ceased to be many years ago, animals had no fear of him. They hadn’t learned to fear them yet, and as such, they often regarded him with little more than a cautious wariness unless he did something to startle them. He knelt as small as he could, gently tossing the berries onto the sandy track ahead of him until the brush parted and a turkey poked its ugly head out.
It regarded him for a moment, unsure until the glistening berry in front of it dragged away the short attention of the animal. It pecked at it, ruining the smooth skin and covering the tasty treat in dust but eating it nonetheless before jerking its head and making the curious noise again. It stepped further out of the brush, pecking at another berry with greater confidence and straight onto the third and fourth before its instinctive need to eat spelled out its death and a hand clamped around the leathery neck of the bird.
He knew from experience, and had a vicious scar in a place nobody but him had seen, that just because these wild turkeys seemed ridiculous and didn’t appear dangerous, when you grabbed hold of one, it turned like a demon and began to rake any part of your body it could reach with its sharp feet.
The trick he found best for this eventuality was, as soon as he had laid hands on it, to jump to his feet and swing the thing around his head like he was winding up to pitch it into space. The forces in play meant that the wicked spurs on the feet of the bird couldn’t reach him, and in this case, it also served to break the heavy thing’s neck.
He dropped it on the path, giving the neck an additional crunch to be sure as it wouldn’t be the first animal he thought he’d killed to up and walk off as soon as he’d turned his back. He knew he’d been impetuous and had probably spooked the rest of the birds, but hunger was an impatient ruler.
Cole took the time to collect up a few more of the berries and drop them onto a patch of open dirt near to a whip of a bare tree trunk no thicker than his wrist before bending the flexible sapling down and trying a loop of thin cord around it. He looped the other end around his leg and knelt to keep it bent as he arranged a small ring of sticks and used the hilt of his knife to drive a larger stick into the dirt.
Cutting a wedge out of it to hold what he had been taught to call the trigger stick, he carefully set the noose over the bait and backed away slowly so as not to disturb the trap and have to start again. He stood and gauged his work, satisfied that the short twine and the tall sapling should keep anything he caught in the trap safely away from the many things who would see it as a free dinner until he could retrieve it.
Content with his work, he tossed the knife in his hand, tumbling it twice through the air before catching it and sliding it home into its sheath, and hefted the fat bird over his shoulder to make the short climb to his current home.
The wire mesh tray he had found inside an old food storage container served him well, and the long strips of breast meat sizzled gently to drip occasional juices down into the simmering fire below. He’d eaten his fill, carved up the biggest parts that would keep better, and instead of picking the carcass clean as he normally would, he found himself leaving most of the additional meat on the bird and carrying it outside with sticky hands to the store room.
The sun was setting, and the interior was filled with a deep darkness so much so that he didn’t know if his charge was even in there until the growl announced that it had noticed him.
“It’s okay,” he said soothingly to the shadows as he glanced to see some of the water gone from the new dish. “I brought you some food.” He tossed the heavy carcass into the storeroom with as much care as possible amidst the rising growls, until the sweet smell of fresh cooked turkey suddenly changed the priorities of the predator. The growling ceased in an instant to be replaced by feverish sniffing, which in turn gave way to a slurping, crunching sound as the whole thing began to be eaten.
Chapter 15
Alec
Alec’s eyes snapped open, throwing him into that moment of panic he experienced waking up somewhere different. He’d dozed off through sheer exhaustion while waiting for Crash and Monet at the corner of Ridge and Cherry and he’d assumed they might have left without him. He’d arrived at least an hour late, but he decided to stay put in case they’d encountered trouble getting out.
Hours later, the sun was up, casting long shadows of the buildings he was nestled between. He heard the noise before he spotted her. It was Monet and she was alone.
“Psssst,” he hissed from his hiding spot and she glanced to his location, her eyes finally meeting his.
She ran over, and he saw the blood streaked down her arms. She had a bracelet like his on her wrist and held a knife in her left hand, her knuckles white from the tight grip.
“What happened?” Alec asked as he scanned the sky for signs of Seekers.
“Met some resistance on the way out.” Monet’s eyes flicked side to side quickly.
“Where’s Crash?” Alec asked.
She shrugged. “We got split up. He’ll meet us at the next spot if he made it.”
If he made it. Alec had seen a few people die in his life, but usually the Overseers preferred to do that behind closed doors. More people than he could count had been there in the manufacturing plant one day, the next a different somber face filled their role. Seeing Jackfish then Beth get killed point blank, that he had seen people killed, and now the blood on Monet’s hands made him want to hurl the meager contents of his stomach.
“Get it together. You’re one of us now. Tell me you have the prize?” she asked, looking to his pockets.
“I have it. What’s on it?” Alec rushed out the question.
“There�
�ll be time for that later. Give it to me,” she ordered. Monet lay her right hand out, palm up, and Alec swallowed hard. He pulled the tiny device from his pocket and placed it in her hand. She closed quickly over it, and the device disappeared into her clothing in a flash.
“What do we do now?” he asked. “Whose blood is that?”
“One question at a time. This is a guard’s blood. She tried to stop me.” Her dark brown eyes were piercing as she spoke. Her thick black hair was growing in from the perpetual head shave, and even in the worker’s jumpsuit, she looked like a warrior from one of the books Alec had tucked away back in his hiding spot in the ball-bearing factory.
“And…”
“And we move before they come for us. They’re probably already searching,” she said.
Alec pointed to his wrist. “But we have these.”
She shook her head. “You really don’t know anything, do you? Have you even seen a Tracker?”
“Yes.” Alec had heard of them. “They’re like a dog, but robotic. I’ve seen a lot of Seekers.” He hated how this woman who could only be a few years older than him made him feel like a little kid. He was twenty-five years old. He wanted to tell her that, but something in her eyes made him stop.
“Dogs? Have you ever even seen a dog?” she asked.
“I saw one once.” It had been last year, on one of his night excursions out. The lone animal had stopped in the field, stared at him with bright yellow eyes, and kept moving. It had been amazing.
“The only similarity is they both walk on four legs. The have enough firepower to kill fifty people without breaking a sweat.” Monet was walking ahead of him, leading him down the street. She turned into an alley and Alec followed closely behind.
“Have you seen them?” he asked, and the glare she returned spoke volumes.
“Far too many times,” she said.
“Where do you come from? How do you know Tom?” he asked, suddenly feeling the need to know everything about his old mentor and the mysterious people that had entered his life.
“All in due time. For now, we must remain silent. We’ll be out of the city soon. Come on. No more talking,” she whispered, and he ceded to her advice.
The morning was shaping up to be hot, but Alec was used to working in the factory, where it was rarely under ninety degrees during peak hours. They were moving north, and this took them away from civilization in a hurry. Alec could see the tops of tall buildings to the southwest, but Monet was leading them through side roads to the next city. She called it Ann Arbor. Alec had never heard of it. He’d never been more than a couple miles from the manufacturing plant, not since he’d been raised in the nearest breeding ground and moved to the plant when he was of age.
By the time they stopped, Alec was drenched with sweat, and he was grateful for the short hair as Monet led him to a country house.
“Whose house is this?” he asked.
“It’s ours,” she said.
“Ours?” he asked.
“Tom really didn’t tell you anything, did he?”
Alec was hurt. There was so much he didn’t know about the man. He glanced at the bracelet clamped around his wrist, blocking his ID tracker, and was grateful he’d at least left Alec one thing of value.
“Don’t take it too hard. We have a rule. We don’t tell anyone inside the factories. It’s too dangerous. He shouldn’t have given you that either. Think of it as a sign he was looking out for you,” she said as they stopped on the old farmhouse’s front porch. Monet scanned the sky for signs of Seekers, and Alec peered around the fields for Trackers. When they were satisfied they hadn’t been followed, Monet led him inside.
The place was a mess. A skeleton sat in a chair in a room filled with stacks of boxes and an old television. “This is your house?” he asked again.
She laughed, and the sound was alien to his ears. He felt like joining her but didn’t know where to begin. “No. This is.” She opened a door with a numbered padlock on it, and Alec saw steps leading to a dark basement.
What had he gotten himself into? Still, this was better than biding his time, waiting to die at the factory. His heart raced as he followed the formidable woman into the recesses of the home. The basement had a stale scent to it that made it hard to breath. They stepped over a damp carpet and stopped at a wood-paneled wall. She felt along its edges before pushing on the wood. It clicked and swung open.
“Welcome to the Reclaimers, Alec.” She said the words without a hint of malice, and he scanned the room. Light snuck in through white curtains over a tiny barred window, and Monet flipped a switch on.
Alec didn’t even ask how they had a power source out there in the middle of nowhere. The inside of this secret room was nothing like the rest of the house. It was clean, sealed off from the rot of the world. The wooden floor had a light layer of dust on it, and he could see old footprints across the powder. Black crates lined the far wall, and a table with two chairs sat along the other wall. There were also two cots on the ground, with pillows and blankets.
“I know. Quite the luxury after what you’ve been living in. There’s food under the table. Help yourself.” Monet crossed the room and opened a tall cabinet after punching in a series of numbers onto a keypad. The door swung wide to reveal at least ten guns of varying sizes standing side by side.
Alec’s stomach growled at the idea of food, but he walked over to Monet’s side to stare at the weapons. “What are the Reclaimers?” he asked.
She took a handheld gun, clicked something into it, and motioned for Alec to sit at the table. “I think we’d better have that talk now.”
Alec’s head was spinning as they opened a box under the table to find real food. Canned goods that weren’t twenty-three years past their expiration dates. “We still manufacture food. The Overseers kept plants open around the world for this purpose. They need to feed the bastards that choose to work with them. The supervisors, the guards, the Hunters.” She said the last one with hatred, and Alec decided not to ask what a Hunter was quite yet.
There was so much he didn’t know. “What else is there?”
“Pretty much the gruel they feed the workers and breeders. It’s full of most nutrients you need to survive. Other than that, it’s canned goods. Premixed food. There are thousands of farms being worked, mostly by human slaves, but there are worse places to be than outside tilling the crops,” Monet said it like she had experience in the fields.
“Alec, humanity was almost wiped out. How old are you? Were you born before or after?”
“Before, but barely. At least that’s what Tom told me.”
She glanced at him, staring for a second before nodding. “We estimate there are only ten million people alive in the United States. About two hundred million in the world. Of course, there’s no way to know for sure. Especially with the number of Freeborns we see popping up all over the place.”
“Freeborns?” Alec asked, the word tasting funny on his tongue.
“Those born outside the Occupation. There are thousands of small groups hidden around the country living on the other side of the Overseers’ radars,” Monet said.
Alec took a bite of food from the can before him and nearly fell over at the flavor.
“You’re supposed to heat it up first,” Monet said with a laugh. “I’ll show you.” She grabbed two bowls from under the table and stuck the food inside a silver box. The lights dimmed as it activated. Alec watched through the glass casing as the bowls of food turned slowly as the machine operated.
“There are people out there born without ID tags?” Alec finally clued in to what she’d been saying.
“That’s right. Lots of them.”
“Are they rising up against the Overseers?” he asked, his pulse picking up speed again as he waited for her answer.
“Unfortunately, no. Most of them are too scared to go outside, let alone join the Reclaimers. Believe me, we’ve traveled far and wide, attempting to recruit. We can do a lot with weapons and technol
ogy, but we still need people to operate them.”
“Are you saying these Reclaimers have more guns than that?” He pointed to the cabinet full of weaponry.
She laughed again, a thick throaty sound. Her eyes danced as she glared back at him. Seeing her like that made him miss his sulky friend Beth even more.
“You have no idea. And now that we have the asset from Detroit, we’re finally onto something.” She patted her pocket where she’d placed the device Alec had smuggled out of the factory.
“Jackfish…”
“Jackfish knew what he was offering us. I’m sorry about your friend. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The guards rarely shoot bystanders by accident,” she said, pulling the bowls from the whirring box.
The bowl steamed, and the smell of thick red food almost made his eyes water in joy. “He knew he was going to die?”
She nodded, passing him a spoon. “That’s what Reclaimers are prepared to do.”
“Die?”
“Sacrifice for our greater good.”
That made sense, but Alec still didn’t feel like he had a grasp of what he was getting involved with. “What’s on the device?”
“What do you think you were building in there?” she asked, turning his question around on him.
“I have no idea. They don’t tell us anything. The supervisor has blueprints, and we follow orders,” Alec said before taking a bite. It was hot, but the flavors exploded in his mouth. It was the best thing he’d ever eaten. It was the only thing other than his daily allowance of slop he’d tasted.
“We think it’s a gate.” Monet started to eat.
“A gate? What does that mean?” he asked, his curiosity more than piqued.
“If our intel is accurate, they’re trying to build a gateway so their kind can walk between our world and theirs. No more interstellar travel in those ships of theirs. It took them generations to arrive, and now they want to build a bridge to allow the rest of their kind access to Earth,” Monet said between bites.
Occupation: A Post-Apocalyptic Alien Invasion Thriller (Rise Book 1) Page 9