Circles of Displacement

by Darrell Bain

  “Don't count on that,” Michael warned. “Keep alert. However, you look like you're armed well enough. If you're careful, it should be ok. At least, we've had no trouble so far."

  Breedlove walked away to sound out the others on Michael's proposed expedition, anticipating that they would follow, but Wanda hung back a moment. “You're not planning to leave me behind too, are you?"

  “No,” Michael said, making an immediate decision. Not only did he trust Wanda as an equal, or perhaps even a superior in exploration, he found that he didn't want to be separated from her. Even though his predictions had been proven right, he still had no clear idea of what the future might hold. He only knew that somehow the responsibility of getting survivors together was gradually devolving on himself and he wanted her support.

  “Good,” Wanda smiled. “I wouldn't have stayed anyway."

  They all gathered in the feed store that night, talking over plans. Wanda noticed that before long, the others followed the deputy's lead and began deferring to Michael. It was finally agreed that Michael, Wanda, Gerald and his girlfriend would strike out for Livingston the next morning, leaving Breedlove and the other teenager and two older men to protect the rest of the group. The deputy didn't need much convincing. He was content to remain with his fief, although he didn't think of it in those terms. He only knew that Carla and the rest of them had come to depend on him, and he didn't want to let that go. It was nice being a leader.

  Wanda noted that Sheila seemed to be happy enough with Peggy's company and that of Melanie, the little girl. Occasionally she even laughed, as if her experience with Dawson was really something she was putting behind her. As dusk closed in, Wanda found a spot within the feed store for a pallet, and even a modicum of privacy in a corner behind a pile of feed sacks. After the evening meal, Michael joined her there.

  He eyed the double pallet and sat down. It was concealed from other areas by the stacks of grain, giving an illusion of privacy even if they did have to whisper to keep their conversation from being overheard. He sat down and began laying out his weapons for easy access. “Where's Sheila?"

  “I've got her bedded down with Peggy and the little girl. She was exhausted. You know what? I think she's sort of sweet on you."

  Michael hardly heard her. He was in deep thought.

  Wanda took his silence to mean that he thought Sheila was either too young to have feelings like that for an older man or was simply infatuated with him after he had saved her life. Men! She asked, “What are you thinking?"

  He turned to face her. “I did an eyeball measurement of this area. It's bigger than I thought it would be."

  “Does that mean something special?"

  “It means that the farther north and west we've traveled, the bigger the area of displacement. If Huntsville is the center, that means lots of convicts may be loose. I don't like it."

  “If Dawson was an example, I don't either,” Wanda agreed.

  “He was an aberration. What I'm worried about is what the others may be up to. Sooner or later, we're going to have to find out."

  Wanda gave in to his pensive attitude. Suddenly, she was worried too. Their little group would be no match for gangs of hardened, armed convicts, especially since they had decided to split their forces. Well, that was for tomorrow. Right now she had other thoughts on her mind. She stretched out on the pallet. Michael leaned down beside her in the darkness. Over the feedbags, the flickering of a candle from another alcove cast only a faint light into their shadowed retreat, as if they were lying together in a darkened theater before the curtains were lifted. She reached a hand out to touch him, and Michael responded, moving to draw her close to him. He slid his hand over the fabric of her blouse, feeling for the buttons. He fumbled them open and slipped his hand inside, beneath her bra. Wanda kissed him, then gently removed his hand.

  “It's crowded in here."

  Michael stroked the curve of her hip. “I know. It's a New World, though. Listen."

  Wanda heard faint murmurs coming through the darkness, and movements. “It is, isn't it? Wait.” She rose to her knees and began removing her clothing, glad that the water tower had come along with the town so that they had had a chance to bathe.

  Michael could barely discern her body as she undressed, keeping just below the level of the concealing bags. When he was sure of what she was doing, he removed his own clothes, and a moment later she stretched her nudity against him. Her breasts melded softly against his chest, spreading warmth and comfort into his body.

  “There's something you better know first,” Wanda whispered.

  “What's that?” Michael stroked her back and ran his hand over the curve of her hip.

  “My implant is about to run out."

  “Implant? What implant?"

  Men! “For birth control, stupid. Or do you think you can whip up a new one for me by next week?"

  “Oh. Maybe we better not, then.” Michael began to disengage, reluctantly, but he could see her point.

  “Come back here, you idiot. I didn't say we couldn't.” Wanda pulled him back to the warmth of her body and stifled any other protests he might have been thinking of. She knew there would never be any more birth control worthy of the name and she might as well accept the fact. It was going to be a man's world in the future and she decided she might as well cement her relationship with Michael now as later. Besides, her own body had suddenly become a demanding force, as if it were in perfect tune with the dictates of her mind. Wanda drew Michael on top of her, thighs tingling as she spread them apart and let his weight settle deliciously over her. It was, indeed, a New World.

  When Michael sought out Breedlove the next morning, he was directed to the office of the feed store. He knocked on the door. He heard murmured voices from inside, and then Breedlove opened the door. From behind him, he saw the young girl named Carla yawning. Her stretching arms pulled the cover down, revealing bare breasts. She looked up and hastily pulled the blanket back up to her chin. Michael smiled to himself. It is just like Wanda said, he thought. A New World. A few days ago that deputy would have been committing a crime with the young girl. Today he was her protector. Michael wondered what other changes he would see in the years ahead. If he survived.

  While Michael talked with Breedlove, Wanda got acquainted with Gerald and Tanya, his girl friend. Tanya was almost as tall as the young man and was even more enthusiastic about the excursion to the north. Wanda checked their weapons while waiting on Michael. She was apprehensive about the trip. What would they do if they found more convicts rather than normal people? How would they cope with them? If Dawson had made it all the way to where she, Sheila and Dawson had met, others could, too. Well, one thing was certain: never again would she allow herself to be captured by one of them; death would be an acceptable alternative.

  The group moved out after a sparse breakfast, delayed somewhat by again convincing Sheila to remain behind. Later that day, they came upon Brent and Darla's group where they had stopped for a rest.

  Michael held his rifle tensely at first, then saw the other group relax; there would be no fight here. These people were the same as them; stragglers in a world they still didn't understand. After an hour-long conference, Michael kept Brent and Darla with their group and sent the others on to Goodpasture, assuring them that Deputy Breedlove would see to their comfort. He was encouraged that so far, his theories were bearing fruit. They were finding other refuges, but still, the idea of hardened convicts on the loose dampened his spirits. At least though, these new people increased their own forces in case an encounter with convicts did develop.

  Late that afternoon, his fears were confirmed. They broke from the concealing forest into the carnage left behind by the convicts who had ravaged the remains of Livingston. Bodies lay where they had fallen, sprawled amid broken glass and loot discarded by the invaders. Congealed blood lay in pools by the bodies, attracting swarms of flies. Small scavengers darted back into the concealing forest as they approached. Michael noted
the four bodies clad in dirty white uniforms and caught Wanda's glance. Now, there was no denying their peril. He posted sentries and led Wanda inside the Wal-Mart.

  The shelves were still mostly intact, although the aisles were littered and there was a heavy odor of rotting meat and produce from the grocery section. Mouse droppings were also evident, but there was still a large supply of edible food left. There were simply too many goods in the huge store, and too few humans had been available to loot them for there to have been much depletion yet. They walked together toward the back of the store, to the sporting goods area. Wanda halted there, causing Michael to turn. She pointed. “Do you see?"

  Michael did. Where the firearms department had been, the cases had been robbed of arms and ammunition. Most of the glass display cases had been splintered and broken shards lay on the floor like remnants of a rock throwing fight.

  “They took weapons and ammunition, but they left some too. Careless of them.” She pointed to racks of rifles and shotguns.

  Tanya came running toward the back of the store. “Mike, Wanda! There's people outside!"

  “People?” Michael released the safety on his rifle. Were the convicts coming back?

  “Mostly women. They were scared at first. They thought we were more of the convicts come back. They've been hiding in the woods."

  Michael and Wanda hurried outside, leaving the store for later perusal. In the back of his mind, he was thinking that the vast resources of the Wal-Mart and the rest of the shopping center included in this displacement area would make a perfect base for the formation of a settlement, but at the end of that thought came the realization that the convicts might be thinking the same thing, depending on how much and what sort of resources in Huntsville had been displaced.

  There were eleven women and two men altogether, several of them sporting bloody bandages. Michael posted the others to keep watch while he and Wanda led the scared survivors back inside.

  A quick questioning revealed that the attack had occurred only hours earlier, as he had suspected. He was heartened a little by their report that only about a dozen convicts had taken place in the attack, and four of them had been killed. The number of prisoners the remaining convicts had led off was more uncertain, but it appeared to be at least fifteen, possibly twenty or more, almost all women.

  Michael made a quick decision, even though his gut tightened at the thought. This couldn't be allowed to stand, not if he could help it. “We're going after them. Wanda, how about you getting these women armed with whatever weapons the convicts left behind and show them how to use them. I'll talk to the others. Hurry.” Wanda started to speak then let it go. Michael was acting just the way she was thinking. Her only concern was trying a rescue with their present group.

  Back outside, Michael conferred hurriedly with Brent, Darla and the two teenagers. They appeared startled at first, suddenly finding themselves in the middle of what appeared to be an impromptu war after thinking their only mission had been exploration, even after Michael's warning about the possibility of convicts on the loose. Darla, especially, appeared uncertain.

  “Do you really think we have a chance against armed convicts? I've never been in a gunfight before."

  “Neither have I,” Michael admitted, “but we can't let this stand. There's not that many of them left if I've been hearing right, and they won't be expecting anyone to come after them."

  “I'm with you,” Brent said quietly.

  “Good.” He turned to the teenagers. “Gerald, I need someone to get back to Goodpasture and warn the deputy and his people. Also, it looks to me as if a few of the group inside are too old to travel fast enough. I want you to take them with you."

  “Hey, man, no. I want to fight.” Gerald gave Michael a rebellious look.

  “Don't worry. Before this is over I think you'll get a bellyful of fighting. The cons sent one expedition here. What makes you think there aren't others?"

  “But—"

  “I don't have time to argue. Just get back to Breedlove. Tell him what's happened, and then I want you to convince him to lead all his people back here, as fast as he can. If we haven't got back by then, follow our trail back south, toward the river. Tell him I said so, and to try to carry any useful supplies he can think of that won't slow him down. Tell him to bring plenty of guns and ammunition too. We're going to make this area our base; it's too good to pass up. First, though, I'm going to try to catch those damn convicts. Can you do all that? It's a big responsibility, I know, but we need your help."

  Put that way, Gerald reluctantly agreed.

  As Wanda led the group of scared women back outside, Michael saw that two of the surviving women were too old to travel at the speed he intended. They carried newly acquired weapons uncertainly and he saw that they were mostly shotguns.

  “We found more weapons in back,” Wanda explained.

  “Why shotguns? Oh—"

  Wanda grinned while running her fingers through her short thick locks of hair, thinking how much it needed washing. Well, that could wait, just like another bath would have to. “Yeah. I've got them loaded with magnum buckshot mostly, and a couple with scattershot.” She spoke to the group. “Remember girls, don't aim close to the people we're trying to rescue, and hold the butt tight against your shoulder when you fire.” She said nothing to the two men, whom Michael was just noticing. One of them was elderly but fit looking, the other middle-aged and frightened, but trying to conceal it. The elderly man carried a 30-30 with easy familiarity.

  Two of the women carried no weapons. Wanda gestured in their direction. “These two ladies don't want to fight. They say it's not Christian."

  Michael held his temper with difficulty. He was more than a little familiar with the Bible Belt mentality and had no patience with it, but now was not the time to try convincing them of the absurdity of their contentions. He separated them from the larger group, but kept the two oldsters, then drew Gerald aside to speak privately to him. “Don't let those two Sunday school teachers give you any hassle, understand? You're the boss. If you have to use force to control them, use it, but go as easy as you can. It's something we'll have to deal with eventually, but not now."

  “Got it,” Gerald said. His brown young face twitched with barely suppressed mirth at the thought of being in command of the old ladies, who in normal times probably would have crossed the street to avoid him. This white man was one he could get to like.

  Michael had one more thought. He drew Wanda off to one side. He put an arm over her shoulders and said, “Wanda, I've been giving orders and telling everyone how we're going to rescue those poor women, but I've got to tell you I don't have a clue how to go about it. You said you were in the army. Maybe you ought to be in command."

  Wanda felt a surge of affection for Michael well up inside her. Nothing else he could have said could have gone further to confirm her liking of him than deferring to a woman when he was uncertain of his ability in an area outside his domain. “No. The troops will take orders from you more readily right now, and we don't have time to change their orientation. Besides, I was a medical technologist, not a combat officer."

  Michael gave her a grateful squeeze and turned back to work. Fifteen minutes later the area was deserted except for the bodies. But not for long. As the humans withdrew, the scavengers crept back, padding uncertainly over the tarmac, but drawn inexorably to the smell of blood and compost. Michael looked back once, then put the matter out of his mind. If there was any chance of catching up with the convicts and their prisoners, then the bodies would just have to wait.

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Cecil McMasters pitied the horse. It was carrying double, and it was no longer young, but he pushed it hard. There were probably incipient sores beneath the saddle, worn now for a week or more, but there was simply no time to stop and remove it yet. Other matters were more pressing.

  He picked up the convicts’ trail easily, then veered off to the southeast, intending to circle aroun
d and get ahead of them and the girls they held. What he would do then, he still wasn't certain, but putting his presence between them and their base at Huntsville would at least give him some options.

  Movement was rapid at first, but then the woods began thickening, demarcating the moister climate to the south and east of Huntsville. He thought that the dry line was displaced a little farther east than what he remembered of the old climate. He wondered about it, but not much; he was just annoyed that their progress was slower.

  Given a little time, he thought it would be fairly easy to get ahead of his prey and set up some kind of an ambush, but it was becoming harder for the horse to pick its way through the underbrush.

  Abruptly, the woods thinned out into nothing and the horse's hoofs clattered onto a paved surface. He and Judy had entered into another displacement area. It was a stretch of highway, incongruous in the wilderness. And only two lanes, narrowed by encroaching brush. The rest of the circle held the same logged-over scrub, but where it ended in old growth, a pickup and van were parked close together. Thin wisps of smoke from an old campfire hovered lazily in the still air. McMasters thought immediately of smoke signaling their presence to the convicts but decided they were too far away from their path and the forest too dense for that. McMasters kneed the old horse and headed their way.

  A grizzled man of fifty or so came forward to meet them. He carried a rifle, but there was no threat in it. A huge grin almost split his face from ear to ear. A week's worth of almost total white beard adorned his face. “I told ya!” he called back over his shoulder. “I told ya someone would come. Godamighty, are we glad to see ya!"

  Under other circumstances, McMasters would have been glad as well, but now he had to use time to explain. Besides that, his leg was stiffening up badly. Judy had to help him off the horse.