by Ryan King
She didn't understand. She never had.
"I've got it from here," David told the two soldiers as they approached the front steps. "Wait outside." Without looking to see if they obeyed, he opened the front door and stepped in. His first angry retort was on his lips, but he found no one to address it to.
The faint glow of a light from the bedroom led him across the living room. "Mother," he said. "I'm here, Mother. You had me detained and embarrassed in front of my men. I hope you're real happy. I hope—"
Bethany stared back him from her bed. She had a comforter pulled up to her chin despite the cabin's warmth. A weak smile grew bravely from a pale drawn face.
"Mother," David said, rushing over. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
She patted his hand. "I'll be okay. Just a passing thing. It's like this every time. I've just forgotten since it's been so long."
"Forgotten what? Are you sick? Have the doctors looked at you?"
She smiled weakly. "its okay. Another month and this will pass, and I'll be fine."
"How do you know?" he asked.
"Because I've been through this twice before," she said. "Granted, the last time over eighteen years ago, but it's coming back to me."
Shock showed on David's face. "You're pregnant?"
She nodded, smiling.
David jumped up off the bed and drew back with a wild look on his face.
"It's okay," said Bethany. "The baby isn't going to bite you or anything. At least not for a few more months. Dr. Bryant checked me out this week and everything is fine."
"But...Dad's gone...what..."
Bethany put on her most soothing tone, "Your father knows, and I'm having this baby whether he's here to see it or not. And even if he's not here, this baby will still be his child. You'll still be its older brother. What happened to your father doesn't change any of that."
"What will you do?" David asked.
Bethany knew what he meant. "I'll be fine, especially here. Lots of friends. Even some family is talking of moving in to help me. I'll make do. We'll all make do, but I need your help."
"What can I do?" David asked.
Bethany frowned at him. "All your life, ever since you were little, you've been fearless. You were the one who wasn't afraid to jump or dive or ride or whatever crazy thing other kids wanted to do but were too scared to try. You were never afraid. You also stuck up for those who needed to be defended. I was always proud of you for that."
David wasn't sure what to say. He'd taken it as a given that Joshua was her favorite. It was a new thought that his mother might find something about him worthy of being proud of. He knew she loved him, but a mother had to love their children. Pride was something else.
"Joshua was my thinker," she said. "That kept him out of trouble, but it also made him hesitant sometimes, even afraid. I often thought if the two of you ever got together on anything, you could conquer the world."
David spread his hands. "We almost have."
"True," she said, "but Joshua is gone. Missing. He's out there somewhere. Alive I'm sure, but away. You're father has been exiled. Unjustly pushed out. It's just you and me. Soon, it will be you and me and your little brother or sister."
"Why are you telling me all of this?" David asked.
"Because you are fearless," said Bethany, "but fear is sometimes good. Because you have no fear, you act and do as you feel right."
"You're damn straight," said David.
"But that doesn't mean it is right."
David was silent for a moment. "What do you mean?"
"I know what you're thinking of doing," she said, "and it's the wrong move at the wrong time. Worse yet, it won't do any good."
Crossing his arms, David asked, "And what exactly is it I'm thinking of doing."
"You're thinking of going to find Joshua."
"Yes."
"You're thinking of going to rescue your father."
"Yes."
"And you're thinking of going after those you think did this to him."
"You bet."
"That's all selfish and terribly childish," she said.
David looked at her is shock. "You don't know a damn thing about anything!"
Bethany sighed. "Did you know your father warned me things might get bad? That something like this might happen? He asked me to come here if it did. He did it because he cared about me and knew I couldn't do anything to help him. As a matter of fact, I could only make him more vulnerable."
"So what?" asked David.
"Your father was thinking ahead, not reacting," she explained. "He went into Missouri when exiled. Do you think that's an accident?"
"No," answered David. "He's going to find Joshua."
"Exactly," said Bethany. "So you need to let him go do it. If you abandon your unit and go after him, it will give his enemies the pretext they want to get rid of you."
"I don't care," David said. "I'm not afraid of them or what they can do to me."
"I believe that," said Bethany, "but it might also give them the pretext to harm me. Unlike you, I'm very afraid of what they could do to me. And my baby."
"They wouldn't dare!"
"Oh, I think they might," said Bethany. “Especially with Nathan no longer here to protect us."
"I'm here to protect you," said David.
Bethany gazed at David with true love. "I know. That's who you are and why we need you here."
"But I know why this happened to him," said David. "He knew that President Campbell was working with the WTR. That he was their puppet."
"And ultimately they outsmarted him," said Bethany. "I hate to say it, but that's the truth. He underestimated them and paid for it. You have to be smarter."
"You know that's not really me," David said. "Let me go kill them. No need to think or plan or dally."
"No," she said. "That way will get you and us killed. You have to be smart. You have to lay low, not say anything about what you know. Even act embarrassed for what your father has done. Give them no grounds to come after you or us."
"I will not!" David said.
"You have to," said Bethany. "You think I love him any less than you? If asked I'll publicly accept that my husband was a traitor and that President Campbell is a saint. That is what Nathan would have told me to do. Wise as a serpent, he would say. You need to do the same."
"For how long?" asked David.
Bethany grimaced and ran her hand along her stomach. "That is the key. I'd never ask you to do this forever. Just for now."
"Until we can set things right?"
"Yes," she said. "And if God smiles on us just a little bit, maybe get Joshua and Nathan back, but we have to wait until the time is right. Then you'll have my blessing to do everything that your heart now cries out for. Just not yet."
David thought for a few seconds and then nodded. "Okay, but how will I know when the right time is?"
"Don't worry," said Bethany. "I'll let you know."
Chapter 3 - Booby Traps
Nathan wasn't sure how he would have made it without Brazen's kindness. The first night out a cold steady rain dropped the temperature considerably. Nathan set up the small tent and climbed into the warm sleeping bag.
That night he inventoried his pack and discovered that it contained a little food, but not much. Since then he had learned that the animals had pretty much cleaned out all the fruit and berries in the area. It wasn't until the third day of his exile that he had a real meal. He caught a squirrel with a wire snare from his backpack and cooked it over a small fire.
Refreshed, he cut a trail west the next day, avoiding the larger roads whenever possible. Occasionally, he saw quick flashes of darting figures that went out of sight before he could hail them or even be certain of what he saw. The travel reminded him of the ghost towns they had witnessed along the route from Maryland. In those places, he usually figured out what had happened to the people. Here, everyone just seemed to have vanished. He searched the few abandoned houses and shops that hadn't b
een burned down for food and found them all thoroughly gutted and stripped of anything of value.
On the fifth day a Humvee with “Fort Leonard Wood” stenciled on the back rolled by him on the road. Nathan hid in the thick kudzu along the edge. He realized he didn't have a plan to find Joshua other than to head west. He figured Joshua was being held by the Missouri Alliance, and if he found them, he would find his son.
After waiting until he could no longer hear the Humvee, Nathan climbed out of hiding. He judged he had between two and three good hours of sun left and should begin looking for a place to hunt. Small houses were to his right and open fields to his left, but there were thick trees beyond the edge of the field. He looked around uncertain.
It's not good to walk across an open field, he thought. I can be easily seen and would have no cover. Time is running out though. Besides, most of the pitiful wraiths I've seen should be scared off by my rifle.
He made his way across old corn stubble to the far side of the field without incident and found that the trees were clustered around a small stream. He could see another field across the other side.
What now? Nathan thought, looking around. I can bed up along the water if needed. I don't really want to get too far from the road, but there will be little game tonight and certainly no fire. Maybe I'll walk west a little further along the brook. He thought he could see a thicker stand of woods in the distance. Too bad Brazen didn't pack my binoculars.
At the edge of the trees, Nathan saw that the shadows were growing long. Nathan followed the stream into the wood line. He was pleased to see the thick overhead canopy and forest extending before him. He kept a sharp eye out for any overlooked berries and penetrated further. When he found a small trail leading south, Nathan took it, tired of fighting through the brush.
The trail was little more than a deer path, and he spotted what may have been footprints. It was hard to tell since the recent rains made everything into a soft paste. The trees opened up ahead and Nathan paused on the edge of the clearing to drink from his canteen. As he put it away, a curious shimmer caught his eye. Moving his head from side to side he spotted several such shimmers. He walked forward carefully and reached out his hand.
He grasped thin plastic line. The lines lead to three pronged fishing hooks at various eye levels and then up to a branch overhead. If I hadn't stopped, if the light from the sunset hadn't been shining just right, I would have gotten stabbed in the eye.
It was obviously a booby trap. Someone must be nearby. Nathan pulled his rifle up to the ready position and proceeded forward cautiously, scanning the path for more traps. The trail turned and twisted, rarely straight for nearly a mile, before he saw another clearing.
Coming out through the trees, he saw a small wooden cabin. It sat on a stone foundation and probable had no more than a few rooms in it. A wide porch lined the front. Out here in the middle of the woods it should’ve been dead and abandoned, but the windows were all intact. The area looked orderly...and a thin thread of smoke curled up from the stone chimney.
"That's far enough," said a voice to his rear.
Nathan started to turn.
"Eheheh, I wouldn't do that," the deep voice said. "I'm searchin' right now for a good reason not to shoot you and you ain't makin' it easy for me to think. Now why don't you lay that rifle on the ground?"
Nathan did.
"The pistol too. Also the knife. Hell, just go ahead and drop the entire belt," he said. "It ain't like its holdin' yer pants up or anything. Drop the pack too."
Moving slowly, Nathan did as he was told.
"You got any other weapons on ya?" the man asked.
"No," answered Nathan, although he did.
"Okay, then walk forward and take a seat on the steps of my front porch. Once you get there, don't get up again unless I say."
Nathan walked forward and turned to sit on the wooden steps. He saw a stooped-back old man with the bushy white beard. The old man held a long barreled shotgun pointed at Nathan. At his feet were what looked like several dead ducks.
"What's your name, son?" the man asked.
"Nathan Taylor. What's yours?"
The man smiled and spat. "Jack McKraven. This is my land. I didn't invite you on it."
Nathan nodded. "Sorry about that. I didn't know. Hard to tell these days."
"That it is," said Jack eying him carefully. "You don't look like you're from around here."
"How can you tell?"
"Because you got guns and good clothes and gear. Only people who have things like that anymore are the Missouri Alliance, and you don't look like one of 'em either."
"I'm not from around here," said Nathan, "or part of the Missouri Alliance."
"Then where in the Sam Hell did you come from?" Jack asked. "You don't even look close to starvin'."
Nathan's growling stomach begged to differ. "I came from across the Mississippi River. Over in Kentucky."
Jack looked at him curiously and then laughed. "Boy, you are a long way from home. Why the hell would you come over here? And how'd you get across one of those bridges without the MA grabbing you once you got clear of those Kentucky soldiers’ checkpoints?"
"I got a ride over on a boat," Nathan explained. "Sort of a farewell gift from a friend." Nathan held up his hand to show the slowly healing letters burned into his skin. "And coming over here wasn't exactly my idea."
Jack nodded as if that explained everything. "I've heard about that. Even saw a body once with those marks. What'd you do that they decided to spit you out here?"
Nathan thought for a moment. "I told the truth."
The old man shook his head sadly. "That'll get you every time."
"I guess so," said Nathan and sat staring at the old man.
Jack appeared indecisive, looking at Nathan and then the ducks and then the sky. "If I decide not to shoot you, can you promise to be civilized?"
"I'll do my best," Nathan said with a small grin.
"Good enough," said Jack, lowering his shotgun into the crook of his arms and picking up the three ducks at his feet. "You can take your gear and stow it on the porch for now and then come on around back."
Nathan did just that and rounded the cabin to find Jack laying the ducks out on a picnic table.
"You ever cleaned ducks before?" Jack asked.
Nathan shook his head.
"Doesn't surprise me," grumbled the old man. "You younger generations ain't self-reliant anymore. If it don't come wrapped in plastic, you won't eat it."
"I'm open to new experiences," said Nathan, reaching out to grab one of the ducks. "Besides, I've dressed my share of chickens."
Jack took it out of his hand. "Ducks are different. Can't clean 'em the same way. Chickens you just wring their necks and then pull out the feathers. You try to pull out a ducks feathers, it'll tear your hands to pieces. Gotta loosen 'em up first."
"Loosen them up?" asked Nathan.
"Sure," said Jack, tying a string to the neck of one of the ducks and then the end of the string to a blackened stick nearby. "Fortunately, these are dry now. Got 'em earlier today, otherwise you'd have to let 'em dry out before singeing 'em."
"Singeing?" asked Nathan.
The old man put his hand up to Nathan and sighed. "Just watch." He lifted the duck off the ground by the stick and then pulled out a lighter from his pocket. He then carefully lit one wing of the bird.
"Feathers don't really burn," said Nathan and then had to step back as the bird turned into a torch.
Jack laughed. "The hell they don't. Chicken feathers might not, but ducks got oil on their feathers to keep the water off. Burns like a bitch."
Nathan watched fascinated as the bird flamed brightly for a minute before the flames started to die down and then twinkle into faint hints of fire.
Jack blew the duck out with several sharp puffs of breath. "Now"—he pointed at one of the unsinged ducks—"try to pull some of those feathers out."
Nathan pinned the duck down to the table and then
grabbed a handful of tail feathers. He pulled and the feathers just slipped through his fingers. He tried again holding on harder and they didn't budge.
Jack laughed. "Now try these," he said, dropping the smoking bird on the table.
Nathan was afraid the bird was still hot, so he reached out carefully, but it was only warm to the touch. He pinned the bird with one hand, grabbed a handful of feathers, and yanked as hard as he could. He nearly fell backwards the feathers came out so easily.
"See?" laughed Jack. "Singe 'em, then the feathers fall right out. Then all you got to do is clean 'em and toss 'em in a pot. Easy as pie."
Nathan nodded, impressed.
"You pull the feathers," said Jack, "and I'll singe these other two. I'm going to put you to work. You're going to have to earn your dinner somehow, Kentucky. Hope you don't mind."
Nathan didn't.
*******
The ducks were delicious and Nathan had to stop himself from eating too quickly. They also had small potatoes and a salad of wild greens Jack had collected. They ate at a round wooden kitchen table with an oil lamp burning faintly between them.
"Forgive me for asking," asked Nathan, "but how do you make it out here?"
Jack looked at him shrewdly. "You mean how an old, decrepit, senile, and helpless old man survives in the big dark woods alone?"
"Your words," said Nathan, "not mine."
"Yeah, they’ve been trying to get me into a retirement home for twenty years," said Jack. "I grew up in these woods. Had a big house up on the highway. This is the old homestead cabin. I prefer it with the current situation."
Nathan hesitated, but then asked, "You got any family?"
Jack chewed a mouthful of duck. "I did. Still might for all I know. My wife died a long time ago. See kids and grandkids on holidays, but other than that, I've been making it just fine on my own for many years."
"I can see that," said Nathan, looking around. The inside of the cabin was filled with hunting and fishing gear. Jars of canned vegetables sat on shelves and there were even a few books.
"Always liked it out here," said Jack. "Practically lived here with my grandfather when I was a boy. He and my father actually did live here during the Depression. Told me that the good Lord and the land will supply all your needs if you let 'em. Something people would do well to remember these days."