* * *
Chapter 3
So far, our journey to the wasteland disposal site had taken a week, mostly in silence. And all of our questions to the three-man disposal team had gone unanswered. The man who had gone berserk on day one had regained consciousness that same afternoon and since then had remained fairly calm, apparently coming to terms with his predicament. The leader of the team had the man’s bindings removed, no longer deemed necessary.
Only five of us were being taken away this quarter, a far cry from the numbers taken in the past. The first trips had included multiple wagons, each crowded with unfortunate souls. This was either an off quarter, or the number of those reaching forty was dwindling.
We had traveled in a southwesterly direction, but I wasn’t sure how far it had been. My guess would be between fifteen to twenty miles per day, depending on the changes in terrain and how often we stopped to rest and water the horses.
The wagon stopped unexpectedly mid-afternoon and I was almost glad. The heat inside the enclosed wagon had been unbearable, each of us drenched in sweat and beginning to smell fairly ripe. My traveling companions and I were instructed to unload with our possessions. We exchanged looks, assuming this to be the end of the road. We stepped out into the scorching and bright sun to see a flat, sandy, and essentially barren landscape in all directions as far as the eye could see. A slight breeze against our sweat soaked clothing gave us a brief moment of relief.
Individually, we were taken away from the group and searched, both in our clothing and in our bags. It appeared all of my companions had followed the rules. The man frisking me nodded to the leader that I was okay. I smiled inwardly. I had gotten away with hiding the knife. The leader waived for me to rejoin the group, but the other man grabbed my bedroll, untying the binding.
“I almost forgot about this,” he said, looking for a reaction. I didn’t give him the satisfaction.
When he rolled it out, the knife fell to the ground. There was no point in denying it was mine.
“Wait here!” demanded the man, running to the front of the wagon. The other man pulled his side arm as he kept watch over me.
The first man came back with the leader. “There’s no need for that. Put it away,” he said to the man with the gun.
“Mr. Thomas. It appears you’re not able to follow the rules, no doubt a troublemaker. We have come up with a way of dealing with your type. Take off your clothes.”
I looked at him with disbelief.
“I can’t survive out here without any clothes,” I replied.
“That’s the whole point of this exercise, now isn’t it? Do it!”
“I don’t think so.”
“Either you do it yourself or I’ll have these two men help you. You might as well cooperate. It’s going to happen.”
I looked at the others for support. They remained silent, sheepishly looking at the ground, refusing eye contact, not wanting the same to happen to them.
“Fine!” I spewed out.
I began by removing my boots.
“You can put your boots back on after you’ve stripped. It’s not like we’re savages.” His men snickered. I swung around catching the closest man squarely in the nose, drawing blood immediately as the man fell backward, hard to the ground. The other man quickly stepped in before I could react, clubbing me with his rifle butt along the side of my head, dropping me to my knees.
“Now, if you don’t mind, off with the clothes,” redirected the leader.
Slowly, I stood and disrobed. Then, standing butt naked, I slipped my boots back on. I’m sure I was a sight. I glanced at our woman member, Jill. Gratefully, she had turned away. I reached down for my bedroll.
“Sorry, John. That’s part of your punishment, too. You won’t need your bedroll after a couple of days out here anyway.”
“Then what’s the point of taking it and my clothes?”
“The rules have to be followed, John.”
“No one’s going to know. Besides, according to you, we’re all going to be dead soon anyway.”
The berserk man, who we now knew as Paul, had a relapse and fell to the ground sobbing. The woman, who had been silent for the last three days, except to tell us her name, knelt down to comfort him.
“True,” said the leader, “however, my men and I would know and I can’t jeopardize their integrity. I’m sure you can understand. So, I think we’ll say goodbye here. John, even though you pulled that stunt, I’m going to let you keep the provisions you brought.” He paused.
I had to bite my tongue to keep from giving him an excuse to change his mind. I almost felt as though he was baiting me, hoping I’d say something.
He continued, “We won’t be seeing each other again, so I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for your sacrifice.” He flashed us a large, toothy smile.
I wondered how many times he’d delivered that same little farewell speech.
“Don’t count on never seeing us again,” I said. “By the way, what’s your name? I want to know who to come looking for when I get back.”
The leader seemed to smile with amusement. “Morgan. If you do happen to make it, it’ll be a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Thomas. Good luck, or rather goodbye.” He began walking back to the front of the wagon. “Let’s go, men!”
In a matter of only a few minutes, all five of us were standing alone, watching the wagon make a large half-circle as it turned to return to what they called civilization. Paul, now recovered with Jill’s help, reached into his bag and pulled out an extra shirt, handing it to me, catching me completely by surprise.
“You’re going to need this,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “I guess we need to look out for each other, at least for a little while.”
I placed it around my waist, fastened some of the buttons, and tied the sleeves together, creating a skirt of sorts. It wasn’t pretty, but it was functional. And it protected the one place where I didn’t relish getting a sunburn. I was pretty sure Jill appreciated it too, not running around with my altogether hanging out.
“Where to now?” asked Gary, one of the other men. We all looked along the horizon in all directions. There was no sign of life, it was mid-afternoon, and the sun was beating down on us. It felt like it was 100 degrees and then some, without a hint of a breeze. Our surroundings were dry and barren with sparse vegetation consisting of cactus, yucca, and the occasional mesquite. There was complete silence and not a bird in the sky. It was as though we had been dropped off in a dead zone.
“We’ve been heading southwest for the past week, anyone have a problem with heading due west?” I asked. “It appears there may be some hills in that direction along the horizon.”
“Any other reason why we should go in that direction?” asked Dan, our other male companion.
“None whatsoever,” I said. “I just don’t think there’s a reason to keep going south. I do have another question we need to discuss though.”
“What’s that?” asked Gary.
“Do we want to stick together or does anyone want to strike out on their own?”
My companions exchanged looks, but no one spoke up.
“Stick together?” I asked. Each nodded in agreement. “Okay then, we should probably keep our eyes open for some sort of shelter before dark.”
* * *
After walking for two hours, we stopped to rest. The terrain was exactly the same as where we’d been dropped off, without a single tree in sight. We hadn’t seen wildlife of any type either, not even a lizard or a vulture circling overhead. And the hills in the distance didn’t appear to be getting any closer. The sun beat down on us mercilessly, and without any sign of shade, there didn’t appear to be any hope of relief. Our water wouldn’t last long under these conditions. Each of us was already showing the effects from the heat and the sun’s direct deadly rays, especially me, already turning a bright shade of red where I was exposed from the waist up.
&nbs
p; Paul noticed. “I’m sorry I don’t have another shirt for you.”
“I’m just glad to have this one, or I’d be suffering a whole lot worse.”
Since sunset was drawing near, we decided this was as good a place as any to stop and make camp for the night. The setting sun would give us an evening of reprieve from its heat. We placed our possessions together near a small mesquite bush and split up to search for something to burn in the campfire. Once the sun went down, the temperature would begin to cool off quickly. Then we’d need to worry about staying warm. We set out in different directions to search for anything that would burn. Finding very little, each of our group did return with something, consisting mostly of dried dead weeds and a few twigs from mesquite bushes. I had been lucky, finding several long-dried-out cow patties that would burn slow, provide some heat, and having little to no smell. It was evident cattle had grazed the area at some time in the past, most likely wild ones since no rancher in his right mind would intentionally put cattle on ground like this.
The fire started easily with the extremely dry tinder. Thanks to Sarah’s suggestion, I had brought matches, which was fortunate, because no one else had. She had always been a good planner. Thankfully, they had been one of the acceptable items on the list.
Not knowing how long we would last under the scorching sun, we were still optimistic enough to ration our provisions, wanting them to last as long as possible. There wasn’t much diversity in what we’d brought, or more correctly, what we’d been allowed to bring.
The sun had zapped us pretty good resulting in mild cases of heat exhaustion, a loss of appetite, and mild nagging headaches, but we nibbled a little anyway to keep up our strength. Dead tired, we settled in around the fire, looking forward to resting and recuperating. We each sat in silence, staring into the crackling fire. We had agreed to keep it small, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves, not knowing who or what lived out here.
In the brief time we’d been thrown together, I came to believe every member of the group had the willpower to fight to stay alive. No one seemed ready to give up, lie down, and die. We decided to take turns tending the fire and to keep watch. Watching for what, we didn’t know. Perhaps the Raider’s territory extended this far. And if it did, rumor was that they were a ruthless and dangerous bunch of cutthroats. Fortunately, we hadn’t seen anything or anyone, dangerous or otherwise, all day. I took the first watch.
None of the group felt they would be able to sleep even after spending a week in the wagon and walking in today’s relentless beating sun, but the journey had taken its toll. I watched as each of them eventually nodded off. My watch was quiet and uneventful. Paul volunteered for the second watch, telling me to get some sleep. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I must have gone to sleep as soon as I closed my eyes.
The next thing I knew I was waking up and the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten. I noticed immediately that the fire had been allowed to go out during the night. The coals were still slightly warm. I wasn’t sure who’d taken the last watch and I wasn’t going to accuse anyone for the mistake. As tired as we had been, it could have happened to any one of us. I did a quick head count. One of our group was missing. Paul.
“Has anyone seen Paul?” I asked.
The others sat up and looked around, then shook their heads.
“His bag is still here,” Jill pointed out. “Maybe he’s taking care of his business.”
“Maybe.”
We had a bite to eat and a sip of water while waiting for Paul to return. Refreshed from a well needed rest, our hunger returned, but not knowing what lay ahead we decided rationing was still the right thing to do.
There was still no sign of Paul after half an hour. It was time to do something instead of just sitting around.
“Let’s split up and take a look around to see if we can find Paul or at least try to determine which way he went,” I suggested.
“Let’s do it,” agreed Gary.
“I don’t know what good it’s going to do,” grumbled Dan. “We made footprints all over out there when we were looking for something to burn.”
Dan was right. It would be hard to determine whose footprints belonged to whom. The sandy soil didn’t reveal a distinctive footprint, only a slight depression where each of them had taken a step.
“Don’t you want to find out what happened to Paul?” asked Jill, not understanding his attitude.
Dan didn’t answer.
“Let’s check the perimeter further out from the campsite,” I suggested. “Work progressively bigger circles. Yell out if you see anything.”
After only five minutes, Gary called out. “I think he may have come this way,” waving us over. We all gathered there to take a look. The footprints were leading directly away from their campsite in a straight line back to the south. Though we couldn’t be sure, it was a pretty good guess it had been Paul.
“First, I don’t understand why he would take off and leave all his provisions behind, and secondly, why would he go south?” I asked.
“I think I know,” said Jill. “I saw indications and should have said something, but I didn’t think he would do this.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I think it’s obvious,” said Jill. “He gave up. He went south to die, because we had concluded that direction to be the worst way to go. And he left his provisions for us, to help us survive.”
It was looking like I’d been wrong about Paul coming around.
We stood in silence looking at the depressions in the sand, letting what Jill had just said sink in. Had Paul actually sacrificed himself for us?
“I didn’t see this coming,” I commented. “What do you want to do now?” I asked the group. “Keep moving in the direction we’d been going or try to catch up with Paul and perhaps save his life, even if only temporarily?”
“I say if he wants to kill himself, let him,” said Dan.
“Dan, that’s a terrible thing to say,” rebuked Jill.
“I’m being honest. It’s just the way I feel,” he said with a shrug. “We’ll all probably be dead along with him before long.”
“If you believe that, then I guess it doesn’t really matter which way we go, does it,” I pointed out. “So, why not go south after Paul. If it comes to it, he shouldn’t die alone.”
“I agree,” said Jill. “South.”
“I’m game,” agreed Gary.
I looked at Dan, wanting his approval, preferring we were all in agreement.
“Like I said, we’re all going to die anyway, so sure, whatever you guys want to do. I’ll go along.”
We went back to our campsite, collected our possessions, and headed south. None of the group was overly optimistic about finding Paul alive. Making the assumption that he’d left as soon as everyone was asleep, he had a good head start. If he had truly given up, who knew what actions he might have already taken.
Our group followed what we believed was Paul’s trail for nearly two hours until the unexpected happened. His footprints were joined by others and wagon tracks. Our first thought was that the disposal team had come across him and had taken him again. But that didn’t make any sense. The whole purpose of bringing us out here was to let us die, not to rescue us.
Now, our group had another choice to make since Paul no longer appeared to be alone. We needed to decide whether to risk continuing to follow Paul and whoever had picked him up or return to our westerly course. There was a risk in either direction, with no way of knowing if one was any better than the other. As a group, we decided to follow the wagon, more out of curiosity about Paul than anything else. There was also the chance his new companions could be friendly and help us too. It didn’t make any sense to think they were the ones who had dropped us off.
We followed the wagon tracks for two days. We had agreed from the beginning to share what we had, but with each person’s rations running dangerously low, it was becoming irrelevant. Dan had grumbled about sharing his resources from d
ay one, but his attitude had changed as they ran low, having brought less than anyone else. And contrary to Dan’s wishes, we had initially left Paul’s pack alone, knowing he would need whatever was in it if and when we caught up to him. But after learning he was no longer on his own, we had given in. There hadn’t been much variety in our provisions, only what had been allowed.
Surprisingly, however, Paul had come better prepared than any of us. His pack included such delicacies as nuts, dried fruit, candy bars, and tins of specialty items usually reserved for the privileged, like canned peaches. It was obvious he had had connections, but even he couldn’t escape complying with the forty year age limit. Perhaps that had been the reason for his ‘fit’ on the first day, believing he was exempt. We were glad there was still some equality left in the world, but we were sorry for Paul. We had gotten to know him and liked him. I assumed he had been allowed to bring these specialty items as some sort of a consolation.
On the third day, the tracks turned toward to the east. We were now completely out of food and had very little water. The outlook was grim. We continually attempted to encourage each other to keep going, hoping the wagon we were trailing still led to help or rescue. We began to wonder why we should keep going. Jill, the optimist of the group, reminded us there was always hope as long as we were still alive. With her repeated words of encouragement, she refused to let us give up.
As the sun began to set, I was surprised to see what I thought was a covered wagon in the distance, directly ahead. I didn’t trust my eyes, asking the others to take a look. The object was distorted through the rising heat waves, but we all saw something. It gave each of us hope and a boost of energy as we picked up the pace. We hoped it was the wagon we’d been following.
As we came closer, we agreed, it appeared to be a wagon very much like the one that had dropped us off a few days earlier and now it was stopped. Perhaps we had been wrong to dismiss the notion it was the disposal team’s. But why would they be out here, headed in this direction? Where could they be going? We approached cautiously. With evening approaching, we assumed they had stopped for the night. As we approached, an individual, a man, appeared from within the wagon, lowered himself to the ground and turned to face us.
Paradise (Aftershock Series Book 1) Page 3