Storm Front

by Riley Flynn

  “Levine must be changing it up. Did Nelson say when this happened?”

  Something about the sentence picked at Alex’s brain.

  “This morning. Not long ago.”

  “But Nelson was out cutting trees this morning…?”

  “Oh, no.” Alex pinched his own leg to stop his face from betraying him. “He only told me this morning. That’s what I meant.”

  “He really should have–”

  “Wait, did you say Levine?” Alex cut across Jamie’s preachy voice. It didn’t stop her.

  “–told me quicker, this is urgent.” Her voice became tense and impatient. ”What? Yes. Obviously. Levine.”

  “As in Daniel Levine?”

  Alex knew the name. He’d heard it before. It summoned up a feeling in his gut, a distant memory.

  “Yes. Levine. Daniel. Pastor. Whatever. I need to find Nelson-”

  “Daniel Levine the senator?” Now, Alex was incredulous. It couldn’t be the same man.

  “Where is he?” Jamie was distracted and annoyed, searching around the courtyard.

  “Where’s Levine?” Alex began to raise his voice. These days, his anger was rarely more than a hair’s breadth away.

  “No, Nelson. I need to–”

  “I don’t know.” Alex was almost shouting. “What has Levine got to do with this?”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? You said you were…”

  Jamie threw down her notepad. She stopped talking. Slowly, her whole body twisted around to face Alex. He could only stare forwards, keeping his eyes fixed in a straight line.

  “You lied to me.”

  “I think Nelson’s out near the–”

  Jamie didn’t say another word. She stood up and almost ran into the house. Alex leapt to his feet and chased after her, already too far behind.

  “Jamie, wait! I think he’s out in the stables…”

  Nothing he said could make her stop. She moved much faster than him and she had a head start. Before Alex had even crossed half the courtyard, she was in through the door.

  “Damn.”

  Alex stopped. He’d had a chance to uncover the tiniest fraction of the truth and he’d blown it. Latching on to one detail and fixating beyond a reasonable degree. He’d let his anger and his curiosity get the better of him and it had backfired.

  No point following her. She would have gone straight to Krol. He’d know Alex had broken the rules. He might as well start walking back to the stables right now.

  Finn trotted up to Alex and sniffed at a hand.

  “Hey, boy.” He started stroking the dog’s head, looking around the rest of the courtyard.

  Everyone was gone. He hardly had any more answers. Only more questions. Krol would arrive soon to dole out whatever punishment he saw fit. On Alex’s own farm. A disaster.

  Alex looked around again. Nobody. Just him and the dog, standing beside the barn.

  The barn.

  This was Alex’s opportunity. It might be a terrible idea, but this was the first time the barn hadn’t been guarded since he’d arrived. If he was about to be locked away in the stables again, he might as well take a look at what was being kept hidden.

  Probably the guns, Alex thought. They hadn’t seen any of their weapons since arriving. They hadn’t needed them.

  The photos as well, his mind continued, and all those bits and pieces from the house that they wanted to keep a secret. All of Alex’s old life. All inside the barn.

  Quickly, before Krol arrived, Alex ran across to the barn, his imagination titillating his reason with all the potentially hidden treasures. He felt the chain in his hand. Huge. Heavy. The padlock was even heavier. Inspecting the keyhole, he might not even need his proper lockpicks for this. A coat hanger snapped in two. A couple of nails. That would do it.

  But Alex didn’t have a coat hanger. He couldn’t see any nails. Damn.

  Searching around the courtyard, he tried to find anything which might function as a pick. Anything.

  “Alex.”

  Krol’s voice, cutting across the courtyard like a burning sword through noon snow.

  Alex turned to view the farmhouse, his lungs already halted, his neck unwilling to twist and turn around to look at the man. It was too soon to look another failure, no matter how minor, in the face.

  “Krol.”

  Hands free from the chains, Alex bit the bullet. He turned. Krol was standing in the doorway, his arms by his sides. As ever, he wore the heavy wax coat which ended just above his shins. A coat that seemed to be a hundred shades, all of them a slightly different brown. It flapped and curled while he walked, trailing behind him.

  The large, bald head, with its network of scars and creases rarely moved. Always with Krol, he expended the minimum amount of energy needed to perform an action. No flourishes of a hand unless it illustrated a point. No bending of a knee unless it moved him forwards. No tilting of the head unless it gave him the best possible view of whatever problem lay ahead.

  Right now, that problem was Alex.

  “Come with me.”

  Before Alex could respond, Krol had turned around and walked into the house. There was no other option but to follow.

  Alex trailed Krol through the farm house, past the rooms, past the people – who all watched him with their judging eyes and their gossiping mouths – and out of the rear entrance into the space behind the house.

  Here, without the courtyard to keep out the wind, the cold air bit into his face again. That crisp Virginia winter, reminding people to wrap up by pinching their cheeks. As he stood in the doorway, he noticed Finn was missing. The dog had halted in the kitchen, in the warmth, sitting with the others.

  “Traitor,” Alex half-joked to himself. At least the others liked Finn. He turned around to face the cold open space.

  A back yard, essentially, except it simply dissolved into more fields after a certain point.

  These days, it was where they chopped wood.

  There had been an ancient oak tree in the back yard. Just like the one in the front of the house, on the track up from the road where the rope swing hung, this tree had been older than the house itself. Older than the farm. Older than the state. Older than the country.

  It had been cut down. Now, it was nothing more than a wide stump with a hundred thousand notches. People placed a piece of wood in the center of the aging rings and swung the axe.

  Krol was there, holding the axe in his hand, chopping.

  A stack of already sliced wood sat to the side. He had been working for a long time. How the hell is he still wearing a heavy coat? Alex thought.

  Then he saw Krol swing.

  The axe moved silently. Effortlessly. It split the chunk of wood into two clean halves.

  Krol knocked them aside with the head of the axe and placed another lump of wood on the stump.

  “Come here and listen.”

  Again, the words carried with them an expectation of being obeyed. Alex had been staring, marveling at how strong the man was. No wonder he had brushed them aside during the stable escape.

  The axe fell. The wood split.

  Alex walked across to the tree stump.

  “Pass me another piece.”

  Taking a lump of wood from the uncut pile, Alex extended it out to Krol.

  “Put it down.”

  Alex looked at the axe in Krol’s hand. He had shifted his grip. It was ready to swing.

  Watching the sharp edge of the axe, Alex placed the piece of wood on to the stump.

  He barely had enough time to move his hands.

  The axe fell. The wood split.

  “Another.”

  Alex fetched another.

  “You have been out near the road.”

  It wasn’t a question. Alex picked up a thick, knotted piece of wood. Something hard to cut open.

  “This morning.”

  There was no use lying to Krol. Better to simply stay silent.

  “After I told you not to.”

&nbs
p; Alex placed the piece of wood on the stump, adjusting it so it stood up of its own volition.

  “I don’t need your permission to go places on my own farm. I can handle myself.”

  “These rules are not in place for your benefit.”

  The axe fell. The wood split.

  “Nobody cares if you die, Alexander.” Krol continued. “The rules are in place for the protection of others. Another.”

  “There’s nothing to protect them from.” Alex searched for another piece of wood. “You’re just being paranoid.”

  “And if you had made contact with these people, if you had brought the virus back to the farm? What protection would we have? What immunity would we have from this disease?”

  Alex placed a piece of wood on the stump and backed off.

  “But I didn’t.”

  He moved away just in time.

  The axe fell. The wood split.

  Alex nursed his fingers in his hand, thinking of what might have happened. If he’d made even the slightest of errors, he might have lost his fingers. If he’d made even the tiniest of errors earlier, his guilty conscience interjected, he might have brought a contagion back to the farm. Not everyone was as quick as him. Not everyone could have dodged the axe. Not everyone was immune.

  “Not this time.” Krol’s voice plodded on, not caring whether Alex understood his point. “Another.”

  The conversation was going nowhere. He was just being chided. Krol couldn’t stop him feeling curious about life beyond the borders of the farm, about life beyond his rules. Unless Krol was about to slice off Alex’s hands with an axe in order to make a point. It seemed unlikely. Not impossible.

  He fetched another piece.

  Krol paused. He allowed the handle of the axe to slip through his hands, falling all the way until his fist was just below the handle and he gripped. Then, the old man walked across to his gas tank. Alex hadn’t seen it sitting there.

  Staring at Alex, Krol took a crackly, wheezing drag.

  “You will not be punished for your actions.”

  Even the suggestion made Alex rage.

  “What do you mean-”

  “We are all curious people. Sometimes, we forget your familiarity with this part of the world. We allow our personal distaste to overrule our understanding of primal, primitive human curiosity.”

  Alex was sure there was an insult buried away in the statement. He placed the wood on the chopping block.

  Krol arrived back at the stump. He swung.

  The axe fell. The wood split.

  Knocking the pieces aside, Krol lifted the axe head up to his eye. He ran a calloused thumb down the sharp edge. Picking a whetstone out of his pocket, he sat on the stump and began to sharpen.

  “Jamie has told me what you saw. Who you saw. You have questions.”

  Alex had hundreds. If he wasn’t going to be punished, he might as well take advantage of Krol’s sudden openness. His mind raced around for something to ask. He had to start somewhere.

  “What happened to Athena?”

  “The town.” Krol spoke as he sharpened. “A sensible place to begin. The same thing happened in Athena as happened in every town. It was decimated by the disease. It happened fast. You knew people who lived there.”

  “Yeah.” Alex didn’t know where to stand. “I knew a few people there.”

  “Someone important. You choose this question as your first.”

  Alex felt no need to reveal his innermost feelings to the man he hated. Krol had no need to know about Sammy, about the girl he’d desperately been trying to forget for ten years. As unnervingly perceptive as the man was, there was no way he could know about a failed proposal and a decade-long emotional repression.

  Still, in case there was the slightest chance, Alex steeled himself and played his best poker face.

  “It was the closest town. I knew a lot of people.”

  “Either this special person is dead or she is with Levine.”

  “She?”

  “Oh.” Krol paused the whetstone. “I have made a miscalculation.”

  “No, no.” Alex was walking in circles around the stump. “I mean, it doesn’t matter. I was just…”

  The stone began to move again. The axe got sharper with every stroke.

  “You will want to know about Levine next.”

  “Yeah. Sure. It can’t be the same Levine from the senate?”

  “He was a senator. And then he wasn’t. After, he was encouraged to open a church. Charisma can carry a man through many walks of life. He called himself a pastor and he preached. Now, he has taken the town of Athena. He and his church operate out of a compound.” Krol paused for a moment, staring at the sharpened axe before thrusting the stone even harder. “We have had trouble with them.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Alex talked louder, over the scraping.

  “You will find out, soon enough.”

  “The church people – they’re all from Athena?”

  “No. Some, but not all. There may be survivors from the town but I would warn you against having hope. We have lost too many already.”

  “But they could be… I have to know who’s there.”

  “You may value not knowing even more. Right now, you have hope. Truth can be a dangerous affliction. Hard to shake.”

  Alex stood and watched Krol. The stone stopped, the axe seemingly sharp enough.

  “You think I do not understand,” Krol croaked, “but I do.”

  Laying the axe on the stump, Krol leaned a hand into his pocket. When he removed it and unfurled his fist, he showed Alex a tarnished zippo lighter. The same kind of dull, smudged gold color as the ring in Alex’s pocket. Suddenly, the round metal ring felt heavy against his thigh.

  “We all do ridiculous things for those we love. I keep a reminder. One day, I will tell you why. One day, when you hate me less and understand my actions.”

  Krol opened the device, lifting the lid. He struck the flame. It burned.

  “Today is not that day.”

  Returning the lighter to his pocket, Krol picked up the axe and handed it to Alex.

  “Now, it is your turn to chop wood.”

  Alex took the axe in his hand.

  “Why?”

  “Because, sometimes, we must work for others and not only for ourselves.”

  “But what does this have to do with me chopping wood?”

  “You are underprepared, Alexander. With your muddy sneakers and your barroom swing. You are not ready for this world, not ready for the future. But we can help you. We can offer you a way. If you accept it.”

  Alex felt the weight of the axe in his hand. Heavy. The edge glinted in the pale winter sun. Sharp.

  Krol was only two feet away, Alex realized. One quick swing, he could cut the man in two. And the axe had just been handed over, as though it were nothing.

  One quick swing.

  End it all.

  Still holding the axe, Alex looked up into the pinprick eyes. They gave nothing away. He had to know.

  “I can chop wood…” Alex said slowly, dropping his eyes to the wood. “But I know someone who can do a better job. Can hunt, lay traps, track. I know a man who can do plenty of things.”

  “You do?” Krol’s expression did not change.

  “Yeah,” Alex adjusted his stance and gripped the handle of the axe, “but you locked him away. Something about a quarantine. I think a healthy man would do an excellent job of cutting through this pile of wood. It would certainly make me feel better about the whole arrangement. It would help me stay away from the edges of the farm, at least.”

  “I see.”

  Alex swung with his arms.

  The axe fell. The wood split.

  He knocked the two broken pieces into the pile, a burgeoning satisfaction spreading through his muscles. It felt good. It felt powerful, his shoulders and back warming up.

  “I will go and visit your friend.” Krol’s voice crackled. “He deserves to see the world.”


  Alex didn’t speak. He lined up another block of wood. One after the other. Cam would be out soon. He had a few answers. He hated Krol a little less. A very small amount less. Progress.

  The axe fell. The wood split.

  Alex had work to do.

  9

  The house was quiet. Alex rubbed the towel across his hair, drying behind his ears. He could see his breath billowing out in front of his face. There was no heating anymore. Everything was done with fire.

  The flames kept away the darkness and the cold. They cooked what little food they could find and boiled the water they needed for washing and drinking. The farm would fall apart without fire.

  Dabbing at his neck, Alex felt clean. He’d washed away the sweat and silt from the fields. Days and days spent clearing away junk. Swinging an axe. Making the house, in every small way, ready for winter.

  But the winter had already arrived. Alex had no idea what day it was anymore. Months didn’t mean much. Krol, he knew, tracked all these details in his log books and itineraries. But, to everyone else, the days shortened, the nights grew darker, and the wind bit at the skin more every day.

  They worked hard. Kept out the cold. Prepared. Made sure everybody was safe.

  Protect the farm.

  As Alex toweled the last of the boiled water from his hair, he noticed the quiet. The house was never empty. He’d learned to live with the intruders. The strangers. The people clogging the veins of his family home. But he moved through the building like a ghost.

  Timmy and Joan, the two who’d spent longest among the others, they seemed to get along well. People came to Joan with medical questions and went out of their way to make sure she was comfortable and rested, letting her sit by the fire and darn socks and patch clothes, a dab hand with a needle.

  Timmy, as talkative as he was, inserted himself into every conversation.

  While Alex was happy to leave the strangers behind, to let them whisper behind his back about his violence and his anger, Timmy just chatted away. It was friendship by attrition. Wearing down the people until they had no choice but to like him.

  Even Cam, who had spent so long locked away, was engaging more often than Alex. He did this by trading skills. With Nelson, he went to hunt birds and lay traps, occasionally bringing back meat. With Jamie, he talked military matters and together, they taught Reni and Jenna how to fight. Two young girls being drilled by a raggedy deserter and a one-armed woman.