Kingdoms of Sorrow

by JK Franks

  “So, you’re telling me what? We don’t even have 4,000?”

  “Taking into account all the estimates, it’s probably more like 2,800.”

  Hawley thought on this. It wasn’t a big deal; new converts were easy enough to find, but it did limit the size of the targets they could overcome.

  “So, we can’t take any of the larger towns. Still, we need to find supplies. Even 3,000 need a shitload of food. Okay, get with the Judges and Marauders and decide what smaller towns to target next. Tell them to keep us moving south and east.”

  “Sir?”

  “What!” Hawley demanded, his patience at an end.

  “Sorry, sir, it’s just that the Marauders are gone. None made it out of Memphis.”

  “Fuck, yeah . . . talk to the Judges then.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Harris Springs, Mississippi

  DeVonte looked over at Angel, which was something he thoroughly enjoyed doing as often as possible. “What? Are you done?” she demanded. Grinning, he went back to work on the console. “I’m obviously distracting you,” she rolled her eyes with a bright smile his way. “I’m going to go see if Solo can take my place. I’m no help with the computer stuff anyway.”

  He was going through the command sequence that Scott had suggested. “No, I’m almost there, and I’m gonna need you to help me operate the dish. Besides, that dog always looks at me like I’m lunch.”

  “Solo’s a sweetie,” she chided him. Her fingers stroked the length of her left leg, which was folded beneath her in the chair. It wasn’t just DeVonte who was distracted; she couldn’t stop thinking about the previous night. Despite her reservations about getting close to him, DeVonte had proven himself a thoughtful boyfriend and a very attentive lover. A flush of heat radiated from her groin in response to the memory. “Okay, I have to do something else.” She leaned over, kissed him and walked away.

  DeVonte was puzzled, but let it pass. He had to get this interface working between the radar and the ship’s GPS. Accurate telemetry would allow them to track the storm, and the onboard forecasting computer would give relatively accurate predictions for the storm track, wind speeds and even potential wave height and storm surges.

  He slid the office chair over to the radar controls and hit the commands to start up the dish. Then he went back to the modified laptop he was using as a replacement for the forecasting terminal. When he activated the interface port, data was coming in, but it was not corresponding to the built-in templates. He could see more of the edge of the storm on the maps now. To him, it seemed to be getting bigger, but he had no frame of reference to compare it to. He turned the dish back off and returned to the chair. Looking down at Scott’s notes, he tried the next method.

  Angel headed down to the gym to work off some of her energy and was not surprised to find Kaylie and Jack busy with Keysi self-defense training. It was a ritual for them every morning. She had even tried it a few times until she realized it was not simply exercise. Kaylie and Jack often both left the sessions with cuts and deep bruises.

  Jack looked up at her arrival, “Hey, chief, any problems?”

  “No, Preacher, and don’t call me chief. DeVonte’s trying to finish up the radar thing for the storm, Abe’s on duty in communications, and Bartos is, well, somewhere doing whatever it is Bartos does.”

  “Are you planning to go see any more of the farms today?” Jack said, just before Kaylie’s foot swept his legs out from under him and he fell, winded, to the floor. That girl did not play when it came to training.

  Angel put her towel on the weight bench and straddled it. Looking at the man lying on his back now, she replied, “Yeah, I’m just waiting for DeVonte to finish up, I’m not supposed to go alone.”

  Jack was back on his feet again, blocking several kicks and elbow strikes from Kaylie. “I’ll go with you if DeVonte can’t. Actually, I’d like to go either way.”

  “Sure. Glad to have you.”

  It was late morning before DeVonte got the radar tracking system working. They now only needed to run the system a few times a day to track the storm’s progress. Angel and Jack had loaded into the Jeep and headed out to the farms. Now that she had a better idea of what to expect from the storm, she could let the farmers know how bad it might be and when it would likely be hitting the coast. Most of them declined shelter on the ship; heading to the coast in a hurricane seemed counter-intuitive to them; the locals that were closer to the old town of Harris Springs agreed to come without reservations.

  While early season hurricanes were rare, they did happen. The storm was not a hurricane yet, but the computer said it would be within the next few days. They would bring in the shelter seekers’ extra supplies, precious farm equipment and animals. Jack knew the deck layouts better than anyone and had assigned each category its own dedicated location. Bringing the livestock on board would stink up the place, but it was far better than losing them.

  Angel had been to most of the farms in the area more than once. Her familiar face and easy demeanor put everyone at ease. Jack noticed more than one of the old goats staring just a bit too long at her. She took the “sugas,” “hons” and “babes” like a trooper. Her kitchens depended on these guys getting their crops planted and harvested. It was worth the price of a few lingering looks and inappropriate comments.

  Everyone had crops planted, and most were doing well, but the rain from the upcoming storm was badly needed.

  “Suits me fine if it just dumps all that water on us,” one of the farmers said.

  They still had not decided on the signal that would let everyone know to come on in, but for now, they all agreed to use DeVonte’s estimates on when the storm would make landfall. Jack assured them the bridges and ferry would be ready. Bartos had worked out a modified schedule for lowering the drawbridges back into the town. “If you’re moving animals, get them there well before the storm’s arrival. Bring extra straw for mucking the stalls and hay for food.”

  Heading farther out to reach the more outlying farmers, Jack checked his sidearm and chambered a round. “Angel, this is a real test. As a town, I mean—a society. Are we going to be able to pull together and survive as a community? We went through it last year when we had to take out that gang of thugs, but that’s nothing compared to this.”

  “It will be fine, Preacher.”

  The remainder of the farm visits went smoothly. None of them had run into problems with looters or gangs. The frequent patrols now coming out of Harris Springs seemed to be keeping problems to a minimum. These farmers planned to shelter in place; they were far enough inland that they were confident the storm shouldn’t be a problem. As Angel turned the Jeep onto an unmarked side road, Jack looked at her, confused.

  “Young lady, if you’re planning to take me to a hideaway and have your way with me, I just won’t stand for it. Though I will be more than happy to lie down,” he said with a yawn.

  “Hush, you dirty old man,” she quipped. “I just want to check on a man Scott told me about.” She pulled to a stop outside the coordinates she had gotten from the little cycle computer.

  “I never knew anyone lived out here,” Jack said. “Shit, I didn’t even realize this was a road.”

  Getting out of the Jeep, Angel took a look around and called for the hermit gentleman. “Mr. Roosevelt? Mr. Roosevelt, I’m a friend of Scott Montgomery. Are you home?” Angel approached the house slowly with her arms raised. In one hand was a clear package with hard yellow candies inside.

  A shuffling sound came from inside, then the door opened. “Mercy, child, I much rather see you than that other fella!” he beamed, “Get on up heah.” Roosevelt saw Jack and motioned for him to come up as well. “I was jus’ about tuh eat, come on an’ I’ll fix yawl good folks some. Oh, my! What’s that dis pretty young thing’s holdin’?”

  She handed him the lemon candies, and the old man’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas. “I like dat Scott,” he smiled at them both. “I like him just fine. I better put
dese up, for now. O’erwise I’ll eat ’em all.” He gave Angel a hug and shook Jack’s hand. “Come on in.”

  He sat them down in the small kitchen. The neat table was empty save for a jar with an exquisite single orchid. He brought over small dishes of fried chicken, fresh butter beans, sliced tomatoes and two other vegetables that neither visitor could identify. “Glad yawl made it out when y’did, we gotta baaad storm comin’ in a few days, ya know.”

  Jack and Angel exchanged an amazed glance. “Thank you, Roosevelt, we really don’t want to take your food, though, times are tough,” Jack said, even though his mouth was watering.

  “Oh, hush up and fix a plate, you think I cooked all this jus’ fuh me? Not sure what you mean about tough times neither, same as it’s always been for ole’ Roosevelt.”

  Angel and Jack thoroughly enjoyed the meal and the older man’s company. They agreed with Scott’s assessment that he was someone they could learn a great deal from. Angel helped clear the table, then sat back down, staring at the flower. “This is an orchid, isn’t it? I’ve never seen one this color or this beautiful. Do you raise them?”

  “No, child, no . . . the bayou does that all on its own. There’s a spot deeper down inna swamp where dae grow wild. It’s a hard, ugly place, tough to get to, but e’ry year a few o’ dese flowers bloom there, and no one ever even sees ’em.” He pulled the jar that was acting as a vase closer and smelled the blossom. “The good Lord will always put a bit o’ beauty in the middle o’ the ugly.”

  Jack read a lot into that statement and very much agreed with the man. “So, you already know about the storm. We wanted to ask you if you would be interested in taking shelter with us in town. We have a large cruise ship at anchor, and it should be fine no matter how bad it gets. Also . . . um,” Jack struggled with the wording; he didn’t want to alarm the kind, old man. “There may be some bad people heading this way. Scott may have mentioned them. We’re preparing for a possible attack. I’m not sure if you’re better off here or with us if that does happen, but we just wanted you to be aware.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Jack. Do these people coming, do they know God?”

  Jack looked briefly at the worn Bible sitting on the table near the flower. “Mr. Roosevelt, they are evil people. That’s about all we know about them. They claim to be doing God’s work, but what they spread is in truth only hatred and death.”

  “They’s a plague, then,” the old man said in recognition. “I seen other groups use religion like dat, just to give an excuse for ’em to keep on bein’ bad. I got no time for that. You make a mockery o’ the Lord’s word, you deserve to be punished. Remember the Amalekites!”

  The discussion lasted nearly an hour longer before Angel reached over and took the old man’s hand. “So, will you come with us, or at least come in before it gets bad? I need you to teach me more about how to forage and a whole lot more.”

  “We’ll see, honey, we will see. I think I’m fine right here. I got my animals that need me, but if it’s the Lord’s will, I might come and stay awhile wit you good folks when the time comes.”

  “Please do,” they both said, rising to leave.

  “Thank you for the meal and the company, Roosevelt. You’ve a standing invitation to come in whenever you want. We will gladly return the hospitality,” Jack shook his big, calloused hand.

  The old man laughed and nodded. “I appreciates that, I do, yes sir, I do, and you all are welcome back at my table anytime. Friends are good to have. Always remember that. Specially friends wi’ lemon candy.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Mississippi River, Mississippi

  Bobby watched the silent child as he paddled the canoe downstream. John was in the lead boat and Jacob never seemed to take his eyes from the riverman. For the past two days, they had ventured farther south with the help of this man as their guide. Together they had navigated the treacherous waters of the wide Mississippi and added fish and turtles to the menu each day. Jordan kayaked just behind them, keeping an eye on the group.

  She pulled her kayak up closer to talk. “My ass is killing me. It’s raw from staying wet and rubbing on this hard plastic every day. How much longer are we staying in these damn things?”

  This was the first complaint he could recall hearing from the woman. “I don’t know, but we have to be getting near Vicksburg by now, and I know John wanted to get off the river before that. Do you want to take the canoe for a while?”

  She eyed the hard, flat board that served as Bobby’s seat and shook her head. “No thanks, it’d take too long to swap out anyway . . . I can manage.”

  In a slightly louder voice, she asked, “Jacob, you doing okay?”

  The boy turned briefly to his mom and nodded yes before returning his eyes back to the canoe ahead.

  It was late afternoon before John signaled a stop. He had guided them several miles up an inlet river on the Mississippi side. They had been fighting the current, but against the slower-moving tributary, it had been manageable. On land, John helped pull the boats ashore.

  “Say goodbye to the Big Muddy,” he said with a chuckle. “This is where we head eastward.”

  “Thank God,” Jordan sighed with a smile. “I’m going to start us some dinner,” she said, as she began to unpack the cooking gear.

  Sitting down and pulling off his damp socks and shoes, Bobby asked John what the plan was.

  “Well, like I said the other day, no easy way to get where you want to go from here. Lots of creek and rivers, but they’re mostly flowing into the Mississippi, not in the direction you want. We’re ‘bout thirty miles from Vicksburg, and I’m not goin’ to risk getting any closer. So, from here, well, let’s just say it gets more challenging. I’ll stick with you guys for maybe one more day, just to get you pointed in the right direction, but that’s about it for me.”

  “Okay, friend, we appreciate what you’ve done so far and whatever additional help you can give. So . . . do we leave the boats and start on foot?”

  John laughed. “No, no, not yet. We’re goin’ to head upstream on this creek for about half a day. Back up in the direction of Yazoo. There’s a system of even smaller creeks—actually, they’re just old irrigation canals. We can weave our way south and east from there. Then we’ll have to portage over land over to the Big Black River. That passes close to the Pearl River. That’s where I’m going to need to leave you. You can take the Pearl as far south as you want, even all the way down to the coast, although, I would suggest otherwise.”

  Bobby was following along, looking at the map. “That sounds like a solid plan. May not be a direct route, but at least we won’t be walking hundreds of miles.” He wasn’t looking forward to paddling upstream that far, but the current was mild compared to what they had been on thus far.

  Jordan did her best with the meal, but all were too tired to stay up afterward. With darkness fully settling, the fireflies began to light up the darkness, and they all turned in. Bobby was exhausted, but sleep refused to come. The soft sounds of Jordan’s sleep reminded him of Jess; how he could lie there beside her and just listen to her breathing. His thoughts eventually took him back to his final moments with her.

  The dog attack was the beginning of the end. She was bleeding out; he knew it, and so did she. As he carried her through the woods, the sounds of men and more dogs closed in behind. In the darkness, branches kept striking him, and twice he had caught his foot on exposed roots that nearly took them down. That’s all it would take, he thought then. Who was he kidding, he wasn’t getting out of this alive. No one ever got away. Suddenly, he had broken out into the clearing.

  Three motorcycles stood side by side. A man was casually leaning against one of the bikes. Judges bikes. Where were the other two? He lay Jess down as quietly as possible. The other man looked at him in amusement.

  “I don’t think they allow you to take ’em home, brother.” Bobby knew he had seen the tattoo. He could again hear the dogs.

  Thinking fast he said, “
She was a runaway, from the pleasure camp. Clubbed her bedmate and fled.”

  “Damn,” the Judge said. “That’s fucked up. I thought they kept ’em juiced to the gills in there?”

  Bobby forced a grim laugh, “Yeah . . . guess not enough for this one. Hey, you got a smoke?”

  The man searched his pockets, “Yeah. Let me find ‘em.”

  Bobby approached the other motorcycle and saw the sheathed knife in the saddlebag. He slid it out as the man finally found the pack of cigarettes. Palming the knife, he continued to move toward the unsuspecting man.

  Holding out the pack with one cigarette extended, the man took notice of the sounds. “Those dogs are getting closer, didn’t you radio in that you had her?”

  Out of the man’s sight, Bobby switched the knife to his dominant hand and reached for the cigarette with his other.

  “Wait a minute, where’s your rad—” The knife blade plunged deep into the Judge’s heart and Bobby jerked it upward, cutting through organ, bone, and muscle. The man collapsed beside his bike.

  Bobby rushed back to Jess. She was very near death now. He looked at the knife in his hands. Please no, he begged, looking up at the sky.

  Bobby woke from his fitful sleep sweaty and panicked. Within a moment he recalled that many days—weeks, even—had passed since Jess had died. He worked hard to calm his breathing so as not to wake the others. Finally, he drifted off once more, just as the birds began to wake.

  Morning brought fog and a cold breakfast of smoked fish and hard, leftover biscuits. They had gone through much of the food they had brought with them by now, which was both good and bad. It was good because it would mean less weight to pack across land when they had to leave the boats; bad because it also meant they had less variety of things to eat. While they ate and packed up, Jacob disappeared along the riverbank and sandbars, and in the fog, Bobby feared the boy would get lost or hurt. They didn’t have time to go looking for him. His mother never seemed that concerned, though, and each time she called he appeared within seconds. Bobby decided the boy had just perfected the art of hiding. It was now his natural instinct to be wary.