Fight the Wind

by Andrew Karre

  But in Iowa all their luck changed. First the wind died. And then a few stupid hills. And soon they were out of fuel.

  • • •

  Cleo stared down from the top of the overpass at the windmill and old house. She felt the same worried feeling in the pit of her stomach that she’d had all those months ago, when she’d looked down at the calmly spinning turbine and known something was wrong.

  “Stop it,” she said to herself, willing the memory away. But it wouldn’t stay gone.

  She’d known at the same time as Fix that they couldn’t leave the old couple. Even if she’d tried to, had said she would, she knew she couldn’t have. She’d also known that Fix couldn’t do what needed to be done—or that if he did, it would ruin him forever. So she’d made him follow her away a little ways. And then she’d done it quickly, so neither of them would have to look the man and the woman in the eyes. It had been a risk. She might have missed. If there was any satisfaction in the memory of that bloody moment, it was in knowing that her aim had been true. And deadly. There was always that.

  The aftermath was a frustrating blur. It was almost more unpleasant for Cleo to remember than the shooting. There had been no good choices. To the south, there were low, rolling hills for as far as the eye could see. It didn’t take a tactical genius to see how vulnerable they would be on the road in their tiny truck.

  Todd and Rob were hustling the kids out of the truck when Cleo and Fix reached it, panting.

  “The woods, we can hide out there until—” Cleo whirled around, scanning the woods on the other side of the highway. The view wasn’t promising. The trees were thin and quickly gave way to acres of barren farm fields. “Whoever did that—whoever did that down there will be back. And we can’t be here.” Her mind raced as she felt the responsibility of getting the others to safety.

  “Cleo!” It was Todd. “You don’t have to do this on your own. We’ve got time to figure this out. What happened?”

  Rob and Todd each put a hand on her shoulders. Fix, who was just catching his breath, nodded. “There’s got to be a place to hide out for a bit. Where we can make a plan.”

  Todd and Rob hadn’t spoken much since they’d joined up. They’d just pitched in and become silent but strong parts of the group. Cleo was never so glad for their voices as she was then.

  “Let’s get what we need to camp for a few days. We’ll hide the truck as best we can, and we can come back for it when it looks like we’re all clear,” declared Rob. Cleo could hear him trying to sound confident, but she doubted the plan. They had no useful shelter or the right gear for camping away from the truck for even a night. “We can walk north for a bit. I think there was a real forest a mile or so ago. Or maybe we’ll find an old—”

  “No, we’ve got to go back down to the farm. To the windmill.” It was Fix. He’d been staring down toward the farmhouse.

  Cleo had assumed he was still in shock, but now she knew she’d mistaken shock for concentration. That vacant look. He’d thought of something, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I

  t was rare that Fix’s dream got all the way to the fire, but he’d been exhausted and this time the dream’s grip was firm.

  The fire had been a concession to Cleo. Fix had convinced the others that there must be some kind of shelter near the farmhouse—something like the structure Fix had a vague memory of, from before his parents died. That had been what the woman had been trying to tell them.

  So all six of them raced back to the farm and searched the grounds. Nothing. And night was coming.

  “We can’t stay here, Fix. It’s too exposed.” Cleo’s face was grim in the fading daylight.

  Then came the sounds of oil barrels rolling and Todd and Nic calling, “A door! There’s a door in the ground.”

  Beyond the door, they’d found the bunker. It was stocked with food and supplies. Even though it was clearly intended for two people, it was more comfortable for the six of them than the truck had ever been.

  Inside the bunker, Fix had relaxed a little for the first time in a long time. He felt like he was home. Home . . .

  But then there was the fire. Once they’d sorted out the bunker, Cleo decided to sacrifice a gas lamp and few fuel cylinders to “send a message to whoever attacked those people.”

  “If we burn down that old house, this place will look a little less welcoming. Might attract less attention,” she declared.

  While she rigged up the place to burn, Fix and Todd got everything the raiders had left behind and took it to the bunker.

  Fix was standing by the bunker’s entrance when Cleo lit a kerosene-soaked rag and threw it through the farmhouse door. She never looked back as it burned. Fix couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  • • •

  “Fix? Fix?” Todd’s worried face was hanging over him. Fix squinted at the sunrise over Todd’s shoulder, feeling tireder than ever. “You and Cleo weren’t in your bunks . . . Rob stayed with the kids . . . I thought I’d find you here. Dunno about Cleo.”

  Fix tried to push himself up from where he’d slumped down against the wall, but his shoulder screamed with pain. He gasped and rolled onto his good side.

  “Fix? What’s wrong?” Todd reached out a hand to help him. Fix grabbed it and pulled himself upright.

  “I did something to my shoulder,” Fix mumbled, rubbing his hand across it cautiously. “When I—I was trying to fix the windmill. Almost had it. Thought I remembered the last part of the directions Cleo read. But I messed it up. Broke it. Didn’t remember the words right.” Fix stopped, a lump in his throat, his shoulder throbbing.

  Todd reached out a hand again, pulled it back a little, then carefully patted Fix on his good shoulder.

  “But you’ll fix it, right? You always figure this stuff out,” Todd said.

  Fix swallowed hard. He had been so close . . . He wasn’t stopping now. He clenched his fist.

  “Yeah, we’ll fix it. We’ve gotten all the stuff we can around here, but I’ll find what I need somewhere else. As soon as I see how bad it is”—the lump came back, and he swallowed again—“then I’ll know what I need. I don’t care how long it takes to find the hardware. I’ll get it right this time. I’ll get it right . . .”

  Todd nodded silently.

  “This place will be perfect!” Fix burst out. “As soon as I get it working. Reminds me . . .”

  Todd waited. “Of what?” he finally said.

  “Of home . . .” Fix whispered.

  CHAPTER SIX

  S

  topping just outside the doorway, Cleo clenched her fists at Fix’s words. Home—they didn’t talk about home or their lives before or what they’d lost. Looking back only made you weaker, in her opinion. Home . . . Cleo shook her head, missing for a moment the expected tap of her braids on her face. Then she remembered why she’d buzzed her hair in the first place. She was sick of being scared. She was a warrior now.

  Yes, being warrior meant you weren’t afraid to kill, but it didn’t mean seeking out fights. Especially when your weapons were limited. Cleo grimaced, thinking about the last time Fix had insisted they go look for parts for that stupid windmill.

  They’d left the kids with Todd and Robb at the farm. Cleo and Fix hiked across several fields toward something on the horizon that Fix swore was another farm. Cleo complained the whole way about how risky this raid was when they had plenty of food back at their own farm. She’d kept up her complaining, even as Fix stayed quiet, because she hated the creepy feeling up her spine that being exposed in the fields gave her.

  When they’d finally reached the other farm, before Cleo could check to see if it was safe, Fix tried to rush into a shed filled with machinery. Cleo ripped Fix’s shirt trying to hold him back and not make a lot of noise.

  “Ow!” Fix had said, yanking his arm away from her. Cleo silenced him with a glare. She wished she could scream at him and smack him around for being so stupid on top of making them come
there in the first place. She took a deep breath to center herself. Holding the gun at the ready, she walked slowly toward the shed, her eyes scanning the grounds. Fix hovered behind her as she entered the shed and peered around. She didn’t see any place someone could be hiding.

  “There’s no one here,” Fix muttered, shouldering past her and opening one of the machines. He let a piece of metal clank to the ground.

  “Would you shut up and hurry?!” Cleo hissed. “I’ll stand guard, but I’m leaving in three minutes whether you’re ready or not.” They both knew this wasn’t true, but the place was freaking Cleo out. No telling who was in the house or those other buildings. They could hear doors squeaking in the breeze.

  “Beautiful!” Fix murmured. “I don’t think anyone’s been in here since—”

  Cleo was sure she heard a noise behind the shed. She shifted her stance, training the gun on the corner.

  “Cleo!” Fix screamed. Cleo ducked and spun just in time to see a plank crashing past her shoulder. Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned again. This kid wasn’t armed. As he grabbed for her, she hit him hard in the face with the gun. The first guy was raising the board again, and Cleo kicked him in the stomach. She jumped aside as the plank crashed down again as he doubled over.

  The gun, she thought. Why weren’t they afraid she’d shoot them? She hadn’t, of course, because she had so few bullets left. Her mind reeled. Were there a lot of kids out here waving around guns with no ammunition? Wasn’t she four shots away from becoming one of them?

  Cleo watched as both the kids rolled on the ground. There was something about them that looked wrong. Love to shoot them both, she thought. Then she saw Fix in the doorway, holding a heavy wrench.

  “Good idea,” she said and grabbed it from him. She pulled her arm back, ready to brain the first guy.

  “Cleo, no!” Fix yelled. They struggled for a moment before Fix yanked the wrench from Cleo’s sweaty hand. “They’re just kids! Younger than us—”

  “They tried to kill me!” Cleo screamed, kicking one of the kids in the ribs as he tried to stand up.

  A yell nearby shook them both. Three or four other kids were running toward them from one of the buildings, waving pitchforks. With their teeth bared, the kids didn’t look human.

  “C’mon!” said Fix, grabbing Cleo’s arm and pulling her away. Cleo tried for one last kick but missed. They ran toward the patchy grove of trees across the field.

  Looking back over their shoulders, they didn’t see anyone following them. Still, Cleo made them take a long way back. She refused to speak to Fix—when he showed her the machine parts he’d stuffed in his backpack, she only snorted in disgust.

  • • •

  Cleo snorted again outside the doorway, thinking about the risks they’d taken for Fix to work on this idiotic windmill. And now it was all for nothing anyway. Not that she’d ever thought it would work out.

  “We’ve stayed here long enough,” Cleo announced, walking into the windmill shed. Todd’s head snapped toward her. Fix just kept rubbing his shoulder and wincing. “We need to keep moving. We need to get where there are other people, people who are organized. I could have gotten us in with a gang in Minneapolis. I can do it in another city; we have things to offer. But we can’t stay here.”

  Todd turned to Fix, his forehead wrinkled. Fix didn’t say anything, didn’t look at Cleo.

  “We’re sitting ducks,” Cleo went on, even louder. “You saw those kids at the other farm, Fix. They were practically savages. It’s just dangerous drifters out here, and sooner or later someone’s going to come along who has better weapons and that will be it.”

  Still not looking at her, Fix managed to stand up and stumble out the door.

  “You know I’m right!” Cleo yelled after him. “And I wasn’t done talking! Fix!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  F

  ix kicked the bunker door and heard frightened squeaks inside.

  “It’s just me!” he yelled.

  Nic opened the door. “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing Fix holding his shoulder.

  “Broke the windmill, busted my shoulder. ’S alright,” he said.

  Nic looked closely at her brother’s face. “I know I saw some bandages and stuff in the first aid box that might help.” She started rummaging.

  Cleo yanked open the door. Todd came in on her heels, looking scared. Before Cleo could open her mouth, Nic turned to her and said tersely, “Save it. Let’s deal with Fix’s shoulder first.”

  Cleo scowled, surprised. She turned away to her own corner and started messing with her stuff.

  Fix felt the same surprise and gratitude he’d been feeling more often toward Nic. She was still his little sister, but lately she’d seemed older. It especially helped when she did the talking with Cleo. He and Cleo were supposed to be in charge, but he never knew what to do with all the words Cleo threw at him.

  Fix relaxed a little now that he was in the bunker. It was the perfect place for them to live, he thought. His parents had built one like it a few months before—

  Fix gritted his teeth as Nic started trying to tie a bunch of pieces of cloth into a sling around his shoulder. He couldn’t figure out how she thought this would help, but he wasn’t ready for Cleo yet. So he just sat and looked around while Nic fussed over him.

  The shelter was impossible to break into, Fix was sure. That’s why he wasn’t too worried about those other kids out there. The rainwater collection system was in perfect condition, and the shelves had enough packaged meals to last a long time. Plus they could grow stuff next year. Fix had seeds.

  Fix’s eyes lingered on his favorite thing about the bunker: the electrical wires. When they’d first arrived, he’d raised the low fuel level of the diesel generator by dropping rocks in the tank and managed to eke out some power. Now they needed the windmill if they hoped to have electricity. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but it would make life a lot easier.

  Nic stepped away from Fix, surveying her work. The sling did support his shoulder a little.

  “Thanks,” Fix murmured. Cleo twitched impatiently in her corner. Fix sighed. He knew Cleo hated the bunker as much as he liked it. A few times they had shut themselves in because they thought someone was prowling around their farm. Each time Cleo was in a funk for a week afterward, biting off everyone’s heads.

  Watching Cleo out of the corner of his eye, Fix realized that her hair was gone except for a layer of fuzz. What the—

  “Where’s your hair, Cleo?” Gus asked, mirroring Fix’s thoughts.

  “And where were you this morning?” demanded Nic.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  F

  or a moment, Cleo blinked and ran her hand over her head. Then she shrugged.

  “The hair was in my way,” she muttered. Then she looked at Nic, standing next to Fix who was staring at the floor. “I’ll tell you what I wasn’t doing,” Cleo hissed. “I wasn’t wasting time and battery power working on a hopeless windmill. I wasn’t getting myself hurt so I was useless. I wasn’t moaning about staying here to be sitting ducks for the big gang headed our way.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nic said sharply. “What gang?”

  “I was up on the ridge,” Cleo said, starting to pace. “Patrolling. I could see smoke from their fires and see them moving around. At least fifteen of them, about a mile away.”

  Rob and Todd both got up and started their tasks for securing the bunker. Gus inched over next to Fix.

  “And I heard gunshots,” Cleo said, staring at Fix. Todd and Rob both stopped and looked at them. No one said anything.

  Finally Fix turned to Cleo and said, “What do you think that means, Cleo?”

  She glared at him. “Obviously they’re either shooting each other or shooting other people. Or, better yet, shooting game to eat. I know they’re loaded with ammunition.”

  “Cleo, are you going to check the camouflage on the water system or not?” Nic asked, her hands on her h
ips. “You guys can talk more when everything’s done.”

  Cleo stared over Fix’s shoulder as though Nic hadn’t spoken. “I’m sick of this,” she said softly but clearly.

  Fix hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “What do you want to do, Cleo?” he said.

  Cleo looked down at Fix again. She looked almost sad now. “You know exactly what I want to do, Fix.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  N

  ightmare scenes of blood and twisted bodies filled Fix’s head. He did know what Cleo wanted. When she had told him a while ago, that was when he started to be afraid of her. And for her. She was changing.

  There was an old well in the farmyard. They used it for water when they weren’t stuck hiding in the bunker. Every time after they’d hidden in the bunker because a group was coming through, Cleo had pointed out all the tracks around the well. No one could afford to ignore a water source. Some groups had hung around the farm for days, probably because of the well water.

  They’d tried camouflaging the well, but the last two groups had found it anyway. Cleo said word was spreading about this farm. Fix didn’t get how that was happening—he couldn’t see any of the groups cooperating—but he couldn’t explain it otherwise.

  “It’s just a matter of time before someone finds the bunker and figures out a way to get in. They could put explosives down the water-collection pipe. They could poison our water with a dead animal, or with frickin’ poop for that matter. And where will we be then, Fix? Trapped like rats in a cage, waiting to be picked off one by one.”

  Cleo had been cleaning her gun as she spoke. She waved it in Fix’s face to get his attention. He had a feeling he didn’t want to hear her plan, whenever she was going to get around to it.

  “And it may not have occurred to you, being so lucky as to be a guy, but someone might decide, once they’d pried open the doors of the bunker, that rather than killing me or Nic, they want something else from us. Wouldn’t take more than two guys to hold Nic—”