by Alessio Cala
He nodded.
"I'm sorry."
Barry waved her apology aside. “When I c-c-came out here, I thought I could have a fresh start, you know? Seems like trouble follows me wherever I go."
Tracy stared at him, studying every detail of his round face. She felt pity on him, but there was something more. There was sympathy, an attribute of common ground.
"You can't give up."
"What difference does it make? Y-y-you started this thing without me, you can finish it without me."
"I can't do this without you, Barry."
He turned to her, perplexed.
"We've both dealt with our fair share of loss. The past few weeks I've been trying to figure out what the hell this is all for. Why I'm here. I feel like a spectator watching the world carry on without me and no matter how hard I try to contribute, I can't help but feel worthless."
"Don't you see, I n-n-nearly got Frank killed back there."
"You came back, didn't you? That is not on you. You've got to stop blaming yourself for everything Barry. Without you this group wouldn't have even known about Wolvendale. You prepared them for that. Everything else was completely out of your hands." She moved in closer to draw his attention but his eyes only stayed with what was left of autumn’s dying foliage. He picked what remained of a withered blue flax flower and began plucking the petals away, one by one, then scattered them to the wind and watched them land only a few feet away.
"Listen," Tracy continued. "Having you here, knowing now especially, that you– we, have both had our losses... Knowing that you can still go on is the only thing keeping me going right now."
Barry looked up at her for the first time. His haggard eyes stared back at her through his thick bottle-rimmed specs. His rosy cheeks intensified. He stuttered briefly, unsure of how to respond. She shuffled closer to him and rested her head upon his shoulder. He froze rigidly. He didn't understand, he wasn't used to it. He felt her bundled hair brush against his neck. It tingled and sent a shiver up his spine. It felt good. It wasn't cold. It was intense, like the spark of an electric current. He felt something he hadn't felt for a long time. He loosened his shoulders and allowed the warmth to consume him. He leaned back against the tree and together they sat in silence, watching the plants dance and sway in the breeze.
Frank's eyelids peered open. A thin layer of moisture blurred his vision. All he could see was the cloudy sky and branches above. The pines rustled violently. For a moment he thought they were going to topple over and crush him. Freezing gusts of wind blew over his body. He shut his eyes and felt the moisture escape and roll down by his ears. His lips felt dry and cracked. His stomach bellowed and churned. A cracking pain engulfed his mind like an axe to the back of the skull.
He sat up slowly and took in the sight of the campsite around him. Scattered bags and bedrolls piled around a dying fire. He brushed the snow on him away with his hands. There was no feeling in his fingertips. They had transformed to a pale white. John sat nearby, closer to the fire. He tried to call out to him but his throat was bone dry.
John heard the desiccated utterances escape him. "You're awake. I was starting to get worried about you, friend."
Frank wiggled up out of the bedroll and flipped it around his body like a blanket. He hobbled over to John and took a seat on the ground beside him. "Water."
John pointed behind him. "Your bag’s there."
Frank turned and rummaged through his belongings. He snatched the canteen from his knapsack and chugged the water down quickly. The icy water overwhelmed his insides, his heart encased in a layer of frozen glass.
"I'm afraid we ate those eggs of yours," said John.
"What eggs?"
"The ones you had in your pocket there."
The ragged woman sprung to mind. He wondered if she had made it out of Wolvendale alive.
"How long I been out?"
"About a day. Here, eat this." John served up a piece of grilled beaver into the empty cooking pot and handed it to Frank. He took it and immediately began to wolf it down. The meat triggered memories of Wolvendale and sparked pestering odours of the toppled cargo crate. Frank gagged profusely, almost choking on the meat. He coughed up a piece and spat it back over his shoulder.
"Take it easy. Chew your food," said John. "Carlos bagged us that beaver this morning, would hate to see it go to waste."
"Where's Annie?"
"She's down by the creek collecting water with some of the others. I gotta tell you, your wife is one tough lady. She wouldn't leave your side the whole time. Took her a lot of convincing from Kara to get her away, clear her head, you know?"
"What the hell happened back there?"
"The shit hit the fan, that's what." John lifted the leg of his blood-soaked trousers and revealed his wound, a green strip of cross-threaded stitches. Thick clumps of dry blood sat burrowed between each suture. "All they had was a spare fishing line."
"Does it hurt?"
"Hurt like shit when she did it."
"Who were those people?"
"From the looks of things, seems to me like your friend was right all along. Quite frankly, that angers me a little bit."
"Because he was right?"
"No. Because it means that ungodly asshole that sent us on this suicide mission never filled out a full investigation of this place before this project began."
"It wasn't down to Javier. It was Bullon's job."
"They're both nuts, and we're all nuts for coming out here in the first place."
"So there really are natives to this land?"
"Sure looks that way."
Frank took in a deep breath and went in for another bite of the beaver meat. He took smaller bites but he couldn’t help but attack it. The meat was cold and dry but at least it was food. He washed it down with more water and immediately regretted eating so quickly. Short bursts of cramps kicked him in the stomach. He slowed down and took a moment to breathe.
"You mind if I ask you something?" said Frank.
"Shoot."
"Back at the cabin, when that man entered and you– you know. Was it easy?"
"You mean to kill him?"
"Yeah."
"No. Some say it gets easier the more you do it, but for me, it's never easy."
"But you didn't even hesitate."
"That was different. I'm being paid to do a job and unfortunately, that’s part of the job. I'm a man of my word and if taking pride in that is a sin then I'm going straight to hell."
"I don't know if I could ever go through with it, pulling the trigger on someone."
"Want my advice? Don't think about it so much. It'll drive you crazy and worse yet, it'll get you killed."
"Not sure I'll ever stop thinking about it."
John began cleaning his wound with a wet rag and wiped the dirt away to reduce his chances of infection. He took the rag and wringed it out to the side before tipping more water into it and running it across his leathery face.
"There's something I've been meaning to get off my chest," he continued.
"Of course," Frank replied.
"I'd like to thank you, and Barry, for helping me out of that mess back there. You didn't have to do what you did."
"You're risking your life to help us. Even if it is just for the payoff, you're a part of this group."
"You know, at first it was just for the reward. I don't think I would have taken this job without one. But after all this, meeting you folks and seeing that boy come outta his shell like that... It ain't just for the payoff anymore."
Frank's head gently nodded along with the older man. He could see John eyeing him up and down, analysing him. "That says a lot about a man, Frank. I think you're more equipped for this journey than you realise."
"What do you mean?"
"The last thing I expected when that arrow hit me was for someone to haul me out of there. This group is full of people doing it cuz' they're expecting something in return. Some do it for possessions, others do it because
they want change in the wider spectrum of things."
"How can you tell which one I am?"
"The one doing it for the reward wouldn't have done what you did. They'd have left me back there for dead and made something up to cover their tracks. If you ask me, I don't completely trust all the people here in this group, but I know I can trust you because of what you did, you follow?"
"I think you're forgetting that I'm part of that materialistic category you mentioned. I'm only doing this so I can rebuild my home."
"No you're not. You're doing it for more than that, friend."
"How so?"
"It could just be for the materials, but from where I'm sitting; looks to me like you're making sure what's yours remains yours, that this land is safe enough for you and that wife of yours to live in."
Frank's eyebrows rose unexpectedly. "I never thought about it that way."
"Sometimes good men do bad things, doesn't make em' bad people. We're good men in a shit awful situation."
Frank felt the corners of his lips curve into a smile. The old man cursed in a way that only exemplified his years of wisdom. John's words were reassuring to hear. He'd finally been given some perspective that wasn't conjured by the limitations of his own thoughts. He took another bite out of the tasteless meat and chomped down past the gristly fat. As he bit down again he heard the chilling snap of a twig down through a tapered gap in the pines. He froze up, eyes wide and cheeks stuffed with beaver meat. John popped open the flap on his holster and brought the revolver up in seconds. They sat without a sound. The insipid cuttings of meat sat stuffed inside Frank's mouth, congealing in his saliva. He feared to make even the slightest of sounds. He daren't to even swallow in case he swallowed too loudly. They heard whispers of impatient inflections. Frank watched John closely in the corner of his eye. His eyes piercing the pines like a hawk. His thumb slowly rose from the grip of revolver. He gradually pulled back on the hammer, cocking the weapon. It clicked into place. His attempt to be silent only seemed to amplify the noise in Frank's mind. They heard the sound of shuffling foliage draw nearer, brushing past the millions of fallen pine needles.
“Someone’s out there.”
Mike lay on his side at the edge of the flowing stream. He held the canteen at a forty-five degree angle and allowed the fresh clean water to fill it. Once full, he shut it tight and moved his mouth in place. The cold water trickled past his lips and flung up, splashing against his cheeks. He sucked in his cheeks and slurped the water. He could hear rhythmic taps against the water's surface behind him and turned to discover Max, lapping up the water with his tongue. The dog lifted his head and licked his lips contently. His glossy brown eyes gazed back at him over the water and his head tilted curiously to one side.
"That should be enough for now," said Annie. She felt a brief tug on her coat. It was Sam. He held the black leather book up for her without a word. She smiled and took it, reviewing the open page he had presented to her. The pages were more stained and crumpled than before. A new sketch displayed a lying figure surrounded by dogs of a larger scale.
Wolves?
"Who is that?" she asked, pointing down at the stick figure in the drawing.
"I couldn't see," he murmured softly.
"What do you mean?"
"It was snowy."
She finally understood. The sketches resembled predictions or visions of the future. He had established that to them time and time again, but now she understood where they came from. It was as though he could actually visualise them in his mind and see them unfold before him. The sketches were direct illustrations from his visions.
"I done another one," he said. He reached up on his tiptoes to show her and turned to the next page. Annie examined the drawing; a smaller stick figure holding hands with two larger figures.
"Is that you?" she asked. Sam nodded his head and smiled. Her attention tilted up to the other two figures in the drawing. She knelt down and allowed him to see where she was pointing. "And who are these people?"
"That's you." Sam's tiny finger slid across the page to the figure holding his other hand. "And that one is Frank."
Annie couldn't help but smile at the child's purity. She began to well up. How could a child so sweet and full of innocence exist in this cruel and unforgiving time? She thought about Frank and how they hadn't had time to talk things out. His words had cut through her like a knife but she knew he didn't mean what he said. Frank had been used to it just being the two of them for so long. He feared change, feared responsibility. He'd acted differently ever since they departed from Elkford. Frank didn't hate other people, he had just gotten used to the idea of them – and only them — growing old together. She hoped that he could adapt to others, hoped that they could work this all out, and most of all, she hoped that they could both restore their lives to what it was before.
She closed the book and wrapped her arms around the child. He hugged her back and when she pulled away he tipped his head curiously to one side. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not. It's a lovely drawing." She returned the book to him. "We'll be there soon, Sam. This will all be over soon." She knew it would be difficult. The route following the Grand River from Wolvendale to the military base was infested with raiders. Carlos had barely made it out alive from investigating and managed to cover his tracks upon returning to the group. The settlers of Autark had barely scratched the surface with the mountains. There had been a brief overview but as far as she knew, they would be the first of their people to truly scour the highlands of Autark.
"Annie?" Kara called out. She stood distanced from the others and gestured Annie over discreetly. Annie asked Mike to watch over Sam and Max. She saw Sam sit by the water's edge, Max beside him with his chin rested upon the child's leg. She joined Kara by the edge of the forest. "Everything okay?"
"Do you think we can do this?" she whispered.
"I do."
"How do you know?"
"I don't, but I have to believe it. That boy sitting there has something special, we've all seen it. If there's anyone that can help the people take back this land, its him."
"I came to this island to get away from everything that went wrong back home. I wanted a fresh start. Now that this is all happening, I'm starting to wonder if I made a mistake."
"We've all been thinking that. You can still turn a new leaf Kara. I truly believe that I discovered that boy for a reason. I think he can help us do this."
"What will we do when we get there?"
"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it, shall we? Let Carlos worry about that. For now, let's just focus on getting there."
"...You're right."
Annie leaned in and gently embraced the young woman. "You may not believe it, but I think this journey has brought out the best in you. I appreciate what you're doing, even if it is for a reward." Kara caught sight of Mike glancing over. She cleared her throat and shied away from his gaze.
"We should head back," said Kara. Annie took hold of Sam's hand and helped him up to his feet. "Come on boy." Max circled the two of them and followed her back towards the camp.
Kara and Mike followed close behind. She felt intimidated by his athletic physique. She had always been independent. She had to take care of herself her whole life, and whenever someone tried to get close she would turn them away; but for some reason, whenever she caught sight of Mike, the high barrier she built had a tendency to extinguish. She stared at his toned biceps flexing through his jumper. She felt his gaze once more, he'd caught her looking. She turned away. The more she tried to repel, the more obvious it came across. She didn't look back at him but listened to his quiet words.
"Everything alright?"
She struggled to express her true feelings. She shrugged them aside and focused on the reality. She didn't know this man well enough. She couldn't let him in, not yet anyway.
"Yeah, all good," she replied bluntly. She didn't look back. Instead she caught up with Annie and walked by her side.
"Frank?"
FOURTEEN
Mike and Kara hurtled past the surrounding pines. He held the AK-47 close to his chest and raised the barrel outwards as he turned into the secluded camp. He could feel Kara's presence sweeping round behind him, covering the other side with her shotgun drawn. The place had been ransacked. Sheets of tarp and bedrolls lay overturned into piles, bags rifled through, their contents spilled out into the snow. Mike moved forward one step at a time, the rifle an extension of his body. He scanned the woodland around them. Over by the tree line, his eyes drew to where the snow turned a deep shade of burgundy. Beside the spilling colour was a sheet of tarpaulin. He looked closer to see the dark hairs sticking out beneath it, a head, face-down in the snow. Mike turned back to Kara. Her eyes gazed over to the pool of blood.
"Keep her away," he whispered.
Kara stepped back and held out her hand to signal for Annie to wait in hiding. Max scampered around the camp, sniffing everything in sight. He chewed away at the leftover beaver meat, abandoned in the snow. Mike got down on one knee. He pinched the edge of the tarp and peeled it away. It was the body of a man. He wore olive cargos and a black hooded coat. His arms were tucked and bent beneath his chest, the stiff grip of a knife in his frozen fist. Mike sighed, relieved. He turned back to Kara and shook his head before pulling the tarp completely over the body and bloody mess around it.
Kara led Annie and Sam through to the camp. Annie stopped at the sight of the mess. She breathed deeply, in and out. "Frank... Where's Frank?"
"We'll find him," Kara reassured. "They couldn't have gone far."
A figure stepped out into the opening of the campsite. Mike shot up and trained the rifle's sights on its position.
"H-h-hold your fire," Barry called out, hands raised above his head. Carlos, Derek and Tracy stepped out from the trees behind him. Mike lowered his weapon and shook his head.