Survivors (Harmony Book 3)

by Margaret Ball

  After the pleasant interlude of the bath, Hana led her into another bare, bleak room with a low table running its length. A few shallow bowls held mounds of boiled grain. Were they bringing dinner in? And how could this little room hold everybody in what seemed like a prosperous farming enterprise? And – “Where’s Ruven?” she asked.

  Hana looked surprised. “Oh, he’ll be eating with the men,” she said as if this should have been obvious. “Himself will want to hear news from down-river, and he’ll need to evaluate your man as well.”

  My man is none of his business. Jillian kept the thought to herself. There was no point in antagonizing these nice, friendly women just because they had different customs and a strange way of describing things. No doubt Hana had only meant that this nameless leader wanted to gauge how accurate Ruven’s news might be. What else could she mean by “evaluating” him?

  The handful of women who’d come in to wash right after Jillian trickled into the room, laughing and chattering and squeezing out their wet hair, and seated themselves on the floor on either side of the long, low table. “Go on, don’t be shy.” Hana urged Jillian to join the others. She herself sat crosslegged at one end of the table, and Bor’s woman took the other end. Hana began scooping the boiled grain into wooden bowls and passing them down the table.

  The cooperative must not be as prosperous as she’d thought.

  And shouldn’t they have more people?

  “Oh, the men’s hall is much bigger,” said the woman beside her as though that answered the question.

  Tomi couldn’t chew the boiled grain, of course. “I don’t suppose you keep dairy cows?” She was beginning to feel nervous about asking for anything at all, the cooperative seemed so much poorer than she’d thought at first.

  “Only two, to make butter and cheese.”

  Neither of which was evident on the table. Oh well, Jillian didn’t know anything about farming. Maybe cows didn’t give milk at this time of year. Still, she was reluctant to dip into the last of the powdered milk if there was anything else she could give Tomi. “There’s no milk?”

  The woman beside her laughed. “Not here!”

  Perhaps it had been a stupid question. Jillian excused herself to shake up some powdered milk and water in Tomi’s bottle. The other women watched, almost hungrily, as she cradled him in the crook of her elbow and held the bottle. What was so fascinating? Hadn’t they ever seen a baby before?”

  “Why can’t you nurse him?” one said bluntly. “Dried up?”

  “My sister’s dead. He’s her baby.”

  Bor’s woman nodded to her neighbor. “Just as well,” Jillian heard her say in an undertone, “she won’t mind…”

  Mind what?

  After the scanty dinner was finished, one woman cleaned the bowls and took them away, while another pushed the table against the far wall. The others brought out blankets and prepared to lie down on the floor.

  “Is this where you sleep?”

  “Unless called for,” one said. “Aren’t you tired? I could hold the baby.”

  “So could I!”

  Jillian clutched Tomi to her. “Tomi and I are going to join Ruven,” she said, as firmly as she could manage.

  The women in the room were still laughing when the one who’d taken the clean dishes away scurried back in. “Himself says they’re to have a private room, just for tonight.”

  “Leave the baby with us?”

  “No! I mean no, thank you kindly.” Jillian picked up her pack awkwardly, one-handed, and then stooped for the shawl. She was afraid to lay Tomi down for long enough to get herself and her things organized. He began fretting about all the dipping and swooping, but relaxed when she rested him on her shoulder and dropped the shawl over his head.

  The “private room” was some way from the women’s sleeping area, along unroofed passageways whose walls of green wood were already twisting and warping. It was about the size of a city closet. But Ruven was there, and that made it a palace for Jillian. She’d begun to think she might never see him again. How silly of her!

  But Ruven seemed to share her inchoate misgivings. As soon as she entered the room he squashed her against him. Tomi started to fuss again, reasonably enough. “Let me put him down,” Jillian said breathlessly.

  Ruven made a kind of blanket-nest for the baby, good enough for an infant who wasn’t crawling yet, but Tomi protested vociferously at being left there. “Poor thing, he’s had too many new experiences today,” Jillian said. So had she; it seemed a hundred years since their departure from the city this morning. “I’ll just hold him until he goes to sleep.”

  But Ruven caught her by the elbows and wouldn’t let her stoop down for the baby. “No, let him cry,” he said in a hoarse undertone. “It’ll help cover our voices. Jillian, we have to get out of here.”

  “It is a queer place,” she allowed. “But- “

  “Worse than you know.” In a few rushed sentences, Ruven told her of his own experiences, which had been more enlightening than hers. “This man ‘Himself’ isn’t part of Lost Maples cooperative. He and a handful of his bully-boys came here when the last batch of government thugs was demanding food, fought them off and made the farmers drag all their old machinery out to make that barricade. Then they took over and made their own rules. There are three times as many men as women now, and Himself likes it that way; one way he keeps power is by controlling access to the women and restricting it to his favorites. I’ve already been offered the use of one of the women but I told him I’d rather have my own. And he said, ‘For tonight.’”

  Jillian shivered in Ruven’s arms. Tomi had stopped crying and was looking up at them with wide eyes, as if even he sensed danger around them. “Then… tomorrow?”

  “You’d be with the other women, doing farm work and waiting until he sends for you to reward one of his lieutenants,” Ruven said.

  “And Tomi?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen any babies or children at all. I thought maybe they’d been shoved off with the women?”

  Jillian shook her head. “No. And – all the women wanted to hold Tomi. I thought it was just – well, a lot of women like babies, you know? But they seemed hungry.”

  “And well they might be, and not only for a baby to hold. A woman’s rations here are half those of a man’s, did you know that? ‘Himself’ ranks everybody by how much hard physical labor they can contribute to the farming effort. He likes me, because I’m big and still reasonably strong even after the winter. Dropped heavy hints that I might get to become one of the favored few.”

  “But babies and children,” Jilian said slowly, working it out, “have to be fed, and can’t do much work. Ruven, you don’t think he could have killed all the children and two-thirds of the women here? Wouldn’t the farmers revolt?”

  “More likely he just put them outside the walls to fend for themselves,” Ruven said. “It’s a damned short-sighted policy; who does he think will do the work when his current batch of laborers get old?”

  “That argument won’t do Tomi any good. All right. First thing in the morning, we’ll say our good-byes and be on the road before there’s any talk of our staying.”

  “I’d rather leave now,” Ruven said, “even if you think it’s unmannerly. Check the door.”

  Jillian pushed; it did not move.

  “Thought so,” said Ruven grimly. “It was barred as soon as I came in. I’d hoped they might forget to bar it again after letting you in, but ‘Himself’ does seem to inspire a kind of efficiency. We’ll have to rely on a firm but polite refusal in the morning. No matter what they claim to offer – a good breakfast, a supply of food for travel in return for a few days’ work – what they’re really offering is slavery, and don’t you forget it.”

  “I won’t,” Jillian promised. “Ruven, I’m so, so sorry I got you into this. I… “

  Ruven stopped her mouth with a kiss. “Whatever it is, we’re in it together,” he said. “Now go to sleep. Tomorrow might be
a rough day.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jillian woke, bemused, to the sound of the door thrown open, shouts, scuffles, Ruven’s protests.

  “Not without my woman!” he shouted. Booted feet came closer, and Jillian woke immediately and completely, diving for Tomi before some idiot stepped on him.

  “All right,” said Jimmen, who was holding Ruven’s right arm while a large, scowling stranger immobilized his left arm. “I’m a peaceable man, I am. If you’ll not fight us, the woman can come along too.”

  “Where are we going?” Ruven demanded.

  “Private audience with Himself.”

  Nothing more was said as they marched Ruven away. Jillian trailed him, tying Tomi in front of her with the shawl. They hadn’t been allowed to bring their packs.

  Her first sight of Himself was almost reassuring. She’d begun to picture some sort of shaggy monster. The reality was a medium-sized man, almost dapper, with clean hands and a calm face. Someone we can reason with?

  He sat on a kind of dais that raised him a foot above the floor, with Bor and Goner standing on the floor, flanking him. Both men had knives stuck into their belts; ‘Himself’ had a blaster on his lap. A white and red one. Taken from the Provisionals?

  Jillian’s hope of reasonableness vanished when ‘Himself’ spoke.

  “Malach, I’ve decided to let you stay. You’re not worth much now, but I’m a generous man; I’ll gamble that you’ll be an asset to the farm after we feed you for a few days. The woman goes. She’s a skinny little piece and the women tell me she’s not strong.” Cold eyes flicked over Jillian. “She can take the baby with her; we don’t feed useless mouths here.”

  “I go with my woman,” Ruven said.

  ‘Himself’ gave Ruven a delighted smile. “Oh, no, you don’t understand the rules. You cooperate, and they go free. Fight us, and we’ll dispose of them… otherwise. You understand, it makes no difference to me, one way or another.”

  Ruven writhed in the hold of his guards. “Jillian, wait! I’ll come for you.”

  “That you will not,” said ‘Himself’ cheerfully. “If the woman lingers in Lost Maples’ territory, we’ll put her down like any other pest. Isn’t my suggestion better? You work well for us, she takes herself off, everybody lives happily ever after. I don’t really like killing, you know. Goner, show her out.”

  Jillian’s knees were shaking and her mouth was dry. But she had to say something. “If you throw me out with a three-month-old baby, you’re killing him. And my man won’t cooperate if you do that. At least give me our packs; I need his bottle and food he can eat.”

  ‘Himself’ sighed theatrically. “That’s what happens if you let women talk. Conditions, demands, attempts to negotiate. I’d be doing you a favor if I slit her tongue.”

  “NO!” Ruven’s struggles redoubled until ‘Himself’ held up a hand. “Peace, man. I am generous; she can go with what you brought in here, even though I too have people who need food.”

  “Jillian,” Ruven said desperately, “Ash Grove Dairy. That’s where you go. Ash Grove, just past Three Hills, and tell them my name.”

  “Come along, woman,” said Goner, taking her arm, “you’ve wasted enough of Himself’s time.”

  As he hustled her away, she heard Ruven shouting, “And don’t try to travel alone! Find companions! Remember, Ash Grove!”

  A few minutes later she was kneeling on the bare dirt outside the walls of the cooperative, trying to reassemble the contents of two packs into one load with the things she needed most. The last of the powdered milk. Tomi’s bottle. The spare diapers and wipes. A few handfuls of oats, some strips of dried bitterweed. Clothes? Not essential. Cooking gear? She decided to keep one pan. Ruven’s blaster – only one, they must have taken the other from him – and his knives all seemed much more important than they had yesterday. She bundled the weapons into a diaper so that anybody who might be watching her wouldn’t realize what she had there.

  The full pack was so heavy that she strained to stand with it strapped to her shoulders. And she couldn’t stoop to pick up Tomi. With resignation Jillian slipped the pack off. First take the baby, tie him securely in front of her with the shawl. Then, somehow, kneel and get the pack on, stand up again…

  “Help you with that, missus?”

  She jerked back, startled. But the little man who’d spoken seemed no threat at all; soft hands, gentle voice, concerned eyes. “Thank’ee kindly,” she said, trying to copy Ruven’s soft country burr. She stood with Tomi. The little man heaved the pack off the ground, grunted and just managed to lift it high enough for her to thrust her arms backward into the carrying straps.

  “You’re heavy laden,” he observed.

  “I am that.”

  “Your man can’t take more?” He looked at the discarded pack, not half as full as the one she was carrying.

  “Get away,” she whispered to her helper. “They take men prisoner here. We need to get out of their territory before they decide to take you too.”

  He lingered, looking at the pans and clothing she’d discarded. “You can have all that,” Jillian said. “I can’t carry it anyway. But come on!” She started for the trail beside the river bank without waiting to see if he followed her. If he was about to get himself taken or killed by ‘Himself,’ she didn’t want to watch.

  She breathed easier when they reached the edge of the forest that crowded right down to the river bank after they passed out of Lost Maples’ territory, and easier still when her helper introduced her to the companions who’d been waiting there while he turned aside for her. There was a tall, raw-boned woman called Petra, her dark hair bundled into a messy knot that left loose, tangled locks falling around her face. A man who seemed to be with her, Kallan; she didn’t much like his sly face and his air of secretly laughing at them all, but if he was with Petra, as he seemed to be, then he was her problem. And then her helper, Sorel, now stuffing the contents of his own pack into Ruven’s larger, half-empty pack. Well, Ruven had wanted her to find a group to travel with, and here they were.

  They exchanged stories as they set out on the trail; at least, Jillian told them all about what had happened to her and Ruven inside the walls of Lost Maples. Her companions were less voluble, saying only that they too were going up-river in search of food and shelter.

  “I’m surprised we haven’t seen more people,” Jillian said. “I always thought that half the population lived and worked on the cooperatives, but so far the land seems deserted – except for those people at Lost Maples.” She shivered.

  Kallan had been chewing something; now he turned aside and spat out a disgusting wad of leaves before speaking. “Some starved,” he said. “More died of the burning cough; did you not have that in the city, then?”

  “We did. I didn’t know it was so bad outside the city,” Jillian answered shortly. She could not speak of Trisha’s death to these strangers. And now have I lost Ruven too? No. No, he’ll get away…I hope. The river to their right was choked by weeds at the bank but then opened out into a broad expanse of empty water. She felt like an ant crawling through a landscape of giants.

  Sorel let go a silly, high-pitched giggle. “And some tried to run away from the bandits.” Jillian wondered if he was quite sane.

  “’Himself’ was no more than another bandit before he took Lost Maples,” Kallan said.

  They trudged on in silence until they had to turn aside from the river to work around paddies full of ripe sasena grass, standing root-deep in the water that had been turned out of the river proper. Kallan snatched a handful of new leaves as they passed and wadded them up to chew on.

  “Is that edible?”

  “Nay, but ‘twill help you forget hunger,” Sorel told her. “Try some?”

  The wad of leaves he offered her smelled very fresh and green. And there was something else to the scent, something that made her feel a little bit dizzy. “Maybe later.” She couldn’t risk falling and hurting the baby.

  Tomi
wriggled in the improvised sling and started to whine. Jillian asked her companions to stop for a moment, and was grateful that they waited while she loosed Tomi and shook out his diaper. “Such a good baby,” she crooned, “best baby in the world, Tomi!” Instead of digging out a wipe from the backpack, she held him by the waist and dipped him into the water swirling around the stalks of sasena. He gurgled and kicked his little bare feet and crowed with delight at the splashing water, and Jillian felt a pang of love so intense it made her heart ache.

  They went on, silent again, occasionally squishing through places where the paddy walls had failed and sent water to soak the path. The sun was high when they came to the end of the sasena paddies, but Jillian felt sure of her direction; they’d turned left, away from the river bank, and had been traveling in a straight line ever since. “Wait!” she said when Kallan stepped out into the forest without turning. “Shouldn’t we be going that way?” She pointed to her right, the direction that should take them up-river again.

  “River turns,” Kallan grunted. “Shortcut.”

  “Oh – you know this area, then?”

  “Y’could say that.” He seemed obscurely amused. Petra guffawed – what a deep voice she had! – and cringed when Kallan aimed a blow at her. Jillian supposed she had betrayed her city-bred ignorance. She’d been lucky to find traveling companions so easily, even if they were rather strange.

  She felt less lucky, and more uneasy, as they made their way along a narrow path through a dense stand of needletrees. If the sky and the river had seemed too open, this forest was just the opposite. The trees seemed to crowd in on her, the air felt heavy and still. Frequently she could not see a path at all, but Kallan did seem sure of his direction.

  “Here we are,” he announced, and Jillian crowded forward, eager for another glimpse of the river.

  There was nothing to be seen but a slight opening in the dense forest, where goldmaples mingled with the dark needletrees. And… piles of cut limbs… stacked upright against fallen trees… almost like shelters of some kind. Kallan shouted and now Jillian could see forms moving in the shadowed, surrounding woods; coming out into the clearing, a nightmare of maimed and disfigured men. One had his nose cut off, another limped on a wooden peg, another had a smile rendered into nightmare by slashes at each corner of his mouth.