by Nathan Combs
“You can’t think of everything. Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you’re pushing seventy. It’s time you slacked off a bit.”
Wade bristled. “Son, I trust you. I love you, and I’m damned proud of you. And you’re right.” In a stern voice, he said, “I don’t want to hear it. Don’t ever mention it again.”
Randal looked at his father, grinned, and nodded. “Yes, sir.” Then he walked away, still grinning and shaking his head side to side.
Bill’s cargo trucks and the refueler hooked up with the convoy on Interstate 75 south of Atlanta at mile marker 233, at 0630. The sun peeked through the low, scudding clouds.
Chris said, “Damn, that looks good. I almost forgot what the sun looked like.”
Randal smirked. “That’s right, I forgot. The sun does shine two or three times a year in Milwaukee.”
Chris snickered.
Feeding and stringing the horses took almost an hour, but at 0730 the convoy, free of the snow and limited only by the speed of the horses, headed for their new home.
Wade didn’t want to push the horses, thus they were stuck with an average speed of just over four miles an hour. At noon, he called a halt. He told Randal and Chris, “We need to speed this up. The horses are slowing us down, and we can’t push them. I’m sending the vehicles ahead. We’re going to leave a Hummer, a truck with feed, the refueler, and fifty men to bring the horses in. Set it up.”
At 1800, the convoy was heading south at fifty miles an hour and the small group with the horses trailed behind at four.
An hour out of Moore Haven and twelve hours later, the canvas tops of the cargo trucks were rolled up. Palm fronds rustled softly in the gentle breeze. A full moon bathed the land in soft white light and spawned vague shadows. The select few survivors of the collapse of the United States, the former residents of Olympia, watched in grateful anticipation, exhausted but alive as the miles passed.
Forty-five minutes later, Wade led the final wave into Moore Haven and to the area set aside as a reception area. Bill stood in the center of the field, hands on hips, grinning like a fool. Wade’s Hummer stopped six inches from him and shut down. Wade sat behind the wheel grinning at Bill. He made no effort to get out. The weary survivors jumped from the trucks and moved woodenly to stand staring at five thousand of their brethren. Despite the size of the group convened in the expansive field, the silence was profound.
Bill turned his head and motioned to Sean, who turned to his team and nodded. Fifty feet to Bill’s rear, a loud pop followed by a barrage of skyrockets exploded in the early evening sky. The boom and fizzle continued for five minutes. A cheer went up.
Bill moved toward Wade’s Hummer and he got out and clasped Bill on the back.
“Yeah, I know, Wade. Fuck Horst.”
“Nice welcome, Bill. They needed this after what they just endured. Good way to bring everyone together and inspire some new hope for our future.”
Bill smirked. “Yeah? You know me, man. I just like to watch shit blow up.”
Ten days later, the horses arrived. Wade shook the hands of the team bringing them in, and Tyler took them to their temporary tent quarters. The horses sensed their journey was at an end. Freed from the string and turned loose to pasture, they held their heads high and twitched their ears. They looked all around, shook their manes, and seemed to settle in as they began grazing.
Looking like a deranged cowboy, one leg on a lower coral rail and arms folded on the top one, Bill said, “I love horses. They’re smarter than us.”
Wade chuckled. “You did good, Bill. Who the hell said, ‘You can’t go home again’?”
Forty-five miles away, in Pahokee, Horst was putting the final touches to his defensive plan. “Two things, Ransom. It’s possible there are other survivors somewhere around here. Not likely, but possible. As soon as I’m confident in their abilities, we’ll be sending out expanding patrols. Not just to search for survivors. We need to scavenge supplies. The other thing is our name. I don’t like the name Nirvana. We’re changing it to Horstland. That’s spelled H o r s t l a n d. Got it? Pass the word.”
“’Kay. Wadda the guys gonna call themselves?”
Laughing, Horst said, “I don’t give a shit what they call themselves. If they’re from Horstland, then I guess they’re Horstlanders. Or Horstmen.”
“Wade Coltrane… you are not ‘hanging up your spurs.’ I don’t want to hear it. Neither does anyone else. You wouldn’t be content laying in the sun doing nothing, and we both know you’re not capable of taking, much less following, someone else’s orders.”
“Jesus, Maggie. Is this our first fight?”
“Wade, you’re not a quitter. We both know it. So, please. Knock it off.”
Wade hung his head. The truth was, he was tired. Not physically. Mentally drained might be a better term. But he knew Maggie was right. He put his arms around her and said, “Okay, Mags. You win. What’s the next order of business?”
“Give this burg a name.”
“A name? How about Moore Haven?”
“Moore Haven? That’s so yesterday. You can do better than that, Wade.”
“Honestly, Mags. I don’t give a damn what it’s called. I really don’t.”
“Wasn’t it you who said people needed something to rally around?”
He stood staring at her.
“Wade… as far as we know, we”—she made a sweeping gesture to indicate the entire community—“are the last remnants of humanity. Maybe you don’t need it, but they do. They need something to relate to, to connect with. Something they can be proud of and, if necessary, defend. Give it a name.”
“Wow. I can see you’re serious about this. How about Maggieville?”
“Wade, I am serious.”
“Well, it appears you are. How about New Fort Terminus?”
Chapter Twenty
Long Winter Night
Nina didn’t feel the cold. Other than determination, she felt nothing. Anna felt horrified and held the baby close to her bosom. The ice-cold wind battering her face was relentless. It searched, seeking and probing, like a living thing looking for an opening through the barrier of clothing. Nina and Anna rode silently into the inky darkness of the forlorn winter night.
If her horse went down, Nina knew she’d be history. The plowed road wasn’t difficult for the animal, but that would change when she reached Cleveland and had to travel off-road. She worried about a Hummer pursuing her and hoped she would be able to hear it. But the howling wind made that difficult, so she looked back constantly. She couldn’t allow the horse to walk at her normal four mile an hour pace. She’d never make it at that speed, but couldn’t allow the mare to run either. The horse would give out long before she reached home. So she settled on a combination of a jog at fifteen miles an hour alternating with the walk at four. She estimated she was averaging about ten miles an hour. At that rate, she would hit Highway 167 at Calhoun in about five hours.
Noah knew where Anna was going. The only place she could go. Home. But she had a two-hour head start. He fretted over her being out there alone with the baby. No food and no supplies. He tried to remember what clothing she was wearing when she went into labor, but drew a blank. Regardless, she’s not equipped to handle this cold. He knew Anna was tough. And smart. He also knew he wasn’t capable of thinking of Anna as Nina, even though somewhere deep down he acknowledged she was. When he came to the area where he and Randal turned back, he urged his horse to trot, and at fifteen miles an hour, headed south toward Cleveland.
Should I rest the horse or keep going? If they’re pursing me, stopping would be fatal. If I don’t and the horse dies…
Anna was shivering uncontrollably. I have to get warm. I have to check on Stormy. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her face, freezing before they reached her mouth.
<
br /> Nina screamed, “Fuck!”
They continued south.
Anna opened her jacket and checked Stormy. She was sleeping until the sudden influx of cold air awakened her and she started crying. The faint, muffled cries tore at her heart and she did the only thing she could do. She put her breast into the small mouth. The wails stopped instantly, and Stormy greedily began suckling.
Please, God, let me make it home.
Fuck you, you weak-ass bitch.
Ignoring the cold and discomfort Anna felt, Nina’s mind was searching, analyzing, and plotting. She was busy replaying her life, and the recording had fast-forwarded to the campsite where Noah rescued Anna from Nirvana. Wrapped in the memory, she missed the exit sign for Delano. She looked to her left and vaguely saw the highway stretching east toward the mountains. She stopped. Remembered. Shaking her head to stop the playback, she backtracked a hundred feet, and paused long enough to look up Interstate 75. Nothing.
They’re not coming after me. If they were, they would have caught up with me long ago.
Noah, however, was a different story. She knew he’d be coming for her, though she wasn’t sure his reason.
Now the hard part would begin. She had to travel twenty-five miles on unplowed roads through deep snow to make it home. She stared at the three-foot high snow berm as though it was a mountain, knowing once she crossed it, her odds of making it home decreased dramatically. She dismounted. She checked her horse and rubbed her muzzle. The mare lifted her head and gave her a stressed look. She snorted, eyes wide. Nina patted her cheek, remounted, and took a deep breath of the winter air. It was like a shot of adrenaline. Her eyes bulged. She gasped and exhaled loudly.
She urged the tired horse over the berm. “Let’s go, girl.”
The horse clamored over the berm and into the foot-deep snow on the other side.
They headed east on Highway 167. It was only fifteen miles to Delano, but the horse was slowed considerably in the deep snow, and the snowstorm was intensifying. Nina looked at the tracks. It wouldn’t be long before they were covered.
It wasn’t just Anna who was cold now. Nina’s teeth made clicking sounds. A vision of Fred Astaire tap dancing insanely in a straw hat entered her consciousness and flamed out. She shivered uncontrollably. Fifteen minutes later, she decided there was no pursuit and stopped at a Jiffy-7 convenience store in Calhoun. She led the horse through the broken front door and rummaged around. She found a Bic lighter and a metal bucket. She flicked the Bic once. Twice. Com’n Goddammit! On the third flick, a bright yellow flame erupted. “Yes!”
The front of the store was in the lee of the wind and she left the horse inside. Hastily, she piled broken cabinetry and anything else that would burn into a small pyramid just outside the door and lit a fire. She melted snow for the horse to drink, then drank some herself. When the fire started putting out some heat, she sat as close to it as she dared.
Anna checked Stormy. I probably need to change her but…
Nina stoked the fire and sat back down. She dozed. Penetrating cold woke her. The fire was burned to embers, so she reluctantly got up and rekindled it. She stood staring at the flames, then at the eerie shadows cast by the feeble firelight. I can’t stay here. I have to go. Now.
She was stiff and shuffled to the horse. “That’s all the rest you get, old girl.” She patted the horse’s cheek.
Anna went back inside and began rummaging again. She needed a rag, something—anything—to use as a diaper. A miracle! On a bottom shelf at the rear of the store, she found a box of Pampers and, amazingly, a Nuk pacifier. The diapers weren’t newborn size, but Anna grinned and looked up. Thank you!
Are you done now, bitch? Can we go?
Nina calculated it would take her four hours to get to Delano. If necessary, she could hole up there and rest the horse for the last leg of the journey.
Anna wondered how far behind Noah was. She missed him and was absolutely terrified of Nina. Lonely and exhausted, her body ached.
Nina had worked up a healthy disgust for Anna. I know you can hear me, you weak little bitch. Fuck you. Fuck Noah. And fuck your little bastard kid, too.
Anna gritted her teeth.
When Noah reached the Highway 167 exit, he was still two hours behind. When he found the spot where her horse crossed the snow berm a small smile creased his face. There was never any doubt as to where she was headed, but now he had confirmation. He urged his mount through the deepening snow. As he passed the Jiffy-7 in Calhoun, he stopped and sniffed. A faint odor of wood smoke tickled his nostrils, and he turned the horse towards the store. As he got closer, the smell grew stronger until he stared down at the recent fire. He dismounted and checked the ashes. The bottom of the fire was warmer than the air. He nodded to himself and got back on the horse, guessing he was less than an hour behind her.
A weak sun began to chase the darkness from the sky, and the vague outline of the First Volunteer Bank of Tennessee in Delano emerged ghostlike on her left. Fifteen minutes later, she turned left on Spring Creek Road and began the last leg of the journey.
It took her half an hour to get to the Ocoee State Park where Noah had put on his Superman cape. As she passed, a surge of memories assaulted Anna. She shivered, but not from the cold.
Get a grip, bitch. Another twelve miles and you can sit down and bawl your eyes out.
Fuck you, Nina.
Noah had been pushing the horse and, as he urged him to go faster, the animal slowed, then stopped. Head down, the horse wobbled. Noah jumped off just before he fell with a thud onto his side. Dammit.
He knew he had been demanding more than the animal could deliver and now regretted it. He knelt before the horse and talked soothingly to him, patting his cheek. After what seemed an eternity, he helped the animal to its knees, then to stand. The horse was done. Head down, giant plumes of vapor exited his flared nostrils. Noah patted him gently and hugged his head. “Sorry, boy.” He removed the saddle and gave him some oats from the small store he carried on the packhorse. The horse refused to eat. He removed the gear from the second horse and saddled it. He hoped if he continued at a slow pace, the spent horse could carry the gear. He switched the packs, mounted the packhorse, and leading the spent animal, he started again.
The snow in the mountains was eighteen inches deep. There were drifts several feet high. The world was blindingly white. Under normal conditions, the twelve mile trip was a little over an hour’s ride. Six cold hours later and just after noon, Anna put the horse in the garage stable and entered her house. She started a fire in the kitchen stove, changed the baby, wrapped her in a blanket, pulled up a chair, sat down, and began to nurse. She was exhausted. The warmth of the cook stove made her sleepy and she started to nod off.
You don’t have time to rest, dumb ass. Go take care of your horse. Light off the living room stove. Eat something. Then go clean your nasty ass up. And while you’re at it, clean up the brat too. She smells.
The horse gave up the ghost a mile later and Noah was forced to put him down. Like it or not, the animal was now food, so he gutted the fallen horse and cached the extra packs inside the carcass. He looked around and marked the location. There was no sign Anna had passed this way, but the reality was that she could have passed ten minutes ago and the snow would have removed all traces. With ten miles to go, he mounted and rode on, the wind continuing to batter his exposed face. He took off a glove and felt his cheek. It felt doughy and he pressed the palm of his hand against it. When the blood circulated again, his cheek began throbbing and he pulled his neck as far down inside the parka as he could.
Why the hell didn’t I think to wear a balaclava and goggles?
As much as she hated to admit it, Anna knew Nina was right. She got up. Pain shot through her abdomen. She wobbled and almost fell. She went into the garage. The mare stood head down, not asleep but clear
ly exhausted. She removed the bridle and saddle. The oats were still in the bin, and she poured some in the trough, threw a blanket over her, hugged her head, and went outside. She pumped a bucket of water and took it to the horse. Water from a second bucket went into the teakettle she set on the cook stove. She started a fire in the living room, and while she waited for the water to heat, went to the bedroom. Rummaging through her chest of drawers, she found a flannel nightgown and held it up. Nodding, she went into the kitchen and, with the aid of duct-tape, fashioned the gown into a baby-sized garment.
It’ll do until I can make her some clothes.
The teapot whistled. The kitchen was approaching seventy degrees. She poured hot water into a plastic tub and added cold until it was merely warm, then gently took Stormy out of the blanket wrap and gave her a bath. She fed her and wrapped her in the cut-down nightgown, swaddled her with the blanket, and laid her in the large basket they’d used for old magazines. Anna looked down at her baby. A wave of emotion swept over her. Tears welled. She bent down and kissed her cheek. Mommy will never allow anything or anyone to hurt you, little one.
Jesus Christ, Anna. You make me sick.
Anna’s face darkened. I swear to you, Nina. If you even think about harming Stormy, I will kill you.
Well, that’s just hilarious, you dumb bitch.
It was becoming impossible to ignore Nina no matter how hard she tried. Realizing Nina was right once again, she didn’t respond. Instead, she used the remainder of the hot water to clean herself up. When she finished, she changed clothes and prepared a package of dehydrated soup. She drank the broth and stoked the fire, then picked the baby up, lay on the couch, covered herself with a blanket, and with Stormy snuggled against her, fell into a deep sleep.