Luke's Trek (America Falls Book 5)

by Scott Medbury

  Professor Leahy was very different in appearance to the last time Luke had seen him, but his right hand, palsied and pink with scar tissue from the bullet that had pierced his hand during their escape, was the giveaway.

  Luke was unprepared for pure anger, long checked, that he felt at the sight of the Professor. Triggered, memories of the murder of Sonny came flooding back. He put the goblet down, picked up the sharp knife, greasy with the fat of the beef he had just eaten, and began to rise.

  Two things happened. One, the Professor smiled at Luke, his lively eyes belying his decrepit appearance, and approached. Two, Randall gripped Luke’s wrist and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

  “Easy son. He’s paid for his crimes.”

  Luke ignored the Colonel and tried to shake his hand off. He found himself suddenly intent on murder.

  “Luke!” Randall whispered harshly. “Drop the knife, I can’t let you can’t touch the Professor.”

  In his current state of mind, death was no great disincentive for Luke and he bared his teeth in frustration as the Colonel’s iron grip tightened on his wrist. Eventually he was forced to drop the knife onto the table.

  Possibly unaware of the danger he was in, the Professor stopped directly in front of Luke.

  “Greetings honored guest!” he said without an ounce of recognition in his eyes and bowed theatrically before flitting away towards the beef spit, mumbling to himself. It was only then that Luke noticed the deep indentation to the top left of his head.

  His anger slowly receded.

  Randall relaxed his grip but didn’t let go.

  “That’s what I mean by punished. He’s not all there. But you know what? His working mind is still a thing of beauty. You wouldn’t believe how many times he has come up with an idea to save our asses. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have running water or power. Hell, we’ve even got a mini oil refinery.

  “What happened?” Luke asked.

  “One of the girls he’d had in his damned breeding program smashed a rock over his head during our escape. It’s a miracle he survived. One that I’m thankful for.”

  Luke was satisfied. The Professor had received his punishment after all and he was no longer the same man who had ordered Sonny killed five years before. As classic a case of karma biting one in the ass, as he’d ever seen.

  “Fair enough.”

  Randall, satisfied that Luke’s violent urge had passed, released his wrist.

  “These people would have strung you from the nearest tree if you’d harmed a hair on his head by the way,” said Bowman, draining his second goblet of beer and grinning. “How about another beer then?”

  “Why not,” said Luke, gulping the last of his goblet and handing it over.

  ***

  After Luke’s third beer, someone broke out a fiddle and began playing. A whoop went up and suddenly people were out of their seats moving tables and forming into lines. Well and truly in the mood to party, Luke found himself on his feet and being dragged towards the makeshift dance floor by the very lovely Becky, Colonel Randall’s raven haired secretary.

  She had appeared out of nowhere. Her dark hair had been let out and she wore a pair of jeans with a flattering pink sweater. Even in his tipsy state he noted the admiring glances of some of the men around him.

  Luke was no Fred Astaire, but he was a passable dancer and with his inhibitions lowered by the home brew, joined in with gusto, ever mindful of his hook as people swirled around him. Becky seemed to find her way back to him within a few rotations and it was perhaps clear to some of the people around, except perhaps Luke, that she had her eye on him.

  After a half-hour of dancing, Luke put up his hands in surrender. He was exhausted. Becky stood on tiptoes and put her hand to his ear.

  “I’m beat,” she said, her warm breath tickling his ear. “Want to go get some fresh air?”

  “I thought you’d never ask!” said Luke. “Lead the way!”

  Luke followed her as she weaved her way through the throng of dancers, gently rebuffing calls for her to dance some more.

  “Ahh, that’s better,” he said, concentrating on walking a straight line. “Haven’t had a workout like that in a while.”

  Becky giggled and reached out to grasp his hand. Her hand was warm and soft, and now, even tipsy and exhausted, Luke couldn’t fail to see that it wasn’t just fresh air she was interested in.

  “We can sit over there,” said Becky.

  He allowed her to pull him over to a wooden bench in the green space behind the council building. Luke let go of her hand as they sat down unsteadily, their shoulders touching. Ever the gentleman, he shuffled away to make some room. She surprised him again by shuffling close enough for their arms to touch.

  “You’re a great dancer for a big guy,” she said with a grin.

  “Thanks,” he said sheepishly. “You too… well not for a big guy – you’re just good.”

  She laughed and grabbed his hand.

  “You’re so cute,” she said, to a blushing Luke. “Can I see your… hook?”

  Luke shrugged, he was sobering quickly and struggling to find a way out of this sticky situation he was in without hurting her feelings.

  “Sure,” he said, and held it out. “Careful, the point is sharpened.”

  She reached out and took it in her hand, gently running her fingers over it and touching the point softly.

  “It’s rough,” she said, as she ran her fingers back over the curve of the hook.

  “Yeah, it’s a pretty crude piece of work. We didn’t really have a lot of tools. Doesn’t work as good as a hand, that’s for sure.”

  She looked up into his eyes.

  “I think it’s very sexy.”

  Luke only just managed to prevent his mouth from dropping open as he pulled his hook away and rested it on the palm of his good hand.

  “Thanks. Um, Becky, look… sorry but…”

  “Oh my god. I was coming on too strong. Sorry, it’s the beer, it went straight to my head.”

  “No! It’s okay, really. I’m very flattered… but….”

  “You have a girl,” she said, looking at the ground.

  Luke felt a knife twist in his chest.

  “Yeah,” he said, tears stinging his eyes. “You’re really nice, though.”

  She laughed and shook her head ruefully.

  “You too,” she said, thankfully still looking at the grass under her feet. “Are you going to stay?”

  “No. I’m just here for the night, but I’m sure I’ll be back sometime. Can I drop by and say hello?”

  “Well sure,” she said, although her tone said she didn’t quite believe him.

  “So where were you from?” he asked.

  The awkwardness passed as they talked. It turns out Becky had been in the Drake Mountain facility too, one of the first kids taken in, along with her brother. He had been killed during the firefight between Randall’s men and the Homeland Security people.

  Neither of them remembered the other, which was unsurprising given that close to six years had passed, and Luke had only been there briefly. Becky was originally from Boston and had fled with her brother and two of his friends. They had also heard of the haven in the White Mountains and had been picked up by a patrol of Randall’s men just south of Lincoln.

  Luke told her his story too, about the escape from the facility and finding the farm but didn’t elaborate any further than telling her they’d had to leave and find somewhere new.

  “The farm sounds wonderful. You were lucky to find it. This place is great now, but it was pretty rough at the beginning.”

  “Yeah, it’s fantastic.” Luke had sobered up considerably now. He put his hand on her arm. “Well, thanks for the dancing and the great conversation, but I have to get going early tomorrow. I might head to bed.”

  She looked at him and smiled.

  “Sure, me too,” she said, rising to her feet. “I know he looks laidback, but my boss is a stickler for things like starti
ng work on time.”

  “No! Colonel Randall?” They both laughed as Luke stood too. He was barely on his feet before Becky stood on tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “Thanks, for being a gentleman. Your lady is a lucky girl,” she said and turned away.

  Luke watched her go, a strange empty feeling inside.

  Maybe I will be back sometime.

  Luke went back out front and spoke to the Colonel for around twenty minutes. He was glad he did because the Colonel, possibly a little loose-tongued because of the beer, gave him some valuable intel.

  Randall and his group had divided the area surrounding Concord, up to a hundred-mile radius, into four quadrants. They were systematically going into each quadrant, town by town and house by house, bringing back anything edible or of use to their growing community.

  The Colonel currently had his teams foraging in the western quadrant, so for now at least, there wasn’t much chance of Randall’s group meeting Isaac’s to the south.

  “We’ve already foraged the quadrants to the east and north dry. And we only just started in to the west,” he explained.

  Because they grew a lot of their own food now, it could be years before they began moving through the southern quadrant. It was obvious the two groups would encounter one another at some stage so Luke decided to disclose the location of Isaac’s group and the fact they’d only just avoided a battle that could have wiped them out.

  “I’m not sure what happened to the rest of the Marauder army, but I assume they went back to Ashland. Isaac would know.”

  Randall looked slightly concerned now that he knew where Isaac and their people were.

  “Manchester? I’m surprised our scouts didn’t spot a movement of men that big heading south. I may have to review our processes… Thanks for sharing Luke. In fact, I’ll give them time to settle in and then head down there myself in a week or so to talk to Isaac.”

  Luke felt better now, he trusted the Colonel completely and was confident it would be a happy meeting which may not have been the case if there had been a surprise encounter between the two groups.

  He said his goodnights and Bowman led him inside and through to the sleeping quarters in the back of the big old building. The cot wasn’t as comfortable as the sofa he had spent the previous few nights on, but with a full belly and the last pleasant buzz of alcohol still in his system, he fell fast asleep within seconds of his head touching the pillow.

  ***

  That was the first night that Brooke didn’t haunt his dreams and when the other occupants of the room began to wake up and move around, he awoke surprisingly fresh and alert.

  “You have hot showers?” he asked, when one of the soldiers came into the room, wrapped in a towel, his damp hair steaming in the cool air.

  “Yes, Sir. Right through that door.”

  Within two minutes Luke was standing under a steaming spray of water, oblivious of the naked bodies around him. He hadn’t had a hot shower since Drake Mountain. They’d managed a few hot baths back at the farm, but those were a rare treat and, just like the first one back at Drake Mountain after weeks of hard travelling, it seemed about the best damn thing in the world.

  Bowman collected him for breakfast as he was zipping up his leather jacket. Luke saw the other man eye his fluffy, clean hair and patted it down self-consciously. That was one downside to washing his hair. He had no doubt it would soon dirty up and fade to a less glaring shade of red.

  “Colonel Randall thought you might like breakfast,” said Bowman. “He’s waiting in his quarters.”

  “Okay thanks, I’m starved.” He followed Bowman through the door and up to Randall’s level. “You guys are living the dream here, Bowman.”

  “Thanks, yeah it’s alright. You sure you don’t want to stay?”

  “Nah, I need to… I need to get away from everyone and everything for a while, you know?”

  “Sure,” said Bowman as they reached Randall’s quarters. Becky’s desk was unattended. Luke somehow felt disappointed and relieved. The soldier held out his hand. “Well, I’m going out on patrol now. Take care, Luke.”

  “You too.”

  They shook, and Luke rapped on the door.

  “Come.”

  “Morning, Sir.”

  “Good morning, Luke. Made use of the showers I see?” said Randall, gesturing vaguely at his hair.

  “Yes, Sir, now in full Ronald McDonald mode,” he said, and saluted.

  Randall laughed gruffly and waved to the plates on his desk.

  “Sit and eat before you head on your way.”

  Luke’s mouth started to water at the sight of thick roughly cut toast, butter and honey. Not to mention more instant coffee. A breakfast he wouldn’t have sniffed at in the before days, but one that right then looked like manna from Heaven.

  Luke’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head as he took the first bite of generously buttered toast topped with honey. It really had been at least six years since he’d tasted toast and honey.

  “We keep bees,” said Randall, anticipating the question. “Best you’ve ever tasted, right?”

  “You’re not fuc… sorry, you’re not kidding,” he said, licking his fingers un self-consciously. “Best ever.”

  He washed four slices of honey toast down with two mugs of black coffee then sat back and held his belly.

  “I want to thank you for having me. I can’t really repay your generosity but maybe if I head back this way I can stop and work for a while?”

  “We’d be glad to have you son, but you’re under no obligation. It was just nice to hear that you and your group thrived after Drake Mountain.”

  Luke felt warmth for the Colonel. While his defenses had been on high alert yesterday when he’d been picked up by the patrol, having seen how things operated here in Concord he knew they would be great allies for Isaac’s group.

  “Thanks again for letting me know about Manchester. I know you were being cautious, and with good reason, but I’ll offer anything I can to help them make a go of it. I’m sure we can be of value to each other going forward. Now, I’m not sure why you don’t carry a gun, but in case you were thinking of asking, I can’t give you one.”

  Luke held up his good hand.

  “No, I understand. It’s okay, I kind of left in a hurry and didn’t really think about supplies. But I plan to avoid trouble so hopefully I won’t need one.”

  “Okay then.”

  An hour later, armed with his axe and a map provided by the Colonel and his sack replaced by a backpack, Luke found his way back onto Main Street and turned onto Route 202.

  9

  The skip in his step when he left Concord faded after five miles of walking. He stopped for water and to consult his map in a bus shelter that had managed to survive the elements pretty well.

  He planned to follow the 393 which turned back into the 202 and follow it all the way through to Rochester near the border of Maine. He wouldn’t get all the way to Rochester by nightfall so would find somewhere to lay up along the way. In the morning, he would set out and try to reach a little town called Alfred by sunset.

  ***

  He estimated it was about three or four in the afternoon when he approached a turn off the 202 to a little town called Bow Lake Village.

  Luke paused and took a drink of water. Bow Lake Village sounded almost too inviting to pass up.

  “Screw it, it’s not like I’m on a schedule.”

  He took the turn and began walking north. He would spend the night in Bow Lake Village and then simply take the road out of town back down to join the 202 again. A nice little side trip.

  The narrow road north to the village, Ridge Road, was dotted with homes on each side. He imagined it was once considered ‘tree lined’ but was now so overgrown that in some places the road had almost disappeared.

  The further north he walked the more spaced out the homes became, allowing the overgrowth to close in on the road and put it entirely in shadow. It felt
a little creepy, like the road in Sleepy Hollow, and he began to wonder if he should have avoided the stopover after all.

  ***

  Twenty-five minutes later, in the last light of day, he reached Bow Lake Village. It was quiet and in the fast fading dusk, no less creepy than the road in had been.