Luke's Trek (America Falls Book 5)

by Scott Medbury

  It took Luke exactly 11 minutes and 22 seconds from the RV park, until he clicked off his stopwatch and looked out over the Atlantic Ocean. He finally reached the beachside down a little side street between a bar and a general store with a distinctly beachy feel, well south of the pier.

  Glancing in at the dust covered neon signs hanging in the windows of the store, he was surprised to realize it was the same store that his grandmother had taken him to for an ice cream all those years ago.

  “Wow.”

  It didn’t look much different to how he remembered. He peered in the window long enough to satisfy his reminiscences and then headed to the end of the road where the blacktop met the sand.

  He slipped off his boots. The sand was cool between his toes, but the day was bright, and he had to squint as he made his way down to the water. There was no one else on the long stretch of sand, and he paid particular attention to the pier in the far distance. That part of town had wood smoke rising into the blue sky, a clear sign of occupation, and he was comforted by the fact that he had a good line of sight along the beach in the case of a threat.

  He reached the water. It wasn’t exactly a surfer’s paradise, but as the cold water ran over his feet Luke decided he couldn’t come all this way and not take a dip.

  Five minutes later, sans clothes and other accessories, including his hook hand, he was wading around in the frigid water and scrubbing himself clean with sand from the sea floor.

  Brooke would have loved this.

  There was only so much lolling in the waves one could do on their own and after ten minutes he emerged and allowed the sun to dry his naked body before slipping his sling and hook back on. The leathers followed. Then the axe.

  He returned to the side street that had led him to the beach and stopped in front of the old store to put his boots back on.

  Time to visit the town of Old Orchard Beach.

  ***

  Luke followed Grand Avenue. It ran parallel to the beach and took him all the way to the pier. He stopped at the intersection with Old Orchard Street and looked around with wide eyes.

  To the right was the pier as he remembered, but to the left, whole blocks of buildings had been razed, leaving a large square bordered Old Orchard Street and Imperial Street to the north. The western end was intersected by the old railway line he remembered, although the boom gates were long gone.

  The Old Orchard Beach tourist town he remembered looked and smelled more like a medieval village now. It was bustling with people and livestock. The only reminders of the past were the occasional rusting hulk of a car and the faded signs for long gone businesses and brands on the remaining ramshackle buildings around the square.

  The people were as unkempt as the town itself, but still, given that its first inhabitants would have been no older than 16 or 17 at the most, it was a testament to the social and resolute nature of human beings.

  This was the first real inhabited town, besides the Colonel’s settlement, that he’d come across in the ‘after days’. Unlike Willatan Green, it wasn’t just a collection of people surviving. Based on what he could see, there was commerce, industry and entertainment.

  Stalls lined the square and one of the buildings had smoke coming from the chimney accompanied by the clang of a hammer on metal.

  A blacksmith?

  People milled around the square, laughing, shouting, selling wares, eating and drinking. He even spotted a juggler entertaining a group of children. He blended in with the crowd, but a few people gave him second looks. He wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

  Luke walked around the edge of the square looking at the goods on offer in the rickety stalls. People were passing coins and depositing purchased items into sacks. Food mainly, but there were also stalls offering clothes, tools and even weapons. Not firearms, but things like old confederate swords, knives and axes.

  After a few minutes he spotted a pair of big men walking around the perimeter of the square. They wore the brown monk’s habits of the Brotherhood. Both men carried small clubs and wherever they walked people tended to part like the red sea before Moses.

  It was clear to Luke’s eyes that they were what passed for law in Old Orchard Beach, but there was an element of fear they seemed to inspire that spoke volumes for what the townsfolk thought of them.

  He watched them, stooping a little so as not to stand out. When one turned in his direction he turned to the nearest stall pretending to examine the goods laid out before him. Pretended, that is, until he his eyes fell on the gleaming tray of red and green baubles on rude sticks in front of him.

  “Are those candy apples?”

  The girl behind the stall looked to be about twelve, she had soft blonde hair and a spattering of freckles on her nose. She smiled uncomfortably, like she was being addressed by a simpleton.

  “Der, Mister.”

  Her rotten, black teeth marred what should have been a beautiful smile. He barely noticed, his disbelieving eyes not leaving the sweet treats he remembered from his childhood.

  “Sorry, I haven’t seen one in a long, long time.”

  “They’re a coin a piece.”

  He reached for one, half expecting it to disappear like a mirage as he grasped the rough stick. An unfamiliar emotion took him as he raised the ruby red delicacy for closer inspection.

  Delight.

  The girl tensed. The big stranger was odd and she got ready to scream like her momma had told her to if anyone tried to take something without paying. He didn’t. He just stood there like a big old dummy staring at the candy apple.

  “You can have it for a coin, Mister.”

  A long, lost memory came to him unbidden. A carnival. Laughter. His mom and dad. His favorite cousin, Kenny.

  “Mister! Pay up or I’ll call the Brothers.”

  Her insistent voice jolted him back to the present.

  “No, it’s okay,” he said, looking over his shoulder briefly. He could still see the Brothers in the distance. “A coin? Any coin?”

  She nodded.

  Luke reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the handful of coins he’d been carrying. Why he’d picked them up he wasn’t sure, but now he was glad he had. He pinched a half-dollar between his thumb and forefinger and let the others slide back into his pocket. He then held it up triumphantly and flicked it to her.

  The girl’s hand snatched it out of the air and she squealed in delight when she saw it.

  “A half-dollar! Thanks Mister.”

  Did the type of coin make a difference? She just asked for a coin.

  He didn’t examine the question any harder than that as he bit into the toffee apple. The sweet crunch of the toffee gave way to the bitter taste of the stale fruit beneath. He didn’t care. In a daze of pleasure, he savored every bite and didn’t move until he had stripped it to the core.

  When he finished, he came back to himself and turned quickly. The Brothers were nowhere to be seen. He scanned the square, the core of his candy apple suddenly lying forgotten in the mud.

  That was when a hand fell on his shoulder.

  19

  Isaac was helping Indigo move a sofa into the corner of their new ‘apartment’ when the bell began to peal.

  “The bell!” she said unnecessarily.

  Isaac was already on his way to the door.

  “I’ll go see…” he said, pausing at the door. “Unless you want to?”

  “No, you go,” she said, joining him at the threshold. “I’ll look after the kids.”

  “Okay.”

  Isaac grabbed his gun from the drawer of the table by the door before giving her a kiss and disappearing.

  The bell was only supposed to be sounded in the event of an emergency, but it had already been rung twice in the week since they’d moved into the tower. Both times had been false alarms.

  Well not false exactly, but minor. One had been a kid breaking his ankle in a fall while horsing around with his friends. The second time it had been sounded when a horse came mo
seying down the street in front of their new home.

  That one had drawn a crowd and provided them with some comedic entertainment. He had come from nowhere and continued on his way, breaking into a gallop when Ben and a few of the other guys had tried to catch him.

  Fun, but no emergency. Based on those, Isaac took his time making his way down the fire stairs. When he emerged into the lobby, he realized his mistake. A crowd of his people were already lining the plate glass windows and looking outside.

  Ben was at the doors, his hands on his hips, looking at a vehicle that had pulled up on the front of the Brady-Sullivan Tower. A kid of about thirteen stood behind him ringing the bell, craning to look out at the khaki colored jeep.

  Isaac put a hand on the kid’s shoulder and nodded. The boy put his hand on the bell, muting it.

  “What have we got?” he asked Ben.

  “Looks like an old army jeep. No one’s got out yet though.”

  Isaac looked out, unable to make out the driver or the passenger through the plastic side windows of the jeep’s canopy.

  “Have you got a pistol?”

  Ben nodded and patted the lump under his waistband at the rear.

  “Okay. Let’s go and say hello to our visitors.”

  Ben led the way out and they approached the vehicle slowly, their hands by their sides.

  “We’ll stop here,” Isaac said before stepping onto the sidewalk.

  He saw the dark figures put their heads together and then the door closest to them opened. An older man in faded army fatigues climbed out and stretched to his full height, looking at them with a direct gaze.

  “Hello Isaac. Long time no see.”

  “Colonel Randall!”

  “Wow!” said Ben, as Isaac brushed past him.

  Isaac shook the old man’s hand warmly. The driver got out. Isaac didn’t recognize him.

  “Well, I didn’t think we’d ever see you again,” he said to the Colonel.

  “I thought the same. It’s good to see you Isaac. You too, Ben.”

  “Cheers, Colonel, good to see you,” said Ben.

  “So, how did you…?” Isaac wasn’t sure how to phrase the question.

  “Find you?” Randall finished for him. “We didn’t. A week and a half ago we had a visitor ourselves.”

  “Luke!?” said Isaac. “He’s alive… well obviously, but he’s okay?”

  “Yes, alive and well. You had doubts?”

  “Well, he was in a bad way when he left…” said Isaac.

  Ben lowered his head, his face grim.

  Randall nodded.

  “He didn’t say a lot, and I didn’t probe. It looked a bit raw for him.” He nodded at Ben. “I figure it still is.”

  Isaac nodded.

  “You said had a visitor?”

  “Yes. He stayed for a night and then went on his way. Said he was heading to the coast.”

  “I see,” said Isaac.

  He felt down. While he felt guilt over what happened, with Indigo’s help he had begun to deal with that. Now it was just as simple as missing his friend.

  He snapped out of it.

  “Sorry, I’m being rude. Please come on in and have a drink. We have tea.”

  Colonel Randall held up a finger.

  “That reminds me,” he said, going to the back of the jeep and unclipping the canopy enough to lift the corner and reach in. “Luke seemed pretty impressed when we served him up a cup of this, so I thought I might bring you a couple of jars.”

  Isaac recognized the red and yellow label of Folgers instant coffee as soon as he saw it.

  “Coffee! It has been a while, thanks!” he said, taking the two 16oz jars.

  “Pleasure. Call it a house warming gift. We’d like to help you all out as much as we can,” he gestured at the tower, “while you get started.”

  Ben ran on ahead as Isaac led the Colonel inside, his driver staying with the Jeep.

  “So, I take it you’re nearby, Sir?”

  “Yes, we set up in Concord.”

  “Concord? Really? And how many of you are there?”

  “Just on 500, give or take.”

  “Amazing,” said Isaac, as he led the Colonel inside. “Welcome to Manchester.”

  ***

  By the time the Colonel left two hours later, Isaac felt happier than he had any time since they’d left the farm in such a hurry. The two leaders agreed that Isaac would bring a delegation to Concord for a look around and to start negotiations on trade and intel swapping. As a gesture of goodwill, the Colonel was going to make it his first order of business to send a crew to help get power up and, if possible, also running water for the tower.

  Isaac held Indigo’s hand as they waved their unexpected visitor goodbye, barely able to hide the smile on his face.

  “Good day, huh?” she said.

  He squeezed her hand.

  “The best for a while.”

  20

  Luke tensed, his pulse quickening as he turned slowly. The figure looming over him wasn’t one of the Brothers though, it was a tall, painfully thin kid. A boy, about an inch taller than him but a good five years younger. Dirty and underfed.

  “Have you seen my ball?” the boy said, his eyes fixed somewhere between Luke’s navel and his chin.

  “No, kid. What’s it look like?” he asked, keeping the irritation out of his voice.

  “Have you seen my ball?”

  Luke’s face softened as he noticed the kid swaying gently side to side, a sapling in a gentle breeze. His eyes glued to Luke’s chest.

  “No buddy, I haven’t seen your ball. What color is it?”

  The kid seemed to consider this a moment, then repeated, “Have you seen my ball?”

  “He don’t have no ball, Mister,” said a stout woman passing by. “You’re wasting your time talkin’ to Spalding, he’s simple.”

  Luke gave her a look that made her shrug as she went on her way.

  He put his hand on the kid’s arm.

  “Spalding?”

  “Have you seen my ball?”

  “Do you want something to eat, kid?”

  “Have you seen my ball?”

  His hands were fidgeting now, and Luke came to a decision.

  “You know what, Spalding? I have seen your ball,” said Luke. “Come with me.”

  He grabbed the kid by the forearm and led him along the stalls till he came to one that was manned by a guy with one arm of his plaid shirt pinned to his shoulder. The guy looked at Luke’s hook and nodded at his fellow amputee.

  “How ya doing?” Luke asked, and scanned the goods on offer.

  The one-armed man’s stall had an eclectic assortment of toys. It was junk for the most part. Broken and cracked relics from bygone days, but he spotted what he was looking for right away. A box of balls. Luke rummaged through it, pulling out the largest ball he could find. It was a tennis ball with ‘Wilson US open’ printed on it.

  “Nothing bigger than this?” he asked the stall keeper.

  “No, Sir. That’s it.”

  “A coin?”

  “Sure.”

  Luke gave him a dime.

  “Thanks,” said Luke, turning to the kid. “Here you go kid, I found your ball.”

  He tossed the ball and was surprised at the dexterity the kid displayed to catch it one handed and hug it to his chest.

  “Have you seen my ball?” the kid asked and began tossing and catching his ball in precise little throws of around eight inches.

  Luke was about to ask him again if he wanted something to eat, when he turned abruptly and headed off without so much as a look back. He kept asking his question as he went.

  “That was real nice of you, Mister,” said the man behind the stall.

  Luke shrugged, watching the hypnotic up-down motion of the ball over the heads of the crowd. He turned back to the stall.

  “Is there anything to see on the pier?”

  It was the other man’s turn to shrug.

  “More stalls. Some e
ats.”

  Luke looked around the square and spotted the two Brothers he had seen earlier on the other side of the square, then another pair in the shade of the stalls closer to the pier.