by Doug Kelly
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Early the next morning, they departed on the old freeway, traveling swiftly on horses that were bounding with energy after a full night of rest. Unlike the convoluted trails that went over the hills and through the forests that surrounded them, it seemed to the travelers that the old, divided highway was as straight as the shaft of an arrow. The ancient thoroughfare split a vast, emerald cloud of leaves floating on parallel walls of tall trees that lined the roadside. The continuous arboreal barrier on either side of the twenty riders went the length of the old highway, as far as the eye could see, as if they were the stockade walls of a giant ogre’s fortress, receding and converging at a distant point on the horizon. With each stiff gust of wind, the rustling leaves of the verdant mountains seemed to hiss, like a warning. As they traveled down the road, it felt like they were riding in the valley between two green mountains that swayed with the shifting breeze. They were glad to have this scar through the forest that the Americans had scratched across the land, because their dirt trails were tortuous and frequently encumbered with obstacles to speedy travel.
The seeds from a variety of plants had found sanctuary in the many crevices of the fractured concrete or cracked asphalt surfaces of the ancient road. Clusters of wildflowers appeared as if they had rushed to squeeze through the endless cracks, escaping from deep inside the jagged splits in the highway before the recurrent succession of traveling merchants trampled them flat, onto their stony graves. The cracks in the concrete were teeming with vegetation, and randomly connected at various abruptly changing angles across the road, from edge to edge, appearing like angry bolts of green lighting, occasionally tufted with a variety of colorful flowers, which bloomed from spring to autumn.
Between the parallel lanes of the ancient, divided thoroughfare, where lengthy depressions in the ground had filled with water after drainage culverts had clogged with silt and refuse many generations ago, marshy oases had emerged. Among the cattails of these bogs, choruses of frogs were calling for their mates as the rising sun warmed the small swamps. The increasing sunshine had slowly warmed the splintered surface of the road, too.
Early one morning, a den of garter snakes lethargically slithered onto the dark asphalt to embrace the increasing heat, and they waited on the warming road for their body temperatures to rise, so they could slither more nimbly as they silently hunted the frogs and insects in the narrow marshes. In the low areas of the earthen median, isolated swamps intermittently pocked the land between the northbound and southbound lanes of cracked concrete. From these little bogs, Aton and his men captured an abundance of frogs, snatching the somnolent amphibians during the coolest time of day, and ate their legs for breakfast every morning.
The next day, the monotonous terrain continued. Intermittent travelers, people traveling away from the south, broke the repetition of Aton’s journey toward the Gulf Coast. Those they passed along the road were mostly merchants. Some were people who were just leaving the treachery of their former abodes to begin a new life away from oppressive rule, traveling with nothing more than a few possessions in their handcarts, which was everything that they owned. A few of the more fortunate immigrants had beasts of burden to pull their wagons and assist with the heavy labor of migrating far away.
As they passed a damaged wagon that a migrant had stopped at the side of the road, Aton noticed a man struggling with the wagon’s broken wheel. The frustrated man’s family had hidden in the shade of a frayed sheet of cotton cloth that he had affixed as an awning to the side of the cart. The ragged sunshade was flapping in the light breeze. The cry of a hungry baby escaped from underneath the fluttering, threadbare sheet. The newborn wailed inconsolably while the mother tried to soothe her fussy child. As the man screamed obscenities at the impaired wheel, he had his back turned away from the road and was oblivious to the approach of Aton and his companions. During the man’s fits of rage while trying to fix the wheel, he had upset the newborn child even more, causing it to cry and fuss all the worse. Aton whistled a greeting and startled him, but he quickly realized that Aton and his men meant him and his family no harm. Helpless and stranded, he pleaded with Aton for assistance with repairing a cracked spoke. Aton possessed some tools and knowledge of woodworking, so he offered to help the stranded migrant mend the wheel.
The horses needed to rest, so Aton suggested that the men do the same. Their animals took to the grass. Hauk and the other eighteen men all sat on the roadside and took in the warmth of the afternoon sun.
Although the wagon was relatively new and appeared to be in good condition, the wheels had been hastily finished. Constructed during the winter months of lower humidity, the wooden spokes had swollen from the high moisture content present in the air during summertime, which was especially muggy around the lake and near the Gulf Coast. To Aton, it was obvious that the wheelwright had not used waterproofing. The bare wood had absorbed the moisture in the air along with pounding raindrops during the thunderstorms of summer, and then a weakened spoke, warped and deformed, cracked near a knot when the wheel had hit a rut. With only the few tools available, his knowledge of woodworking, and the abundance of raw material in the forest, Aton helped the man repair the wheel. After the work was completed, the wife revealed herself and the young child from beneath the shade to thank Aton for his assistance. She reminded Aton of Esina, and the baby pushed his imagination to consider the possibility of Aton and Esina’s future relationship, and their mutual desire to have a family together. This young couple struggling by the roadside was very much like a vision to him. The man with the damaged cart beside the road represented Aton’s struggles during his journey. The stranded wife symbolized Esina, and the infant foreshadowed the union of Aton with Olar’s daughter, who was the only woman that he desired romantically.
Aton found a gold coin deep in his front pocket and gave it to the young family. It was worth enough to buy a new wagon. The man and wife thanked him profusely. Aton went to his horse, after wishing the family well, and only gave them a quick wave goodbye as he and his men left to continue riding south. When the shock of the gift faded, the formerly stranded man and his wife wept joyously together as if they had seen a divine spirit.
The following day, Aton and his men encountered traveling merchants who had banded together, heading north as they trekked on the opposite lane of the ancient road. The wagon train that passed Aton’s group was hauling a variety of commodities that the merchants had planned to sell as they passed through different villages. Tig spotted a particular cart that appeared to have dried food, and he suggested to Aton that someone from their group should ride to that wagon, which they had just passed, and buy some of the owner’s wares. Aton agreed, and he struck his heels into the side of his horse and pulled hard on the reins to turn his beast around. It responded gracefully and galloped quickly to the cart in question. He asked the carter what food he had for sale. The man replied, “All of it,” which was an answer that was agreeable to Aton and the wishes of his companions.
After thinking about the purveyors in this line of traveling merchants, the eclectic nature of their inventories, and the constantly shifting side-glances found only in the guilty that had yet to be discovered in their crimes, Aton wondered if these were stolen goods and if the merchants were criminals, fleeing with their plunder. Then a terrible thought came to his mind. He had heard of friendly and hospitable people, not in the least way suspicious, who would offer abundant food and drink to weary travelers, but the provisions were drugged and the unsuspecting would wake naked with a full stomach and an empty coin purse. Heeding caution from that old tale, Aton negotiated a plentiful supply of dried fruits and vegetables for the price of some jewelry. Aton’s terms and conditions were firm: the seller must eat a sample from each item that Aton was to purchase. With no protest, the migrating vendor agreed, and only a short while later Aton surmised the man suffered no ill effect from hidden drugs or deadly poisons. The merchant left and was several rings and necklaces richer
after he had sampled his own food to prove that it was safe to eat.
Aton called the men to him and they divided the load of food evenly among the horses. Before they continued to the south, Aton gave Tig a handful of raisins to taste. His lips puckered at the intense concentration of sugar. Although he had eaten berries, the sweetness of this dried fruit was a new and pleasant experience.
Early afternoon of the subsequent day, over the clatter of clopping hooves on fractured concrete, they heard a low murmur coming from a distance ahead of them. As they continued heading south on the old road, the sound increased to a dull roar. Soon afterward, the thick forest of tall trees that lined the old road yielded to a scruffy grassland as the men emerged from what had felt like a valley between tall, verdant cliffs. The dense woods faded behind them as they went forward. The ancient highway came out from the forest and continued under the massive body of saltwater in front of them, bounded by a coast of low scruffy land, thinly bordered with scattered bushes. Aton could see that the ocean had swallowed the road, which disappeared under the sandy beach just before it slipped beneath the lapping waves. The ocean level had obviously been much lower in the past or the elevation of the land had been much higher; either way, it mattered little, because this was the end of the old highway. He knew that along the underwater road, somewhere under the rolling waves of the ocean, there were submerged towns now inhabited by fish and old human skeletons. The group went closer and saw the dark line of the ocean rise, extending itself on either side along the endless beach. In the glory of the scene, he forgot his anxieties and his hopes; they fell from him altogether, leaving his mind alone with itself. His objectives returned in all their strength, but one did more so than the others: vengeance. He resolved to follow his goals and never quit. Standing where the foam came nearly to his feet, the resolution to pursue his aspirations took possession of him, as strong as the waves of the ocean water beat onto the shore.
All the men except Hauk played like children on the sandy beach. They ran with their bare feet across the shore and waded into the lapping waves. However, the novelty of the ocean soon wore off, and they went back to their horses. At the intersection of the ancient highway and a dirt road that went toward the northwest, into the thick forest, Hauk had stayed with the horses while the others absorbed the scenery. There was no good place to hitch their animals and still be in sight of his friends. He was afraid that the horses might get spooked and gallop away, but he was not afraid of walking the remaining distance to the village of Tarply. He only stayed here because the horses carried his share of the fortune. That was something he preferred not to lose just for the experience of running across the beach with his bare feet to feel the sand between his toes.
To better observe the direction in which the shore trended, Aton ascended the tallest tree that he could find. He wanted to see if he could trace the direction of the coast. If so, he would be able to put together a mental map of the country, which would allow him to understand the correct route back to Esina and his family. The shore seemed to head east and west, like the southern boundary of the big lake. It appeared that between here and the massive lake, there was a broad belt of forest, which increased in density with its proximity to that large body of water. He thought that if he continued due west for a still unknown distance, then turn to the north, he could reach Olar Regalyon’s estate and his own family’s clan beyond that, but to him, this was unexplored territory, so he had no idea how many days of traveling it would take to reach his final destination.
Given his assumed location relative to the lake and the ocean’s coast, he was more certain than ever that they could use the dirt road under their feet and travel through this belt of green, which was where he must pass to get back to his clan. Before he would travel the final distance to his home, they would stop at the village of Tarply, because Aton hoped that the villagers might have news of the warlord Olar Regalyon or maybe Lanzo Brill and his father Trahan. However, the people of Tarply had never been absorbed into Olar’s dominion, because the warlord had never thought to expand his control in the direction of Tarply, so they might not know anything of use to Aton.
Aton’s guides were ready to leave. They told him that if they continued on the dirt road, which wagon wheels had deeply rutted, they would find the village of Tarply on the south side of the path. This primitive trail was much narrower than the highway on which they had just traveled.
After half a day of trotting over the dirt trail’s ruts, the walls of trees surrounding them seemed to push the group gradually into a narrow line as they went along the dirt road, shaded by an extensive canopy of tree branches, thick with green leaves, kudzu, and Spanish moss hanging from the limbs. They spent the remains of the day traveling under this continuous, dense canopy of leaves that provided shade from the bright afternoon sun and the oppressive heat, which usually increased prior to late summer sunsets. Their eyes were wide and alert, ready for a cannibal to leap from the bushes, slice at them with an edged weapon contaminated with slow-acting poison, and then watch them suffer to death while hiding under the cover of ferns.
In the dense woods, darkness came early in the evening. They dismounted their horses with just enough time left in the day to use the sunshine filtering through the rustling leaves to set up their camp. They slept uncomfortably on the forest floor. On this day, the sheer number in their group, twenty strong men, protected them from the opportunistic and unpredictable cannibals.
Not long after they continued their journey the next morning, as they turned a sharp corner on the trail, the trees lining the road began to spread apart, and their path broadened, revealing a wide swath of grassland gently sloping toward the valley of a small stream. In the distance, they could see the village of Tarply surrounded by extensive grassland and grazing cattle. A dense forest that the villagers had incrementally harvested of its abundant trees surrounded all of what they saw in front of them. The landscape between the twenty men and the village was dotted with the rotting remains of numerous tree stumps, cloaked with green velvet moss that camouflaged the older stumps as they decayed back into the rich soil.
Several types of cows were grazing around the village’s pastureland, some white cattle from the plains, some black from the wetlands around the forests. In these herds, all of the cattle had descended and evolved from Holsteins that had survived in the abandoned stockyards and open pastures of the Americans.
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After the population of Americans plummeted during the post-apocalyptic cull, the farms were as abandoned as the cities, and cattle died in droves. Death came just as much from a want for food as the inability to endure exposure, which caused widespread fatalities among the cattle. In the northern country, a few deep winters had ravaged them so harshly that countless animals died, and desperate dogs and wolves mangled the weak. The hardiest that remained quickly became feral, and their descendants were now more difficult to approach than deer.
There were two kinds of feral cattle: the white and the black. They were divergent survivors of the Holstein breed, which had both colors. The black cattle were smaller than the white cattle, and they inhabited the areas near the forests and marshes. Their dull coloration helped them blend into the shadows of the trees and the darkness of the marshland. The black were timid, unless a calf accompanied the mother, but this new breed rarely turned on their pursuers.
The white cattle roamed the open grasslands near herds of bison, but did not intermingle. Their light coloring gave them an advantage on the grassy plains during snowfall. They were fierce at all times, confident in their evolved speed, strength, and the size of their herds. They would not usually attack people, but when provoked into confrontation, they would hardly ever run from them, either, so it was not always safe to cross their ranges on the plains.
The bulls were particularly savage at a certain time of the year: mating season. Usually, if they saw people at a distance, they retreated. However, if they came unexpectedly close t
o a person, they would charge. This characteristic enabled those who traveled through areas inhabited by white cattle to avoid an encounter, because occasionally blowing a horn dispersed the herd that might be in the vicinity. There were usually more than two dozen in a herd. The hides of the white cattle were highly prized, both for their inherent value and as evidence of skill and courage, and the horns were trophies, too. The white bull was the king of the southern grasslands while bison were in command of the Great Plains.
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The townspeople of Tarply had constructed its protecting walls with sharply tipped palisades, placed tightly side by side. Each vertical log had been hacked to a point with a broadaxe. For double the protection, the town’s inner walls surrounded the most important buildings, but most of the village resided behind the first wall, the encircling outer barrier, which extended its oblong shape along the length of the little river adjacent to the town. Although the weary travelers were a distance away, still too far for the town to notice them, it was obvious to Aton’s eyes that the village had encountered some recent difficulties. Fire had damaged a section of the tall wooden walls. Strewn near a damaged section of wall were burned logs that had been part of the village’s outer protective barrier, but they appeared more like dead soldiers on a battlefield, violently scattered. The breech in the barricade was wide enough for several wagons to enter through the gap, side by side. Near the damaged barrier was a good quantity of long, straight tree trunks that woodsmen had already cut and dragged from the edge of the forest for the carpenters to erect. The surrounding dense woods were abundant with this raw material. At the construction site, men were swinging axes, hacking away at the logs to create pointed ends for each new column of wood needed to repair the outer protective wall. Across the open land, which was speckled with grazing cattle, the trotting formation of twenty mounted horses went unnoticed. Overlooked and unhindered, they went across the pasture, closer to the open gate of the walled village. Tarply’s guards had apparently left their assigned posts, which were by the main entrance, to help with the reconstruction of the wall. Under normal circumstances, they would have closed the gate doors, but apparently, it did not seem to matter even though security was paramount. Nomads had attacked the wall, set it on fire, and destroyed a large portion of it during a fierce battle. The people of Tarply could have closed the front gates, but with a gaping breach already in the stockade, they thought it would not matter.