The Silent Years [The Complete Collection]

by Jennifer R. Povey

  "I never treated people like property. I was just..."

  "I know what you were trying to do. I saw what you were trying to preserve. It didn't work because people who don't practice war get defeated by those who do. It's gone. No matter what you do, you can't just turn around and go back."

  She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but she knew he was right. She knew that no matter what happened, Bruceton would not be the same.

  "Silents!" Eamon's voice, raised in alarm.

  "Hell."

  Chapter Nine

  Hell was the right word. One of the reasons she had come to the middle of nowhere was because large Silent incursions tended to focus on the cities. The Silents tended not to travel far from a ready supply of… food. This group might have come from Morgantown, or maybe Pittsburgh. There had to have been over twenty of them and they seemed better coordinated.

  Perhaps these Silents had spent a lot of time together, and had turn from a mindless mob to something like a pack. Helen fired over and over into the onrushing horde. It came easy now. She remembered the first time she had shot a Silent, when she had still thought she might be murdering a human being. These were just Silents, empty shells...but there were too many of them.

  It had been a long time since Helen had run from the Silents, longer still since they had frightened her. In her mind, they had ceased to be anything other than targets. But this horde was beyond their ability to handle.

  With one of the White kids in front of her, she spurred her horse and fled. It was all she could do to stay on and steer the uncooperative mount. Horses feared the Silents too; they seemed to be able to distinguish them from sane humans by scent or some other instinct. Between a spooked horse and an unfamiliar rider, and Helen’s death grip on the reins was all that kept the horse from bolting. Her other arm wrapped tightly around the little girl, Melanie. Eventually, the horse slowed, then stopped.

  They were alone in some unfamiliar wooded valley. Perhaps she had never been here before.

  "Where's my daddy?"

  "I don't know. Let's catch our breath, okay? He'll find us." Or we will find him, Helen thought, although she had little confidence of either. She just had to allay the kid’s fears, even if she was lying.

  She wished she had something real to reassure the child. Helen had dropped the reins, so that the horse could graze on the grass beneath the trees. Instead, it perked its ears, turned, and started to delicately walk through the trees. As it seemed to know something she did not, she let it keep moving...and almost walked into Tom Milkins' horse.

  There was no blood on the saddle. She hoped, although she was not sure why, that meant he was okay. Helen reached to take the reins and tie them to the saddle horn, then looked for an obvious trail. She saw a bent tree, and tried to nudge the horse that way.

  About fifty yards into the trees, she could hear Tom cursing up a blue streak.

  "Those are bad words," Melanie informed Helen primly.

  Helen was more than a little shocked that the kid knew some of those bad words. The words were certainly highly inappropriate, not to mention imaginative. She cleared her throat loudly.

  The cursing stopped, and a bedraggled Tom stepped out from behind the trees. He was soaked. "The nag dumped me in the stream."

  Helen dimly remembered a stream. "Well, take it out on him, not us."

  "I'm sure the kid's heard it all before."

  "Bad words," Melanie echoed as Helen handed Tom the reins of his recalcitrant mount.

  The horse, annoyed with his rider, stepped sideways when Tom attempted to put his foot in the stirrup. Maybe the horse was also offended by the language. Tom whacked it a couple of times with the end of the reins, and it decided to behave, perhaps because he was wearing spurs. Then again, perhaps the spurs were why it had had dumped him in the first place.

  "Come on," Helen said. "Let's find the others."

  Tom was not about to argue, although he glanced down at his wet and muddy self and actually blushed. "I hope they're all okay."

  They found Latisha and her son without difficulty, but there was no more sign of Eamon than of the second coming.

  They searched for hours. Nobody wanted to admit that he was probably dead. If he was, then Helen laid that blame squarely on Charles Easton along with all his other sins. They would not have been out here, unprotected, if it had not been for Easton.

  They were still unprotected and unwillingly gave up the search, each sure that Eamon had been caught, otherwise that pack would never have stopped. Helen supposed Eamon might have still survived it the Silents had gotten ahold of his horse; it may have been enough meat to distract them. She was reminded of an old saying 'You don't have to be faster than the bear, just faster than the slowest person in the group.'

  There was nothing they could do except keep moving. Normally, Helen would have led the Silents back to Bruceton where they would have met an armed population that could easily take them out. However, she suspected even Tom had burned his bridges at this point.

  They rode north towards a settlement Helen knew of. Hopefully, it had enough guns to deal with that pack. Maybe they would even be allies.

  They were never to get there.

  -#-

  It was not the Silents that stopped them, but a single rider, coming from the south on a lathered horse. One of Charles' cronies. Helen and the surviving Whites ducked off into the trees, where they could hear without being seen.

  "…all kinds of trouble," Helen heard the rider say.

  "Am I needed? I'm still hoping to find that nigger family that ran off."

  Helen flinched at Tom's use of a word she hoped he did not say, or even think, regularly. The family themselves had the sense not to make a sound.

  "Not sure yet. You find anything else?"

  "Sizable pack of Silents, off to the northwest. I think they were heading further north, but you should alert the guards anyway."

  The man frowned. "Tom, we can't trust half these men and we need three quarters of our own to watch them. You'd think people would know when they were onto a good thing."

  "People go with what they're used to, and I've seen some of their women." Tom snorted. "Even with the worst of them gone, thank goodness. Couldn't have stood her a moment longer. What about the kids?"

  "The girls seem docile enough, and the boys seem to be learning, but I get the impression it's all a game to them. Then again, they're kids. They're young enough for everything to be a game."

  Helen could not help but smile slightly.

  "Then what's the trouble, really?"

  "The trouble is that two of the younger women got hold of guns and shot Patrick before they were taken out, and they pretty much forced us to kill them."

  "We can't be killing women."

  "When it's the woman or me, I'll kill the woman. Survival comes first."

  "Survival comes first," Tom echoed, as if it were a maxim. "Maybe the adults just aren't salvageable."

  "We can't manage without them."

  "No, I'm suggesting we take the kids and run, leave the adults behind. The settlement will die in the long term and..." Tom shrugged. "Not our decision. Talking of kids, the black ones?"

  "Kill them. We don't need that scum here."

  Latisha clapped a hand over her son's mouth before he could make any protesting noise.

  "No, we don't. I'll find them soon enough, or the Silents will."

  "Sure you don't need some help?"

  Tom shook his head. "I can handle myself. You know it and Charles knows it."

  Had she not known he was lying, she would have believed every word. The man might be a weasel, but he was at least good at being a weasel. Or...something. Maybe he had been a spy before. No, she decided wryly. Not a spy, but an insurance salesman. Definitely an insurance salesman. Or used cars.

  "Got it. It’s on your own head if the Silents get you." The rider turned and cantered back south.

  Helen waited until she was sure the rider was gone to eme
rge. "I'll give you one thing, Tom. You're good at that."

  She heard Latisha murmur something unflattering, but ignored it. So did Tom.

  "You know, I think you were right. If we could get weapons in, that would be all it would take."

  She managed a smile. "So, where do we get weapons? I still think their armory is the best place."

  "They're way too careful for that."

  "Then how did those women get guns?"

  "From their menfolk, I suppose. They wouldn't have disarmed all the men; they can't afford to."

  "Who has access to the armory?"

  "Only Easton and two other men, once they had it set up. You have to draw ammo, you can't stockpile it."

  "And they'll have put it where we did, in that warehouse by the mill. To which I still have a key."

  "Locks can be changed."

  "If you have locks..."

  "Didn't they search you?"

  "I didn't say I had the key with me." They had taken her keys when they had captured her, but her spares should have escaped notice. "I'd need to get to my house."

  "Not your office?"

  "Of course not." She had always known that anyone like these people would take the office. With luck, they would have overlooked her small cottage as empty. She was fairly sure nobody would have volunteered her address.

  "They'll shoot you if they see you."

  Helen smiled a little. "I know. Got a better idea?"

  He remained silent.

  -#-

  Disguise was out of the question. They did not have the materials to make one that would fool a squirrel, let alone a man. It would have to be stealth, and Helen knew there was a high chance she would be caught, and if she was, they would shoot her and feed her body to the Silents. There could be no trial, no public execution. If they were already having problems keeping control, then they would have no choice but to make like her return had never happened.

  The risk made her feel younger. She flashed back to the bridge across the Potomac and the battle to escape DC. She had almost never been without a weapon since. She had the pistol Tom had given her on her escape. She made her way through the trees, Tom on a parallel course.

  Tom. She did not understand him and was not sure she wanted to. She was not sure he understood himself. At some levels, he was a lousy thief, a liar, a cheat...a used car salesman if there ever was one. At others? He had saved her life for no reason she could determine.

  Unless he had a romantic interest. They were of similar enough age for that, but he needed a younger woman who could have children. If he did have romantic feelings, she would have to discourage it once this was over.

  Right now, she was using him. He was probably using her, too. Maybe he hated Easton as much as he claimed, or he had his own agenda. She forced herself to focus as they reached Bruceton’s perimeter. There could be patrols. There should be, if the invaders were doing things the sane way. She was not sure she expected any kind of sanity from these people.

  Helen saw no signs of any patrols as she crept through the woods. This part of the settlement remained wooded for deer and firewood. That made it the obvious route for an invasion, so where were the guards? Maybe they really were short-handed.

  Or...no. There the guards were, just a bit further in than they should have been and looking towards Tom, not her. Had they seen him? Should she shoot them? She was not going to unless she had to. There were two of them, one a boy of no more than fifteen or sixteen.

  She definitely did not want to shoot them.

  "Who's there?"

  She froze.

  "Oh, come on, Brock, it's a deer," the older man said, raising her hopes.

  "No. I think it's a Silent."

  "Hush, then." They both did, moving very quietly towards where Tom was. Helen held her breath, letting herself drift closer. If they had seen him, she would take them out. If they went straight past, then she would let them go. Not that there would not be casualties before this was over. That thin boy, though, so hungry-looking? He could probably be...

  ...and gunfire erupted. She was on her feet and firing in a moment, aiming at the older man. He went down, although she was not sure whose round had taken him. The kid fled.

  Did she let him go? Before she could run through the cold equation that he might have seen her and had to be taken out, Tom shot him in the back. "We gotta move."

  She stopped to check the bodies and take their guns and ammunition. Both were dead, and she hated to leave their bodies for the Silents or other scavengers, but she knew she had no choice.

  Tom was right. They had to move further in, increasing the risk of being discovered. Some people might see them and cheer them on, but Helen was not sure of anyone's loyalties anymore. She had to assume that at least some would have switched sides...

  "Stop it right there." The voice was familiar to her. Oh, she remembered, it was Tony Croskin. "You ain't no Silent," he continued.

  Did she shoot him or not? Her hand closed, dangerously close to the trigger.

  Then he recognized her. "Helen?"

  She held a finger to her lips, wondering if he would try to shoot her, if she could shoot him first.

  He lowered his voice. "Come in, you'll get eaten by the Silents out here." Then he blinked. "Tom Milkins?"

  Now, she could all but smell his complete confusion. She would have been equally confused, if not more, in his place. Not the pairing anyone would have expected.

  "Tom, don't shoot."

  "Both of you, get inside before somebody sees you. Or I change my mind."

  She knew Tony's bark to be worse than his bite. She hurried into the farmhouse, praying they had not been seen.

  Praying that they might have found a new ally.

  Chapter Ten

  He had hot chicory, a taste Helen had become accustomed to. Coffee and tea were both forgotten memories, even hot chocolate. Every time she tasted the harsh drink, she missed all three.

  She drank it anyway, feeling the warmth flow outward from her center..

  "So, you got a plan or are you just sneaking around for the sake of it?"

  "They'll be hunting for us now. We shot a patrol," Helen said.

  "Self-defense," Tom added.

  She did not mention him shooting the kid in the back. It had been wrong but so necessary. She remembered that mantra: survival comes first. Was she really any better than them?

  They had tried to ensure she didn't survive. She had not done the same to them. Perhaps that was her moral edge. The oldest one of all: they started it.

  "We do have a plan, though. Break into their armory and pass out the spare weapons to every woman in town, then..."

  "...shoot the losers in the back," Tony finished. "Could work. I'd rather just exile the lot of them, but they'd only come back."

  "Or bother somebody else. They have to be dealt with. The hardcore ones taken out, the rest...some of those kids might be salvageable." Helen knew exactly how she sounded.

  "Oh, some of the teenagers are wavering, and the kids in the barracks have given them more trouble than the rest of us combined. I heard one of them seriously considering taking one girl out back and shooting her. Said she was nothing but a disruptive influence. He got vetoed because of her age, and then said they'd end up doing it anyway in ten years."

  Why did she think of Irene? She had hoped that the girl had got clean away into the wild, but it was more likely she'd been caught trying to save her friends. "Wildling girl?"

  "Yeah. They're trouble even when you aren't going on about submission and obedience."

  Helen smirked. "Shame we can't get somebody in to just unlock the door and let those wildlings out. I'd be tempted to give them guns. Even the very young ones."

  "Why not? They're wildlings, not real kids."

  Inwardly, she flinched at that division of humanity. But then, it was not like she had never had similar thoughts. There wasn't that much difference between what he said and calling them the gypsies and carnies
of the future. "That's why not. They might just as well shoot us."

  "Point. On the other hand, letting them out seems good. Tom?"

  He was staring at his mug. "I'm thinking."

  That pretty much killed the conversation. Part of Helen wanted to spend the night here in a real bed, but she knew she could not. They had taken as much time as they could and had to move.

  When they left, Tony came with them. He was carrying the biggest rifle Helen had ever seen and had given her a smaller one.

  "You got ammo for that hand cannon?"

  "Not as much as I'd like, but Easton's crowd don't know about it. Or they'd have taken it."

  That made sense. You left people enough weaponry for defense, but that thing was made for warfare, not hunting. "Let's go," Tom said. "No woolgathering."

  For a moment, Helen resented that Tom had given orders as if he had any right to do so. Unfortunately, she could hardly argue with him when he was right.

  It was getting dark, and they moved out into the shadows. As her vision adjusted to the darkness, she thought she saw somebody following them...but when she tried to see the figure better, it was gone.

  It was not a clear night, and as they approached the old mill, it started to rain. While that gave them a tactical advantage, it was uncomfortable.

  Helen had come to the conclusion that she would never be comfortable again. The warmth from the chicory had long since faded. It left behind a familiar emptiness that some call homesickness.

  Except it was a moment, not a place that she was homesick for.

  "Helen," somebody hissed.

  She realized she was not paying attention. She found herself exposed and dropped behind a tree.

  When had they gotten so close? Perhaps it was all a dream. She had thought that, at the start. She had even hoped she had had a breakdown and was hallucinating all of it. The entire thing. The apocalypse, the Silents, all of it.

  It's bad when reality is so horrifying that one would rather be mad.

  There were figures near the mill. They were human, not Silents, but she knew what she must do. Wait, aim, think. Make each shot count. She did not want this to be real. She pulled the trigger.