Luke's Trek

by Scott Medbury

  Luke froze.

  “What the..?” he whispered and cocked his head to listen to the empty house, unable to believe that someone had left such a valuable prize behind accidently.

  He didn’t hear a sound in the abandoned house and quietly crossed to the table and picked up the gun. It was a Glock 17. He weighed it in his hand and knew from its heft that it already had a full clip. Managing a firearm one handed was a bitch, but he got to it without complaining. He placed the gun on the table and, with his left forearm, wedged it against the table and pulled the slide with his good hand. There was a round in the chamber.

  Good.

  First job was to make sure that the owner of the gun wasn’t in the house.

  It only took a few minutes. With newly discovered gun in hand, he searched the house quickly and silently. It was empty save for the mummified remains of the previous owners in the main bedroom. The husks of the dead didn’t bother him anymore; it didn’t take long to figure out live bodies were the much bigger danger in Post-America. The other bedroom was empty and there was no obvious sign anyone had been there recently.

  “Finders keepers,” he said cheerfully as he re-entered the kitchen, not lowering the weapon until he was sure that room was empty also.

  He put the Glock back on the table and went to the pantry, fully expecting to see empty shelves. And they were, apart from one lone can of salt reduced whole tomatoes. He was not a fan of tomatoes (nor were the previous raiders apparently). Tonight though, as hungry as he was, it was like the clouds had parted, shining a beam of light on a heavenly delicacy.

  Plus, it had a ring pull.

  Bonus!

  Luke swallowed the tomatoes right out of the can, drinking them down like a thirsty man guzzling water, only stopping to chew the larger chunks when they threatened to choke him. He washed it down with a swallow of the bottled pond water.

  As dusk turned to night, and with a semi-full belly, Luke headed through the house to the corpse-free bedroom and climbed wearily onto the single bed, boots and all, careful not to bump his tender head on the ornate wooden bedhead.

  He slept soundly.

  11

  Luke left the next morning at dawn. He didn’t eat for most of that day, and by mid-afternoon, hungry again, he managed to shoot a skinny ass rabbit he spotted in some long grass by the road. He took it into the front yard of a house, skinned it and cooked it over an open fire. He’d started the fire with the lens of a magnifying glass. He had carried that damn thing in his pocket since they had left the farm and was gratified to finally get to use it.

  Initially he’d been worried about the smoke and attracting unwanted attention. His hunger overrode that caution, and, in the end, it wasn’t the attention of the two-legged variety he needed to worry about.

  He spotted them as he ate. They were slinking around about a quarter of a mile behind him, not game to come any closer, even with the delicious smell of cooked rabbit in the air. He paid them no mind, other than to glance at them occasionally as he ate. They loitered where they were, apparently too chicken to come any closer.

  After he’d eaten his fill, Luke pulled off the last strips of meat and stored them in an old plastic grocery bag he’d picked up off the road that morning.

  “Thank God for non-degradable plastics, huh Bugs?”

  He left the ravaged rabbit carcass on the grass for the dogs, then moved on. He glanced over his shoulder at them occasionally. The dog moved cautiously until it was clear the carcass was closer to them than he, then they pounced on the kill. He watched them brawl over it for a while then rounded the bend out of sight. Hopefully that would keep them busy for a while.

  At dusk he found another empty house to spend the night in. There was no exciting find in this one but there was a bed. He had a few pieces of rabbit and went to sleep thinking of Brooke. The thought of her brought pain, but also warmth.

  ***

  He ate the rest of the rabbit the next morning, knowing it wouldn’t be good for much longer, and then hit the road again. He didn’t see the pack anywhere. A few hours later he skirted Rochester on the 202 and crossed the border into Maine.

  That’s when he discovered the dogs were still following him. They were still a good way back, but it was definitely the same pack. Again, he put them out of his mind. He would worry about them when or if they got closer.

  Even in Maine, any homes or stores along Route 202 (this section called the Carl Brogg highway), were already stripped bare but he managed to refill his water bottle from rainwater in an old trough. Towards dusk he tried a few more houses for food but was without luck. He picked one to spend the night in and didn’t spot the dogs as he closed the door.

  But he wasn’t so quick to assume he’d lost them as the day before.

  ***

  The next morning, a hungry Luke had only water for breakfast and set out again. Almost immediately, the dogs fell in behind him again about a quarter mile back. He was more fascinated than alarmed to realize they were stalking him.

  Unlike the packs he’d seen before, particularly the one that had attacked their group as they travelled to Drake Mountain, these ones didn’t look crazed with hunger. They looked methodical and focused on their quarry and he’d come to the unmistakable conclusion, that he was their quarry. Feeling a little uneasy, but not frightened, he picked up his pace.

  An hour later Luke came to an intersection; the left turn was a road that looked a lot more recently constructed than the 202 and the sign on the corner read:

  Turn left for Willatan Green Subdivision—

  Lots available

  Come join the happiest little community in Maine

  The road sloped down the gently sloping hill into green fields and then wound its way through a copse of trees in the distance. Beyond that, he could see the late afternoon sun shining on the tiled rooves of a modern housing development.

  He turned and looked back the way he’d come. They slowed as soon as he turned, but the dogs were closer now and he knew before long he would have to deal with them. He started down the hill and towards the happiest little community in Maine.

  The pack loped after him.

  12

  The young boy whistled sharply twice without taking the binoculars from his eyes as he watched the stranger turn towards Willatan Green. He heard shouts behind him and knew the alarm was being passed along.

  Within a minute, a woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail climbed up into the lookout with him.

  “What have we got, Sam?”

  “Some big guy. He’s got a pack of dogs following him. He should be coming out of the trees soon.”

  “How many dogs?”

  “Six. If they don’t get ‘im in the trees we should be able to see them soon.”

  “Six? That’s enough for the Brothers and to keep two for ourselves if we get ‘em all. Lord knows we need ‘em. Is he armed?”

  “He has an axe on his back.”

  “Guns?”

  “Don’t think so. But he has a hook hand.”

  “A what?”

  “You know,” he said holding up his hand with his index finger curled. “A hook. Like the pirate in the picture book.”

  She wasn’t interested.

  “Good boy. Give me the binocs and go get Tommy and Jacob. Tell ‘em to bring the shotgun and their bows and tell the other mothers there might be trouble coming and to lock the doors until I give the all clear.”

  “Yes, Momma.”

  The woman watched her seven-year-old boy go and then leaned her elbows on the top of the wall and raised the binoculars to her eyes. She focused them on the road where it emerged from the trees.

  The lookout they had built against their side of the wall was well hidden in the shadows under the leaves of the oak tree that grew on the other side. Ostensibly it was to give them early warning of the Brothers coming to visit, but on occasions like this, it was a real handy early warning system for other visitors too. Especially since the Broth
ers wouldn’t allow them to have a gate.

  The big guy emerged from the trees at a fair speed and she took a good look at him. Tall and well-built, his face was handsome but dirty with travel grime. He looked like he’d been on the road a long time. Interestingly, he looked unconcerned by his pursuers. No doubt he knew they were there, but his long strides ate up the distance between the trees and Willatan Green at a steady rather than panicked pace.

  “Must be slow in the head,” she said, as she lowered the glasses.

  He was close enough to watch without assistance now. He was heading straight for the unprotected entrance of their village.

  Tommy, her 15-year-old brother, and his friend Jacob came running and she turned on her perch and held out her hand.

  “Don’t climb up. Pass me the shotgun and get to the gate quick. Stay out of sight with your bows drawn, there’s a stranger comin’ and when he steps one foot through the entrance I want you to turn him into a pin cushion.”

  Tommy passed up the weapon.

  “Once you shoot him, let him lie where he drops and restring your bows real quick; there’s dogs chasing him, with a bit of luck we’ll bag a few. Go!”

  “Yes ma’am!” said Jacob, and they turned to run.

  She had confidence the boys would do their job; the shotgun was just in case of an emergency. It was their only gun. The only one the Brothers had let them keep. They didn’t know about the bows or they’d have been confiscated too.

  She turned back to watch the stranger coming and saw the dogs come out of the trees behind him. Close now. She leaned over the wall in anticipation. Then he stopped and looked up at the sign and scratched his chin with his hook as he looked through the opening to the town.

  “Come on,” she urged, in a whisper.

  He didn’t. In fact, he turned around to look at the dogs. That’s when he reached under his jacket at the back and pulled a pistol out of his belt.

  Shit!

  She was about to turn and run to the boys when the stranger glanced back at the entrance. She held her breath. As if coming to a decision, he put the gun back in his belt and turned abruptly and began marching towards the dogs.

  Diana turned and threw the shotgun to the grass, jumping down from the platform and picking it up smoothly as she ran for the entrance. The boys looked around in surprise as she sped towards them.

  “Quick, he’s going to take them on. He’s got a gun in his belt. Get the dogs first and shoot him if he reaches for it.”

  She flew through the gate as if the devil was on her heels and they followed.

  The fight was already on as they ran through the gate. Two dogs were bleeding and twitching on the ground and as they ran up, the stranger was hit hard, crashing to the asphalt as they sped towards him. In a flash the other three dogs were on him and he disappeared beneath the quivering, heaving mass.

  “Shoot ‘em, while they’re busy! Quick!”

  The two boys skidded to a halt and nocked their arrows again.

  “I’ll take the big one,” said Tommy as he closed one eye and pulled the string back. “You take any of the others.”

  The leader of the pack looked up, his muzzle red with blood, a split second before Tommy’s arrow took him in the side. He yelped then he fell to the ground. The second shot was not as clean, hitting another dog in the haunches near its spine. Its yelp was more like a scream and it tried to flee, its back legs dragging behind it.

  Another arrow hit it in the eye, putting it out of its misery.

  “Finished him for ya,” yelled Jacob.

  Tommy grunted. He had already nocked another arrow and loosed it before Jacob could beat him to the third dog. This one was too intent on worrying at the leg of the big guy to notice the danger it was in. The arrow took him in the neck and he collapsed, jaw locked on the leg of its erstwhile meal.

  The last dog seemed to sense danger and took off with its tail between its legs, only to fall a second later as Jacob’s arrow took its left rear leg out from under it. Diana was on it in an instant, saving precious buckshot by clubbing the wounded dog hard over the head. She pulled a knife out of her jeans pocket and ended it.

  Tommy and Jacob high-fived each other.

  “Two each!” said Jacob.

  “No way, dude, Di killed yours! I win two to one!”

  “No! I took it down…”

  “Enough!” yelled Diana, racking her shotgun and walking over to the unconscious man.

  She looked down and pointed the shotgun at his face. He was out cold but apart from the bleeding lump on his head and a superficial wound on his neck courtesy of the lead dog, his leather pants and jacket appeared to have protected him from the worst of the attack.

  Tommy walked over with the arrow he’d pulled from the lead dog.

  “We got all of ‘em sis. Well, with a little help from him,” Tommy said, kicking the man in the hip. He nocked the gore-stained arrow and pointed it at the stranger’s chest. “Want me to finish him?’

  Diana knew that would be easiest. It seemed lately there were no good men left in the world. Murderers and rapists all of them. Best to end this one clean. Still. There was something about the way he carried himself. Something about the way he showed no fear in going back to face the dogs without his gun. And, had he sensed their trap?

  “No,” she said, putting her hand on her brother’s forearm and gently lowering his aim to the ground. “We’ll take him back.”

  “What? Why would we do that?” Tommy asked, his eyes wide.

  She didn’t really have a good reason.

  “Just a feeling.” She turned back towards the entrance. As she suspected, she had an audience. She put her hands to her mouth. “Bring the cart! We’re having meat tonight!”

  A cheer went up from the watchers. She turned and dropped to her knees, pulling the gun out of the stranger’s belt.

  13

  Brooke was cooking at the stove when he walked into the farmhouse kitchen. Whatever it was, it smelled good. Real good. He told her as much.

  “What are we having, babe?”

  She didn’t turn. She didn’t answer.

  “Brooke?”

  She must be annoyed with me, he thought. He walked over to her. But something wasn’t right. No matter how many steps he took he couldn’t seem to get any closer. It was like he was on a moving walkway going the wrong way.

  He tried to angle so he could see her face, but no matter how he strained, he could only see the back of her head. Maybe she couldn’t hear him. It was no wonder, the loud laughing and talking was damn annoying. And why was it so freaking hot?!

  “Brooke!”

  Luke’s own shout woke him up and the loud laughter and conversation ceased abruptly. He looked around. It was dark. He was surrounded by a bunch of unfamiliar faces lit by the glow of a big fire a few feet from where he sat.

  He was in some sort of a chair. It was low to the ground, like a deckchair or something similar. A boy of about 15 and a woman who looked a little older than Luke himself stood up and approached. The boy’s lips glistened with the grease of a recently consumed meal. The woman was picking at her teeth.

  Feeling dazed from his second concussion in a week, he felt like he was still dreaming. He tried to sit up. He couldn’t. He was restrained, and the side of his head pulsed angrily in time with the beating of his heart.

  “No use struggling, Mister. You’re tied up nice and tight,” said the woman. She had straggly dark hair pulled back off her face in a loose ponytail. Her face was pleasant without being beautiful. The set of her mouth was hard and determined.

  He eased his aching head back down and his most recent memories came flooding back.

  The dogs…

  “You saved me?” he asked, but all that came out was an unintelligible croak.

  The boy laughed.

  “He’s a retard, Di.”

  She cuffed him over the ear.

  “Get the man some water, you idiot.”

  The boy scowled
but did as he was told, disappearing behind Luke and returning a second later with a ladle of water.

  Luke gulped it down.

  “Thanks.”

  “You hungry?” Diana asked.

  Luke looked past the woman and saw meat on a spit over the fire behind her. The aroma caressed his nose and his mouth filled with saliva. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak without dribbling.

  “Cathy, can you slice off some meat for our guest?”

  He saw a girl who looked to be a couple of years younger than Diana. She smiled shyly at him.

  “Sure can.”

  While she worked at the spit, he took the opportunity to look around. The fire had been built in the middle of a suburban street. Neat homes, some with candlelight in the windows lined both sides of the road. Apart from the unkempt lawns and the worn clothes the people around him wore, it could have been a 4th of July street party.

  The girl walked over holding a beaten-up aluminum plate stacked with steaming slices of meat.

  “Want me to feed it to him, Di?”

  “No Cathy, hand it over. I’ll take care of it.”

  The girl looked disappointed but smiled at him again.

  “Don’t bite my fucking fingers,” warned Diana, as she picked up a slice and held it over his mouth.

  Luke was hungry enough to swallow it whole but took it between his teeth and forced himself to chew it thoroughly, so he could savor the hot, salty morsel.

  While she hand fed him, Luke regarded the group of people around him. Most had gone back to their own eating, although he was still getting a lot of attention. One thing stood out. There were no full-grown men, even though he saw at least four women in their twenties. The boy who had called him a retard seemed to be about the oldest of the males.

  His belly was satisfyingly full by the time she finished. Somehow even his aching head felt better.

  “More?”

  He shook his head. He could have easily eaten more but knew he would probably only sick it up later if he over ate after close to three days of near fasting.

  “Just some more water if you have enough.”

  The boy brought him another ladle of water and then went back to the fire.