Years After Series | Book 1 | Nine Years After

by Clary, LeRoy

  The scout, if that is what he was, carried the second nine-millimeter that belonged to us stuffed into a holster made for a revolver. The fit was poor. A loop of leather thong held it in place. In his bedroll were eight boxes of our shells.

  I went to the corporal and noticed how he flinched as I drew near. He had ten boxes of our shells in his backpack, along with the binoculars. There were also my maps. With my hip turned away from Tess, I slipped them into my pocket and continued searching. There was no sign of our rifles or the ammo that fit them. “Where are they?”

  “What?”

  “The rifles.”

  He hesitated. Tess drew back her pistol and before she could swing it at him as she would a short club, he spoke so fast the words ran together. “I sent men down to Everett to Sir Wilson’s HQ with them. He’ll go nuts with jealousy when he sees them. He will want more.”

  “What about these?” I held up the two nine-millimeters.

  Now he hesitated. His eyes flicked away with the first words, “He would have given us those as a reward for finding a sanctuary.”

  That was a lie. He intended to keep them, knowing that Sir Wilson would want more of rifles and the pistols. And the ammo. If caught stealing from his boss, he’d probably say that he wanted to bring the semiautomatics in personally—as gifts.

  Tess said, “Tell me about his HQ.”

  “A fortress down by the waterfront. Hundreds of soldiers. He took over the old navy base in Everett.”

  “And he stays there?”

  The corporal nodded. “He keeps most of his men there to guard him and everything he’s taken. They train recruits there. A lot of them, lately. I think he’s going to war.”

  She gave that some thought. “How does he get enough food for all of them?”

  “The old fishing boats bring in salmon and stuff. He owns all of them, too. The rest, he takes when his men find it. He has warehouses full of food and supplies, they say. And guards for all of it.”

  “But he feeds his men fish.”

  “Not all the time.”

  Tess seemed to like the answer.

  He blurted out to her, “You said you wouldn’t kill me.”

  “I said, I wouldn’t shoot you. Two different things,” Tess said. “Besides, I might have my friend kill you by shooting. He didn’t promise anything.”

  “I know more,” the corporal said. “Things that will help you.”

  “Help me do what?” she said.

  For me, I had no plans for the future, no idea of what tomorrow would bring. The map had given me an idea but no more than that. Mayfield had refused to go to Montana until we freed, or attempted to free, my three hundred friends below. To do that, we needed to contact another sanctuary, or maybe two. Perhaps together, with new weapons, Sir Wilson and his army of thugs could be defeated, and our people could return to the surface.

  They might also know why our birthrate was so low. I would have to return to Deep Hole and tell them. Then, all obligations were free for me. I’d do what I wanted.

  It was what Mayfield had wanted. I had no choice but to follow her desires. I glanced at Tess. She was not obligated to help.

  She said, “Tell me enough and if you are honest, I will not shoot you and neither will my friend. I’ll also remove the ropes. But if I sense you’re lying or holding back, the deal is off.”

  I didn’t like her promises. I wanted to kill him. More than even the one who had pulled the trigger, it had been at his direct order. I sat and started cleaning outside of the pair of nine-millimeter guns, then split the ammo into two equal groups, keeping the binoculars for myself, as well as the maps. I ignored the other two people, but listened and watched carefully every tic, utterance, and grunt.

  Tess said, “What were you soldiers doing on that mountain?”

  “Searching.”

  “For what?”

  “Sir Wilson heard from a man we interrogated that there is a sanctuary up there. They have tons of food and all kinds of weapons—like yours.”

  I glanced at him from under hooded eyes. The man was silly-stupid. After saying that, we couldn’t let him live.

  Tess continued, “This man you interrogated about the sanctuary. Who was he?”

  “A stinking mole from one of the sanctuaries near Seattle. We captured him in a battle with a north Seattle gang. He had a map. Wanted to warn others in shelters about us, he said.”

  I said a little too quickly, “Did you see the map?”

  “Yes.”

  I ignored Tess’s glare. She wanted to ask the questions. “Tell me about it.”

  “It was just a small piece of paper with a map of a valley and a mountain in the background that looked a lot like the one behind us. Or a hundred other mountains, but under torture, he said it was east of Everett about sixty miles.”

  Tess said, “Sir Wilson only wants the guns and ammo?”

  “No. Yes. He hates the cowards that went below and hid while the rest of us had to live through what we did. They ate their full meals and ignored us while we starved. Didn’t even come out and help after it was over. They left us here to die.”

  There was venom in every word. I tried to keep my interest in his explanation to myself. If he told the truth, and there seemed to be no reason to doubt him, there had been at least one other mole from a sanctuary in Everett, and he’d hinted there were others.

  I said, “What do they do with the moles?”

  “Like you?” He spat the question. “We interrogate them and try to find their secrets.”

  “That last one, is he still alive?” I tried to ask the question off-handedly, not showing interest. I may have failed.

  He scowled at me before answering. “There’s a jail at headquarters where they keep slime like that. Like you. Think I don’t know who and what you are?”

  “Why does Sir Wilson want all those guns?” Tess asked as if I’d never been interrupted or threatened.

  “To fight North Seattle, to take over the Bandits. He wants to expand his empire down there. Gather more men and attack and take control.”

  Tess rolled her eyes. “And then, I suppose, he wants to attack one of the armies in Seattle?”

  “The Quatro Brothers, if the rumors are right. They say he used to work with them, and they threw him out. He says he quit them.”

  Tess turned to me. “Hispanic.”

  That meant little. I’d heard the word but couldn’t remember where or what it meant. “So?”

  She ignored my question. “Were you the first soldiers to come up here searching for the sanctuary?”

  “No.”

  “How many?”

  “One patrol every few days for the last several months. He sends patrols as a training exercise and offers rewards if we find it.”

  Now that was a revelation we didn’t know. I’d thought our meeting the first soldiers to look in this area too coincidental and had been right.

  Tess waited for him to say more and when he didn’t, she turned to me. “Any more questions for this man?”

  “No.”

  She pulled a small coil of rusted wire from her rear pocket. I’d last seen it on Mayfield’s wrists when the murderer had taken her captive. It was several loops about four inches around and when she unwound it, the piece was about three feet long. She moved behind the corporal and as quick as it takes to tell about it, she had several loops twisted around his wrists. Without a word, she yanked his arms closer to the tree and made a few circles before twisting the ends tightly around the small, five-inch trunk.

  “Hey, you said you let me go,” he blurted.

  “I said neither of us will shoot you and that I’d take the ropes off.” She finished with the knots and dangled the rope in front of him to see before coiling it and placing it in the pocket where the wire came from.

  “You’re not going to let me free?”

  Tess leaned closer. Her voice turned cold, while her eyes were flaming. “You killed my husband.”

  “You
promised,” he whined, eyes suddenly wide with fear. Until that moment, he’d believed he would somehow walk away.

  “I’m keeping my promise.” She stood and turned to me. “Danner, you ready to leave?”

  “I am.” There seemed no more to say as I tore my eyes from the pathetic creature that had ordered Mayfield killed.

  We stood and moved along the edge of the river to the chuckling of water flowing over rocks and the screams and threats of the man. I’d thought it would be sweeter music to my ears. Instead, I found tears dripping down my cheeks and I avoided looking at Tess.

  At Russian Creek Crossing, we turned and followed the road west, still hearing a stray scream now and then. They were faint and he sounded hoarse. The sounds of the river seemed to swallow his calls. There was no way he’d break free of the wire. Sitting in sight of the river, he’d probably die of thirst in a few days—if an animal didn’t kill him first.

  I liked the idea of death by thirst while sitting beside a river each time Mayfield’s image popped into my head. She might not, but I thought the lingering death was preferable to a quick one after what he’d done. It made me feel better. Not that anything would take away the pain he’d caused.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Tess and I walked to the beginning of the valley without speaking, each of us lost in our grieving and lonely thoughts until the sun fully came up.

  It was still early morning, although our mental states seemed otherwise. If I could ever fall asleep again, I’d stay that way for a week. My feet trudged ahead without thinking about where I’d place the next foot, or the evidence left behind. Dirt, rock, mud, or grass was all the same.

  Later, the twin ruts made by wagons allowed us to walk beside each other. Tess said, “I’ve been there, you know. Twice.”

  “Where?”

  “That place where you’re going. Everett.”

  I lifted my head enough to look at her in question. Two questions leaped to mind. First, she had said “you’re,” not “us.” Second, from seemingly nowhere she made the statement about visiting Everett where the headquarters for Sir Wilson was located, as well as the large sanctuary. “What makes you say that?”

  “That other man, the mole he spoke about that Sir Wilson has been questioning. You’re going to look for him, so don’t deny it. Plus, you want revenge. I can help.”

  She had me confused. Or she was a mind reader. No sooner were the words from her mouth than I realized that was why we were walking west instead of the east where the mountain pass could take us to Montana. Everett lay directly ahead. Somewhere in that city was a man like me, possibly one who had been kicked out of his subterranean home, or perhaps he’d volunteered to search for other sanctuaries with the goal of helping them resurface. Or, perhaps to warn them of what they faced.

  What did he know that I didn’t? What information could I share with him? My mind raced. If he was from somewhere like Deep Hole, he might know if there were others alive. It made sense there were.

  A wild idea came to me. He might take me to his home, and I’d return to life below ground, surrounded by people like me, but with unknown faces. Still, it would be much the same.

  No, that wouldn’t happen. After seeing the moon and stars and knowing the myriad of life that abounded on the surface, there was no way I could return to the dull, blandness of subterranean life. Mayfield had been right about that, too.

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but you’re correct. I have to go there and try to talk to him, maybe rescue him, or her. I have to try.”

  “And then? Assuming you can free the mole.” Tess was not looking at me, but ahead as the farms we walked past, the cows and sheep we smelled. A pair of dogs charged at us, but she went to one knee and greeted them as if they were old friends. When the dogs returned to their home, she did look at me.

  She said simply, “You are as helpless as a kitten up here.”

  There was no sense in arguing. I’d learned a lot, but that still put me behind everyone else. Hell, it was only a few days ago that I’d learned how to get my skin burned by the sun. What other comparable stupidities would I achieve?

  “How long will he live?” We both knew I was talking about the corporal at the river’s edge.

  She walked a few steps and said, “A person can live a week or two without food. Without water, a few days. If it rains, he might lick enough off the tree trunk to make it another day.”

  “What if someone finds him? Hears his screams and goes there?”

  She shrugged. “Could happen, but probably not. The river sounds absorb his calls. Anyone going that way would pass us and we haven’t seen anyone on the road. Besides, he was already losing his voice from screaming and cursing at us. That will end soon.”

  I considered it. “Tess, I’m going to tell you something.”

  “I’ve probably already thought of it but go ahead.”

  “I wanted to kill him. Right then. Know why I didn’t?”

  “Because you imagined the pain and suffering that he’s going to go through right now and that is better than killing him. That was my reasoning if you’re going to ask about it.”

  “You guessed it.”

  She attempted to smile and failed. We walked along and watched two boys, one about five or six and the other ten tussling in the grass near a small house. The older one was trying to steal the apple the other held onto when both fell to the ground and were rolling over while laughing hysterically. The older one let out a yelp and sprang to his feet while looking over his shoulder at the back of his shirt that he pulled up to see.

  The younger one roared with even more laughter and pointed at the animal dung his brother had rolled in. The older one ripped off his shirt and pretended he was going to wipe it on the smaller boy. They ran, the smaller one screaming and calling for his mother. The older boy raced right behind, but no matter what happened, he never caught up. I knew he could have at any time. I found myself smiling for the first time since . . . Mayfield.

  Tess said wistfully, “I had an older brother like that.”

  “I only had Mayfield. There were few children in Deep Hole. Well, one born last year, and two the year before. The others were all much younger than us.”

  “Why? I still can’t figure out why no babies were born. It does not make sense.”

  “We don’t know why. We only just discovered it.”

  “That’s awful. How many young women did you say were down there?”

  “About a hundred in our sanctuary.”

  We came abreast of a farmer and two tall younger versions of him. They were loading hay on a wagon. Tess went to the fence and said, “Can we help you with the hay in return for a meal?”

  “No,” the farmer said instantly, then grinned. “Can I offer you lunch with my family while my boys and I finish up the hay?”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  “Meet you up at the house,” he pointed the way with his pitchfork.

  When we were out of hearing range, I said, “I wouldn’t have been any good at that hay loading. Still weak from never doing physical work—and I have never held a pitchfork.”

  “I know. The offer to work was politeness. He wasn’t going to accept my offer. But you don’t let a person willing to work go hungry.”

  So, she had made the offer to help with the hay knowing he would refuse and feed us. We had food in our bedrolls. Why did she want to eat with them?

  I knew she had a reason and decided not to ask her. I’d find out, soon enough. We walked up a path through grass almost knee-high to a small white house that was well-maintained. Long before we got there, a yellow dog greeted us by barking several times and coming to sniff.

  Having seen how she knelt and greeted the other dogs. I did the same. The dog came to me, wary and slow, but finally, my hand touched its soft fur and the tail wagged. We were friends.

  It’s silly to recount it but that was the first dog I touched. One had chased us, Tess had greeted several others, but I
touched the yellow one. While there is no way to be certain, I think it liked me.

  A woman came to the door and broke out into a smile so wide and friendly, I suspected she knew Tess, but she called with a blaring voice, “Come on up here and introduce yourselves. I got plenty of hot stew on the fire if you’re hungry.”

  “We are,” Tess replied as we hurried to the door and inside where we found a low-ceilinged room with walls recently whitewashed. One end of the house was a kitchen, a long worktable served double duty for preparations and eating. An assortment of mismatched chairs, some hand-made, sat against the wall. A fireplace ran the length of the room at the far end.

  An iron door swung open to allow each access to firewood outside, several iron swing-arms were for holding pots over the fire, and in one, stew bubbled. I’d never eaten stew that tasted like that. One of the packs of MREs had been labeled stew, but it smelled nothing like what assaulted me. Steam, spices, meat, vegetables, in heavy gravy. All adding their smells to the mixture.

  My mouth watered. I looked to Tess for how to proceed.

  She told the woman, “We can use a good meal.”

  The woman reached for bowls and wooden spoons as she muttered while avoiding looking at me, “Yes, your friend does look a little pale.”

  Tess didn’t let the comment pass. “Yes. He and I are on a little mission that may do Sir Wilson some harm if we’re successful, so if you support him, we should leave without eating.”

  “That thief sends his men to take what little extra we have, and sometimes what’s not extra. We have to hide food, so we have enough to last the winter. He’s no friend of ours,” she said as she ladled the bowls full to the brim, more than willing to excuse my pale complexion.

  My complexion was darker that at first, now with a little tan and a lot of redness, but any fool could see the white underneath. I’d work on my tan.

  She had a water pump in the corner, the first I’d seen, and she filled three mugs with clear, cold, water. We started eating. I expected her to ask more questions about me, but instead, she went in another direction.