Years After Series | Book 1 | Nine Years After

by Clary, LeRoy

  We moved in the direction of the taller buildings and I ignored the smells of wet, rotting wood, human waste, ash, and more. There was little good about what we saw or smelled. When possible, we watched for the blue uniforms and skirted around, even if it meant an extra block to travel.

  Few buildings were standing intact. Nearly all had burned, or the roofs had fallen in. There was a sadness about the city, not the people, but the rest.

  By late afternoon, the cart was almost empty thanks to Tess, and we put our backpacks in an alley where we had a bit of privacy. My gun went under the oversized shirt I wore, the cold barrel resting against the skin below my waist.

  Bringing the guns into the city had been a mistake and I knew it. We should have taken those from the soldiers we killed at the second sanctuary because theirs were old and matched others. If either of us pulled our new nine-millimeter semi-automatics, guns that might as well have had a sales tag on them because they were so new, we were in serious trouble.

  While in the alley, and he thought we were not looking his way, Bream tossed a few more ears into the nearby bushes at the edge of an alley to further lighten the load we pushed. Vines and plants climbed walls, spread across the concrete, and emerged from cracks in the pavement, so there were plenty of places to rid the cart of a few ears. I suspected he’d been doing that all afternoon because we had not given away the number that had disappeared.

  Tess caught my eye and shook her head while suppressing a smile. She also knew what he was doing, probably long before I did. When Bream pulled the wagon again, she reached in and took two ears and with a smile for me, daintily deposited them in one of the many piles of refuse we passed. We reached the first of the taller buildings and the sun was getting low.

  Few residents paid any attention to us. One or two had commented on my skin condition, a few asked for, and received ears of corn. Tess readily traded them for information. I felt we were fitting in.

  She said, “We need a place to sleep tonight. Keep your eyes open.”

  At least half the buildings were either burned or partly destroyed. There were the remains of private homes, but none looked inviting and oddly to me, with all the remains of buildings still standing, few people occupied them. They could have been cleaned but being confined in them seemed to be universally disliked. We arrived at what had been a park of some kind and found hundreds of people sleeping in makeshift tents, under tarps, or whatever they had cobbled together. It was almost a permanent settlement.

  Tess said, “This will do. Look for a place where we won’t disturb others.”

  We were on a slight rise. The city was pretty much all hill, up or down when pushing a cart full of corn. From that vantage, there were only a few open spaces in the clearing.

  I pointed. “There.”

  Tess looked and shook her head.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Nobody else is close to that group in the brown tent. None on any side.”

  I gave her an exasperated look that asked, Isn’t that what you wanted?

  She moved closer where only I would hear. “There’s a reason why they are avoiding that tent.”

  An old woman wiggled her fingers to attract my attention. When I looked, she jabbed a thumb at a spot hardly big enough for our cart.

  Tess saw her and said, “Perfect.”

  The cart did fit, with a few feet to spare. The old woman said, “Sleep under it with your feet sticking out. Might rain tonight.”

  Our nearly new tent would stand out—and not in a good way. It would be the only one without patches, and that had not faded. It held little color. The old woman had a tiny fire in what had been a cooking pot. The metal sides radiated an amazing amount of heat for a fire so small.

  She scooted her things aside and said, “Share what little I got.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Companionship and protection.”

  “Protection?” I asked.

  Her eyes shifted fifty feet away to the brown tent standing alone.

  We understood, even if the specifics were unknown.

  Tess asked her, “You like fresh corn?”

  Since the woman had been sitting the entire time, she had no idea of what was in the cart. Her eyes came alive when Tess pulled two ears out. I pulled more, each still in the green husks. We cooked them, three at a time, over the little fire in her pot.

  The nearby eyes of the camp hungrily watched. It was nearly twilight when Tess stood up and called for attention. The murmur of conversation around us ceased. Tess said in a loud, clear, voice, “We were not able to trade all of our corn today and have to leave in the morning to do some other chores, so we don’t want to pull a cart with corn in it. If you’d like an ear, come on over.”

  To my intense surprise, nobody stood or moved. Their eyes were suspicious.

  I stood and shrugged at the people, trying to get a response.

  “What’s the catch?” a man twenty feet away growled.

  I reached for an ear and tossed it his way, intentionally misunderstanding his question. “No, you catch.”

  He did. But held it in his hand ready to throw it back as he said, “What do you want?”

  Remembering what the old lady beside me had requested, I said, “Protection and friendship for the night.”

  People understood that. They get nothing free. Providing protection for us was understandable and acceptable because all around people stood. Tess and I handed an ear to each. When there were no more people standing near us, we still had corn.

  Bream happily reached into the cart and threw an ear clear across the clearing where a man leaped with a laugh and caught it. Bream threw another to a boy about ten, then another as his smile broke into outright laughter.

  He must have thrown fifty more ears before the cart was empty, and we were surrounded by friends. A woman walked past and casually let a small loaf of bread that was burned black on one end fall in the grass near my feet. I thanked her with a smile.

  She didn’t want everyone knowing she had the bread. It was her private stash, stale, blackened, and wonderful. The conversations around the small fires resumed, interspaced with laughter and several wandered our way to say thanks.

  The old woman who had first invited us to set up our camp near her said, “This will be the safest night in a year. You got everyone here looking out for you, which means since I’m next to you, I’m golden.”

  Things couldn’t have gone better until a man shouted a series of curse words.

  All heads turned to the tent standing alone. A large man stumbled out of the darkness and plopped himself down near the brown tent. Another, at least as big, came next, but before sitting, he veered off and said, “Hey, where’d you get the corn?”

  He bent, snatched an ear from someone and began eating it. He saw another and took it, holding an ear in each hand.

  Tess placed a warning fingertip on my shoulder to hold me in place.

  The old woman hissed, “Don’t do or say anything to draw his attention.”

  They should have directed their words and actions to Bream because he called out, “Hey, that’s not yours.”

  It was fully dark, the only light provided by small campfires and the stars. The moon was not yet out. The man who took the corn looked drunk. He stumbled to a stop and turned, peering into the darkness, searching for whoever had spoken.

  The other drunk joined him. They discussed it while we tried to get Bream to sit and pretend he hadn’t said anything. Instead, he pulled away from us and moved to one side at the edge of the clearing. He called, “Give it back.”

  Both drunks charged.

  Bream waited until they were close to him. Tess and I stood to help him fight them, and I was happy to see a couple of others did too.

  However, as they got near him, Bream seemed to melt back into the darkness, a few steps away from them. They ran faster, their fists balled and ready to strike.

  The three of them disappeared into the darkness of a
n alley. Feet slapped on the pavement, something crashed to the ground, and one of the hulking men wailed in pain. Shouts and threats followed, but they diminished with distance.

  “What do we do?” I asked Tess.

  She hesitated and then shrugged. “It all happened so fast. I have no idea of what we can do or how to find them in the dark.”

  “I thought we were going to fight them,” I said.

  A voice at my side, one of the men who had stood to help us, said, “It sounds like your friend hurt one of them. Maybe he’ll escape in the dark.”

  We didn’t have many options and skulking around in the darkness of a city we’d never been in didn’t strike us a healthy. Tess finally said, “Bream has taken care of himself for a long time.”

  Well after the campfires had burned out, I remained awake until Bream silently made his way under the cart and wormed his way between us. I threw an arm over him and went to sleep happy.

  In the morning, the three of us received several smiles, a few kind words, and many thanks. There was no sign of the two drunks, and I suggested we leave before they returned. We asked the old woman to watch our cart and to feel free to make use of it until we returned. She agreed.

  The three of us slipped out of the camp with our bedrolls on our backs.

  Tess navigated us through the morning damp fog away from where the rose was on the map. I checked twice before asked, “What are we doing?”

  “Taking a little side trip.”

  “Where?” My tone was anything but friendly. I was chilly, lacked sleep, and resented her changing our destination without consulting me. It was not that she wanted to look at something else that bothered me, it was the lack of consideration. The same as I’d shown her when I calmed down and thought about it. I owed her an apology.

  She said, “Until we know more about Sir Wilson, we are in danger with every step.”

  I couldn’t disagree.

  “Everett is built on a hill overlooking the bay—and the old navy base.”

  Her idea was good, but I couldn’t let it pass. “We won’t be able to see it with the fog. Besides, I’m hungry.”

  A pair of men in heavy coats with their collars turned up against the morning approached, looked at us as if surprised to find people out that early, and walked past without speaking or nodding.

  Tess took us west, along a major street. She had also studied my maps, perhaps more than me. A few street signs were still erect and readable. She took us past a major cross street without seeing anyone else and counted two more streets until ducking between piles of rubble that had once been a building or two.

  “We’ll wait here,” she said.

  To one side another blackened pile of rubble indicated where a house had stood and burned. On our side of the street was a single two-story brick wall, all that was left of a two-story building. Weeds and plants grew at the base on both sides, and a vine had managed to climb to the top. Small white flowers were in bloom on it. With the fog enveloping it, the city lacking most of its residents, and the early morning, it was peaceful.

  Even the black pile that had been a house was softened by the early morning light. Tess said, “Let’s get off the road a little.”

  We followed the brick wall until it ended and turned the corner. There was a small portion of the back wall remaining, but all else had fallen in for one reason or another. A small patch of grass covered with dew welcomed us.

  In the distance, a bell rang three times, deep and sonorous. A buzzer sounded and a man shouted what seemed like orders, but the distance was too great to hear the words. The sky above lightened as the fog lifted, but below us, it was impenetrable gray.

  Bream handed us each a length of jerky. Of course, he didn’t tell us where it came from or what animal had provided the meat. It was coated with tiny flecks of black pepper and tasted wonderful.

  The sun on our backs felt warm and welcome. As we chewed, the fog below thinned and we looked down upon Puget Sound, and on the shore right below us, a military base, outlined by a fence that looked like it had been reinforced with old cars, abandoned cooking stoves, broken slabs of concrete, and anything else that might slow intruders.

  Watchtowers stood every couple of hundred yards, each with soldiers and their rifles. I caught one of the nearer ones looking at us through his scope. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end until he lowered his weapon and looked elsewhere. But he knew we were there.

  Somewhere inside the fence was a man like me. A tunnel-rat who had been captured and might be tortured today, maybe even now.

  I wanted to free him. But there are times when what we want and what we can achieve are not the same. Seeing the protective wall, the watchtowers, the men marching the perimeter of the base, and those spilling from the barracks heading for the chow hall, all told me that the three of us were insignificant in comparison.

  My grand ideas were the stuff of fiction.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “That sort of exceeds my expectations,” Tess said as we looked down where the fog had been. “I never thought a navy base would be protected like that and have so many soldiers.”

  The jerky in my mouth had turned dry and tasteless. I couldn’t swallow. She had been right to bring us to the hill where we could see what we faced. Talking about taking on a nameless, faceless, and unknown enemy while sitting at a campfire in the mountains was far from reality.

  “We go there?” Bream asked.

  “No,” I said firmly. “We do not.”

  Tess said, “Don’t give up yet. There still may be a way. I just thought we should see what we’re up against before making more plans.”

  I stood. “Listen, I can no more jump from here to the water on the other side of the navy base than take it on. Trying to do the right thing isn’t always possible—and it’s a stupid thing to try. I came here to attempt finding out if there is a sanctuary in Everett and if so, could I help the people below, not take on a whole damned army hiding behind a wall.”

  “Those men down there killed Cap and Mayfield. The man who ordered it is there.”

  An idea flashed in my mind.

  There are times to keep silent and it seemed like one. Unfortunately, Tess had noticed the change in my expression. I had a poker-tell and she had found it. She said, “What?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Tell me!”

  I said, “Those rifles we had from Deep Hole. The scopes had a lever that increased the power of magnification. That’s how we were able to shoot those first soldiers and remain out of their range.”

  Her eyes flicked to the compound below, probably a half-mile to the buildings behind the wall.

  I said, “Maybe.”

  She nodded. “What if we get a similar rifle from your friends down in the Everett Hole and a lot of ammo as a reward for helping them? Then we go away from here and practice shooting at this range until we can be certain of killing the guards?”

  She’d stolen my entire idea without me saying hardly anything, even named the sanctuary the Everett Hole. I added, “We could move closer to the base at night and build a little sniper’s nest. More than one.”

  For the first time since Cap died, her eyes were alighted with anticipation. I cast another look at the base and the hillside below. It could be done.

  If about five ifs were accounted for. A rifle and ammo that would accurately shoot that far came first. We needed practice and then a perch to shoot from where we wouldn’t miss. Food and water while waiting for the right shot. Last, of all, we needed to know what Sir Wilson looked like. He had to emerge from his living space into the open and be identified in some manner.

  That was a lot of problems to solve. None by itself was impossible. As an aggregate, there were too many variables. However, it left the door open a crack.

  On the negative side, Everett Hole might have already been raided in the past, or perhaps they wouldn’t talk to me, assuming I found the entrance and speaker behind the small door. T
hey might not have long-range weapons down there, and if they do, they might not share with us.

  We could be discovered while waiting on the hillside to shoot. The guard that had spotted us might send men up to investigate. Sir Wilson might have his men search the hillside daily, for all we knew. And acquiring food and water might be impossible. We brought little to trade.

  The last issue was the worst. After finding out what he looked like, if we ever did, we might find he remain indoors where the temperature is comfortable, the food is delivered on demand, and his friends and generals are there to surround him. He might have soldiers to go out and do his bidding.

  If we couldn’t see him, we couldn’t kill him.

  I mentioned none of that to Tess.

  She watched the navy base intently, memorizing every detail. I watched her and got the feeling that if we couldn’t get the right rifle, she was going to put a knife between her teeth like pirates in the old stories and swim out in the bay until she came ashore and slit his throat.

  I may have laughed except that looking at her gave me the impression she might succeed.

  “We go?” Bream asked.

  “We go,” she agreed.

  I pulled my maps and we found our objective with the rose icon only five blocks east and two north. Seven blocks to travel. Seven city blocks where tall buildings might house snipers or spies on any floor, at any window. Even those moving on the street were suspect. They were out there for reasons, most of which dealt with surviving.

  Most were probably searching for things to trade or sell. Others were looking for people to rob. Some wanted recruits for their fledgling gangs. Everyone had a reason.

  Ours was to locate a sanctuary.

  The day was clouding over, the threat of rain a definite possibility, according to Tess, despite the brief sunshine. We’d discussed a plan while watching the navy base. Instead of going directly to the building built over the entrance to the Everett Hole, we’d walk until a block away and then go on past it.