The others drew to a halt around me to peer out at the activity in the harbor, and I glanced at Grayson. “Red and white buoy—that’s crab, right?”
“Yes,” Grayson said, squinting. “I count—”
“Seven boats, some with two people,” Jason said. “That’s a pretty big operation for a group of seventy.”
Grayson nodded. “Indeed, it is. We couldn’t have coordinated something like this before…”
I frowned. It made sense that others would have joined the Bodega Bay survivors, considering they had established the most stable—and sane—community we’d come across since all hell broke loose. And yet, I wasn’t overly excited about the prospect of leaping back into a settlement governed by anyone who wasn’t among my closest, most trusted companions. Sure, it helped that Grayson had been a member of the Town Council back when there were fewer than a hundred survivors, but he hadn’t been a part of the group for over four months. A lot could have changed in that amount of time, especially when the world as we knew it had ended in a matter of days.
“Look beyond them…to the harbor mouth,” Grayson said, pointing beyond the little boats. “A sail.”
Again, I brought the binoculars up to my eyes. “There are two more behind it a ways.” A thrill of excitement sizzled over my skin, and grinning, I handed the binoculars to Jason. I’d always loved watching the sailboats glide in and out of the harbor.
“Think they’ll be interested in our proposition?” I asked Grayson, not taking my eyes from the tiny triangle of white that was slowly closing in on the marina’s jetty. Though there were probably a few new faces on the Town Council, Grayson knew better than any of us if they would be interested in the plan we’d been hashing up since arriving in Tahoe. We wanted to settle somewhere we could be self-sufficient, but not completely isolated, and there was so much abandoned farmland in the nearby valleys, just a dozen or so miles inland. But if they didn’t want us here, rivals for what limited supplies remained in the area…
“Setting up a satellite agricultural settlement would only be to their benefit,” Grayson said. “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t be interested in a mutually beneficial trade arrangement.”
“Only one way to find out,” Jason said, tugging his reins to the right and nudging his horse into motion.
Zoe, Grayson, and I followed suit, our horses falling into step beside each other while Jason led the way. I could hear the others’ mounts clip-clopping behind us. Everyone was being exceptionally quiet, and I assumed it was because they were otherwise occupied, examining their surroundings.
I returned the binoculars to my horn bag, then shot Zoe a sideways glance and frowned when I saw her expression. Her eyes were narrowed as she focused on the road ahead.
I did the same. “What is it?”
“A wall.”
It took me a moment—Zoe’s vision had always been better than mine—but I could just make out a tall, gray wall. It stretched away from the road on either side, extending to the left a dozen or so yards, all the way across the shallow beach until it sank below the water’s surface, and to the right, crawling uphill until it disappeared over the low crest. It was topped with an endless corkscrew of razor wire, and a chain-link gate crossed the road.
At my direction, Wings picked up the pace a little, carrying me ahead to ride beside Jason.
“What do you think?” I asked him. The wall was still at least a hundred yards ahead, but we were closing in quickly, and I could make out the shapes of a couple people standing on the other side of the gate. One was definitely carrying a gun…a big one.
“Smart,” Jason said, nodding slowly. “If they did what I think they did, and this wall cuts across all the way to the ocean…” He stared at the place where the wall disappeared over the hilltop. “They isolated the whole peninsula…pretty fucking smart.”
“It’s got to be at least a mile from here to the other side,” I said.
“We’ve been gone for almost five months, Red. That’s plenty of time to build a mile-long wall.”
As much as I agreed with his assessment—that building a wall and isolating the peninsula had been a smart move—I couldn’t help the creepy feeling that bunched my shoulders and made my skin crawl. Walls were built for two reasons: to keep something out, or to keep something in. And sometimes, both. I shivered.
Zoe caught up to us, guiding Shadow in close on my other side. “What are you afraid of?” she asked, and I appreciated that she hadn’t simply peeked into my mind to find which memories were floating closest to the surface.
I met her eyes for a moment. “Just déjà vu.”
“Ahhh…I’m sure this won’t be anything like the Colony.” She offered me a supportive smile as our horses drew to a halt before the tall, chain-link gate, but I could see doubt shadow her eyes.
The two men on the other side of the gate watched us as we dismounted but didn’t say anything until Jason, Zoe, Grayson, and I stepped up to the fencing.
“Which one of you is Daniel Grayson?” the man without a gun asked. He was the younger of the two, maybe in his late thirties, and was wearing khaki slacks and a light blue button-down shirt, giving him a clean, businessman vibe. In lieu of a weapon, he was holding a clipboard. The other man, dressed in dark attire more appropriate for guard duty, scanned our group with a cautious, watchful eye.
Grayson bowed his head for a moment. “I’m Daniel Grayson, envoy for the Bodega Bay Town Council to the Colony.”
The businessman nodded in greeting. “I’m Lance, the Town Council’s secretary. I was sent here to meet you and to give you a brief tour of New Bodega before the meeting.” His eyes moved from Grayson to me, Zoe, and Jason, then grazed over the others, who were still sitting in their saddles behind us. His attention returned to Grayson. “We weren’t expecting all of you to come.”
“This isn’t all of us,” Jason said.
Again, Lance’s attention shifted to Jason. “I’ll need to gather some information from each of you and go over some ground rules before you enter.”
Jason exchanged a look with Grayson. When the older man raised his graying, bushy eyebrows and shrugged, Jason nodded once. “Fair enough.”
Lance looked down at his clipboard. “I’ll need the name, place of origin, and type of mutation of every person who walks through these gates.”
“Type of mutation?” Gabe said from behind me. After a brief moment of creaking leather, I heard his footsteps on the asphalt as he approached. “That’s not quite accurate. Everyone here went through the same mutation—”
“—which you can tell Lance and the Town Council all about when we meet with them,” Grayson said, cutting Gabe off before he had the chance to launch into full-blown scientist mode. “You already know my name,” he said to Lance. “I’m from Bodega Bay, and my mutation has yet to be identified.”
I waved. “And I’m Danielle O’Connor. I’m from Bodega Bay, too, but I was living in Seattle when everything happened, and I’m a drifter—a two-way telepath, but only with animals.”
Lance scribbled down my information quickly, then turned his attention to Zoe.
“Zoe Cartwright, from Bodega Bay but was living in Salem, Massachusetts, and I’m an empath.”
Getting the bizarre impression that we were introducing ourselves at some sort of an addicts support group meeting, I stifled a giggle. I always reacted inappropriately when I was anxious.
Lance stopped writing and glanced back up at Zoe. “Can you be more specific, please?”
Zoe bit the inside of her cheek. “I can, uh, sense other people’s emotions and see their memories.”
Nonplussed, Lance nodded while his pen moved across his page. When he once again raised his eyes, he looked at Jason.
“Jason Cartwright, Bodega Bay by way of Joint Base Lewis-McChord, and I can increase and decrease others’ Abilities—er, mutations.”
“Army?” Lance asked.
“Yes, sir—Green Beret.”
Lance rai
sed his eyebrows. “Colonel Marshall, the man in charge of the defenses around here, will be very interested in your service record.”
“Colonel…is he Army?” Jason asked.
Maintaining eye contact, Lance shook his head. “Marine Corps.”
Jason frowned thoughtfully, looking somewhat impressed. His eyes moved to the wall. “His idea, I take it.”
Lance nodded. “It wasn’t easy, but it’s proved more than worth it.”
“Has there been trouble? Zoe tells us the area’s been clear for over a month—no sightings of the ‘Lost Ones’—based on intel from your Town Council. If they misinformed us, and we’ve been operating under false pretenses…” Jason’s voice contained the subtlest hint of warning.
“Ah, no,” Lance said, glancing at Zoe. “What they told you was accurate. But when we first put up the wall, before Colonel Marshall and his people managed to dedicate much effort to any sort of offensive strike on the Lost Ones, we had several attacks that likely would have resulted in fatalities had the wall not already been in place. But it has been over a month since we’ve seen any of the Lost Ones.”
Apparently appeased, Jason nodded. “Glad to hear it.”
The others dismounted and made their introductions and declarations.
“Very well,” Lance said. “I just need each of you to answer one question, and I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.”
I raised my eyebrows. So Lance was a human lie detector, like Ben had been. It went a long way in explaining how he’d come by his current gig.
Lance looked at Grayson. “Do you have any intention of doing something that could cause any kind of harm to the people of New Bodega or to the settlement itself?”
“No,” Grayson said, and one by one, the other seven of us echoed him.
Lance nodded. “Alright, the rules here are simple and few, but essential to ensure the safety of our people. Don’t steal, and don’t harm another person intentionally. If you end up becoming permanent citizens of New Bodega, certain things will be required of you—”
“Such as?” Jason said.
“Do your part—everyone has a role to fulfill here, and if you can’t come up with something that benefits the settlement on your own, the Council will assign you a job—don’t take more than you need, and never do anything that puts New Bodega at risk. When a transgression has occurred, the Town Council makes all final decisions regarding guilt. There is a single course of action on the rare occasions that the Council determines a party is guilty: banishment from New Bodega.”
A low, humorless laugh rumbled in Jason’s chest. “A little harsh as a one-size-fits-all punishment.”
Lance met his eyes, cold smile for cold smile. “These are troubling times, and as I said, the rules are simple and few. But New Bodega is a good place, filled with good people, and that gives the threat of banishment almost more weight than capital punishment. There aren’t many other places people can go.”
I raised my hand, and when Lance looked at me, I said, “Can people come and go as they please?” Because, regardless of being on my home turf and sounding so idyllic compared to what lay on our side of the fence, not being able to leave New Bodega, being a prisoner in all but name, would be a deal-breaker for me.
Lance nodded. “You’re free to leave at any time. Nobody will force you to stay.” With a shrug, he added, “Organized society isn’t for everyone.”
I gave him a closemouthed smile and a no-further-questions nod.
Looking at the armed guard, Lance said, “Clark, if you’ll let them in, please.”
The guard lifted his rifle so the barrel rested on his shoulder and pointed up at the grayed-out sky, then stuck his hand into his pocket, retrieving a key. He unlocked the padlock securing the gate, rolling it to the side just enough for us lead our horses through in single file.
As Lance led us down the road, Jason and Grayson fell in step on either side of him, letting me take over guiding their horses. Zoe and I followed close behind them, with the others spreading out behind us.
“A lot’s changed around here since I left in January,” Grayson said to our guide.
Lance nodded slowly. “I can imagine. I’ve only been a part of the community since late February, but I know the stories—the massacre…” He shook his head, heaving a heavy sigh. “But at least something good came out of it.”
I scoffed and gave Zoe a disbelieving look. Something good? More than thirty survivors had been slaughtered, most of them people we knew.
But Lance remained oblivious to my reaction. “It gave the rest of the survivors a reason to pull together, something to work toward—the safety of the community. Which, as of Monday, consists of four hundred and thirty-seven people.”
Grayson whistled appreciatively. “How do you feed everyone?”
“We have a few small garden-farms set up here, mostly in front and back yards.” He pointed to a home coming up on the right side of the road.
A middle-aged woman and a teenage boy were working in the front yard, pulling weeds. Over a dozen rows of mounded dark, rich soil and a variety of plants, some barely sprouted, some well on their way to producing harvestable food, filled the mini-farm.
The woman paused with a snarly little weed in her hand and looked up as we passed. When her eyes moved from Lance and Jason to Zoe and me, I offered her a tentative smile. She returned it, nodding in silent greeting as well. “Welcome,” she said in my head, and my smile widened.
“Uh, D…” Zoe nudged my arm with her elbow. “What are you grinning at?”
“It’s nothing, really.” I pointed to the woman with my chin. “She’s a telepath, and—” I was quiet for a moment while my thoughts floundered. “She just spoke to me telepathically.” I met Zoe’s eyes, biting my lip as I tried to explain why the brief telepathic greeting seemed like such a good sign to me. “She wasn’t afraid to show me—a perfect stranger—her Ability. She feels safe here, safe enough to let her true self shine, and…well, she’s a telepath, but she’s not being forced to do telepathic things. She’s gardening, not locked up in a room, forced to communicate with people, to lure them in.” I lifted my shoulders. “It’s just nice to see something that proves this place is different, better.”
Smiling, Zoe nodded. “She felt content, too. Content, with a sense of purpose.”
“You’ll find a lot of that around here,” Lance said, looking back at us. “Most of our people choose their assigned duty based not only on their skills, but also on what they enjoy.” He pointed back at the woman, who’d returned to her weeding and was speaking quietly to the teenage boy. “Kathy and her nephew, Mikey, came here shortly after me. She was a teacher before, but gardening was her favorite hobby. The Council let her choose between taking up a teaching post at the New Bodega schoolhouse and running a home garden, taking on a couple apprentices so she could pass on her skills.”
“The soil here isn’t great,” Grayson commented.
“It’s not,” Lance agreed. “And the weather’s not ideal, the plots are too small, and it’s too soon to have anything beyond the most minimal supplement to our main food source, but every little bit helps.”
“The main food source being the ocean,” Jason clarified.
Lance nodded. “Fish, crab, abalone, mussels, seaweed—we certainly don’t lack adequate sustenance.”
“We noticed that some of the houses around town still haven’t been scavenged,” Jason said, and I knew he was thinking of our family homes. “You aren’t scavenging?”
“We are,” Lance said, “but we focus on targets that promise a larger haul—wholesale stores, supermarkets, hardware stores, that kind of thing.”
Jason glanced over his shoulder at the horses. “I’m assuming you have some better way to move what you find…?”
I patted Wings’s heavily muscled shoulder. “Don’t pay any attention to him—you do a fabulous job of hauling our stuff around.”
Lance looked back as well. “We don’t rely on horses
for those trips, no, though we do have a herd of several dozen we keep on the Peninsula for shorter trips outside, and Colonel Marshall and the town guard use them when they head out on security sweeps.” Shaking his head, Lance laughed softly. “We rely on something else entirely for the big trips.”
Jason focused on Lance, giving me a good view of his profile. His expression was, as I would have expected, carefully blank. “Which is…?”
“We’ve, uh, requisitioned a few tanker trucks, as well as a few semis. Fuel wasn’t hard to find at first—we even used it in the boats—but we burned through it so quickly that we’ve pretty much tapped every source of diesel in the area.” He shook his head. “And regular gasoline is so touch-and-go now—half of what we come across is bad…” He shrugged. “We won’t be able to rely on the trucks for much longer, but hopefully by the time they’re no longer useful, we won’t need them.”
Zoe and I exchanged identical expressions—eyebrows raised and lips pressed together in little frowns.
We passed several more houses on the right side of the road, most with two or three people tending burgeoning gardens in the compact front and side yards, until we approached what had been, and still appeared to be, the boatyard. Dozens of people were hustling around, passing between and slipping under the hulls of at least ten sailboats sitting on boat stands.
“Keeping the boatyard stocked with competent workers…” Lance shot a sharp glance at Jason, then looked over his shoulder at the rest of us. “I don’t suppose any of you happen to be sailboat mechanics…?” When he didn’t receive any affirmatives, he sighed. “Well, you can’t blame me for hoping.” He returned his attention to the people cleaning and working on boats on either side of the road. “Since we rely on the ocean for most of our food, keeping the marine vessels in tip-top shape is a high priority, right up there with patrolling the wall and running sweeps through the area outside.”
We spent several minutes just walking and taking in the hustle and bustle of such a well-oiled machine. As I looked around, I was struck by an odd observation—while there were a ton of sailboats, both on stands in the boatyard and in the marina up ahead, there were absolutely no cars, trucks, or SUVs. At first it seemed odd, but the more I considered it, the more I realized how logical it was. Driving land vehicles around the peninsula would be excessive and wasteful. It made much more sense to stockpile their fuel to use only for their big scavenging excursions.
Out Of The Ashes (The Ending Series, #3) Page 33