Strikers

by Ann Christy

  “Then we should take that way,” I say.

  “Wait,” Jovan says. “Why did you take the northern route?” He turns to me and adds, “We should know all the information before we make a decision.”

  I smile and motion for him to be my guest. I’m irritated he thought of it and I didn’t.

  “Easy answer. There were just two of us but there was a whole group of smugglers pacing us and we had to keep out of sight. They were motor mules. They aren’t necessarily dangerous, but you never know,” he says.

  “So, if you hadn’t seen these…what were they again?” Jovan asks.

  “Motor mules. There’s a strong market for motor parts, batteries, turbine parts…that sort of thing. But most of that stuff comes from Florida or the East, and they would never sell if they thought it was bound for Texas. Motor mules are just a link in a long chain. They make that trip often, the cargo is high value and they don’t like to be seen. It’s best to avoid them if you can,” Jordan says.

  I feel like he’s telling me an adventure story. It’s hard to imagine people smuggling for a living. It must pay a lot of money if that much risk is worth it.

  Everyone is quiet. The sound of the pot of dried fruit and grain bubbling over the fire reminds me to stir it. The sweet smell wafts out and causes sniffs in that direction.

  Finally, Cassi asks, “Will we get to swim?”

  Jovan and I laugh. For one beautiful moment, all is right in the world.

  *****

  The lake is bigger than the one near Bailar town. Far bigger. As in a whole other species of bigness, bigger. I almost can’t take it in. Luckily, it’s also longer than it is wide or else I can’t imagine how anyone could get across it.

  Jordan shushed us into silence before we got close and he still seems hyper-alert, like he’s expecting someone to jump out at us at any time. It’s making me and everyone else nervous along with him. I have a weird twitchy feeling in my stomach that’s normally reserved for bad nights at home with my mom.

  There’s a lot of leaf litter and endless old branches scattered on the forest floor. I’m starting to take this immersion in trees for granted, but that doesn’t mean I’ve learned how to walk quietly in them. No one else has either except for Jordan. We’re doing our best, but I know the sharp crackle of leaves and the snap of twigs is making it hard for him to hear anything except our footfalls.

  We approach from an angle, well to the north of the old road that leads to the demolished bridge. At least this way, we have a good opportunity to watch the lake during the day while we rest. We’ll also have a shot at finding out if anyone’s hanging around.

  It’s already a bright, almost ideal, morning when we get to a suitable spot and make our cold camp. There’s no fire for us this morning, given that it’s already day, and we settle for passing around a water carrier and a few mouthfuls of cold leftover grains and fruit.

  My mouth actually hurts when I take that first bite. It’s like all the saliva saved up in my glands comes rushing out at once and strains them or something. It’s a pain and a pleasure all at the same time. This cold mush is absolutely delicious.

  Still, it’s gone too soon and it’s not nearly enough for my body. It can’t be enough for anyone’s body. We’ve been on the move for almost a week and I know my pants aren’t just looser because I’ve been wearing them non-stop. I’ve never been rich enough to be fat, or even chunky, but I’m thinning out in ways that aren’t healthy.

  Everyone is. Cassi has always had great angles on her face, but her cheekbones are sticking out sharply and she looks especially pale behind her copper colored freckles. Even Jovan seems to be shrinking. He’s a big guy with a lot of muscle, but it won’t last unless we get more food. For the moment, this deprivation is actually making him look better, if that’s possible. I saw him when he changed his shirt and had to be sure my mouth wasn’t hanging open. The muscles in his back and torso stood out in stark relief, the lines no longer smoothed from being well fed. No matter how nice it appears at the moment, I know he must be feeling the effects of our lack of decent meals. Food, and a good long rest afterwards, are what we need to renew our bodies after what we’ve been through.

  It’s almost funny because we have the means to get food in plenty if what Jordan says about game in the forest is to be believed. We have three guns and three vests completely full of ammunition, plus a few boxes of ammunition scavenged from the Courthouse. More than enough to spare to shoot something edible. But we dare not use a gun and make noise. The irony of that isn’t lost on me.

  I’m not entirely sure I believe the whole plentiful game story, though. I’ve seen tiny birds all over the place, but nothing big enough to be more than a mouthful when plucked. What I would do for a chicken right now is not to be imagined in polite company.

  From our vantage point we see a whole lot of nothing all day and I take my turn at watch with Cassi. No smugglers or anything dangerous is a lucky break and we’re due for one of those.

  I’ve missed Cassi even though we’ve been within a few feet of each other the whole trip. It’s nice to just talk to her, quietly and honestly, as if we were sitting on her bed in her room with nothing better to do than that.

  I’m surprised—and greatly relieved—to find out she really is doing okay. I can’t say she’s fine because none of us are fine, but she’s doing far better than I would have expected. In truth, I’ve been expecting her to tear me a new one as soon as she found the opportunity. I did get her into this, after all, and I’d deserve whatever she might say.

  But she doesn’t. Instead, she gives me the full Cassi treatment. Smiles, happy words and lots of overall cheering up. By the time our watch ends and I settle down for a few hours’ sleep, I’m more hopeful than I’ve been since those soldiers walked in and saw us at the Courthouse.

  I wake when it’s fully dark and there’s still no fire for cooking or boiling water. Everyone seems antsy and anxious to go. Jordan says he spotted the little inlet where several rafts are drawn up and tied to the stumps of trees, so we know where we’re going. I think he must be nervous since the rafts are tied up. Being stationary means they provide an excellent point to watch for activity. If we decide to cross, a watcher can be sure of seeing us there. It seems like a perfect location for a trap.

  The water is placid, flat and shiny in the moonlight. The only ripples are caused by our raft. The lines strung between the pylons of the one-time bridge are right where Jordan said they would be and they work. Between pushing off from the shore with the poles and heaving on the lines once the water grows deeper, we make progress faster than I could have imagined. And best of all, there’s no one to interfere, no shouts or sudden appearances of soldiers shooting at us.

  At the far end, we tie up the raft and the poles with care for the next travelers who will need them, but we also take the time to minimize our own footprints just in case. Jordan takes one of the boxes of ammunition and weighs it in his hands, considering. We need to leave something of value—that’s how this system works, the honor system—but we don’t have much in the way of food. Everything else we have is something we desperately need. Except for maybe the couple of shirts I brought and I’m not giving those up.

  The ammunition is in another category of value entirely. A full box would be worth more than I could make in the screen-weaving factory if I worked every day for a year. That box Jordan seems to be weighing as a trade seems excessive to me for the use of a wobbly raft and a few poles. Though he told me that ammunition is quite affordable everywhere except Texas—the embargo means that one ingredient is hard to come by there—it’s still a full box that might be needed if worse comes to worst.

  Before I can stop myself, I put my hand on top of the box and say, “Really? Why not just give them a gun to shoot us in the back with?”

  He starts at my words, then sighs and drops the box back into his sack. “I would have only left one or two cartridges, but you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. We shou
ld leave something that doesn’t advertise who we are. But what? All the money I had is still locked up somewhere at the Courthouse.”

  Jovan digs into one of his many pockets and pulls out a coin. It’s a little one, a silver tenth-ounce, what we call a teenth. It’s enough to buy a used coat or a pair of boots with a copper or two in change, but he tosses it with a flick of his thumb toward Jordan, who snatches it out of the air with a grin.

  “That’s generous,” he says. “You have anything smaller? Coppers maybe?”

  He doesn’t so Jordan leaves the coin in the basket hanging on a post for just that purpose. The lake still looks inviting but also like a huge trap, so we leave and I only look back at it a few times. Regretfully, given all that clean water, but only a little.

  *****

  Another abandoned town, more of a collection of rundown huts plus one larger building, looks ideal for a temporary hideout. Now that the woods are providing such great cover, we no longer have to hide during the day. We pushed on instead of bedding down and now the day is waning once more. We’ve gotten into a rhythm and for the first time, the mood is good, even though we’re all very tired.

  Cassi even jokes that she’s going to hike out for a bath, as if she would really walk all those miles back to the lake. We all laugh but the real cracking up happens when Jovan tells her that’s a good idea and we’d all appreciate it if she took a bath.

  The buildings are very old, essentially tinder boxes of old wood, but our three water carriers are full of lake water that needs boiling. In the building we’ve chosen, there’s a hearth of sorts that clearly sees use every so often. A ring of stones has been dug into the dirt under a gap in the roof. Piles of old ashes hint that it’s safe to use.

  We set up camp on the first floor, though there is an upper floor in this building. The floorboards on the second floor aren’t very sturdy and there are holes all over our ceiling down below. Still, the walls are intact and the room with the hearth is snug. With the warmth of the fire added in, it’s comfortable.

  Jordan lights a small fire and digs out a pot, but tells the rest of us to sleep while we can. I know he won’t be able to see much in the dark outside if he’s near the fire, but he winks when I mention it and tells me he’ll go outside as soon as he gets a pot going. When I settle down in the spot I’ve chosen—and I do notice that Jovan waits for me to sit before he picks his own spot, next to mine—I feel good. Safe.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A gunshot is a terrible thing to wake to. It’s sharp, harsh and always frightening. It’s not a common thing to hear in Bailar, given the price of ammunition, but I know it and there’s no question that’s what jerks me from a sound sleep.

  What else I wake to is utter chaos. Jordan is standing almost on top of the fire, a gun in his hand and his head jerking in every direction. Connor and Maddix are nowhere to be seen and Cassi is huddled in the spot where she went to sleep. She looks just as confused as I am.

  “What?” I shout and Jordan’s head swings in my direction, a finger to his lips. His eyes are wide and that frightens me more than the shot.

  “We’ve got company. Get into the back room,” he says. His voice is even but those fearful eyes give him away.

  I scramble up, motioning for Cassi to come, but she just stares at my hands like she’s never seen them before. My patience is never at a surplus and this situation calls for urgency, so I step over and yank her to her feet. She’s like a wooden copy of herself and she practically falls on me when I force her to move so we can get to the partially collapsed rear room.

  From outside—not near the door where Jordan stands, but behind me, where the opening of a long-gone back door leads out into the dark—I hear the cut-off cry of someone in sudden pain. It’s like the startled sound of someone being hit when they’re not ready for it. I know that sound well enough, given how often I’ve cried out myself before I got smarter about watching my back at home.

  When I turn toward the opening, a very big man is holding Connor by the neck and squeezing inside, using my friend as a shield. He’s also holding a very big knife to Connor’s throat.

  The sound I make draws Jordan’s attention and I’m immediately sorry about that because a smaller man carrying what looks like one of our guns comes in the front door and points the barrel right at me.

  “Drop it,” he growls. He’s looking at Jordan, the only one in the room holding a weapon.

  Cassi drops to her haunches and buries her head in her arms. Perhaps she’s hoping that if she ignores it all, it will go away. I’m not so hopeful. We have another weapon and a person who knows how to use it, assuming that is our gun the man is holding. Where is Jovan? Where is Maddix? Which one of them has lost their gun?

  Jordan doesn’t drop his weapon and directs his answer toward the incredibly ugly man holding the gun. “And then you’ll shoot us, so I decline the offer. What do you want?”

  The man grins a terrible grin. His front teeth are brown, dead a long time, and his eyes are full of that unthinking meanness of the truly bad. This is a dangerous person and the last thing I think we should do is drop any weapons we have.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he says.

  Even Cassi looks up at the sound of those words because he says them in a way that makes my hair stand on end. I know what the deal is going to be before he says it when I see him lick his lips at the sight of Cassi.

  “What deal?” I ask, my voice as cold as I can make it.

  He flicks a single glance my way and then focuses on Jordan again. Which is smart because he’s got the gun. “We leave you and your two boys alone, you give us the girls. We’ll even leave you some of your silver…maybe.” He flips something toward us and it lands at my feet. A silver tenth-ounce coin. Jovan’s stupid coin.

  I knew it was too much, but I never thought of this happening. We left too much so these creeps decided we must have more. And then they saw Cassi and decided we have even more they’d like to take. It’s all I can do to suppress a shudder at the thought.

  The big guy’s grip on Connor’s throat is tight and his face is turning red, but the knife isn’t quite pressed into the flesh. That seems to me like he isn’t as eager to kill as the other one, though I have no doubt he would if he had to. There’s still no sign of Jovan or Maddix, and that man got one of our guns somehow. I’m starting to feel a scream bubbling up inside me, an undeniable need to call out their names and find them.

  The faint sound of someone moving tells me where one of the two is. It’s just the tiniest shuffle of feet on old boards upstairs. The cautious movement lets me know he’s aware of what’s going on and the careful footsteps tells me it’s someone with some training. Jovan. He’s probably weighing his options. They aren’t great options.

  “You want me to give you my daughter,” Jordan says, his voice flat and dangerously calm.

  From outside, I hear the growl of another voice and an answering cry that can only belong to Maddix. So there are at least three of them, then.

  The man’s greedy eyes shift for the smallest second, taking in both Cassi and me, then dart back to Jordan. His grin grows, showing more of his brown teeth, and he says, “You’ve got a lot of kids.”

  “And you’re not going to take any of them. Your friend better be careful with that knife. If he slips, you die first,” Jordan assures him.

  I’ve known a lot of tension and fear in my life. I’ve known the fear of a child too small and weak to run, the fear of someone who knows she can’t fight back and the fear of the unknown now that I’m finally escaping. I’ve known the tinderbox tension of a house so filled with anger that it felt as if it might spontaneously catch fire. All of those things pale in comparison with what I feel around me now. The air is almost crackling with it.

  There is nothing quite like a standoff with guns, a knife to a throat and men who want what these men want to create an atmosphere in a room. I’m still standing in a little crouch, ready to move, the tendons in my legs so tigh
t I think they might spring out and unravel.

  But it’s everything else that unravels instead.

  Cassi whimpers where she is on the floor, her eyes unable to stay focused on either of the invaders so that her head zips from side to side, looking at them in turns. The man with the gun takes a longer look at her—a mistake—and when he does, Jordan shoots him.

  It isn’t a clean shot and the man crumples to the floor to roll back and forth, his arms pressed to his belly. His gun skids across the floor so I grab it, snatching it up just as he reaches for it. I back away as quickly as I can, keeping him in view because I have no idea if he has another weapon. And also because he’s certainly not dead, though the dirt floor around him is turning dark as his blood soaks into it.

  More shots from upstairs ring out and I hear exclamations outside from more than one voice. Jovan is keeping them busy out there, but Maddix is still out there as well. Connor’s eyes grow even wider and his hands are clamped around the arm of the man with the knife at his throat. The man no longer looks quite so secure and his eyes shift from person to person.

  Jordan’s gun is trained on him now. He seems to have dismissed the man on the floor, which I don’t think is smart. He’s in pain and the blood he’s losing tells me he’s dying, but that makes him no less dangerous. He’ll be dangerous until the moment he closes his eyes and breathes his last. I’m inclined to help him along, but I don’t think I could bear to get close enough to shoot and be sure I hit his head. I’ve never fired a real gun and my aim is a complete unknown to me. And that’s not even counting this strange feeling I have that urges me not to fire. It’s like some old mantra in my head that says, “It’s wrong to kill, wrong to kill.”

  I wish it would shut up.

  Two more quick shots ring out while Jordan and the knife-man stare each other down. At the second, a sort of horrible strangled cry answers from outside, followed by the dull thud of someone getting struck by something very heavy, interspersed with the labored grunts and curses of the one doing the striking. I can’t tell, but I hope with every fiber of my being that it’s Maddix who’s doing the grunting and the hitting. Connor’s eyes roll as if he might see what’s going on behind him if he just tries hard enough.