by Jon Cronshaw
Abel rubs his ribs and grimaces. Dried blood encrusts the bandage around his left arm. “I need to clean this at some point. It was a dog bite like this that killed Pip.”
“You could go to the river,” the kid suggests.
Abel frowns. “Not after a dust storm. The river's going to be filthy. Might have to wait until Trinity now.”
“What we going to do about the body?” the kid asks, gesturing back to the shack.
“I've got one arm, kid. Unless you want to bury it by yourself, we should just leave it.”
The kid sighs. “So sad.”
Abel pats the kid on the shoulder. “Yep.”
THEY REACH THE CAR where they spent the night hiding from the pack of dogs. The kid stops, gesturing for them to halt.
“What is it?” Abel asks.
“People up ahead.” The kid squints. “I think they're coming this way.”
“We should hide,” Abel says.
“Shall we get in the car?”
“We need to get off the road. Hide out in those bushes.” Abel points at a tangle of undergrowth and thorn bushes south from the road. He looks along the highway but doesn't see signs of movement.
They clamber down loose ground and crawl beneath a bush. They watch with trepidation as a man and a woman's voice approach.
“It's the ones who took me,” the kid whispers. “They're with the Family. They're looking for me. They’re going to take me back.” His voice rises with panic.
“Shh,” Abel snaps, grabbing the kid's wrist. He watches through the leaves, his face obscured by shadow and foliage. He freezes when the man stops and looks in his direction. “Damn it,” he mutters. He ducks and holds his breath, pulling the kid down with him.
The man steps off the road, looking around. He goes over to a tree trunk less than ten feet from Abel, unfastens his trousers, and relieves himself. After half a minute, the man pulls up his trousers and makes his way back to the road.
“That was close,” the kid whispers.
“Shut up,” Abel snaps through gritted teeth.
The man and the woman take their time. They look inside each car as they meander slowly towards the city.
Abel waits for almost an hour before he gets to his feet. “Let's go, kid.”
19. Complacency
TRINITY SPREADS OUT ahead. Thin lines of white smoke drift out from within its makeshift walls. Dark twisting clouds obscure the sun, smothering the light. There are no shadows, only greyness. The wheat fields along the left of the road lie blackened and burnt.
“What happened?” the kid asks.
“Wildfires, maybe.” Abel shakes his head.
When they reach the fence, he bangs against a car door, letting it ring out. “Sal? Hello?” He takes a few steps back and looks again at the scorched fields.
The fence scrapes open behind him. He turns to see Sal, her face stretched into a frown. “You found him,” she says, the faint hint of a smile quivering at the corners of her lips.
“Yep.” Abel gives a broad grin. “The Family took him.”
Sal nods and looks down at Abel's left arm. “They do that to you?”
“This?” He raises the injured arm and winces. “We ran into some feral dogs.”
“We'll have to get Jacob to look at that, make sure it doesn't get infected.”
“Thanks, Sal. I'd hug you, but...” He gives a half-shrug.
Sal leans over, kissing him on the cheek. “Will you be staying this evening?”
“If that's okay with you?”
“Of course. I'll see we get you a room.”
Sal gestures for the pair to step into the settlement, closing the fence behind them. She leads the way along the path to the communal hall. A layer of dust rests on the exposed surfaces all across the settlement. Children play games, chasing each other between shacks while adults sweep the ground and scrub walls. A pair of brown and white cows watches them with lazy fascination as bees fill the air with a low hum.
“You'll have to excuse the mess,” Sal says. “Were you caught in the storms?”
Abel sighs. “We found shelter. It was a pretty bad storm.”
“There was a body,” the kid says.
Abel gives the kid an admonishing glance.
Reaching the door to the communal hall, Sal turns, regarding them quizzically. “A body?”
“A plez addict,” Abel says. “He'd been dead a long while.”
Sal shakes her head. “Terrible drug. What did you do with the remains?”
He gestures to his left arm, frowning. “We left it where it was.”
Sal frowns. “Everyone deserves a burial.”
“What happened to your fields?”
She stops and meets Abel’s gaze. “The Family paid us a visit. They were asking about you two.”
“So sorry. I didn't want to get anyone else involved in this.”
“This isn't your fault.” She turns, grabbing for the door. They enter the communal hall and take a seat at the central table. Sal sits opposite Abel and steeples her fingers. “So, you were taken by the Family?” she asks, turning to the kid with narrowed eyes.
“We were staying in this building. I went out for a pee, and they grabbed me. They took me on a raft into the city and got me working in the factory.”
“You're fighting plez addiction,” she says. “Did you succumb?”
The kid turns to Abel with a confused look.
“Did you take more plez, kid?”
The kid waves his hands. “No. They gave it me, but I threw it in the water.”
“That's wonderful,” says Sal. “And you've not taken any plez since leaving them the first time?”
The kid shakes his head. “It’s hard, but I've had help.” He looks up at Abel.
Smiling, Abel leans back. “He's going to have bad times still, but he's over the worst. I'm really proud of him.”
Sal nods. “This is God at work.”
“I'm not sure about that, Sal. The kid's making progress — let's not take anything away from him.”
“You have your beliefs, I have mine,” she says.
“Yep.”
The communal hall door opens and a tall man with thick black hair and hunched shoulders leans inside. Bruises mottle his face. A deep cut streaks across his hooked nose, curling down to a split upper lip.
“Jacob, please come in,” says Sal.
Jacob makes his way along the table with a grim expression, limping with each step. “The chapel is still too dusty for this evening's service,” he says.
Sal nods and sighs. “We can hold it in here.”
Jacob turns to leave.
“Before you go, will you take a look at Abel’s arm?”
Jacob tilts his head. “Are you okay to come with me?”
“Sure,” Abel says. “You'll be alright here, won't you, kid?”
The kid nods.
Abel gets to his feet and offers Jacob a smile. “Lead the way.”
JACOB'S SURGERY IS clean but cramped. Abel sits on the edge of a bed. A bench stands against the opposite wall, cluttered with bandages, bowls and bottles of rubbing alcohol and ether. He scans the line of books resting on a shelf above a desk to his right, the titles too far away to make out.
He grimaces as Jacob unties the sling and unravels the first layer of bandage from around his left arm.
“Let me see,” Jacob says, a yellow bruise rippling up the right side of his neck.
With gritted teeth, Abel pulls the bandage away from his skin, his wound reopening as a thick layer of scab clings to the material. “That smarts,” he says, taking in a sharp breath.
“It's quite deep,” Jacob says. “I don't think the muscle's been damaged.”
“That’s good.” Abel turns away.
“It’s strange seeing you without your dog.”
Abel swallows. “Yep.”
“When she was here, I got to see what it was that attracted you to her. She was a very good companion.”
Abel lets out a si
gh and looks down at the floorboards. “I miss her. I think about her all the time — her, the wizard. I just hope I can take care of the kid better.”
Jacob takes a swab from its plastic wrap, unscrews the bottle of rubbing alcohol and tips until it soaks in.
Abel turns away as Jacob wipes the wound, cleaning the blood and pus. He winces at the sting as the alcohol burns the open flesh.
“Keep looking over there,” Jacob suggests.
Abel turns, biting his bottom lip as Jacob pushes a searing hot needle around the wound's edges, closing it together with thread. He looks down at his injured arm and feels the blood drain from his face.
“I told you not to look,” says Jacob.
“I wouldn't have looked if you hadn't have pulled at me like that.”
Jacob cuts the thread and ties it off. “Keep an eye on this. You should be okay, but try to keep it clean. Wash it with alcohol when you can. I don’t think I need to tell you what an infection like this can do.”
Abel goes to say something then stops himself.
“Anything else?”
Abel nods. “I fell on my rib.”
“Can you take your top off for me?”
With fumbling hands, he lifts up his layers of clothing — sweaters, T-shirts, and vests — pulling them over his head and dropping them next to him in a scrunched-up heap.
“Stand up,” says Jacob, gesturing with his fingers.
Abel gets to his feet and looks down as Jacob examines him. He feels a stab along his sternum as cold prods make their way across his chest and stomach.
“Do you feel short of breath?”
“A little.”
“Looks like you’ve aggravated your cracked rib. You'll be right. Will you stand with your back against the wall?”
Hesitantly, Abel moves over to the wall, cold pressing against his back.
“Put your hands over your head. Now, what I'm going to do—” In that instant, Jacob pushes the flat of his hand hard against Abel's chest. Something cracks and Abel gasps for breath.
“What you doing?” he manages through pained breaths.
“Fixing your cracked rib,” says Jacob turning to his bench.
“But you...” Abel stops and runs his hand over his chest. “You did it. I wish you'd have warned me.”
“If I'd have warned you, it wouldn't have worked. I didn't want you tensed up.”
Abel takes a deep breath. “Thanks.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Thank you.” He pulls his clothes back on and feels the stitches as they stretch and pull against his arm.
“You'll have to take the stitches out when the wound seals.”
“When will that be?”
“A week, perhaps longer. You'll be able to tell.”
Abel offers a hand to Jacob. “Thanks. What happened to your face?”
Jacob exhales through his nose. “The Family's what happened. They were looking for a guy with a boat and a kid on plez. Sound familiar?”
Abel clenches his jaw. “Right. I’m sorry.”
“I didn't tell them anything if that's what you're worried about.”
“That's not what worries me. They shouldn't have done what they did.”
“What's done is done.” Jacob sighs. “God punishes the wicked.”
“He’s done a damn good job of that so far.” Abel shakes his head.
WHEN ABEL RETURNS TO the communal hall, residents pour in, taking seats as they whisper in tense, nervous voices. Abel sits next to the kid and smiles at Sal when she gets to her feet. Torchlight flickers behind her, casting dancing shadows along the table in front of her. She looks around the room then takes a breath.
“Are you complacent?” she asks, her eyes widening as she sweeps her gaze across the residents’ faces. “Perhaps you have become satisfied, apathetic. Perhaps you believe you are doing enough to make the world a better place. I say to all of you that you are not. I say there is more we can all do.”
Sal's face grows stern, her eyes bright with the reflection of beeswax candles. She brushes a dreadlock from her face and makes a show of looking around. “We have fallen into a trap of selfish indifference to the people who live beyond our walls. Those wandering the wastes struggle to survive, while we sit by in our comforts. There are people beyond our walls who have never heard of God, never heard our Gospel, never heard the teachings of Jesus Christ, never felt the love of friendship, of companionship, of community.” She looks at Abel.
“There is a friend of our community who returned to us today. His companion has fought against drug addiction, against the temptations of the wastes. He was saved because of God's plan. Our friend put himself before danger, selflessly risking his own life to rescue another person. He was not complacent. He did not sit and wait for the person to escape. He did not wait for somebody else to do something. He took charge and carried out God's plan. They are with us because of God's plan. They have shown us that God has a plan for all of us, and it is not for us to stay here, preaching our message to each other, but to go out and spread our message to those who need it.”
Sal bows her head. “Let us pray. Please, Lord, give us the strength to resist complacency, to find new ways to spread your glory beyond our walls. Help us to give strength to others and to bring positive change to all we encounter. Amen.”
A murmur of nervous chatter and unsure whispers spreads through the hall when Sal takes a seat next to Abel.
“I wish you hadn't done that,” he says.
She furrows her brow and folds her arms. “Aside from your beliefs, tell me what was wrong about what I just said.”
“I don't feel comfortable with you putting me up on a pedestal like that. I did what I had to do.”
“I disagree. You didn't have to do anything. You could have been complacent. You could have left your companion with the Family, but you didn't. If I can use your example to inspire my community to take positive actions, then I make no apologies.”
“Alright, I can't complain at that, I suppose.” He looks around at the residents’ faces and turns back to Sal. “You’ve no idea what it’s really like out there. They’ll eat these people alive.”
“God will protect us. He has a plan for us.”
“Damn it, Sal.” He strikes the table with the side of his fist. “There are some real nasty people out there.” He nods towards a fearful young man. “You think that guy’s going to be able to defend himself against a pack of dogs? You think he’ll know which leaves he can eat and which ones will make him ill? You think he’ll be able to make a fire when he’s out of matches? What about dealing with dust storms? Brown rain? Finding food?” He gets to his feet, his jaw tight.
She places a hand on his arm, meeting his eyes. “Please sit. You’re absolutely right.” She passes her gaze across the room, taking in the other faces. “We will plan. We will be careful.”
Abel lowers himself to his seat. “It needs to be more than that. You need to instil knowledge as instinct; otherwise, you’re just going to send them out to die.”
“Then we’ll have to learn. This is the only way we can do God’s work.”
Abel looks down at a tin plate being waved in front of him.
“Food,” the kid says, grinning.
“Let us talk about this some other time,” Sal says, taking a plate from the pile.
Trays of steaming potatoes and carrots, cooked chicken, and applesauce make their way along the tables, moving from hand to hand.
“You've built a great place here,” says the kid, turning to Sal. “I wish I could have lived somewhere like this.”
Sal nods, dipping a piece of chicken into the applesauce. “We've tried to build Zion — a town in God's image.”
“Right,” the kid says, looking confused.
Jacob takes a seat across from Abel, his plate piled high with food. “How's the arm?”
“It's fine. Still hurts.”
“So you rescued this one from the Family?” he asks, gesturing
to the kid.
“Yep. They had him working in the plez factory. But, good on the kid, he didn't take any.”
Jacob looks at the kid. “I wouldn't be so sure. He looks like an addict to me.”
“He was. I've been helping him. He was with the Family before I met him then he escaped. He stopped taking plez, and they took him again.”
“That would explain the purple around his eyes. Haven’t the Family moved to the city since what happened at the Grid?”
“Yep,” Abel nods. “I took my boat out and got the kid.”
Jacob raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“And what of the Family now?”
Abel sighs. “They're still doing what they always do, I suppose.”
Jacob heaves a sharp breath through his nose. “And Sal holds you up as an example?”
“I didn't ask her to do that.”
“You've not done anything, not really. You've helped your friend, but the Family will keep terrorising the wastes with their drugs and their violence.”
Abel holds up a hand. “I just want a quiet life. The kid was in danger, so I got him back.”
Jacob purses his lips. “You're complacent,” he spits.
“So, what? You want me to take on the Family?”
“If that's what it takes.”
Abel laughs bitterly and gets to his feet. “Is the room ready?” he asks, turning to Sal.
“Of course,” she says. “I'll show you the way.”
Abel and the kid follow as Sal works her way out of the communal hall. Torches ripple against the night sky as they step into the cold air. “I'm sorry about Jacob,” she says. “He can be quite intense at times.”
“Yep,” Abel says, walking alongside a vegetable patch. “He was saying I didn't do enough with the Family.”
Sal stops and turns to Abel. “Perhaps he's right.”
Abel stops and glares at Sal. “Excuse me?”
“The Family are still producing drugs. They could easily snatch your friend again, and you'll be in the same situation you were before. In fact, they tracked you both down last time.”
Abel sighs and waves a hand. “Not you as well.”
“I'm just glad to be free,” says the kid. “We don't need more trouble.”