Transients

by Brayan Branko Bubalo

  “Yes, sir; thank you, sir; gentlemen.”

  “What happened to Zack and the other two fellas?” asked Presley.

  “They went their own way.”

  “Tomorrow morning, the two of you will go and see Mr. and Mrs. Catchinsky. You will ask for their pardon and, if they accept your apology, you will offer them your assistance, for anything they may need. Only if you get their absolution, you will be able to stay with us.”

  “Yes, sir; we’ll do as you say.”

  ***

  The next morning they learned that Mr. Catchinsky died that night, during his sleep. Doctor Madison was surprised, and puzzled. In his opinion, the cause of death had nothing to do with his injuries.

  “It was a stroke,” he stated bluntly after he examined the body, “caused by a blood–clot which developed as a result of a diet rich in fat and carbohydrates… and a lack of exercise.”

  “How ironic,” Professor said. It was such a rare thing to occur, in the last twenty years of misfortune.

  The widow decided to not burn, but bury him instead. Presley and a couple of his men helped her.

  Presley was perplexed by the fact that she showed very little remorse, and even her kids did not show much sorrow during the funeral.

  “He was a harsh man,” she said. “I know he loved us, but he had a very strange way of showing it. He was always concerned with survival and he pushed us to extremes. I guess we just forgot how to show our feelings.”

  Then she came to Presley about an hour later.

  “Mr. Presley, we would like to join you on your journey, if you’d have us. We have a large underground shelter full of food and other supplies, and we are willing to share all of it with you. I wanted to leave this place a long time ago, but my husband insisted on waiting, claiming that the time has not yet come. He never told me what it was that he was waiting for, and I am not sure if there was anything at all. Sometimes I suspected that he was just afraid, or grew too attached to this place, too devoted to his stuff. Or he was simply waiting until our supplies ran thin… We were preparing for disaster since we got married, secretly building this bunker and buying an excess of provisions. Gregory has been waiting for doomsday since he was a teenager. He belonged to that movement called Preppers. The first ten years of our marriage, before we had any kids, we spent doing that: collecting supplies, building the shelter in secret. And then, after all, disaster came. Ever since the eruptions, we hid underground—from Pongos and people alike. No one knew we were here. The day before yesterday we were caught by surprise. Zack killed our dogs while we were underground. Our dogs always warned us if someone was coming, giving us enough time to hide. Luckily, we were out and had a chance to warn our kids to run to the shelter. This way they could only suspect we had a hidden place. They wanted us to give them food, but my husband did not want to admit that we had any. Their leader Zack threatened we would never rid ourselves from them, but my husband insisted that we had no food. They tortured him yelling: “If you have no food how come you’re so fat?” They’d harm me, too; but then you came…”

  “Do you have any grudge towards those two men from Zack’s group who came yesterday and asked to join us?”

  “No… no, I don’t. They came and apologized. And I remember they looked almost as frightened as we were. They actually saved me from being harmed, by pleading with Zack to deal only with my husband. I have no quarrel with them.”

  “Ok… good. They asked me if they can join us, and I told them only if you forgive them for what they did to you and your husband. We tolerate no cruelty towards any fellow human being, even towards such individuals as Zack. The two of them are at your disposal for anything you may require.”

  “No, we’ll be fine. They are free of any debt on my count. It is so good, though, to learn that someone like you is still alive.”

  Presley was amazed by the size and abundance of the things stored in the shelter. The entrance was behind the living room wall, which could be opened by depressing a single plunk on the wall, made of wooden plunks. The wall that separated the living room and hallway was built at such an angle that the wall of the living room, and the wall viewed from the hallway, were not the same, but rather, double walls that met each other at the door that lead from the living room to the hallway, with a hollow space in between and a narrow staircase leading to the underground. They were unable to take even half of the supplies stored in the shelter, for they had no means of transporting that amount of stuff.

  They took as much as they could, and decided to leave the entrance to the shelter ajar, for anyone that may pass by and be in need.

  Three days passed since they crossed the Lake, and finally, they were able to continue their voyage, already bigger in numbers and stronger in confidence.

  Chapter V

  A few days later, they came upon a small town. As a rule they avoided passing through or coming near settlements of any size, but this one was nestled in the middle of a long valley, hidden between two hills on each side and, more importantly, it would take far too long to make a detour to circumvent it. Presley and his lieutenants, along with Professor Tagore, observed from the hill that dominated the valley. It was a typical Carimean small industrial town, half way to nowhere, Presley thought. There were a few businesses and apartment buildings in the centre, surrounded by several streets, perpendicular and parallel to the main boulevard and, further away, a trailer camp, for the poorest of the folks, and; in the distance, to the far end of the valley, a factory plant, the source of the town’s livelihood and the reason for existence. Presley wondered what they used to produce there; plastics or chemicals, possibly car parts, computer equipment, brooms maybe… Definitely brooms… He traced his gaze back to the center. The trailer park was flattened, mostly burned to the ground. The rest of the town looked much the same: houses were badly damaged, and in some cases entirely destroyed; the lone skyscraper was covered in graffiti, and was missing glass from its windows; the streets were dotted with garbage and pot holes, broken street lamps and traffic lights falling over. Nearby, there was a double–arched M–Burger three–dimensional logo, cut in half; with one half shooting to the sky and the other, lying on the street covered in dirty snow and debris. Presley always found M–Burger signs to be too implicit, too ?in your face’ and, simply, ugly. “We’re here because you can only afford to eat cheap,” it suggested, “You swallowed the lie that our burgers are healthy and, in turn, made us filthy rich.” The owners of the world’s biggest fast food franchise must be well and alive; and, if there was any truth to Professor’s story: among the pyramids, with the other wealthy and powerful masters of the World…

  On the hill, east from the center, he spotted a few mansions, where the rich folk of the community—business owners, merchants, city and government officials, judges and doctors—used to live.

  But now, the town looked deserted and dead. There was no trace of people, or any sign of movement to be detected anywhere, no smoke from fires, no animals, or any other clue to suggest that there was anyone alive down there. The only indication that anyone ever lived here were the carcasses of people and animals scattered around the streets, covered with snow and rubble blown over by the wind, left there to slowly decay. Or the remains of houses and buildings once destroyed by explosions and fire, or demolished by looting that probably occurred at some point, before everyone was killed, fled or simply left to die. It seemed that no one passed through for a long time. The place was empty; or so they thought… In the distance, towards the center, Presley spotted a faint line of white smoke seeping through a wrecked glass dome in the middle of a long, one–storey building, which probably, at one time, was the main town mall. There was someone alive in the town after all. They decided to find out who was making the fire. They had to pass through, anyway.

  It took them half an hour to reach the mall. They moved slowly and cautiously, scrutinizing everything around them and listening tentatively for any revealing noises. Everything was still. The o
nly clamour they could hear came from a giant, dead oak tree, a couple hundred yards west of the market place, where a murder of crows was resting, preparing to feast on frozen carcasses.

  They entered the building with caution, ready to pick up a fight if necessary. Presley and five other men came in through a wide entrance and entered the hall covered with shattered glass and messy debris. They stood there for a while, waiting for their sight to adjust to the gloomy and dark interior. Then they dispersed three and three, left and right down the corridor, moving slowly towards the middle of the shopping center, where the two wings met at a large dome-like circle, the place where they saw smoke raising through the ceiling. Finally they reached it in silence, as good soldiers can, swiftly and sufficiently, ready to act. Behind the corner, Presley could hear crackling of a fire and, for a brief moment, the smell of burning wood put him at ease. As he peaked behind the corner, he was surprised by what he saw. In the center of the square, in the amphitheatre like depression of what used to be a water fountain, he saw them huddled around the fire. A group of little kids, six of them, from ages five to about twelve, were sitting around the fire, reaching their hands over the flames. His men approached them in silence, and on his mark, made their presence known. The children, both boys and girls, turned their heads and looked up at Presley and his men, showing no sign of fear, or in fact, any other emotion—still and calm as if in a trance. They looked very thin and seemingly frail.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right. We won’t hurt you,” Presley said in a low voice, ever so gently, lowering his gun.

  The oldest kid, a blond boy of twelve, stood up and turned around, holding a shotgun. But he was too weak to raise it up.

  “It’s ok,” Presley said taking the weapon from his hands. “You don’t need this, boy. It is all right. We’re not going to hurt you. Hey guys, give them some energy bars and water. Mike, go out and call our folks. I don’t think there’s anyone else here.”

  The main party was waiting atop the hill for their signal to come down. Mrs. Catchinsky and the other women immediately took to looking after the little ones. They cleaned them up as much as they could, fed them and gave them warm tea to drink and, after a while, all the kids fell asleep, except the blond boy. He was keenly observing what was going on around him and, it seemed to Presley, was trying to convince himself that he and his little protΘgΘs were really safe amongst these strangers. Presley felt something like sympathy, or perhaps solidarity towards the young fellow, because he knew what it meant to be responsible for and to take care of others. He sat next to the boy, silent for a moment, waiting for the youngster to get used to his presence.

  “What is your name?”

  “Leo,” the boy said.

  “How long have you been on your own, Leo?”

  “Long,” the boy said, unable to put a number to the days.

  “What happened to your folks?” asked Presley.

  “They died. A long time ago.”

  “What about the other people?”

  “They are all dead. Didn’t you see dead bodies on the streets? There are dead people in the houses, too. That’s why we came here. There’re no dead people here.”

  “What did they die from?”

  “They all got killed or sick with the white plague. They all died, one by one, until we were all alone. And we had to hide from them until they died, ‘cause they were not themselves any more, being sick and all. It was scary, but when we were left all by ourselves, it was even scarier.”

  “Well, Leo. You are safe now. We’ll take care of you and your friends.”

  “You’re not going to die?”

  “I think not. We’ve survived until now.”

  “Are you going to get sick?”

  “I think not.”

  “Good! ‘Cause I’m tired of those little weasels. All the time they are yapping, and yapping: Leo, we’re hungry; Leo, we’re cold. Leo, we’re scared. Leo this, Leo that… I am really tired.”

  “I know how it feels,” Presley chuckled. “But you can rest now. From now on somebody else will care for them.”

  “No, you don’t understand, mister. I do not mind caring for them. I just need a little break.”

  “Yup! I know! You need a break. See that man over there? Go to him and ask him to give you a sleeping bag, and then go where the others are, find a spot and get some sleep.”

  “Ok,” said Leo, but did not move. Presley waited patiently.

  “What is your name, mister?” asked Leo.

  “Presley.”

  Leo was silent for a moment. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Presley,” he said softly.

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Leo. It is nice to meet you, indeed.”

  Then, the boy stood up slowly and walked away towards Mike.

  “Hey, Leo, come back, would you?” Leo turned around with a quizzical expression.

  “What’s in that box, if you don’t mind me asking?” Presley noticed the boy was holding a carton shoebox under his right arm. He was holding it the entire time and Presley wanted to ask him about it, but, as their conversation went on, he kept forgetting.

  “These are my ravens. Would you like to see them?”

  “Show me,” Presley said with wonder in his voice.

  Leo lifted the cover, slightly, and Presley saw two ugly, barely feathered hatchlings, bundled up in a piece of cloth. They trembled, and after being exposed to the light, they faintly shrieked, opening their beaks widely, in agony from hunger and thirst.

  “Where did they come from?”

  “I found them yesterday, under some tree. They lost their mother, you see. I thought I could save them.”

  “Did you feed them?”

  “I tried to feed them some crumbs. It’s hard. You have to push it down their throats. But I think they didn’t like it.”

  “I think they are predominately carnivores, they like meat. See that old guy, over there. That’s Professor Tagore. Go talk to him. He might be able to help you keep them alive. No need to be shy—he’ll love it.”

  “Ok, thanks!” Leo walked straight towards Tagore. Presley admired his determination.

  ***

  The next day they continued their journey and, ever since the day they found Leo and his friends, they continued to meet more children and teenagers on their way. So their group grew rapidly.

  Chapter VI

  Many days passed by uneventful. Their journey became a routine. The scouts went a few miles in front of the main party, to prevent any surprises and alert the others of any possible obstacles or threats, and a few armed men stayed behind, for the same reason, and, from time to time, one or two men would go sideways, to see if anyone was following them on their flanks. By the end of each day they would look for a place, secluded and safe, away from the path, for an overnight camp.

  For days they met nobody. They were making good progress. They reached the lower hills of the Eastern Mountainous Range and continued meandering through valleys and alongside riverbanks, all the time avoiding main roads and large cities or towns, cautious of leaving as little trace on their path as they possibly could. After many days, they reached the outskirts of the Wavy Mountains. The big climb began and their progress grew slower. There were many small mining towns and hamlets on their route, deserted and gloomy. Like always, they approached them with caution, never eliminating the chance of sudden confrontation with local people or gangs of drifters. Or Pongos. But there was no one. The entire country seemed to be deserted.

  It was still cold and the ground was covered with snow and ice, but occasionally, the Sun almost broke through the ash clouds, promising an end to the era of extreme cold. Still, everything was grey and dark, silent and frozen. They met no one. Only once, they bumped into a gang of crooks, and had no choice but to fight and, unavoidably, kill them. Although he loathed violence, as a soldier, Presley understood there were people who only knew how to kill or be killed, and so he did not hesitate to kill if he had to.

  Af
terward, they met no one else for many days.

  “Maybe they are hiding. Maybe they are afraid of us.”

  “Would you be afraid of us?”

  “Or maybe there’s no one else left.”

  The landscape appeared mostly apocalyptic: abandoned houses and buildings reduced to vertical rubble, stripped of anything that held value; roads covered by ice and snow, garbage and debris caused by years of fighting, looting and finally, negligence; dead bodies of people and Pongos alike, frozen and scattered on the ground; destroyed vehicles left on roads, dead forests and snow covered hilltops and valleys; devastation everywhere… But, as they moved southward, they began to notice some scarce patches of green, here and there. The Sun grew stronger every day and, around midday, they noticed tiny strips of water running through frozen riverbeds and ditches. It gave them hope. Still, everywhere they passed they witnessed signs of death and destruction, famine and plague.

  The plague killed most of those who survived the war, the famine and the eruptions. They, on the other hand, stopped worrying about the plague a long time ago. They were convinced that they were somehow resistant to it. They tried to help those few they found on their way, even though most of the time there was nothing they could do. For those who got sick, the only fate was death. They frequently stumbled upon little children left behind by people that were already dead or in the process of dying. Amazingly, the youngsters only looked exhausted by prolonged exposure to the cold and undernourishment, but otherwise appeared to be healthy. They took all the children with them. It increased their numbers, but made them vulnerable. It became harder and harder to move.

  A few months passed since they started their journey and, over this time, the cold became less harsh and more endurable. Days became brighter and longer, and with the temperature rise, their spirits grew stronger; their ordeal seemed less unbearable…

  They reached another mountain town, desolate and silent. They decided to stop for a couple days to get some rest. They came across a couple of young girls there, maybe fourteen years of age, taking care of a few toddlers and two babies. They found them in the Town Hall, located in the centre of the town. At first, the girls tried to run away and hide, but the sound of the crying babies betrayed their hiding place. After some time, the two girls allowed the women from Presley’s group to approach them. They gave them food and helped them clean up, and did the same for the toddlers and two babies they were caring for. The girls later told them that the toddlers were survivors like they were, but the babies were their own. They were raped by some horrible men and then, left for dead.