The Last Orchard (Book 2): The Last Orchard

by Hunt, James

  From disease, to war, to mutiny, a select group of people were privy to the procedures that would ensure the orchard’s survival. Because that was all that really mattered in the end.

  For Charlie, the orchard represented something more than just a means of survival, it was the only thing that still connected him to his father. It was a legacy Charlie wanted to continue long after he had died, not for himself, but for Harold Decker. The man who had given his life to avenge the home and land that he loved.

  The twins sat together against the back wall, whispering to one another, while Lee lay down on the adjacent wall and Nick paced the front of the cage like a tiger waiting to be let out.

  “Fucking bullshit,” Nick said, the anger continuing to simmer.

  “Calm down,” Charlie said. “We don’t know what they’ll do. Best to just wait it out now.”

  “I know what they’re going to fucking do,” Nick said. “They’re going to either kill us, use us as bait and then kill us, or torture us until we tell them all about the orchard, and then kill us after they’re done. Either way, it’s going to be painful.” Nick flapped his arms at his sides and gripped the iron bars of the front of the cage, twisting his palms around the old iron as if he could break it in half.

  And while Charlie couldn’t read the future, he knew that there was truth to Nick’s words. Dixon had told him some stories from surviving soldiers that had run into the clans before. And while other clans had resorted to torture and barbaric methods of justice, anyone that was taken by the blue clan was never seen again.

  “So, you’re Charlie Decker.” The voice came from the other side of the bars, though the man it belonged to was mostly concealed in shadow on the far wall and past the guard. “You’re not a well-liked man around here.”

  “I couldn’t tell,” Charlie said.

  The laughter that followed was more playful than Charlie expected, and the man that accompanied it from the shadows was even more unsuspecting.

  Clean-shaven with a buzzed head and dark skin, a wide smile revealed sparkling white teeth. He was dressed in long sleeves, jeans, and boots, sporting the familiar blue patch insignia on his left shoulder. He crossed his arms and stopped just short of the bars.

  Charlie squinted at the stranger. “Do I know you?”

  He paced the front of the bars. “People talk about you around here like you’re a god.” He cocked his head to the side and shook his head. “But that’s not what I see.”

  “What do you see?” Charlie asked.

  The stranger grabbed hold of the bars and pressed his face between the long pieces of iron. The playfulness was gone. “A man who needs to answer for his sins.” He pushed himself off the bars and left, eyeing Charlie the entire way until he finally turned and walked out of the house.

  “What in the hell was that?” Nick asked.

  Charlie’s gaze lingered on the darkness where the stranger had hidden, and he shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  12

  The inside of their prison provided no windows and no air flow, and without the sky, Charlie and his crew lost all track of time.

  Charlie wiped his brow, flinging the sweat collecting on his skin to the concrete floor, which darkened from the speckles of water that quickly evaporated from the heat.

  “What the hell do they plan to do?” Nick asked, sitting on his ass and shirtless. “Cook us to death?”

  “I do not give permission to any of you to eat me,” Jason said, his voice lethargic.

  Even Shelly had stripped down as far as she could go without forgoing her modesty, though if the heat continued to rise, Charlie wasn’t sure how much longer modesty would last for any of them.

  “I don’t think we’ll be in here long enough for that to happen,” Shelly said. “They’ll shoot us before they cook us. But they might cook us afterward.”

  Lee laughed. “A nice orchard crew stew.”

  “Yeah, well, I hope they choke on it,” Nick said.

  Voices and the steady patter of boots forced all of them to look toward the front of the cell where they were greeted by a dozen clan soldiers. The leader of the unit motioned toward the cell door with a single flick of his head, and the guard on duty opened it.

  The leader stepped inside. He was grizzled, with a beard and shoulder-length hair, and he was so broad shouldered that he barely fit through the door.

  “On your feet,” he said, the words spoken like an order. “Now.”

  The crew looked toward Charlie, who remained seated on the floor. He locked eyes with the unit leader, and after a pause, he nodded to the others. They all stood.

  They formed a single file line and were surrounded on their walk out of the cell and through the rest of the camp.

  The bodies that surrounded them blocked Charlie’s view of the rest of their compound, but he noticed that everywhere they passed, whispers followed.

  People covered their mouths, leaning into their neighbors, their eyes darting back and forth between one another, pointing at Charlie as if he were a ghost.

  They were eventually led to a small house at the end of a cul-de-sac where five houses sat in a semi-circle. They were led to the house in the dead center, the door closed, and guarded by two more armed sentries.

  Charlie and his people were ushered inside, trailing dirty footprints along cool tile that was a relief against the soles of their bare feet. The leader of the unit pointed toward a room off the side of a hallway, and Charlie was the first to turn the corner.

  And what he found inside was far different than what he expected.

  “Please, have a seat.” It was the stranger from earlier, sitting at the head of a dining table that held plates filled with meat, vegetables, fruit, and glasses of water, all of which was illuminated by candle-light.

  Charlie frowned at the sight, clogging the narrow entrance as the rest of his crew peeked over his shoulders. “What is this?”

  The stranger picked up a fork. “It’s dinner.” He speared a cube of potato and popped it into his mouth, smiling as he chewed. “I’d eat before it gets cold.” He reached for his cup and drank, focusing on his meal while Charlie stood dumbfounded.

  But when Charlie didn’t move, the stranger finally looked up from his plate, and that playfulness that was on display earlier vanished.

  “We spend our days rationing, and this is a large amount of food to go to waste,” he said. “If you don’t eat it, then tell me now and I’ll bring in someone who will.”

  There was a seat and a plate for each of them, Charlie taking the seat at the opposite end of the table from the stranger, who smiled when everyone sat down.

  “There,” he said. “That’s better.”

  Nick, Shelly, Jason, and Lee all looked to Charlie after a thorough investigation of their food.

  “If I wanted to kill you, then I would have done it already,” the stranger said. “And I would have done it with something far more unpleasant than poison.” He smiled at the words, and while the playfulness was charming, it didn’t lessen the threat.

  “What do you want?” Charlie asked.

  “I want you to eat,” he answered. “And then we will talk. But not before. Eat.”

  Once everyone had their first bite, nothing but the sounds of chewing and silverware scraping porcelain filled the room.

  Belly full and plate cleaned, Charlie dropped the fork and knife and wiped his mouth with the back of his dirty hand. He stood, and a pair of guards rushed near him, but they didn’t touch him.

  “What do you want?” Charlie asked.

  “It’s just not what I want, Charlie Decker. It’s what you want. It’s what that commander in Mayfield wants as well.” He stood. “It’s what every single man, woman, and child still alive in this country have wanted for the past year.” He leaned forward. “For the world to return to the way it was.”

  “If you want the world to return to the way it was, then you need to let me and my unit return with our gear home,” Charlie said.
>
  “Yeah, that’s what we were trying to do before you fuckers fucked it up,” Nick said.

  The stranger didn’t break eye contact with Charlie, the hint of a smile still curved upward on his face. “I imagine that you and Dixon have an arrangement with one another. I don’t blame you. If I had the ear of a military commander, I would bend it a little too.” He nodded. “It’s a smart alliance.”

  “Is that what you’re proposing?” Charlie asked.

  The stranger leaned forward. “I propose we talk.”

  Another man walked past Charlie and set a box down on the table, which had been cleared of the stranger’s plate. It was the bag that held the computer components for the power plant.

  The stranger placed his hand on the bag. “I have to confess I peeked inside. I was always the kid that went looking for the Christmas presents after my parents had bought them. Curiosity always got the better of me, and it was a trait that I never outgrew.” He tapped the lid. “I’d heard rumors that the military was nearly done with the plant.” He stepped from the head of the table and walked toward Charlie, leaving the box. “The moment the power turns back on, things are going to change again, but I want to make sure that when things do change, that they change for the better.” He stopped just short of Charlie, close enough for Charlie to strangle him with his bare hands.

  “It will be better,” Charlie said.

  “Better for you, maybe,” the stranger replied. “But not for the majority of my people.”

  Nick laughed, leaning back in his seat. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” He stood, knocking the chair down behind him.

  “Nick, stand down,” Charlie said.

  “No, because this self-righteous asshole thinks that he’s got it all figured out, that we’re just going to lie down and let you march in and control the narrative.” Nick walked around the table toward the stranger but was cut off by a guard that slammed him to the floor, pinning his hands behind his back.

  Lee calmly reached for his glass and shook his head. “You’d think he’d have learned to keep his mouth shut by now.”

  Shelly raised her eyebrows. “That’s because he doesn’t think at all.” She peeked over the table and watched him squirm beneath the guard’s boots.

  “Why don’t you and I talk without any distractions,” the stranger said.

  Outside, evening had fallen, and the stranger led him to a garden in the backyard, flowers in bloom, and everything a shade of gold under the light of the setting sun. It was beautiful.

  “I always enjoyed coming out here,” the stranger said. “Helps remind me of what we’re really fighting for, especially when things get tough.”

  Charlie extended a finger, grazing one of the flower petals before retracting his hand. “And what exactly are you fighting for?”

  The stranger shook his head and then collapsed on a bench between a pair of rose bushes. Deflated, Charlie felt like he was finally catching a glimpse of the real man behind the façade.

  “I’ve fought for a long time now, Charlie,” he said. “I’ve had so much bloodstains on my hands that I can’t wash it off anymore.” He stared down at his palms, wiggling his fingers. “I’m numb to it. And it scares me.”

  Charlie walked over, then took a seat at the man’s side, his knees popping like an old man’s. Whatever youth remained of him seemed to be locked away, and he couldn’t remember where he put the key.

  “I wanted to prove to myself that I could make this work,” the stranger said. “It was why I had my men put you in the cell.” He looked over to Charlie. “I did consider killing you. It was a thought that crossed my mind more than once.”

  Charlie nodded. “I would have done the same.”

  The stranger nodded, leaning back, relaxing a little bit as he gazed around his garden. “This wasn’t my house before all of this started. It belonged to an old man. He was a widower, but the garden belonged to his late wife. He told me that he never had an interest in gardening until she was gone, and he’d always regretted not sharing that hobby with her. But he kept things growing after she died. He told me that it was a way for him to stay connected to her and the past that they shared with one another.”

  Charlie waited for a punchline, or a quirky remark, but when it never came, he figured that the man was speaking from the heart, and Charlie let the silence linger.

  “The past is funny, isn’t it?” the stranger finally asked. “It seems like half of us are trying to get back to it, while the other half are running for our lives from it.” He turned to Charlie. “Which one are you?”

  Charlie raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “I’m still trying to figure it out.”

  The stranger chuckled. “That’s why you’re in the position you find yourself in right now, my friend. If we let ourselves be torn in two by the past and the future, then we’ll never be able to enjoy the present.” He looked around and smiled. “I’d like to stay here when it’s all said and done, but I doubt they’ll let me do that.”

  “They?” Charlie asked.

  “The people who want back in power,” the stranger answered. “The government and police, all of the authorities that were stripped of their rank and title when the power got shut off.” He pointed to Charlie. “Before people like you and me were able to build something for ourselves.”

  “I didn’t build anything for myself,” Charlie replied.

  “No, and neither did I,” the stranger said. “But if it wasn’t for our ambition, then a lot of people would have gone hungry. And there would still be a lot more killing than there is going on now. We keep our people in check. We make sure that a skirmish doesn’t escalate into a war.”

  Charlie paused. “And is that what we’re doing now?”

  “I hope so.”

  Charlie stood and turned to face the stranger. “Then let me go. The faster we get back to the power plant, the faster we can end all of this nonsense.” He spread out his arms. “Isn’t that our end game? Isn’t that what we’ve all been fighting to get back?”

  The stranger shook his head. “You’re not listening, Charlie.” He stood. “Do you know half the people that are a part of this community were living in poverty before? Barely had a roof over their head and went to bed hungry every night. The moment the power comes back on, that’s exactly where they’ll be returned to, hell, half of us will probably go on trial for murder.”

  “It’s not about who was who when, or where, it’s about saving more lives before they end,” Charlie answered. “Because right now, the people who caused this are mounting an attack to keep us in the dark, and if they succeed this time, I don’t know how much longer people will be able to hold it together. Hell, I don’t know how much longer I can hold it together!”

  The moment the words left his lips, they surprised both the stranger and Charlie. They had been tucked away in the back of his mind for a long time, and finally speaking them aloud relieved a tension in Charlie that he didn’t even know existed.

  Charlie wandered blindly back to the bench, collapsing, slouching and cradling his head with his hands.

  The stranger let Charlie have his moment of peace, and after he rubbed his temples, letting the moment pass, he straightened up in his seat and turned toward the stranger.

  “What did you do?” Charlie asked. “Before all of this?”

  “Garbage man,” the stranger answered, then waved his hand. “My official title was some sanitation engineer bullshit to try and help erase the stigma of telling people that you’re a garbage man, but it didn’t make you smell better at the end of the day.” He laughed. “But it was good work. Steady. Pay was decent. And it gave me time to go back to school.” He smiled. “I was going to be a math teacher.”

  Charlie reciprocated the smile, and for the brief moment Charlie wasn’t talking to an enemy. He was speaking to a young man with aspirations to better himself for a future that was just around the corner.

  “My family owned the orchard.” The words pou
red out of Charlie unexpectedly. “I know it’s not known for apples anymore, but when we did grow them, they were the best in the state.” He smiled. “My dad always told me that it took a certain type of man to be a farmer. It was work that not everyone was suited for, and I always thought that was bullshit.” He smiled, but it faded. “But then as I grew older, I realized what he meant. Not everyone has the patience, or the tenacity, to help something grow.” He turned to the stranger. “Because that’s all a farmer really does. We’re not the creator of life, we’re simply protectors of it, you know? Biology takes care of the hard stuff, and all we have to do is make sure it has a chance to flourish.” He nodded. “I haven’t seen a lot of that over the past year.” He turned to the stranger. “Wouldn’t it be nice to get back to the way things were? Before all of this? Before we had territories and clans and war.”

  The stranger nodded, but then stood and paced anxiously in the garden. The evening light had nearly disappeared now, and the day entered twilight. “I made promises to my people, and I’m sure you’ve made some of your own.” He reached for a flower and plucked it from the bush. He twirled the stem around his fingertips and then turned back toward Charlie. “I want us to put things back together better than they were before.”

  Charlie shook his head. “We’re far past ideals and hopes now.” He stood. “There’s a fight coming our way.” He walked to the stranger, who was still focused on the flower in his hand. “We need to save the lives that we can. And if you’re the man I think you are, then that’s all that will matter to you and the rest of your people. If people really want things to change, then they will change them once this is over.”

  “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.” The stranger tossed the flower back into the bushes. He wiped his face and stepped away, muttering something to himself that Charlie couldn’t hear.

  “We’re running out of time,” Charlie said, hoping to coax the stranger toward a decision. “This is a window that’s not going to open again for a long time. Maybe never. Generations would go through nothing but war. That’s not a life I want for my people, and I know that it’s not a life you want for yours. So let’s stop it.”