by Steven Bird
Returning the smile, she said, “Even if we have to crawl to them on our knees, in the last moments of our lives as the virus overtakes us, we’ll get that data in the right hands where it can be put to good use. The plan may not be what it was, but we can still go out proud of who we are, and proud that our lives were used to help others.”
I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in and embraced her, squeezing her tightly and just relishing in the moment. I hadn’t had a feeling of such warmth in my heart in as long as I could remember.
“And at least I won’t be remembered as a stormtrooper,” I said with a grin.
“You’re a hero to me whether we make it there or not,” she said as she leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips.
We sat there for what was probably the next half an hour in silence. I can only assume she was doing the same as I, contemplating our future, present, and past. I thought of where my life could have gone and where it had. I could have still been back in D.C., comfortable, yet knowing the truth, but if I had continued to serve the OWA with that certainty in my heart, I would have been complicit in their deeds. I already felt that I had a black spot on my soul for serving the beast as long as I had, but this—if we could pull it off—would wash it clean again.
I doubt that in her heart she was longing for redemption as I was. She had only served the OWA in a capacity to help others, not to enforce its rule; still, she seemed very at peace with what we faced. She was indeed a person to be admired, and I was fortunate to be facing the challenges ahead alongside her.
Once she decided she was up for travel, we pressed on through the woods to the west. The initial elevation gain to get to the other side of the hill ahead took its toll on her, requiring us to take numerous breaks, slowing our pace dramatically, but at least we were making progress.
“Tomorrow will be better,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, dismissing her feeling of holding us back. “It’s not like we have an appointment to keep or anything. We’ll get to wherever we’re going whenever we get there.”
“That’s the positive Joe Branch I like to see,” she said with a smile.
Before I could respond, we heard the nicker of a horse in the distance, and both immediately looked up to see a man dressed in dark brown woodsman’s clothing, with a duster-style coat and a brown, floppy full-brimmed hat. The man sat atop the horse at a distance of maybe one hundred yards or so and seemed to merely be staring at us. Neither the man nor the horse moved in any way. He appeared to have a rifle of some sort laid across his lap, but it was hard to tell for sure from our distance.
I reached slowly for my rifle and was stopped by Tamara’s hand as she whispered, “No.”
“Do you know him?” I asked softly.
“No. No, I don’t. We’re outside of my area here. But if he meant us harm, he could have shot us without us even knowing he was here.”
“Are you sure he’s armed?” I asked.
“Why would an unarmed man allow us to see him when we clearly have a weapon? We only know he’s there because he allowed us to. Let’s not lose sight of that.”
The man then turned his horse and disappeared into the woods. The horse and rider moved swiftly and confidently through the trees with the stealth and agility of a deer. She was right. We’d have never known he was there if he hadn’t chosen to allow it.
Based on our map, with our current direction of travel, we’d be crossing three to four mountain ridges to get to the other side. However, traveling south or north would take us a long way from our route of intended travel. Deviating either direction for the sake of less-difficult terrain would likely add days to our journey, and those were days we no longer had to burn.
We soon came across a reasonably well-used trail that appeared to have been there long before the Sembé virus had swept through the nation and the world. We explored the trail for a short distance and soon found a white, diamond-shaped trail marker with the symbol of a turkey’s foot on it, with the word Pinhoti underneath.
“That must be this trail,” I said, tapping my finger on the map. Though our map didn’t contain any detailed information about the Pinhoti trail, we could see that it zigged and zagged up and down between the ridges in our path of travel. It appeared to have been cut to mitigate the steep inclines, trading slope for mileage.
Unfortunately, most of the trail would add significant mileage to our journey, as it traveled far to both the north and the south, due to the steepness of the terrain. Based on the scale of our map, we would need to travel approximately three miles to clear the wildlife area as the crow flies, but seven or eight miles if we took the trail.
Thinking it over for a minute, I pointed uphill and asked Tamara, “Only you know how you feel after taking that blow to the head. It’s your call. We can take the shorter, steeper route or the longer, more flowing route.”
She glared at me as if I’d insulted her somehow. “Up and over,” she insisted as she began walking straight up the side of the hill.
I wasn’t totally comfortable pushing her so hard with what I could only assume to be a concussion, but Tamara wasn’t a woman to be argued with. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment, but that was a more appealing trait than I had imagined. Maybe it was the situation, or maybe…
“Well, are you coming?” she quipped sarcastically, already well ahead of me.
By the time we reached the top of the next ridge, my heart was pounding. It had been a much longer, steeper climb than it had looked from the bottom. It’s funny how that works. How many times have people uttered the words “it’s just over the next hill” or “it can’t be much further” only to reach the top to see yet another, and another? More than one could count, I’d imagine.
I knew if my heart was beating like it was trying to climb out of my chest, Tamara must have been feeling the effects of her blow to the head. I had seen her squint and blink a few times, so the pain was more than evident.
Looking around from our position of elevation on top of the ridge, I observed, “Wow, this place is gorgeous.”
“Yes, it is,” she replied while scanning the area. “If we go down here,” she said, pointing straight ahead, “we can cut through those clearings to the south of that ridge in the center, then work our way back up the valley on the next side before cutting across. That would save us one climb and descent.”
Examining her proposed route on the map, I said, “That should work just fine. Are those clearings farms?” I asked, trying to make out any signs of habitation in that area. It would have been the perfect hideaway, with the exception of being visible from the top of the Pinhoti trail, of course.
Surrounded by mountains on all sides and essentially cut off from any highways or major migratory routes, it would make a great place to get away from the world, so long as the world didn’t go hiking—that is.
“If you look at that cut in the mountains there,” she pointed, “a road probably comes into the valley from there. It looks like a one-way-in, one-way-out situation. It would be the perfect setup for blocking the road and keeping vehicle traffic out.”
Looking up at the sky, I said, “We’ve eaten up a chunk of the day already. We’d better keep moving. How do you feel?”
“I’m okay,” she quickly answered as if not giving the question a second thought.
I admired her rugged, mission-focused attitude, but I didn’t want her to overdo it for the sake of pride or mission accomplishment. Not wanting to hold my tongue any longer, I said bluntly, “Did you fly on the airlines much? Before the collapse, that is?”
“A few times. Why?” she asked, wondering where I was going with that.
“Do you remember that tedious, yet legally required safety brief where the flight attendants would show you how to fasten your seatbelt and put on your life vest, even if you weren’t flying over any water?”
“Yeah,” she replied, looking even more confused.
“When they mentioned the oxygen mask, remem
ber how they would tell you to be sure to put your own mask on before you helped others?”
Nodding, starting to see where I was going with this, she crossed her arms and continued to listen, humoring me, I guess.
“They said that because if you’re struggling to help someone else and forget about yourself, you could pass out and then be no use to anyone. If you get your mask on properly first, then you’ll be in a better position to help others.”
“Are you telling me to put my mask on?” she asked, giving me ‘the look’.
“Yes. Yes, I am. I just don’t want you to push so hard that you end up stroking out on me or something from your head injury, especially with the extent of your injury being unclear to us at this point. Overdoing it now won’t help the mission if it slows us down or stops us a few miles down the road.”
She didn’t answer me right away. She looked away, then back, locking onto my eyes. “Okay. It’s downhill from here until we reach the valley with the clearings. We’ll work our way down easy, and then, at the bottom, we’ll find a creek or something to refill our water and take a break. And…”
After an awkward moment, I asked, “And, what?”
“And, I’ll try not to be so stubborn. I’ll take your advice. I appreciate it. I really do. It’s nice to have someone care about you these days. Most people just see you for what they can get out of you. Everyone is just… cold.”
“Everyone’s in survival mode,” I said. “I guess that comes with the territory. Everyone has suffered so many losses, well, I guess we’ve all been emotionally-hardened, to a point. The one thing I don’t think we should do, though, is to focus solely on staying alive while forgetting to live.”
She turned to me, almost caught off-guard by my simple statement. I could see her face soften as if she began to lower an impenetrable wall of protection that she used as an armor to keep her emotions safe.
“Look,” I continued, “we know the score. We’ve done the math. Maybe we’ll somehow pull this off, but odds are we won’t. Let’s not waste our remaining time being all business. Let’s travel as two companions, rather than two people competing to see who’s tougher and who can run up the side of a mountain the fastest.”
Smiling, she said, “That’s just because you know I’ll win.”
I laughed out loud for the first time in as long as I could remember. It was a deep belly laugh that almost brought me to tears. I had wanted to be able to enjoy life for so long, yet at this moment, it was the first time it had felt like an actual possibility.
We laughed together for a few moments, and when it finally subsided, she took me by the hand, looked me in the eyes, and said, “You have no idea how bad I needed that,” as a tear began to roll down her cheek.
That tear led to another, and then another, and before long, she leaned in and rested her head against mine and began to sob, releasing some internal demons that had long overstayed their welcome.
For the next hour, we sat on the ridge underneath a tree with her head on my shoulder, silently observing the beauty of the world around us. It felt as if it was the first time in a long time we simply enjoyed the presence of someone else, and not just for the physical security it brought with it. For the first time in a long time, neither one of us was alone.
Chapter Eighteen
After our much-needed break on the ridge, we worked our way down the mountainside to the valley below and to the south. Although far less rigorous from a cardiovascular standpoint, I had always hated extended periods of traveling over steep, downhill terrain, because over time, the feeling of having my toes jammed into the front of my boots began to wear on me.
I was elated when we finally reached the bottom, and the terrain flowed gently into the valley below. “First things first,” I said. “Let’s find water.”
Studying the flow of the terrain, as well as a row of trees following the lowest point between the two ridges, Tamara pointed and said, “If I were a creek, that’s where I would be.”
“Let’s check it out,” I said, and we began working our way in that direction. Upon reaching the low-lying row of trees, we could hear the faint trickle of water flowing from the higher elevations above.
“See? I told you,” she joked with a smile.
Kneeling at the edge of the water, I began to fill the filter bottle as I heard her say, “More shod hoof prints.”
Standing and walking toward her, I looked to where she was pointing and visually followed the tracks across the creek and through the trees on the other side.
“Those look fresh,” I said, noting the sharpness of the edges in the soft dirt that would have surely begun to wear away if any significant time had passed.
“It only makes sense,” she replied. “If we’re looking for water, he’s looking for water. Out here, if you want to run into someone, it’ll be at a source of water.”
“Let’s drink up, then top the bottle off and get moving,” I said, and turned to resume filling the bottle.
After we had both drunk our fill, I topped the bottle off as planned and placed it in the pack.
“I’m feeling okay. Let me carry the extra pack. I feel bad watching you hump both packs and the rifle,” Tamara admitted sheepishly.
“You just don’t want me to have an excuse as to why you beat me up the next hill, huh?” I joked as I handed her the pack.
“You’ve got me all figured out,” she replied. Looking up the mountain, she asked, “Which way? What do you think?”
I was taken aback at first by her question. I was beginning to see the signs of a partnership. I must admit I, liked it.
“If we go up that way,” I said while pointing to the northwest, “I think we’ll run into the Pinhoti trail as it works its way back down from the north. We can probably hop on it there to make easy travel over the next ridge.
“That sounds good to me,” she said.
Hearing an aircraft flying high overhead, we both looked up to see the contrails of a four-engine jet way up in the upper flight levels. “That’s a transport,” I said. “Probably a 747. I don’t think we have to hide from that.”
“It looks like it’s heading north to south, I wonder where it’s going?” she pondered.
“If it were going into Atlanta, one of the OWA’s strongholds, I’d imagine it wouldn’t still be up so high. My guess would be along the gulf coast of Florida. There are a few OWA bases down there that require resupply on a regular basis.”
“I keep forgetting you’re one of them,” she said with a sly grin.
“Was! Was one of them,” I snarled jokingly. “C’mon. Let’s get going.”
After working our way through the tall brush and grasses in the valley toward where we planned to intercept the Pinhoti trail, Tamara froze dead in her tracks.
I looked up to see the man from before, sitting still and silent atop his horse approximately fifty yards in front of us. He again had a rifle laid across his lap, with his right hand resting on it as if prepared to bring it to bear if need be. “What the hell is that guy doing?” I whispered. “It’s as if he’s tracking us or something.”
Whispering in reply, Tamara said, “He’s not acting aggressively.”
“Blocking our path with his hand on a rifle is somewhat aggressive, if you ask me,” I replied.
Other than the horse shifting its weight around on occasion, the man didn’t budge as he stared down on us.
Taking a step forward, Tamara raised her hand to wave to the man.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I just want to see his reaction.”
The man raised his rifle off of this lap and propped the stock against his right leg, holding it vertically in plain view.
“At least he’s not pointing it at us,” she noted.
“No, but he’s making damn sure we know he has it. It looks like a scoped lever-action from here.”
“Let’s find another route,” Tamara said, acquiescing to the man’s formidable body language.
/> “We’ve eventually gotta deal with this guy,” I protested. “Otherwise, we’ll be looking over our shoulders the entire time, wondering if he’s out there watching us.”
“Good,” she replied. “We need to stay vigilant. If we’re watching out for him, we’ll be watching out for the OSS thugs that are no doubt looking for us by default.”
“As long as he doesn’t kill us before they do,” I grumbled.
“We’d already be dead if that were his plan,” she responded.
“Yeah,” I conceded. “Especially with a scoped rifle. He could be a lookout, though, exposing himself just enough to turn us and keep us contained until his cohorts arrive.”
Her silence expressed her concurrence with that possibility.
We turned and began walking back down toward the valley, working our way to the east to bring us closer to the next mountain we’d have to cross as we went.
We kept a keen eye out, but never saw him following us. Then again, we had never seen him until he presented himself the other two times, so it didn’t mean all that much.
With our preferred course offering us reasons to deviate, our new plan was simple, up and over. The sentiment of which could’ve best been expressed by a deep, “Ugh” from both of us. It was the hand we’d been dealt, though, so it was time to play it.
Making slow but steady progress, we arrived at the top of the ridge just as the sun was setting ahead of us. The trees and vegetation were thick, making it difficult to get a completely unobstructed view of what lay ahead to our west, but any sky devoid of drones or aircraft in this day and age, when you’re on the run from the world’s only remaining superpower, was a welcomed sight.
Draping our thermal-blocking barrier over a low hanging branch and stretching it out before staking it as tightly to the ground as we could, we settled in for a dinner of expired MREs, courtesy of the foresight and preparedness of Tamara and her recently-departed friends.
We knew the best way to defeat thermal imaging would be to have the barrier directly on top of us on the ground, preventing heat from escaping from the ends, but we desperately needed a chance to just sit back, relax, and eat. We planned on adjusting things once we retired for the night.