Jakob had already come to the same conclusion, and expected himself to be the first to fall, but now that he might have a sister... The temptation to hope for a new, safer life, was significant. “Okay, C3PO. Thanks for the pick-me-up. Maybe don’t tell me the odds.”
“If that’s what you want, Captain Solo.” Peter led them out of the kitchen, arm around his son. They walked up the stairs, side by side, heading for the front door. “By the way, nice shooting yesterday. You’d have made a good Marine.”
Peter pushed through the door, squinting in the morning sun. But he stopped short of exiting, saying, “What the hell?”
24
Peter stared at the field separating the church’s front door from the road. What looked like a pixelated section of the cabbage crop—exactly where the Echo and its remains had lain, was missing. In its place was barren soil, which would hold new cabbage plants inside a month, if not sooner. But for now, it was a geometric scar of the previous day’s violence.
His hand went for his gun, but he didn’t draw it. Ella and Anne waited by the armored pickup, looking alert, but relaxed. Peter crept over the cabbage, the leafy green balls crunching under his feet. When he got close enough to the truck that he didn’t need to shout, he asked, “Did you do this?”
“Found it like this,” Ella said. She leaned against the truck bed, one leg propped up on the wheel behind her, arms crossed. Closer now, Peter could see the tension in her eyes. “There isn’t a single drop of blood left. Every plant that was soiled has been removed and taken away. No sign of what did it. No prints. No scat. I’ve never seen this kind of behavior before.”
Peter stepped onto the dirt. The softness of it underfoot felt foreign, but familiar. A taste of his old life. When he had been a farmer, working the fields. When he had been an active duty CSO, deployed in one part of the world or another. The land underfoot was always dirt. Always soft. Since crops had covered the world, there wasn’t much barren soil left. The clearings were either pavement or concrete.
He walked to the center of the dirt patch and crouched. He put his hand into the soil and lifted it up. The earth was cool, damp and dark, like rich chocolate cake. He smelled it and realized it smelled exactly like he did. Like they all did since rubbing themselves in dirt. He worked his thumb through the soil, separating clumps. When he saw wriggling pink, he flinched.
A worm.
I haven’t seen a worm since... But is it even still a worm?
He separated the small creature from the soil and held it in his open palm. Its body pulsed, sliding across his skin, leaving a thin trail of slick goo behind.
Just a worm.
“The soil’s not contaminated yet,” he said.
“And it won’t be.” Ella pushed off the truck. “The DNA breaks down with the rest of the plant as it decays. By the time it reaches the worms, there’s nothing left but nutrients.”
That the land was still able to be worked gave Peter a small measure of hope. The damage could be undone...if they could get rid of the ExoGenetic plants. But that wasn’t even the plan, was it? Why change the world back, when the human race could adapt? When we could eat the unlimited GMO crops without becoming monsters?
Peter dropped the soil and looked over the clearing. “You’re right about the prints; there aren’t any. But there are tracks.” He pointed to the nearly invisible crisscrossing lines covering the soil, the kind made when a branch is dragged over the earth to erase footprints. “The question isn’t what did this—it’s who.”
“We know,” Ella said, opening the door to the truck and climbing in behind the steering wheel. “Why don’t you tell him about it, Anne?”
Anne bounded up in front of Peter, bouncing from foot to foot. The action seemed playful in a way Peter hadn’t seen since the Change. She switched from bouncing to running in place and waving her arms around.
“What are you doing?” Jakob asked, trying not to laugh, but failing.
“Looking natural,” Anne said. “So they won’t know we’re talking.”
Peter was instantly on guard, his eyes scouring the area for signs of company, but any signs of his vigilance were hidden by a phony laugh. He clapped, as though cheering her on.
Jakob just stood there, stunned by the behavior.
“Why don’t you go in the truck,” Peter said to his son, just a flicker of seriousness in his eyes. Jakob suddenly grasped the secret messages being passed back and forth, and added his own horribly fake laugh to the mix, waving his arms at the pair like they were ridiculous and walking, stiff-legged, to the truck.
“Don’t reply,” Anne said, her voice jolting as she continued to bounce. “They might see you. And don’t look straight when I—”
Peter lowered his head, hiding his mouth from any would-be lip readers watching them. “I was doing things like this before you were born.”
“Right.” Anne stopped moving, raised her hands and made a show of touching her toes. When she came back up, she said, “My five o’clock.” Toe touch and back up. “Two miles out, not far from the horizon.”
Peter raised his hands, laughing. “Okay, okay. I get it. You can stop now.” His arms came up in a stretch, bending behind his head. As he slowly extended his arms, he rolled his head, snapping his eyes to five o’clock for a moment. In that brief observation, he saw a faint flicker of light, the tell tale sign of an amateur watching through a spy glass, oblivious to the sun’s reflection. He finished the faux stretch with a real yawn and said, “Let’s get this show on the road.”
With the casualness of a family continuing a cross-country vacation, Peter and Anne headed back to the truck and climbed inside. Peter had never sat in the passenger’s seat of his truck, and he was momentarily uncomfortable, but a second glance at the reflection across the barren field made him forget about riding shotgun. He put on his seatbelt and turned to Ella, who started the engine.
“Part of me wants to drive across the field and run them down,” Ella said.
“Why shouldn’t we?” Jakob asked.
“For starters,” Peter said, “our intel is limited. Non-existent. All we really know is that something intelligent, mostly likely human—” He glanced at Ella and saw her nodding, “—was here last night. We don’t know how many there are. What they have for weapons. Or what their intentions are. All we really know is that they know we’re here. That reflection out in the field could be a trap. Or a distraction. The variables are endless, and few of them are good. So our best course of action is to—”
“Get the hell out,” Anne said.
“And hope they don’t have a way to follow us,” Peter added.
Ella put the truck in gear and performed a fast three-point turn. Within a minute, they were back on the highway. Peter kept watch, but he saw no signs of pursuit.
“I’ve got two pieces of bad news,” Ella said, dashing Peter’s hopes that they’d managed to escape. “First...” she pointed ahead.
Cars filled the road in the distance. The remnants of a pile-up that had happened when civilization had gone to hell. Cars, trucks and eighteen-wheelers filled both sides of the freeway, the shoulder and the woods beyond, forming an impenetrable wall of twisted metal.
“Second,” Ella said. “We’re low on gas.”
Peter leaned over, looking at the gas gauge, which was hovering over ‘E.’ He could have sworn they’d had at least a quarter of a tank the previous night.
“But there’s a silver lining,” Ella said, pointing again, this time to a green exit sign just before the accident. As they approached, a blue rectangle mounted below the exit sign showed a gas pump icon and an arrow pointing to the right.
“Could be a trap,” Jakob said from the back.
“Probably,” Anne said.
“Before the debate begins,” Ella said, steering toward the approaching exit, “I would rather fight an army of people before giving up this tank of a truck and once again facing the prospect of crossing the country on foot. As long as we have wheels
, our chances of surviving go way up. So if they want a fight, I suggest we give it to them. Otherwise, it’s going to be a long walk.”
No one said a word as she steered the truck off the highway and onto the off-ramp. She slowed to ten miles per hour, inching up to the intersection, stopping completely when the first signs of the gas station came into view. The tall sign was just visible over the tree line.
Peter turned to Jakob. “You up to handling the machine gun again?”
“Uh,” Jakob said. “And shooting it at people?”
“If there are people that want to shoot us, yes.”
Jakob thought on it for a moment, but gave a nod. “I’ll do what I have to.”
“Hop in the back. Stay down. Under the tarp. Out of sight. If things go south, I want a repeat of last night. Just remember to pick your targets and conserve your ammo.”
“Right,” Jakob said, “No pray and spray.” The boy was trying to sound confident, but he hadn’t fully hidden the quiver in his voice. Regardless of his fear, Jakob opened the back door, slid out and climbed into the truck bed.
Peter turned to Anne. “Get between the seats and stay there until we’re away, okay?”
She nodded and climbed down.
“We can’t just pull in there like it’s a normal gas station,” Ella said, gripping the wheel hard enough to drain the blood from her fingers. “We’ll be wide open for attack.”
“That’s why we’re not going to. You are.”
Ella’s eyes opened wide. “And you’ll be?”
“In the trees,” Peter said. “If there’s trouble, I’ll handle it and meet you at the pumps. If you hear me shooting before you get there, turn around.”
“And leave you?”
“If you have to, yes.”
“I don’t—
“You’ve got precious cargo,” Peter said. “You will.” He opened his door slowly and slid out onto the pavement. “Give me ten minutes to check things out, and then come in slow.” He took a step back, but Ella stopped him with a word.
“Peter.” She reached out her hand.
He leaned back in, took her fingers in his and squeezed. The stare between them said enough.
Peter withdrew his hand from hers. “I know.” Then he closed the door and ran into the woods lining the off-ramp, armed with a pistol, a knife and the desire to show whoever it was that was messing with them, that there were still more dangerous predators in the world than the ExoGens.
25
Ella waited five minutes before pulling onto the road and heading for the gas station. During that time, Anne remained silent and motionless. The girl had become skilled at stealth, knowing to remain still, body and soul, even while an enemy stood just feet away. The moment the illusion of nothingness was disturbed, the ruse was over, along with your life. Anne had remained hidden while their previous companions had been snatched away and eaten. Ella remembered the events with clarity, lying still under their camouflaged cloaks, listening to screams, and then the chewing. The memories disturbed her. Haunted her dreams. But she was an adult. How much more poignant would they be for Anne?
How different will she be from me when she grows up? Ella wondered. Endless questions without answers streamed through her mind. How would nurture affect the girl’s nature? Her mind? Her resilience? She’d already proven herself strong, but would she crack?
Or will I crack first?
Ella thought back to what her life had been like as a girl. Normal. Quiet. And shared, with Peter. She tried to picture herself in Anne’s shoes, and failed.
At least she has Peter in her life now. We’ll have that much in common, aside from our shared DNA.
Moving at a cautious 20 mph, Ella drove toward the gas station. As she neared the break in the treeline where the station resided, her apprehension increased. Heading into danger was not how they’d survived so far. Survival was only guaranteed by hiding or fleeing. But this...
On the surface, this felt wrong, like suicide, except she and Peter were putting their children at risk, too. She put a hand on the shotgun in the passenger’s seat, ready to raise it at a moment’s notice. With a sidelong glance at the woods to her right, she looked for any sign of Peter, but seeing further than the roadside was impossible. The newly resilient strain of RC-714-modified Zea saccharata—sweet corn—had filled all the gaps between the leafy trees. The corn looked like a wall, the trees like watchtowers, keeping intruders out. Finding Peter amid the fruits of her labor would be impossible.
He’s not there anyway, she told herself. Peter was precise. He had said he would meet her at the gas station in ten minutes, so that was where he would be.
Except, he wasn’t.
She slowed to a crawl as the gas station came into view. It was a small station with an attached, one-car garage. The building was painted white with red framing. A collection of never-repaired vehicles sat off to the side, rusting and framed by corn stalks. The logo on the shattered window was unreadable, but it had been mounted atop the two pumps also: ‘Harrison’s.’
With rising trepidation, she pulled up next to the pumps. Peter was nowhere to be seen, but fleeing wouldn’t get them anywhere but stuck a few miles down the road when the truck ran out of gas.
No, she thought. No running or hiding this time. We’ll fight if we need to.
“Stay still,” she said through pursed lips. Not waiting for a reply from Anne, she shut off the truck, leaving the keys in the ignition. Then she opened the door and stepped into the warm, summer air. She hadn’t even realized the truck’s air conditioner had been running. The humid air now clinging to her dirt-caked body quickly saturated her, filling her with longing for a climate-controlled laboratory. She had become hardened. She knew that. Recognized the physical and emotional traits. But the real Ella was still in there, still pining for a soft bed, gourmet food and the safety of a world without ExoGenetic predators.
Suck it up, she told herself. That’s not going to happen in your lifetime, so get over it. It’s the future we’re fighting for.
Acting as casual as possible while clutching a shotgun, she scanned the area. They were surrounded by walls of corn and trees in every direction, except for where the crumbling pavement cut through. There could be a hundred Stalkers lurking all around them, and they’d never know.
I’d hear them, she thought, focusing on the lack of sound around her. With no trace of a breeze, the world was silent. Aside from the ticking of the truck’s cooling engine, she heard nothing. No insects. No birds. No distant hum of humanity. The world had eaten itself. The only insects that remained were either pollen-consuming prey, or super predators that didn’t announce their presence. The same was true for birds. The few she’d seen were massive things, Apex predators with twelve-foot wingspans, hunting each other into oblivion.
She opened the gas cap on the side of the truck, placing it on the flatbed’s sidewall and mumbling. “I’ve never siphoned gas before.”
Jakob looked up at her from below, whispering, “Where’s my dad?”
“Haven’t seen him,” she replied, head down, scratching the back of her scalp.
Jakob pointed to a three-foot-long metal rod with a hook on the end. It lay next to a long coil of tubing and a hand pump. Jakob had been busy while hiding in the back. “Pumps won’t work without power. Use this to open the gas reservoir covers.”
Ella reached in, trying to emote an air of ‘I do this shit all the time.’ She plucked up the nameless tool and looked for the fuel reservoir covers. She found them fifteen feet behind the truck. While keeping watch on her surroundings, she headed for the nearest cover, looped the hook around a small receptacle, and lifted it free. The metal cover was heavy, but not prohibitively so. She moved it to the side, and then she repeated the process with the other three covers, assuming that air flow would help with the pumping.
The smell of gasoline stung her nose and erased all traces of the corn scented air. She stood suddenly tense. No longer being able to smell was ne
arly as unnerving as not being able to hear or see. In this world of hunter and prey, scent was often the first telltale sign of a predator.
Doubling her pace, she moved back to the truck, reached in and took the pump and tubing.
Jakob’s whispering stopped her before she could walk away. “Take the gas cans.” He motioned to the back of the truck where three red gas cans sat. They’d long since emptied them into the dirty truck. “We need to treat the gas before putting it in the tank. Make sure it won’t kill the engine.”
“This is going to take too long,” she grumbled.
“Is my dad back?”
She shook her head slightly.
“Then it’s not too long, because we’re not leaving without him.”
Ella lifted the pump and walked away, setting it down by the open hatch. She went back for the gas cans, pausing for a moment to say, “He’ll be back.” Then she returned to the pump, moving fast, her sense of impending doom rising, a volcanic cloud blotting out her reasoning and discipline. Her hands shook as she unraveled the tube. The device looked like a bicycle pump, except for the long tube mounted to the side, just beneath the pump, and a second, shorter tube mounted to the side at the bottom. She didn’t know exactly how the pump worked, but only the long tube could reach the gas hidden below, so she fed it into the open hatch until it disappeared inside and the line went taut. She placed the second tube into the nearest gas can and began pumping.
It was easy work at first, the pump moving up and down, but then the gas reached the pump, adding resistance. She was encouraged as air and fuel spattered out of the line and then flowed with each rise and fall of the pump, but her arm began to burn from the repetitive motion. She was also vulnerable; both hands occupied, her sense of smell shot, and her mind distracted by the task at hand. So when she heard the crunch of approaching feet behind her, the sound didn’t register until a hand wrapped around her shoulder and squeezed.
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