Untitled Agenda 21 Sequel (9781476746852)

by Beck, Glenn

  Hail was beating against the tent, rapid-fire and harsh.

  She had said she couldn’t bring the baby here. It would be too dangerous. But she never said he couldn’t see Elsa at all. He just couldn’t see her here. He had felt the pause before she answered and sensed the hesitation in her voice. Somehow, George would see his baby. He had faith in Emmeline. She had always cared about people.

  White jagged streaks of lightning flashed across the sky.

  For one small, dark minute George thought that if he couldn’t see his child, he’d crawl out of this tent with the metal ball on the end of his leg, offer it up to the god of storms, and pray for lightning to strike him.

  He pushed that thought away.

  Instead he vowed to lie down every night with the tent flap open, watching and waiting, hoping to see a woman and a child at the edge of the field.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  * * *

  JOHN

  Day 13

  Dawn rose with great red fingers of light piercing the gray sky. The storm was over. Through the window, John could see the damage it had done. Evergreens, the most vulnerable of trees with their shallow roots, lay fallen, their majestic limbs sprawled against the ground. Broken branches littered the area.

  One by one the sleeping men stirred, stretching their legs, rubbing their eyes. Joan and Julia were already awake. They had communicated through silent gestures that they would take turns keeping watch through the night. By now, it was almost as though they could read each other’s minds. They had formed a sense of togetherness in the middle of chaos.

  “The women will go out together for a short break,” John told the men sitting behind him. They did not respond, but sat slumped in their seats. John noticed one of them had a twitch in his eyelid which he quickly covered with his hand.

  Julia limped up the aisle of the bus, holding onto the backs of the seats as she went forward. It looked like she was able to put a little weight on her injured ankle. John watched as Joan helped her off the bus and they disappeared into some thick woods.

  “When the women return, you will go out one by one, and I will accompany you.”

  Steven looked surprised. Any thoughts Steven might have of overpowering the women when John left the bus would soon be dashed.

  The women returned in a short time and returned to their seats, watchful, waiting to see what would happen next.

  John pointed to the one with the twitchy eye. “You, what’s your name?”

  “Guy, sir.”

  “You’re next.” He stood, but John held up his hand for him to stop. “First I need to give Julia something.” Still holding Steven’s gun, John pulled his own gun out of his waistband and handed it to Julia. Smiling, she took it with an air of confidence. “She will use it if the situation requires it.” John motioned for Guy to exit the bus and followed him. Steven had no way of knowing that Joan also had a gun. Some things were best left secret.

  Guy finished quickly and returned to the bus. Another man was standing, anxious to get off. Julia, her arm resting on the back of the seat, was pointing the gun toward the men. Her aim was steady.

  “Your name?”

  “Nigel, sir.”

  “Move out. I’m right behind you.”

  Next came Winston, then Adam. Steven would be last.

  As John waited for Adam to finish, he looked at the stream. It was much higher this morning because of the torrential rains, and was flowing fast, carrying debris from trees with it. Above the roar of the water, John heard a man scream and saw Adam running toward him, his face filled with panic. Quickly, John raised his gun.

  “I’ve been bitten. I’ve been bitten.” Adam was holding his right hand in his left. “A snake bit me.” He was close enough now that John could see two distinct puncture wounds on his hand.

  “What kind of snake?” John asked him.

  “Rattler. Big sucker. About five feet long. I was reaching down to retie my shoe. Heard the rattle. Next thing I knew, bam.” He was panting with fear. “You’ve got to help me.”

  “Get on the bus. I’ll look at it.”

  “Damn, it hurts,” he said as he got on the bus. John quickly followed.

  John knew from the looks on the other men’s faces that they had heard what happened to Adam. Their expressions were a mixture of concern, fear, and uncertainty. Adam stumbled to the back of the bus and fell into his seat. The men clustered around him.

  “Back to your seats,” John said. He turned back to Adam. “Keep your hand lower than your heart. Slow your breathing. You, Guy, take off your belt. Make a tourniquet on his arm, then sit back down.”

  Guy fumbled with his belt but managed to do as he had been told.

  “Shouldn’t you suck the venom out?” Steven asked.

  “That’s an old-school treatment,” John answered. “I was a Boy Scout leader in the before-times. Current recommendations are to apply a tourniquet and immobilize the limb.”

  Adam was whimpering with pain but there was nothing more John could do.

  “Your turn,” John said to Steven.

  “Where was the snake?” Steven asked.

  “Over in that direction.” John pointed to the area where Adam had been bitten. Steven took tentative, watchful steps and went the opposite way.

  Joan rummaged through the men’s backpacks for nourishment cubes and passed them around. Adam refused his cube with a harsh shake of his head as he rocked back and forth in his seat, sweating and whimpering.

  When he returned, Steven spoke to John in a tight, polite tone. “Sir, if I may, shouldn’t we be moving out and searching for other escapees nearby?”

  “You think he can travel?” John scoffed and pointed at Adam.

  Steven shrugged. That shrug, along with the fact that he had abandoned Julia in the wilderness, told John all he needed to know about him. The man had no compassion, no empathy. “We’re losing valuable time. The escapees are getting farther away with every passing moment.”

  “It’s not a waste of time to take care of your team. I shouldn’t have to remind you of that. We are not moving out until I say so.”

  Steven sat back in his seat with a disgusted look on his face that he made no effort to conceal.

  He was right. They were wasting time. And that was exactly what John wanted.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  * * *

  EMMELINE

  Day 13

  Paul’s tale had left me emotionally exhausted and I struggled to fall asleep. Dark thoughts kept running through my head. David had whispered Never again, not to us, as he stretched out beside me, and those words had a haunting, desperate quality.

  The next morning, the air smelled sweet and cool. I woke first. Micah and Elsa were curled together like puppies; David was asleep on his stomach near the entrance, his face cradled on his arms, his legs long and straight, the bottoms of his feet dirty, smudged with grime. We didn’t wear our shoes here. We had to save them for when we journeyed on.

  Paul and Ingrid were propped against the cave wall, seated side by side, gray heads together. They looked so peaceful. I stepped over David’s legs and slipped outside to watch the sunrise. The clouds were tinged pink on the bottom edges as if kissed by the dawn and blushing with pleasure.

  Paul was right; there was so much contentment to be found in watching the day break every morning. I was learning to take comfort in the dependability, the certainty of a new dawn, and a new day. But how could I be so sure of a comfortable new day after hearing the horror stories of history? Was there another quality of human nature that Paul hadn’t listed? Could it be hope?

  Yes, hope.

  But when these atrocities were happening, what did people think? It happened to someone else, not me? It happened over there, not here. It happened then, not now? Thinking like that isn’t hope, it’s denial.

  The truth is, the atrocities Paul had described could happen to anyone, anyplace, anytime, if people did not pay attention. Maybe hope is nothing more
than the determination to find freedom. And the belief that you can.

  No trees near the cave had fallen, but some that were deeper in the woods leaned against each other at odd angles, with great lumps of root and dirt exposed. The power of nature was always impressive.

  I checked the traps. There were two rabbits again today, their fur wet and plastered against their bodies. I left them there so Micah could discover them when he woke. He would be so excited when he ran to us with the news of the catch.

  David stepped out of the cave, rubbing his eyes. We spoke little, but sat together, waiting for the others. One by one they emerged. Micah carried Elsa. She reached out for me and I took her into my arms. Ingrid and Paul came out next. Micah headed for the traps and within a few minutes he ran back, carrying the two wet rabbits. Grinning, he held them out as a gift to Paul, who graciously accepted the offering with a slight bow of his head.

  “We have the day’s work cut out for us,” Paul said as he gathered up the tools to prepare the meat. “We’ll clean these little beauties, maybe find some more honey, and make a spear for Micah.”

  Micah followed so closely behind his new friend that he almost stepped on Paul’s heel.

  “David, is your arm strong enough to bring some water up from the stream? We’ll need it for cleaning the rabbits and anything else we find for our meal.” Paul pointed to his empty old dented bucket.

  David rolled up his sleeve, revealing a long, healed scar. The honey and thyme tea had done their job well.

  I went with David to the stream. The morning seemed so normal in contrast to the storm and Paul’s horrible stories about history. The water was high, fast, and cold. I scooped up the fresh water with my cupped palms and drank deeply. “Lots of fish in there,” David said. “Paul mentioned fishing but I didn’t see any poles in the cave. Wonder what he uses.” The pail was full in no time and David was ready to return to the group.

  “Wait a minute. Sit with me.”

  He set the pail down and settled beside me. “Look, a dragonfly,” he said, pointing to a beautiful insect flashing its silver wings as it flitted above the water. A fish, mouth wide open, a large dark circle, splashed upward, and the dragonfly disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

  “What did you think of Paul’s story last night?” I asked, still preoccupied with my questions of hope and freedom.

  “I don’t know what to think. It sounded unbelievable to me. One hundred seventy million people. Gone.” He snapped his fingers, but the sound was too small compared to what he was describing.

  “Paul wouldn’t lie.”

  “I didn’t say he was lying. I said it was unbelievable.”

  I looked at him in amazement. “Not unbelievable. It was happening all around us. Right there.” I pointed in the direction of the Compound, just a few days walk from where we were sitting. “That’s too close for comfort. As soon as possible, we have to move on. Get farther away.”

  “Emmy, we’re safe here. We have shelter. We are well hidden. I’m not sure about moving on.”

  How could I explain to him that it wasn’t the leaving that was important? What was important was the finding. Finding where we began, finding a place where life was good and people were free. Finding ourselves. Before I could explain how I felt, he stood, took a few steps, and moved to look at something by the bank. “A turtle,” he said. “I’m sure Paul and Ingrid will know what to do with this.” He reached down cautiously and picked the turtle up by its tail. “It’s a snapping turtle. Jaw strong enough to take your finger off. Claws are nasty, too. Don’t get too close to it.”

  “Did you hear what I said? As soon as possible, we have to move on.”

  “Some turtles can pull their heads, feet, and tail into their shell. That’s how they protect themselves. Snapping turtles can’t do that. So they defend themselves with their mouth and feet.”

  “I don’t care about turtles, David. I want to talk about getting to Kansas.”

  The turtle was opening and closing its mouth, waving its feet, looking for something to attack. David held it at arm’s length.

  “I was just explaining that there are different ways to be safe, Emmy. Pull yourself into a shell or use any weapon you have to protect yourself. That’s all.”

  “Fine. I get it. Enough already about turtles. After George sees Elsa, we’ll move on. Find a new safe place. We are not turtles.”

  He picked up the bucket of water with one hand, then set it back down.

  “They’re old, you know. Paul and Ingrid. She’s forgetful sometimes. And he puts his hand on his chest once in a while as if something is bothering him. Can you leave them? We have been protected and safe here. I’m not sure we should move on.”

  He was right. They needed us. And they had been so good to us.

  “We can take them with us! We need Paul to teach us everything he knows about history. Emmy and Micah will have grandparents in their lives.” I smiled at the thought.

  “What if they won’t come with us? Can you leave them behind?” That was the second time he’d asked me that.

  “We have to convince them.”

  “And if they won’t? Emmy, whatever decision they make, you’ll have to accept. I’m not sure we should keep traveling, but if we do, and they do come with us, you know it will slow us down.” Still holding the turtle, he picked up the bucket and started up the hill.

  I wanted to pull all of us into a shell just like the turtle, a shell that would protect us and shut out the rest of the world. A shell big enough to protect everyone I loved.

  But living in a shell would be no better than living in the Compound or living in a cave. No, a shell was not what I wanted. I wanted blue sky above me, horizons open and safe in all directions.

  I wanted to be free from fear.

  Ingrid set her broom aside and clapped her hands when we arrived back at the cave and she saw the turtle. “Turtle soup,” she said. “Oh, my! I make the best turtle soup! Just you wait till you taste it!” She poured water from the bucket into the pot on the fire pit. “Quick, Micah, the pit needs more wood. Hurry! And then we’ll find some greens to go in the soup.”

  She chattered on as David put the turtle in a basin of water. It tried to scramble up the side but slid back down. Micah looked at the turtle and started to reach for it.

  “No, Micah, no!” David said. “He’ll bite you! Don’t touch him.”

  Micah pulled his hand back, then scurried off to gather twigs and branches. He returned quickly with his small arms full. “But they’re wet,” he said, handing the wood to her. “They’ll make too much smoke.”

  “Oh, pshaw. Not to worry. Smoke, schmoke. We’re making soup! It’s a happy day.” She took the wood he was holding and pushed it into the fire pit. It started hissing and gray puffs of smoke curled above the pit. She jumped back, waved her hands in front of her face, and coughed. Paul rushed over and pulled the wet wood out of the pit. The hissing faded but smoke still curled in wavy tendrils above us.

  “Ingrid! What are you doing? We don’t want all that smoke in here, or drifting outside where it can be seen.”

  “Just making soup,” she said, looking unsure, and twisting the end of her braid in her fingers.

  He laid the wood aside, hit his fist against his chest, and sat down on the log bench. “All in good time, Ingrid. All in good time.” He hit his chest again, and coughed.

  “But we have a turtle!”

  “Ingrid, we have rabbits to clean first,” he said gently. “Have you finished sweeping?”

  “Oh, dear. I didn’t finish.” She grabbed the broom and began sweeping, her braid swinging back and forth as she moved.

  “Why do you do that? Why do you hit your chest?” Micah asked Paul, imitating the motion by thumping his own fist against his chest.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Just sometimes I feel like I have butterflies in my heart. Fluttering, kind of. That little punch makes it stop fluttering. That’s all. I’m okay now.”

  As I watched
the little scene with Paul, Ingrid, and Micah, I realized how right David was. Paul and Ingrid were old. Traveling with them would be very slow and very difficult. It already looked painful for Ingrid as she shuffled in and out of the cave. And Paul had something wrong with his heart. I didn’t understand it, but I knew that it couldn’t be good.

  Still, could I really leave them behind?

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  * * *

  EMMELINE

  Day 14

  Our morning chores were done.

  “It’s been two full days since the storm, Paul. Are the woods dry enough for you to go to the commune?”

  “That was one of the worst storms I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty in my lifetime. But I suppose there’s been some drying out.” He poured fresh water into the turtle basin, set the empty bucket upside down, and sat on it. “I’m thinking, when we do kill the turtle, I might be able to use a piece of the shell for an arrowhead or spear tip for Micah.”

  He was avoiding my question. “Dry enough for you to go tonight?”

  “Why are you in such a hurry for me to do this? What difference would another day make?”

  “I just am.”

  Paul pointed a finger at me, the mud under his fingernail caked hard as a rock. “ ‘I just am’ is not an answer, Emmeline.”

  I had looked at my map earlier, measuring with my fingers the distance from where I thought I was to the place I wanted to be. There was a mileage scale on the side of the map. Using that, it looked like we would have somewhere around an eight-hundred to a thousand-mile trip. I wasn’t afraid of the distance. I was afraid of the delay.

  “Because,” I hesitated, then looked straight into Paul’s old blue eyes. “Because we need to move on. Get farther away. We’re still too close to the Compound. They’re still looking for us. They’re looking for all of us. And all of us must move on.”