by Jim Rudnick
He slowly walked over to one of the men in camouflage and handed him the key. “Unlock yourselves—everyone, please, if you would,” and he got a nod back.
He went halfway across the street and looked at the tribe members all looking sullenly back at him. Amal stood alone and as Javor walked up to him, the tribe member shook his head.
“You have made a big mistake, slave. You have to answer to the Red Tribe—and to the Forest Empire too. We will lose much if we do not sell you all to them—and so you will pay for that one day in the future.
Sue came back from looking at the wounded. “One up front is dead, as is one of the ones at the back too. Other one back there,” she said as she pointed at one who was rolling from side to side, moaning, “will not last the night. That, and with all this noise, I’m sure that there’s zombies headed this way as well.
He nodded. Good thing to remember that gunshots mean zombies are on their way.
He smiled at Amal. “Unlike you—we do not hold any animosity towards others. We will be on our way, and we will not take it kindly if we meet up with you again. The rest of the slaves—no, the captives—are also free to do as they wish. We’re on our way to Lindos, and it’s a free city, so you’d best hope that we don’t meet you before we get there. Now sit,” he said, and Amal did just that.
Sue was talking with the other captives who were rubbing their wrists where the chains had chafed their skin. “You are all free. You know now to stay away from this tribe, who we’d imagine will go on to Omni to meet up with their others. We’re going to get going now …” she said, and she, Bruce, and Wayne joined Javor in the middle of the street.
One of the men dressed in camouflage said, “Care for any company?”
They all looked at each other. Sue shrugged and finally said, “Yes, anyone who’d want to go to Lindos, you can come along,” and that got some nods from others just freed from slavery.
They quickly dumped out the backpacks they’d been forced to carry and from the contents took some MREs, fire-starting equipment, other food items, and utensils. In one backpack, there was ammo for the shotguns but none for the revolver.
Javor took point, smiled, and leaned over to scratch Bixby behind the ears. “Good boy … good dog, Bixby,” he said, and he led the way down County Road 6 back toward the main intersection and then right toward Lindos.
Bruce held back just outside of town and waited a full half hour before he trotted up to the group of them moving east toward Lindos. “You were right, Javor—they went straight down the road toward Omni … we’re good, I’d think.”
Javor nodded and called a halt. “To our guests—we lied back there. We’re not going to Lindos—but this road does just that. In, what, thirty miles, you’ll be there. We’re on our way to Arlington, about the same distance but north of us here. Next county road, we’re veering north—you can either continue on your own way to Lindos or come along on the hike to Arlington. Doesn’t matter to us, one way or the other,” he said, and that got them talking among themselves.
At the next county road, only a mile farther, he led the way off to the left and north and noted that only the four men in camouflage came along, one still carrying the shotgun too.
“There’s a story,” he said to himself, “and one that we’ll hear tonight too, I’d think …”
#####
After turning north again, on what was labeled County Road 13, the small group had hiked along with a degree of speed that showed they were worried. Anxious, maybe, Javor thought, but not worried maybe.
They had lied to the Red Tribe and said they were going to Lindos—and most of the captives had continued on County Road 5 toward the free city. But at the next intersection, Sue and her group, along with the four men in camouflage, all turned north toward somewhere else.
They traveled on a long, long country road with scenery they’d all seen hundreds of times—dead overgrown farms and country road corners with the occasional gas station too. Each time they reached a station, they checked, of course, for any kind of power generators—solar or wind. All were unpowered, so there was no new group to meet.
“Wonder if we find one,” Wayne said, “if they’ll have a red hair dryer too?”
That got a laugh from the group—except for the camouflage-dressed members. “Red hair dryer?” one asked who’d drifted up and now walked alongside Wayne.
“We found a station a ways back that had big wind fans on the roof—that were turning. Inside, in the working cooler, there were caches of food and drinks—beers too! And a single red hair dryer charging too, we noted,” he said as an explanation.
The guy in camouflage looked over at one of his compatriots and got a nod. “We’ve found same too. Not the hair dryer, mind you—but yeah, wind fans mostly though a couple of solar panels too—all running some kind of very local micro power to a single building or farmhouse or storefront.
“In one case, we found the place populated too—which ended badly for them. Smart zombies—armed and yet not so good at tactical firefights. They lost,” he said, and all could hear that he was a bit proud of that result.
So far, they’d not talked much—that would be for later. It was good to know, Javor thought, that their experience seemed to be wider than they’d imagined.
As they traveled, they passed by many farms. Some were generations-old farms with red brick farmhouses. Others were newer with clapboard or siding. The barns ranged from still perfect condition to burned or half-wrecked. Most of the silos still stood as the tallest structures on the properties, yet some had fallen and laid in pieces around the barnyards.
Rarely, they passed by the farms that had supported more than one generation—where the sons and daughters had moved out of the farmhouse and had built a new dwelling alongside the road with its own driveway and outbuildings.
As they came down a slope off a minor hill behind them, Sue stopped and said, “We need to camp out tonight. I’d say, judging by the shadows, it’s getting past dinnertime.”
And she was right. As most of them looked to the west, they saw the sun was just now touching the horizon.
One of the men in camouflage asked, “Do we try one of these ranch houses for cover?” and he pointed to the two houses alongside the road.
Each had its own drive and each was yet still a part of the overall farm that ran on the right side of the road now for almost a mile. The farmhouse and barn area was back at least three hundred yards, so these two houses were somewhat alone. One of the ranch houses was brown—the first one in line—and the second one was white.
She nodded. “Let’s try them both—same time. Shotguns in first—and if there’s no surprises, then let’s compare and take the best one. We’ll need guard duty though too tonight,” she offered.
The camouflage man with the shotgun nodded and then led his group of four over to the brown house, aligning with the front door, and then waiting until Bruce had taken up a similar position at the white ranch house farther down.
Sue nodded and then yelled, “GO,” and the doors were kicked open and the leads entered the houses.
Javor stood on the porch of that second house, as he was unarmed—the damn revolver was empty—and waited.
Bruce called out, “Clear on the main floor.”
Javor entered the house. Inside, it was obvious that the old occupants had been neat and tidy. Not a single thing was out of place. The living room had a big wood fireplace so they could have a hot dinner, he noted, as he went into the kitchen and stopped cold.
In front of him at the kitchen table sat a corpse of what might have been a man—or a large woman—dressed in tattered shirt and jeans. He had no way of knowing whether it had been a man or woman as the hair on the bare scalp was now thin and of indeterminate length. The face had long ago been eaten by something, and the hands jutting out of the cuffs of the flannel shirt had been chewed on, the fingers missing.
“Probably a victim of the virus bombs but fell to something else ma
ybe?” Bruce offered as he looked on too.
There was no way to know, and Javor left the room with sadness—so many killed by the Boathi, all for naught. He tightened his grip on his gun and wished for a full magazine and a Boathi in front of him, but then he shook his head.
All gathered back in the living room, and Sue said, “Failing anything better than this, we should camp here—tell the camos, will you, Wayne?” and she took off her backpack and stretched.
After everyone had reconvened in the white ranch house, each one found a place to sit in the living room. It was a chore, Javor realized, trying to cook an MRE out of the package by using the pots and pans found in the kitchen, so he just ripped the tab on one labeled cabbage rolls and waited while the magnesium and water combined to warm the interior of the foil pouch. While he did that, he found that the Red Tribe had tossed out his dog food kibble, and he was stumped for a moment.
One of the men in camouflage was watching and noted Bixby sitting attentively waiting to be fed and Javor was empty handed. He grinned as he dug into his bag and came out with a foil wrapped brick of something.
“Figure that this might be helpful,” he said as he carefully unwrapped what looked like a solid pound of some kind of air-dried meat.
“It was from about a month back—we came on a herd of stags, shot one, and ate like kings for a week. This was air-dried to keep it still edible, and if you heat it up in some water, it should feed killer here just fine.” He tossed the meat over.
Javor looked at it carefully. He pulled out his knife from behind his armored vest and realized the Red Tribe had missed it too, and he carved off a piece of the very solid meat, and chewed on it for a moment. Still good, a bit salty, but yes, Bixby could handle this, and he nodded back and said, “Thanks very much, uh—” and he stopped. He had no name to use and the man smiled back.
“I’m Adams—Jon Adams—leader of the squad. That’s Kyle Stone over there with the black hair, Randy Listers with the half-eaten mouthful, and Sandy Alfonso to my right,” he said, and all nodded back.
Javor put the brick in one of the pots, added water from his canteen to same, and stuck it at the edge of the fireplace Sue was tending. She nodded and got it a bit closer as she watched all the pots.
“We’re Sue”—Javor pointed at their cook first and then each one in turn—“and Wayne and Bruce—I’m Javor,” he finished off and smiled back.
All were grinning and eating, and even Bixby in a few minutes too slurped and gnawed on the pieces of deer meat Sue had wedged off the brick.
“Wish I had a beer now,” Wayne said, and that got grins all around the room.
As Sue ate, she asked the most obvious question. “You guys are dressed like soldiers—seem to be tactically capable, which means training—would you mind giving us your backstory?” She scooped a mouthful of what looked like some kind of chili into her mouth.
Jon put down his fork for a moment and wiped his mouth with a forearm. “We, yes, are trained—we’re from the Shorecroft Patrol forces—our own city army. Well, I can call it an army, but in fact there’s less than a thousand of us,” he admitted as he slid another spoonful of something into his mouth.
“Shorecroft—the city that lies over on the coast—about, say, three hundred or so miles east of Maxwell, where we’re from?”
That got a nod from Jon as he continued to chew on his dinner.
“Then you should know that before we were taken by the Red Tribe—the night before, in fact—we were ambushed by some folks in robes, disciples, I believe, they called themselves of the Forest Empire, they said.” She spat that out. Admitting they’d been taken by two different groups in less than twenty-four hours was not something that instilled confidence in one’s abilities. She looked directly at Jon and smiled a bit. “Course, we’re free today, aren’t we?” she said and everyone chuckled.
“Do I take it, then, that as you have Khuno with you—you found him with his K9 owner too? Khuno was his name before …” he asked, but Javor could tell that this was a loaded question.
But Sue nodded. “We dug this one”—she pointed at Javor—“out of a zombie trap pit—and he tucked Bixby under an arm and saved the dog too. But no owner was there—in fact, we found someone dressed in the same jungle camo uniform further along in the city—he’d been shot by someone. But we did save his backpack—which no, we don’t have anymore, as the disciples took it and that tablet too.”
Jon nodded as he finished his dinner and slid the plate onto the wood-planked floor beside him. “Yes, there’s a tracking feature on all of our patrol tablets—we lost ours to the Red Tribe too, and they just broke them right in front of us. We were biding our time, waiting to find a way to gain our freedom—so we’re obliged to you at the least,” he said, and he bowed his head to her for a second.
“Good shooting too, Javor,” he added, and that got a smile too.
Sue smiled as well and said, “So tomorrow by lunchtime, we’ll be in Arlington—love to present you to the leaders of the Regime too, if that’d do?”
Jon didn’t even glance at the rest of his squad but said right away, “Aye, Sue, that’d work for us—we’ve lots to ask and to tell too,” and he grinned back at her.
Undoubtedly, Javor thought, a new ally on Bones is always a good thing …
#####
The walk into Arlington was uneventful, though they all took tactical positions for the last fifteen miles. By just past lunchtime, the sign off to the right side of the road read Arlington—and it looked like it was brand new too. No target practice on it, Javor thought, and that made him smile. Pride of one’s community was something that didn’t—or couldn’t—come too soon, as there were other bigger fish to fry at first. But in eight or so years, someone had decided the city needed a brand new sign—a welcome to the city that said we’re up and we’re alive and we’re well.
And below the name of the city was the icon they had seen a few times before—the red arrow with the gold star in front of it. Home of the Regime, it meant, Javor supposed.
Just past the sign, from a gas station on the right-hand side, four men came out to stop them. Each was armed with a rifle but not one was raised. As the leader got close to Sue who was on point with Jon, the leader of the Shorecroft Patrol group, he stopped and grinned, hands on his hips.
“Sue—is that you, girl,” he said, and he bounded up and gave her a hug.
She grinned as he twirled her about a couple of times, and she said laughingly, “Dale, Dale … yup, it’s me—now put me down,” and he did just that with a big grin on his face.
“Been, what, like a couple of years since you got sent out—you need to visit more—we’ve got some beers to drink tonight, lads,” he said and beamed at all of them.
“Dale—my group here,” she said as she half-turned to point, “is Bruce and Wayne and Javor. This is Jon Adams and his own threesome of Shorecroft Patrol soldiers—fellows, this is Dale Wilson. Was a squad leader back in the day—now, I see no insignia at all?”
He nodded at her as he took the time to shake every single man’s hand. “Not used by city guard duties, orders from the big muckety-mucks. But yeah, I’m a sergeant is all. Good to meet you all,” he said and then stepped back.
He and the rest of the group were wearing plain black uniforms of pants and shirts. No insignia of rank was visible either as Dale had said. Standard-looking boots, armor vests, and utility belts like those that most modern infantrymen wore completed their outfits. The rifles were all carbines, Javor noted, with big curved clips, which would hold a lot of rounds. No backpacks were in evidence, but as they lived here in Arlington, that was to be expected.
Each, however, did have an earpiece in one ear with the coiled cable tucked over top of the ear and then disappearing inside their vest. Javor wondered what that meant and whom they might be in touch with at any given time, and his answer was only moments away.
Dale’s head was tilted toward the ear that held the earpiece, and a mome
nt later, he nodded and said, “Aye, Sir. STAT!”
He grinned at them. “Technology,” he said as he pointed at his earpiece, “means that they know you’re here and they want to see you—all of you.” He gestured to include the Shorecroft Patrol men too. “Anderson,” he said, “please escort these guests to the Regime headquarters, STAT. No lollygagging either.”
Dale grinned at Sue again. “Tonight, ask anyone for the location of the NCO mess on the base—first rounds are on me!” he said and clapped her on the back.
She almost fell over, as Dale was one big man, but she grinned back. “It’s a date, Dale. And you’ll buy more than the first round too—remember, it was me who took out that smart zombie at the picnic back then. You owe me …” she said, and then she too turned and followed Anderson as he pointed down the street and into the city.
Arlington, Javor could see, was a city that was alive and well after the Boathi had bombed it more than eight years ago. The streets were clean, there were citizens on the sidewalks, and even the occasional store was open too. He wondered where the goods came from and filed that away to ask about later, but on the whole, the city was so much more vibrant than anything he’d yet seen.
No cars or running vehicles, he noted, so the news about the Motor Pool would be of interest to the Regime.
As soon as he thought that, a sound came from ahead, down a side street, and a brace of horses, pulling a wagon with city folk, went through the intersection ahead. The horses plodded along, and the wagon driver waved at Anderson. The passengers were sitting on plain wooden bench seats, and there were even a couple of children there too. Bixby trotted over to a couple and sidled up to get petted and was a hit with everyone too.
He knew from his Gallipedia research that the Boathi virus bombs had wiped out the children first—yet these kids were not yet teenagers so that was a good sign, he thought. Of course, it was so hard to tell the age of kids that they could well have been born after the bombs fell … he really had no idea. Still, good to see, for sure…