Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series)

by Peter R Stone

  The truck took off.

  “I can’t believe they just did that,” I whispered, half to myself. The truck took the next right and disappeared from sight. I could still hear it, long after Ryan couldn’t, and I knew for a fact they didn’t stop a couple of streets away.

  “Splitting the team’s standard procedure?” Ryan kicked a chunk of concrete down the road.

  Wow, he actually spoke. This might not be such a bad day after all. I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. He looked hurt, betrayed. I didn’t blame him. I had no idea if they split the team before, and guessed no, but I had to confirm Con’s words. For now.

  “Depends on the mood Con’s in,” I said.

  “They’re really just going a couple of streets away?”

  “Who knows.”

  Ryan cocked an eyebrow. “I get the impression they’re trying to keep me at arm’s length.”

  “Con takes a while to warm up to someone.”

  “Not just Con. I don’t see the other two tripping over themselves to make me feel welcome. Story of my life, all over again.” He cursed and stomped angrily towards the office.

  I hurried after him. “What’s happening all over again?”

  He looked back at me as he stepped over the shattered entryway. “Let’s just get to work.”

  For a moment there, I thought he was gonna open up, but then he erected an impenetrable brick wall, just like before.

  I followed him into the foyer, my feet crunching on the thick carpet of glass that covered the floor. The once prestigious foyer was shrouded in gloom, but we could still see well enough from the sunlight so we didn’t need our torches. Paint curled off the wooden reception counter in great strips and its acrylic top sat twisted out of shape. Leaves and dirt covered the floor, counter, and ruined sofas lined the waiting area on my right. The sofa upholstery had rotted away, leaving the springs protruding from the filthy foam cushions.

  We ransacked the first floor, collecting an assortment of books and reports with pages yellowed, spines broken, and covers faded or filthy. We carried them outside and threw them on the driveway. Ryan actually carried armloads without even raising a sweat, while I struggled to carry a quarter of what he did, my face contorted in pain thanks to my back injury.

  Not that he was aware of my difficulties; he never once looked in my direction. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop sneaking surreptitious glances at him.

  He fascinated me. Apart from my brother, I had never spent time one-on-one with a guy before. And compared to the other three goons – okay, two, Jack seemed okay – Ryan seemed so mysterious. And he didn’t seem pretentious like Con and Matt. He was troubled, deeply so, but still got on with his work, fulfilling his responsibilities instead of shirking them. I just wished he wouldn’t ignore me like this. I had to keep biting my tongue to stop myself trying to engage him in conversation.

  It was near midday and we were rummaging through the second floor offices overlooking the street, when Ryan shocked me by actually speaking to me. “Don’t carry so much if you’re in pain.”

  “Oh, okay.” I looked at the pile of files in my arms and nodded. Inside I was singing – he spoke to me – and of his own volition.

  “What did the Skel hit you with, anyway?”

  “A baseball bat.”

  “Ouch. Where?”

  “Stomach, but that’s not the problem. He knocked me into a chair and the armrest remodelled my back.” I limped over to the closest window and flung – or rather, dropped – my armload to the street outside.

  “And your leg?”

  “Clipped it with his bat when I tried to get away.”

  Ryan searched my eyes, trying to ascertain if I was telling a tall tale. “You really hamstrung him?”

  “Yep.”

  A smile tweaked the corners of his mouth. “There’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Was he saying I looked weak?

  “Well, you’re young and you’ve got this innocence about you. Yet you owned a Skel,” he said.

  “And I’m small. That’s what you’re really getting at, right?” I don’t know why I was feeling so riled up over this. I mean, compared to the rest of our team, my brother and I were small. Small but possessing a strength way beyond our physical size. Not that I was in any condition to demonstrate that strength at the moment.

  Ryan dropped a pile of books onto the large desk beside him.

  He spoke as though it pained him. “I, ah, want to apologise for not thanking you for yesterday.”

  “Don’t mention it.” I studied him, as he did me. I could tell his gratitude was genuine, but his eyes were still haunted by doubts.

  “I heard him, you know,” he whispered at last.

  “Heard who?”

  “Con. I heard him tell you to get in the truck and leave me behind.”

  “Oh.” How could I respond to that?

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Well of course not.” I rewarded him with my best Brandon-copy smile.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t see the other two protesting Con’s order.”

  “They were scared witless. Never been ambushed by Skel before.” I couldn’t exactly tell him they were hoping he’d get caught because they thought he was an informer.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. He fidgeted with his windcheater, and then looked up again. “How’d you do that, anyway?”

  “Do what?”

  “Save me from a crossbow bolt while dodging one coming for you.” There it was, the reason he had been looking at me as though I was some kind of freak. Was he putting the pieces together - was he close to realising I was a mutant?

  “Just had to time it right, that's all.”

  “I think there was a bit more to it than that.”

  “What exactly are you trying to say?” I asked.

  “That your reflexes and coordination are out of this world.”

  “Oh, get out of here.” I chuckled as though his suggestion was the most absurd thing I’d ever heard. “If that was true, I wouldn’t have been clobbered twice by the brute with the baseball bat.”

  “Still...” his voice trailed off.

  “You hungry? ‘Bout time for our lunch break,” I said.

  He nodded and gracefully dropped the subject. All the same, I would have to be more careful out here. Ryan seemed more aware of what went on around him than the other guys.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As promised, Con and the others came to pick us up just after five. The truck was half-filled with cardboard, books, magazines and newspapers. So in spite of their trip to the ‘lab,’ they still managed to fulfil their quota of work. The paper Ryan and I gathered was thrown into the back of the truck, and we were off.

  When we got back to the Recycling Works, I realised I had to figure out how to collect Brandon’s wages without seeming clueless.

  Con put me out of my anguish after we unloaded the truck by telling us to stay put while he collected them. He came back from the office five minutes later and handed us small, golden envelopes. I wanted to rip it open on the spot to see if there was enough to pay off the building supervisor and still have enough money for food.

  It took an immeasurable amount of self-control to walk from the yard at a relaxed pace after saying goodbye to the others. Once I was out in the street, though, I tore the top off that golden envelope in a flash. I flicked through the notes, heartbeat racing as I counted them. When I finished, I immediately checked again, and then a terrible sick feeling pervaded me as I staggered to a stop.

  There was only eight-hundred-and-ten – it wasn’t enough! The supervisor said he wouldn’t evict us if we gave him a thousand-and-eighty. What could I do? This was a disaster!

  I stuffed the money in my pocket and hurried home, my mind a jumbled mess of fears, worry and tentative hope. Maybe if I handed him seven-hundred cold cash he’d relent of his plan to evict us and give me more time. Seven-hundred was better than nothing, rig
ht? Surely he’d see that. If worse came to worse I could offer him the whole amount, but then we’d stave for a week, which was not an option. No, I had to keep at least a hundred aside for food, but even then, we’d be eating like paupers. I could strangle my father for putting us in this position!

  * * *

  After walking past row after row of towering grey apartment blocks, I was almost home when I noticed the two unsavoury characters I almost bumped into yesterday morning. The tall one with a beer gut and the older one with greying hair and goatee. They were standing right in the middle of the sidewalk. I tried to steer clear of them, but they moved to intercept me.

  “Ah, Brandon Thomas – a quick word, if we may?” the older one said. His voice was like liquid silk and sent an involuntary shudder through my slim frame.

  “Sorry, maybe some other time,” I mumbled as I tried to slip between them. I didn’t know who they were and didn’t care. I had to get to the supervisor pronto.

  Before I’d taken two steps, the big guy suddenly wrapped a meaty hand around my throat and propelled me forcefully off the sidewalk. He shoved me behind the closest building and into an empty coin laundry, where he slammed me against a wall. Agony exploded through my back. I saw stars and my eyes blurred with tears. I tried to pry his fingers off my neck, but I couldn’t even budge them an inch in his vice-like grip.

  The older ruffian stuck his face in mine. “I’m Deacon, and he’s Wells – we’re acquaintances of your father. Heard he was thrown into prison today for possession. Landed himself a ten year sentence.”

  “So what?” I spat, trying to act as I envisioned Brandon would in this situation. All the same, I was scared out of my wits. Who were these guys? What did they want with me? Was what they said about Father true – had he been sentenced to ten years in a prison factory? How were we going to survive that long without him?

  “Wells?” Deacon said.

  The big brute suddenly buried a massive fist in my midriff. I tensed when I saw the blow coming, but it didn’t make a shred of difference. The air was driven from my lungs and I fell winded to the filthy linoleum floor. I writhed about for what felt like an eternity, desperately trying to draw a breath. My vision was fading fast when I finally managed to gulp down some air.

  Deacon grabbed my hair and yanked me to a kneeling position.

  “Why the attitude, Brandon? Was I discourteous to you in any way? Is it too much to ask for some respect?”

  My gargled reply was intelligible.

  He relaxed his grip on my hair slightly. “Sorry, lad. Didn’t catch that.”

  “Okay!” I spoke as reverently as I could this time. Anything to avoid getting thumped like that again.

  He let go of my ponytail and Wells yanked me back to my feet by the neck. I wanted to nurse some life back into my midriff, but refused to give them the satisfaction.

  “That’s more like it, isn’t it, Deacon?” Wells asked in a deep, booming voice.

  “Certainly is.” Deacon turned back to me. “The thing is, Brandon, now that your old man’s been put away, you’re responsible for his gambling debts.”

  “What gambling debts?” My voice came out as a croak. It was a big enough shock finding out Father had been taking drugs and didn’t pay the rent, but what was this about gambling? I hoped against hope it wasn’t true, though it would explain where all his money went.

  Deacon pulled a worn, saddle-stitched notebook from his waistcoat pocket, flicked through the pages, and flashed it in front of me. I saw my father’s name and lots of transactions accompanied by dates. Many smaller amounts had been deducted from several frighteningly larger ones. The final outstanding balance was almost thirty thousand dollars!

  “As you can see,” Deacon began, “we’ve done the right thing in advancing our hard earned cash to your father so he could play some poker, and he racked up some pretty big debts. Debts that still have to be paid back.”

  “What that’s got to do with me?” I glanced wide-eyed from one ruffian to the other.

  “We’re not going to be out of pocket, Son. We gave your father an ultimatum two nights ago, but he didn’t take us seriously, so last night we had to explain to him just how much he disappointed us.”

  Pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. When Father came home from work two days ago, he was very worried about something. That must have been due to their ultimatum, whatever it was. When he came home last night, he was in a great deal of pain. Their ‘explanation’ was beating him up.

  Deacon draped an arm around my shoulders. “We got off on the wrong foot tonight, Son. Let’s put that behind us, eh? We don’t want to have to explain things to you like we did your father. You do your part in paying off your debt, and we won’t have any misunderstandings.”

  “I don’t know what you think I can do,” I protested weakly.

  “You got paid today.” Wells held out his hand.

  His words hit me like a pile driver when I realised what he wanted and what it would cost my family.

  “No! I can’t. I have to give my wage to the building supervisor or we’ll be evicted tomorrow. We’re eight weeks behind in rent.”

  “Not our problem,” Wells said.

  I gave Deacon an imploring look. “Please, Sir, don’t do this.”

  “Doesn’t look like he’s taking us seriously, Wells,” Deacon said.

  Wells drew back a fist.

  I grabbed the golden envelope and shoved it into Deacon’s hand as waves of guilt and hopelessness buffeted me with equal force. We were going to be evicted! My poor mother and sister would be hit so hard! But what choice did I have? If I refused, they’d either hit me until I handed it over, or frisk me to find it, in which case they’d discover I wasn’t Brandon. Who knew what they’d do if they realised I was a girl?

  Deacon counted the money with practiced ease, and held out his hand. “Now the rest of it.”

  “There’s only another hundred – we need it for food.”

  “Thought you were a quick learner, Brandon. Was I wrong?”

  Hands shaking, for this meant we’d have no money at all this week, I pulled out the remaining hundred-and-ten and gave it to him too.

  “That’s it?”

  “I was off sick for four days.” I spoke quickly, but earnestly. If he didn’t believe me, I was in trouble.

  Deacon pocketed the money, and he and Wells turned to leave.

  “That’s all you’re ever gonna get from me.” I lifted my chin definitely.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve taken my whole wage. I’m sure you can imagine how my father spent ever other cent we had. My family and I will starve this week. That means I’ll be in no condition to work and I’ll probably get fired so won’t be able to earn anymore money.”

  The thug examined me keenly, stuck his hand in his pocket, and threw a fifty and a tenner at me. I caught the cash in the air and held it tightly, afraid they’d try to take it back.

  “See, we’re reasonable men.” Deacon flashed a dazzling smile. “But you’ll have to do better than this pittance you’ve given us today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a forager, Son. You figure it out.”

  I looked at him blankly.

  “There’s a demand for contraband items in the black market. Oh, and one last thing. You’ve got two sisters, yeah? Pretty ones too, from what I’ve heard.”

  A sick feeling exploded in my belly. “Don’t you touch them.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, but just so you know, if you report Wells and me to the Custodians, we’ve got business associates who won’t hesitate in taking the rest of the money you owe out of them. Get my meaning?”

  “I won’t say a word to nobody,” I said.

  “Wise boy. Now, until next time?”

  With that, the two men sauntered calmly from the coin laundry, leaving me alone to contemplate the world of terror and worry they just dropped me in. No – that my father dropped me in. How could he
have done this to us? I didn’t even know there were illegal gambling dens in the town. How on earth did he find them? How did he let himself accumulate so much debt to lowlife sharks like these?

  Looking forlornly at the sixty dollars they left me with, I sank to the floor and pondered what to do. There was no point going to the supervisor now, and probably even less point going home. My mother would absolutely freak when she found out Father had racked up thirty-thousand in gambling debts, and even more so when she found out I lost the money.

  This was the worst day of my life.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I got home an hour later. I could hear my mother ranting and raving about something, so I squared my shoulders and let myself in.

  “Where the blazes have you been!” she shouted as soon as she saw me. She was standing in the kitchen doorway arguing with Karen, but stomped angrily over to me. “You were supposed to come straight home after work and give Brandon’s wage to the supervisor!”

  Karen followed her into the lounge-dining room, scowling at me as though I was public enemy number one.

  “I know, I was on my way here to do exactly that, but I got robbed.” Too sore and disheartened to remain standing in the face of Mother’s wrath, I pulled out a dining chair and slumped into it, resting my arms on the table.

  Mother glanced at Karen and then back to me. “Excuse me?”

  “I got robbed.”

  “By whom? Where?”

  “By two guys, just around the corner.” Mother didn’t look convinced.

  “Are you trying to tell me that on the day you’re paid, two guys randomly rob you when you’re almost home? What did you do, take a shortcut through an alleyway or something?”

  “It wasn’t random. They were waiting for me.”

  “You’re not making sense, Eldest Daughter!”

  I pulled off my cap and met Mother’s furious gaze. “I found out where Father has been going after work these past six months.”

  “What’s that got to do with this?”

  “He’s been visiting a gambling den.”