by A. K. Meek
“No, nothing. Forget it,” Nate said, not wanting to push the issue any more. The whole thought of Arney’s disappearance sickened him to the point that he didn’t care to talk any more than necessary. “We should get back to camp for the night, before one of us falls in. We’ll come look for him tomorrow.”
The three started back for the camp, Nate and Juan leading the way with their lanterns.
As they wound through the dripping trees and vines, Juan leaned over to Nate.
“I think Arney had help falling into the river.”
04.03
OLD FRIENDS
The wet, soggy morning matched the mood, once the rest of the onetime twenty-five found out about Arney. Yvonne, that surrogate mother of everyone, took it the hardest—she and her daughter, Desiree.
Bruce allowed only an hour for several to go back to the receding riverbank to look for him. He wanted to get back to moving as soon as possible. Which was fine, because no one found any sign of Arney’s ever existing in the forest.
After Nate gathered his supplies and loaded his pack, he took a moment and plopped down on a relatively dry bundle of leaves.
He opened his composition book, a worn pencil in his hand.
The pages were soft, damp from the daylong rain. Taking care to not tear them, he flipped the sheets until he found Arney Barnett’s name. He put an asterisk next to it.
There was always a chance he could come back.
Maybe one day they’d be trudging through the forest and Arney would jump from behind a tree and say, “Fooled you. Here I am.”
Nate paused before closing his book, thinking about Arney.
This was Arney, after all.
Nate took his pencil and drew a line through Arney’s name, the same as he did Will’s.
There were now twenty.
He put his book away and helped others gather theirs.
Late evening carried a haze, typical in the thick of the trees before night would settle in.
Nate found being in the forest among the thorns, vines, and possible danger far preferable to staying in camp with Bruce’s iron rule. So he volunteered for every opportunity to perform scouting duty.
After a couple hours of Nate’s whining, Bruce finally gave in.
Now Nate and Martin crouched in the forest shrubs. For about ten minutes they had been watching two other men that had set up camp in the thick of the pastureland.
“What is that, a hunting rifle?” Martin said.
“I think so,” Nate said, wiggling in the bushes to get a better view. “It’s not an M-16. Look, they have pistols too. Does everyone have weapons here?”
“This is Georgia, after all. I’ll go let Bruce know.”
Martin scooted backwards, out from under the shrubs that concealed them, and moved back through the woods, beginning the mile or so to where the rest had settled down for the night.
The two campers were cooking on an open fire. Nate stretched his neck forward and breathed in deeply.
A faint hint of burning flesh, some small animal, a rabbit or bird, brushed his nose. His mouth watered.
Another thirty minutes and Nate’s dreams of grilled meat faded into a dull throbbing. The throbbing ran up his left leg, the cause his canteen pushing into his hip. He had been resting on his stomach now for almost an hour, and his body reminded him of that every second.
Trees behind him rustled.
Martin pushed back through. He low-crawled to Nate’s right as Bruce crawled up to his left.
“What did y’all find?” Bruce said. He sat his 9mm on the dead undergrowth and rubbed his eyes.
“There.” Nate pointed, even though the smoke and fire needed no explanation. “They’re eating. Just a camp, but they’re armed.”
“Any more?”
“Not that I’ve seen. We’ve been watching them for about an hour, hour and a half.”
Bruce studied the encampment for five minutes. “Hmm. Can we get closer?”
“Maybe through that little gap in the branches,” Martin said, pointing. “It would be tight, but one body could make it.”
“I’m gonna take a closer look,” Bruce said.
He grabbed his 9mm and crawled on his elbows farther into the twisted roots and branches.
In fifteen minutes Bruce edged back to where Nate and Martin waited.
“Guys,” Bruce said, “I think I know them. Well, one of them.”
Martin’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah. One looks like Toby. I worked with him two years ago, cutting wood. He’s a good man. Let’s go.” Bruce backed out from underneath the shrub and started to stand.
“Bruce, wait,” Nate said. “We don’t know what’s going on yet. You’re not sure.”
“City, I know him. He’s a good ol’ boy. You wouldn’t understand it.” He finished standing and crashed toward the two-man camp, about thirty-five yards away, calling out, “Toby, Toby Beauregard, it’s me, Bruce Jones.”
The two jumped up from their fire and food, pulling their rifles.
“Stop,” one said as he aimed his rifle with the large scope.
Bruce halted and raised his hands. “Toby, it’s Bruce. Remember working on Miller’s ranch a couple years ago?”
“Bruce, that you?” Toby, the one with the big scope said, his voice dripping with a thick, lazy drawl.
“Yeah.”
Toby’s partner whispered something to him, beyond earshot.
Toby casually lowered the rifle to his side and waved an arm high in the air. “Come on, and bring your friends.”
“Told you, a good ol’ boy,” Bruce said over his shoulder and walked toward the camp. “Let’s go.”
Nate and Martin looked at each other, lowered their rifles, and followed Bruce to the camp.
For the next thirty minutes, Bruce and Toby brought each other up to speed, comparing survival stories from the past few weeks.
Toby reminded Nate of Bruce: a typical Georgia boy with a shaved head and a beard. Except he was skinnier than even Nate.
Toby’s buddy, Lane, looked younger than Toby, but not by much, about in his early twenties, around Jacob’s age. He said little but watched everything with an uninterruptible intensity.
The five sat around the fire, sharing in the roasted jackrabbit. Nate ate only four small bites, as it didn’t taste as good as he’d first imagined when he smelled it.
“So you’re leading a group to Florida, huh?” Toby said.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, “from Haven. It’s been quite a ride so far.”
“So who else you got with you?”
“Bunch of old people.” Bruce glanced at Nate, smiling. “Other odds and ends. Amber and my baby girl are with me.”
“More panthers?” Lane said.
Martin whipped his head around, but Lane didn’t acknowledge him.
Bruce chuckled and tossed a meatless rabbit leg into the fire. He started to say something then stopped, smiled again, and shook his head.
He stood and stretched and yawned. “Marty, you and City head back to the group. We’ll be along soon.”
With a sense of urgency, Martin led Nate away from the three that sat around the fire. He kept silent the whole trip back, ignoring Nate’s barrage of questions asking if he was alright.
Many questions were asked, but few answers were given.
It never occurred to him until the rest of the twenty-five questioned him about the two, but it finally dawned on Nate that Toby and Lane had given no real useful information.
But Bruce, he’d laid out everything about the group to the good ol’ boys, almost down to every person’s hair color.
Questions persisted for another forty-five minutes until Bruce came strolling through the woods, Toby and Lane on either side of him.
Three country boys on an outdoor camp-out.
He waved as he approached and slapped Toby on the back.
Immediately the rest circled around them, asking more questions. Where they’d been, who�
�d they seen.
Bruce raised his hand. “Hold on,” he said, “I’ve got something important to say.”
The group subsided to silence.
“I’m changing where we’re going.”
Murmurs blew through the crowd like a wave.
Bruce raised his other arm. “I made the decision. I have everyone’s best interest in mind. My friends want us to stay on their farm. It’s a few miles from here, west. We can do what we want there. They’ll take care of us.”
“But we didn’t vote on it,” Efrem said, stepping away from the crowd. “Something this important, redirecting where we’re going, should be voted on.” A couple other voices agreed.
“This is the best for us,” Bruce said with a tone of finality. There would be no more discussion. “Let’s pack up and get ready to move.”
Lane stepped close to Bruce and whispered in his ear, arms and hands moving in an exaggerated motion as his eyes swept across the group. Toby also scanned them, a thin grin on his thick-bearded face.
Bruce shook his head, reassuring them of something. He went to his lean-to, where Juan was already packing up his and Amber’s items.
Everyone dispersed, as it appeared the conversation was over. They packed up their items and rolled up their beds.
A little after the evening sky darkened to night, they reached the farmhouse Toby had mentioned, a couple of miles from where they had originally camped.
Earlier, Lane had left to let the others in his group know they were coming, so no one would unnecessarily get killed, as he put it.
The rough path in the woods Toby led them through finally let out onto a farm that had once been planted with some crop. But from the look of the homestead now, the house and the crop had been abandoned long before the bombs fell.
Cleared ground once used to grow now held dried skeletons of plants in long, dusty rows.
The house at the center of the farm was an off-white, the paint having lost its luster years ago, left to fade and peel off the sides in large rolls. The wrap-around porch had suffered the same neglect. Rotten posts held a swaying roof and the deck boards bowed, separating from their frame. A barn remained mostly hidden from view behind the house.
A lone, crooked oak spread its knotted branches far from its trunk, parallel to the ground. Underneath the tree stood Lane and three other men.
They were all dirty, like everyone else the group had seen, and all suffered from many weeks with no razor. One had a bow slung over his back. He held his hand up in a friendly manner, waving.
Bruce and Toby picked up their pace as the rest cleared the trees and made their way to the four. The group shuffled to the farmhouse.
“Welcome to my humble home,” the man with the bow said. He waved his arm toward the house. “I’m Parks, and this is my herd. We’re having quite a party.” He howled and held up a brown bottle. His herd laughed, except Lane.
Bruce clapped his hands and howled too. “We’re gonna be staying here a while,” he said.
Nate unslung his backpack and dropped it to the ground. His composition book protruded from a zippered pocket. He grabbed the creased notebook and tried pushing it back in its pocket but it wouldn’t fit, so he shoved it into his chempants cargo pocket.
Others in the group shuffled, none speaking.
No one was sure what to do.
Bruce and Parks’ Herd talked and laughed under the tree. Amber ran over to Bruce, her injured arm in a makeshift sling. The small group carried on like the others didn’t exist.
They stood there, motionless, waiting for something unknown.
Nate finally stepped forward. “I’m Nathaniel Bowen.”
Parks stopped laughing, stopping the conversation. He turned to the group. “Where are my manners? They must’ve been left somewhere in the woods. Welcome our guests.”
Besides Parks, Toby and Lane, Sam and Stephen introduced themselves in less than enthusiastic tones.
Parks walked to Nate and shook his hand.
Up close, he looked older than he had first appeared. His scraggly beard hid a gaunt face with deep creases around inset, black eyes. It also covered several boils on his neck and lower mouth. One had recently popped, leaving a wet stain on his whiskers. He smelled of sweat and alcohol.
“I’m very excited to meet you,” he said, moving past Charles’ extended hand.
He introduced himself to Ed and Henry, then moved to Meredith. “What’s your name, my dear?” He bent at the hip with one arm behind his back.
Nate smirked at the awkward, unpracticed attempt at elegance.
“I’m Meredith,” she said, turning her head slightly away from him.
“Meredith, simply Meredith? No last name?”
“Uhm, Meredith Diana Hall.”
Parks stared at her for seconds. “The Huntress.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” she said.
“You’re the Huntress. Diana the Huntress.” His dirty, stained hand reached for her chin but she moved back a step and turned her head further away from him. His hand went to his bowstring and gently plucked it.
“No,” she said, “I’m Meredith, the stay-at-home mom.”
Parks swung his arms wide and spun around to everyone. “You are welcome here,” he yelled. “We were just getting ready to have a celebration. Now we can celebrate with you all, the guests of honor. Sam, break open the good bottles.”
With a wave of his hands, two of Parks’ men followed him into the house. Lane circled around the house to the back.
Toby went to the group and motioned toward the barn. “Go ahead and set your stuff in there. It’s a roof over your head. Leave your weapons in there. Boss gets nervous when people he doesn’t know have weapons.”
“Come on, everyone,” Bruce said, “let’s go take off all this crap we’ve been carrying. I’ll be back soon. Toby wants me to go with him to hunt for something to roast.”
“Can I come?” Amber said. “We can get someone to watch Paige.”
“No, stay here. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”
Toby led everyone around the house to the barn, and with a push the door, a wobbly frame of rotten boards mounted on rusted hinges, opened.
Despite the Herd’s and Bruce’s excitement over the impending party, a heavy air hung over the barn and no one spoke as they filtered inside.
All their struggles, Will goading them on to the coast, overcoming the Captain’s insanity, all that to end up here, filing into a barn like cattle invited to the butcher’s house for dinner.
Nate took a deep breath and entered, expecting to see a guillotine, or worse.
04.04
THE DEVIL’S HERD
For Parks, his herd, and the Jones family, the night stretched on and the party was grand.
Bruce, Toby, and Stephen had returned empty-handed after scouring the woods for a couple of hours, but that didn’t seem to bother then.
The bottles of whiskey they took made sure of that.
A bonfire was built and more bottles were passed around.
Amber had joined the party, leaving Paige with Yvonne. Now, she circled the fire between the house and barn, laughing and drinking, moving from one man to another, hugging and flinging her hair with her good arm.
Only Ed took up Parks’ invitation to join the party outside.
The rest stayed huddled inside as light from the large fire filtered through gaps in the barn wall, painting the inside in a sickly orange hue.
“How are you doing, Enoch? Your foot getting better?” Nate kneeled next to where Enoch sat on a rotten, moldy-smelling bale of hay.
“I’ll be fine. At least we’re not sleeping on the cold ground,” he said.
Nate nodded, but didn’t agree. Each moment the walls felt like they were closing in. The situation wasn’t good. It moved forward like a train, unswerving, unstoppable. Everyone knew it, but no one did anything. Himself included.
He should’ve said something earlier, told Bruce this wasn’t ac
ceptable. Something, anything.
Will wouldn’t have settled for this.
Of course, if Will were still alive, they wouldn’t be here.
“I knew I could count on you to find something positive,” Nate answered Enoch, forcing a rigid smile across his face. “Now if only you can get the others to think the same. Look at them.”
Heads sagged and shoulders slumped. Talk was sparse and whispered. Even Desiree sat close to her brother, not jumping and dancing, just spinning a braid of hair in her fingertips, chewing on the frayed end.
“Me?” Enoch said. “They don’t need me, they need you. I’m old and dried up, much like this hay. You know what they say about me. I kind of like being the town crazy. No one expects much of you.” He pulled a handful of hay from under him. “You, though. They need a leader. A strong leader. Not Bruce. You’ve been the only one to truly step into that role. I’ve waited for you, others have waited for you.”
Nate wanted to tell Enoch that he was wrong, but stopped.
He knew that his heart and mind were at a different place than they had been before the sky burial, the shelter, the bombs. It all led to—
The barn door swung open, sending a shrill squeak throughout. Bruce pushed it until it slammed against the wall, shuddering. He staggered into the barn for the first time since the group had arrived at the farm.
“Hello, everyone,” he yelled.
Efrem was standing near the doorway. He put his arm around his wife Jordana and led her away from the entrance, to the rear of the group, away from Bruce.
“Merry, Merry,” Bruce said, “Parks is requesting you to come outside to the party. He wants to talk to you. I’d invite the rest, but it’s now a private party.”
Meredith shook her head and moved back to where Efrem stood.
No better time than the present.
Nate stepped in front of Bruce so that he stood between the drunk and the group. “Bruce, what’s going on here?”
Toby and Sam appeared at the doorway and leaned against the wall. Sam held a bottle and Toby’s rifle hung from his shoulder.
Doing a quick inventory of the situation, Nate realized that at least thirty feet separated him from the weapons they had stacked up against the far barn stall.