One of the guards checked Bowie's neck and nodded to the executioner then, with the help of another, carried the body toward where Devon hid. Now he knew what the pile on the other side of the wall contained.
"That one sure took a long time to die," one of the guards said casually.
The other one grunted. "He was a son of a bitch. Had to knock him down twice on the way here. It was like he knew what we was gonna do."
"Only one more, then we can throw them in with the others. I guess we'll be gettin' some of the prisoners to dig another hole tomorrow."
Devon grabbed his mouth to stop himself crying out in shock. He turned from the door and ran as silently as he could toward the kitchen knowing that, on either side of him, lay the bodies of murdered townsfolk ready to be buried in a mass grave. He felt their accusing, dead eyes on him as he ran and almost tripped again as he made it to the kitchen before shutting the door as quickly and quietly as he could.
He remembered nothing of the journey back to Hope as the sun lurked below the horizon. All he saw was the terrified face of Dave Bowie as he suffocated to death while Devon watched, helpless in the shadows.
As soon as he got back to the apartment, he found a scrap of paper, scribbled on it and, with the last of his energy, ran to the LDS church and shoved the message beneath a loose brick on the wall behind it. Then he moved the flowerpot to the other end so whoever was picking up these messages would know that he'd left one.
The message was only two words: I'm in.
Chapter 8: Redwood
You got used to the smell of pine in the end, especially when they were felling trees. Sam Hickman straightened herself up, leaned the ax against her leg and examined the wound in the side of the tree. At this rate it would take another hour to cut away enough for it to fall, and this was a small redwood, but there was no way she'd ask Jay to help.
She scowled as she thought of her former boyfriend, now the poisoned stump of the young man she'd once loved. The torture he'd endured at the hands of Azali's thugs had finally broken him and she should have been full of sympathy. But she was a human being, not a saint, and his constant sniping and unending depression had opened up a fissure between them that could not be bridged.
"Let me help you, malaika."
She turned to see the perfect form of Said as he picked his way through the trees. As unlike Jay as it was possible to be, she thought it was pretty sick of the Almighty to split her ideal man in two. Said was everything she wanted in a friend, but he had no interest in being her lover. To begin with, she'd been childishly offended at this, and then she'd written him off as a closet gay, but she'd come to know him now and she accepted that he had as little desire for men as he did for women. If anyone was an angel, it was him.
But he wasn't a strong man, and she giggled as he heaved the ax into the cut she'd made, barely cutting in at all while he fought to withdraw it. She'd spent many hours as she went about her labors on pointless mental exercises and one of those had been to consider what animal spirit each of them would be. The old Jay, the one she'd loved, had been a tiger, she decided: powerful, dangerous and sometimes angry. Said, on the other hand, with his speed and slender body, was a cheetah. She saw herself—if she was forced to pick a feline for each of them—as a lynx on her good days and a alley cat on the bad.
"Here, let me take over," she said, chuckling as Said strained to pull the ax-head out of the tiny cut he'd made in the trunk. She tried not to focus on his rippling pecs beneath the sweat-soaked T-shirt, but she was only human after all. She would have to deal with the desire he evoked in her later.
Said stepped back and handed her the ax. "There, I think I have shown the tree who is boss. You may complete the task." His white teeth flashed in the dappled sunshine. "I will return to my duties. I have almost completed the sewer system."
"Good. I look forward to using it. Bears may be happy doing it in the woods, but not me."
Said chuckled. "Yeah, Zachariah said that women can put up with a lot of things, but they need somewhere comfortable to … you know …"
"Well, Zachariah's a sexist pig, isn't he?"
For a moment, her friend's brows creased in confusion, but she let him off the hook. She was a merciful torturer. "Only kidding. He's no pig."
No indeed. To continue the big cat thought experiment, Zachariah was a lion. The chief lion, no less. With his long shaggy hair, he even looked the part. A sort of cross between Mufasa and Kirk Douglas from thirty years ago.
She watched Said run down the hill, slipping between the trees as if he were born in the jungle. Give him a loincloth and he'd make a good Mowgli. Ah, there was a new subject for her next meditation. Disney cartoon characters. She liked to think she was Jasmine, but sometimes she acted like Cruella de Vil.
So, she straightened up again, took a deep drink of cool mountain water, and swung her ax. And, inch by inch, she cut the wedge deeper until, finally, she stepped away and pushed against the other side, feeling both satisfaction and sadness that she'd finally defeated the tree.
By the time she made it back to the little settlement beside the stream, the air was rich with the aroma of stewing meat. Seven houses surrounded Zachariah's cabin, the grain of sand around which the pearl was being built, step by step. She found it hard to imagine how the small rock-lined stream had carved out this valley but that, she supposed, just showed the power of geological time.
A dozen solar panels sat beside the settlement in a strip of land cut from the forest that was also being turned into tilled fields, some of which already bore evidence of the first plantings. Zak's cabin stood out as the only professionally built dwelling—this had been his bolt hole for many years and he had made it self-sufficient. And entirely hidden.
Sam, Said, Margie and their ball and chain, Jay, had been driving through Sonoma County State Park, looking for somewhere to crash for the night before the gas ran out on their stolen car, when Zak and three others had stepped out in front of them, guns leveled.
Zak had expected to find Sons of Solomon inside and he was ready to kill, but Margie quickly convinced them they were fugitives. After all, people like her were not welcome in that organization.
They'd spent the night at a temporary camp while Zak interrogated them. Sam quickly learned that he was no ordinary man. He used questions like weapons, so sharp, so pointed that she felt as though she was being pinned down with no room to maneuver away from the complete truth. Under this barrage, she confessed to things she hadn't spoken about to anyone, before the firestorm or after. He was the Mirror of Galadriel and she was Sam Gamgee, feeling as though she had no clothes on under his gaze.
"You may come live with us if you wish. We need good people," he'd said, with no preamble.
"What? You don't live here?"
He'd laughed and, in that instant, the inquisitor transformed into a human being. "No, we don't. I've got a place deep in the forest, hidden away. There's only a few of us, so far, but I'm about ready to welcome some new recruits. The rules are, one, leave your crap here, we don't need any drama. Rule two is no guns. We keep a cache for emergencies, but we don't go around with anything more than a knife. You also got to agree to pull your weight. We got no room for freeloaders. And you'll have to build your own house. We'll show you, but you gotta cut down the trees and do most of the work."
They were alone by this point. Zak had identified Sam as the leader of the little group and had drawn her away from the others who sat beside the fire with his comrades. She could hear Margie's excited voice as someone reached the climax of a story.
Sam couldn't put her finger on why, but she'd trusted Zak almost from the first moment they'd met. She'd been uncomfortable under his questioning, but she never doubted that he was asking for good reason. She looked up into his face as the distant firelight played across his craggy skin.
"But look, Sam. I'm not so sure about your friend. The one with the foot."
Her mouth dropped open. "Seriously? You won't take hi
m because he's injured?" Disappointment flooded her heart. Just for a moment, she'd believed they'd found sanctuary. But it seemed she'd been wrong to trust him. He was just like all the others.
"No, you got me wrong, Sam. We can find a place for willing people. Margie, after all, won't be felling trees, but she can work in the fields and she can help with all manner of tasks. She has a good heart. I'm not so sure about Jay. When I look at him, I see only hatred and hopelessness. I can't have a rotten apple in the barrel in case it ruins the rest."
She pressed her hands to her cheeks, relief washing over her as tears formed. "I can't leave him, Zak. You're right, but what he's been through would have totally broken many people." As she said this, she wondered whether that was, in fact, true of Jay. Whether he was irredeemably broken. "Let him come and I'll take responsibility. He needs somewhere to heal. Please, Zak. Please."
And so they'd joined the Willow Creek community, but all her hopes had proven fruitless as Jay continued to suck the life out of those around him.
Sam wandered into the corner of a hut that was their temporary home while they built their own. They'd been with Zak's group for nearly two weeks, but it'd be another week or two before they could move into their log cabin. And she was willing to bet it wouldn't be a patch on this one. It belonged to Ira and Charlene Renbarger who'd met and married here in this community. Both in their forties, Ira was a taciturn man and Sam had learned not to speak to him when his head was in a book. Charlene was the polar opposite: a loud brunette who talked a lot and listened little.
Three children also lived in the log house: a teenage girl and two younger boys. All strays that Zak had somehow found in the ruins of civilization.
Sam and Maddie had made themselves a private corner by building a screen out of branches they'd dragged down the hillside. Ira hadn't really approved of the mess this made, but they'd tidied up effectively and he soon realized that he got more peace and quiet once the barrier was up. Said and Jay shared the compartment that the screen had made against the outer wall of the house. Poor Said. A naturally happy soul caught between his father's loathing and Jay's raw vitriol.
"Sam, Auntie Charlene let me help make the bread today. We're gonna have it with our stew," Margie said, dispelling Sam's black mood with her own special brand of enthusiasm. "What happened to your face?" she said, looking past Sam and through the gap between the screens.
Said emerged, hand clasped to his head. Even in the dim interior of the cabin, Sam could see a dark liquid running down his fingers.
She leaped up and ran over to him, then took his hand to examine his face just as Charlene bustled in holding a gas lamp.
Out of the shadows stepped Jay, his face tight. "I saw it happen. We were digging the trench, and he slipped when he pulled his spade up. Fell back and the blade smashed into his head."
"He accidentally hit himself in the face?" Sam said, glancing doubtfully at Jay. Her former boyfriend had always been hostile toward Said. He quite correctly realized that she liked her new friend more than her old one. But then, the real Jay had died the day his foot had been chopped.
"You're welcome," Jay hissed, before stalking off to his corner. Then, as Sam examined the ribbon of torn skin that marred Said's cheek, she saw him pass out of the cabin, pack slung across his shoulder. She didn't ask where he was going. She didn't care. And she didn't notice until minutes later that Margie had also gone.
Chapter 9: Jay
She and Charlene guided the swaying Said to a chair, and he winced as Charlene dabbed at the wound with a wet cloth. "Wow, that's quite a job you did there."
"Was Jay telling the truth?" Sam asked. "Or did he do it?"
Said looked up at her, eyes wide. "No, of course he didn't. Why would you think that? I went to pull the spade up and the ground gave way so I fell back. I let go of the handle and the blade cut me. Jay helped me up and brought me here."
Sam's stomach dropped as guilt overwhelmed her. But still, she couldn't quite bring herself to go after Jay, so she helped Charlene clean up the wound while Ira ran to fetch Zak.
"You should go after him," Said whispered. "I think, maybe, you are a little unfair."
Sam shook her head. "If he hadn't been such an ass for so long, I might've cut him some slack."
"He is hurt, Sam. Deeply. Not just his foot, or by my father's torturers, but in his heart. He loves you, and he knows you don't feel the same way anymore. He thinks that's my fault. I've tried to explain how I am, but he doesn't believe me. He thinks we're doing … it … behind his back."
"Then he really is an idiot," Sam said, though she felt the weight of guilt settling on her shoulders.
She looked up at the sound of heavy footsteps across the wooden floor. "Let me take a look," Zak said as Sam backed away a little.
"And you did this yourself, did you?"
Said nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me. I blame myself. I should have kept you away from sharp objects after the first time I saw you swing an ax. Bring the lamp closer will you, Charlene?" he said. "Well, the good news is that it's superficial, though I reckon it'll leave you with a pretty manly scar. Come on, let's go across to my place and stitch you up." He straightened up and gestured to Sam. "You can come too."
She took one of Said's arms and guided him out of the door, following Zak across the space between the buildings, books crunching on the gravel surface that had once been the bed of the creek. Faces peered out of the doorways as they went, but Zak waved them away, calling "Nothing to worry about! Get some sleep—we've got planting to do in the morning."
His cabin was larger than any of the others and it had a feeling of true permanence that they lacked. Brick steps led up to the front door of the first story, which was raised on stilts like the one Sam's grandparents had owned. That had survived the firestorm to burn down in the following days. She thought about Amanda, and she saw, in her mind's eye, Margie dangling from the window from Devon's arms. She wondered what he was doing now. Then it struck her. Where was Margie?
She looked behind them as she passed through the doorway into the brightly lit interior, expecting the girl to be following them, but there was no sign of her. Odd.
But, right now, it was Said who needed her help. "His skin feels cold," she said, as she held his hand.
"It's shock. Charlene, make him a sweet tea, would you? Now listen, son, this is gonna hurt. I've got to stitch the wound and we don't have anything to numb it except alcohol and maybe your religion doesn't allow that."
The wound was swelling now, though the bleeding had stopped. Charlene brought over a mug of tea and a bowl of boiled water. "If the alcohol will help," Said muttered, "I will drink it."
Zak produced a small bottle of Jack Daniel’s that was half empty and handed it to Said. "Take little sips to begin with …"
But the young man took a mouthful, then flung back his head and swallowed. "Jeez, be careful!"
Sam stood back, expecting Said to shower them with secondhand alcohol when it hit the back of his throat, but he simply wiped his lips and smiled. "Cheap, but acceptable. Thank you, Mr. Zak." He took a final swig and handed the almost empty bottle back. "My father made me drink hard liquor. He thought it would make a man of me, but all it did was make me a lover of whiskey. Though it has been a long time …"
His eyes blinked, the pupils dilating.
"With any luck, the combination of shock, exhaustion and liquor will send him to sleep," Zak mumbled.
As he helped Said off the wooden chair and into an armchair, Sam relaxed a little and took in her surroundings. Zak had told her the history of this place, but she'd only been inside once or twice, and then only briefly.
He hadn't built the cabin, but he'd had it for many years. For much of that time, he'd used it for family vacations, but then, some time ago, he'd begun to convert it to a refuge. He hadn't explained why, and no one else in the community seemed to know what had triggered it. But he no longer had a family, and he'd retre
ated here a year before the firestorm.
He'd installed a solar array that fed a bank of lithium batteries stored in a compartment slung beneath the house to keep their temperature constant. So, this was the only house with electric lighting. He could boil a kettle the old-fashioned way—by plugging it into a socket—and he had radio equipment connected to an antenna on the valley's edge.
The batteries also powered a water distillery that fed a large tank sunk into the ground a little way downstream. Pumps brought it back up to his house, and he'd since built a feeder tank that supplied each of the new homes with gravity-delivered water. Fully half the cabin was a massive storeroom behind a locked door that also contained the armory where her weapons were kept, along with everyone else's.
Zak had watched the night of the firestorm from afar. He said he'd seen the horizon turn orange and planes fall from the sky. One of them had crashed into the state park and its remains were still there. Zak had spent a week burying the victims.
Sam watched the old man wash the half-conscious Said's wound and gently tease the edges of the wound together. He was an impressive man. The sort of man folk would follow, including her. He seemed to know what to do in every situation. Often, since she'd arrived, she'd thought about how precious it was to feel safe when you haven't been able to for a long time, and yet how easy it was to take it for granted.
She was torn out of her reverie by the sound of heavy feet on the steps outside.
It was Margie.
"Sam! He's gone, and he says he won't come back!"
Sam ran across to Margie and pulled her into a hug. "Who, Margie?" Though she knew well enough.
"Jay. I begged him to stay, but just ran off. He said there was no place for him here anymore. He said you don't love him."
Sam went to respond, but Zak appeared at her shoulder, needle in hand. "Where and how long ago, Margie?"
Last Hope: Book 5 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 5) Page 6