Resource Economies

by Traverse Davies

  Despite the weather, Chad began to move through the small town, more a village than a town, and not occupied for twenty years. It took him just a couple of minutes before spotting the truck. The vehicle was under partial cover and had tarps tied down to it. The tarps were flapping in the wind, despite being pulled as tight as possible. Chad had never seen a storm this bad before, and it had come in so quickly. The truck was next to a mostly intact house, a small place with thick, sturdy walls. It was an old design, predating most of the construction around it, and more solidly intact than the rest. He guessed that was where the group was holed up, so he started towards it. The walking was nearly impossible, he was knocked prone more than once, and in the end resorted to crawling on hands and knees, the only way to be sure he wasn't knocked over again.

  The small building had holes where the windows had been, giving him a view of the interior. He was careful, poking his head just over the sill, staying back a ways. The window he picked was sheltered by the next house, not so much a structure as a pile of rotting building materials, but it blocked the wind.

  It was hard to see inside, so Chad flipped on his night vision, casting the interior into a green false light. He could see Tamra kneeling on the ground, hands and feet bound. Michelle was lying next to her. Tim wasn't in sight from his vantage point. There were at least a dozen captors around them.

  Despite his armour and weaponry, Chad was confident he couldn't take more than a dozen men by himself, especially since at least four of them had weapons stolen from his comrades. Still, this storm seemed like it might be the best opportunity he was going to get. He decided that it was more a matter of creating an opportunity than looking for one, and he had an idea for how to do that. The truck, with the tarps. After surveying the scene as best he could he crawled his way to the truck. There were five tarps total, and they were all well lashed down. A couple of minutes with a knife and the tarps started to come loose, however, at just that moment everything stopped. The storm didn't start to taper out, it just went dead calm. The rain vanished, the wind died completely, everything was calm. He could see clearly, and what he could see was a wall of water to the north, and another, further away, to the south. The barge was gone, ripped from the cables that had held it in place. His hiding place had further collapsed, the ceiling falling in some time while he was searching the town. He rolled under the truck, just in time. Two of the captors came out to look around, not really paying attention to the truck, focusing on just looking around in wonder.

  The southern wall of water was closing on them, moving slowly. Chad realized that this must be a hurricane, that they were in the eye of the storm. Perfect. As soon as the weather hit again the tarps would be pulled off the truck, loudly. He wasn't sure it would be enough, but maybe it would give him an opening to free his companions.

  After the two men went back inside Chad moved into a better position, between the two buildings where he had started. The wind hit, hard. It was almost instant, going from calm to full hurricane in less than a minute. As predicted, the tarps ripped off the truck, slamming into the side of the building on their way past. The captors flooded out, trying to get the truck secured again. There were still three inside, but Chad figured that this was the best chance he was going to get. He fired in through the open window, catching one of them in the torso with his first shot. The other two turned, unsure where the shot came from. Chad fired off another round, dropping a second man. His third shot went wide, the man moved too quickly, and Chad wasn't able to get a clear bead. He dove through the open window, landing hard on the floor. He looked up at the barrel of a gun, pointed at his head. He thought to himself "Well, fuck. That didn't work out" and then the gun barrel swung off target, just as the man pulled the trigger. Tamra was behind him, standing but still chained, her body still moving from the shoulder check she had slammed into her captor. As he fell to the ground she kicked him in the head, again and again. The kicks were still raining down as he came to a rest, still, on the floor.

  "Holy shit, where did you come from?"

  "Been following you guys for a few days now. Couldn't get near you until now. Let's grab..."

  The door flew open and several of the men came in. It took them a moment to register what was happening inside. Tamra took that brief pause to run, full tilt, to the window. Chad turned and dived with her, out into the storm.

  Naomi and Barbara meet

  It seemed like all Naomi did these days was wait and sit in meetings. She almost missed being out in the world, back when her and Jasper started all of this they still did stuff, still took action. Here she was, waiting to start a meeting. Fucking Barbara was the reason of course. Back dealing bitch was late again. Everyone thought she was the new messiah, just because she'd come all the way from Pittsburgh solo. Sure, it was a hell of a feat, but it didn't mean she knew shit about how to run things.

  Sometimes when Naomi was angry she felt like she was still the bitch from the projects she'd been when all of this started, before she made her own journey through hundreds of klicks worth of zombies. Hell, sometimes she wished she was still that girl. She'd take Barbara by the hair and smash her face into the boardroom table until she decided to go along with Naomi's plan. If it was just a philosophical difference it could have been overlooked, worked around, but not now. Naomi 's husband was in Sydney, in the middle of one of the largest hordes of zombies they had seen since PEI had been cleared. If something happened to Bennett because Barbara wouldn't commit the resources Naomi might forget that she was a community leader for a little while.

  Finally, the older woman arrived. She had a couple of decades on Naomi, and she seemed to think that entitled her to run the show.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting. Had a meeting with the dockworkers union rep. Hard to believe we still have to contend with unions. Someday I'll decide if I hate them or the zombies more."

  "We need to get supplies to Bennett. They are dealing with way more than we ever thought."

  "Of course. We need to get our boys whatever they need."

  What? She had to be up to something, her attitude completely changed overnight.

  "Alright, that's great. Let's get thing moving."

  "While we're on the topic... I found Tamra Duchene, well, sort of."

  "What do you mean, where is she?"

  "Sydney. She made her way over on a supply run. I took the captain in for questioning this morning. Did you know her brother runs the dockworkers union?"

  "Didn't know that, but it makes sense. Her family was here before first night. There's a lot of them too. French and Irish, go figure."

  "Yeah, they are pretty much the Irish mob."

  Naomi had suspected as much, Tamra was a decent actress, and pretty, but she had come a long way since she got the role. At the beginning some of the scenery was more emotive.

  "So, where did she end up?"

  "Jumped off the boat before it docked. She had a zodiac with her, some supplies, a big gun. The captain has been co-operative, at least since we gave him some gentle persuasion."

  "Don't tell me your methods, I will sleep better not knowing."

  Torture was one of the areas they disagreed on. Not the moral justification, the effectiveness. Many years before Naomi had been on the receiving end of torture, not an experience she would repeat. It hadn't made her say anything or taught her a lesson. The man who tortured her was dead and buried, but his face still haunted her memory. In the end she didn't like torture morally but was not tied to any moral stance if it worked. Barbara on the other hand believed in it. Sure, it could get intel, but it wasn't reliable. Might as well just guess, a torture victim would tell you anything they thought might get you to stop, true or not. Better to build trust, at least that's what had worked for Naomi for the last two decades of running a city and a small country behind the scenes.

  "So, the silly twit. All right, we roll with it. How about we make a public proclamation that she has gone to Sydney to help out with the recovery efforts?
Should drum up some patriotic fervor."

  "Exactly what I was thinking. We can get people on side, really get them focused on the Sydney project. The only down side is that we might have to rethink Tamra a little bit on the show, make her more active. That is assuming she makes it back alive. I'm guessing she went off based on your talk with her?"

  "One would have to assume. She seemed to accept the reasoning at the time, but she's a good actress these days, I suspect she just went along because she didn't want to let me know what she was planning."

  "We do have to do something about her family of course."

  "Of course. I'll get my people to take care of that. When we are done her brother will still have his title, but nothing else."

  "Are you sure you can handle that? I mean, on top of all your other responsibilities. It's a lot to take on. If you need me to lend a hand I can, of course only if you need it."

  Fucking bitch. Tamra had cost her, more than she would ever know. This power struggle between Naomi and Barbara had always been close, and this incident could leave Barbara winning. The Sydney mission, it had to succeed. Right now, Naomi was very worried about it failing, and with Barbara giving her the resources she was it meant Barbara was confident in that end. If it failed Naomi wouldn't be able to claim Barbara had sabotaged it, although Barbara waited until failure looked likely before offering those resources. Bennett had to pull this off, had to make a win out of it. If not, they were handing power over to Barbara wholesale. The woman could play the game, that was for sure. You wouldn't think it from looking at her. Barbara was tall and thin, a quiet mousy woman with graying hair and granny glasses, she looked frail most of the time. She was smart though, smart, and dangerous. People tended to forget that.

  Her trip on first night was a legend, bordering on myth. It was made worse by her appearance, the tiny woman who made her way on foot, starting out unarmed and alone. The longest solo journey to New Hope anyone had managed. Never mind that Naomi was one of the founders of the city, that without her and Jasper this place would be nothing but the undead wandering through empty streets.

  Tyson escapes

  Finally, Tyson was taken out of the box. He wasn't quite dead, just close. Junie pulled him out of box and dropped him on the ground. Tyson didn't notice though, he was unconscious. He had a moment of awareness when they dumped water on him but lapsed back into unconsciousness instantly.

  By the time he finally came fully to consciousness he was back in an old hut, chained to a wall and lying on a dirt floor. There was a pounding sound, driving rain and shutters slamming open and shut in the wind. Every part of his body was sore due to the beating before he got put into the box. At least one of his ribs was broken, and there was a dangerous looking swelling in his left arm near his armpit. His arm was stiff and very, very hard to move.

  Tyson needed water, badly. It wasn't that he was thirsty, it was that every cell in his body craved liquid, of any sort. The inside of his mouth felt like dirt, ash, glue, all piled on top of each other. There was a puddle of water on the floor of hut, rain coming in through the shutters. He was just close enough to stretch to it. He buried his face in the puddle and drank deep, his mouth filling with dirt. He didn't care, the water was so good, so sweet. He drank and drank and drank, until the cramping hit. He was already close to doubled over so it didn't take much to put him there. It hit lard, like a hammer to the gut, almost enough to make him throw up, but he swallowed and swallowed until the impulse passed. He wasn't going to give up a single drop of liquid.

  The rain was coming in fast, clearly the shutters weren't meant for this level of storm. One of them ripped off, flying into the sky. He never heard it land. The others seemed strained to their limit, smacking the frame of the house repeatedly. This place was little more than a shack, a tin roof on top. It might not survive the storm. Once the cramping passed Tyson started pulling at his chains, bracing his feet against the wall. Every pull sent shocks of pain through him, his vision tinged with red.

  He felt something crack, a sudden loosening of the chain. At first he wasn't sure if it was his shoulder or the ring the chain was attached to, but after a few minutes the pain in his shoulder faded back to excruciating and the extra play was still in the chain. He tried again, and again, and again. The ring finally gave, ripping from where it was anchored in the wood. Now he just needed to stand up. His first attempt went badly. He got to his knees and then feel flat, laid out in the mud. At least the mud was wet. He spent a few minutes just relishing the feeling before he tried again. His ribs were fire, a burning knife trying to cut through him.

  Standing took what felt like hours. "Fuck. Alright, I'm proper fucked. No way about it. I stay here, the crazy fucking cannibals torture me then eat me. I go out there the zombies eat me, or maybe a bear. Fuck it... I'm going with the zombies."

  He was aware that he'd probably lost his mind, talking to himself like that.

  The hut had a door, possibly the sturdiest part of the whole structure. He didn't bother with it. He looked out the window and couldn't see anything. Even the closest houses were lost in the storm. Time to go. He crawled gingerly out the window, arms still locked together, trailing the length of chain. Sure, he was going to die, but at least he'd die on his terms not theirs.

  The hut turned out to be a way away from the rest of the village, an empty field between them. On one side, the giant cliff led down to crashing waves, violent surf that would tear a man apart today. On the other side forest, mostly evergreens, swaying with the wind, some touching the ground. There were constant cracks as tree limbs fell, or even entire trees. The wind was so strong it was close to picking Tyson off the ground, rain lashing his body over and over again. His clothes were reduced to rags, covered in mud, torn almost to shreds. He pushed through the storm, slowly walking to the forest. "Fuck, I'm not going to survive long enough to get eaten by something. Fuck it. Got to do it." he kept saying over and over in his head. Finally, he reached the trees and slipped between them. He was safe - or at least safe from the villagers, what had they called themselves? That's right, the Family. Not creepy at all, inbred freaks.

  Once he made it into the woods the wind was less severe. It was still lashing at him, but at least the trees provided some small cover. The trees inside were less blown, less likely to fall. Tyson started to move forward into the deep woods. What little daylight he had was giving him enough light to move. Of course, the rain was still streaming down his face, but slower, less severe. The tree canopy above him helped. His feet were bare, they had taken his boots at some point. A million sharp sticks and stones pushed into the bare souls, which were slowly going numb from the exposure. Every prick was that sickening feeling that happens when your flesh is halfway to losing feeling. A pain that is both dulled and amplified, that seems to last forever. Still, better than being eaten by cannibals.

  He had no idea where he was, just that it was somewhere on the shore. He wasn't even certain it was still Cape Breton, given how long he'd been unconscious. Nothing for it though. He didn't know if Jack was alive or dead, let alone how to save him if he was alive, still, nothing for it though. All he could do was try and walk to somewhere, preferably far from Junie and Clyde and the rest of the fucked-up hillbilly clan.

  He walked until he couldn't walk anymore, then he crawled. The forest floor was strewn with pine needles, undergrowth, not much in the way of animals though. They were probably all hiding from the storm. The cold was seeping into his bones, slowing him, leaving him incapable of thought. He was about to fall over in despair when he saw a small shelter, an overturned tree on the side of a small moss-covered hill, there was space under the roots. It was dirty, smelly, but shelter, a place to get out of the rain for a few minutes.

  Tyson moved to the shelter, crawling across the forest floor. Finally, he reached the hill, curled up. His body fit, he was able, just barely, to curl up so that he was completely out of the wind and rain. It was a tight fit, he practically had to go full fetal posit
ion, but it was worth it.

  Hours passed, his body was warming slowly. The ground was covered in moss and leaves, giving him something to protect his body from the ground. Finally, the storm died off, just as night was falling. Tyson slowly pulled his body out of the shelter. The forest was still, full of warm air and soft breezes. Through a patch in the canopy above Tyson could see stars, clear and vibrant. The air felt tropical, humid, hot. There were downed trees everywhere, fallen branches. His entire body ached, and he had nothing, no tools, no weapons, not even real clothes - the rags he wore did almost nothing to protect him from the elements. He was terrified the religious fanatics would find him. Time to get moving. That little cave was not going to be a valid option for long.

  He started walking, the moon casting silver light on the forest floor, shadow branches forming patterns on the ground. Things were not where they seemed to be, it made the walking hard. His feet kept hitting ground that was at an angle he couldn't see. The exhaustion was starting to hit, dragging him down. His brief sleep in the cave provided no real rest, his body was using calories keeping itself warm, and now he was in full crash mode, his body getting shocky and faint. He needed someplace more secure to lie down, someplace where he could sleep for a few hours. The calm, silent forest and humid air was making him feel even sleepier.

  Looking around there was nothing obvious, no abandoned houses or the like nearby. There were however broken trees and branches everywhere, left over from the storm. The ground was wet, which was a problem, he couldn't afford to get cold again, not enough reserves on his body. He needed something now.

  One of the overturned trees looked like it might work, secluded and hidden with thick branches, and still a lot of canopy overhead. Tyson crawled in between the branches, dragging a couple of pine boughs behind him. He got himself covered, and arranged some leafy boughs arranged underneath him. It was warm enough, and since he was on a slight slope dry enough. With enough layers on top of him he eventually fell asleep, if not warm and comfortable, at least close enough to start to recover.