He'd put the cylinder back into the safe in the basement and was sitting at the kitchen table with Janice and Arnold. Ross and Jaxon were currently driving the car used by the Lee Corporation soldiers onto the highway. There was a fair chance they would come looking for it and the scene of the ambush was too close to the farmhouse for comfort. Solly had given the boys strict instructions to only take the car a few miles and not to risk getting lost on their long walk back, but he was fretting about them as darkness fell outside.
Arnold was cradling a warm mug of coffee in his hands, "Arbroath, you say? Are you sure?"
"That's what I heard," Solly replied as he chewed on a slice of jerky, "but he was dying, there's no telling whether he knew what he was even saying."
"Sounds Scottish," Janice said.
"I don't imagine he was taking it across the Atlantic," Solly said. "If it's a place, it'll be here in the US."
He pulled a tattered road atlas out of Jeremiah's satchel and opened it. "This only covers the northeastern states," he said, "but Arbroath isn't in the index."
"If only we still had the internet," Janice said.
Solly smiled and reached out to take her hand. "At least we have bread. Smells delicious."
"You'll have to wait till the morning for that batch," Janice replied, returning his smile, "but I've got some of today's leftovers if you like."
Solly had eaten on his return to the farmhouse, but the prospect of an extra crust made his mouth water. Janice had made it her mission to work out how to bake bread reliably and, in the second week after they'd arrived at the farmhouse, had finally nailed it. They'd had no problem finding dried yeast in Hagerstown—it seemed the other looters hadn't seen its value. Flour had been a little harder to obtain until they'd found a barn full of processed sacks in a neighboring farm.
The farmhouse also had a small dairy herd that was allowed to roam in the meadows on either side. Learning how to milk them had been another of Janice's projects and they now had the means of nourishing the children and producing edible butter. Solly spread some of the light yellow paste onto his thick slice of crust and savored the taste. If there was one thing he'd learned in the past weeks it was to take pleasure in the small things.
Janice watched him eat and squeezed his hand. Solly felt that familiar mixture of warmth and guilt as he looked back at her. They had a deep emotional connection that had matured into a gently physical one. Janice wasn't ready for their relationship to become intimate and, truth to tell, neither was Solly, but if he had to put a label on his feelings, he'd struggle to find a better word than love.
As for the little community they led, all it lacked now was power. He was no electrical engineer and had, so far, failed to get the wind turbine working properly. So, for now they relied on scavenging fuel for the generator in the basement which involved dangerous trips into the surrounding urban areas. This meant that the generator was run to a strict schedule, largely to power interior lights after dark.
They'd built so much in the past weeks, and yet it was so vulnerable. They now knew that the Lee Corporation could track the cylinder and, while the transmitter could be blocked by shielding, its last known location was near to the farmhouse. The only way to make the children safe was to take it elsewhere, knowing that, in doing so, Lee Corp would be able to follow him.
First things first, however—he needed to know where it had to go.
The next day, Solly stood outside the Washington County Library. It was a red brick building in the center of Hagerstown that, aside from some broken windows, had escaped relatively unharmed. It seemed that reading was undervalued in this postapocalyptic world.
Solly, Ross and Jaxon had set off at first light to walk the several miles into town. The boys were armed with hunting knives and Solly had his Ruger for company, but they saw no one until they were well inside the urban area when they noticed faces peering out from behind apartment windows, drapes twitching as they passed. It was a cold December day but in place of the colorful lights and decorations of previous years, there was nothing but trash and abandoned cars.
Solly stepped through the smashed glass of the library front door and peered into the gloom beyond, looking for any lurking trouble.
"We need the geography section," he said as Ross followed him inside.
"I have been in a library before," Ross said, "I know how they work."
A shape moved in the shadows and Solly spun around, gun in hand. "You are looking for a book? An atlas, maybe?"
It was the voice of an old woman, and Solly hid the Ruger as she shuffled forward.
"Who are you?" Ross said, unable to hide the disgust in his voice.
She was dressed in clothes that might once have been colorful, but she looked as though she hadn't changed them in weeks, perhaps since the Long Night itself. She looked deathly thin and peered out at them from behind teardrop shaped spectacles. "Do you have food, by any chance?" she said in a trembling and desperate voice.
Solly swung his pack from his shoulder and handed over a couple of energy bars. She swooped on them like a starving dog, barely giving herself time to open the wrappers before chewing on them. Solly pressed his water bottle into her hand as she began to choke. When she'd finished the bars, she straightened herself up and shook her head sadly. "I am sorry, I know I'm a mess. But Doris never came in, so I couldn't go home. The library must be manned, you see, or they'll take away our funding."
"You've been here for five weeks?"
She shrugged. "Has it been that long? I guess so. The food in the staff break room ran out a long time ago, but the water still works and there's always the rain. Now, are you looking for a book?"
Solly decided his only option was to play along. "Yes, we're trying to find out if there's a place called Arbroath."
"There's certainly a town called Arbroath in Scotland," she said. "'It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honors, that we are fighting, but for freedom—for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself.' The Declaration of Arbroath. Some say it was the seed that led to the Declaration of Independence centuries later."
"Is there a place of the same name in the US?"
"What? Oh. No, not that I've heard of. But then, I don't know every town and city in the United States. Not quite. "
The old woman shuffled off into the gloom, followed by Solly and the boys. It grew darker and darker as they approached the center of the library, far from the windows, and Solly almost bumped into her as she emerged, book in hand. "If it's in the US, we'll find it in here."
She put the atlas down on a table beneath one of the outer windows and turned to the index at the back. The book was a couple of feet tall and Solly breathed in the smell of printed paper and decaying librarian as she turned the pages. She found the beginning of the index and Solly watched as she ran her finger down the page.
"Aha! I've found it!" she said, delighted. She immediately closed the book and then flicked through the pages until she found the one she was looking for.
"C3," she muttered and Solly watched as her finger navigated the continental United States. Left, left, up and up it went. "There it is."
Solly leaned forward to where she was pointing. "Good grief," he said, "it's in Washington State on the West Coast."
Ross peered over his shoulder. "Is it far?"
Standing up, Solly stared blankly out of the dirty windows onto the winter street outside. "I'd guess the best part of three thousand miles," he said.
Chapter 4
Paulie Ramos focused on the little group of wooden figures gathered around the crib and on the plastic doll that lay inside. She was only half listening to Pastor Smith recounting the story of the nativity, but simply watched as, one after another, a child would come from the congregation, stand in front of the scene and read from a scrap of paper.
The church was lit with candles—far more than was prudent—and its cavernous nave echoed to the joyous verses of "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem." For jus
t a short while, it was possible to forget the Long Night. Possible for some. Not for Sheriff Paulina Ramos. In her mind's eye she perceived the darkness outside and the evil things that hid within it.
She shook her head vigorously to wake herself. This was the first time in days that she'd simply sat still, allowing someone else to run the show. No one asking any questions of her, no decisions to make. It was so nice to sit here, enjoying the warmth and companionship of the church and participating in this group fantasy. After all, it couldn't hurt for a few minutes. Since that night, she'd tried to remember that life is nothing more than a succession of moments. It has a beginning and an inevitable end, and that sanity lay in the present. She just wished moments like this could last longer.
It was Sunday evening on December 20th and despite everything that had happened, the town was preparing itself for Christmas. For some it was about getting beyond what was sure to be a truly desperate time as thoughts turned inevitably to all those ghosts of Christmases Past gathered around the tree. Most of the adults, however, seemed determined that the children would have as good a festive season as was possible in the circumstances. There would be no game consoles, smartphones or tablets, but there would be scavenged bikes, skateboards, dolls and construction toys. This year, children would receive the sorts of gifts their grandparents would have recognized. But the gifts would be given by strangers and there was no masking the tragic background to this year's celebrations. Again, she saw the face of her daughter. Again, she felt the command she could not obey.
She jerked awake as a hand grabbed her elbow. "You were nodding," whispered the voice of Jon Graf.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize, just get yourself some sleep tonight. Arbroath can cope without you for an eight hour stretch once in a while."
She turned to Graf and smiled. He'd been a rock in the weeks since he'd returned to town after burying his family. She'd served as a rookie alongside him when she'd first moved here and he'd played a large part in shaping her into the officer she was today. He was a man who believed that there were such things as right and wrong, black and white, good and bad, and it was for each person to decide which side of the line they stood on.
The final hymn washed over them, and they stood to leave. The thought of a warm bed and a decent night's sleep was now all that occupied Paulie's mind and she groaned inwardly as she heard the distinctive clippety-clip of the pastor's steel reinforced boots as he hurried to catch up.
"Did you enjoy the service, Sheriff?" he asked, his breath infused with the aroma of mulled wine.
Paulie filed between the rows of chairs toward the exit. "Yes, it was almost like a normal nativity. The children seemed to enjoy it."
"I think it's important to preserve traditions," Smith said. "They provide an anchor in turbulent times."
Graf let out a quiet snort, though the pastor didn't respond. Jon Graf had been one of the few townsfolk not to have fallen under Smith's spell. In fact, in Paulie's opinion, he went too far in his disdain for the man; so far, Smith had been nothing but good for the town. Her cop's instinct told her there was a lot more to him than the story he'd given, but they all had their secrets after all. In the first days and weeks, she'd waited for him to slip up and reveal his true purpose, but she was forced to believe that, whatever his past, he was here to help.
"I wonder if you'd be interested in a nightcap," Smith was saying.
"Sorry, Pastor, I'm not allowed out after dark. Especially in the company of strangers," Graf said, deadpan.
Paulie heard a sharp intake of breath from the pastor but kept her gaze on the approaching exit. "Oh, er, I'm afraid I was talking to..."
"Don't pay any attention to Jon, Pastor," she said. "He calls it a sense of humor. Truth to tell, I'm about ready to hit the sack. I nearly nodded off a couple of times during the ser—"
A cry went up from outside, and Paulie caught a glimpse of a man muscling his way against the congregation. "Sheriff!"
Deputy and former barista Mike Fessel ran up to her and pointed back the way he'd come.
"What is it, Mike?"
"A looter," he said as he caught his breath. "Two of Petrov's goons caught him stealing from the storeroom. Dragged him outside. Fixin' on hanging him."
Paulie broke into a run, pushing past the stragglers exiting the church. "Who's on duty?" she called over her shoulder.
"Marvin," Fessel responded. "But I ain't sure he's gonna do very much to stop it."
Paulie privately agreed with her deputy. Marvin Tucker had been the first volunteer to join the police force after the emergency had started. She'd recruited him on the principle that it was better to have him on her side than agitating against her. A former Gunnery Sargent in the Marines, he believed in simple justice swiftly delivered. That was about the only thing he and the much more measured Jon Graf agreed on.
She ran into the darkness with Fessel and Graf in her wake.
They were gathered around the monument to fallen soldiers in front of the department store that had been converted to house most of the people of the town. The monument was a large bronze cast crucifix and someone had swung a rope around the top.
A figure stood trembling on a wooden chair placed in front of the makeshift gallows as a baying crowd gathered around him, fists raised in anger.
Paulie groaned as she recognized the emaciated features. Charlie Givens had been the town layabout for years and if anyone hadn't deserved to survive that night it had to be him. So many good people had died and yet he had gone on to resume his career as a petty criminal and burden on society.
Tucker stood, shotgun in hand, facing toward Paulie as she ran up.
"Why haven't you put a stop to this?" she demanded.
The big man shrugged. "A stop to what, Sheriff? Seems to me that folks is just havin' a party. I suggest you let them be."
Paulie drew herself to her full height, which left her eyes at around the level of Marvin's chest. "Either get out of the way or hand back the badge, Deputy."
She could see muscles moving behind the messy non-regulation gray beard. He was angry, and she knew there wasn't much holding the rage at bay. Fortunately, she'd quickly worked out that if there was one thing Marvin valued above being able to do exactly as he wanted, it was having a position of authority. Or, indeed, having an official role of any sort.
He reluctantly stood to one side as she, Fessel and the panting Jon Graf barged their way through to the front of the crowd.
To her surprise, she found Custer Petrov, owner of the department store, standing beside the chair, flanked by a pair of bald-headed grunts in fatigues whose names Paulie couldn't remember, though she knew they both ended in "-ov". It was rare indeed for the entrepreneur to get his hands dirty when he could act entirely through proxies such as the beef mountains standing alongside him.
"What are you doing, Custer?"
Petrov shrugged as if surprised at her question. "I bring a thief to justice," he responded, his soft voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.
"In case you hadn't noticed, that's my job," Paulie responded, jabbing a finger at him as she fought to control her rage. She loathed the creep, but now was a time for a cool head.
"And yet you were not here. You were enjoying your little fantasies in the house of God, were you not?"
Paulie shook her head. "Not good enough. I had deputies on duty, you could have reported it to one of them."
"I did. Deputy Tucker was fully in agreement with my suggested action."
"He told you to string Givens up?"
Another little shrug. "Perhaps not quite in those words, no. But he did not object to my proposal."
"We have procedure, Petrov, even in these times."
"He was caught red handed stealing milk powder, there was no need for a trial. Do not our babies need this formula? Are our children not more important than this piece of filth." As he said this, he raised his voice, so the crowd could hear him. "And there is only one penalty for
theft!"
Voices roared in response.
"Hang him!" some called.
"String him up!"
"Finish the scum!"
Paulie drew her Glock and pointed it to the heavens. Her shot brought instant silence to the mob.
"Now, just listen to me!" she called, wishing she had a few more inches in her legs so she could see over the crowd. She glanced over at Graf who, taking her meaning, drew a knife and slashed the rope from around the neck of Givens and pulled him, sobbing, off the chair.
Paulie climbed up and scanned the murmuring crowd. A couple dozen at most, but she could see others emerging from the department stores into the flickering light of the beacons used to light the nighttime square. She had only moments to quell the trouble before the extra onlookers poured gasoline on the flames.
"This isn't how we do things in this town. Justice denied anyone is justice denied everyone. It's my job to see due process carried out and when it's done, you have my promise that he will pay the price."
"He was caught stealin' out of the mouths of babes," called a voice.
"And I'll see justice is done, Jonas," Paulie responded. Jonas Fletcher was a farmer who'd been helping secure the stored produce of the surrounding farms and bring them into the center of town to feed the people through the winter.
"It ain't no kind of justice that scum like that get to live when so many good folk didn't. String him up!"
To Paulie's dismay, the call was taken up by others in the crowd and they began to press in. Givens gave a squeal of fear and crouched behind the reluctant protection of Jon Graf.
She'd lost them. They knew she wouldn't shoot on her own people and they thirsted for vengeance. It was as if the transgression of Charlie Givens was the final straw and a red mist had descended on the town.
Givens called out as the muscled Russians grabbed him, and Paulie stumbled as she was pushed off the chair. Graf caught her. "Come on, we've got to get you out of here."
Scattered: Book 2 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival series: (The Long Night - Book 2) Page 3