"So what are you going to do? Give us some stuff to get us on our way?"
"I don't think you could carry it. By the looks of your bags, you only got room for a weeks worth of food at best, let alone anything else I could offer you."
"So what do you propose?"
"Well, for starters, I'm going to say that I don't take letting people into my group lightly. With that said, I want you to come back with us. You saved my son, and it only feels right that I help you."
"And why would you do that?"
"Because I feel that what goes around, comes around."
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They hiked several miles away from Kings Mill after they had eaten and cleaned up. It was through the woods, and the hike seemed hotter now that they had eaten. Kern was feeling groggy, the food setting heavy on his stomach. The pace wasn't too quick. Quinton and the others must have known how tired they were. Even though he could tell they wanted to dash ahead to their home, they slowed their pace to accommodate them. Finally, they came to a white SUV and an old pick-up truck. The SUV didn't have the black stains the abandoned cars did. It had been washed. The old pick-up, however, was a different story.
Off-roading was a better term than ride. They didn't travel along any kind of road or trail Kern had ever seen. It was a newly made path, probably by them, through the woods. They weaved between trees and swerved around sinkholes and rocks. Faint imprints of tire tracks greeted them the whole way, marking the path back to where ever they were going.
Kern fingered his pistol as they rode. He had sewn a type of holster in the sleeve of the long shirt he was wearing. He had put it on before Dad had woken up that morning. It was hot, but it was worth it to make sure he was armed in a way no one else could see. Why were they taking him back to their base? Why had Dad agreed so readily to be taken there? Kern had wanted to object, but what good would it have done? Even if he had changed Dad's mind, they would just kill them if they meant any ill will towards them in the first place.
East. They were traveling East, as Kern judged by the position of the setting sun. He didn't want to go farther away from his goal, but if they had vehicles and food, maybe they also had a comfortable place to sleep. A bed. Maybe there was a meal or two in there as well. Quinton said that he would get them nourished, and let them get rested up. He even said he would get them some better vitamins. Maybe they were promising them the world just to take it from them, but given the numbers and the promises, Kern figured he could at least see what was going on before he went out in a blaze of glory with his little .25 pistol.
Just after the sun had fallen, they pulled up to a wooden gate with another one of those massive padlocks on it. It didn't take long for them to get the lock off, get in, and get it chained back up. On the other side of the fence were fields, teeming with crops not yet ripe for harvest. Tomatoes, corn, squash, and a dozen others all in nice, neat rows. Kern leaned up in the bed of the old pick-up truck to get a better view.
"It's a mighty nice spread, ain't it, boy?" Pete said. "This here plot isn't as good as mine, but they have more hands to work it. I reckon I can tell you that we have a good many heads of cattle on the other side, and chickens and rabbits,too."
"Rabbits?" Kern said incredulously.
"Kevin raised 'em for some restaurant in the city for the summer. Lucky for us he hadn't slaughtered most o'em before all this had happened. They make good gloves and hats, good blankets if they're stitched right. And they make pretty darn good eatin', if I do say so myself."
Kern shook his head, trying to get the thought of eating rabbits out of his head. The path they followed now was well worn. Further up, the rows of crops became more erratic, the spaces between the rows sometimes wide and other times narrow. Where the lower rows seemed to have a more professionally manicured looked, these looked more amateurish. Off to the sides of these new rows, by the tree line, were all sorts of lawn ornaments and other artifacts of the old world. Kern figured that this area had once been a yard; a really big yard, but still a yard. After the end, the people who lived here knew the importance of having renewable sources of food. If there was still a type of sophisticated farming, he figured that there was hunting, too.
The path wound up a hill crested with trees; mighty oaks mostly, but also some pines and spruce trees scattered amongst them. The tree line, which was about fifty yards thick, opened up to a row of houses and shacks. They extended off to the sides, five or six on each side, with the foot-worn paths resembling something like sidewalks. Some of the small houses were post-apocalyptic constructions of frame and sheet rock, but most were more roughly built yet more sturdy log cabins. Night was setting in, and Kern noticed dim, electric light shining out of some of the windows. It astonished him. Real electric light.
It was then that Kern noticed all the people stepping out of the doors, the light now spilling into the faint darkness. At first he was struck as them all being hunters and farmer; those people the mainstream world had seen as degenerate hill people. A lot of them had weapons slung over their shoulders or holstered, wearing clothing suited for hard work. Button-up work shirts, overalls, jeans. But these weren't the stereotypical rednecks Kern had been told about and seen in the movies. A man was wearing khaki shorts and polo shirt, with tan lines from his sunglasses. Coming out of a log cabin with plants hanging from the awning, illuminated in the electric lighting, was a Hispanic man and woman dressed for church. He was wearing a button-up white shirt and loosened tie, having apparently shed his coat. She was wearing a stunning sun dress in yellow and white.
"Jacob! Jacob!" Kern could hear the relief in their voices, and some of them had tears in their eyes. Next they asked where Jonathan and Derek were. Quinton kept his head forward solemnly. There were words of hope and condolence, others saying that they would still find them not knowing they were already dead. Kids were running up to the pick-up and telling Jacob how happy they were. It was evident that this wasn't just a group of misfits or bandits scraping by.
The people followed them for a ways, but the finality of Quinton's silence took hold of them, and they slowly fell behind, and then Kern watched as they huddled together, some shaking their heads and others whispering to each other on the beaten dirt path. They passed through what was once a well-manicured rural lawn. Pots and planters, ornate bird baths, flowers of all different types decorated the yard. Behind a copse of trees, in the shade, was a large ranch-style home. It's walls were made of logs, but it was clear that it was built before everything went downhill. The outside porch wrapped around the front and side of the house, and Kern guessed that it encompassed the entirety.
The other vehicle had stopped back with the other people, and then Pete and another man Kern had forgotten the name of had hopped out as the truck made it's slow accent to the house. Quinton was apparently postponing the inevitable. As his truck pulled up, a slender black woman stepped out of the front door. Her face was drawn with exhaustion, but there was a hope in her eyes. When she saw Jacob, she screamed and threw her arms into the air, dashing madly toward the pick-up as her white dress trailed behind her.
"Jacob! Jacob,oh baby!" she yelled as she ripped the truck door open and piled in alongside, hugging him so fiercely Kern wondered if the kid could even breath.
"Come on, son," Dad said, pushing himself up and stepping over the tailgate onto the bumper. It was plain to see that he was tired. Kern had wanted to sleep himself on the ride. Were it not for the anxiety and the fact they were being jostled the whole trip through the woods, he might have. He really didn't know how much more he could go without sleep. It wasn't just the exertion of the walking. That was something they had become acclimated to. It was the adrenaline rush and then the hours of being sedentary. Dad was drained. Kern was drained.
Kern followed him off the bed of the pick-up and over to the tree line. Quinton and his family deserved that moment to grieve. That was something the two of them had never had the opportunity to do. Rumbling just below the surface of the dar
k tides of his psyche where he had hidden the memories of the time before, there was a stirring. Kern knew what it was, but over time he had gotten able to feel those feelings yet never visualize them. Kern dug into his pack, one of the monotonous defense mechanisms he had made.
"What do you think so far?" Dad asked, taking a bite of a piece of the jerky Pete had given him. Kern shrugged.
"I don't guess it matters now. We're here, but things don't look too bad. I don't think we have to worry about them eating us or shaking us down. They seem to have enough of everything."
"Quinton seems like a pretty stand-up guy. I'm pretty sure he just brought us here because we saved his son."
"Did you see the lights?"
"I saw them. First ones I have seen in almost a year that weren't on a flashlight or a car. This might be the real deal, a safe place to rest up for a bit."
"Or work, if it's like some of the other places we've seen."
"I don't think this place is like that."
"No," Kern pulled out a stale granola bar and started unwrapping it, "Me neither."
They stood in both silence and fatigue as they tried to not listen to the exchange going on between the three at the house. It was apparent when the Jacob's mother was told about John, because there was a cry of grief and heavy screams for a minute, then just sobbing.
Kern tried his best to survey they area. Even though they were there as guests, he still needed to know the layout of the community. Already he knew what he needed to know about the side they had come in, whether it be front, back, or other. He wandered farther away, noting that the house sat at the crest of a big hill. On the other side, the trees formed another semicircle, connecting with the one the one they had rode through. These, however, were small trees, planted in just the previous few years. Past those, on the Eastern side of the hill, light was shining through the branches. Even though darkness had fallen on this side of the hill in its totality, Kern knew that more of the roughly built cabins lay down there. The moving shadows betrayed people moving around the circumference of the hill, probably headed toward the other side where others were already talking.
It wasn't long before Kern heard the footsteps. As he turned, he saw Quinton walking up slowly behind them. He looked as tired as Dad did, even if Kern could only gauge it by the way he walked. Suddenly Kern realized that he must have been up the last three days, out there looking for his sons. This was his personal sanctuary; Kern could tell by the way the people moved around it. For them to be outsiders, this must have been quite an honor. There was always the possibility, however, that this was just some clever trick to disarm them. It wasn't too plausible but it still had to be guarded against.
"Thank you so much, again, for bringing our son to us safe," Quinton said. "And thank you also for letting me have some time with my family. Most people wouldn't have done that. Please, come with me and have another meal. My wife also wants to meet you."
Kern nodded and followed behind Dad as they walked back down to the house. The exterior of the house itself was quaint, the outer wall being log, but had been lovingly adorned with knick-knacks and potted plants. Benches and chairs were on all four sides of the porch as well, Kern would come to find out. When Quinton opened the door, Kern had to shield his eyes. It had been a long time since they had been in direct light, and he hoped it wouldn't give him a headache. Once the initial blindness was gone, they stepped through the door.
The beautiful woman moved quickly, grasping Dad in a hug and kissing his cheek, then pulling Kern into the fray and kissing his forehead. The streaks from her tears were still damp on her cheeks. She pulled back and smiled widely, the tears welling up again.
"Thank you so, so much for bringing my baby home to me!" she said. "We were so worried. It's so good to know that there are still good people out there. Please, have a seat and I will see what I can fix you for a late supper! My name is Kiera."
"Umm," Dad said, clearly taken aback, "My name is Aaron and this is Kern. It's nice to meet you."
"Likewise!" she said with her infectious smile, then turned and went through the door.
"Southern hospitality at it's finest," Quinton said with a chuckle.
They found themselves in the dining room. A large wooden table with twelve chairs was right in the middle, flanked by china cabinets and tables. Above the table was an old chandelier, electric of course. Candles were also placed around the room, most of them burned down a bit. They gave the room an even more rustic feel, when sat against the wooden walls.
"We bought this place for a steal," Quinton said as he sat down at the head of the table. "Got it about six years ago, a foreclosure. Took about all of our savings to do it, but it was worth it."
"Here you go, boys!" Kiera said as she entered the room with glasses and set them on the table in a row, pouring the contents of her pitcher into them, over the ice cubes. Kern's eyes went wide when he took a drink of his. It was sweet tea, his favorite.
"Thank you, babe," Quinton said, Dad and Kern thanking her as well. She told them they welcome and went back to the kitchen.
"Tell me a little about yourselves," Quinton said, sitting back in his chair to sip on his tea.
Kern let Dad do the talking. He told Quinton about their escape from the school, then their time at Fireside. It wasn't very detailed, for which Kern was glad. Telling too much wasn't ever a good thing these days. Their stay at the house piqued Quinton's interest, with the solar power and amenities. Thankfully nothing was said about their run-in with Julie, but once Dad was done talking Quinton pressed straight to the point.
"Have you ever killed anyone? A person?" he asked, swirling his glass of sweet tea.
"Only in self defense," Dad replied. "And even then it didn't sit well with me."
"I understand," Quinton said, staring at the glass. "I've had to do it more times than I would like to count. First there was the initial outbreak, people trying to steal medicine, food, anything. Afterwards, it's been either solitary people and small groups trying to carve out a life or those so jaded now that they have become just evil, thinking of killing someone or stealing from them as a matter of course."
"You look exhausted," Kiera said as she walked in with a tray of fresh fruit, cucumbers, and small steaks. The steam was still coming off the steaks. Kern thought he heard the ding of a microwave a few minutes ago. His mouth began watering. He dug into the steak first, eating half of it in two bites when he realized she was looking at him.
"How long have you two been on the road?" she asked.
"Not on the road really," Kern said. "We've stayed in the woods most of the time, but we've been doing it for months now. I lost track at two." He wolfed down the rest of the steak, then devoured his share of the fruits and cucumbers.
"Come with me," she said.
"Why?"
"It's a surprise, sugar. Just trust me."
Kern's paranoia was setting in. He grabbed his pack tightly. Dad nodded at him, telling him it was alright. Kern debated for a second, and again figured that if they wanted them or their belongings, they wouldn't have made it this far. Slowly, he rose up out of the chair, but he let his right sleeve engulf his hand, ready to grasp the pistol hidden inside.
"That's right, you come on," Kiera said. "I think you'll really like this." Kern just couldn't get over her smile. He hadn't even seen one like it at Fireside. Of course, she was focusing all of her attention not to think of her oldest son, but Kern couldn't tell.
She led him down the hallway and a couple of doors down, she opened the door and turned the light on. When Kern walked in, he gasped. He hadn't seen a proper bathroom in a long while, let alone one with running water. It was full of tropical and fisherman decor. The wooden fishing net hung on the wall, the privacy curtain with the image of the sandy beach, and a pina colada soap dispenser.
"You go ahead and take as long a bath or shower as you like. We have well water here, and I don't think it's going to run out any time soon. I think I even have some clot
hes you can wear."
Kern continued to stare in amazement after she had shut the door. He had thought that his last shower ever would have been at the house on Seminole. He had reservations, but he reasoned that if they wanted him and Dad dead, they would have already acted. With a heavy sigh, he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The water was cold at first, and he curiously turned it to hot. It turned from cold to tepid, and then to hot. Kern smiled as he stepped into the stream, his head down as it beat down on his head, watching the water turn brown at his feet as the dirt and grime from the last several months melted off him.
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"Don't worry," Quinton says. "She's taking him to get a hot shower." Dad spit some of his tea up as Quinton went to the fridge and got two beers.
"A hot shower? How?" Quinton chuckled as he opened them both and sat one down in front on Dad. A pale ale. Dad took a quick sip. The bite was vicious, but amazing. As he savored it, he realized how stupid his question was, considering they had electricity.
"Solar and hydro power," Quinton said. "When I was a kid, my dad worked for a company that specialized in solar, and hydro is pretty basic."
"How are you able to keep it up?"
"You would be amazed at how many places sold the cheap solar panels, the ones used to charge single batteries. On top of that, we found a few electrical supply houses that sold the real deal. The hydro power isn't near as reliable, though. At first we used car alternators and charged batteries, but we found a few generators we rigged up, set them high above the water and welded thin metal rods to them. They break all the time, and every now and then the generators get soaked or fall."
"That's pretty good," Dad said. Quinton took a swig of his beer and set back, eyeing Dad suspiciously.
"So now that your son is out of the room, tell me the rest of your story."
"What do you mean?"
"People normally don't survive this long unless they are shady, live with other people, or both. I hate to be that way, but judging by how dirty you are I bet that you haven't been in a group."
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