by Eric Keller
“Maybe you should check on the newcomers.”
Apparently surprised by this, Paul said, “Oh, I’m sure they’re all asleep now.”
Morreign merely looked at him. He seemed to understand and said, “Leo and Sam were working on some traps, maybe I’ll go help them out.”
Guilt prodded at Morreign as Paul silently pulled on his winter gear to head back out. She knew this was awful for him as well, but she felt too much pain to care about his feelings. However, she didn’t want to fight with him, not with all that was going on, so, as he reached for the door she broke the uneasy tension by asking, “What’s their name?”
“Pardon me?”
“The family. If they’re going to be our neighbors, I should at least know their name.”
He gave her a strained yet quirky grin through his stubbly beard and said, “Hope. The family’s name is Hope.”
PART TWO
CHAPTER SIX
JUNE 6, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX
A stretch to call it warm, but the bright sun on his face felt great regardless of the actual temperature. Despite having taken a whole box, Hale ate his dry cereal slowly having learned over the last decade to eat slowly and make food last. He could hear others celebrating down below, but he preferred the peace of the building’s rooftop. Normally these days, if he disappeared for too long, someone, usually Clarence, would come looking, casually stopping for a visit, making sure he was not up to anything but, with the patrol recently returned with supplies, distractions abounded which allowed him to slip away.
With the harshness of winter disappearing Hale’s persistent thoughts of leaving Thule grew stronger; thoughts of finding somewhere less chaotic to live, less harsh, of making a better life. As he aged, the desire to leave increased but so did the paralyzing trepidation. Having seen first-hand that, in this new world, a simple sprained ankle could mean freezing to death in the snow, existing in isolation was a daunting option.
Early on, Luke probably would have come with him but now, approaching him would be risky, likely a mistake. Kinma would obviously come. Milo seemed likely to be on board which meant Taco might come as well. There were a few others he spoke with using vague words and hushed tones, but none seemed wholly committed. Regardless, a handful of people did not create a situation much better than being all alone.
Over the decade, Harrison’s original group of chosen survivors grew. Initially, Harrison only wanted healthy, obedient men to join with all others they encountered being chased off or killed except those he deemed to have valuable skills. In that manner, they quickly grew to a stout twenty-five. Eventually, once they became somewhat established and secure, Harrison became less selective and let some of his favorite men keep the women they found which then led to needing more people to patrol and scavenge so more were allowed to join. They now numbered thirty-eight people.
Seven years ago, when they were still flush with supplies taken from the easy reach of the surrounding area, a band of refugees arrived at Thule and tried to barter for food and gear. The refugees had obviously been wealthy, powerful people in the past and had managed to get as far north as possible to escape the fighting now raging in the south.
The rich fools offered up luxury items with no value in the new world, and they were abruptly and violently dispatched with everything they had taken off their corpses. The men at Thule took great joy in the fact that the wealthy were now coming to them to beg for help. Having lived through the financial crisis of 2022, the men blamed greedy bankers for much of their woes, so the joke started out that they were now the banks, but this bank turned away overfed suits while accepting the rugged poor. The jovial name stuck, and the group eventually began unconsciously referring to itself as the Bank.
No matter how cruel life was with the Bank in the remnants of Thule, living as one of thirty-eight in a fortified building with supplies was safer than surviving with a few others, alone in the woods. Regardless, Hale still had a deep ache to leave. Harrison might hunt them down as deserters, but he might be fine letting them go. If they got away clean they could go to that old farmhouse Hale scavenged years ago, a far distance but that made it a safe distance. A long, unconscious sigh escaped around his mouthful of cereal. These thoughts were far from new, and Hale knew they were worn out, if he truly meant to leave, he would have simply left.
“Best day ‘round here in a long damn time and you’re hiding on the roof with a box of shredded wheat?”
Harrison’s tone was light but, as always, an underlying rigidness existed. Looking over he realized the man’s black, coarse beard made his grey eyes even more piercing. Hale made a show of casually leaning back in his chair before answering, “Cornflakes actually.”
Harrison flipped over a nearby bucket used to catch rainwater and sat on it. Despite the underlying sense of tension, Hale played it off, tilting the cereal box towards him by way of offering. Harrison took a handful of the stale food. The two men chewed as they stared at their thawing realm in a silence only those who have before spent much time together can endure.
Finally, Harrison asked, “We going to have a problem with winter gone?”
The pointed question did not shock Hale, Harrison always seemed to be able to read his mind. He answered with a shrug, “Nah, only a hint of spring fever.”
“Good. I need you to go out again.”
This caused Hale to glance over. After the Bombing, Hale actively patrolled the surrounding area with others in the Bank. They attacked those seen as potential threats and looted any supplies they found. Everything being a matter of survival allowed Hale to rationalize the violence becoming a major part of life, a part of life he became shockingly good at. The other Bankers greatly appreciated his skills but, despite Harrison’s numerous speeches about existing in a lifeboat and the fittest needing to survive, Hale found it harder and harder to justify battering the weak and desperate as the Bank became more and more established.
Eventually, after an especially bloody patrol, Hale refused to attack innocent people, and this did not sit well with Harrison. The leader subtly threatened him and, by proxy, Kinma. However, everyone respected Hale and all he did to maintain and improve their wellbeing. This respect clearly worried Harrison, so they established an uneasy truce. Hale would not have to kill unless they were attacked and he would ostensibly support Harrison’s leadership.
Hale choked down the cereal and said, “Thought that load looked pretty light.”
Harrison let out one of his contrived chuckles. “Light’s one way of callin’ it. Eight men were out for two weeks and came back with enough food for less than a month.”
“Me going out to look probably ain’t the answer. We need to get better at making our own food.”
Another old argument between them. They grew some vegetables in the summer and hunted year round. But planting potatoes and setting squirrel traps still remained a distant second to looting. It took a while, but Hale eventually figured out why Harrison allowed this disparity to continue even after the scavenging became stingy. Men hunched over hoes grew bored and men eating rations of withered carrots all winter grew angry. Bored and angry men became troublesome for their leadership. Getting to go out and rape and pillage was exciting while getting intermittent bounties caused people to forget the lean times.
“You’re probably right.”
This response did surprise, Hale. Harrison, his voice sounding far off, continued, “Too late now though. We’ve spent ten years getting good at taking, not enough time left to get good at making. Before we even get a real crop harvested, we’ll be starving, hell, we’ll be starved out before a crop sprouts. The men are already pissed over the shitty rations and whatever other complaints are going arou
nd.”
Hale wondered if the reference to “other complaints” was Harrison indicating he knew of his scheming to get people to leave, but he could not know, so he ignored the point. “That can’t be right. There’s still gotta be stuff out there. Send out a few strong groups to fill the shelves, I’ll stay here and get the rest farming like aggressive Amish.”
“Might work, but we’ve got even more immediate problems I need you to deal with. Remember, we’re not the only survivors with guns. The patrol took heavy fire and bolted straight for home, that’s part of the reason they found so little.”
Silence as Hale contemplated this. He softly said, “The Survivalist nuts.”
“The goddamn Survivalists. They’re getting aggressive. Their supplies are probably thinning like ours, both of us spreading out farther from home.”
An all-out war with the Survivalists would be devastating. Hale silently cursed himself, yet again, for not having gotten out of Thule years ago.
. . .
Fatigue constantly accompanied Harrison for many days now. Keeping the Bank fed and sheltered was constant work. Keeping the Bank isolated and safe from outside threats was a perpetual struggle. Keeping the Bank from destroying itself from within was a never-ending battle.
Harrison could have relinquished command, early on he was tempted to do so on numerous occasions, but the idea left him wondering what he would do then. His years in the military taught Harrison that living under the rule of others could not be tolerated. He needed to be the one making the decisions. He feared that striking out on his own, or with a couple completely obedient followers like Clarence, would not end well. A stronger group or starvation could end them before long. Staying at Thule, keeping the group separated from outside influence and maintaining dominate control internally was his only viable option. Over the years that option became his life, his calling, he supposed.
Regardless of having this calling, Harrison sensed his control was slipping. More than the minor slippages he easily handled in the past. He knew Hale was actively talking to others either about bolting or revolting, he could not be sure. A splinter group leaving might be manageable, but it would greatly undercut his position, plus, it was not a stretch to go from the idea of some people being able to leave to others getting the idea of trying an outright revolution. This was all made worse because supplies were low and scavenging opportunities were slim which lowered morale.
Harrison now felt true revolt hung in the air. He needed to act and act drastically. Hale was an obvious point of emphasis as his subtle conversations would not stay so subtle for long. The former oil worker they found in the frozen apartment building with the orphan all those years ago proved extremely capable as Harrison predicted but, more importantly now, he was also extremely well-liked. He personified the problem.
Harrison said, “I need you to go. Stop the Survivalists out there before they can come here.”
Hale scratched at his reddish-brown beard now streaked slightly with grey as he asked, “You think they’re going to attack us? Here? It’d be suicidal.”
Hale discovered the Survivalist settlement on a patrol about five years ago and reported back to Harrison. The former oil worker declined to attack those living there, claiming they were too well armed, somehow having rifles even though non-military were not allowed to keep guns, such that he did not think their supplies were worth the risk. Harrison doubted the explanation. Harrison believed Hale, being soft, did not want to attack because of the women and children amongst them.
Hale and he butted heads often over how to treat those weaker than them. Harrison did not like cruelty, he did not seek out hurting others. However, he viewed situations simply and logically. Allowing the weak to overwhelm the strong would only mean devastation for everyone.
Harrison said, “They took shots at the patrol. They’re obviously out there looking for shit same as us, digging through the remnants of the remnants. And they know we’re here. Won’t be long before they make it this far.”
“Maybe we can talk with them, see if they want to join up together.”
Harrison wanted to laugh at Hale’s naïve nature. Two summers ago, another patrol ventured too far and came across the Survivalist camp. In the years since Hale first saw the settlement, the Survivalists grew both in number and strength. The wayward patrol was immediately attacked, two members were killed while the others had no choice but to flee.
The Survivalists were not the talking kind, they would not bend to compromise. Plus, Harrison wanted all of the Survivalists supplies, he did not want more mouths to feed. On top of that, the infant idea was blossoming that naive Hale not returning would remove, not only a mouth he needed to feed but a mouth that was spreading thoughts best left not spread.
“Doubt it. Too much blood spilled, not enough food for everyone. Not worth the risk of trying to deal with them. Need to sneak up on them and attack first and fast.”
“I don’t do that anymore.”
“No choice on this one. You had the chance to properly deal with this years ago and took the coward’s way out. That means you need to deal with it now. I’m not sending someone else to fix your damn mistake. And you know you’re the best option to pull this type of large-scale ambush off with the fewest casualties possible.”
Hale shrugged. “Ok, you’re right.”
The response came too easily and too fast. Hale was planning something. However, having gotten the answer he came for, Harrison could not protest. He could only stand, deciding to worry about possible problems later.
“Great. Pick fourteen men to go with you. Include Clarence but leave the Vikings so we’re not completely unprotected. Don’t worry, I’ll watch out for Kinma while you’re gone.”
With the unsaid threat hanging in the air that Hale’s de facto wife, Kinma, would be at risk if Clarence reported back any strange behavior, Harrison walked away.
. . .
Morreign’s hip hurt, but it hurt much less now that she could see Sam and Paul pulling an obviously heavy sled up the path. They were due back yesterday and fear had clutched at Morreign all night so seeing them allowed her to breathe again. With effort, Morreign got up from her chair and set her knitting down to watch the anticipated scene unfold in the Clearing.
The kids were out first, wearing patched clothes and rubber boots, running across the muddy, slushy lawn. Two boys and one girl, aged four, five and eight. They slipped and laughed with excitement. For an instant, a flash of sorrow struck at Morreign, happy children reminded her of Huck. Her youngest son had been gone now for ten years.
Next came the teenagers. Trying to remain calm and adult but walking briskly to see what the duo brought back. With this group was her son Jacob, now strikingly broad across the shoulders and sporting a patchy beard but still moving with the awkward gait of a young man not completely comfortable in his growing body. Despite his dog, Bear, being gone over five months now, it still seemed odd to see him without the hairy beast loping at his side. Unsurprisingly, Jacob walked next to Louisa, casually holding hands. They were rarely apart when not working.
Sam had brought Louisa back to Malden six years ago, arriving in the middle of the night with the young girl clinging to him on the back of an old snowmobile Leo had found and repaired. The child did not appear to be physically hurt beyond the dehydration, malnourishment and exposure issues one always saw in survivors. However, they could not get her to speak. The story Sam reluctantly told provided reasoning for her muteness.
Sam was hunting when he came across a workers’ camp set up on a timber cutline. It appeared long abandoned, but any supplies could be helpful, so he searched the falling down structures. In a trailer he found the girl, hiding in a corner, wrapped in filthy blankets in the cold dark. She cowered
from Sam like a skittish rodent. He tried to calm her, but calming people was not one of Sam’s talents.
He turned to leave, planning to get food from his snowmobile in hopes a gift would help placate the girl but before he could reach the door to leave she scurried at him, throwing her thin arms around his legs. As he tried to gently escape her fear-soaked clutch, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he noticed something in the shadows at the far end of the trailer. A man and a woman, their frozen bodies hanging by their necks from the low ceiling.
Sam scooped up the girl and brought her back to Malden.
Jacob, only a child himself back then, came with Morreign when she met Louisa at the Lodge for the first time. She saw it, she saw it, the first time they looked at each other, and the intensity of it scared her. The frightened, damaged girl looked at her son with an amazement which seemed to start to melt all the fear, all the hurt, and all the sadness. Jacob seemed pleasantly surprised, a shy, goofy smile immediately filling his entire face.
After spending many silent days together, Louisa eventually started speaking to Jacob when they were alone, tearfully telling the boy how, with their food running low and the snow getting deeper, her parents gave her a massive bowl of porridge. Before she could finish eating the unexpected treat, sleep overtook her. When she awoke, lying on the floor with vomit freezing on her clothes, she saw her parents hanging from their improvised nooses. Her poisoned porridge didn’t work, but their ropes didn’t fail.