by Eric Keller
It didn’t seem possible but Jacob’s worry actually deepened. “What do you mean?”
“They keep slaves.”
“Slaves?”
“Yeah, lock people up, put chains on them and use them to do work.”
Not a pleasant thought but Jacob figured a chance to escape would arise once they were able to rest up some. “Could be worse.”
“Rumors say it is.”
“What rumors?”
“That they’re cannibals.”
Confused, Jacob asked, “What’s a cannibal?”
“Means they eat their dead. Actually, I think they make people dead so they can eat’em.”
The words were unbelievable. “No one would do that.”
“Like I said, only rumors but persistent ones.”
“No one could be that insane. No one could…”
“Before you left your little camp, you think anyone be insane enough to starve four innocent people and force march them through the woods? I learned long ago, evil resides in many people and when too many of those evil hosts ban together it pours out in unpredictable and undesirable ways.”
Jacob could not ask anything further as Steel Eyes moved over to get them back on their feet. As they trudged, Jacob’s exhaustion would not allow him to think about what he had been told. Thankfully, when he tried to get his addled mind to contemplate the horrors whispered to him, it refused to focus on anything more complex than his next stumbling step and cool water.
As he dreamt about getting another long drink, a scream erupted nearby. For an instant, Jacob thought it may have been him screaming, but then Steel Eyes collapsed to the ground and rolled about in agony, clutching at her stomach. An impossibly loud cracking followed, it took a second for Jacob to recognize the sound of gunfire from childhood memories and fear caused him to instinctively fall to the grass and awkwardly crawl beneath a pine tree.
Pressing his face into the grass, Jacob could not see but, from the various sounds and yells, he figured a brief attack occurred followed by the sounds of an agitated conversation. Lying there, trying to breath slow and silent, Jacob pleaded with unknown deities that his captors would lose and the new attackers would entirely overlook his existence.
However, their bad luck continued unabated as Jacob saw heavy boots move under the pine boughs and a calm voice called down, “Alright, we’ve got a rifle trained on you. Come on and crawl outta there nice and easy like.”
Choices were nonexistent, so Jacob fought his bindings to get his battered body partially out from under the tree before hard hands grabbed his shoulders and helped him onto his swollen feet. A middle-aged man with a blue cap and military style jacket gave him and his bonds a once over before asking, “These folks capture you and your friends?”
Frightened, Jacob could only nod.
He flinched as the man drew a long knife. Seeing this, the man quickly said, “Don’t worry. I’m only tired of people being tied up around here.”
He knelt and cut the ropes from Jacob’s ankles and then from his hands. In a dry-throated whisper, Jacob said, “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he pointed at other men standing amongst the trees, “I’m Hale. This here is Milo, and that’s Walter. Over there is Grey.”
Griff, Tina, and the trapper were being helped up as well. Ahead of them lay the bodies of Steel Eyes and Aslan with Mr. Badger kneeling in the grass, a rifle pointed at his back. The sight unabashedly pleased Jacob, perhaps their nightmare had finally ended. He wheezed out, “I’m Jacob.”
Hale handed him a canteen. Jacob drank deeply, coughing in his rush to guzzle the water before handing it back empty. Hale smiled and asked, “Ok, you alright to walk on up to the house? It’s only about three hundred yards or so.”
At this, he wanted to laugh. Three hundred yards. It felt like they walked three hundred miles, a few more yards would not matter. He nodded again.
With Griff being helped by Milo and Mr. Badger being prodded along at gunpoint, they all moved forward. Hale sauntered slowly next to Jacob and curiosity and worry over the trapper’s rumors caused him to ask, “Can I, well, ask a question?”
“Sure Jacob.”
The minor polite friendliness after a week of endless cruelty almost caused Jacob to breakdown and cry, but he managed to remain composed enough to ask, “Where are we? I mean, what is going on? Who are these people?”
A chuckle from Hale as he said, “People might not be the right term. These demons are part of a group that called themselves The Prepared. Survivalists set up before the war. Because they were planning for the end of the world, they had superior weapons, shelter, and supplies when things went to hell. They used their better position to enslave desperate survivors to work for them. My guess is you all were to be added to their stable of workers.”
Trapper was at least partially right. Jacob was too scared to ask the other question in his mind about what would happen to them now. Instead, he hopefully asked, “And who are you guys?”
“We’re mainly made up of ex-military people who survived the bombing and its aftermath by setting ourselves up in one of the only buildings left standing in Thule. These Prepared folks were causing us trouble, so we came out here to put an end to those troubles.”
His heart sunk. More violent men. Jacob wondered if everyone outside Malden were killers. “Now you guys have taken over their place?”
“Yes, but we’ll be leaving soon. Miraculously none of us were killed in the attack, but some were badly injured, and we need to wait until they’re able to move ‘fore we can head back to Thule. Plus, we were told those three who captured you were out here, and we were hoping to deal with them before we left, that’s why we were watching for their return.”
The important question almost caught in Jacob’s throat, and he sounded like a child as he asked, “What happens to us?”
A shrug of the shoulders before Hale said, “First a decent meal and a night’s sleep in a real bed. We’ll figure out the rest after that.”
The lack of certainty should’ve scared Jacob, but the idea of food and rest was so wonderful he did not care about the future beyond. He urged his ruined feet to move faster.
. . .
Re-reading it for the hundredth time did nothing to help Harrison figure out what to do. Hale had sent Taco hurrying back to Thule with the brief, childish letter, explaining how they took the settlement but suffered five serious injuries and some of the enemy remained at large, so they were going to wait to return. The report vaguely indicated they captured food along with a number of firearms and ammunition. He questioned Taco, but the near-mute fool only told bizarre half-stories about slaves and someone being eaten.
The firearms worried Harrison. Another mistake. He figured the Survivalists might, at most, have a couple of rusty rifles with a handful of bullets, not an arsenal. Early on, he managed to maintain control when guns were plentiful, but that was with everyone scared of the new, unknown world. Now, the unknown was known and painfully routine, merely being willing to make the hard decisions and ensure no one froze to death would be insufficient to keep command if his sole gun became one of a dozen or more.
Having survived a major firefight to get new supplies for the Bank, the men on the patrol would be returning heroes with few remembering it was Harrison’s idea to take the risk. He could envision talk of holding elections and establishing governing committees starting up. Especially if the cowardly Clarence failed and Hale made it back. In any event, he needed to be ready.
Something would need to be done to re-solidify his position before any opposition could act. Unfortunately, sitting at his desk, staring at the letter by candlelight, all ideas crossing his mind
were discarded as too desperate or inefficient. He folded the note and slipped it into a drawer, but before he blew out the candle, he pledged to himself to watch diligently for any opportunity to turn the situation back to his advantage.
As he climbed into bed, he heard the barking of laughter from somewhere below, and the idea occurred to him: he was not dealing with the most intelligent, long-range thinking people. Maybe a grand, complex scheme was not needed. Something immediate and memorable might be sufficient to consolidate his position with the men at Thule before the others could return.
A knock on his door. He almost forgot he had summoned Seanah. Even after all these years, she was more reluctant than the others, and he liked how, on some nights at least, she put up a fight. He let her in, growling, “Took you long enough.”
. . .
“Sherman and Brady’re doing better. Won’t be fast moving but, one day, maybe two and we can head back,” Milo reported to Hale as he took a handful of stale crackers out of the box on the table.
The second floor of the longhouse was divided into cramped apartments which the patrol members gladly took for their own. The main floor was an open, communal space and the low ceilinged basement served as storage with a metal pen area for captives at one end. Hale gave the slaves freedom to move wherever they wished as the three surviving Preppers took their place in the cage.
Marvin was correct about there being a lot of ammunition boxes and guns, however, and to Hale’s amusement, the boxes were mainly empty leaving less than twenty rounds. Food supplies were better, their best find in years. Sacks of dried vegetables augmented by canned and boxed goods from before the Bombs. Disgustingly, a smokehouse behind the main building was busily persevering fresh meat which they promptly buried.
Despite their success, or because of their success, Hale was tormented. He wanted to go back so he could see Kinma, oddly he could not remember ever missing anyone, but now he knew the constant physical yearning in his chest meant he missed her deeply. However, leaving here meant he needed to decide how to deal with the prisoners and start the fight to repair the ongoing disaster back at Thule.
The rule regarding foundlings was to dispose of anyone who would not provide a significant benefit to the Bank. None of the slaves met the requirement, and no one would agree to sparring the Preppers. Hale knew his only real option was to leave them all behind, but he also knew leaving them behind with no supplies could be tantamount to a death sentence.
Hale answered Milo, “Alright, I think we’ve earned an extended vacation but let’s also get ready to move so we can roll first thing day after tomorrow.”
Milo, his mouth full of dry crackers, said, “Ok, how many of us will be going?”
His old friend knew the dilemma facing him. Hale looked him in the eye and shrugged, “Don’t know yet. Thoughts?”
“I got no problem leaving those cannibal bastards in their cage, when they get hungry they can flip a coin to see who gets ate by who. The other folks though, I don’t know. I’ve been talkin’ with ‘em, and nobody is going to be a great help back home, but they all seem decent enough.”
“Rule is we leave ’em behind.”
“Rule is we eliminate them,” Milo corrected.
“Right, but I think those days are done for me though.”
Milo took another handful of crackers, “Yeah, not sure how much I care about any of the damn rules anymore wither.”
“I hear you, but I’m not sure we can defy Harrison that openly without it coming to immediate blood.”
This got a shrug from Milo. “We got the guns now.”
Hale had already done the math on this suggestion. With Taco gone to report back, and the injuries, the once powerful patrol now consisted of nine able men. Clarence ensured he stayed near the back during the attack and, as a result, he, of course, remained unscathed. He would not agree to overthrow Harrison, and a few of the others might think they would be better off sticking it out under the old, familiar regime especially now that they would be returning as heroes. The rescued prisoners might be up to fighting, but Hale could not assume they would be willing to act with them rather than act against them, plus they did not strike him as fighters. This all left him with only a handful of people.
While Harrison only had one gun with ammunition, the Bank remained lousy with other weapons. When he went through the population at Thule and counted the fors and againsts, Hale determined his coup force would be outnumbered by as much as three to one. The advantage of guns over bows would not level those odds.
And there was Kinma’s safety to worry about. He could not presume Harrison would be unaware of the threat, he was too paranoid not to be expecting something, even with him having sent the calming note. Any suspicion of a rebellion and Harrison would either take Kinma hostage or execute her immediately.
Hale said, “I’ve thought about it. Don’t think it’d work, too many unknowns. We go back and work on getting change once we’re there.”
“Alright, I’m with you I guess, but we gotta bring the guns back.”
Nodding Hale said, “Yeah, can’t really leave them.”
“All this talk doesn’t answer what we do with the poor sad sacks they captured.”
Standing, Hale said, “I know, I know.”
“And there’s the cannibal bastards we didn’t kill in the attack? Surely we can take them out?”
Hale sighed, “I don’t know, feels like we’ve drank from the killing cup too many times already, it don’t seem to quench anymore.”
“Poetic. Alright, you’re the boss. I’ll get stuff ready and organize like everybody is coming along.”
Hale took the crackers and said, “Ok, now let me think in peace.”
. . .
The rough, kid-like handwriting made Kinma smile. Taco slipped her the tight roll of paper on his return. Her eyes roamed over the letters, not really reading because she knew the words by heart. It explained how Hale’s trip was successful, but he needed to wait before returning. Then he briefly and, somewhat awkwardly, spoke of how much he missed her. The statement seemed out of character for the normally reserved man, and she could not help but grin as her fingers touched the ink.
At the end, he wrote, “I have witnessed what happens when cruelty is left unchecked. When I get back, we need to act to improve the situation there. Give this thought, I will need your help but keep it to yourself for now. Burn this once you’ve read it.”
Not the most romantic of sign-offs and Kinma could not come close to bringing herself to destroy the letter. She knew Hale often thought about changing life in the Bank, but she also knew these thoughts were rolling about his mind for years now. Reading the words put on paper made his ideas seem concrete, and she felt this meant they would act firmly on his return.
Coincidentally, the same thoughts and pressure to act were occurring to her. Seeing the cruelty more acutely since Hale left, Kinma fully hated going blindly down the horrific path Harrison was laying for them. For days her mind toiled over how to turn the Bank onto a better path. Simply killing Harrison would not work, too many loyal followers, too many men who enjoyed the easy depravity of their lives to support a sudden change so such a frontal assault would only throw everything into violent chaos. The change must be smarter and more subtle.
A knock on the door startled her, instantly scattering her thoughts. She hastily stuffed the paper into her pocket as she called out that she was coming. Opening the door revealed Seanah with a swelling bruise on her cheek. Painful sobs were shaking the woman as tears poured down her face. As she let her new friend inside, Kinma found herself hoping even more that Hale would get back in a hurry so they could start improving this hell as soon as possible.
CH
APTER FOURTEEN
JUNE 19, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-NINE
With the patrolmen, the captives, Jacob, Tina and Griff all together, the common room of the longhouse was crowded. Surrounded by so many strangers made Jacob greatly uneasy and his body ached everywhere from the forced marching. Still, after eating his fill and sleeping the sleep of the exhausted, he felt remarkably better than he had in the past days.
The food and rest returned some of Griff’s stinging verbosity, and he quietly growled, “With our luck, they’ll now want us to run to the goddamn moon.”
Tina, seeming especially nervous amongst all these people, her eyes shifted around as she said, “I’ve never thought I’d want to be back on that muddy island with you fools, but I’d be happy to be there right now.”
Jacob whispered, “I met the guy I think is in charge. Right when they found us. I think he’s ok. I mean, I don’t think he’s like those others.”
Griff muttered, “Maybe the prick’ll carry us home.”
Annoyed at Griff ruining his hope, Jacob said, “Maybe he’ll let us go home at least.”
At that Griff turned to look at him, a striking harshness in his eyes. “Can you even point in what direction home is? Can you even point towards the bloody river?”
Griff was right. Even if they were set completely free, they had nothing and no idea how to find their way back. He was not even sure how many days they were forced to hike, let alone what direction they were going in. Jacob had planned to ask the trapper, hoping he would give them directions back but the old man seemed to have disappeared in the night leaving him with no idea how to find home. Despite Griff being right, Jacob did not appreciate being reminded of their predicament. For now, he was warm and fed, and he could tell himself he would somehow make it back to Louisa.