by Eric Keller
At first, the celebration remained tolerable as the men seemed uneasy about blatantly breaking an ingrained rule, like the children of strict parents being told they could eat as much candy as they wanted. They sat around sipping while Rodger with his guitar and Walter with a harmonica, badly played the few songs they knew. Kinma, knowing it would not be acceptable for her to hide in her apartment, took a seat at the least offensive table and was given a cup of thick drink.
It smelled like an infected wound, tasted like rotten yeast and her first hesitant sip caused her stomach to immediately revolt. Given the awfulness of the beverage, she thought that the night might not disintegrate into craziness as she figured no one could stomach much of the putrid concoction. But the drinking continued unabated under Harrison’s watch, each glass emboldening the men who seemed able to ignore the taste as the horrible, homemade booze disappeared.
The women without permanent partners became the predictable entertainment for the roughest, drunkest men. They were groped and grabbed with impunity. A couple of the women played along somewhat, probably to ease the treatment while the others tried vainly to fend off the assaults. Eventually, clothes were roughly removed from the women, and they were lifted on to tables for the amusement of the guffawing fools.
Kinma wanted to do something, anything to stop this painful spectacle but every time she moved to interject she saw Harrison standing off to the side with his unfeeling eyes on her. He merely shook his head slowly. Regardless of the unsaid threat, as the men mocked the scrawny, naked human beings shifting about on the messy tabletops, she couldn’t take any more.
Stepping forward, pushing between two of the men, she handed her jacket up to one of the girls. Drunken boos were flung at her. She turned, raising her hands, saying, “We are better than this. We are meant to help one another, not hurt -.”
The protesting grew louder, cutting her off but, through the mass, she made eye contact with a few of the men she thought to be not as horrendous as some of the others, starting with Luke. Even through the haze of too much drink, they seemed to partially understand, a feather of humanity remaining and causing them to recall the existence of shame. Eyes lowered under her gaze. Thinking she might accomplish something, she opened her mouth to continue, but Harrison called out, “That’s enough. Go ahead boys, she’s up for grabs now.”
For a moment, no one moved but, certainly, they understood him. Up for grabs meant Kinma was no longer with Hale, she became communal property. Obviously, Hale would be furious if anyone touched her but they would presumably have the protection of Harrison, plus in their drunken, aroused state she doubted any of them would be thinking that far ahead.
Comprehending the situation before the drunks understood, Kinma bolted, but four strong hands grabbed her almost immediately. The Vikings. One on each side. Her feet left the floor as she kicked and screamed. They easily carried her out of the room as the others cheered and whistled encouragement.
. . .
Louisa’s back ached and she wanted to shiver with cold, but Sam remained stock still next to her, so she remained unmoving in the moonlight. Sam had already bagged two rabbits, and Louisa felt a minor thrill at having been a part of helping to the community, even if her involvement was entirely irrelevant to their success. She also found herself enjoying the distraction of silently learning hunting techniques from Sam and needing to intently focus on the tiny signals being sent out by the springtime woods.
In an instant, the calm forest erupted into action. The thrum of a bow. The crashing of underbrush. The squeal of an injured rodent. All of it seemed to happen at once and, before Louisa could even make her frozen, cramped muscles start to work, Sam had bolted out of their cover and buried his knife into the wounded porcupine as it waddled out of the grass, an arrow in its side.
Moving beside him, Sam said, “Best to end them clean.”
“Right. Of course.”
He looked over his shoulder and, in the glimmer of moonlight, Louisa thought she caught the glimpse of a grin as he said, “Not much meat on this one, hardly worth carrying back.”
Louisa caught on to what he was implying and grinned back with a nod.
In typical Sam fashion, within fifteen minutes, he had skinned and roasted the wiry animal over a small fire, doing all the tasks without a word but in a manner so Louisa could watch every step of the process. Regardless, she was certain she could not skin the porcupine without getting a thousand quill pricks even though Sam managed to expertly avoid them despite chilled fingers and dim light. He used his knife to pluck the meat from the fire, handed her half of the thin carcass and sat across the fire from her.
Tearing into the charred meat, eager for the simple treat even though she felt tinges of guilt for not sharing with the others, Louisa asked, “You do this often?”
“Sometimes. At night. Everyone sleeping.”
Expecting the laconic Sam to merely shrug at her question, Louisa was shocked by all the words coming from the shadow across the fire. It took a moment for her to reply, “Right, fair enough. I mean, you must get tired of doing so much for everyone.”
He took a bite of porcupine. “I do my share, everything I can. Only way it works.”
Louisa took a bite, but her mouth felt suddenly dry around the food. Softly, she said, “Not sure I’m doing my share these days, not even close.”
A pause hung over the little, crackling fire. Louisa figured the brief conversation was already ended and she let tears creep from the corners of Louisa’s eyes. When they started to trickle onto her cheeks, Sam’s voice came back, “That’s the point.”
“Pardon?”
“The point of being together.”
Wiping a tear off a cheek with the back of her glove, Louisa couldn’t understand and asked the darkness again, “Sorry, what do you mean?”
“I was alone lots, I get living together now. Someone gets hurt, people help them, they get better and can then help others when they get hurt.”
Not liking this analogy, Louisa said, “I didn’t break my leg or get sick. I’m… I don’t know what I am. I should be sad. Or maybe even angry. And I am, but there’s something more, deeper, worse.”
This time Sam spoke immediately. “You’re afraid. Afraid to be alone.”
Louisa was stunned by the insight from Sam and contemplated for a moment before realizing he was perfectly right. She whispered. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Apparently, done with his snack, Sam tossed some bones into the fire as he stood and said, “Don’t be afraid. I think they find their way back, those three, but, no matter what, you won’t be alone. This place don’t work like that. Morreign don’t work like that.”
Louisa wanted to sit there by the fire to take in what Sam said but he was already striding through the pines, disappearing into the branches like a breeze and she did want to be left behind in the woods. With no choice, she clenched the last porcupine leg in her teeth, got to her frozen feet and followed after him, feeling a minor sense of revived energy in her steps.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JUNE 19, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-NINE
Pitch black sky. Heavy clouds completely hid the moon and stars. Hale wondered if he should give up on the watch and go to bed as a herd of drunken elephants could go by without him seeing a damn thing. Deciding that, after one more slow lap around the settlement his shift would be over anyway, Hale began to turn but then sharply collapsed to the ground as his legs instantly crumbled beneath him, a puppet getting its strings cut.
No pain, no anything, simply lying face down on the damp, cool grass unable to move. Reaching around to his back, Hale discovered the problem, the shaft of an arrow stuck in the middle of his spi
ne. An attack. He opened his mouth to yell out an alarm, but someone landed on him, grabbed his hair and roughly pulled back as Hale tried vainly to free himself. A voice growled directly into his ear, “No one can help you now, you cocky asshole.”
Clarence. Not an attack. A one-man mutiny. The asshole chuckled and then searing agony erupted across Hale’s exposed throat. He attempted again to yell, but it came out a wet gurgle as gushing blood engulfed his last breath.
As Hale’s life poured out into the night, an eerie calm came over him, and he stopped struggling; only lying there and breathing in the damp earth. Before the black of final sleep overtook him, he pictured Kinma’s beautiful, laughing face and silently told her he was sorry, completely and utterly sorry, for leaving her alone, for leaving her in such an awful place, all alone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JUNE 20, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY
Predictably, the drunken party ended abruptly when a clumsy fight broke. Now, only Harrison and Luke the orphan remained in the dark room. Harrison saw an opportunity.
Harrison sat across the mess-filled table from the young man, his sparse beard, a source of amusement for the other men, held some dry vomit but, in the dying firelight, he looked more tired and ill than drunk. Despite his age, Harrison figured Luke tended to understand more than he let on as, when he was relaxed, a quick, concise wit came through. Also, mainly because he did not carry the thinking of the past world which was full of easy-to-use technology, he managed to come up with inventive solutions to problems of the new world. His best idea amongst a bevy of impressive ideas involved taking the old gas that could no longer sustain combustion in a vehicle and mixing it with engine oil so it burned at a placid, useable rate. Their lanterns now all ran off the mixture.
The more foolish men would not pay any attention to the young man, but the keener people in the group realized taking cues from him could be worthwhile. As Luke aged, he would become more and more of a force within the Bank. It would be for the best if Harrison could keep the orphan on his side. Hale and Luke’s relationship was fractured somewhat, no longer as close as they once were, and Harrison figured it was Luke’s willingness and eagerness to fight running counter to Hale’s more passive views which partially caused this rift. However, now Hale had successfully led one of the most dangerous patrols in recent history, and Harrison figured Luke might revert to worshiping his rescuer. Smart to keep a wedge in place between them.
Looking down at the table, with a slightly slurred voice, Luke quietly said, “I know, I know we ain’t supposed to question stuff ‘round here, but I don’t get why you’d take Kinma away from Hale like that. Especially when he finally went back out there.”
“That’s right, you’re not supposed to question. But in this case, I think you’re entitled to know what’s occurring.”
This got the young man’s attention, and he looked up from the table with glossy eyes. Harrison continued, “Hale had the chance to take these Survivalist bastards out a long time ago. He decided not to. Now important men of the Bank are badly injured, and many could have been killed. When you factor in the headaches those assholes caused us over the years, I don’t think Hale should be rewarded for making that mistake all those years ago.”
At this Luke nodded slowly but he clearly was not convinced. The kid was smart, he could sense the deception. Harrison decided he needed to be more upfront.
“You know what’s going on around here. You’re not an idiot, quite the opposite. I know people are talking about changing how things’re run. I’m ok with that, change is fine. But I’m concerned men like Hale, men who are smart enough but who hesitate or shy away from the hard, necessary decisions, will end up in control and then we’re all doomed. You know life out here is difficult, it’s defined by hardship. You were raised in it, made by it. We need men like you and men like me, men who are not nostalgic for a time of kindness and excess where life and death choices did not exist on a daily basis.”
The words hung over the filthy table. Harrison could tell the young man was trying to force his drink addled mind to properly contemplate the words and appreciate the hint of an offer of an alliance with a man in charge. Harrison leaned back, giving him space to consider, and calmly looked around the dim, foul room.
The space used to be the lobby of the apartment building before they turned it into their communal area. In the fading lantern light, the open doors of the useless elevators looked like the openings of menacing caves. An eclectic and bizarre collection of artwork both scavenged by looters and created by bored, uncreative people, covered walls and filled shadowy corners. The juvenile art focussed on the three themes: the female form, angry animals and sports cars. It reminded Harrison of a high school boy’s bedroom or a clubhouse for delinquents. The silliness of it all disgusted Harrison.
Back in the early days following the frozen night in the crashed helicopter, he had envisioned creating a society, an efficient and powerful society constructed in his stoic image. Surrounded by the stench of yeasty drink, body odour and vomit, Harrison knew that the image became horribly mutated. He needed to rethink his plan, return the image to its proper form.
He had consciously tried to keep them all isolated, only venturing out to loot and steal without making any real contact before scurrying back to the insular safety of Thule. This was touted as important for everyone’s safety, but Harrison also knew this kept outside influences from corrupting the Bank and threatening his rule. However, if the core was rotten, encircling it would only allow decay to spread from the inside. Perhaps the Bank needed to stretch out and expand beyond the confines of the filthy building, move beyond its borders and away from the festering rot of this place.
Before Harrison could complete his thoughts, Luke got uneasily to his feet. As he stumbled away, he said, “Sorry, I need to sleep, I need to sleep and then to think.”
Harrison called out, “Oh, and Luke, one more thing: you can move in with Kinma.”
That got him to turn around. Early on Harrison realized managing access to sex was an important key to maintaining control, second only to divvying up food. Others in the Bank might be perturbed by this decision to give an attractive woman over to young, largely untested man, but this would destroy any connection between Luke and Hale. And Luke would become Harrison’s to control as he would not want to risk losing his prize. Plus, if he was being honest, Harrison worried that putting such a strong woman with anyone else might end badly, she may tolerate life with Hale’s relatively kind protégé who she helped raise.
Confusion crossed Luke’s fatigued face. Harrison smiled and said, “Don’t worry, the Vikings will be done with her soon, they bore easy. And I’ll take care of Hale, he won’t stop any of this.”
The orphan swayed on his feet, but he managed to nod and mutter, “Ok. Good. Thanks.”
. . .
Yelling. Lots of yelling. In the strange place, Jacob was sleeping thinly, so he sat up abruptly when he heard the noise. Tina asked out of the darkness, “What’s happening?”
Jacob answered, “I don’t know. Something’s wrong.”
Climbing out of the bed, Griff sighed, “Of course there is.”
They got up, pulling their battered boots on to their sore feet. Before they could put on coats, Clarence burst into their room carrying a lantern, bows, and quivers. Excitedly he said, “Come on. Time to show you can earn your keep.”
Tina asked, “What happened?”
“We’ve been attacked.”
“Attacked?”
With an angry, mocking tone Clarence responded, “Yeah. You know, when bad people come and try to hurt you. You two hurry up. You with the one arm can stay up here, out of the way.”
Fear and
confusion holding even Griff’s tongue, they grabbed the proffered weapons and followed Clarence, leaving Tina standing, bewildered, in the middle of the small room. Jacob could only look at her and shrug. Speeding down the stairs, they rapidly found themselves outside in pitch black but for a handful of lanterns rushing about in the dark.
Without a word, Clarence moved off to the left. Jacob pulled out an arrow and managed to notch it with shaking hands as he followed, trying to be minuscule, nonexistent even, unsure where they were going, what they were to do and what unknown threats waited for them now.
For half an hour they moved, apparently aimlessly, through the inky dark. They could hear yells from others and see their lights, but Clarence seemed intent on staying away from them. Occasionally, Clarence would stop, inspect the ground or a branch in their lantern’s glow. Sometimes he would listen to the breeze, asking them if they heard anything which they never did. Finally, he pointed at a muddy spot between two pine trees where no grass grew.
“Look, look. Right here, look. I figured we’d find a sign.”
Jacob and Griff bent down. In the dim light, Jacob thought he could see the outline of boot prints in the soft earth and he said, “Guys out on watch?”
With an immediate fury, Clarence grabbed Jacob’s neck, pushing his face nearer the wet earth. “No, look, look close. They’re moving away. No man on watch would push his way through trees like that. The attackers came in and then fled off through here.”
Pretending to examine the marks, his face being forced lower and lower, Jacob said, “Yeah, yeah. I think you’re right.”