by Eric Keller
Clarence turned to Griff who seemed wholly confused. The question came out harshly, “And you, red? What do you see?”
“Uh, the same. Men, probably two, sneaking away through them trees.”
This seemed to please Clarence. He let go of Jacob’s neck. Moving back towards the buildings, he said, “Good. Now come with me. We have to tell the others what we saw, Hale was obviously killed by some cowards out in the dark.”
. . .
The cramped room smelled powerfully of unclean bodies. Kinma was huddled in the corner, naked but covered by an itchy, wool blanket that desperately needed to be washed. Her throat ached both from thirst and from screaming. Her body ached from numerous torments. Her mind ached from forcing herself to not think of what was occurring, while constantly pushing herself to fight back regardless of its futility.
Carefully, slowly and on shaky legs, Kinma managed to stand. She could hear their voices, speaking in their strange language, eating and laughing. She knew the layout of the Vikings’ apartment was the same as hers. Three steps to get out of the bedroom, three more to get through the living room, two steps down the hall and then out through the apartment door. Eight steps in total. She thought she could manage that, although they might see her crossing the living room. Regardless, she needed to try.
Looking about the dimly lit, nearly empty bedroom for anything helpful, she saw little. She pulled out the drawer in the nightstand and dumped the useless junk onto the mess of blankets. The drawer was not much of a weapon given the beasts out in the kitchen but clutching a flimsy box of wood in her fists felt better than going out with nothing.
Moving quickly to avoid losing her nerve, Kinma kicked through the mess and got to the door. Shadow filled much of the living room, but she could now hear the men more clearly. If they looked, they would see her despite the shadows. Struggling to make her racing breath quiet and slow, she slipped out of the doorway.
Creeping along the wall, she tried to hurry without making noise. One of the twins yelled something, causing Kinma to freeze in place, holding back a startled yelp. Laughter and a banging noise. She cautiously continued her short journey.
A minor trickle of relief when she reached the hall, hidden from the kitchen. Two quick steps and she reached for the door’s handle.
“No, no… no, you don’t.”
A heavy hand grabbed her shoulder spinning her back. Without thought, Kinma blindly flung the drawer. It landed with a satisfying crunch, the corner catching one of the Vikings right above his eye.
He let out a foreign language curse and covered his now bleeding face. Kinma turned and lunged for the door again but, amidst a chorus of laughter, the other twin grabbed her hair and roughly pulled her back. She stumbled back, the strong grip not letting her move.
“Come on girl. Back to the room. We ain’t done yet.”
The other one merely dropped his hand and grinned down at her through his blood smeared face.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JUNE 20, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY
Grey light filled the yard, the short grass gleaming with silvery dew. Jacob stood off to the side, not wanting to be noticed as the men loaded supplies on the heavily laden cart. It had been a long, sleepless night and he needed to think.
After seeing the faint marks in the mud, Clarence dragged Jacob and Griff in front of the other men where he prompted them to describe what they saw. Not sure exactly what he had seen but not wanting to anger anyone, he explained that he thought he saw boot marks between the trees, possibly from men sneaking away. Griff had backed this up, sounding more persuasive than Jacob thought he had been.
This caused the frayed group to break into a heated, yelling argument with much of the ire being directed at Clarence. Griff and Jacob were ordered to go up their room, which they gratefully did, wanting to be far from the unintelligible conflict. However, for much of the night, they continued to hear the arguing continue downstairs.
This morning, the men seemed more subdued and Jacob figured the outrage of last night was largely the product of the shock and rage over their friend being killed. He had noticed freshly turned earth under a spruce tree and he deduced that a funeral for Hale had been held in the night. Perhaps, with the nastiness behind them, the men would be calmer now.
Tina, carrying a cup of steaming liquid, walked out of the building and stepped over to him, saying, “You’re up early.”
She handed over the cup and leaned next to him, looking tired and small. Jacob said, “Hard to sleep.”
“Do you have a plan?”
Jacob knew this question was coming and resented it. Tina would want him to decide. Griff would feign annoyance at him deciding but would go along with whatever choice Jacob made without ever pushing for his own choice. Neither of them wanted to step forward and declare a position, preferring to put it all on his shoulders and merely follow his lead, free from any blame.
He turned, planning to chastise Tina for foisting all of this on him. But she was looking up at him, her weary eyes full of worry and Jacob instantly realized, by some cruel twist of fate, it was clearly up to him to make this decision, to lead whether he wanted to or not. He sighed, “I would prefer to stay here for a while, but we have been informed we are not welcome. I think we need to go with them.”
She looked back at the men hauling supplies. “They worry me. They’re all so mean to one another.”
Jacob scanned the dark pine trees surrounding the yard, recalling the endless torture of the marching, and said, “Yes, they are a bit of an unknown, but we know for certain we will not do well in the woods. We were out there for less than a day and were captured by people far more nasty than these. Plus, someone killed Hale last night. Someone is out there, and I doubt they would hesitate to hurt us. We’ll be safe if we go with them and, only once we are safe, can we learn how to get home.”
Tina hesitated and then said, “Ok, if that is what you think is best.”
In his heart, Jacob wanted nothing but to take the chance and try to find their way back to Malden as directly and quickly as possible. The need to see Louisa pulling on him like the deepest hunger he ever felt. And, even though he once dreamt of meeting new people, he now wanted to be away from strangers and back amongst friendly faces. Yet he knew doing what one wanted was not always the wiser course, putting off undesirable chores only made them worse on the morrow. He needed to take the smartest path even if it was not the desired one.
Trying to sound more sure than he felt, Jacob said, “I do. Go and tell Griff, for better or worse, we are heading to Thule.”
. . .
A lone rabbit hopped across the Clearing and disappeared into the underbrush. Morreign stood on the narrow porch, wrapped in her blanket, looking down towards the river like she did every morning, trying to will three missing children to come walking back up the path. This morning felt different though. Most mornings she knew it was highly unlikely they would magically appear in the dawn mist, but she still hoped. This morning, she knew they would not be appearing.
Paul stepped up behind her and handed her a mug of pine tea. Noticing the familiar tears on her cheeks, he put an arm around her shoulders and softly said, “They will make it back. They will.”
She wanted to tell him that he was mistaken, that she could sense that they were now going the wrong way, moving away from Malden or, perhaps, were already gone, moving away from this world entirely. But she did not. Her intuition was given a great deal of weight in this world so her worrisome instinct about the children would be taken as gospel and she could not bear that happening.
Morreign merely nodded and quietly said, “I know.”
PART THREE<
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
JUNE 22, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-TWO
Laughter cascaded up the hill towards them followed by someone cursing at people to shut up which was then followed by more laughter and louder cursing back. Jacob rolled over, trying in vain to find a position to lie in on the hard ground that did not annoy his sore muscles. Jacob, Griff, and Tina had spent most of the last two days trying to learn how to ride a bike. Much to the amusement of their traveling companions, the learning process mainly involved falling.
Despite the bruises, strained muscles and troubling company, the travel was generally tolerable. The men shared their wealth of food fairly easily, so thirst and hunger were not issues. Warm breezes blew, and the sun remained high in the sky late into the day, as summer made its brief foray into the north. Dormant plants and silenced animals came to life, filling the air with chatter and sweet smells. While he knew every day in this short season should be cherished, it only made Jacob yearn for home more as he felt he was wasting these salad days filled with angst rather than joy.
A whispered question in the dark, “Can’t sleep?”
It was Tina, lying a couple feet away. Jacob slapped at a persistent black fly and sighed, “Want to but too sore. You?”
“Same, plus, I don’t know - this feels especially wrong tonight.”
While they traveled, Tina repeatedly tried to voice her uncertain concern over the idea of going to Thule, wanting them to go off on their own instead of being surrounded by all the strange men. Griff, somewhat annoyed by her vagueness, tried to convince her to push her worries aside, repeating all the wonderful things at Thule which Clarence had told them about while pointing out their full dinner plates. However, the farther they went and the more time that passed after Hale’s murder, the more Jacob noticed the looks the men gave Tina.
Despite being filled with innumerable worries about their predicament, concerns over Tina’s safety often pushed themselves to the top. Everyone at Malden knew her story because everyone knew everyone’s story. When Tina was a toddler, her and her mother, Fiona, came north to visit her father. They were alone, playing with dolls in his work camp unit when the Bombs came.
The camp immediately erupted in fiery explosions. Tina became trapped in the room, her mother screaming from outside, pleading with her to run through the fire but she was too scared. An oil worker darted into the ruins, jumped through the flames and carried her out as her flesh burned. More and more fire rained down as they ran into the frozen wilderness.
When they finally stopped, Fiona saw that Tina’s arm was nothing but a mess of charred blood and bone. Tina’s mother was forced to hold down her screaming child as an overwhelmed medic from the production site severed the remnants of her daughter’s arm. With no choice, Fiona wrapped up the horribly injured girl as best she could before fleeing further into the woods.
Fiona told the story of them moving aimlessly through the freezing woods as the toddler screamed endlessly. Starving and freezing, the oil workers with them eventually grew weary of Tina’s noise and all the extra risk it brought so they slipped away one night. Exhausted, Fiona walked aimlessly through the woods and stumbled across the frozen river. Clutching the feverish child, certain they would be granted the mercy of death before too much longer she limped pointlessly along the ice. Instead of dying, she was spotted by Leo and Paul who were out hunting.
With no doctor and Fiona’s salvaged antibiotics running out, everyone figured the burned and mutilated girl would soon succumb to her injuries but, instead, she rallied, improving each day under the care at Malden.
Thankfully, Tina was young enough that she did not remember the intense agony bestowed upon her, but she confided in Jacob that she was often tormented by nightmares of being burned alive.
Jacob rolled onto his back, looking up at the star-filled night sky. For the hundredth time he wished beyond wishing to that he had not gotten into that leaky boat to chase that scrawny elk. All three of them went but it had been Jacob’s choice, they would not have gone if he said it was foolish. He rationalized the decision by saying they needed the meat but that was a lie, there was plenty of food, he had wanted the glory. And, now, because of his need to stoke his pointless pride, Tina was lying terrified in a field surrounded by a mass of men who wanted to do horrible things to her.
He wanted to apologize, to say how sorry he was they ended up in this position but he could not find the words, worried speaking too truthfully would only worry her more. He softly responded to her, “I know, it does seem off, but I don’t know what else to do. I wish I did but I don’t know. We didn’t fare very well out on our own, we almost froze to death before being kidnapped within, what, an hour of being off that damn island. Not sure how far we’d make it if we venture off.”
“The way they talk, the way they stare, it -”
A stifled chuckle nearby interrupted her. Jacob’s heart started pounding as he sat up and strained to hear more in the dark. A scolding tone, more a harsh whisper really, off to their left, broke the silence. “Get back down there, nothing for you two up here.”
“Screw off Milo, we ain’t gonna hurt her or nothing.”
“Yeah, you ain’t the boss. Can’t tell us what to do.”
The first voice, even sterner, “Want to test that theory?”
A hesitation, then some unintelligible grumbling as the voices moved away down the hill. Tina asked in a hushed whisper. “What was that?”
Jacob thought it best to downplay the situation, so he said, “Nothing, I think. Some men talking. They went back down.”
“Oh.”
“I think we should try to sleep, tomorrow will be another long day - these guys don’t seem big on breaks.”
Her voice sounded tiny as she whispered back, “Ok.”
Jacob slid over, so his body was next to hers. After a moment, Tina wrapped an arm over him and pushed her face into his chest as she sobbed. “Sorry, I miss home. I miss my mom. I miss everything.”
In all the endless time they spent together, Jacob could not recall Tina ever crying, even when they were kids. Awkwardly rubbing her back, and feeling more worried and guilty than ever, Jacob muttered, “I know, me too. Me too.”
. . .
Morreign wrapped her sweater tight as she sat on her chair in the night air. Bright, clear stars filled the sky. She always tried not to think back to the times she came here as a teenager, before the Bombs, the memories of her parents and brothers always hurt too much. But, tonight, looking over the wide expanse of the Clearing, she could not stop remembering.
She thought of her dad grilling burgers. She thought of her mother calling them in from the river for bedtime. She thought of running through the tall grass with no destination. She thought of the endless games of lawn bowling with her brothers. Everything was so simple, so easy, the biggest worry was running out of soda or forgetting to pack an extra swimsuit.
A gust of wind blew across the porch, cool in the night air, bringing Morreign back to the reality that all of those people and that simple world were completely gone. Now, sitting in the darkness, she needed to grapple with having lost three young people.
Survival after the Bombs had always been hard, but Morreign thought they had managed, through intense labor and persistence and good luck, to carve out a bastion of civilization where they could be relatively safe. They had shelter. They had gardens. They had firewood. Now, being reminded that, despite all those earned accomplishments, they existed in a world of complete uncertainty, made it seem far too hard. Fatigue, guilt, and despair all pushed in on her.
Morreign unconsciously muttered angrily into the summer breeze, “It’s not fair.”
Hearing the basic statement coming from her own mouth surprised her. The clearest memory of her mother was on an early morning at their home in Edmonton. Morreign, twelve years old, maybe eleven, wanting to go somewhere with her friends, she couldn’t recall where, but her mom refused. When Morreign whined about it not being fair, her mother laughed, which only made pre-teen Morreign more angry and whiny.
She could still picture the scene perfectly. Sun coming in through the dusty kitchen window. Her mother in her canary yellow dress, turning from the sink, wiping her hands on the faded dish towel with the strawberries on it. Morreign, sitting on the counter in her usual spot, her coltish legs tucked under her, covered in the bruises and scratches of summer. Her mom looked straight at her, her serious gaze cutting off her childish complaints before she calmly said, “The sooner you realize there’s no magical force in this world making everything fair for everyone, the better off you’ll be.”
A cough. Then another. The sound carrying through the crisp night air, across the Clearing from a cabin to the West, distracting Morreign.
The cough was probably from Boris. He had been dealing with a nasty chest cold for weeks now. Morreign forced her aching hip to bend and got up off the chair. Limping back to her bed, she made a mental note to bring Boris the last of the honey to add to his tea.
. . .
The inventories were in a bad state, the worst in over eight years. Harrison knew the ledgers by heart, but he continued to scan the lists of supplies regardless. He told himself he continually went over inventories and made detailed plans out of a sense of duty to those he led. However, he knew the true reason was that he enjoyed the process.
The strategizing, the calculating, the basic bookkeeping, it reminded him of running his trucking company. The late nights in the cramped office in the trailer beside the loading dock. The TV in the corner playing muted sports highlights on a loop. The space heater ticking annoyingly by the door. A bottle of diet coke and a bag of salty cashews for dinner. Back then he could control his business, make decisions and put plans into action. And he was certain he would soon accomplish great things, every minute he spent to toiling at his desk seemed like a step towards that, towards establishing an empire.