Beyond All War

by Eric Keller

  Weird. Probably a fresh type of evil trying to trick him by being friendly. He pressed tighter against the trunk. Then... nothing happened.

  Jacob could hear sounds. A man building a fire. Water being poured. The clanking of a pot. Then whistling. His uncle Leo whistled, this whistling not as good as Leo’s but not bad. He smelled wood smoke. Nothing grabbed at his ankles.

  The idea of warm food was compelling. Jacob could not recall the last real meal he ate. Even more than the food, it was the pleasantness of the man’s tone and the idea of a friendly conversation which pulled at Jacob. In Malden, conversation and storytelling was a key source of entertainment. Long nights were spent in the Lodge, sitting around the main fireplace, working on small projects or crafts as people happily talked into the night. Often a deck of cards was broken out, or the chess pieces Boris carved would be set up, but conversation always continued over the games. Huddled under the pine bows, Jacob craved those nights as much as he craved an end to his perpetual hunger.

  Without thinking too deeply, Jacob crept to the edge of his makeshift burrow. Peering through the spring grass and green branches, his nostrils full of the smell of earth and pine, he took in the placid scene. A man in a thick jacket of rabbit skins and pants of deer hide with hair and beard clipped not too long ago and no obvious weapon in sight and no obvious companions.

  The stranger did not look up from the simple campfire but must have sensed Jacob’s eyes on him as he calmly said, “I don’t bite. Come out and have something to eat at least.”

  While the man looked somewhat travel weary, he clearly was in better shape than Jacob. If the stranger wanted to do him harm, huddling under a tree would not stop him and running away on his tired legs was not an option so Jacob figured he might as well take his chances and he slid out from under the branches.

  Moving cautiously, Jacob’s exhausted eyes scanned every shadow for an anticipated attack. Nothing came, and he gingerly sat across from the stranger. The man handed him a tin bowl with a wooden spoon and said, “I’m JR. Cornmeal. Pretty tasteless but warm and it’ll fill you up some.”

  His unused voice coming out as a gravelly whisper, Jacob took the bowl and said, “I’m Jacob. Thanks.”

  As he ate the gruel, Jacob expected JR to ask him what he was doing out here, ask him where he’s from but, instead, they simply sat and spooned bland food into their mouths. When he finished, JR used a handful of grass to wipe out his bowl before putting it in his pack. He added twigs from the nearby stack of sticks to the dwindling fire and laid out beside it, pulling his battered ball cap over his eyes and using his bag as a pillow. He muttered, “Long day, I’m going to crash. Put on more wood if you get cold.”

  Confused, Jacob dumbly watched the man calmly fall asleep across from him. Jacob figured there would be no way he could sleep mere feet from a stranger with concerns about others being nearby still lingering but, before long, the heat from the campfire, his powerful exhaustion and the belly full of dense food caused Jacob’s eyelids to droop. With no real choice in the matter, he lay on his side and let his eyes close, a deep, dreamless sleep overtaking him.

  . . .

  Kinma was surprised by how calm Bono was. He went along peacefully with them to their campsite, Milo never more than a step away with his knife out. They sat Bono on the ground and Griff, who stayed back to rest while they tracked the deer, worriedly asked, “Who’s this?”

  Kinma said, “One of the Bankers. Stumbled across him out there.”

  Griff looked confused. “Another guy defecting? He gonna help us too?”

  Milo shook his head and crouched down in front of Bono and said, “Nah, my guess is poor Bono here caught a case of the shits and couldn’t keep up.”

  Bono merely grinned up at him with yellow teeth.

  Milo continued, “Right, Harrison don’t wait for the sick or injured, so you got left behind. You followed them as best you could, hoping your guts would straighten out in a couple of days and you’d be able to catch back up.”

  Smiling, Bono said, “Woulda been back with’em in half a day but for you cowardly pricks.”

  Milo stood back up, and they stepped away from their prisoner. In a whisper, he said to Kinma, “Now what do we do with the fool?”

  “I don’t know, I mean, can’t we simply leave him?”

  Milo shook his head. “Bono’s as loyal to Harrison as anyone. He’ll do everything he can to catch the group and rat us out. And, frankly, I don’t like him being at our backs. Guy like that will sneak up and cut our throats while we sleep without a second thought if it means he can present our heads to Harrison.”

  “Ok, but can we simply kill him? I mean, he’s awful, but we know him.”

  Milo glanced back at Bono sitting in the grass before whispering, “I know, but we can’t very well drag him along with us.”

  Not sure what to do, Kinma said, “Maybe we could tie him up somehow, leave him with water and whatever…”

  “That’d be an even worse –.”

  Milo stopped talking as Griff purposefully walked away from them. Kinma watched as the skinny boy plucked up Milo’s hatchet from next to the remnants of their campfire. Without hesitation, he smoothly swung the tool turned weapon and buried the thick blade in the top of Bono’s skull.

  Bono did not have a chance to react. He did not even make a sound. He merely toppled over on his side.

  Griff stared down at the body for a heartbeat. Then he turned back to them and said, “You said he was loyal to that horrific bastard. He was marching to my home to hurt and kill people, my family, people he’s never met, people that never did anything to him. He was going there to take all they worked for because he was too lazy to work for it himself. That’s evil. Pure, simple evil. I may not know much about this world out here but I’ve learned a great deal in a short time, and I know you don’t barter with evil, you don’t tolerate it, you end it.”

  The boy tossed the bloody axe onto the grass and walked off into the trees. Kinma, shocked, looked over at Milo and Taco. Milo calmly said with a shrug, “Guess that solves that problem.”

  Milo and Taco went to collect the deer, leaving Kinma to search Bono’s foul body for anything useful. As she rummaged in pockets, Kinma realized Griff was right. They had tolerated Harrison and his brand of evil and that tolerance let him get ensconced and established, allowed the evil to grow. Their tolerance had brought them to this intolerable place. Griff didn’t know what a vampire was, but he understood the nature of evil better than the rest of them combined. She muttered to herself, “From the mouth of babes.”

  . . .

  Moonlight glinted off the inky black river. Morreign did not know exactly why she had decided to limp down to the river, but she had been unable to sleep and could no longer lie in bed.

  Thinking the cool, fresh air may have done the trick, she was about to turn back to make the hike back to her warm cabin when a trickle of movement to her right caught her eye. Heart suddenly racing, worried her bizarre instincts were proving unfortunately right again, she peered through willows. Two people on the bank. She took a few careful steps closer. A man. A woman. Another cautious step. Sam and Louisa.

  Morreign, generally aware of most things occurring within Malden, knew Sam and Louisa were sending more time together. She figured some of the more gossipy people would be carefully implying that, perhaps, Sam was not acting with the purest of intentions since his attention in the girl arose after Jacob’s disappearance. She also figured those people were either fools or were purposely spreading false rumors to alleviate boredom. She knew Sam, as well as anyone could know Sam and she knew he was not acting out of personal motivations but out of his usual unconscious kindness.

  A loud whisper, “Hey M
orreign, come over.”

  She wanted to get back to bed, somewhat confident she could calm her mind enough to sleep now that she had seen the wide, protective river running between her and the rest of the world. However, curiosity over what the duo was doing won out, and she awkwardly moved down the bank.

  Louisa and Sam had both waded out up to their knees in the frigid water. Sam held a long willow branch with a net at the end, hovering it over a complex collection of sticks protruding out of the water. Louisa stood to the side and put a finger to her lips as she waved Morreign over.

  The idea of stepping into the icy river did not appeal to her, but her curiosity was even more piqued now that she could see the odd activity. Having given up on lace-up shoes after her hip got wrecked, Morreign kicked off her sandals and rolled up her well-worn pajama pants. For a shocking instant, the freezing water hurt her feet but the pain quickly subsided into a pleasant numbness.

  As she managed to step carefully across the rocky bottom, she wondered how long it had been since she was in the river. The first summers in Malden involved a lot of swimming time, the cool water a key form of entertainment for the children and refreshment for the adults. They would wait for sunset and stay close to the trees to avoid detection. She had spent endless hours in the dim light watching Jacob and the other kids splash around. On occasion, she and Paul had even snuck down for a midnight skinny dip as the cramped cabin did not provide much in the way of privacy. The memories felt as good as the refreshing current moving over her calves.

  She reached Louisa, and the girl put an arm around her shoulders as she leaned in to whisper, “We built a fish trap. Sam came up with the idea and I made the net. We put some bait in there, where the sticks form that funnel. The fish swim in with the current and eat away, but they can’t go any further downstream, so they get stuck, too dumb to turn back.”

  Sam slowly began to lower the net downwards. Louisa said, “That’s my cue.”

  In a blur, Sam dropped the net down at the end of the sticks, apparently blocking the exit as Louisa hurried to the other end of the trap, splashing loudly. Morreign noticed a few silvery flashes of fish leaping out of the water and over the sticks before Sam flung the net upwards, this time heavy with writhing creatures.

  Morreign wanted to let out a small cheer, more at the impressive innovation than at the actual success. The people around her, especially Louisa, had every reason to make excuses and wallow in their hardship but, instead, they persevered by coming up with more and more ways to improve life. However, since they did not seem to be celebrating, Morreign merely followed them up the bank where Sam dumped out the catch of three decent sized fish and a few minnows.

  “That’s great. Amazing, really.”

  Sam handed Louisa a filleting knife and said, “Too many still get by the net, jumping over or going under.”

  Louisa picked up the largest fish and began gutting as she asked, “Make it bigger?”

  Sam grunted an agreement, “Need a stronger pole then. I’ll talk to Leo.”

  With that, the two silently worked to clean the catch as Morreign mainly watched, impressed by the efficient cooperation. When they finished, Sam picked up the net and buckets before striding off into the darkness without another word. Morreign would have felt slighted if she did not know this was Sam’s usual manner of exiting. Louisa looked over at her with a grin. “Care to join me in a snack.”

  They sat near the water and gently picked at the leftover raw fish flesh. In the not too distant past, the idea of eating the uncooked meat of an animal she saw flopping around on the mud a moment before would have been unthinkable. Now it felt luxurious.

  After a moment of silent eating, staring at the stars, Louisa calmly said, “They’re talking about funerals again.”

  Morreign knew this. People were not discussing them directly with her, but she could sense the renewed rumblings. Griff’s parents wanted the closure and figured it would only happen if they came together as a community and all decided the kids were gone forever. Tina’s mother did not seem to care much, the grief over her lost daughter, her only family member, had entirely overwhelmed her and made her totally despondent and she now moved about Malden like a ghost. Others seemed to hope the closure would help her, maybe allow her to get back to living some semblance of a life but Morreign doubted it would matter.

  Morreign answered, “Yeah. I know. I’ve heard the whispers.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Louisa, I really don’t. It has been so long, I wonder if funerals are even needed anymore.”

  They ate a while longer. When the fish was gone, they silently agreed to leave, stood and walked slowly back up to the Lodge. When they reached the porch, Morreign felt wrong leaving Louisa to go upstairs to spend the rest of the night alone in the dark, and she did not like the idea of lying sleepless under her quilt, staring at the ceiling and pondering funerals for children.

  Louisa apparently did not want to go to bed either as, without discussion, they both sat on the porch steps.

  . . .

  Louisa was glad Morreign did not leave her alone. The late nights hunting with Sam followed by full days of chores had her thoroughly exhausted, but she still did not think she could sleep. It was now five weeks since they disappeared and it became harder and harder to tell herself to keep believing Jacob would be back any moment, that her life would be back. She needed to prepare herself to at least be able to attempt moving on in case he never returned home.

  She leaned back against the steps, looking up at the sky full of bright stars. Wanting to delay heading to her empty room and, without planning to, she asked, “What do you think happens when you die?”

  Embarrassed at the bold question, Louisa was about to claw it back, when Morreign let out a slight laugh and said, “Weird, I was wondering the same thing. Every time I think about funerals, I remember a time when I was younger, about thirteen or so, and my grandmother was dying. We all returned to my small hometown, and we’d take turns sitting with her in the cramped hospital room. Mostly she slept so you’d simply sit there, listening to her trying to breathe while flipping magazines or watching the fuzzy TV.”

  In Malden, discussing one’s past, especially one’s former family, was a prominent topic. Louisa never really understood the urge as she never really knew her family. Regardless, hearing the stories normally warmed her slightly even if they also brought a profound sense of jealousy.

  Morreign shifted on the hard steps before continuing, “‘’Bout three days into the waiting, I was in there alone, and Grandma came to. I did what I’d seen the adults do, fluff up her pillows, let her sip some juice through a bent straw, dab at her face with a cloth but the tough old lady quickly waved my fussing away. Normally, in those last days, when she did talk, it was babbling, nothing coherent, but this time she looked me square in the eyes, her glassy, grey pupils boring right into me.

  “Her toothless mouth smiled, and she confidently said, I’m ready, I’m going to Heaven now Mo, and I’m going to see my Henry. With that, she closed her eyes and never woke again.”

  The story told with no emotion, confused Louisa. She had no way of knowing what to say in such a situation. She muttered, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, it’s ok. I think of that moment fairly often, especially after the Bombs and it makes me wonder, what if whatever you think the afterlife is then that’s what it is?”

  Louisa enjoyed the intellectual discussion, it reminded her of conversations she used to have with Jacob. Eagerly, she said, “You mean you can imagine your own afterlife?”

  “Sort of, yes. If you truly think there’s a heaven when you die then your consciousness’s last action is it to tell itself you’re in heaven and it plays out y
our idea of heaven for you for eternity. If you think there’s nothing after you die, then your consciousness tells you there’s nothing, and it is all over. Only an idea, but I sort of like the idea.”

  The thought was intriguing, but Louisa was not sure she could wrap her mind around it properly. Years ago, Sam had found a number of religious texts in a weird church out in the woods. The Old Testament. The Quran. The Torah. The Rig Veda. Most people at Malden ignored them, but Louisa dug through them, trying to understand the ideas while enjoying the stories. Something in them seemed to gel with Morreign’s idea, the commonality of faith.

  Before she could voice her vague thoughts though, Morreign awkwardly got to her feet. “Sorry, my old bones are aching. I should find my bed.”

  Louisa got to her feet. “Ok, but do you think, sometime later, we can discuss this some more. It’s way more interesting than talking about the weather or weeds all the time.”

  Hard to tell in the dim light but she thought she saw Morreign grin at her as she said, “Of course, I’d like that. Weather talk bores me too. Goodnight.”

  Louisa sat back down, trying to remember if Jacob ever told her what he thought happened when you died.

  . . .

  Too many days. Far too many. And to make it worse, Harrison could not even guess how many more days were left.

  He should be sleeping, but he wasn’t. As usual, Harrison laid off to the side of where the men congregated, but he stayed close enough to hear. And there was a fair bit to hear. Only low grumblings but a number of them, all predictable. Complaints about food. Complaints about boredom. Complaints about no women.

  JR had contacted their prey, and the initial report from the scouts sounded promising. Jacob did not flee or fight when JR approached, instead, he merely ate then laid down and slept next to his fire. Given this, Harrison was confident JR would be able to help lead the kid. He instructed JR not to ask him questions, simply be a companion who happens to be traveling the same way while finding easier paths. If the subterfuge shortened their trip by even an hour, JR would be soundly rewarded for his ingenuity.