by Eric Keller
Despite all of that, he knew he needed to be diligent. Mutiny became more and more possible with each day that passed without any pillaging or excitement, but they were getting close to solving all their problems, he could not let it slip through his fingers now.
As if on cue, someone yelled at someone else to have sexual relations with themselves. Someone else yelled back. Normally they would be afraid to wake Harrison, they usually walked on eggshells around him. They were hushed up by the others, but the message remained, his authority was waning.
Harrison decided it was not the time to be a disciplinarian and rolled over onto his side.
CHAPTER THIRTY-One
JULY 26, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND SIX
Something seemed off. For five days now, Jacob had walked with the stranger he came to know as JR. The man was polite but did not say much about anything. He had merely explained that his wife passed away over the winter and now he was heading to the river, hoping for better hunting along the waterway. He never even asked Jacob why he was wandering around in the woods by himself, half dead. Most of their minimal conversation was about weather or game. But Jacob figured this silence merely a product of the man’s lingering grief.
Jacob initially took this as a positive. Glad the stranger was not interested in him or where he was going or where he was from. Plus, Jacob had bigger concerns, he had come down with the flu or a cold or something. His chest ached, and he could not stop coughing as chills shook his body.
A day ago, they had reached the river. On seeing the wide ribbon of clear, rushing water Jacob could not control himself. Despite the sickness and fatigue, he darted forward, wrecking the remnants of his left boot on the sharp rocks, as he crashed into the river. The cool water felt fantastic but nowhere near to how wonderful it felt to know he was close to home, that he would now be able to find Malden without getting lost forever in the wilderness, that he would now make it back to Louisa.
They made good time moving down the river bank, but Jacob soon began to worry. JR continued to travel with him, still not asking anything, still not saying much other than gently prodding him to move along despite his illness. And, he seemed to be looking around more than before, often scanning the far bank for some reason. As they first hiked, Jacob had thought he might be able to take JR all the way to Malden, let him settle with them. However, once he started to wonder, he could not stop wondering.
They sat on the bank, watching the river rush by as they shared a jackfish. The curiosity and worry had become too much, and Jacob asked, “So, you going to settle in around here somewhere?”
“Don’t know. Want to go down away further first.”
Again a vague answer and he never bothered to ask Jacob how much farther he planned to go or what his plans were at all. Strange. Jacob decided to keep pushing. “You been in this area before?”
“Nope.”
“Why’d you want to come down here then?”
Only a silent shrug before he stood and walked down to the water, dipping his two wooden bowls in the current before coming back and handing one to Jacob. Two bowls. Why would a man traveling alone over such a great distance bother to carry two bowls? Actually, he had two of many things.
The thought came fuzzily at first, simply a sense of ingrained wrongness that came like a bad smell. Then it sharpened, pieces fitting together like the jigsaw puzzle of the penguins back at the Lodge they had all put together so many times.
The realization crashed down like a bucket of ice water poured on his head. Harrison had let him escape from Thule. The deviant bastard was determined to find Malden, he would not have let one of them walk off so easily. Surely, a building full of men like those who took out the Survivalists would have been able to track one stumbling, injured kid. The locked door of his cell helpfully left open. The bag of supplies sitting in the kitchen as if packed especially for him. The woman merely nodding at him instead of calling out. Harrison wanted him to get away. But why?
More of the puzzle pieces moved, turned and twisted until they fit together. The strange noises in the woods. The odd things he found in his path, a water jug, an old blanket. The men who chased him but then gave up. They were following him. Moving towards Malden so they could swoop in and claim it as their prize.
Jacob looked over at JR who seemed to be working hard to ignore him as he picked at a tooth with a sliver of wood. All the prodding to continue, why did this man care if he stopped or not? It came to Jacob, Harrison sent this “hunter” to act as a guide, to move him along, point him to easier paths and make sure he succeeded in getting to Malden.
He tightly gripped the fork in his hand, one of two that JR had, holding the sharp metal against his leg. He knew he should end the man right now, not risk him finding Malden but, with his hand trembling with tension and his fever making his muscles weak, he knew he could not do it. Instead, with an overly dramatic sigh, Jacob said, “This is a nice spot. I’m beat, think I’ll camp out here for a few days, catch jackfish and rest.”
The man’s head snapped around sharply, and he stared at Jacob with his mouth agape as if trying to think of what to say. Jacob became certain, Harrison had sent JR to move him along. “Really? Why?”
The man did not know where Jacob was going, or if he was even going anywhere, so his confusion over the desire to stop was wrong. His throat feeling especially dry, Jacob answered, “Sure. Might as well, not in a rush. Don’t worry, you can carry on. Thanks for all the help and stuff but I’ll be fine here.”
Having said he wanted to travel on, it would seem strange for JR to now decide to stay with the stranger he had barely spoken too. JR hesitated, so Jacob pushed, “I mean, you said you wanted to go further, check things out. Maybe, in a few days or so, I’ll come along and find your campsite.”
After a long pause, where JR seemed to contemplate his options, he resigned himself to merely nodding which relieved Jacob as it meant no immediate confrontation. With the silence growing awkward, JR slowly packed up his meagre items and prepared to set out alone. Before he left, he handed over half a bag of stale biscuits, “Here, I don’t need these.”
Their eyes met as Jacob accepted the treasured gift with a muttered thanks. As he waited for JR to walk away, Jacob nibbled a dry biscuit and looked into the dark woods behind him. The trees were now full of invisible evil. Worse, Jacob needed to contemplate the new reality of how, with what he now knew, he could never go home. He would never see Malden again. Never see Louisa again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-Two
AUGUST 1, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND ELEVEN
From behind thick pine boughs, Kinma, through Taco’s worn our binoculars, watched the mass of men, moving along the river bank. It was hard to be sure, but she thought, in the middle of the mass, she saw Harrison, back straight as he marched, continually confident and in charge.
She hated the evil beasts and knew she should be glad they caught up to them but, seeing the rough group, many with rifles on their shoulders, she only felt foolish. Knowing what she chased and actually seeing it were different realities, the vision slammed her desperate plan into painful perspective. How could they get gardeners armed with arrows and knives to possibly stop this motivated, violence-infused army?
Milo squatted down next to her, peering through the pine boughs and, apparently reading her mind, he whispered, “Guessin’ a frontal assault is out of the question.”
“I have no idea how we even delay them, let alone stop them.”
“I say we cross the river right here, move fast along the other bank and try to get ahead of them unseen.”
With a despairing tone, she asked, “What good does that do us?”
Milo shrugged. “Cheer up. We ain’t dead yet.”
She laughed, “Very reassuring.”
After building a simple raft to carry their minimal supplies, they all stripped down and, carefully pushing the fragile raft ahead of them, waded in. Extreme cold engulfed her and Kinma’s breath caught in her throat, but she forced herself to move forward. Once the water became waist deep, her body seemed to accept the frigid temperature and, after weeks of living rough, the sensation of cool, clean water moving around her felt entirely wonderful. Apparently, the others felt the same as even Griff, while trying not to stare at her nakedness too blatantly, splashed about as they slowly moved across.
When they reached the far bank, they scrambled to get dressed in the cool air, and Kinma glimpsed Griff. Over the last week or so, Griff’s physical state improved. Instead of slumping and meandering along in obvious discomfort started to march much of the time with a set jaw and his eyes on the horizon. She noticed that, when they talked about defending Malden, a conversation they often used to pass the time, Griff became increasingly resolved even if worry showed in his eyes. Now, dripping wet and naked, he looked painfully childlike, gaunt and pale with yellowed bruises covering much of his scrawny back.
He surprisingly knelt in the grass, leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the ground. After a moment, he got back to his feet and noticed Kinma watching him acting strangely. He blushed and answered the question on her face. “I don’t know. Suppose I never believed I’d actually see this side of the river again, the home side.”
She smiled. “I get it.”
He lowered his gaze. “It’s strange though, as we get closer, I can now risk imagining walking back into the Lodge. Seeing my family, all excited because I’m back. My mom and sister crying, my dad trying not to cry. Everyone happy. Everyone wanting to hear the story, my story.”
Griff looked off into the woods, upriver. He continued, “Then I realize that’s all wrong ‘cause, right away they’re going to ask where Jacob and Tina are. They’re going to look at me with hope in their eyes, and they’re going to ask, and I’ll have to say Tina is gone and that Jake is being likely stalked by a torturing psychopath. And, if that is not bad enough, this monster and his army are coming to attack Malden, to destroy everyone and everything.”
While the tired boy stared off in the direction of his endangered home, Kinma got a blanket, walked back and handed it over. He wrapped it around his too-thin shoulders, covering his bony, hairless chest covered in partially healed cuts before he looked over at her with watery eyes. “Do we have a plan?”
She shrugged and smiled. “Nope. But we’ll do all we can.”
An impish smile crept onto his face as he started to get dressed and said, “Ok.”
. . .
Jacob knew what he needed to do. Harrison was out there, in the trees and the shadows, watching him, following him, waiting for him to lead them all to Malden. But, if he suddenly changed directions after discarding JR, Harrison would know Jacob figured out he was being followed. He needed to keep going along the river and then go straight past Malden, leading Harrison and his band of evil-doers off into the endless wilderness.
The decision obvious, not even a decision really, but intensely difficult all the same. He could not go home. He would die in these woods, alone and miserable. Continuing to trudge, sick, hungry, tired and sore, proved to somehow be far more arduous when he could not imagine seeing Louisa at the end of his ordeal. But, if it meant keeping Louisa and the others safe, Jacob knew he would manage to walk on.
As he turned a bend in the river, he thought the scenery looked familiar, but he told himself it was not. Ever since reaching the river he kept thinking places looked familiar, but they always turned out to not be. Like in the stories of nomads in the desert chasing oasis that did not exist, he taught himself to not let his mind trick him any longer.
Then, as the sun began to set, he saw it and it could not was be denied: the crooked tree. Far in the distance but Jacob was sure. He had broken his wrist there when Griff dared him to swing off the outstretched branch into the river. When his dog, Bear, got old and could no longer hear Jacob calling for him, more often than not, he could find the dog laid out under the tree watching the water go by, sniffing the breeze. On hot evenings, he and Louisa would climb to the first fork and dangle their feet out. That was the tree. That was Malden.
. . .
Unusual for Harrison to experience self-doubt but, standing above the river, watching his weary gang stumbling along the muddy bank it began to creep in. When they left Thule, the caravan moving swiftly down the remnants of the road, everything seemed certain. Follow the fool to the village, overwhelm the farmers, take what they needed, enjoy what they wanted, decide on staying. Simple.
Now, he wondered if he had miscalculated. The men looked battered, slumped and angered. Tempers erupted more and more often, but no one was bold enough to direct their temper straight at him, regardless, overt dissension became more likely every day they trudged. If a choice few decided to revolt he was uncertain which way the mass would lean, the men were eager for a fight and fighting him might suffice.
The distance was a problem. The terrain was a problem. However, as always, time was the main problem. Time kills all plans.
The men could handle discomfort and tedium, they could handle hunger and exertion. But not knowing for how long they needed to endure, with no visible endpoint, made it exceptionally difficult. For a moment, a brief one, the arrival at the river quelled their irritation. But, once they bathed and drank their fill of the icy water, the drudgery of marching ever forward promptly returned, bringing back their irritation even stronger.
As he moved along the running water, he wondered how many more days he could force this march before a mutiny erupted. He needed to shrink the time. They could not move faster than the boy, but maybe he could shrink the perception of time. Put the idea of the prize in the forethought of the men’s minds, make it seem close, make it seem imminent.
Harrison let the march continue until sunset. As the men finished their simple suppers while complaining about the ration size, he ordered more wood to be put on the dying fire, building it up into a roaring blaze. Weeks of the mundane made even this minor change interesting, and all eyes were on him as he strode out of the shadows.
Up until now, in order to manage expectations, he had kept his plan slightly vague and the prize they were seeking somewhat ambiguous, mainly because he did not truly knew what they would find. He decided it was past time to put a more concrete vision in their deviant minds. He calmly said, “Many of you have heard rumors about where we are going, about what we are going to find there but mainly you have trusted me. Trusted me blindly and completely. Your trust has not been misplaced, I know we are enduring much but I also know the reward is worth the ordeal, but now I want you to know for certain this is worth your impressive endurance.”
Seeing intense interest but also some smirks of annoyance on the faces of his men, he continued, “This fool we are following is going to lead us straight to an established and unguarded settlement the likes of which we have never had the good fortune to find before.”
With as much pomp as he could stomach, Harrison entered storytelling mode as he detailed the bulging food stores, the numerous young women and the comfortable shelter they would enjoy as the men cheered and laughed.
. . .
Jacob knew he needed to keep going, but the illness worsened with each passing hour, the fever intensified and he could not keep what little food he ate down, even water ran right through him. His left boot had decomposed to nothing and his foot became a swollen and scraped mess. He knew he would not make it much further in this condition. Jacob needed to keep going, get some distance from Malden before he could walk no fur
ther, but his body refused his mind’s commands to move him away from his home.
He merely stood and stared across the familiar water. So close. The river remained wide, and it still ran fast, regardless, Jacob knew he could swim across it in a heartbeat, even as exhausted as he was, because Louisa waited on the other side. So close and so simple, ten steps, a couple hundred strokes, ten more steps, yell out, and he would be quickly surrounded by his family, his friends. And Louisa. He would be safe and without pain again, the lonely nightmare over.
Instead, he needed to say goodbye, say goodbye to everyone and everything he cared about. Deciding to start with the easiest part of the unbelievably difficult task, he silently resolved himself to never seeing the Lodge again, to never sitting in the common room, laughing and talking. He concluded he would never feel the deep satisfaction of finishing a day of working in the gardens or chopping firewood alongside his friends. Never again could he enjoy the easy pleasure of sitting on the porch of his parents’ cabin, sipping cool tea and reading a novel while happy kids ran after one another in the Clearing.
Letting go of everything good in his life hurt but it was a soft brushing of his cheek compared to the pain of what came next. First, he said a final goodbye to all his friends. Then to Sam, imagining the solemn nod the man would give him in return. Then to his uncle Leo who would make some joke and his cousins. Then, with tears starting to slip down his cheeks, he said goodbye to his father, thanking him for all the delightful laughter and all the heartfelt lessons. Then he started to cry in earnest as he told his mother he was sorry, sorry for being so foolish when she went through so much to save him and protect him against all odds. He thanked her for all the comforting, all the joy and all the strength and then he said goodbye to her.