by Eric Keller
It took great effort to fortify himself as he came to the worse of it. He thought of the routine times with Louisa, merely enjoying the simple contentment at being together, of having found one another. He thought of the sad times they endured together, taking comfort in caring for each other when hardness entered their lives. He thought of the wonderful, joyous times together, reveling in the pure glee of being in love. Finally, he whispered his last goodbye to Louisa.
Turning, he forced his ruined feet and weary legs to carry him away, wondering how far a beaten and sick and heartbroken man could travel once all hope had left him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-Three
AUGUST 3, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN
No moon, not even the glint of a star. Morreign sighed. Why did these things always happen on the blackest of nights? She wearily climbed the steps up to the Lodge and opened the door.
The Committee sat around the table as others filled the space behind them. Only one candle and one lantern burned, leaving gloomy shadows. As she limped in, Morreign figured this setting matched the mood perfectly.
Two more young men were missing. Richard and Errol. They went out to check trap lines and, when they did not return by dinner, others were sent to find them. The sun set and the searchers returned without finding any helpful signs. Now, in the black of night, they needed to decide if the search should continue or be delayed for dawn.
Sitting at the table for this discussion caused a wave of unpleasant déjà vu for Morreign. Not long ago they held this conversation regarding Jacob, Tina, and Griff.
Boris Walker started, “We can go in groups and take torches, that’ll give Rich and Errol something to see in the dark and should keep away anything we don’t want comin’ around.”
Leo sighed, “I don’t know, we need to find them, but there’s the bear roaming out there with her cub. We stumble across her, startle her in the dark, that’ll be a problem.”
Boris added, “Sure, but only Sam’s seen any sign of the bears. Pretty far off, too. And as long as we keep calling out and keep the torches burning, I don’t think the bear’ll be a problem.”
A pause before Ram Bosh reluctantly said, “What about that fire last night? I’m worried there’s two-legged threats out there as well. That would be more dangerous than any bear, and the torches will be beacons for them.”
Last night, right after dusk, Sam spotted a light across the river. He gathered others and they all stood behind the trees on the bank to stare at the oddity. They talked at length, working to convince themselves they were seeing some sort of natural trick of the light. Eventually, the strange vision disappeared, and they went back up to the Lodge without deciding on what they had seen, wilfully ignoring the most likely explanation.
Now that Ram had burst the self-induced delusion, Morreign admitted to herself that she knew what she saw. A significant campfire. Strangers nearby. Maybe many of them.
Leo, in his soft tone, said, “We don’t know what we saw. Even if it was a campfire, it was on the far side of the river, and there’s been no sign of anything else.”
Morreign, wishing she listened more to her instincts and told everyone about her dream, broke in, “Hasn’t there been? Two young, smart and healthy men are missing.”
Silence. For the decade since they fled she knew karmic luck allowed only peaceful people to find Malden. However, it would be fully naive to think all survivors would have cooperation and friendliness in their hearts. Regardless of this obvious potential threat, an unsaid rule developed over the years that the possible problem of being attacked by people would not be openly discussed, mainly because they realized there was little they could do if isolation alone failed. Now she felt painfully idiotic for putting her head in the sand rather than attempting to deal with the issue, especially given the prophetic dream apparently sent by her subconscious to warn her.
Before they could truly break the unwritten rule and begin discussing this horrific scenario, the Lodge door swept open. Morreign turned in her chair, her stiff hip aching at the unwelcomed twisting, to see Richard and Errol step inside.
Sounds of relief filled the room, even a few claps and cheers were given. However, the minor celebration cut off when others followed the two of them inside. In the dim light, Morreign glimpsed, among three road-weary strangers, a shock of red hair. Without thought, she yelled out, “Griffin. It’s Griff.”
A clatter of falling chairs as people hurried to their feet and rushed the doorway. With her ruined hip, she was slow to get up and the crush of bodies made it impossible for her to see what she desperately wanted to see, but she was sure Jacob had to be with him.
. . .
Tired and annoyed, Harrison asked, “I’m here. What’s so important?”
The Viking stood up off the berm where he had been waiting. The thug didn’t answer, only walked towards the river, expecting Harrison to follow. The remaining Viking had sent his scouting partner back to the main group to give Harrison the message that he needed to come up immediately. Greatly disliking being summoned but trusting that the Viking would not waste a word on something unimportant, Harrison promptly marched the half mile.
On the gravel-covered bank, the Viking stopped and pointed across the river, just above the treeline and downstream. “There.”
Harrison looked but saw nothing. Not wanting to admit he could not see whatever was so important, he stared longer. There. A hint of whiteness, maybe a wisp of smoke.
He asked, “Smoke?”
The Viking nodded, pointing again, this time lower and further down, right at the far bank. Again, Harrison did not think he saw anything but branches and grass. He focused. Maybe a right angle behind some reeds indicating a man-made object.
He pointed one more time, even further downriver. An old tree, twisted and leaning out over the water. The Viking said, “We past that a while back but I did not notice. The other one. The redhead. In Thule. He said something about a crooked tree.”
Shocked by the brutish man’s memory, Harrison nodded and said, “He did indeed.”
“Your rabbit, stopped right here. Stood, staring, muttering, before he shuffled on.”
Harrison looked back across the river. Jacob stopped and then kept going. JR had come back, saying the kid wanted to rest and he could not get him to continue marching without being too suspicious. But then the kid kept going anyway. Harrison had hoped, the kid was nearing his home and realized he needed to rid himself of JR before he got there. However, if the Viking was right, it seemed he walked right past the settlement. Maybe JR slipped up, let Jacob know he was not merely some innocent hunter.
The pieces clanked together, it all made sense, if Jacob knew he was being followed by the Bankers he would also know he could not lead them to his home so he would keep going, pull the threat away, a mother hen running about to lead the fox from her nestlings. For an instant, Harrison deeply respected the battered teenager for his cunning and his toughness.
He looked over at the Viking and merely said, “Don’t be seen.”
The Viking more declared than asked, “I get first and second pick, and a third for my dead brother, if I want it?”
Harrison could not argue with this demand, and he nodded.
The huge man calmly handed over his rifle and slipped out of his filthy clothes. The massive, muscular body strode into the river and, in a matter of minutes, had swum the width and was climbing out on the other side. The remnants of Harrison’s sense of humour wondered what the isolate villagers would think if they saw that naked, scowling monstrosity marching towards them.
. . .
For days Kinma mirrored Harrison’s group as it marched on the other si
de of the river. The army was able to move quicker than Milo anticipated, faster than before. The foursome had hurried, rushing to get ahead of the men but the terrain on their side was more difficult to travel so they could not make up much ground on Harrison.
Griff had begun recognizing landmarks with his memories becoming more frequent the closer they got to Malden. Once he stopped at a poplar tree. It looked like all the other trees, except this one Griff recognized where he and Jacob treed a porcupine with their slingshots when they were nine-year-olds.
While the idea of sleeping indoors and having a real meal were extremely appealing, Kinma found their closeness to Malden daunting. The first thing she would need to tell these strangers was that a powerful, enraged force was about to be on their doorstep. Not a pleasant conversation, especially since a plan to help them did not exist.
Near dusk, they spied the two boys walking a trap line. Watching the baffled fear on their faces at the sight of Milo and Taco turn to confused but purely innocent glee when they saw their lost friend bolstered Kinma’s resolve to save this pleasant group. And now, after moving past all the tidy cabins, stepping from the night air into the warmth of the long building, with everyone rushing to their lost son, that resolve redoubled.
Griff said, “Ok, ok, alright. Let me breathe.”
The crush of people backed off slightly, and he continued, “I need to –.”
A curly haired man interrupted, “Jacob and Tina? Are they with you?”
Kinma’s heart hurt. Griff endured so much pain and hardship, finally made it home and only got an instant to enjoy the triumph of returning before being confronted with the awfulness he deeply dreaded. Suddenly looking very young, the boy’s head hung, and his thin shoulders slumped. No one in the crowded space spoke but, after a moment, the people parted slightly, and a middle-aged woman limped through.
She looked tired to Kinma, tired but strong. Her eyes silently took in Griff who continued to look at the floor. The woman moved to him, Griff a head taller and half again as wide as the petite woman but, as she wrapped her arms about him, he melted against her, letting her wiry frame take his worn-out weight.
Griff mumbled, “I’m sorry Morreign, I’m so sorry.”
The woman responded, “Its ok Griff, its ok. You’re back, and that’s wonderful. Truly wonderful.”
Sounding like a stunned, hurt child, Griff tried to explain, “We… we, were together in this place, in this building. Back at Thule. They beat us, me and Jake. The man, this evil man, he was going to burn Tina, to get her to talk, talk about Malden, but she jumped. We were up really high and she jumped through glass. She died.”
There were gasps and sobs from the crowd, but Griff continued, “I haven’t seen Jacob since back then.”
With tears now covering her cheeks, the woman looked even more tired as she said, “Ok, ok. You’re safe now, you can tell us everything in due time. Rest now and, later, we’ll all grieve Tina and Jacob toge-.”
Griff pulled back and said, “No, Jake, he’s not dead. He’s out there.”
. . .
Louisa tried to read the sounds of commotion coming up from the main room. She knew Richard and Errol were missing, and she figured, with great relief, it was them returning. However, the celebration seemed to end too abruptly. Normally, such an oddity occurring would lead to a great deal of excited talk regardless of the hour, but she could not hear any voices.
Hoping nothing else horrible happened, Louisa hurried to the stairs. Peering down through the weak glow, it took her a moment to comprehend before she let out an unconscious squeal and scurried down.
People moved out of her way as she jumped at him. Griff reacted in time to catch her as she threw arms around him. “Griff! How? I mean, you’re here, you’re really here?”
In the voice she did not know she missed until she heard it again, he said, “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”
She hugged him tightly, thrilled by the simple fact that her lost friend suddenly returned and, for a moment, she reveled in pure glee. Then, like a dagger stabbing her mind, she realized she saw strangers, but she did not see Jacob.
She was lowered to her feet, and Griff looked sadly down at her. Hoping against hope, she asked, “Where? Where is he? Is he dead?”
“No, he’s not dead. He’s still out there. Coming here, at least we think so.”
Relief poured in and around her but then guilt smashed it away. Tina. Tina was missing, and she had not even noticed. She asked, “Tina? What about Tina?”
Griff merely looked at her and sadly shook his head. He continued to talk, but Louisa did not hear what he said. She knew she should be thinking about Tina, feeling grief, feeling sympathy for her distraught mother who was all alone but all that matter to her at that moment was Jacob coming back.
Then a woman coughed uneasily and said, “Um, hello? I’m sorry, very sorry to interrupt but, well, I’m Kinma, and this here is Milo and Taco and, unfortunately, there’s something we need to discuss, and I think we best discuss it right away.”
. . .
Success took luck. Harrison knew that, but he disliked relying on the Fates. The Viking being the one following Jacob when the kid stopped was luck, as any of the other fools would have taken the stoppage as nothing but an opportunity to rest. That wisp of smoke hanging in the calm air was luck as any breeze would have erased it from the sky. The redhead muttering about a crooked tree for the Viking to hear was luck. Too much good fortune, Harrison now needed to take control, make his own luck.
The Viking had come back across the water with good news. Without risking getting too close, he had surveyed the settlement. A long lodge, a number of cabins, some other outbuildings. They finally found what they had come for.
Harrison gathered the main group and told them their journey was nearing an end, the prize was in their grasp. Their eagerness was palpable, and Harrison was certain they would all rush across the river to do battle in a heartbeat, but he did not want to push his luck any further, so he laid out his more patient plan.
They would march two miles upriver through the woods, under cover of darkness to ensure no one from the village saw them. Then they would spend the next day laying low, resting. Come darkness they would cross the river, spread out around the settlement and attack from multiple fronts in the middle of the night while the sheep slept.
With the prize in sight, Harrison threw out his strict rationing rules and let the men eat whatever was left in their packs before commencing the short night time walk. As they moved through the trees Harrison allowed himself to feel a sense of relief and pride, his plan of following the kid had worked. All that was left now was the fight, and he had all the fighters, no matter what the outcome, he had done all anyone could have. He chewed a hearty mouthful of venison jerky and contentedly listened to the jovial talk of his men as he marched towards his resurrection.
. . .
Leo was explaining how they could possibly build a picket barricade with logs and fight off the attackers from there. All of this was too bizarre for Morreign to comprehend, it sounded like children making up a game. Realizing she needed to intervene or this foolishness would get out of control, Morreign turned to the woman named Kinma who seemed to be taking all this in with the same lack of surety.
Harshly interrupting the talk of useless fences, Morreign asked Kinma, “You lived with these men for years?”
Everyone stopped and looked at the two women as Kinma, appearing only slightly self-conscious, said, “Yes.”
Griff had left to be with his family in their cabin, but, while eating, Kinma and the two men had given a quick overview of how they made it to Malden. Morreign could not help but be impressed by the strong woman, especially since she could h
ave gone anywhere but chose to put herself back in the eye of evil.
Morreign asked, “Tell me about them, what’re they like?”
Without hesitation, Kinma responded, “Worst of the worst. They call themselves the Bank, a remnant of a sick joke from years ago when they murdered some rich survivors, well I guess, to be fair, we called ourselves the Bank. Anyway, most of them have learned to act only to satisfy primal urges. Some might be decent enough on their own, but when thrown into the mob they are all degraded to a common denominator of demented animals. At Thule, they used women like toys and brutally fought anyone deemed weaker than them. This is all made even more awful by the fact that they’re led by an extremely intelligent, extremely ambitious sociopath.”
The two men, Milo and Taco, nodded their agreement as Morreign prodded the woman, “What do you know about this sociopath?”
“Far too much, yet, I suppose not all that much. His name is Harrison. He’s a former businessman who was conscripted into the military. My husband, he probably knew him best and he talked of how Harrison was cold and harsh but, early on, right after the Bombs, he was brilliantly calculating and decisive when it came to improving their position which allowed them to survive the first terrible winters. However, over time he grew even harsher and colder, driven more by a need to maintain his control than to improve everyone’s lot.
“In the last years, when you spoke with Harrison, it felt like you were talking to a poorly designed robot. He stares with these unfeeling eyes and you know the brain behind them is heartlessly dissecting every angle. But you have to acknowledge his fortitude and cunning, for a decade he’s led a band of violent thugs and, not once, has his leadership been truly threatened.”