by K. M. Fawkes
Brad sat up, leaning against the back of the driver’s seat when his head spun. He was still a little dizzy, but it wasn’t nearly as bad now that he’d had some sleep and could feel all of his extremities again.
“Hey, you’re awake,” the man who’d been joking with the driver said. “Want some water?” He held out a bottle invitingly. “I’m no doctor, but I’d say you’re probably at least a little dehydrated.”
Brad blinked, thinking. He needed to make the best decision. The water could be poisoned or drugged. On the other hand, they’d had ample opportunity to kill him while he was unconscious and they hadn’t taken it.
And he was really thirsty. He couldn’t even swallow properly because his throat was so dry. He reached out and took the bottle, drinking half of it down in a few gulps. He wanted to hang onto it while he caught his breath—those few drinks had only whetted his thirst—but the man reached over and took the bottle back.
“Let that settle for a few minutes,” he advised, tucking the bottle back into one of the inner pockets of his jacket. “You don’t want to get sick back here and we don’t want to have to clean it up.”
He smiled again and then reached into one of the packs, pulling out a vacuum-sealed packet that Brad recognized all too well. Military MRE rations. All of the calories a person needed in a day and none of the taste. The packet said apple-cinnamon flavor, but Brad knew from experience that the claim was bullshit. Every single one tasted like cardboard. The man broke the ration biscuit in half and handed it over.
“They’ll have better food back home,” he said, his tone almost apologetic. “But you look like you could use some calories right now. How long were you out there?”
Brad realized suddenly that he’d lost track of the days. “How long was I out?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“Not long,” the man replied. “About an hour.”
That came as a relief. Brad forced his mind to slow down and thought the problem through, going over the days in his mind. “I’ve been out for eight days.”
The man’s eyebrows went up. “Eight days?” he repeated. “In these storms?”
Brad nodded. “I had a place before,” he said, seeing the question in the other man’s eyes. “But I…I lost it.”
“That’s rough,” the man said with sympathy. “Go ahead and eat. We can talk later.”
Brad took a bite of the ration bar, noting that they tasted a little better when they stood between a person and starvation, but not a whole lot. He munched slowly, because the man was right. He did not want to be sick back here. As he ate, he watched the scenery pass out of the window as the truck continued to move forward.
It took him a second to realize that they were passing through a city. Or, at least, that they were passing through what was left of a city. Buildings were crumbling into piles of black ash almost in front of his eyes as the strong wind blew around their charred frames. Some of the buildings were still smoldering, their heat sending billows of smoke through the cold air.
The smoky smell rose up as well and permeated the vehicle, even with the windows up. The scent of wood smoke made Brad’s chest grow tight with memory. He got to his knees and leaned close to the window, trying to get a closer look at the burning city and figure out just what the hell had happened to make someone do this.
If it had been summer, he might have thought that a cooking fire had gotten out of hand or that someone had fallen asleep instead of tending their fire. But at this time of year, with snow still falling around them, destruction like this couldn’t be accidental. With resources so limited, it simply didn’t make sense to destroy things so thoroughly.
The work of an extremist? A madman? Both?
As the truck moved through the rubble, Brad remembered Anna’s insistence that they head for a city. Had she and the kids come here? Were his dreams of them dying in a fire more accurate than he wanted them to be? Finished with his half of the ration bar, Brad slumped down again and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see any more destruction. He didn’t want to wonder who had caused it.
He was surprised to find that he hadn’t even had time to drift off again when the truck stopped. The other man in the front—who Brad now saw wore a pair of fatigues that were nearly black with soot—and the man who’d given Brad the ration bar and water both jumped out of the vehicle and jogged around to the front. Brad got to his knees and looked out the front windshield. He saw the two men push open a heavy iron gate. Then, the truck rolled through.
By turning his head and looking as the gates closed, Brad could just make out the name of the place: Fall Pines Retirement Community. Something about the name struck a chord, but he couldn’t figure out why. He’d certainly never been here. Both sets of his grandparents had been gone by the time he’d been five.
“Come on,” the driver said as he put the truck in park and looked back at Brad. “Let’s get you over to HQ.”
“What are we going to do there?” Brad asked, wincing as the wind blew into the opened truck doors. He’d finally gotten warm on the ride. He wrapped the blanket tightly around his shoulders as he stood up.
“You’re going to meet the Major.”
Brad slid out of the truck and walked across a courtyard with the men. They weren’t joking around now, and he could see that their posture was growing stiffer the closer they got to the row of buildings. They’d been pretty cheerful guys before. He wondered what exactly he was walking into.
“Who’s the Major?” Brad asked.
“He runs the place,” the driver said. “No one stays here without seeing him first.”
“What will he do?”
“He’ll meet you,” the man who’d given him the food said. “He’ll ask some questions, see what he thinks of you.”
“And if he doesn’t like me?” Brad asked. “What then?”
Neither of the men answered. He saw a few people standing in their doorways in the row of apartments to his left. They were watching him silently and it made him feel nervous. But he kept walking; what choice did he have?
“Here we go,” the driver said, stopping in front of a standalone building. It had been made to look like a house, but it was clearly an office.
The driver opened the door and they all stepped inside. Warmth—real warmth—wrapped around Brad’s whole body, and he let out his breath in relief as he stepped forward into the carpeted front room.
“Wait here,” the driver said before going through a door to the right.
Brad and the other man stood in silence while the driver was gone. Brad glanced around at the office. Not much had been changed since the place had been run as a retirement home, it seemed. The same blandly inoffensive art that all offices of this type had was still hanging on the walls. There were even brochures on the table against the wall.
Brad picked one up out of curiosity and opened it up. There were sixty-eight acres to the property and nurses always on duty. Brad somehow doubted that last part. He dropped the brochure back to the dusty table as the door swung open again and the driver stepped out.
“You can go on in now,” the man said, standing to the side so that Brad could step through the doorway.
Chapter 6
“Welcome,” a tall man in military uniform said, stepping out from behind the desk near the window and holding his hand out with a smile. “I’m Major Walker. It’s good to have another survivor with us.”
Brad shook his hand, looking him over. He would have guessed that the Major stood at around six four. He was pretty muscular, too, his body much bigger than Brad’s lean frame, and clearly took a lot of pride in his appearance; he was clean-shaven and his blond hair was neatly combed. A glance down showed that his black boots were impeccably shined. Brad could see the firelight reflecting in them.
Walker nodded to the man standing behind Brad, the same one who’d given Brad the water and the ration. “Neal. Why don’t you grab our guest something hot to eat while we get acquainted?”
The m
an nodded and left the room, and the Major gestured to a wing chair near the fireplace. “Have a seat,” he said, turning to add another log to the fire. “Get yourself warm. I’ve never seen a winter like this, have you?”
Brad shook his head. “No, I haven’t.” Were they really discussing the weather? It seemed surreal.
“Oh, I haven’t asked your name,” Walker said, taking the seat opposite Brad. “Sorry about that; we do try to observe proprieties.”
“It’s okay. I’m Brad.” He didn’t give his last name. It just didn’t seem terribly important anymore. Maybe this man wanted to keep up good manners, but Brad wasn’t sure he cared. “Are you really military?” he asked bluntly. “All of you, that is—not just you personally.”
A bowl of soup was placed in front of him at just that moment, but despite the delicious aroma of meat and herbs wafting up, Brad kept his eyes on the Major. The man gave him a quick grin.
“Please. Eat. I guess our group is about half and half,” he said. “Some of us, myself included, didn’t like our orders when things started to fall apart.”
“You mean the forced conscription?” Brad asked, wrapping his hands around the bowl and letting it warm his fingers. Even the short walk across the courtyard had chilled him again. He wondered if he’d ever feel truly warm again, now that he’d come so close to freezing to death.
Walker nodded. “Yes, there was that. Among other things.” He took a drink from the glass that sat on the desk. Brad didn’t ask what those other things were; he’d seen enough craziness to understand that it could have been anything.
“So, some of the men in my unit and I banded together,” the Major said. “Once we’d managed to get away, we slowly found other like-minded people and we were able to form a bigger group. Eventually, we decided to do the best we could to make things better for those we could save.”
“And what made you settle here?”
“There were several factors, but mainly it was just convenience. The original group of us discovered the place abandoned not long after the EMP.” He rubbed his chin and went on. “It was a lucky find. We knew that we could fortify it, use it to keep ourselves and anyone else safe.”
Brad glanced around. “I can see that. Is it gated all around?”
He wondered why everyone else had seemed to be so deferential to the Major. He seemed like a pretty regular guy and he was letting Brad drive the conversation. It wasn’t what he’d expected from the formality and tension in the other men.
“It is,” the Major said with satisfaction. “To be perfectly honest, I couldn’t have designed the place better myself. And when it came to getting supplies, having the city so close was a big help.” He sighed. “For a while, anyway. Now, though…” he shook his head. “Well, you saw it. There’s not much left in Bangor now.”
Brad nearly dropped his bowl of soup. “Bangor? That’s the city we came through?”
Major Walker nodded. “Did you know it?” he asked.
Brad took a sip of his soup, pausing to think. He needed to collect his thoughts before he gave any information away, no matter how small it might seem. His run-in with the Family had taught him that much.
“I did,” he said after a moment. “I lived there for a while.” Almost to himself, he added, “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it.”
Walker shook his head. “I’m not surprised that you didn’t,” he said. “It’s nothing like it used to be. Why don’t you tell me a little something about yourself? My crew said that they found you outside one of the neighborhoods in a pretty bad way. They said that you were delusional and nearly dead.”
Brad finished his soup and pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders. “Yeah. If they hadn’t come along, I’d be a popsicle.”
“Then—and forgive the question—but how did you stay alive through the beginning of the winter?”
Brad sighed. “I…I had a place before last week. A cabin. It burned down.”
Saying the words still hurt. He looked at the other man almost defiantly, waiting for any sign that the Major thought he was a careless idiot. A flicker of sympathy crossed the Major’s face instead, and Brad went on.
“The people I was with…I lost them along the way. I think they might have headed for Bangor, actually,” he went on, adding their descriptions hopefully. For all he knew, they might be in one of those hundred units out there, safe and warm. “Anna, Sammy, and Martha. A woman around my age, and two kids.”
“Your family?” the Major asked, his tone gentle.
Brad started to nod and then shook his head, finally finishing with a confused shrug.
“We met after the EMP,” he said. “But we…well, I took them in. I guess you’d say that I thought of them as mine to protect. I don’t guess you’d happen to know if they might have turned up here?” He held his breath, waiting for the man’s answer.
“We don’t have anyone of that description here,” the Major said, shaking his head. “In fact, you’re the first arrival in over a month.” He looked into the fire. “There aren’t many people left out there, it seems. And with this weather, there’ll be even less when summer comes.” Then, seeming to shake himself out of his reverie, he said, “Sorry. I know that you’re tired. I’ll get to the point. Would you mind telling me what you’re good at?”
Brad blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Everyone contributes here. I need to know what your skills are so that I can make sure to find the right job for you. We want you to be happy and productive.”
Brad thought for a moment, trying to force his brain into gear. The comfort of the room and the bellyful of soup were seriously slowing down his thought processes.
“I’m a good hunter,” he began, deciding to list the skills he’d used the most since things fell apart. “I can cook. I’m good at skinning and gutting the things I hunt. I can repair some smaller things. I can build a fire. I know a lot about planting vegetables and herbs and caring for a garden. I know how to track. I’m not too shabby at building—houses and shelters and things like that…” He broke off that particular thought and shrugged.
“I doubt that you’ll need that, though,” he went on. “I can also dig cellars and that wouldn’t be a bad idea for the place if you don’t already have someone on it. Of course, we can’t do it now because the ground is frozen solid, but with the spring thaw, it would definitely be worth looking into. Oh, and I was a veterinarian before all the shit hit the fan, so I have a good bit of medical knowledge. I just don’t have any supplies.”
As he spoke, the Major’s eyes widened. “I think we can definitely find a place in this community for you,” he said. “If you’re interested, that is. And maybe we can help track your people down in exchange for that medical expertise. We don’t have any kind of a doctor here, but we have a lot of people and vehicles. If you think they might have headed to Bangor, we could help you search.”
“That sounds great,” Brad said in relief. “I’m happy to help you.”
As long as you help me.
Brad hadn’t always been this way. In fact, this was the first time he’d ever thought that someone should have to earn the right to make the most of his expertise. But he wanted to find his people. He needed to apologize to Anna. He needed to see that the kids were okay.
“Neal,” Walker said to the man who’d shared the ration bar with Brad and brought him the soup. “Why don’t you take Brad over to the empty apartment between you and Charlotte?”
Neal nodded. “I’d be happy to, sir.” he answered. Then, he turned to Brad. “It’ll be good to have a neighbor again,” he said with a grin. “Follow me and I’ll show you to our section.”
Brad wrapped the blankets around himself tightly and followed the other man back out into the cold. Snow was piling up around the white columns that lined the sidewalks and blowing in against them as they moved, but there wasn’t as much on the walkways as he would have expected.
“Does someone sweep these?” he asked.
>
“The residents take turns,” Neal said with a nod. “You won’t have to worry about it for a while; it was my turn today.”
“You go out and rescue people, you feed people and get them blankets, and now you’re sweeping up snow. You do a lot, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. But we all do a lot,” Neal added hastily, seeming unwilling to take any credit for the things he’d done in just that one day. “There aren’t too many of us here, so we all have to pitch in.”
Brad nodded, looking at the apartments they passed. It was impossible to tell which were occupied and which weren’t. All he could really see in the evening darkness was a row of black doors set in a white facade. The silver house numbers were applied neatly above round peepholes. The numbers were the only thing that broke the absolute uniformity of the apartments. He could see why the place had appealed to a former military man.
“Here we go,” Neal said, stopping in front of number forty-two. “This one will be yours. Obviously there’s no electricity…” Neal went on as he fumbled through his pockets, “but I went ahead and got a fire started for you. I figured the Major would keep you around. He keeps mostly everyone. Of course, you being so useful helps a lot.” He finally stopped rummaging in his many pockets and pulled a key out.
“Here we go,” he repeated. Then, he unlocked the apartment door and pushed it open. “Go on in.”
Brad did as he’d suggested. The place wasn’t as warm as the Major’s office had been, but it was getting there. He honestly appreciated Neal’s thoughtfulness in building the fire. Brad realized that he wouldn’t have even known where to go to get the firewood.
Neal tugged the key off of the ring it had been on and handed it to Brad. “Here. This is your key now,” he said with a smile. “Home sweet home.”
Brad glanced around. They were standing in the living room. He could see the kitchen beyond and then a hallway that he assumed led to the bedroom and bathroom. Each room was generously sized and he realized that this would be the most space he’d had to himself since the world went to shit. Hell, it was more space than he’d had even before then. His old apartment had been smaller than this.