The Gatherer Series, Book 1

by Colleen Winter

  The taller man took a final drag of his cigarette and lifted his rifle across his chest, his gaze focused on the creek beyond the bridge where the deer had disappeared. With surprising grace, the smaller man stepped towards the bank below her, his steps flowing soundlessly with the river, his gun trained on her tangle of roots. He would have to lower the gun at the steep section of the bank and she could escape then, if it wasn’t for his buddy providing backup from the centre of the river.

  He stepped up onto the bank and she wished she had gone with the deer. Wide open fields lay behind her, the top of the bank completely exposed for more than a mile off.

  The larger man moved several steps downstream, stooping to see through the opening of the bridge. The man with the gun trained on her tangle of roots had reached the mid-point on the bank. She had a flash of hiding in the grass during hide and seek as a kid and the terror of knowing she would be found. A slightly higher mound of earth lay further upstream next to a group of bushes. If she crawled behind the trunk of the fallen tree she could run to its shelter without being seen. Maybe. She gripped the root, saying a brief prayer to Havernal and all the people who needed her to stay alive.

  One. Two. Three.

  She dropped to her stomach, her elbows pulling her forward through sharp blades of grass. There was a grunt from the man below her, the crack of a gunshot, and a cry from below.

  She rammed her elbows into the dirt, pulling faster, waiting for a second shot, the butt of a rifle in her back, or the sudden pain of a bullet wound through the adrenaline.

  She was near the end of the log, ready to rise to a crouch when a second gunshot echoed into the morning’s quiet. Further downstream. On the other side of the bridge. She stopped mid-crouch and dared to look down to the creek bed. As empty as when she and the deer had fled, the water appearing to flow faster and smoother as it pursued the two men.

  She shook with the beat of her heart, her panting low and shallow. The sky had lightened, emerging as a clear, pale blue. The sounds of splashing came down the creek and she had a brief moment of sorrow for the deer. She checked the river again and rose to a half-crouch.

  She moved away from the lip of the embankment and ran parallel to the river. After a hundred paces, she turned north, rising out of her crouch and letting her breathing ease into full deep breaths. Her feet ached with the blood pounding through them, and she relished the pain and its confirmation that she was alive.

  SIX

  Maria breathed in deeply as she stepped onto the deck, the air’s cold sharpness stripping away the hot stuffiness of her cabin. The air was still, the night over the ocean and boat in full darkness but for the lights on deck and the small town where they had stopped to pick up passengers. Her eyes were heavy, the cold doing nothing to enliven her dull, sluggish head, and she leaned over the rail, turning her face north to the wind.

  A gull perched on the ship’s rail and she was surprised it was there, the other gulls having departed when the passengers went inside. Its featureless gaze had hovered above her for most of the afternoon, dipping closer and floating farther back until with a few flaps it would pull itself back into the slipstream. She would like to have believed that it had waited for her and that this was the reason it hadn’t screeched and dove for the scraps of bread the other passengers had offered. At one point she had reached towards it, and with a flick of its wing it had dipped away, its black eye unaltered, its beak pointed straight into the wind.

  Cold crept along her skin as the work of the diesel engine emanated out through the hull as the ferry maneuvered into the small port. She hadn’t felt the rumble of an engine in months, and its low vibrations grounded her to the deck. Only a few services had access to diesel these days, its use severely restricted once the Gatherer had established itself as the shining solution to greenhouse gas emissions. Only larger airplanes and a few boats had access to the strictly controlled substance. She had seen a digital sign at the terminal announcing the replacement of the ferry with a new electric version in the new year.

  The gull’s claws gripped the metal as it tucked its head into its chest. The light gleamed in the blackness of the bird’s eye, and she had no idea if it watched her or not. When she moved closer, it shifted its feet away, its wings partially opening to show its discontent at being disturbed.

  The port they had stopped in was less of a town than a single shack, its dark windows reflecting the ferry’s image back at them. A single yellowed light cast a murky glow onto the sloping forest behind it and down onto the flatbed truck that was lined up to board. No sign indicated where they had stopped, an unreadable faded poster on the building the only evidence of what might have been the port’s name.

  Being careful not to disturb the bird, she looked back over the stern to where the flatbed’s front tires had just crossed onto the ferry. A whiff of diesel floated on the wind as the stern dipped under its weight, pushing Maria into the rail, the deck stabilizing as the truck moved further in.

  Its cargo was tightly strapped, the outline beneath the tarps square and straight. A draft of warm exhaust intensified the smell. Diesel vehicles had been officially retired six months prior, and she leaned out to get a better look at the tractor’s side. No markings or government insignia identified where it had come from or whether it was authorized to transport the tightly controlled substance.

  She stepped back from the rail, out of sight of the older crew member that solemnly followed the truck’s progress. She was near the top of the British Columbia coast and that load of diesel barrels wasn’t anywhere near the officially regulated supply channels. Her alert system clicked on, for the loading in the middle of the night and the small roster of passengers pointed to the Diesel Train—an aging, violent group that held the general belief that the Gatherer was either the devil’s work or an instrument of the government to control their lives, and most likely both. She backed further away from the rail and when she was a safe distance turned to face into the wind. She rounded into a hard, wide chest.

  She reacted instinctively, facing her assailant, her weight shifting to her toes and half lifting her hands. A nanosecond before she struck out, her brain kicked in. He was one of the crew she had seen on deck with the other passengers, stocky, round-faced and easygoing.

  “Sorry if I scared you.”

  He didn’t look at her raised hands but she knew he’d noticed her response. She lowered her hands and retreated to the rail as the ferry’s gate closed.

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  With a trembling surge they were free of the pier, the engines pushing them out into open water. Her pulse refused to settle as the vibrations grew.

  He laid his forearms on the rail where the gull had been, his bare hands hanging over the water, a hip cocked to one side as if he were at a rodeo watching a show.

  “Did the stop wake you?”

  She leaned her forearms on the rail, feigning the same casualness.

  “I was already awake.”

  She realized her error immediately, as much as telling him she had seen what the transport carried.

  “What was the name of that last town?”

  He picked something off his lip and flicked it out over the water.

  “It’s hardly big enough to call it a town.”

  He turned his back to the water and took in the full breadth of the ferry for a long minute. He was older than she’d thought, his round cheeks having masked the loosening of skin around his ears and neck. He moved lightly, his rumpled uniform not hiding the easy strength more common in a younger man.

  The moon passed out from behind a cloud, washing the ocean and deck in a still, blue light as she tried to gauge how much trouble she was in. Most passengers wouldn’t have noticed or cared what was being loaded, but through her unit’s work on energy security, she had known immediately, and her reaction had shown it.

  “When will w
e reach Murdoch?”

  Her voice sounded shaky and she cursed her body’s refusal to stand down. He gazed west into the horizon where neither the end of the sky nor ocean were visible.

  “We should be on time, barring any major storms.”

  “Is there bad weather coming in?”

  Her voice sounded strained, doing nothing to convince him she was just an idle traveler.

  He shook his head, his gaze still on the horizon as if there was something to see besides darkness. She prayed there wouldn’t be a storm or fog, anything that would delay her in getting off the boat.

  “What’s taking you to Murdoch? You got family there? I know most everyone in town. Let me guess. The Pukkinens? Or maybe the Vasals? Unless you’re by marriage, so could be the Hamlins or the Barretts?”

  He had bantered with the other passengers, teasing them about their travel plans, cajoling them into telling him about their lives. Even facing her, his expression was unreadable: a slightly mocking grin, the shadow that had covered his face not having lifted from his eyes.

  “Am I close?”

  His uniform was creased at the elbows, worn more than one shift without being changed.

  “Not family.”

  He frowned, pursing his lips. The same act she had seen with the other passengers. What would this group do if they found out who she was? She needed to hold her tongue. This group believed vehemently that the Gatherer was the devil’s work and its link to the plague would only justify their brutal, unhinged violence.

  “There isn’t much else in Murdoch. Come on, you have to tell me where you’re going, if only to satisfy my curiosity.”

  The gull had reappeared, floating far enough off the side that it was more of a flicker of white in the darkness than the shape of a bird.

  “Sea kayaking.”

  “This time of year?”

  She lifted her chin into the wind that blew cold off the bow.

  He watched her, appraising, and for a moment the easygoing mask slipped away, leaving the focused tightness of his interrogation. Displaced water churned against the ferry’s side, a white writhing strip against the black depths.

  “I’m not afraid of the cold.”

  He nodded, his gaze casually falling to her shoulders and thighs.

  “I believe that.”

  She stepped back from the rail, even as the bird dipped further out to sea, showing her an escape route if she were only to follow its lead.

  “I should turn in.”

  “You can’t go yet! I hardly know anything about you.”

  He was good, and she still wasn’t sure how much trouble she was in.

  “It’s late.”

  She tilted her head towards the bow and Murdoch somewhere in the darkness ahead.

  “And it will be an early morning.”

  He frowned with disappointment as she stepped further away, her senses tuned to any shifts in balance or readying of his muscles.

  “You sure you won’t stay?”

  She turned into the wind with an apologetic grin as if she really were sorry she had to leave. She hunched her shoulders, breathing easier as she put distance between them. She would have liked to keep walking off the boat and onto the dark shore, whatever dangers might be waiting for her there preferable to taking her chances here with the diesel crew now that she had seen their cargo. At the door, she paused to take a final breath, the crew member watching her from the rail.

  She nodded goodnight, hoping to look like another tired passenger heading off to bed.

  The panicked beating of her heart was amplified in the narrow corridor, and she heard nothing but its heightened rhythm as she walked between the muffled walls, even the sound of the door closing behind her a distant clang. She checked over her shoulder for his stocky frame but the corridor was empty, nothing but the blank smoothness of the moulded walls and the warning on the back of the door to be careful of the wind.

  * * * *

  Clouds hung low on the coast, pushing the ceiling close to the water so that the ferry streamed into Murdoch in a narrow band between water and sky. Maria squinted against the glare, her sleepless eyes stinging in the growing light. She hung close with the other passengers as they waited to disembark, the pack and few belongings she had purchased before boarding heavy on her shoulders. She hadn’t seen the crew member who had questioned her on deck, and she lifted her gaze to the shrouded mountains and gazed out at the lifeless ocean in an adequate imitation of someone who had come to see the sights. The escape to shore was so close her feet ached to touch the solid ground.

  There were only a dozen other passengers, most of them looking as tired and disgruntled as she did after her torturous night below deck. She lowered the zipper on her parka to clear the remaining hot stuffiness and loosened the straps on her pack to allow the air into her sleeves, just like any overheated traveller who was enjoying the morning air. She noted the three trucks parked crosswise on the exit lanes, as if the three men that hovered restlessly at the front fenders had gathered for a tailgate party. The only other detail from her short glance was the disciplined stance of one of the men and the purposeful turn of his head as he surveyed the area. She would have liked the security of her gun beneath her arm, but there had been no time to break the locks when she’d left the train.

  The deck vibrated beneath them as the ferry backed into its slip, white, agitated water boiling up around the stern. The town was larger than their stop in the night, stretching back from the boardwalk that lined the docks, with an aged clock tower rising out of the downtown, houses climbing the slopes of the mountain, and the only way inland a valley that split the mountains a half mile up.

  Maria checked over her shoulder and found the man from last night chatting with a rumpled, gray-haired local next to the barred exit. He winked at her, the playfulness of it doing nothing to ease the sense that she was being watched and that she couldn’t get to the safety of the shore fast enough.

  She followed calmly as the passenger gate was opened, the man wishing passengers good journeys and godspeed like a tour guide on a vacation cruise. Several cars scooted out of the ferry below, bumping up onto the land, before skimming past the three trucks. She was almost at the exit when the engines stopped, the rumble replaced by a tighter grind below where the transport’s grill had emerged out of the hold, its engine straining as it got its load moving.

  “Have a good trip.”

  He hadn’t bothered to smile, falling in behind her as she walked down the plank. She lifted her gaze to the clouds breaking up on the mountains, and looking everywhere but at the transport and the three trucks that had come to meet it. His boots shook the exit ramp, so close it felt like he would run her down. The smell of diesel was everywhere, coming from the transport’s cargo, not the ferry’s engines. She walked faster, a tourist eager to get on her journey, coming up against the painful slowness of the older couple in front of her, imagining she could feel the man pushing against her pack.

  “Where’s your ride?”

  His voice was flat and sounded close enough to be almost touching her. The three pickups moved in, setting up to accompany the transport as she gauged the distance to the terminal and the steepness of the hill into town, noting the clutter of ships and cargo further down the boardwalk.

  When her foot touched ground, she moved left around the couple hugging their ride, even as the man grabbed her pack from behind.

  She twisted away and slammed into a teenage girl on the right.

  “Hey! Watch it!”

  The man yanked the pack and Maria keeled backwards until she wrenched open the buckles and the pack flew backwards. She ran, regaining her balance with each step, male voices shouting behind her. She left the protection of the other passengers and ran across open space, away from the bark of a command, waiting for the crack of a rifle or the shock of a bullet. The
terminal and the boat warehouse lay thirty metres ahead. Boots pounded the pavement behind her, moving fast. She surged faster, the strong, tight power of her stride propelling her forward.

  She had always been a fast runner. Her short legs were so fast the older kids had never been able to catch her, and it was one of the things she’d become known for in her unit. Her ability to run as fast as, if not faster, than the men was what had gained their early respect. She never felt better than when the ground flew beneath her feet, her soles barely touching earth.

  The boots got closer and a second pair added itself to the first on her right. At the terminal she faked right before ducking left, running fast past benches and tourist plaques. Her boots rang hollow on the wood boardwalk, the pounding behind her like the crash of thunder. The rows of wood planks stretched before her. She pushed faster, reveling in her strength and the fleeting touch of her feet to the ground as the footsteps behind her faltered, then slowed.

  She would have liked to give the fading men the finger for their underestimation of her. She imagined it instead, grinning, as the boardwalk ended and the echo of wood changed to the crunch of gravel. The path along the shore narrowed and she ran through the thick stench of trapped water against the wharf. The coastline stretched ahead, mist veiling the rounded hills above the gray water. An alleyway opened up and she turned, slowing to a fast, steady pace as she wound her way through the empty streets. She had been lucky they hadn’t used their guns. Either the other passengers or the tractor full of diesel coming off the ferry must have restricted what the men could do.

  The streets grew wider as she drew away from the docks, past locked doors of unopened shops, choosing laneways over streets. She left her pursuers far behind as the commercial section fell away and she moved into the sleeping quiet of residential streets, the occasional staccato barking of a dog the only notice of her passing.