“Yes. She did.” Nathan’s head dropped. How busted was he now? He’d fallen at the first hurdle.
They crunched on in silence, the streets around them empty of all life, or any signs of recent occupation. After a hundred yards more, Elm stopped, smiled, and looked at Nathan. “I understand, son. If I had a wife like yours, I’d want to keep her light under a bushel, too. Don’t worry, I have no one to tell. My wife is long gone, and I reckon you’re a decent enough fella. I like you, Nathan. You have a goodness in you, clear to see. Like you at your age, I was looking to carve my place—of course, I didn’t have the Big Winter to get in the way of that or show me that making the smallest mistake could have the largest consequences. Back before the Big Winter, men like you had space to fail. No longer. I’m lucky I did all my learning and failing before the safety to fail was taken away from all of us… get down!”
Nathan dropped to his knees as Elm leveled his crossbow and fired above the mechanic’s head. Nathan was reaching for his gun, thinking they were under attack or in some kind of danger, but all he heard was the thud of the bolt hitting something in the air, the death squawk of a fowl, and the phhhht of a feathered body plummeting to the snow.
The pheasant was not a plump creature, and the bolt had been overkill in terms of bringing it down, but Elm declared the bird to be “good eating” as he strung the carcass to his belt before they continued on deeper into town.
The Dodge dealership was at a crossroads. Whatever trucks and cars it had sold before the town had been abandoned had long since disappeared. They walked directly into the showroom through smashed windows. There were drifts of snow inside the building, going all the way to the back wall. They had to dig through a few feet of it to get access to the door to the building’s storage facility.
Many of the shelves had been looted, and there wasn’t a lot of gear left for Nathan to put into his rucksack, but he picked up a socket set, a few tools, a thermostat, and a couple of spare fuel lines.
“You should come back here and get the rest of this stuff when you can, Elm. It might come in handy in the future.”
Elm nodded sagely, running his fingers along the gray metal racks. He picked up a few boxes of spark plugs and a solenoid. “If I take it all, there will be nothing for others. That’s the problem in Chicago—everyone wants to take it all. When that happens, there are problems.”
Nathan took the veiled rebuke on the chin. Elm was right. If anyone took everything—his group included—then people became more desperate and were more willing to fight and cheat and steal to get what they needed. “You’re not wrong. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Just remember to leave something behind for the next person. Otherwise, what kind of world will we be leaving our children?”
They made their way out of the Dodge dealership and back along the way they had come. And they heard the snicks of the chambering guns before they saw the men.
They were coming from the doorway of a derelict but not burnt suburban ranch house. There were five of them, all with black Heckler & Koch MP4s at their shoulders. They were in uniform and, as the lead guy got close—a blond, thin-faced man with broad shoulders and narrow hips, like a triangle stuffed into some pants—Nathan saw his nametape said ‘BRETT’ and that his chest badge marked him out as a National Guardsman.
The other four were similarly attired, and looked lean, mean, and hungry. “Put down your weapons. Now!”
Nathan stole a look at Elm, who nodded mutely. They laid their pistol and crossbow on the ground in the snow.
“Looters,” Brett said, waving the muzzle of his MP4 around like he was using it to point out equations on a blackboard.
“Hold on there…” Elm started, but Brett lifted his gun to his shoulder, his eyes blazing, and his fellows split their aim. Two on Nathan, two on Elm.
“Did I give you permission to speak, Redskin?”
Elm bristled but shook his head.
“Now, you and your squaw here, empty your rucksacks.”
When the rucksacks were empty, Brett toed through the boxes, tools, and packets. “As I said—looters.”
Brett put the safety on his MP4 and let it swing by his side, and Nathan figured him for the kind of officer who would make his pronouncements with both fists on his hips, turning stiffly, full of himself and desperate to show everyone how in charge he was.
Nathan was soon proven correct and had to stop himself giving a little grin as Brett did exactly as prophesied. “The town of Pinkersville and its environs are part of the Third Tactical Chicago Enclave. Anyone found here looting or removing material without a registered permit, signed by General Hollister, is to be arrested and taken back to HQ for questioning.”
“Permission to speak,” Elm said.
Brett blinked. He hadn’t been expecting anyone to talk, especially after having given them orders not to. “Listen, Redskin, what could you possibly say in this situation to stop me from cuffing you right now and dragging you back to our vehicle for a little ride?”
“There’s nothing I can say, but there is something you can read.”
Brett raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what might that be?”
Slowly, and with great care, Elm said, “Inside my sheepskin. There is a letter, signed by your general, giving me full permission to be here. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me.”
“And who exactly are you?” Brett’s tongue flicked nervously at his lips.
Here was a man who was wary and scared of the name of Hollister being invoked, Nathan saw, as he’d caught a slight tremor in Brett’s bottom lip as he’d spoken.
“I am The Wolf of the Elm, Chief Wind Follower of the Lakota People. I’d probably stop using your racist epithets if I were you, Brett. Me and Hollister go way back. My daddy was a Code Talker with his daddy.”
Nathan could see Brett wasn’t sure if this was all BS or not, but he wasn’t going to take the chance. “Show me your authorization, then.”
“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said,” Elm said, with a growing timbre of control in his voice. He had significantly turned the tables on Brett, and the smile playing on his lips showed Nathan that he might now be enjoying the encounter.
Elm held one hand up high while he used his other to slowly lower the zipper on his jacket. When there was enough space for his hand, he reached inside and pulled out a manila envelope. Not saying a word or lowering his other hand, he held out the envelope to Brett, and Brett reached out to accept it.
Later, when Nathan recounted what happened next to Cyndi and the others, he’d say he could have sworn he must have been blinded by lightning from a clear sky and deafened by thunder from another dimension, because no sooner had Brett’s fingers touched the envelope than he was in a tight hug with Elm, a serrated Bowie knife about to sever the spine below the base of his skull, his other hand having already having turned Brett’s MP4 around and pointed it at the other National Guardsmen.
Nathan could only assume Elm had moved as fast as the wind, that the envelope had been used to disguise the knife, and that Elm, as well as being wise, kind, and as sharp as a scalpel, was also as mean as a rabid dog. Willing to play dirtier than a boxer with a horseshoe in his glove.
Elm’s voice was now full of all the authority he needed to completely take control of the situation, especially as there was a puddle of urine splashing over Brett’s shoes and he was whispering “I’m sorry, please don’t kill me” like a lover into Elm’s ear.
Elm patted the knife against the exposed skin on the back of Brett’s neck. “You don’t want to die, do you, boys? Because I can assure you, I could kill you all before you hit me behind your lieutenant, and I’ll have separated his head from his shoulders before the first of you hit the ground. So, why don’t you all drop your weapons and we’ll start this conversation again, alright?”
18
Elm had let Brett and the National Guardsmen live, on the condition that they never trouble him again.
He wouldn’t want to have to explain to Hollister how five of his National Guardsmen had been tricked by an old injun who had made their lieutenant pee his pants. Elm also assured them that if he could move as fast as he had with four guns pointing at him, he could get word to Hollister before they’d had a chance to get their boots on to come after him.
“You guys go back and fight your stupid little war. When it’s over, come find me, and we’ll drink and laugh about this, I’m sure, but I don’t want to see you till then. Well, we might. I’m not sure about Brett.”
Just to stop any hotheaded double-cross, Elm had taken their pistols and MP4s, as well as their walkie-talkies. It was a good haul, and he thought it might be good trading material in the future when people started traveling through Brookdale again.
Nathan liked his optimism, but his feeling this way was the first time he thought the older man was wide of the mark.
Thing is, Nathan thought to himself, we’re never getting anywhere near normal again. It was this, how things were, or it was going to get worse, and the lure of side-stepping some of the winter in Casper, from that moment on, got a firmer pull on him.
The weather was turning not just the land cold, but the hearts of men. War, death, near famine, and too many people scrabbling for too few supplies. It was a recipe for even greater anarchy.
He didn’t say that to Elm, though. The man was convinced that staying put would, in the end, be the right decision. “They’ll leave something behind. I know they will. Some for me, some for you if you want it.”
Nathan shook his head as they reached the dogs and sled at the top of the rise. “I’m still going on to Casper, Elm. You’ve got the smarts and the skills to live here, and you only have yourself to look after right now. That’s not a luxury I have. You said Chicago was death and graves last night.”
“That was whiskey talking. Brings on the blues. You know that. Today… well, you saw how it was.”
Nathan held onto the handles of the sled as Elm climbed aboard and wrapped himself in furs. “Yes, I saw how it was. You taught me a valuable lesson today.”
The dogs were growing impatient, already pulling at their tack, eager to be away.
“And what was that?”
“I’ll never be as fast as I need to be. Hike!”
Nathan worked on the Ram while Cyndi spent time with Elm in the gloomy apothecary’s lair in the room off the Lakota’s kitchen.
The operation to get the Dodge back in working order took a little over two hours, with Freeson helping out where he could. It wasn’t that the work was difficult, but it was intricate, and it couldn’t be done with gloves on. Nathan would have used neoprene over gloves if he’d had it. That may have made his fingers a little warmer, but as it was, he and Freeson had to keep swapping over, putting their hands in their pockets while the other worked, or wrapping their fingers around the hot, but rapidly cooling, mugs of coffee laced with bourbon that Lucy brought out to them from time to time.
“Seems like a good guy to have around in a fight,” Freeson said as he tightened two fixing screws on the thermostat.
“I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. I have no idea how it happened. I don’t know if I was in a street fight or a magic show. It was incredible.” Nathan took his hands out of his pockets and blew on his fingers, watching Freeson struggling to keep the screwdriver straight in the cold.
Nathan took over after another moment and Freeson sipped at his coffee, fingers interlocked. The weather still held, as it had been a few days since there’d been heavy snowfall, and it was on both their minds. Freeson looked up out of Elm’s garage at a sky that was still mercifully free of clouds. “I guess this is the height of summer now. The best we could expect.”
Since leaving Detroit, the nights had been getting a little shorter overall, and there’d been more daylight to travel in—not a lot more, but there’d been an appreciable difference. It was still bone cold, and the wind smashed across the plains and sculpted the snow, but the extra daylight helped to keep spirits up.
The fuel line finished and the thermostat locked in place, Freeson jumped up into the cab and started the engine. The Ram fired up immediately, with merely a belch of smoke and the rumble of a well-maintained engine. The metal under the hood got up to operating temperature then, and soon Nathan and Freeson were warming their hands as the heat radiated outward. It was a terrible waste of fuel, but they figured they needed to run the fuel line in properly and make sure the thermostat was doing the job is was supposed to. Elm had indicated he had access to more than enough fuel when he needed it, so they enjoyed the luxury while they could.
The smells and the sound of the Ram made Nathan more than a little nostalgic for his own Dodge wrecker, left behind many months ago with the Amish. It had been his daddy’s truck before Nathan’s, and he’d been unconscionably sad to leave it behind. But it had been out of gas, with no fuel to be gotten any time soon, so it would be back there still, Nathan figured, entombed in snow and ice, gently rusting. A tombstone to another life marking the grave end of one phase of Nathan’s journey and the start of another.
Freeson turned the engine of the Ram off and Nathan released the hood to drop down over the ticking engine. Maybe leaving another vehicle behind was the end of yet another phase. The run to Casper, the knowledge that wars were breaking out in the cities where people were still trying to eke out a living. He hoped Casper would be different. Out of the cold, maybe all men’s hearts would be thawing.
“Nathan, this man is an incredible resource.” Cyndi had finished with Elm and joined Nathan with Brandon on her arm as Nathan loaded up the sleds, even as Tony got Rapier and the other dogs in their team harnessed up. Her face was fizzing with possibilities, her eyes alight and her free hand trembling with energy as she spoke.
“He knows so much; it’s not just Lakota medicine and plant knowledge, it’s across the spectrum. I thought I was pretty okay with remedies and concoctions, but he’s off the chart.”
She patted the pocket of her anorak. “I’ve got enough Rooibos and Sumac for Tony’s asthma here to last a year. Prophylaxis rather than emergency treatment. This stuff is a superb bronchodilator. Elm makes pills and tinctures himself; he’s put together a ledger of plants and products we should be growing in hydroponic units to provide medicines for the future—because, let’s face it, we’re not going to be making our own! This is just… man, I just can’t even.”
Nathan enjoyed seeing Cyndi this excited, this committed to the craft of survival. He didn’t need telling twice how important this information was, but it delighted him more to see his wife so animated.
“Here, take Brandon.” Cyndi put the baby in Nathan’s arms, giving him little time to protest, and reached into her rucksack.
The baby was pink-cheeked, healthy, and looked well settled. His eyes were open and looking around with interest. The change in the child since the dog days in Detroit was as pleasing as it was relieving. Nathan chucked the baby’s nose as Cyndi, rummaging in the bag, pulled out a thick leatherbound journal. The cover, bible-black and shiny with use, revealed pages of thinly copied text, diagrams, instructions, and notes. All in meticulously precise handwriting. “It’s an instruction manual; a complete herbal, folk medicine text and knowledge base. It’s unique. This man, Nathan, this man…”
Her eyes were brimmed with tears.
“Hey, baby, come on…” Nathan reached out to pull her into a hug.
“These aren’t tears of sadness, you lunk,” she laughed, wiping at her eyes with the heels of her hand. “These are tears of joy. He’s let us have the ledger! We can take it with us to Casper. If Dave and Donie can get a scanner and a printer working somewhere, we can distribute it to people—it’s better than anything I’ve seen on the internet. This man, Nate… this man is a godsend to this world as it is now.” She held up the book. “People need to see this book. Need to learn from Elm. It’s essential until we get ourselves back on an even keel. Which, looking at how quickly thin
gs have broken down, isn’t going to be in our lifetime, or our kids’ lives, either.”
Nathan knew Cyndi was on the button with her summation. However optimistic this phase of their journey might be in terms of how fast they were moving, and however enticing Casper sounded, there was still the underlying truth that the world was going to be screwed for the foreseeable future. Whatever they did, however hard they fought, they’d not be making any kind of impression on the situation. But perhaps spreading the information in Elm’s ledger might make a dent. Nathan’s heart swelled with love for this woman, who had taken on a mission to help her fellow survivors rather than hurt or hinder them.
“Sometimes I forget…” he said.
Cyndi looked up at him. “Forget what?”
Nathan grinned. “How damn good you are. How outside your own skin you are. Let’s save the world with Elm’s book; sure, I can get on board with that. No problem. But make sure there’s some energy left for Cyndi, yeah? That’s all I ask.”
Cyndi smiled salaciously and playfully nudged Nathan in the side with her elbow. “I know exactly what you want me to save my energy for…” She started to thumb through the book. “Now, let me see… con… contra… contraception.”
They were still laughing when Elm and the others came out to join them.
When everyone was ready with their sleds and the dogs were raring to go, Nathan took one last opportunity to attempt to persuade Elm to come with them. “Thanks for the book. Cyndi’s ecstatic about it, but if you came with us, you could carry on your work in Casper.”
Elm smiled. “And if I did, what of Chicago, or all the other cities where our fellows are scratching out their lives between the falling snows above and freezing ice below? No, Nathan, when things settle down in Chicago, as I know they will, I can start trading again, copy out my ledger again, and pass it on to the right people. You’re the right people. There will be others, too; just because you’re the first, that doesn’t mean you’re going to be the last.”
Killing Frost (After the Shift Book 2) Page 19
