by A. R. Shaw
“Got to get these damn things off.” He quickly unlaced each boot, letting the pressure inside subside a little. Then, taking three quick breaths, he loosened the left one, braced himself and pulled steadily. The pain would’ve brought him to his knees had he not already been on his ass. As it was, white sparks shot through his vision. A moan escaped his lips as he peeled off the bloodstained white crew sock. He took a few more breaths and avoided looking at the damage just yet. Taking another deep breath, before he changed his mind, he reached for his right boot, and did the same thing. He wasn’t ashamed that he nearly cried. It hurt like hell. Had his young sons been there as a witness to his turmoil, he could not have shielded them from his misery. By then his hands trembled as he dropped the last boot on the ground, where it toppled to its side. Davis laid his wrists on the top of his knees. He took a moment to calm his pounding heartbeat. Then after a while he peeked at the actual damage. That was the first time he really got a good look at his heels from behind. In somewhat identical red blood triangles, they were bereft of skin from the top of his Achilles tendon to the base of his foot. The brown skin had worn away, leaving what looked like exposed red muscle tissue.
Now his feet burned so much even his calves shook with the pain. “What a dumbass,” he said to himself through gritted teeth. Even through the pain he couldn’t excuse his own self-care negligence. He was a soldier, after all. A trained one. One all too familiar with foot injuries. He knew to minimize friction around his feet. But that was the last thing he thought of as he fled the crazy gates of hell the day before. Now he felt lame. And that was the last thing any soldier wanted to be. It was a recruit mistake.
Glancing at the bloody white cotton crew socks piled to the side, he said, “That’s what you get. Wool, man, always wear wool socks.” Though in the apocalypse you get what you get or nothing at all. And wool socks were hard to come by. Hell, the cotton ones were in short supply. Still, he knew better. And now he was going to pay the price.
Davis hung his head down between his knees. He knew better than to go barefoot. He knew better than a lot of things that he’d done lately. “Get a grip, man.” It was an encouraging plea in self-talk. Taking two more controlled breaths, Davis sat up, pulled the knife from his side, and grabbed his left boot. As he began cutting, he said “I hate to do this, but it’s not like I can go barefoot. Not for long anyway.” He made long incisions from the top of the back of his boot all the way down to the heel. He was left with a long flap that he cut away too. He flexed the piece in his hands, not sure what use it might have now, and sat it to the side but would take it with him. “Okay you bastard, let’s try this.” Carefully stuffing his left foot inside the boot, he checked to make sure the cut edges were clear of his injury. “Not too bad.” With a few more adjustments he whittled down the edges and tried the fit again, making sure they were clear of the injury. He then modified the straps of his boot to adjust around his calf. There would be a little rubbing there, but it was better than the alternative. Once he completed the other boot he tried standing. He couldn’t help groaning in pain as the skin flexed and pulled. “I got to find some supplies. We can’t let this get worse. It’ll easily get infected. That’s all I need.” He trudged on then and yet he still continued to hear a slight buzzing sound in the distance. “Coffee… that’s what it is, freaking caffeine withdrawals. Wish I had my pack, dammit,” he said and trudged on into the thickening haze.
12
Jason
The still-warm battery pack lay in his bare hands. His eyes lingered on the black plastic casing as the warmth spent in the cold wind. The chill blew across the tops of his fingers. The warmth ran beneath. The contrast in those opposing forces was like night and day, before and after, the end and the beginning.
The man he pursued had dropped into a ravine last night and climbed out again onto the road on his hands and knees that morning. He’d strained to a standing position and moved with stiff strides once erect. Erect being a loose term, as his back bent over as he shuffled along. He had to be in a lot of pain. That’s what Jason determined early on. He felt sorry for him. From his drone camera view he could tell he still struggled. This wasn’t just a morning stiffness for old men. Though he had sympathy for him, that wasn’t his job. His mission was to follow him back to where he came from. Find their home base. And to do that he needed to remain impartial to the man’s plight. The irony was, he wondered if that’s the same feeling his captors had had for him. Did Boyd feel he had to remain impartial when he was one of the guards? He knew the other young man in the group held a certain amount of guilt. He wore it like a veil. The survivors…they made him wear it, each and every day.
If Jason were discovered by the man he followed, he had no doubt the man would kill him without a second’s remorse. He came from them. He worked for them. He was one of them. That’s what Jason reminded himself of when he saw him lying in the road.
Boyd’s plight was different, he reminded himself. He was as much a victim as the rest of them.
With each spent battery, he risked losing him again. With each recharge, he had to recall the drone quickly, replace the battery pack, and return to the last known location. There was always a risk that the man would figure out he was being used to find the enemy’s location and would attempt to evade him. He couldn’t let that happen. Though the rotors were quiet, they did emit some noise.
Meanwhile, as the drone caught up, Jason followed at a distance, keeping the drone from edging too close to the man to avoid detection. It was a pain in the thick fog. A long-distance game of hide and seek.
Keeping up with him wasn’t easy, either. Not only that, Jason also carried a backpack full of provisions, heavy replacement batteries and a solar charger, not doing him any favors without sunlight. With enough batteries to get him there, he had to be sure not to overextend them, or else he’d lose the man. His only other option was to scavenge more batteries, which meant risking his discovery.
Chances. He was taking chances. There was a time when he’d never thought he’d have the guts to do this. It was the generosity of strangers that aided his bravery now. He owed them. He owed them his life. They gave him purpose. And this was the one thing he could do to repay them.
He was reminded when strange things started happening, once he set out on this mission. He was alone once again. For once he didn’t like it. He never sought the company of strangers. He found comfort in his own space, his own mind and music. Though he found himself missing Kent and Sloane, most of all he missed Wren. His head bobbed with thoughts of her in tune to Are You Gonna Be My Girl by Jet as it played through his mind. They’d become good friends. He hoped for more than that someday. He missed the sight of her but more so, the smell of her when she lingered too close to him. But that could wait for now. Heck, he even missed his roommate, Chuck.
He’d always been somewhat of a loner. His drone shop and music kept him company. Now that his senses were ripped from him, he’d noticed that music still played a large part in his life. The songs he remembered often came to him, strumming through his mind at the right times along with his thoughts. Soon his pace had slowed. When he felt a rock under his boot skid, he realized it must’ve made a noise though he didn’t hear it. He looked around, constantly aware. The lack of one sense necessitated the heightened use of others. He was drifting again. Remembering her face. The shy smile he saw every now and again when his eyes lingered on her for a little too long. She pretended to hide it, but the rosy hue of her cheeks betrayed her.
Back to work, he said to himself with an internal growl. He cleared his throat as he knelt down to click a battery pack into the drone. Focusing, he took a step back, raised the controller, watched the screen, and sent the drone upward and out again to its prey.
He walked at a steady pace and occasionally checked the screen as he drove the drone after the man’s last known location. Last he saw the guy, he was having a hell of a time cutting out the backs of his boots. That would buy Jason a few
moments to recall the drone. Just enough time to replace the battery pack. And luckily, the man would move slower today with heel injuries like the ones he saw.
As Jason walked, he pulled out a trail bar, tore the top of the package open with his teeth, and thoroughly munched his breakfast. Sadly, he doubted the man had any rations with him. Karma, thought Jason, was the great equalizer. It wasn’t too long ago when Jason himself was left in the woods to starve. Food was the only thing he could think about. The incessant hunger made him into a kind of wild animal. Deranged and feral. Curious, he flipped the package around, wondering what the expiration date might be on the bar he currently consumed. At best, the food had expired a year or two before, but he couldn’t really taste it anyway. It was only about nutrition.
With thick fog, Jason knew he would have to close the distance further to keep track of the man sufficiently. That made him a little uncomfortable, though he had no choice. It wasn’t an option to lose him. That would mean letting everyone down. Letting Sloane down. They needed this information. Taking small bites of the trail bar, he maneuvered the morsels down his throat carefully, and then stuffed the bar into his pocket with his right hand and reached for his water. Eating was still a slow process, but he’d formed a routine for the necessary movements. It wasn't enjoyable yet, but he was overcoming the difficulties. And like Kent told him, some of his tastes were returning slowly now that the infection was gone. His hearing, too, had revealed a world a little less silent.
There were times in the recent past when he knew death was certain as one miserable day rolled into the next. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Shaking his head to rid himself of flooding memories, Jason returned his attention to the drone controller in his hands. When he finally spotted his target, he kept his distance. The fog barely cleared at all, so there was no way to know what lay ahead. The man still walked at a slow pace, trudging along in obvious pain, swinging his arms out to aid his step. It was going to be a long day.
Taking a second, Jason scanned his periphery once again. He’d gotten used to this. Especially now that he was alone, his lack of hearing almost made him feel paranoid. Perhaps he was the one watched, instead of the other way around.
13
Sloane
For an hour Sloane gave out orders as she walked through the streets. It was damp and cold like any other day. Members of the town seemed to show up bright and early and ready to go. There were few words spent on motivation now, especially after Astoria came to attack them. They knew the danger truly existed. They were ready. They fought back. They would have to fight back again.
Chuck already had the gate open. He’d already hauled off one of three burned-out vehicles blocking the entrance. So much had happened here the morning before. It was hard not to envision the scene all over again.
“You’re doing great,” she said.
He hadn’t expected to find her standing there watching him. She could tell by the way he stood up quickly, as if caught unaware. Despite a cold chill in the air, Chuck had a light sheen of sweat dampening his shirt already. “Do you think we need to leave one of these in the way as a message?” he asked.
She hadn’t thought about that yet. And though she barely got along with Chuck, his constant banter kept her thinking. That was a good thing. She didn’t feel threatened by him. He just had a rough demeanor. “We could do that,” she said, nodding her head, “but it would limit one of our escape routes if we were pressed for time.”
He scratched his sweaty scalp with one finger. “True. What if we left these along the road in three different noticeable areas as a deterrent?”
“That’s a good idea,” she conceded and turned to leave, then stopped. “Chuck, when you get the notion to hang dead bodies on spikes outside the gates, don’t bother asking me. The answer is no.”
“Aw, come on,” Chuck whined.
She was only partly joking. Even those barbaric thoughts would come if they didn’t bring the war to the enemy. Especially if they were to lose anyone.
“Hey, by the way,” Chuck yelled, “Your… Kent, whatever he is to you, saved that guy’s life this morning.”
She turned around. “What do you mean?”
“The prisoner. He nearly offed himself inside the cell this morning. Kent called it just in time.”
Her heart might have skipped a beat, but she didn’t have time to confirm it. “Is… everyone okay? No injuries?”
“Oh yeah, no one got hurt. Well, Kent shot him in the chest with a tranquilizer before he could do the deed. I’m sure that didn’t feel very good.”
“Thanks,” she said, shaking. “I didn’t know.”
He shrugged his shoulders, “It just happened about an hour ago. I’m sure he hasn’t had time to find you yet. Oh, and by the way, Wren was looking for Jason last night. I assumed she wasn’t aware of the situation and I told her I hadn’t seen him. Just thought you should know she was looking for him.”
“Ah… yeah, I need to talk to her about that. If you see her, please send her to me.”
“Will do. It takes a village.”
She was thankful he felt that way. In fact, everyone was protective of one another, it seemed. Especially the children. They were all they had, after all. That meant more now than ever before. As she walked back to the coffee shop/infirmary, Sloane was reminded how much had changed since they’d fled there. She was once left alone with her girls to survive against the elements. Then she met Kent and that changed their world for the better. It took a while, but she began to trust again. And now she had an entire town to care for and to protect. The funny thing was, they did the same for her. They trusted her. She wasn’t expecting that in return.
When she reached the infirmary, she heard a painful moaning. At first, she thought the moans were coming from the prisoner, but the voice sounded a little too familiar. Her boots clomped on the few stairs leading to the wooden porch. The groaning came in odd, pitiful sounds, like a dog mourning his lost bone. Her hand reached for the door.
“Knock it off,” yelled Kent to the old man. “I don’t have anything stronger than aspirin, if that’s what you’re after.”
The complaining suddenly stopped. Kent’s eyes darted to Sloane standing in the doorway. He shook his head in exasperation. “He’s been doing this all morning. I’m about to give him something to yowl about.”
She nearly chuckled. That wasn’t like Kent. She closed the door behind her and walked over to the cot where the old man lay. “What seems to be your problem?”
Both of his arms surrounded his bare barrel chest, sporting an angry purple bruise. He began to speak but Kent cut him off.
“I don’t doubt he’s in some pain. He’s certainly injured, but I’ve given him all I can. He needs to sit up or he’s going to develop pneumonia lying down flat like that.”
“Look,” she pointed her finger at the old man, “we don’t have time for games. We need you functional as fast as possible. You’re also the one that helps keep track of my daughters. Right now, I don’t even know where Wren is. I haven’t seen her all morning. If you can holler that loud, you can sit out on the porch and ask everyone who walks by where she went off to. At least that would be a useful use of your time between meds.”
He stared off into the distance. “All right. Can’t give an old man a break,” he muttered.
Sloan left him then. Turning her attention to Kent, she asked, “How’s the prisoner? Chuck said something about you saving his life?”
Kent spoke as if he held in a long-frustrated breath and was just getting a moment to let it out. “He’s in the next room. His leg is broken. He was out of Twinkies. He pissed himself. And he said something about being afraid for his family whether he returned or not. It seemed as if he made the decision then and there that his life held no value. I don’t know exactly who our enemy is, but he rules his own soldiers with an evil grip. That might be something we need to explore.”
“Have you tried to talk to him yet?”
“That sounds like a bad day.”
For some reason that made Kent laugh. She was relieved to hear it.
“I doubt he planned it that way. One minute you’re standing there with a box of Twinkies in a doorway, the next, the ground opens up beneath you to a void.”
Ignoring the implied guilt, she asked, “How long will it take for him to recover from an injury like that?”
“Well, he’s not walking anywhere anytime soon. Not even with crutches. At the minimum, four months. Might even take longer than six months. This is a major injury, Sloane.”
He looked at her as if she were naïve to the frailties of broken bones. She nearly came back out with a defensive remark, one that would have them not talking to one another for days. She decided to shut that deep down. She needed him. She loved him. And whatever he was going through right now, she would let him deal with it and come to her when he was ready.
Nodding her head, she took a breath in. “We’ll take one day at a time. At least it’ll keep him from trying to escape. That way we can get the information we need.”
He glared at her then. It wasn’t what she expected. His face turned a few shades of red, his lips a thin line. She could tell he was holding back some kind of rage. Tapping his fingers on the table, he said after a moment, “I know this is important. I know we need the information. But if there’s one thing you need to understand, it is that I will never allow anyone to torture him for information. I don’t know if that’s where you’re headed, but I need to make that clear.”
