by A. R. Shaw
That deep, dark tolerant place where she stored little slights suddenly burst open like a cannon. “You really think I would do that? Is that what you think of me? Especially after what we’ve been through? We are bigger than that. There is no honor in torture. That’s what I believe. In case you needed to know.” She turned to leave. She was pissed. How dare he think that of her? Especially after what so recently had occurred. As if she were Hyde himself. Her boot heels ate the wood floor quickly as she reached for the door. That’s when she felt his hand around her forearm, pulling her back.
“Sloane! Wait.”
She jerked away.
He grabbed her again, this time pulling her into his chest. “Sloane, please, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean you. I can just see how quickly this can all unravel if we sink to their level.”
“How dare you?” She shook her head at him. “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand how you can even think I’m capable of such things.”
He pulled her tightly to his chest so that she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. Reluctantly she melted against him. Even in her anger, he had that effect on her.
“I’m sorry. I had to bury them last night. I had to put them in the ground. The ones we killed yesterday. It didn’t seem to bother Chuck. But it bothers me. And I suspect these soldiers are as much victims of this leader in Astoria as we are. That’s not going to be easy to fight, Sloane. That means they’re desperate. That means they’ll do anything to survive.”
She understood now. And though those same thoughts crossed her mind too, she didn’t voice them. And that was the problem. She needed to communicate better with him. He was a constant support. They’d come to love and trust one another. She needed to remember that.
The hand she used to try to pry his grip away now lay softly on his forearm. She turned around to face him in his arms. “You have to tell me what you’re thinking, Kent. I cannot read your mind. If you have thoughts or reservations, I need to be the first person you confide in before you get to this point. I need to know. Otherwise this is what happens.”
He shook his head, “I wasn’t sure what I was thinking. I just keep seeing the dead men I helped put into a mass dirt grave. It takes me a while to process these things I guess.”
“It’s a different world we live in now. The things we see today, the decisions we’re forced to make, were thrust upon us. We didn’t choose this world, but we have to adjust and deal with it to survive.
He leaned his forehead down to meet hers. “I know, but at what costs? That’s what I’m beginning to question.”
“Whatever it takes to survive, short of losing ourselves in the process,” she said.
He nodded then.
She still saw the pain in his eyes, but she’d lightened his burden a little. That’s what they did for one another. They each took turns with enduring strength. Soon, her time would come.
14
Wren
She’d laugh. She knew this, someday she’d laugh when she thought back on this memory. However, at the moment, it wasn’t funny. It was as dark as the cold cell she once occupied in the not-too-distant past. She’d slipped into the supply cupboard and grabbed one of the backpacks loaded with gear on her way out. They kept these for emergency evacuations. It was her mother’s idea, of course. Always prepared. She wasn’t sure what her family would discover first, that she was missing or that a backpack had vanished. It didn’t matter now.
She’d been walking on highway 101 since then. It was the only road that led straight to Astoria and she was traveling it in the pitch dark now. The moonlight seemed to have chosen to stay behind with the coastline, unwilling to go on this journey with her. The wind had picked up too, or that’s what she told herself. The sounds she heard in the forest lining the winding road belonged to creatures she’d rather not meet in person. They shuffled the forest floor debris around enough to make her think they were at least as big as a cougar or a bear. Nah…she didn’t want to think about that now.
Calculating in her mind the last time she’d seen Jason, it was right before her mother called them into action. Right before the invaders came to them. He must’ve left right then, leading Wren to believe this plan had been set in place without her knowledge and even Jason had kept the secret from her. She knew he’d worked on something, but she had no idea it was this. In her opinion, it was her mother who was being reckless now. Reckless with Jason’s life. With that knowledge, she had to be at least eight hours behind him. She could only try. “If I stick to the road, eventually I’ll come across him. I’ll go as far as I can and turn around and go back. What can she do to me now? Ground me?” Then a tingle ran up her spine. Because she thought her mother might do just that. It was a bad idea to underestimate her mother, she conceded.
Clearing her mind, she put one foot in front of the other. She trudged on through the darkness, her boots landing on the asphalt with a repetitive beat. She’d camp soon. At the same time, she knew her family would figure out she was missing. She regretted that. She regretted the pain she might bring them. But she had to do what she had to do. In the process, she’d teach them that she wasn’t fragile any longer. They’d underestimated her abilities. She could be of use. This would prove to them she was capable again.
Hours later, her pace slowed. The wind had long ago carried enough moisture with it to soak her jacket and jeans. They clung to her then, pressing cold moisture against her skin like a cuddly wet eel. Must find shelter. She stopped, adjusted the heavy backpack on her shoulders, and looked both left and right, only finding equal darkness. Since it didn’t matter, she chose to go to the left and dropped down first into the ditch and then scurried up into the forest.
“Shelter,” she said to herself, having learned the importance long ago. In no time, she’d set up the one-man tent connected to her backpack. It was a simple device and would at least keep her dry through the night. She need only unpack the roll and slide in the poles. It was like sliding into a safety cocoon. Of course, she couldn’t help but remember Mae saying when they’d practiced how to set them up that instead of a safety cocoon, they seemed more like a bear burrito. “Crap, Mae,” she said out loud, then and now. “Do you have to do that?”
“Yes,” her sister had replied. That wasn’t a comforting thought and because of that she checked herself again for the rifle she kept slung over her shoulder and just for insurance the Glock, strapped to her side, that she also lifted from the cabinet on her way out of town. The extra rounds as well…she patted against the storage belt she wore around her thin waist, not trusting them inside the backpack.
“No fire tonight,” she whispered to herself not wanting to risk detection. Instead she shook out two handwarmers and placed them against her core for now. Keeping herself warm was the key to survival. While inside the zippered tent, Wren pulled out the rations kept inside each backpack. Though she contemplated fasting for the rest of the day, she knew that wasn’t a good idea for tonight. Instead, she opened the pack and found a freeze-dried packet of ready-made meals. She need only add water. Packets of water were included, though Wren had already placed a tarp outside to collect as much rainwater as possible for drinking the next day. For now, she’d use one of the packets to mix the meal with. “And it’s going to be a cold meal for me tonight,” she said to herself. Pulling out the included spork, she laid back after taking a bite of the mushy, cold, rehydrated mystery meal of the day, thinking perhaps Jason was performing the same ritual as she was now. He’d gone through her mother’s training just as she had. He knew what to do. She hoped he remembered. She hoped he was well. She prayed he’d stay that way and that his tent didn’t become a burrito snack for a bear.
Then, long after her meal was complete, Wren had fallen asleep in fits and starts. The wind had picked up, flapping at the tent’s fabric. Wren dreamt of folding her laundry, setting her loose socks to the side, then finding out in the end, she was missing the match to two of them. They were her favorites.
Ones she always grabbed first and could not understand how they’d become separated. She accused her sister Mae of pulling a prank and began tearing the room they shared apart in frustration. Wren woke with a start, sitting straight up and realizing her tent was being ravaged by the wind, causing the zipper to pull down a few inches and leaving the fabric to baffle wildly.
15
Kent
“Hey…hey, stop. You’re only going to hurt yourself,” he told the stranger, who kept jerking at the restraints as he came out of the effects of the tranquilizer. Trying to pull on his leg was a bad idea. Kent had splinted the leg as well as he could after setting the broken bone.
Lightly slapping the guy on the side of the face made him open his eyes. And as patients typically did, he fluttered his eyelids several times until he was able to keep them open. It was a battle he’d seen many times over. Kent let him go through the motions while he spoke encouraging words to him.
“You’re safe. Try not to move. Don’t pull on your leg.”
Finally, the guy was able to draw his eyesight around the room, his body and then finally Kent became the target of his inquiry.
“Why? Why’d you stop me?”
“There’s…there’s another way. That’s not the right option.”
“You don’t get to tell me what my options are.”
“Um…I think I do. You’re tied to a bed with a broken leg in enemy territory. I think I get to tell you your options.”
“So I’m a prisoner then?”
“At the moment, you’re an injured enemy combatant. I think prisoner would be a step up from that.”
“Nice. You’re the dickhead. I remember your voice now.”
“And you’re my patient. It’s always a good idea not to insult your cook or your doctor. One can spit in your food, the other can take you out.”
The guy nodded then. He even seemed somewhat amused after taking in and letting out a deep breath.
“You seem to be fixing me up at the moment. That’s counterintuitive. Why is that?”
“It could go the other way just as easily. Give me a reason.”
“Look…I can’t help you guys. I have nothing to offer you. They’re coming. They’ll kill me right along with you. I have no value now. You’ve got to understand the only way out of this is to run, hide, vanish yourselves, now.”
Kent sat back in the chair by his patient’s side. He seemed sincere. Part of him quaked with fear. The other part knew they’d never run. They were done running.
“Hey, there’s more than one way out of a quagmire. Tell me your name. What’s your expertise for them? What harm is there in that? We’re gonna die anyway, right?”
The man shook his head from side to side. In a monotone voice he said, “I’m Marvin. I’m a civil engineer. That information is not going to help either of us.”
“It tells me you’re useful. You have skills.”
“A lot of good that did me and my family. They’re either dead or will be soon.”
“Why do you say that? Is your leader as heartless as that?”
He laughed then but the movement cost him. “Man, that hurts.”
“Yeah, I bet it does. You’re not going far anytime soon.”
“The leader of Astoria…his name is Tale. Heartless doesn’t begin to describe him. It’s a rule. No unsponsored families. My wife…my kids…they’re as good as dead.”
The man set his lips in a thin line to keep in the emotions. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. When he could talk, he said, “I’ve seen it happen too many times.”
“Marvin, you don’t look like someone who’s intimidated easily. There’s got to be a way to deal with this guy. You may know things you don’t realize you know. We need you to cooperate with us. Can you do that? Because it sounds like, if there’s a shred of hope…this is it.”
The man’s eyes were glossy, but Kent could tell his gears were spinning inside his head. He took a deep breath in and let it out quickly.
“There’s one way…but you have to hit him hard and fast.”
16
Davis
No one shoots at me. That thought came to Davis as he stood in the middle of a barren highway between one point and the next. That was a plus. It was the benefit of the situation. On either end of here and there, someone was always shooting at him. He was on travel, as they used to call it, after all. On a sort of vacation. No emails, no work, just one foot painfully in front of the other. He chuckled and then took in a pathetic breath of moist air as he straightened and stared up at the gray sky.
At least the constant drizzle had stopped. Earlier, he’d been walking through a windstorm. There was forest debris now strewn all over the roadway, more so than before. No one cleaned up this place anymore. A moose had leisurely walked through his path earlier, barely noticing humans still occupied his space, and even he carefully picked his steps through the branch-littered highway.
That’s what stopped Davis for a respite. He only had a few more hours to go until he reached the bridge leading over Young’s Bay, along the Columbia River. Tale occupied most of Marine Drive. That’s where the majority of the port activity took place. Ships came in and out of Portland, Seattle and Vancouver. Supplies came in and left and Tale kept track of them all. Pirate ships…he reminded himself. That’s what Tale called them. He was the captain of the pirates, which made Davis a pirate.
He shook his head, disgusted. Then, with his hands on his hips, he forged ahead, only to be brought up short by the itchy, hot, searing pain in his left heel. Even stopping that little bit of time, he realized when he looked down, the swelling had increased.
“Damn,” he said and knelt to loosen the ties around his calf, but when he got a better look at the wounds, he realized they were becoming infected. Road debris clung to pale yellow ooze and flaming red tissue. He didn’t want to touch the abrasions with unclean hands. “Got to take care of this.”
He’d passed several buildings and deserted houses along the way but thought he’d make it back in time to get first aid. He was wrong. Clearly an infection had started in the cracks of the wounds. The swelling had only increased.
Looking around, he saw a building ahead that was probably once an old garage. Davis wanted to take his boots off then and there but thought better of it and limped his way up ahead to the white cinder block building. Someone had shattered the glass to the locked front door at some point since shards littered the parking lot. Without thinking about it, Davis took out his Glock and carefully approached the door, glass crunching under his boot heels.
He peered through the broken window of the entrance door. There were no signs of life, other than small animal tracks left in the dust- and litter-covered concrete floor. With his jacket-covered elbow, Davis punched through the rest of the glass shards of the window frame and then, reaching down through the opening, he unlocked the door from the inside. And had to shove the door inward against blocking debris enough to fit through.
With his training in battlefield first aid kicking in, Davis scanned the walls of the old garage for the expected red square with the white cross. Most garages were fitted with such devices. Accidents happened to the working man often. “Has to be here somewhere.”
Taking a few more steps amongst the litter, Davis was guarded of anything touching his wounds. With careful steps he eyed what looked like the door to the office and headed in that direction with slow, deliberate paces. From the smell of the place a raccoon family or two had used the garage as a communal restroom. He had no doubt he was taking more chances with his open wounds.
When he reached the doorway, Davis saw on the wall the first aid case he was looking for. Unfortunately, it looked as if it had succumbed to flood damage along with everything else. Still, he took the chance to move over an upended desk and chair to reach the case, hoping there was something useful inside. As he tried to figure out the best way to pull the case from the wall, he suddenly heard something shifting in the debris behind him. He
shifted quickly to pull his weapon, only to back into a wooden crate with the backs of his heels. Searing pain shot through him as he whipped around, only to see a something brown skitter from one pile of debris to the next. Whatever it was, it was bigger than a rat but smaller than a raccoon. “Son of a…” he said, bending over in pain. With a low growl, Davis stood again and after he put the Glock away, he ripped the first aid kit from the wall and went back the way he came. This time when the animal shuffled through debris, he was too pissed off to care.
Outside he limped to a nearby stone step and sat down. As he did, the buzzing in his head came to him again. “Dammit, I need to eat something.” He briefly contemplated the building again, with the little furry animal inside. “Nah,” he said to himself. “I can make it back in time.”
He sat the kit on his lap and looked at the lid. “Damn, this thing’s old.” Opening the rusted latch, he saw what he suspected earlier was true. He nearly threw the entire thing to the side rather than look through it but instead, he took a breath. Most of the supplies inside were worthless at first glance. He began throwing out all the useless bandages and gauze tape. They were soaked through with flood water long ago and dried out. So too, were the packets of fever reducers and anti-inflammatories. He knew he wouldn’t be that lucky. The pills inside had disintegrated long ago. A few plastic-enclosed bee sting swabs looked usable, as well as the poison ivy ointment. There was a liquid ice pack that would have been nice, but it too was unusable without a way to chill it. Then there were paper-covered scissors and tweezers. He could tell from the start they were useless since the rust outline on the packaging was a dead giveaway. Still, he ripped open the damaged packaging and, brushed them off and pocketed those items. You never knew when things like that would come in handy. There was one thing he’d hoped for in the kit but now he realized it might be too old to contain. Was it too much to ask for a few sealed tubes of antibiotic ointment? Then, he couldn’t contain himself. He flung what was left to the side. The metal case landed with a racket and Davis found himself doing something he rarely did. He lost his cool and yelled at the top of his lungs for a good ten seconds or more. Then he hung his head between his knees and cried. That’s when in his mind he saw those that died just a day before, again. Dead Jerry and the others. Then the unmistakable image of his sister, cast in blue, floated by too…followed by a young boy… “Fuck,” he said casting away the images. Standing, he told himself, “Get your shit together, man. That’s not going to happen,” and he wiped the tears and strings of snot from his face with a swipe of his sleeve. Then he turned his head slightly to the left when he heard the buzzing again, only this time he realized it wasn’t in his head.
