by Samuel Fort
Chapter 9: Samuel Richards
Given that Sam was unable to climb down the wall Fiela had climbed up, the two left the roof the same way Rocket Man and his surviving colleague had. Within a few minutes both had returned to the main body of the expedition. The Peth that had surrounded the building were returning to their horses.
Ben jumped from his mount and walked forward to meet Fiela and the man with her. He saw the blood on Fiela’s abdomen. “Trouble?”
“No, Mutu,” she said, smiling. She always felt rejuvenated by a kill. “I had to take one of them out but the others accepted the food. I’m sorry I could not spare the one’s life.”
“I’m sure you had to do it,” he said, though he suspected Fiela wasn’t that sorry for the killing. “The important thing is that you’re okay.”
He held out his hand to the newcomer. “Ben Mitchell.”
“Sam Richards,” said the other man, shaking it enthusiastically. “I’m in your debt, young man.”
“Not that young, I’m afraid,” Ben responded.
Sam stared in amazement at the size of the force that had rescued him. There was more than a hundred heavily armed men on horseback on the road. Remembering his manners, he extended his hand to the girl who had rescued him.
“I’m Sam,” he said.
There was a sudden commotion. Sam froze.
“Whoa!” said Ben to the men behind him. “Lower your weapons.”
Fiela put her arms behind her back and took a small step backwards, a polite retreat. “My name is Fiela,” she said, pleasantly enough. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
As Sam slowly lowered his outstretched hand, Ben said, “Sorry about that. The guys get a little jumpy around strangers.”
“No shit,” said the other man under his breath. The stupid smile he had plastered to his face was intended to say, Everything’s cool, everything’s cool, no problems here.
“Sorry, Sam,” added Fiela. “No man may touch me except the king.”
“The king?”
“It’s a euphemism,” said Ben, looking at Fiela and shaking his head almost imperceptibly. “She means husband.”
“Well, she must think very highly of him, and that’s you, I assume?”
“Right.” Ben looked at the white coating of flour on Sam’s coat. “Sorry about your loss.”
Sam said, “Yeah, that’s a shame. It was full of bugs, but there was good stuff in there, too. The only reason it lasted this long is because it was jammed into a crevice below a loading dock. It’s a miracle I even saw it.”
“We’ll make you whole, don’t worry. Where do you live?”
Sam began to answer, then hesitated. He glanced at Ben, and the men behind him, and wondered. They might have saved his life but they were a healthy lot. Well-fed. That food had to come from somewhere. Possibly from others, like him. Maybe he was being tricked. Maybe they had only saved him to find out where he lived in hopes of taking any food he might have. Men behind the store might have killed the gangbangers and collected the MREs that had supposedly given them.
“We’re not going to steal your supplies,” said Ben.
Sam slumped. “There aren’t any to take, not right now. But I’ve got family to protect.”
Fiela said, “What kind of family? Like a wife?”
“A wife and a kid.”
“How old is your child?” she asked, intrigued.
“Grandchild. Her parents didn’t make it past...well, anyway, she’s ten years old now, I think.”
Fiela took a step forward. “She is orphaned?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so,” replied the man with sad, beaten eyes. “Cage’s disease got both her parents. My son was her father. A good man, who deserved better than what happened to him.”
“And the mother?”
Sam cleared his throat. “She took her own life when it got really bad...” his voice trailed off, and he turned away, clearly not wanting to discuss it.
The girl-queen put a hand tenderly on the man’s shoulder. “I am an orphan also, Sam. I would very much like to meet your family. The men behind me are good and noble, I swear.” As if the matter was decided, she raised her voice and said over her shoulder, “Lord Disparthian!”
“Yes, Annasa?”
“Sam will take us to his home to meet his family. You will command your men to form a perimeter but not to trespass on his property.”
Disparthian looked at Ben, who nodded. “As you say, Annasa.”
“We have food,” added Fiela. Her eyes lit up. “Hey, you know what? I even have a chocolate bar! Your granddaughter will like that, right?”
The tired and starving man lowered his chin and studied the ground.
“It’s your call, Sam,” said Ben.
After a moment the man looked up and nodded. “Okay, then. My home is a few miles from here.”
Ben was incredulous. “You were going to walk back to your house through two feet of snow with a fifty-pound bag of flour?”
“Well,” said Sam, “the bag was getting lighter by the second.”
Ben laughed.
“Where were you headed before I became a nuisance?” Sam asked.
“A town called Cash, to the east. Heard of it?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. My place is on the way. I can take you there.”
“We’d be grateful,” said Fiela.
Sam nodded again, grimaced, and looked at the blood on Fiela’s uniform. He prayed he was making the right decision.
It was early evening when the expedition reached Sam’s place, which was halfway between Denver and Cash, tucked away in small thicket of trees at the foot of ridge. It was two miles from any paved road, though that didn’t matter with the snow as deep as it was. Concertina and barbed wire formed a triple perimeter around the property. Empty cans dangled in clusters from the wire, serving as a primitive alarm.
The home was a small farmhouse, perhaps a century old but looking even older. The roof sagged, the paint peeled, and the shutters hung at awkward angles. Ben deduced that even before the collapse, Sam and his family were far from wealthy.
Everyone dismounted and Ben and Fiela followed Sam through a maze of wire to his home while Disparthian and the Peth sat up camp outside the perimeter.
The house was dark. Sam pulled a small penlight with a red lens from his coat and flicked it on and off a number of times. There was a flicker of light inside the house that steadied and grew in intensity. A kerosene lamp. The door opened and a woman stepped out with a shotgun, eyeing Ben and Fiela.
“Don’t go shooting anybody,” cautioned Sam. “They ain’t got a gun to my back.”
The woman, a mere shadow in the failing light, said in a nervous voice, “There are people outside the wire. Everywhere.”
“They’re the ones who brought me here.” Reaching the woman, he motioned for her to lower the shotgun before kissing her cheek. He motioned back toward Ben and Fiela. “These two and their group saved my life today. I got trapped by thugs on a roof, but I’m okay.”
Fiela, her sunglasses removed, could see the woman clearly. In her early fifties, she had probably once been attractive. Now she was a too thin and her skin was stretched too tautly over her face. There were more wrinkles than there should have been. She wore a long denim skirt, a flannel shirt, and boots. Her gray hair was an unkempt disaster.
“Lord!” yelled the woman suddenly, looking toward the girl queen.
“What?” asked her husband, turning. Then, “God! Fiela! Your eyes! Lord have mercy!”
Ben didn’t need to look to know what they were seeing. He waved his hand in the air as if to clear it, saying, “It’s a medical condition, Sam. Her eyes glow because of a missing pigment. She’s been that way since birth. It’s just the ambient light reflecting back out because it can’t be absorbed.”
“Oh,” said the other man. Embarrassed at his and his wife’s reaction, he said, “I’m sorry, Fiela. I hope you weren't offended. It just caught us by surprise.�
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“It’s okay,” said the girl, moving with Ben to the doorway. “I’m used to it.” She looked at Eliza. “You’re not scared, right?”
Eliza did look scared, but she shook her head. “No, honey. It’s okay.”
Ben put his arm around Fiela and began to move forward, but the girl didn’t move. She inspected the doorway, as if looking for traps.
“It’s safe,” said Sam, seeing this. “No traps. Not yet. I’ve been meaning to get to that.”
“I can give you some tips,” Fiela said. “I’m good with traps. May I come in?”
“Of course,” said Sam. “C’mon, it’s freezing out there.”
She smiled and put her arm around Ben and the two went inside.
Inside the house, Sam introduced his wife as Eliza and his granddaughter as Celeste. The granddaughter had long black hair braided in back. She was cute but her eyes were missing the life that they should have had at ten years of age. She wore an over-sized pair of jeans, a wool sweater, and thick socks with badly patched heels.
Fiela moved to the girl at once and said, “Hi Celeste, I’m Fiela.” She held out her hand and the girl, after glancing at her grandmother, took it.
“Hi,” Celeste said meekly, trying to smile.
Odd, thought Ben, how Fiela bypassed the grandmother and went straight to the girl. The girl’s grandma didn’t appear to notice. She was still watching Ben with wary eyes. He was the threat, her countenance suggested.
Lady, if you only knew what Fiela is capable of, he mused.
Disparthian appeared in the doorway with a leather satchel draped over one shoulder. “Anax, here are the provisions you requested.”
“What did you scrape together?”
The commander looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. They are mostly military rations. We had not expected-”
“Anything,” said Eliza, instantly forgetting Ben and stepping toward the other man. “Anything is good.”
She motioned toward a nearby table and Disparthian obediently went to it and began to unload the satchel’s contents. Soon the table was littered with an assortment of military rations sealed in plastic and foil packages. There were more than a few packages of “Ham Loaf,” “Spaghetti,” and “Beef Noodles,” four small bottles of hot sauce, dehydrated coffee, crackers, and peanut butter.
Despite Eliza’s obvious joy, the Peth commander was embarrassed at the sterility of the offering. After a moment of deliberation, he reached into the satchel and withdrew a cardboard shoebox. A pink lace held the top on. The room was suddenly filled with the smell of perfume.
“This,” he said, awkwardly, placing the box on the table, “is better. Biscuits.”
“Biscuits?” asked Sam, confused.
“He means cookies,” said Ben. “Diz grew up in Europe and talks funny.”
The Peth nodded. “Yes, as you say, Anax. Cookies.”
“Unless I’m wrong,” Ben said, motioning toward the box, “those were baked by the finest chef in the land.” He looked at Disparthian, eyebrows raised. “Annie?”
One side of the other man’s mouth twitched upward. It was almost a smile. “Yes, Anax.”
Annie Tyler was Ardoon and one of the chefs brought to Steepleguard before the collapse, when Lilian had made her grab for power. It was scandalous for a Lord of the Peth to be accepting gifts of food from an Ardoon, particularly gifts with perfumed ribbons, and only Ben and Fiela were aware of the couple’s increasingly serious relationship. Lilian would not approve. The masters of humanity were not to cavort with slaves.
“They are just butter, flour and sugar,” said Disparthian.
Eliza moved forward and bear-hugged him. “God bless you,” she said through her tears. “God bless you!”
For perhaps only the second time in his life, Disparthian was caught off guard, and he looked beseechingly at Ben with his hands pinned to his side, unsure what to do.
Sam saw the look and came to the man’s rescue. “Let him go, darlin’. He’s spoken for, and you are, too!”
