The Vagabond Codes

by J D Stone

  Ben put away his binoculars and straightened his pack. “I say we go down,” he said, taking a swig from his canteen. “We can cut in and out of the woods when we need to.”

  After talking it over, the others agreed. I could get used to this, he thought.

  Their way down into the lower hills was easygoing, the momentum lightening their steps. After seven miles, they came to the edge of a narrow, winding ravine with magnificent shades of rock.

  Ben blinked in surprise. Each layer was made of a different color: pale grays, leather browns, smoky blacks, burnt oranges, and chalky whites. He liked geography just like his brother — one of the few things they have in common —, and he was surprised that he never knew about this place.

  Looking down, he grimaced. The floor of the ravine was filled with scrub brush and shale and hiding places for all of the venomous creatures that Ben hated most about living in Southern California.

  “What do you want to do?” the Stranger asked Cameron.

  “Well, the ravine runs north and south for a little bit, so we could follow along the bottom as far as we can.”

  “You think it’s a good idea to walk in a ravine?” Ben asked. The thought of walking through tight spaces within a snake’s biting range didn’t sit well with him. “Doesn’t that make us easy targets from above?”

  “It can,” Cameron replied. “But having a good feel for this area, I think we’ll be okay as long as we stay sharp.”

  Having agreed to use the ravine as a shortcut, they spent quite a while finding a place that would allow them to climb down. After trudging north along the top of gully for at least half a mile, they came upon a large dirt slide, caused by erosion from the recent heavy rains. The clumps of dirt were still moist, which meant they could climb down without ropes.

  Once they reached the bottom, Ben caught his breath then looked up. Several vultures circled ahead. He shook his head and blinked. There’s no such thing as bad luck.

  The passage through the ravine was slow. As Ben expected, they stumbled across more than one rattlesnake; but all of them were just seeking shade under nearby rocks, their unnerving rattle only an uncomplicated warning to stay away. Still, Ben wished he had a hiking stick as a defense.

  After an hour of trudging through the gully, Ben heard trickling water. Peering through the thick scrubby undergrowth, he made out a small stream that flashed as the pale sunlight danced and glimmered on the ripples.

  Cameron motioned them to halt and signaled that he would move forward to check out the stream. Ben crouched to one knee, and he watched his brother move deftly through the brush, hacking off a bough here and there with his machete.

  Cameron paused at the brush line and carefully surveyed the banks, up and down the stream, and the tops of the ravine. After a minute, he stepped toward the water bank, and scanning the landscape another time, he knelt and ran his fingers through the water. He stood up, wiped his hands on his pants, and signaled the group to form up and meet at a large, split boulder next to the stream.

  “It’s a seasonal stream from all the rain,” Cameron explained once they gathered. “It’ll dry up after a couple of weeks.”

  “Safe to drink, right?” Danna asked.

  “You can drink pretty much any water as long as you have purification tablets,” Cameron replied, tapping his pack. “Even so, we can boil it and it’ll be good for sure.”

  “I knew that,” Danna replied saucily. “I was wondering if we can drink it fresh without the tablets.”

  “I wouldn’t, but—”

  “So, we’re gonna stop?” Ben asked, cutting them off. He was hot and wanted nothing more than to splash cool water on his face.

  Cameron looked at the Stranger, who nodded in approval. “All right, then,” he said, setting his pack against the rock. “Couple of minutes.”

  “I’ll keep watch,” the Stranger said as he took off his ball cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. He picked up his rifle and climbed to the top of the sunbaked boulder.

  Ben’s boots squished softly as he stepped into the wet bank. He gazed into the stream and watched leaves and blades of grass drift along the rippling surface in a twirling waltz. He crouched and scooped cool water into his face.

  He heard a splash next to him as Danna jumped into the stream with a soft squeal of delight. She was barefoot and her pants were rolled up to her knees.

  “Cameron said I could,” she chirped. She kicked water at him. “Why don’t you come in? It’s not even ankle deep.”

  Ben paused for a moment then thought why not? Hopping on one leg, then the other, he unlaced his boots and pulled them off, and then his socks. After a quick roll of his pants, he stepped into the stream, feeling the pokes of sharp rocks under his bare feet. He looked up at Danna, who was tip-toeing around a protruding rock in the middle of the creek.

  “I don’t see any minnows in here,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Like Cameron said, it’s only a seasonal creek.”

  “Still, it’d be cool.” She stuck one leg out to feel around with her foot. “I haven’t seen any fish in a long time.”

  Ben remembered the last time he had seen a fish; a pet Betta in his English teacher’s classroom. Poseidon the Betta, he recalled. It died the day before the Surge.

  He splashed more water on his face and then sunk his filtered canteen into the water, watching the bubbles float out of the hole like a plastic squirt gun in a swimming pool.

  “You guys ready?” Cameron called out. He wiped his brow with his arm and smiled.

  “No!” they both answered.

  “That’s alright,” he replied. “I’m gonna check out what’s upstream and see if there’s a good spot to set up camp.”

  “Okay, cool,” Ben replied casually. He tried not to sound ecstatic. He looked up at the Stranger, who held his rifle tightly but also had a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

  The afternoon seemed to last forever. Ben hadn’t enjoyed himself this much since he’d beaten Aiden and Lena in target practice a few weeks ago.

  The three were warming themselves on the rocks and munching on beef jerky when Cameron appeared around the bend with his rifle slung over his shoulder. He’d been gone for over an hour, and Ben forgot he’d even left.

  “I found a good spot for the night,” he said, catching his breath. “A half-mile up the ravine, an incline leads up to a really cool pocket of forest. Never seen anything like it. It’s not an easy climb, so I think we’d be safe from the freaks.”

  The Stranger stood up and clapped his hands once. “Let’s do it then,” he said cheerfully. “Good work, Cam.”

  Ben and Danna glanced at each other, knowing each other’s thoughts. “Can’t we just set up camp around here?” Ben asked.

  Cameron scoffed. “Next to a water source? The local hotspot for all the predators of the night? Nah, it’s good to camp with a water source nearby, but never next to it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Ben grumbled in reply, lying flat on his back with his hands behind his head. “I — we — just don’t feel like moving another inch.” He stretched and yawned.

  The Stranger extended his hand and helped Danna to her feet.

  “Like your brother said, it’s only a half mile,” he said brightly. “Think of the delicious can o’ baked beans that awaits us tonight!”

  “Well, geez, let’s get moving!”

  The afternoon sun blazed overhead as they hiked upstream. Large boulders and patches of cactus and other thorny bushes slackened their pace. Ben could tell that Cameron wished he’d cooled off in the stream when they’d stopped before.

  Ben uneasily looked up at the sharp cliffs on both sides, awash in the hot light, and squinted. He couldn’t see over the edges; for all he knew, they could be in the middle of a camp of deadheads (if they even camped). The Stranger, meanwhile, quietly held the rear, which gave Ben an uncomfortable sense of security.

  After fifteen minutes, they came to a slope of jagged rock shelves
formed like steps rising thirty feet high. A small trickle of water laced down the side of the rocks and into the stream. Looking up, Ben could make out a row of dense treetops which seemed like coastal redwoods.

  “Here we are,” Cameron announced, holding his hand to his forehead to block the sun as he looked upwards.

  Danna frowned at the unstable slabs of bare-faced rock. “I was picturing something a little bit easier to climb.”

  “Well, feel free to pitch a tent down here, Danna,” Cameron replied crossly. With a hop he grabbed onto the lowest rock ledge and pulled himself above it; then, finding secure footing, he repeated the motion until he was over the ledge. “But,” he called down, catching his breath. “Since I’d worry about you all by yourself down here, I’ll tie some cord around this here tree and drop it down for you.”

  “Save it for the packs,” Danna replied. She dropped her rucksack, walked up to the ledge, and after giving it a quick look over, she pulled herself upwards. Within a minute she was up and over the top and gloating at Cameron.

  Ten minutes later, they pulled the last of their packs up with the cord and moved cautiously into the woods. The walk was rougher and steeper than it looked from below, and several times Ben had to grab on to a tree to steady himself. The air was getting thick, and he was surprised that such a dense wood grew in this arid climate.

  “Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Cameron said, looking up at the tall treetops. “When I saw this place, I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Is this the only way in and out?” the Stranger asked.

  “As far as I know,” Cameron replied. “The site is straight ahead: the ground levels off about twenty meters up and there’s a nook that I think would make a good campsite.”

  The crunch of their footsteps and the distant buzz of a cicada echoed across the forest. Ben watched as the sunlight filtered through the trees and danced on the fern fronds and moss-covered logs. His feet hurt and he had a headache, but he found this hidden corner of wilderness bearable, if only for its mysteriousness.

  After picking their way through the woods, they arrived at a rocky outcropping surrounded by tall trees and bound on three sides by immense fallen trees.

  Cameron made a sweeping wave with his hand.

  “Perfect,” the Stranger said. He unstrapped his pack and swung it to the ground. “We’re all clear?”

  “Safe and sound,” Cameron said clearly. “Won’t get better than this.”

  At Cameron’s words, both Ben and Danna dropped their bags and collapsed to the ground in relief.

  “What about water?” Danna asked, holding up her empty canteen. “I can’t imagine climbing back down to the stream.”

  “There’s a spring twenty feet that way,” Cameron replied, pointing south. “Go upstream for getting water and downstream for washing up. But remember: nobody goes anywhere unless we’re all on alert.”

  Ben scratched his head and gazed deep into the woods. The air was thick and stuffy; not a leaf moved. “Are you sure this place is clear?” he asked abruptly. “I’m not getting the creeps, but . . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked around.

  The Stranger, who had begun to set up the camp layout, shot Ben a sidelong glance. “Cameron?”

  “I was planning to do another patrol anyway before I set the traps,” Cameron said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He turned to Ben. “Why don’t you come with?”

  Ben looked at Danna, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground and pulling little twigs out of her hair. She was unusually quiet. He was about to ask her if she was okay, but he thought the better of it.

  “Sure,” he replied, after a short pause. He groaned as he got up stiffly: his feet were like dead weights. He grabbed his rifle and followed his brother, who was already ten steps ahead of him and who rarely waited for him for anything.

  Cameron decided to take a left from the bivouac and follow southwards along the crag to its end, then circle back around east toward the ravine and back to camp. All was still but for the massive trees that creaked in the soft breeze.

  Ben gazed wide-eyed at the forest, lost in wonder, and, for just a moment, in time. Patches of pale white flowers grew among the ferns, twinkling like tiny lamps set alight by the filtered rays of the sun. He craned his head and traced the thick strips of rough bark on the enormous tree trunks zigzagging up into the canopy far above them and meeting the cracks of blue sky. He inhaled through his nostrils and scented the sharp smell of redwood and wild mint.

  As they waded silently through the greenery, Ben glanced at his brother to see if he was experiencing the same thing, but he couldn’t tell. He could never tell. In fact, he hardly knew anything about his brother.

  They’d pressed on for ten minutes when Ben caught sight of a very small, dark structure some fifty feet to his right. He stopped dead in his tracks and signaled to Cameron.

  “What is it?” his brother whispered, coming up to him.

  “Look,” Ben said under his breath, pointing with his rifle.

  Cameron squinted toward the building. “Looks like an old cabin. Doubt anybody’s using it.”

  “We have to check it out,” Ben said warily. “Should we go get Danna and the Stranger?”

  “Nah,” Cameron said. “We’ll be fine.” He elbowed his brother gently. “Lead the way, bro.”

  Ben pursed his lips and nodded. Creeping closer, he saw that it was a small cabin made of mud-chinked logs with windows on each side and a front door that led out to a ramshackle porch. The roof was covered with dead leaves and branches; it drooped a little, but it seemed intact.

  His brother motioned him to circle the cabin and approach from the other side. He gave a thumbs-up; and crouching low he moved slowly from tree to tree, taking care not to step on anything that would snap.

  The cabin sat in a small, sunlit glade twenty feet from the tree line. Ben knelt behind a large fern and plotted his next move. Insects buzzed around his face, and he fought the urge to wave them away.

  Ben frowned — he’d have to make a run for the side of the cabin. Déjà vu.

  He braced himself, and keeping his rifle tucked into his shoulder, he sprinted out into the clearing. He reached the cabin and pressed against the logs, and inching slowly, he peered into the filthy windows.

  Beyond the dead flies and curled up wasps on the windowsill, he could make out a table and a chair and a small cot covered with blankets that were shredded to bits by vermin.

  He was suddenly startled by a loud hawking caw of a crow, and in a flash he felt like a thousand hiding eyes were watching his every move — waiting. A chill shivered down his spine, and he held his rifle close. Maybe this is a creepy forest after all, he thought.

  His back against the logs, Ben slid his way around the corner to the front porch and came upon Cameron crouched next to the door with his knife in his hand and an index finger to his lips.

  Ben nodded and stepped onto the half-rotten porch, and the floorboards protested with a heavy, damp groan. He cringed, but his brother motioned that it was okay.

  Cameron sneaked another look into the window then tried the door knob. It was unlocked. He twisted the handle and pushed, but he felt the resistance of buildup and dirt caking the warped door frame.

  “Cover me,” he whispered.

  Ben took a quick look around the clearing then stood to the left of his brother, his rifle held high.

  Cameron took a step back and then pushed forward quickly, driving his shoulder into the door. It burst open with a rain of clumpy crud and Ben followed his brother inside, finger on the trigger.

  In the center of the one-room cabin was an old wood-burning stove bearing a single dented kettle covered in cobwebs on top. Stacked on a plywood shelf next to the stove were a couple of rusted soup cans and a knocked over box of macaroni with a chewed-out hole in its side. Everything was covered with dust and animal droppings.

  And then Ben saw the dead man.

  The corpse sat in an old rocking chair with his rif
le laid across his lap. By the looks of him, he could’ve been dead for well over a year. Ben thought that dead people quickly decomposed into skeletons, but here before his very eyes was a mummy.

  His face was pale gray and shriveled like thin, sinewy strips of leather pulled tightly to the hollow eye sockets. His open mouth revealed an accordion of brown teeth, one of which had a silver filling. Long wisps of gray hair fell neatly across one side of his head, which leaned slightly onto the left shoulder. He wore tattered denim overalls and a black and red checked cotton shirt.

  Over a year ago, Ben might’ve freaked. But now, after seeing so many dead, he wasn’t afraid; he just couldn’t take his eyes off the corpse.

  “We don’t have to stay here,” Cameron said quietly. “C’mon.”

  “Hold up,” Ben said. He took a slight step forward. “There’s something in his hands.”

  Indeed, the man’s bony fingers clasped a faded sheet of paper, likely ripped from the blank pages of a book. Ben walked over, and gently lifting the dead man’s arm, he pulled the paper out and opened it up.

  In faded pencil mark: Passing through nature to eternity. Be back soon.

  Ben looked up at Cameron, who was watching him with an amused look on his face. He scowled at his brother, then gently raising the man’s arm again, he slid the paper back into his fingers.

  He straightened up. “Let’s go.”

  Stepping out onto the porch, and with one last look inside, Ben pulled the door shut as far as it could close.

  “You’re really gonna worry about closing the door?” Cameron asked, cocking an eyebrow at his brother.

  Ben shrugged nonchalantly. “He said he’d be back.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lothlorien

  THE TWO BROTHERS finished the patrol without incident and arrived at the camp just as the sun was sinking over the western range of hills.

  Danna was leaning against the back of a tree holding her rifle and the Stranger was whittling a stick.