The next morning Mike was up before her. There were bags under his eyes and once more he was nervous. She said, “Good morning,” and then waited for him to spill his secret. When he didn’t, she sniffed, “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s trading day and I have things to do. Help yourself to what I have in the pantry.”
Her larder was well laid up for the coming winter with salted venison, smoked fish, dried kale, pickled beets and carrots, green and yellow onions, spinach and some canned preserves. When it came to fresh fruit, she only had a few brown-spotted apples and pears. It wasn’t a great variety in her opinion, but she had become quite adept at spinning a meal from very little—when she wanted to, and just then she didn’t feel like it.
The snow she had predicted was in the air, though it wasn’t quite falling. The ghost-like flakes seemed only to swirl and eddy, and so far hadn’t coated the ground, which was a good thing because she wasn’t quite ready to close out her fall garden. Long ago the parking lots and streets within the gates had been torn up and the land divided among the people who were required to give a small chunk of their produce to the community as a form of tax. The rest they could keep and do with as they would. Jenn had a plot the size of an average backyard and on it she grew lettuce, beets, broccoli, and cauliflower.
The beets had to come up before the ground became too hard, while the rest had to be covered with old sheets just in case the snow got any worse. With snow lighting in her auburn hair, she laid the sheets out first before taking a five-gallon bucket down the row of beets and digging them out. These were a week too early and were runty in her eyes. Still she filled the five-gallon bucket twice over. It was nearly ten in the morning by the time she finished. She had time to either clean up properly or check her traps before joining the others on the trip to meet the traders.
Worried that Mike would still be in her apartment holding back his secret, she decided to check her traps. Although visibility was cut down, being out in a snow storm was not nearly as dangerous as being out in the fog. Zombies didn’t like snow and tended to congregate indoors or under trees, facing inward.
They didn’t like intense cold either and stayed under cover in abandoned houses or stores as well. The snow made them even more dangerous than usual. It was hard to hear them, almost impossible to see them and they wouldn’t hesitate to come rushing out to attack.
It wasn’t cold enough for them to be hiding just yet and Jenn felt it was safe enough to venture out alone. She moved slowly, her head up, her senses on highest alert. Her knees were completely healed and she was ready to sprint away at the first sign of trouble. She went to each of the five snares she had set the day before and found two untouched, two hanging limply as if the wind or some passing animal had knocked them loose, and one that was missing altogether.
Jenn stared at the little rut in the grass where the last had been. There were rabbit droppings nearby and the grass showed no sign that a larger animal had been down the little game trail. There was blood, however, just a few drops that were quickly being hidden as the snow began to cling. She had caught a rabbit but something had taken it.
She was nervous rather than angry. This was another bad sign, one of many. After setting a new snare she went back to the complex and found Aaron sleeping on his watch. He was supposed to be on guard duty. Normally she would have given him a severe talking to and then turned him into the Coven for an appropriate punishment, but he had saved her life.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. “You know what happens to anyone caught sleeping on duty!” The first infraction was sixty hours of “service.” For the older teens and young adults, this meant hard labor of some sort: re-digging the well, or fixing spears along the wall. For children it meant cleaning the Coven’s quarters or weeding gardens, and always it meant worse watch times. Three in the morning was a crappy time to be sitting on the wall, especially in winter.
“I didn’t mean it, I swear,” he said, looking around to see if anyone else had seen him. “You’re not going to turn me in, are you? Please don’t. My mom would kill me.”
“I won’t, this time. But it better not happen again. Keeping watch is important. You never know when a team of raiders might come…are you all right? You look a little pale.”
He touched the back of his hand to his forehead. “I think I’m getting sick. I haven’t been feeling well. Hey, don’t tell my mom that either, okay? She won’t let me go to see the traders if she thinks I’m sick.”
Jenn promised that she wouldn’t tell. She went back to her apartment and found it empty. This was a relief and a disappointment at the same time. She went to her pantry and saw he hadn’t eaten anything. He had left on an empty stomach and that was an egregious social faux pas, one that she didn’t have time to correct.
She had to gather her goods for trading. Since so many people grew the same things and caught the same sort of meat and fish, it was difficult to stand out. Jenn had perfected a carrot and beet infused vinegar recipe that went well drizzled on game meat. It was earthy and sweet. She packed each of the fourteen jars into her backpack with all the care she would take if she were packing fourteen jarred hearts.
By one o’clock she was ready to go and, picking up her crossbow, she walked through the falling snow to the front gate, where the entire community was congregated, including Mike, who stood with Stu and the entire Coven. Stu waved her over.
She was ten feet away when Lois Blanchard exclaimed loudly, “My goodness, Jenn Lockhart, you are a sight. With snow in your autumnal hair and dirt on your winter cheeks you are a true and natural beauty. Don’t you think so Mr. Gunter?”
Mike looked surprised that his name was spoken. “Hmm? What? Yes, you look great. Where’s all your stuff? I thought you had things to trade.”
Jenn opened her mouth but Donna Polston was too quick. “She’s been working on something secret, or so the birdies tell me.” How she knew about Jenn’s secret, Jenn didn’t know. It was this sort of thing that made everyone think Donna had actual powers.
“Yes, it’s an infused vinegar dressing,” Jenn admitted. She was more than a bit bewildered. How could they claim she looked beautiful when she had spent the morning grubbing in the dirt? And why was the entire Coven staring at her in exactly the same judging manner? Normally their judging looks ran to sour, but now they were all smiling at her. It was unsettling.
Stu saw how uncomfortable she was. “The advance team should get moving. Mike and I are going. We’ll take Jenn and One Shot.” Stu went on, giving the rest their marching orders. The second group would be in charge of moving the carts down to the docks with a third acting as guards. Not everyone would see the traders that first day. They couldn’t afford to leave the complex completely unguarded.
Jenn couldn’t believe she was being chosen for the advance team. Normally it was made up of the best fighters and as competent as she was, she wasn’t the best. She was even more shocked when Orlando Otis handed her an M4. He had a sneer spread across his dim-witted face.
“Does she even know how to use a gun?” he asked. He wasn’t asking Stu, he was asking the Coven.
Donna nudged Lois Blanchard who smiled, making an angry noise in her throat as she did so. “You know she does, now stop being a pain and do as you’re told.” The two were married, though neither much liked the other anymore. But they were stuck together. They had proclaimed themselves married and there was no taking that back, except in cases of physical abuse.
Orlando turned away, mumbling curses while his friend, One Shot Saul, a rough-cut shabby man of thirty, shook his head in disbelief. Jenn didn’t think they had a right to be mad at her since she hadn’t asked to be in the lead group. She kissed the gun for luck, basically claiming the gun for herself.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Stu said. Although he was younger than both One Shot and Orlando, he was steely-eyed and tough as leather. When he gave orders, he expected them to be followed. “I’ll take point. Jenn on my left, Mike on my right. On
e Shot, you got the rear.” Nothing more needed to be said and in silence, Stu moved out through the gate. Before going through Jenn checked the M4. She popped out the magazine and thumbed the rounds into her palm, counting them. She had nine in the magazine and one chambered.
She knew the rules: the guns were only to be used in a life and death emergency—and sometimes not even then. Three days before, Stu had not used his .357 to save any of the men in the water. He hadn’t even reached for it. The gun Jenn carried was mostly for show. The traders could not be trusted. It was pretty much common knowledge that they would turn from trader to raider in a second if they thought they could get away with it. They needed to see that the group would fight to protect themselves if they had to.
Which was why it was strange that Jenn was carrying a gun and not part of the last group as she normally was.
She dwelt on this all the way down to the docks. The first group’s job was to make sure the path was clear of zombies and, thankfully, it was. They made it down to Pelican Harbor without incident where Gerry Xydis waited with his small fleet moored at the docks.
There were twenty Islanders standing in the falling snow, their hoods casting shadows across their faces. Gerry leaned against a rail. He had the same odd look on his face that everyone else seemed to have.
His grin at Jenn was accompanied by a leer that made absolutely no sense. “So, how are the fortunes treating you?” The other Islanders grinned, clearly in on the secret.
Jenn didn’t answer. She was certain she was the butt of some elaborate joke and she wasn’t happy about it. She glared at him and then, one at a time, at the others. One Shot was the only one who didn’t smile back in that unsettling knowing way the others did. He wasn’t in on the secret or the joke or whatever it was, she concluded. This little thing calmed her. Perhaps the secret had nothing to do with her after all. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the dark thoughts that had been brooding around her.
“My fortunes are good, but I should warn you, Mister Gerry the signs have not been good at all. I know Stu doesn’t want to hear it, but they’ve been many and obvious.”
Gerry’s people glanced back and forth. Some crossed themselves. Gerry cast an eye at Stu, who shook his head slightly. “Well, crap,” Gerry mumbled, as a sour, impatient look crossed his features. He visibly mastered himself, forcing a smile onto his face and saying, “If you ask me, I think the signs are pointing to something great. You’ll see.”
For a moment Jenn thought about the light in the sky, wondering if it did indeed mean a journey. Journeys were exciting, they were an adventure. They promised a break from the tedious chore of gathering wood day after day, of hauling bucket after bucket of water just to take a bath, and sitting on guard duty, bored to tears. A journey actually sounded nice…if it weren’t for the other signs she had seen. There had been so many.
“No, something bad is going to happen. I can feel it in my bones. I didn’t say anything before and look what happened to Remy and Ken, so I’m saying something now.”
Stu rolled his eyes. “Look, nothing bad is going to happen. These signs you’ve been seeing, they’re actually good news. Tell her, Mike.”
Mike blinked, looking younger than his seventeen years. “I…I…” Just then there came a soft pop, pop, pop sound from across the bay. It was the sound of gunfire.
Chapter 10
Mike Gunter
The far-off sound of gunfire started sporadically like a kettle of popcorn just beginning to burst and then built steadily. Everyone stared, perhaps expecting the gunfire to swell into a crescendo before dying away to nothing, but it went on and on.
After a minute, the Islanders turned and looked at Jenn with the same suspicious, nervous, awed expressions. Mike, like the rest, stared at the girl, only his feelings were magnified. He had been around her for nearly four days and she had been seeing signs and reading them with unusual frequency and accuracy.
He crossed himself and a second later the twenty Islanders did the same. Some pulled crucifixes from beneath their shirts and kissed them.
“What is it?” someone asked Jenn.
“It’s the dead attacking the traders,” Stu snarled. “What else could it be?”
At his little outburst, they all looked from Jenn to Stu, then back again waiting for her reply. She stared across the water toward the sound of the gunfire, her face growing sad. “It’s trouble and it portends more trouble. But of what sort, I don’t know.”
A low whispering broke out among the Islanders. They were nervous and wanted more of an answer. “Is it the dead or raiders?” Gerry the Greek asked, a whiff of gin coating his words. The Islanders began to nod at the direct question.
“It’s the dead,” Stu assured. He gave a Jenn a strange look then, without asking, stepped from the dock to Gerry’s flagship, a twenty-three foot cutter that had the name Calypso painted in flaring letters across the back. It was the only boat in the small fleet with a bowsprit, allowing it to carry three sails and making it the fastest boat. “You can tell it’s the dead because there isn’t any answering fire.”
Instead of looking to Gerry the Greek for a reply, the Islanders gazed at Jenn waiting for her to say something. She shrugged. “The signs only point to trouble and to a journey. I don’t think crossing the bay counts as a journey, but I guess someone should go and see what’s happening.”
She took a step towards the Calypso but Gerry grabbed her arm. “Oh no. Don’t get on my boat. Ain’t no witch gonna step one foot on her. I don’t know much about reading signs but that’s bad luck. I’ll take Mike, Stu and One Shot with me. The rest of you stay here.”
He crossed himself before stepping on board. Mike crossed himself as well and was just about to board when Jeff Battaglia tapped him on the shoulder. The last time Mike had seen Jeff was after he had pulled him, shivering from the water four days before. It made him think of Remy, who wasn’t among the other Islanders. Because he’s dead, Mike thought. He thought it, but was afraid to ask.
“Hi, Jeff.”
Jeff pulled him aside, glanced once at Jenn, who was standing by herself and whispered. “I have a problem. Remember those little scratches I had the other day? The day that…you know.” Mike knew: the day Remy died. He nodded for Jeff to go on. “They’ve gotten worse. Do you think I can get your girlfriend to take a look at them?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Mike hissed. “She’s…she’s…I don’t know what, but sure. Ask her if you want to. I have to go.” What he was asking wasn’t unexpected. There wasn’t a doctor among either of the two groups and when medical advice was needed beyond simple and obvious remedies, people went to the Coven for answers.
Mike turned from Jeff, bent and shoved the sailboat away from the dock before leaping on board. Gerry was raising the main so Mike went to the bowsprit and hauled up the triangular staysail. One Shot and Stu did their best to keep out of the way, hunkering down near the tiny cabin.
While they worked to get the cutter underway in the light wind, no one spoke, they only listened to the gunfire which had become sporadic, coming in little bursts and then dying away for a time. It was only when they were halfway across the bay that One Shot asked. “How did she do that? It was like, ‘I saw bad signs’ and then bam we got shooting. Is she real? Really-real? I know the Coven likes to talk that crap up, but what she just did was crazy.”
“She got lucky,” Stu said. “There’s no truth behind signs or omens. There’s no science behind it.”
“What do you know about science?” Gerry asked. “You were in the fifth grade when all this started, which means you don’t know jack about science and neither does anyone else. Not even the Coven, no matter how old they are. Do you know why the wind blows or how a battery works? Or any of that?”
Stu stared Gerry in the eye for a few seconds before he shrugged. Gerry grunted, “That’s what I thought. At a certain point, science and magic are the same. That girl knew something bad was going to happen and it did.�
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“And she predicted the snow,” Mike said. Snow had been a rare thing in the bay area before the apocalypse. Now it occurred once or twice a year.
“I could have told you it was going to snow,” Stu shot back.
“But you didn’t,” Mike said. “She did.” Mike didn’t know what to make of Jenn one way or another. He was still trying to come to grips with the fact that it had already been decided they were supposed to be married and that he was supposed to go live with the Hill People. Match-making was a common occurrence, though usually it involved people a little older than he and Jenn.
Normally, teens were given leeway to date and figure things out for themselves. Not that Mike had been doing much dating. There weren’t a lot of girls his age on the island that was true, but Jenn? They had been almost brother and sister when she lived on the island. Although that had been nine years ago the familial feelings were still there. Yet, in the last few days his feeling had been getting mixed with something that might have been romance, but now that marriage was being forced down his throat, those feelings had straight-up vanished and there was only stark terror in his chest.
Marriage was such a huge and permanent step and he was still so young. He had planned on traveling, on sowing his wild oats, on…on doing something other than getting married.
“Hey Mike?” Gerry asked. “You awake in there?”
He had been staring blankly at the falling snow. “Yeah, I’m good. There’s just a lot going on.”
“Or not,” Gerry said. “I take it you didn’t pop the question yet? He knows, doesn’t he, Stu?” Stu nodded without saying anything. “Then what are you waiting for? You’ve had four days! She’s pretty and smart and she’s got that second sight thing going on. I’d say you were lucky. Think about it. Who else would you be looking at, Mush-Mouth?”
Generation Z Page 8
