“Yes. We crossed paths with those disturbed ones you mentioned,” Button said. “That was the shooting you heard.”
“Then I’m glad you dealt with them. I’m too old to take up digging holes.” Carson looked up at the sky. “We surely won’t be making it to Refuge today.”
Button shook his head. “No, but we have a camp about thirty minutes away, if that is amendable to you.”
“I’ll say it is. I didn’t know you were privy to the Changed, Jack.”
“The Changed?” He looked at Button, who nodded. “I wasn’t until a short while ago. The crazies saw to that.”
Carson blinked a few times in thought. “Button, how will your comrades feel if we bring Jack along?”
“They will accept him, given the circumstances. I am sure of it.”
“I need to get back to the Freelands as soon as I can,” Jack said.
Button shook his head. “You won’t make it back today I should think. A few days of hard trekking are ahead. Come with us and stay in the security of numbers. Leave early tomorrow well rested.”
“Listen to the man, Jack,” Carson said. “You’ll eat better and sleep better in the security of a camp.”
“All right. I’ll lend a hand with the mules.”
They followed the trail north that eventually meandered to the northwest. Button led the way, wary of another attack by the crazies, but there was no evidence of them to be seen.
After a journey of just a few miles, Button stopped. “Follow, but at a distance. They’ll see I am not alone and be on their guard. Make no threatening moves or gestures.”
Jack and Carson followed about fifty feet behind. Not far down the trail, Button stopped again.
“Do you see me?” he said in a slightly raised voice.
“Yes,” came a reply from somewhere in the brush. “I also see the two behind you. Is that Carson?”
“Yes.”
“It is good to see he is well. Is the other with him?”
“No, but Carson knows him. The other and I crossed paths.”
“I see. Come, but slowly.”
Button looked back down the trail and waved the two Freelanders forward. Once they joined him, he led them farther down the trail. They entered a clearing where several of the Changed stood armed and watchful. Their appearance was much the same as Button’s. One who stood near a small fire appeared to be in charge. He gestured at Gwinnett.
The three of them approached and stopped at the fire. The man looked them over, especially Jack.
“He doesn’t look like the usual lost dog, Button.”
“This one bites, John. He’s a Ranger from the Freelands and he saved my life.”
“And he saved mine,” Jack said.
The man called John looked at Jack for several seconds, and then shifted his gaze to Button. “You’ll speak for him?”
Button nodded.
John looked to Carson. “You know this Ranger?”
“Since he was a child. He’s a good man, comes from a good family.”
John pointed at Jack. “Two speak for you. Understand, we must be cautious. Do you agree to keep the knowledge of our existence to yourself?”
Jack nodded. “I do.”
“What is your name, Conventional?”
“Jack Traipse.”
“Welcome, Jack Traipse. I am John Adams. Share our fire.”
As if someone flipped a switch, the demeanor of the men and women in the clearing changed. They slung their weapons and moved to help Carson with the pack mules, several of them echoing John’s welcome to Jack as they passed. He met Thomas Paine, Charles Cornwallis, Betty Zane, Hugh Williamson, Molly McCauley, Benedict Arnold, and many others. Each and every one named for someone who made their mark in the late Eighteenth Century.
A short while later, some of the Changed kindled another pair of fires and started to cook dinner.
John looked at Jack and smiled. “Don’t worry, we eat the same food as any human.” As Jack started to reply, John raised a hand. “The question arises with some frequency. It is understandable.”
Jack laughed softly. “I’m not sure I would have asked. I try to avoid being rude.”
John found Jack’s reply amusing. “No matter. Will you travel with us to Refuge tomorrow? It is our home.”
Jack shook his head and briefly explained why he needed to return to the Freelands.
“You honor your elders and your community. This is good. It brings honor upon you as well.”
The meal was ready soon after. Members of the party gathered around the fires in small groups to eat. Button and Carson joined John and Jack.
“My mules all right?” Carson asked as he sat down.
Jack nodded. “They’re great. Jim Pyle took them to Fort Towson so he could keep an eye on them. School’s starting. He paid for the freight himself. I guess he figures you’re good for it.”
Carson laughed. “The boy is dedicated. I assume you’re up here recovering Hardin’s remains? I heard about it before I headed out.”
“That’s right. Already done,” he said with a gesture toward his rucksack. “People love to talk, don’t they?”
Carson chuckled. “That they do, but that’s the oldest method of how stories get told and knowledge spreads.” He gestured at John. “Tell Jack the story of your people.”
John nodded as he set his cup aside. “I doubt our story is much different than other survivors, save for our mutation.” He smiled. “They say stable mutation should take more than one generation. It appears they were wrong,” he said with a pat on his own cheek.
“They frequently are,” Carson said with a laugh. “They said we were alone in the universe. They said the threat of nuclear war was gone when the Cold War ended. They said we were doomed when both of those assumptions were proved wrong in ninety-five. They say time heals all wounds.”
“True. There is a human tendency to either overestimate or underestimate situations and people. Our parents were people who survived exposure to radiation that should have proved quickly fatal. It was not fatal, at least not immediately. For most of them, it surely shortened their lives. I know of not a one that did not suffer. Even so, despite what they had to endure, they somehow found one another and banded together. They had virtually no one else. In those dark days after the war, many people ill from the effects of radiation were cast out, thrown in with the dead and tossed onto the piles of corpses. Understandable, I suppose, given the circumstances. Resources were few and needs many. Conventional wisdom said those so afflicted were doomed. Many survived. A surprisingly high number in fact, mangled, scarred, and altered, but still human, still people with minds and souls and hopes. I, those here you have met, and the rest of our generation, are the product of their toughness and determination to survive. Our children are the product of our continuance to persevere.”
“Your people found a haven. Refuge,” Jack said.
“That’s right. Our parents quickly learned that most Conventionals were hostile to their kind, and ours,” he said with a wave at his fellow Changed. “There are now many Conventionals aware of us, and I think it is inevitable our existence will become commonly known. We discuss this situation much, but no decision is imminent.”
“You’ve survived this long. I take it you have the numbers to defend yourselves?”
“There are many hundreds of us, so yes. Unless a large expedition from the Freelands were to attack us, we face no threat that might annihilate us. I know Carson’s opinion, but what is yours? What would your fellow Freelanders think of us?”
Jack shook his head. “I couldn’t begin to gauge the thoughts of everyone in the Freelands. My guess would be a lot of them might think there was a gag being played until they saw proof. Once that happened, I imagine most would accept it without much aversion, especially if they knew you were just peaceable folks looking for a decent and stable life.”
Button smiled. “How do you know that’s our desire?”
John nodded. �
�How do you know we are peaceful?”
Jack smiled in return. “Bill trades with you. He wouldn’t do that if you weren’t looking for goods. The need for goods means you desire items that make life easier or more comfortable. You trade or purchase them rather than simply take them. Button put his ass on the line for a Ranger in trouble when he didn’t need to. You welcomed me here and took me at my word that I won’t reveal your existence. Circumstances reversed, most Freelanders would do the same I think. You aren’t much, if any, different than us.”
“He presents a pretty good argument, doesn’t he?” Carson said.
John nodded. “Indeed. We have much to think about.”
“Jack, tell me if I’m out of line,” Carson said, “but I thought you were well west of here to take care of… you know, your father.”
“I was. He was. Southwest of Oldenville. Shortly after that I diverted myself you might say. Ended up in Old Norman, then here.”
Carson raised an eyebrow. “From Kings Town to near Oldenville, then Old Norman, then here? Sounds like an interesting tale is not being told.”
“I take that as a not so subtle hint you want a tale?”
Carson chuckled. “Only if you want to tell it.”
Button leaned forward. “I hope you do. It would be interesting to hear of it. Not many of us have ever ventured that far west.”
“It sounds like most of you have sense.”
Jack told his story, answering many questions asked because he omitted much of what occurred.
“…and then Button and I fended off a rising of crazies, also known as disturbed ones.”
Carson shook his head and smiled. “I’ll give you full marks for content, but your storytelling could use a little work. Embellish, don’t downplay. You do seem to find trouble, Jack.”
“He also seems to have a knack for dealing with it,” John said.
“Was it worth the risk?” Button asked.
“That remains to be seen. If TGG are running as many teams into the Blastlands as it looks like and those cases shed some light on it, then it probably was. That’s why I was headed east. I thought I might bypass Falla and get to Quinton. That didn’t work, so I was headed for Checotah.”
Bill shook his head. “Not a good idea right now. A large band of raiders near Madill got shot up and ran. Moving up the western edge of the Freelands they say. Both Checotah and Quinton have had some attacks by other raiders. You ought to go north or south around the lake if you must travel that way, but it would be safer and quicker to go back south to Tishomingo. I think half the raiders that ran from the Kings Town area went to Falla. Spending their ill-gotten gains while they have them, or so I hear. It’s as wooly and wild as it has ever been they say. Lots of raiders skirting the western edge of the Freelands. Like I said, I’d steer a wide course around there.”
Jack thought for a moment. He had never been to Falla. Situated very close to the western edge of the Freelands and known for its vices, immorality, and lawlessness, Jack was not looking forward to navigating its treacherous streets. He would lose a fair bit of time going back west and then south, but if Falla was busting at the seams with raiders as Carson said, the wise move would be to lose the time. “I’ll play it smart for once on this trip.”
Not long after dark, most of the people in the camp went to sleep, save for a pair of sentries. Jack offered to pull a shift, but the Changed wouldn’t hear of it. Jack took advantage of the availability of hot water and the security of a camp to shave, and then dragged the TROG out to see if he could contact anyone on the western edge of the Freelands. Other than a station in Falla speaking to someone out of Jack’s reception range, he had no luck. He packed up the TROG and went to bed.
Jack was up at dawn. It’s becoming a habit, he thought as he packed up his gear, trying to be quiet. Not long after, as the sky brightened, most in the camp arose as well and preparations for breakfast started.
After everyone ate, the Changed tore down the camp and readied themselves and Bill’s mules for the journey to Refuge.
When they were ready to depart, Jack was as well.
“Travel cautiously, Jack Traipse. I would hate to lose a friend so recently made. I hope we meet again,” Button said offering his hand.
They shook hands and Jack noticed Button’s skin was not nearly as rough as it appeared. “I do to.”
“Should you seek us out, travel northwest of here, west and south of what was once called Tulsa. What the old maps call Oilton. You’ll find the city of Refuge on the Cimarron.”
Bill offered his hand as well. “See you when I see you, Jack. Could you tell young Jim I’ll settle up when I get back?”
“Will do. Safe travels.”
Bill turned to walk away and stopped. He stepped to the side of Jack and placed his hand on Jack’s rucksack. “Rest in peace, Hardin Traipse,” he said solemnly. “I’ll come pay my respects next time I’m in Geneva, old friend.” He patted Jack on the arm. “Convey my condolences to Tess and Mary. Godspeed, Jack.” He stepped away and nodded, then turned to Button and smiled. He slapped him on the back. “Say, Button, you ever hear the one about….”
. . . . .
9
Backtracks and Trailing Ghosts
. . . . .
Jack followed the snaking trail Carson had been using the previous day until it turned to the southeast. He moved southwest through the woods until he came to a narrow, but well-used trail that ran east-west. He wanted to travel far enough west to clear the highway exchange where the previous day’s firefight took place. Eventually he made it back to the old highway he had been following, but he would be heading west this time. He stopped and removed his rucksack, taking a short break to rest and drink. A few minutes later, he heaved the heavy ruck onto his back once again and tightened down the straps, then went west.
As loaded down as I am, I imagine I look like a traveling salesman, he thought. He hoped to make Wetumka before dark. Jack encountered but one person traveling east, a dirty and disheveled man who uttered not a word, a hostile glare being his only interaction with the Ranger.
Many hours and many miles later, Jack stopped at a large campsite to the southeast of Wetumka. Based on the amount of garbage piled in a nearby ravine, it was one that had been in use for some time. Most of those already there were merchants and salvagers. Many were obviously wanderers and Jack wondered if any of them might be roamers associated with Abel Pilgrim, but he didn’t ask. Most in the camp were wary of the others, except for some that knew one another. Jack didn’t recognize any of them.
As darkness came on, some in the camp lit several fires, joining a handful of cooking fires already burning. Jack bedded down early, sleeping fitfully, awakening at small sounds until dawn. He was away shortly after full light.
He continued west for a few miles until the road crossed an old rail bed, another which ran through Oldenville. He followed the trail southwest past the old city and stopped at a salvager camp.
He was on his way by first light and before long, he was on familiar ground, following the reverse course of the first part of his journey. There were more travelers the farther he went south, many of them raiders in pairs and small groups headed northeast. They looked weary and beaten. Very few of them gave Jack more than a glance. They had other things on their minds. Pride kept them fighting long after the demise of Joe Crow, but now outnumbered and facing an energetic Ranger force, more and more raiders were coming to grips with the fact that they were done for. As he had overheard the night before at the camp, the fact that some Freelanders had formed vigilance committees and were actively hunting raiders added to their woes. For the surviving Cuervos and their allies, it was time to steer clear of trouble and find a place to lick their wounds. Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch, Jack thought.
He stopped for the night at the salvager camp near Old Ada. Clyde Dando and the brothers Cates were no longer there, so he camped alone. He used the TROG to attempt contact with anyone in the Freelands, bu
t as expected, he had no luck. He was on the road again at first light and followed the rail bed to Fitzhugh. He stopped at Floyt’s to refill his water containers and learned there was a dirt trail that went straight south to Mill Creek that was several miles shorter than following the road more traveled. He decided to take the shorter route and found it was a difficult hike with a rugged trail and erosion on the elevation changes. When Jack arrived at the gathering of merchants in Mill Creek, he learned it was indeed a faster trip, but required far more energy compared to the other route.
Jack was making good time, and knew he could make it to Tishomingo if he kept up the fast pace. He made it to Troy in slightly less than two hours. He stopped long enough to eat a late lunch and give his shoulders and feet a brief rest before he pushed south.
Despite the damage done to Tishomingo and Madill and the raiders demonstration of how vulnerable some Freelands settlements could be, there were still those who were optimistic, as evidenced by a conversation Jack overheard while he ate.
“The railroad, that’s the thing. A line from here to Madill. We’d be the first stopping place for all those folks up north coming down to sell in the Freelands,” said one man.
“I’ve been saying that for years,” said the man’s lunch companion. “Look what the rail does for all those in the Freelands. If we have the capitol to hire a rail gang, we just do it ourselves. The rail bed’s already there. Ties and tracks, that’s all we need.”
“Hell, if we could connect to Tishomingo as well, our economic position up here would be shiny I should think.”
“Sure it would. Even if we didn’t become part of the Freelands, they’d have Rangers up here in force. That’d draw settlers and new business.”
One of the men speaking saw Jack’s Ranger star. “What do you think? You Rangers already patrol up here, I mean you’re here now. It’d be in your best interest to keep trouble down so close to the Freelands, right?”
The Blastlands Saga Page 47
