TRIBES

by Mia Frances

  Alex turned to the body, wishing it could speak, warning her what awaited down there. She was sure he hadn't died of a disease. Sprawled out the way he was, it appeared that death had come swiftly and by violent means. He'd been killed, then left to rot like discarded garbage.

  Too frightened to stand, Alex low crawled through the grass on her elbows, dragging her body along, like a slithering snake cautiously approaching an unfamiliar rock.

  Body bruised, hands skinned and bleeding, she moved slowly forward. Where the scraggly field ended and the parking lot began, she struggled to her knees. With no cover, low crawling across the gravel would be suicide, a slow moving target being easy to hit. Her best bet was to make a dash for it and pray that no one saw her. Though she knew what had to be done, she hesitated, kneeling motionless as withered stalks bent and swayed around her. Alex realized that the longer she delayed, the more fearful she'd become, until it paralyzed her into inaction.

  Jumping to her feet, she raced toward the back wall of the structure. To the corner rather than the windows or door, figuring that would keep her out of the line of fire. Gulping down air, she finally reached the building, her legs so wobbly she worried they'd give out under her. Trying to catch her breath, she pressed her ear to the rough wood surface, but couldn't detect any noise coming from the other side.

  Deciding she was safe for the time being, Alex felt her way along the wall until she came to the window. It was the moment of truth. Her fingernails dug into the wood frame as she held her breath and lifted her head to see in. The interior was dark, the bit of light that came through the dirty window did little to illuminate the inside. Boxes littered the floor, their cardboard torn, contents strewn about. They were large cans, but it was so dim she couldn't tell if they were cleanser or food. Alex moved slowly to the broken window, the scene repeating itself. This time, however, she was fairly certain that the boxes scattered on the floor were cereal. Just 10 of them could keep her and the kids alive until they reached the camp. Nothing stirred inside, the shadows silent. She turned her attention to the door some 20 feet away. It was ajar, left part way open, like a trap that let a hungry animal enter, only to snap shut, killing it. She had to be wary, a rash decision could cost her her life. Alex didn't want to be greedy, all she wanted was the cereal. She looked back at the window, wondering if it was possible to get in that way. Barely able to see over the sill, she'd have to somehow scramble up, then squirm through the opening, trying to avoid being impaled on the jagged pieces of glass sticking out of the frame. Wide open she might have managed it, but these were ventilation windows, only two feet wide by eighteen or so inches tall. With glass protruding all around, there was barely room to get her head through, let alone her shoulders. One false move and she'd be cut to ribbons by the shards.

  Alex studied the door. It was obviously the only way in. Though she didn't like the looks of it, she hadn't come this far to give up now. Her back to the wall, she moved slowly toward it, one hesitant step at a time. When she reached the frame, she froze. She'd seen enough cop shows on television to know that she shouldn't go any further. She had to push it open from the side, while still maintaining her cover. She breathed in deeply and extended her hand, feeling around until her fingers touched wood. She gave the door a gentle shove then snapped her arm back, bracing her body against the wall, preparing for the worst. The sound of creaking hinges echoed off the walls, but that was it, no footsteps, no gunshots.

  It took her two minutes to work up the courage to look in. Shaking, she finally brought her eyes to the edge of the frame and peered into what appeared to be another storage room. Coats and vests hung from hooks on the wall, as did several backpacks. Piled on the floor below them were several boxes, their top flaps open. She quickly ducked her head back, trying to decide whether or not it was safe to go in. There was still no sound coming from inside. She sneaked another look, this time noticing the white lettering on the packs: North River Tours. She remembered the sign in the front window. They had licensed guides here. For a fee, they'd take tourists into the woods, providing them with all the necessities of a wilderness adventure: the gear, the food, and someone who knew enough about the mountains to bring them back out safely. Considering the current situation, she didn't think they'd miss a pack or two.

  Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, Alex stepped through the doorway, keeping as close to the boxes as possible. She paused, half expecting someone to come charging through the door at the opposite end of the room, but, once again, her worst fears weren't realized. She breathed a sigh of relief, only to find herself gagging. A ghastly stench assaulted her nostrils. It was worse then anything she'd ever smelt before, a noxious gas that turned her stomach and made her head spin. The place reeked of it.

  Not wasting any time, she quickly grabbed two packs down from the wall. They were heavy, obviously containing something, but she couldn't take the time to see what. She hurried back to the door, filling her lungs with fresh air as she laid the packs carefully on the ground. She entered again, this time going directly to the open boxes. One was filled to bursting with blister packs of fishhooks, another small packets of silver plastic sheeting called space blankets. Most of it was fishing equipment: line, sinkers, bobbers, lures, artificial bait. There were several collapsible telescopic fishing rods and reels. Some were small enough to fit in a large pocket or purse, others were a little larger and came in their own canvas carrying cases. Alex dumped it all into one box, dropping smaller items down her shirt for safekeeping, but she still had no food.

  Ahead was an open door and beyond it a wall. A hallway she surmised. Perhaps she should be satisfied with what she'd found so far. It might be pushing her luck to go further. Besides, the smell was getting to her, her stomach queasy, her head throbbing.

  Alex turned to leave, then stopped. She was so close. It seemed foolish to turn back now. It couldn't hurt to just look through the door. The place was deathly still; it seemed unlikely that anyone would be skulking around. She'd have heard the warning sound of creaking floorboards or the ominous thumping of footsteps. Alex decided to chance it.

  The hallway was darker then the room she was in. To her left were several doorways. To her right was an archway leading into the store. She caught a glimpse of what lay through the passage, it was enough to let her know that looters had already ransacked the place, overturning shelves and scattering merchandise. Broken glass bottles and cans of soda littered the floor, surrounded by sticky puddles of caramel-colored goo. The smell was worse here, the stench so overpowering Alex feared she'd vomit. The closest doorway was only 10 feet away. That had to be the room with the cereal. She leaned back against the wall, dizzy, her mouth filling with saliva. She shut her eyes; the room was spinning.

  There was a loud crash as a gust of wind blew into the room, sending the partially open door slamming into the wall, shattering what remained of the small squares of glass. Startled, too terrified to move, Alex pressed herself against the wall. She listened hard for even the slightest sound, but except for the wind and her own strangled breathing there was nothing. No angry voices, no running footsteps, no gunfire. The door banged again, but still nothing. Relieved, she let go of the wall, though her dizziness hadn't abated. Taking a tentative step forward, she grabbed the frame to steady herself, and peeked around it, Convinced she was alone here, Alex cupped her hand over her mouth and nose and stepped into the room.

  As quickly as she could, she gathered up box after box of cereal until she had scooped up a stack 12 high. Worried that she still might be confronted by the owner or a stranger driven by desperation and hunger to the door, she brought everything outside and, opening the packs, began to stuff the cereal and the fishing gear inside with the mess kits, canteens, matches, compasses, and other assorted camping paraphernalia they contained. Once finished, she lifted the packs. Though cumbersome, they weren't all that heavy. She could probably manage one or two more packs and even a few jackets. A beguiling voice inside her head tol
d her that an opportunity like this might not present itself again and that she'd do well to avail herself of it while she could. She had seven hungry mouths to feed; a few minutes more or less, what could it matter? Alex had never stolen anything before in her life and was uncomfortable doing it even now. But she'd do what she had to, to keep them alive. The Catholic conscience that had governed much of her life, was momentarily pushed aside and forgotten.

  Alex gathered up an armload of jackets and vests and heaved them out the door. They'd need warm clothing as the temperatures plummeted. Outerwear would be a scarce commodity once the heavy snows and subzero temperatures of winter arrived. They could mean the difference between living and dying.

  Grabbing two more packs, she quickly walked into the hall, hoping the meager contents of her stomach would stay down until she'd finished her work here.

  The odor was nearly unbearable and growing worse as she headed toward the open archway leading to the store area. The smell was probably the result of rotting fruits and vegetables, soured milk, and rotten eggs, she thought. Yet there was something else, like the putrid smell of a dead animal. She tossed it off as being rancid meat and continued on.

  Alex was so focused on trying to avoid the sticky spots on the floor, she failed to notice what else was there. When she did, she was stunned. Food! Lots of it! The looters hadn't taken it all. Alex picked up several cans of Spam®, along with tuna, chicken, hash, deviled ham, Vienna sausages, beef stew, ravioli, and chili. Boxes of mac and cheese, rice, pasta, and ramen noodles. A dozen bags of beef and turkey jerky. Packets of flavored rice and noodle dishes. Anything nourishing! She even dug through the goo to retrieve a couple of dented cans that she thought might be soup. With one pack filled to overflowing, Alex suddenly rushed to a shattered window, hoping to reach it before vomiting all over herself. After a minute or two of breathing cold, fresh air, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach subsided. Feeling better, she grabbed up the empty pack and, spying trail meals hanging from a display, quickly dumped them in. She still had room to spare. Passing an overturned shelf of soap, she picked up several bars and threw them in too. Discovering large bags of popping corn perched atop what had once been the vegetable bins, Alex filled the pack to the brim, strapped the flap down, and then stuffed the side pouches with more. Small and light to carry, one bag could provide enough food for a meal for all of them. It wasn't very nutritious, but at least it would be filling, quiet their hunger for a while. All she needed was something to pop it in. Alex noticed some rectangular-shaped, long-handled utensils hanging on a nearby wall. On closer inspection, she realized they were old-fashioned, campfire popcorn poppers. She grabbed two of them, figuring they could probably be used for other things too. Hanging next to them were a dozen, aluminum foil pans of Jiffy Pop®. She took them too. Alex pushed and shoved, straining the seams, trying to fit as much as she could into the packs. What she couldn't put inside, she strapped to the outside. That was it. She couldn't carry anymore. The heaviest pack, holding most of the canned goods, she bore on her back, the other was held aloft by one strap over her shoulder. Just as she was getting ready to leave, she noticed a smashed, glass display case beneath the register. It contained an assortment of knives and axes. Certain she could make good use of them, Alex reached in and selected four large hatchets, sticking them in her belt. Then picked out several hunting knives, jamming them into the pockets of her jeans. Alex also scooped up four water-powered flashlights. She'd seen them advertised on TV, but had no idea how they worked. She stuffed them in a canvas shopping bag with a mountain scene on the front and Adirondack Mts. scrawled across it that she found dangling from a hook on the wall. Nearly empty boxes of candy and gum sat on the shelf behind the display case. Thinking that some sweets might cheer the children, she rounded the side of the case to grab what was left, then abruptly stopped.

  Her eyes grew wide as she stared at the grisly sight that greeted her. There on the floor were the remains of two bodies: a man and a woman. Half the man's head was missing, only one eye and a portion of his cheek remained intact. The woman was naked and sprawled face down beside him, a gaping wound in her back. They lay together in a large pool of dried blood, pieces of torn flesh and gore splattered around them. The foul smell of death and the gruesome sight of rotting corpses assaulted her senses. Sobbing, she backed away, head shaking frantically, refusing to believe her own eyes. Alex turned away, then bent over as wave after wave of nausea swept over her. Gasping and puking, she ran stumbling from the room. Nearly hysterical, she made her way out of the building, pausing only long enough to retrieve the two remaining packs and pile of jackets.

  Running blindly, her arms and back aching under the weight of her load, she crossed the parking lot, then the field. Every few seconds she looked back over her shoulder, as if expecting the bodies to give chase. Alex didn't stop until she came to the tree line. She paused only long enough to catch her breath then hurried on. She wanted to get as far away from the carnage as possible. She'd never seen death before, not up close and personal. Not without the cloying scent of flower sprays, polished wooden caskets, and funeral parlors filled with somber mourners. With rouged cheeks and pink tinted lips, the dead appeared to be peacefully sleeping, but that was just a comforting illusion. The gruesome scene at the store was real. Death was bloated, greenish-purple, and smelled of rot. She shuddered, imagining the horrors that awaited her and the children: a world filled with survivors who plundered and killed with impunity.

  Exhausted, her face ashen, Alex entered the safety of the clearing. She dropped the packs, bag, and clothing to the ground, emptying her shirt and pockets without saying a word. As the children hurried toward her, curious to see what she'd brought, Alex turned and walked away. She didn't want them to see the tears pouring from her eyes. She wanted them to feel safe, if only for a little while. The world with its victims and predators, the relentless struggle for survival, could be forgotten for the moment. There'd be time enough to despair of its cruelties and hardships tomorrow.

  Chapter 8

  Michele and Derek held tightly to Alex's hand as they walked the trail in silence, their little eyes warily watching in case there were bad people hiding in the woods, waiting to attack them. She'd tried to shield them from the horror, keeping them well away from the houses that dotted the road on the far outskirts of Indian Lake, but when they came nearer the village, they'd come face to face with it. With bodies of water in their way and no means of crossing them, they'd had to walk the road, ducking for cover every time they heard a strange noise. At the boat livery, just outside of town, they'd seen the first evidence of the violence and butchery. The little snack bar there had been torn apart, bodies everywhere. Some lay decomposing on the grass. Others were slumped over in the seats of their cars; the doors and windows riddled with gunshot. They'd come for food, but had lost their lives instead. Some of the corpses were children still held in their mother's arms. Everyone was fair game now. Whatever value people had once placed on human life had faded. In their insane scramble to survive, a can of soup was now worth more than a child's life.

  The closer they got to the main street of the village, the worse the scene became, the stench of death hanging like a smothering cloud. They'd only caught quick glimpses of the carnage as they weaved through backyards, keeping as close to the shelter of the woods as they could, but what they'd seen was more than enough to turn their stomachs. It looked like a massacre had taken place. Store fronts had been destroyed by looters, glass and wood strewn in the streets. Some of the buildings had been gutted by fire, their blackened beams still standing as a warning to those who might venture here. Charred remains of burned out cars blocked side streets and all around lay the rotting remains of what had once been human beings. It had been a wholesale slaughter, few if any had been spared. From the look of things, the various degrees of decomposition of the bodies, it had taken place over a period of time. Some were black and bloated, dead at least a week or more; others, their feature
s still discernable, had only recently died. With the sound of distant gunfire sporadically shattering the silence, it was apparent that the killing had yet to stop. Knowing they weren't alone offered little comfort. Every stranger was an enemy now, someone to be feared. Like bands of apes in the wild, anyone not a member of their group was suspect, a threat to be driven away or killed.

  The sporting goods store, or rather what was left of it, had been ransacked and burned, half of the merchandise thrown out onto the sidewalk. Though they might find something useful rummaging through the refuse, it wasn't worth the risk.

  Thankfully, the same was not the case for the little library that stood off by itself at the far end of the village. Nearly beside themselves with worry, the children had begged her not to go, fearing she'd be killed like the others. No amount of reassurance could console them. With the kids safely sequestered at the edge of the woods, tearfully watching, Alex broke into the building through a busted cellar window at the back. Though the collection of volumes was small, she did find a few helpful books: one about wild edibles, another on tree identification, two on self-sufficiency and traditional skills, and a pocket-sized mountaineering survival guide. She'd been nervous, sweat pouring down her back, alarmed at every sound, as she wandered between the shelves. Alex had carted off the books without incident, but had probably overlooked several other useful ones in her haste to leave. With marauders dangerously close, she wasn't about to study the card catalogue in any depth. Considering herself fortunate to have found what she was looking for, Alex had no intention of tempting fate further.