The Silent Lands Boxset

by E. A. Darl

  In the corner sat a lawn mower. It was an old riding lawn mower, but still...if it worked it would mean transportation. The mower was a dull red colour and coated in grey dust. Dried grass clippings clung to the mower deck, the consistency of straw. As Alexa moved, dust motes swirled into the air, shimmering in the weak light shining down from the fixed window panes. Alexa ran over to the machine and wiped the dust off the seat with her hand, then climbed on board. The keys were in the ignition. Smiling with glee, she turned the key. Nothing happened. She tried again, holding it in the start position, but all was silent. The gauges shifted though, so she knew the battery had power.

  Puzzled, she hopped off the tractor and pulled on the seat. It swung up on hinges to reveal the battery. On the underside of the seat was a diagram showing how to start the tractor. The image showed a seated person pushing on a floor clutch. Avalon put the seat back down and then climbed back onto the split vinyl covering then pressed down on the silver button on the floor and turned the key. The tractor whined but did not catch. Avalon got off once again and twisted off the knob for the gas tank. She could not see any gas and the float was way down the tube.

  Alexa wandered around the garage, looking for a jerry can of gasoline. Her eyes locked on a high shelf where she saw a red plastic container tucked back into a corner behind some machine parts. She climbed up the outside of the shelving and reached for the can. It was heavy. She placed it on a lower shelf and then climbed down one level at a time, shifting the can at each level until she was back to the cement. Grabbing the container she hurried back to the lawn tractor. She pulled out the plastic fill nozzle and took a sniff. It was gasoline. She filled the tank to the brim then closed the jerry can, tying it on the back of the tractor. The extra fuel would be needed.

  Jumping back in the seat, she depressed the clutch then turned the key. Nothing happened. She tried again, and then again, and on the fourth turn of the key, the engine caught and the lawn tractor roared to life. Black smoke billowed out the exhaust and the tractor rattled as she shoved it into low gear. She drove forward slowly as she weaved in and out of the detritus stacked through the garage. She cut her turn short and the mower deck plowed into a stand with tools on it, sending them crashing to the floor. She swiped a bag of wrenches as she drove past the mechanic’s chest, and placed it on her lap before she roared out of the opening. Once free of the garage, she put the lawn mower in to high gear and drove down the laneway past the house and into the field at the back. Cross-country would be much faster than sticking to the roads, and she could see the church at the edge of town, the cross on the spire clearly visible over the low brush marking the divide between abandoned fields.

  She was out in the open, anyone could see her, but she could also see anyone approaching, so safety was guaranteed at least until she got closer to her objective. She knew the way to the cache of medical supplies, once she reached the church. The route was a familiar one and she planned to stash the riding lawn mower in a place only she would find it. The machine bucked under her on the uneven ground, and she rocked as she steered, thinking through her plan.

  Alexa was excited at the thought of finally seeing Gabriel again. He really did look like Nivens, so the name fit. He had the same distracted air and his eyes would grow so large when worried. He was super funny, too. She laughed so much when she was around him. She didn’t care so much for his older brother, but she would put up with him to be able to spend time with Gabriel.

  The stash was located in the base of the church, of all things. The church was not abandoned, in fact, it was still very much operational. They ran a spartan soup kitchen in the church, but with food in such short supply, the hours were sporadic. A sign would go out on the street and the line ups would start almost immediately. The food would be gone within two hours. But the sign really wasn’t needed. The smell of the food cooking would be enough to gather a crowd.

  Avalon hoped that tomorrow would not be a soup kitchen day, although the crowd might hide her. She nervously nibbled on her lower lip as she thought about her plan. She would sleep tonight by the dry well and hide the tractor under the rotting bale of hay. She could climb under the hay as well. It would keep the night time chill off too. Her back pack bounced on her back as she went over a big bump. It was mostly empty, in order to carry the medical supplies back to Peet.

  Alexa traveled for two hours without incident. The sun stroked its way to the horizon, swimming through the shimmering late day haze, which darkened to purple as she arrived at her chosen campsite. The abandoned farmhouse was a pile of burnt rubble, the victim of a vandal’s fire several years ago. The barn had collapsed with age and grass grew through the twisted wood beams. The metal roofing had been scavenged long ago. The barn looked like the bones of a dragon, bleaching under an unforgiving sun. She bypassed the buildings and pulled around the back side of the barn, where several round bales were stacked, and pulled up beside the hay. She turned off the lawn mower and the roar died. She would need to let it cool down as the exhaust was too hot to go under the bales.

  She got off the mower and wandered over to the well. A metal pipe with a long handle stood over the well cap. Alex slid the pack from her back and then unzipped it, sliding her hand inside to search for her water bottle. She flipped the lid then took a swig. She was very thirsty. She gulped two swallows of the liquid and then placed the bottle under the spout and began pumping the handle. It creaked and screeched, stiff with disuse. Every time she stopped at the old farm, she tried the well, and every time it came up dry. The pump stuck and she put the bottle down on the cement lid then took the handle in both hands and shoved with all her weight. The lever resisted her efforts. She pushed it up to eye level then pulled down, and with a twang it shifted. The whole pump shifted and the handle dropped. Surprised, she stumbled and nearly fell. Alexa straighted and moved the handle. Now it moved with ease, up and down, with hardly any resistance at all. Grinning, she pumped up and down, and slowly resistance built. She reached down and grabbed her water bottle as a gush of water exploded from the end of the pipe. It was short lived. A half dozen strokes later, the water trickled away, but it was enough to fill her bottle and dunk her dusty face underneath, before the water stopped flowing.

  She carried the precious liquid back to the hay stack. She screwed the lid on tight, then grabbed her pack and burrowed into the hay bale to create a nest for herself. She crawled back out and pushed the tractor up against the hay bale then pulled down a bunch of the loose cuttings to hide the tractor. She crawled back inside the spoiled hay and settled down to rest. She drew the top of her shirt over her nose to filter the dust while she slept.

  In the morning, she would get the supplies Peet needed. Alexa mulled over her plans as she settled down to sleep, watching the day fade to night. She did not want anyone to know she had been there, near the church. A young girl alone on the streets of Solace was begging for more trouble than they could handle. The times she had left the barn on the Gainsborough Manor, she had made sure she was never seen, not by Avalon, not by anyone. Except for Gabe. Thoughts of Gabe made her smile and she drifted off to sleep with his face in her mind.

  Chapter 12

  Contagion

  ALEXA SHIFTED ON HER sweat-soaked bed, thrashing. Cramps ran up and down her legs, locking her legs in a rigor-mortis like slab of agony. She opened her mouth to cry out but no sound escaped the open cavity. She pried her eyelids open. A sticky film coated her lashes, gluing the lids closed. She tried to scrub her fist across her eyes, but her hands and arms were tied down, restricting motion. From the dim recess of her feverish mind, she acknowledged that she had been stung and that she was likely dying, in the same fashion as the bodies they had seen in the warehouse. Unable to relieve her pain, she fled back into the dark recesses of her mind, and hid from the torture.

  A hum, like the fluttering of tiny wings, filled her ears. Thousands of them filled her mind, until the sound became a thrumming purr, the pulse point of a thousand sensations.
Avalon focused on the hum, sinking into the white nose and submerging her pain, sacrificing her will to the fire coursing through her veins. There, she floated in a haze, time having no meaning. She must have dozed off, but she really wasn’t sure. Avalon thought she felt a hand on her brow, and then her jaw opened and water flowed past her cracked lips. She sucked in the liquid, grateful for the flow of cooling water down her throat. A voice murmured but it made no sense. All she could hear was the thrum of the wings. It drowned out all other sound. A prick on her arm barely registered, and she drifted off to sleep...

  TRENCH WATCHED AS THE cramps eased and Avalon relaxed into unconsciousness. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Avalon had been gagging on her own tongue when he came into the room, what he thought was an impossible feat with a ventilator in place. Cris was nowhere to be seen.

  Cursing, he had flung himself down on the thrashing girl and forced his fingers between her clenched teeth, forcing her jaw apart. He pulled her tongue out of the way and then poured a dribble of water down her throat, to ease her swallowing reflex. Plunging the needle of Oxycodone into her arm, he counted while he waited for the drug to take effect. She relaxed under his hands and he finally felt he could take his hands away.

  Avalon was a mess. The boils on her skin had burst, soaking the sheets. She seemed unaware of them, but her palms were dry and the skin white. She was dehydrating and he needed to keep fluids in her. That was what Cris was supposed to be doing, while he was gone. Fuming, he craned his neck to see out the door. There was no motion.

  His gaze returned to Avalon. His eyes wandered over her still form and that is when he saw it. Below her left ear, where the bee had stung her, was a blotch of skin that resembled the shape of a bee. He squinted at the spot. Is that a bee? I must be tired. He rubbed his tired eyes, and then peered closer at the mark. It is a bee. Not taking his eyes off the still form, Trench reached inside his pocket and pulled out the vial of oxycodone that he’d intended to use to top up Avalon’s dose. He plunged the needle into the rubbing alcohol jar by her bedside then shook it dry, before pushing the needle through the rubber seal. He drew up a shot of the pain killer, the rolled up his sleeve and plunged it into his arm. He winced at the sting. Once it was empty, he put the bottle on table and the needle back in the rubbing alcohol jar, then stretched out beside Avalon on the bed, back to her.

  As he relaxed, the thought came to him that he might be exposing himself to whatever was making her ill, but he didn’t care. When he woke, he would search for more answers, but the best source of answers was lying beside him. He wanted to be here when she woke, and he couldn’t rely on the other gang members to care or watch over her. They were too concerned about catching whatever she had. It was a miracle they brought her back. He didn’t think she was contagious. There was no evidence to support that. But something was happening with Avalon and he intended to find out. His eyes drooped as the Oxycodone took effect despite his attempts to fight off the encroaching oblivion. He blinked several times, and then he slid into a dreamless sleep.

  AVALON WOKE WITH A start. Someone was in the room with her. She could smell them. She wiggled on the bed, testing her limbs, and the minute she started to move, images flashed into her head. Faster than she could process them in her weakened state, she tried to push them away but she couldn’t. The visions came faster and faster and panic flooded her body. She opened her mouth to scream, but something was lodged in her throat. She flexed her arms but could not move them either. A keening, high pitched whine escaped her throat as terror took over her panic. Her eyes opened to a blurry grey. She wailed again and then felt the bed shift beside her. A face entered her vision. She thought she knew him, but he was weirdly distorted, as though being viewed from the wrong end of a telescope. His face was concave and rounded. Avalon’s eyes widened and she turned her head away. A voice reached out to her, familiar and reassuring. She turned her head slowly toward the sound.

  “Avalon. It’s me, Trench. Understand? It’s Trench.”

  Avalon stared at the distortion and nodded.

  “You have been very sick. I had to put a tube in your throat to keep you from dying. That is why you can’t swallow.” Avalon nodded again. “You were trying to pull it out so we tied you down. I need to take the tube out. I am going to leave you tied until I have it out, ok? Are you ready to do this?” Avalon’s eyes widened with fear but then she nodded.

  Trench got up and left the room then returned with a basin and a pitcher of warm salt water rinse. He sat down beside Avalon then placed a gentle hand on hers. “I will try to be gentle, but this is going to hurt. You will feel better when it is out. Ready?” A terse nod accompanied his words. “Ok, here goes.”

  Trench took hold of the end of the tube and gently began to extract it from her throat. Avalon’s eyes bulged at the sensation. She stared blindly at where she thought Trench’s face to be located. Tensed against the sensation, she strained at her bonds. The cords bit into her wrists and ankles. A strangled whimper escaped her lips, but Trench focused on removing the tube. It slipped free of her throat and he dumped it into the basin, and then poured salt water into a glass.

  “I am going to untie you, then I need you to gargle with the salt water. Do not swallow it, just gargle and spit, ok?”

  She nodded, gingerly testing her swallow reflex. Trench untied her hands and feet and helped her to a sitting position. She opened her mouth to speak, but he put a finger to his lips to stop her.

  “Don’t speak yet. Let’s get the rinse going.

  Avalon took the glass in shaky hands and lifted it to her mouth. The salt stung and tears formed in her eyes. She swished it around her mouth then spat it out into the basin. She took another sip, then gagged on the water and spat it out with such force that it splashed onto Trench’s arms and face.

  “Hey, easy there!” he said, wiping off the fluids with the corner of the sheet.

  “Trench?” Avalon croaked. “I can’t see you. Why can’t I see?”

  Trench paused, a worried frown creasing his brow. He leaned in closer to Avalon. “I am right here.” He picked up her hands and placed them on his face. “See? It’s me.”

  He placed his hands on her face, peeling back an eyelid to examine her pupils. Her eyes appeared normal, except for an opaque film that almost seemed like an extra eyelid. Puzzled, he released her face.

  “I don’t know what is going on here, Avalon, but you have had a very severe reaction to the bee sting. The only thing I can think of is that the Oxycodone has somehow protected you from the deadly effects. But there are side effects occurring that we will have to figure out as we go along. I thought you were going to die, at one point.” His voice caught for a moment and he cleared his throat. “I won’t let that happen. That was a very brave thing you did. You saved Magnum and Cris. They owe you their lives.”

  Avalon swayed, as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

  “You need to rest. Perhaps you can sleep better now that the tube is out.”

  Avalon nodded and lay back down on the cot.

  “I will check back on you in a few hours and bring some food.”

  Avalon nodded again in affirmation, her throat too sore for words.

  Trench walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Once he was out of sight, he looked down at his hands. His skin was burning, where it had come in contact with Avalon’s saliva. Blisters were forming. He hurried over to the kitchen sink and washed his skin under the cold water, but the blisters continued to grow. Avalon is contagious. I hope I am right about the Oxycodone. On that grim thought, he set about preparing some food. If he was also infected, then he needed to quarantine himself along with Avalon and they would need supplies. He had a feeling he was about to get to know Avalon very well.

  Chapter 13

  Blessings

  ALEXA CREPT UP ALONG the low stone wall that framed the gardens at the rear of the church. Dried grasses crunched underfoot as she ran in a half crouch along th
e structure, staying hidden from the throng of people that waited out front of the church for the doors to open. It was as large of a crowd as she had ever seen lined up for food. Knowing that the fights usually broke out around the time the doors opened, Alexa hurried to the exterior cellar doors. As she crept closer, she spied a familiar face. Smiling, she raised her hand in greeting. Alexa closed the distance between them and popped down beside his kneeling form.

  “Heya, Gabe.”

  “Heya, Alexa.” Gabe ran his fingers through his mop of dark hair, pushing the curls out of his eyes. Slender and tall for fourteen years of age, he exuded an aura of confidence. “The priest knows we are here. I heard the bolt click back on the doors a few minutes ago. Come on.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him, crossing the few feet separating them. Reaching the slanted doors, he grabbed the right handle and pulled. The door opened to reveal a staircase descending into the ground. They scurried down the steps, pulling the door closed behind them and bolting it from the inside. At the base of the stairs they flipped the wall switch, illuminating the windowless room. Metal shelving lined the walls, filled with boxes of supplies for Sunday services. They hurried past the boxes to a smaller room with a glass door. They pushed open this door and entered a room outfitted with a small kitchen. Shabby folding chairs sat around a matching metal table. A fridge and stove sat side by side on the end wall with a small counter wedged between the two appliances. Cupboards lined the right wall.