Derek got up and walked into the side room where Sheridan pored over a map with Nathan across the table from her. She looked up as he walked in.
“Well?” she asked.
“The work is starting on the wall. Tyrell and Rick have it in hand,” Derek answered. “I have a different problem—while we're building it, and then even after it’s done, we’ll need some way to defend it.” He took a breath before continuing, not entirely sure how she would take his next suggestion. “We need a militia.”
“I trust you can figure that out?” she asked.
“Well, no… but if I have to I could,” he answered honestly. And now I really miss Terrence. “So, what’s going on in here?”
“Organized chaos,” she answered as she sighed and sat back in her chair. “Rick and Tyrell appear to have our structures in hand, and I heard a rumour that you have a plan for scouting for other survivors so I’m placing that in your hands. You will concentrate on protecting our home and land in that way, if you’re uncomfortable with leading a militia. Shiloh is in charge of the horses and other work animals—and she once served as a Reservist. Lorraine and Marissa are in charge of all things domestic. I have a head nurse to report to me regarding health issues. Meanwhile I am relegated to… well… regulating.”
“It’s your land, your house,” said Derek. “You’re the Lady of the Manor.”
“Indeed,” she mused. “And now we have departments, or ministries, and those who report to them. It seems almost surreal that this would even happen here. I am not sure how I feel about this but I suppose, given the circumstances, that it’s better than the alternative.”
“That being we’re all dead or out in the cold and on the run?” he asked. “You can certainly say that again.”
* * * * *
Going outside now meant near immediate snow blindness as the crystalline white blanket reflected the sunlight off of everything. For this reason, Russell wore sunglasses and kept them securely on his face to cut down on the glare. Ironic that the first beautiful day since that damned blizzard is enough to cause sunstroke, he thought sourly as he brought the axe down to split another log of wood into pieces.
Adrienne came out, and he split one last log as he looked up. She was frantically beckoning him to join her inside.
Russell frowned, but took the time to store the axe away before he walked into the dining room and into the middle of an argument.
“But this is our home,” maintained her mother, and both women stood facing each other with their arms crossed. “Where will we go?”
“And if we’re not the first to head down that lake, what then?” asked one of the others, who had come from across the lake. “One entire side of your house is glass, ma’am. If someone wanted in here they’d be in here and where would that leave you?”
“They’d have to know we were here first!” she shot back.
“We knew you were here,” answered the second one. “At night you can clearly see that something is lit up over here. The next step is getting here.”
“The boy is right,” said Adrienne. “If the city has gone to hell, then this is no place to be—it’s not safe.”
“Your mother does have a point, though,” said Russell. “Where the hell are we going to go?”
“We head across and up the road a bit,” answered Adrienne. “There’s a back way into Long Lake and numerous houses between. I patrol up there regularly so we’ll have plenty of places to stop and rest. Some of them have wood stoves and if someone is alive, they may be able to put us up for a night or two… maybe even longer if we can share resources.”
Silence reigned as they considered the option. Russell turned to Adrienne’s mother and asked, “Any chance you have snow shoes or skis?”
“We don’t need to do that,” said Adrienne. “We have the SUV.”
“May not need these now, but we might later if we have to hunt or fish for food,” pointed out Russell, and he turned to looked back the mother.
“I do, but they’d be out in the garage,” she answered and then she shook her head. “You know this won’t be good for your father.”
“It won’t be any better for both of you if the looters get out here,” pointed out one of the others.
The other three nodded their agreement and her mother sighed heavily, looking around her house. She walked over to one of the chairs—it was a beautiful Queen Anne style arm chair and she leaned on its back. Adrienne watched her mother.
“If I have to leave then at least give me the time to pack what I need to bring… and want to preserve. You can’t ask me to throw everything away,” said her mother.
“Mom…” Adrienne sighed. “You have until morning.”
* * * * *
When Sheridan said first light, Derek knew she actually meant them to be out the gate by first light. It was with this in mind that he and his team decided to hit their beds not too long after dusk in order to wake up fresh and ready at the time required.
Marissa and Derek packed in silence, only pausing to pass each other supplies for one or the other’s packs.
They were of a similar mind. Derek’s pack contained everything he could possibly need for at least five days out in the bush in the middle of winter. Marissa packed her backpack in a similar fashion. This offset each other’s skills, although it assumed that they would not likely be eventually separated. It was not the absolute best idea. There was always a chance of separating, however he and Marissa had been working together for so many years that they knew each other’s mind.
His pack consisted of the same basics as hers did—sleeping bag, winter cover for the sleeping bag and their respective covers for carrying. Emergency ‘foil’ blankets—two each and enough dry clothing and spare dry socks to last more than a few days. Dry clothes were the make or break of survival, especially in the winter when wet and cold could literally mean a very swift death.
Other things in his pack were enough dry food and other edibles just in case foraging or hunting failed while out there. He also made sure he had what he needed to hunt with ammunition that was easy to replace as well as regular rifle ammunition. He had both a hunting rifle and the compound bow Sheridan gave him.
Marissa was not much of a hunter. Where she did excel was at trapping so her pack leaned heavily on that nearly lost art instead, although she also carried a shotgun just in case.
They both carried a small supply of hunting and portable knives and other camp kitchen supplies for lighting fires and cooking food. Once they had finished packing they settled into bed for the night and fell asleep.
The next morning, before the sun was even up, they met with the others in their group.
Derek noted with relief that everyone had thought the same as he and Marissa. Everyone brought various weapons, and carried full packs. Shiloh and Helen had saddled the best suited horses for the duty and led the group into the horse barn to meet them.
These were no light riding horses, but massive and intimidating animals that dwarfed other horses Derek had ridden before. He did not think they were Clydesdales but they were a similar size to that particular type of horse. The feet were smaller, and did not have the telltale hair around them. All of them were pure black. They immediately brought the words Knight’s Charger to mind.
“What breed of horse is that?” asked Marissa.
“Friesians,” answered Shiloh. “Sheridan’s favourite horse and the signature of this ranch. Well suited for riding, equestrian show jumping and eventing. Not the classic choice for fox hunting, which is what Sheridan loves to do, but a very good alternative given the breed’s other strengths and size.”
Before she allowed them on the back of any of the horses, she gave everyone, including Derek and Marissa who were accomplished riders, a quick rundown of each horse.
Derek saw that Helen was eyeing the saddles and tack warily. “Everything all right?” he asked.
“Never ridden English style in my life,” she answered. “Always been Wes
tern.”
“On this particular saddle you won’t notice that much a difference,” said Derek, but he noticed there was a snort of laughter from Shiloh and he paused before and continuing. “Despite what Shiloh maintains.”
“If you like English style, you’ll notice a difference between the two,” said Shiloh.
“I’ve ridden mostly Western and the hunter style of English saddle just feels less clunky and less in the way,” he answered and turned to Helen. “First thing you’ll find missing is the horn for tying off and the stirrups are closer up and there’s less to them. I find it easier to get my feet in them and the seat more comfortable.”
“Are they more comfortable for the horse?” asked Helen.
“They are lighter, that’s for sure,” said Marissa. “And the horse is able to respond quicker, so I imagine the lack of horn and other components means the horse is better able to move.”
“These are also made to conform to the horse’s back contours without creating pressure points,” explained Shiloh. “Not that a good Western saddle—made by a good company—won’t also do that. The big difference is like comparing a steel frame camping backpack to a lighter one of the same but only without a frame. You can’t get the same amount of stuff onto or into a smaller pack that lacks a frame that you can the framed one, but at the same time you get a trade off on how much you’re carrying. The hunter saddles, by their name, suggest that these have more to them. Naturally, the point to them is as it suggests in their name.”
“Given what we’re about to do, would it not be to our advantage to use the Western?” asked Helen.
“Normally, yes. However, these horses are English trained. If we suddenly changed saddle and tack type, they would need a few days to get used to the feel of it. This isn’t a good time to wear a brand spanking new boot without giving them the time to break them in first,” she answered and motioned to Helen. “You first.”
Helen let Shiloh boost her into the saddle. Once she was in the saddle and settled, she immediately felt the difference in her riding expectations and settled with a contented sigh.
Shiloh grinned. “Not all hunter saddles are created equal. These are top of the line saddles meant for long periods of time on horseback, but you can very quickly dismount and remount the horse.”
Helen slid off in a graceful dismount, surprised and pleased by how quick and easy the action was.
Moments later she stared up at the saddle, wondering just where she was to grip the saddle to remount. Shiloh patted where the horn normally would be but instead a small rise and roll of leather was all that presented itself.
Her first try was rather embarrassing—the saddle slid sideways and the horse nickered his displeasure.
Shiloh took that moment to show her the differences in adjusting the saddle. Helen tried again and this time, while not as graceful at the dismount, she was able to mount the horse on her own.
“As a hint, because he’s huge, sometimes leading him to someplace where you can get some height advantage on him goes far. But knowing how to do it from the ground is helpful,’’ said Shiloh.
“The big difference is that I have to put more of my upper weight over him first before I put my feet in the stirrups,” said Helen. “I wasn’t expecting that. I mean—you still have to with Western—but you can get away with more on the stirrup than English. You almost have to lay over him and position your butt first before put your feet in the stirrups.”
“The good news is that riding after that is nearly identical. The tack and bridle, again, have less to them and you need a gentle touch—but everything else is the same. Watch and listen to his cues,” said Shiloh. “They're trained for riding over terrain and jumping stone fences chasing after a fox. They will see and hear things before you do, but they’re trained to let you know so you have the tools to respond.”
“Like any horse,” said Helen, with a smile. “It’s not the rider…”
“…It’s the horse,” smiled Shiloh. “Good, you’ll do fine.”
Marissa and Derek mounted their own horses while Shiloh, once she herself was mounted, took the leads of one of the pack horses and Marissa the other. Jeremy waved a hand as they passed through the doors and closed the barn door after them. With one final look at her own husband, Shiloh led them up the hill and through the gate of ice. Someone had connected the two sides with a bridge made of planks that had then buried on the two sides in snow. Thankfully, the gate was now tall enough so someone could ride under it on horseback without having to duck. On either side, there was now a tower made of snow and ice.
Derek had concerns on the stability of the towers as snow had the tendency to topple and collapse without some sort of structure. But there was little he could do about it now other than ask Rick once they returned. He was sure Rick would not leave it unstable.
Unfortunately, they still had not figured out how to make a real gate to put in the opening. All the gate did now was restrict flow to two horses at once with a little bit of space in between. Still, it was better than nothing.
Life inside the wall was vastly different than that outside and it was very swiftly apparent. Inside they had almost forgotten that civilization had ended once everyone had sprung into gear. The roads and driveways were perfectly cleared—sure, that was mostly due to the need of snow to build the wall. Now people were throwing their efforts into keeping it clean even if they removed snow to build something else.
Activity was also high inside the wall. There was light in the windows and warmth in the houses, even this early, and something seemed to say ‘civilization still exists here’.
Once past that gate to the North all hints of life vanished.
Houses were dark, cold and snowed in. Windows frosted to the point that the glass was opaque with rime. The roads were completely hidden and the only hint of where they could be being the clearings between the trees. They stopped just outside the wall and looked at each other. Helen swallowed thickly. This could have been her and Tyrell if they had not decided to make for the farm, she realised.
They realised, then, that there were no survivors. The search parties had been through here and found only death and the occasional hermit that had always been off the grid to begin with.
“Well, we can’t do anything by staring at it,” said Derek thickly. “Let’s get this done and get back.”
They were in silent agreement as they rode out of the gate and back down the other side of the escarpment. It was not as far a ride down the other side. Sheridan’s side of the valley was lower than this side, but the ridge still served as its own natural wall sheltering the valley.
The snow made it almost impassable as the horses laboured through the drifts. “It’s going to take longer than I thought,” said Derek with a heavy sigh as the morning sun came up and began to track through the sky. “What time is it? Nine, ten?”
“Quarter after nine,” answered Shiloh. “And we’re only a third of the way.”
Thankfully, the ride so far had been uneventful. The horses were not bothered by the snow. As they rode into the flat farmland, it became apparent by the drifts that it would be both harder and easier to get through the snow on the road. The drifts were like sand dunes—they had high sides and low sides and the wind would blow the drifts into rippling waves.
On the low side, the ground was almost visible and easily ridden. It was the navigating through and over the high parts of the drifts and trying not to break the leg of the horse if the snow gave way beneath them that was challenging.
While Derek rode, he kept his rifle at the ready. Helen did the same to his left but they did not encounter anything. No signs of life or other noises greeted them. There was nothing but the howl of wind over the frozen snow drifts.
What remained was the crunch of the horse’s hooves as they pushed through the thin crust to the soft snow beneath and their own low conversation.
The wind whistled and the snow settled with a gentle sigh like paper being ruffle
d in a library. Trees snapped and crackled in the cold as they swayed in the wind. Birds that had not migrated south chirped and tweeted in the branches of the trees.
There was no one—not a single living person—to disturb the wilder symphony left in their wake.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Their intent to make it to the Fire Hall by nightfall, naturally, did not come to fruition.
In truth, Derek was not really surprised by this. It had been ambitious to think that they would and the minute it was apparent that dusk was falling and making visibility poor, he called it for the night.
Shiloh dismounted and they looked around. “We can’t stay out in the open, we’ll freeze and so will the horses.”
“I know, but we can’t keep going either,” pointed out Derek before nodding at the horses. “If we can’t see, then neither can they and we’d run the risk of them falling into something and breaking a leg. Can’t risk that.”
Marissa blew out a breath and looked around. She then pointed to a deserted house that had a sizable garage attached to it. “What about there? It’s large enough for both the horses and us. If it has a cement or dirt floor, we can make a fire pit and keep the doors open enough to allow the smoke to escape. Between the fire and the windbreak, we should be fine.”
Derek and Marissa checked the deserted house to see if there was anything suspicious inside. They then checked the garage for non-human habitation. Not that bears would be awake at this time of the year but it was better to be safe than sorry. “Clear,” said Derek, and Marissa nodded her agreement.
“We could check the house for supplies,” suggested Helen.
“It was probably checked already,” pointed out Shiloh.
Derek sighed and said, “Can’t hurt to double check it.”
He and Helen entered cautiously, finding signs of forced entry and walked through the rooms. The very first room off the garage was the kitchen and mudroom. The sight before them stopped them in their tracks.
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