by Mark Romang
A few paces beyond the massive tree he came to his fourth snare. A smile broke across his bearded face. A squirrel hung in the snare. I guess I’ll live another day, Banks thought, relieved to find fresh meat.
Removing the dead squirrel from its noose, Banks quickly skinned and gutted it. He placed the squirrel in his pack, reset the snare and headed for the pitfall not far away.
The steady drizzle burrowed under his hood and lanced his face. But pumped about finding a squirrel in his snare, Banks ignored the annoyance and pressed on. Maybe there will be a nice, fat deer in the pit, he thought dreamily. He stared at the ground as he walked, and was still fantasizing about a deer loin sizzling in a pan when he neared the pitfall. When he was within twenty yards of the pit he noticed the hemlock boughs he used to conceal the hole were missing. Son of a gun, it actually worked!
Forgoing his desire to leave no trace, Banks jogged up to the hole, stopping at the pit’s edge. He looked down into the deep hole. But instead of a deer caught inside and lying dead at the bottom, he saw a young woman sprawled out awkwardly. He couldn’t tell if the woman was breathing or not. “Lady, are you okay?”
She didn’t stir at his voice. Guilt ripped at Banks. What if she’s dead? He studied her appearance. She wore a grey ski coat and black ski pants. A stocking hat covered her head. Long, brown hair spilled out the hat. Banks picked up a cone that had fallen off the hemlock boughs and dropped it onto the woman. The hemlock cone landed on her head.
The young woman stirred. Banks let out a huge sigh. “Lady? Miss, are you okay?”
The woman rolled onto her side and looked up at him. Banks waved at her. “A deer was supposed to fall into this pit, not you,” he said, realizing the woman was the first person he’d talked to in over a year. “Can you move your arms and legs? Is anything broken?”
The woman moved each arm and each leg one by one. She looked up at him again. Her eyes flared. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me climb up?”
“Hold on a second. I’ll be right back,” Banks hurried over to a nearby stump. He took off his pack and reached inside. His fingers bypassed the squirrel and latched onto a rope section. He pulled out the rope and wrapped it around the stump and knotted it tight. He then hurried back to the pit and threw the other end of the rope down to the woman. “Use this rope to climb up. I’ll help pull you up,” Banks said.
The woman grabbed the rope and stood up. She looked up at him skeptically, and then began to climb. Banks tugged on the rope, assisting her ascent. After about thirty seconds of grunting and straining by both, the woman neared the edge. Banks reached down with one hand. The woman grabbed it, and he pulled her out of the hole.
She sat there near the edge, breathing hard. “Is this your pitfall?”
Banks nodded sheepishly.
“Are you trying to catch people or animals?”
“I’m not a cannibal, Miss. I prefer to eat animals. That’s why I placed the pitfall near a game trail, to catch animals.”
She stood up and faced him. Banks studied her face for a moment. The young women was dirty, and her face looked scratched up and streaked from crying. But to Banks she looked beautiful. Looking at her aquamarine eyes was like looking at gemstones. He extended a hand for her to shake. “I’m sorry you fell into my trap. My heart nearly stopped when I saw you lying at the bottom.”
The woman smiled warily, but didn’t shake his hand. “I’ll forgive you if you give me something to eat,” she said.
Banks smiled back. “I’ll share the squirrel I just caught with you on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell me your name.”
She nodded. “I’m Brooke Mason.”
“Fair enough, I’m Nathan Banks. But unless you like to eat your squirrels raw, you’ll have to follow me back to my place where I can cook it.”
“Can I trust you? You’re kind of scary looking with that beard and wild hair.”
“Looks can be deceiving, Brooke. I’m actually a teddy bear at heart.”
“Okay, Mr. Banks. Lead the way. I’m starving.”
Chapter 8
Deadwood, South Dakota—that same moment
Tucker Stiggs left the Deadwood post office with his mail tucked under one arm. A brawny man with pale skin, he wore his Stetson down low on his protruding brow to hide his eyes. His blue eyes, nearly transparent, brimmed with a madness he didn’t want anyone to see.
Everything about Stiggs’s appearance deceived the casual glance. Tall and broad-shouldered, and carrying around a paunchy stomach, Stiggs looked clumsy and slow—a big oaf entering his middle-age years. Yet he was anything but slow and clumsy. Once a starting defensive end for Oklahoma State University, he used to terrorize the offensive linemen and quarterbacks of opposing teams. His large feet were cat-quick and well balanced. He had a future in the NFL waiting for him. But after suffering multiple concussions, his brain didn’t work right anymore and he quit his university team and disappeared from society.
He lived alone, and liked it that way. The only time he talked to people was right before he killed them.
Stiggs walked to his Dodge pickup truck parked in the street, a dusty and dented model several years old. But just like Stiggs, the truck deceived anyone giving it a passing glance. Under the truck’s hood, a gleaming motor finely tuned and filled with add-ons to give it more power, rumbled to life when Stiggs started it. The 4x4 pickup’s rear end was also geared for speed instead of hauling. Stiggs wanted to be able to outrun the cops if need be. But he was meticulous about hiding his criminal activities, and so far had never been required to flee the authorities.
Stiggs sat in the Dodge, letting it idle, and rifled through his mail. A padded manila envelope caught his eye. There was no return address on the envelope, but he knew where it came from. His heart sped up as he opened the manila envelope. Stiggs pulled out some documents and photos, as well as airline tickets and three stacks of UWC cash. Stiggs was still trying to accustom himself to the Unified World Coalition dollars. The old world with all its governments, currencies, traditions and beliefs had all passed away. Nothing remained from the former but fleeting memories.
Stiggs read through the instructional documents. And it didn’t take long before a scowl chiseled his brow. They insist this one be brought in alive.
Stiggs began to sweat. He didn’t know if he could carry out this requirement, didn’t know if he could restrain his strong urge to kill. Stiggs read over Nathan Banks’s past life, and then Stiggs eagerly read the coordinates of where the target was last spotted. He then examined a photo of Nathan Banks. The photo of Banks wasn’t recent. It took place when Banks worked as a software engineer in Seattle, before he went off the grid.
Clean-shaven and attired in a dress shirt, Banks looked like a typical white-collar worker. But Stiggs suspected Banks no longer looked anything like this. Stiggs opened his glove compartment. Underneath the registration papers he found a black Sharpie. He took the Sharpie and drew a heavy beard and longish hair onto Banks’s image. Stiggs nodded. This is what a man living in the wild looks like.
Stiggs set the photo aside and counted the cash bundles. The amount came to fifty-thousand UWC dollars. His handler always gave him half up front, with the remainder paid upon completion. Stiggs had never been paid this much, which meant Banks was a highly valued person, hence his handler’s wishes that Banks be brought in alive. They want Banks alive, but they didn’t say how alive, Stiggs thought.
The final items in the manila envelope were a business card and a stocking hat, which Stiggs assumed belonged to Banks. Clifton’s Bloodhounds and Tracking Services embossed the business card. An address in Everett, Washington and a phone number filled the card’s lower section. Stiggs shook his head. He would first try finding Banks without using the dogs. The bloodhounds made it too easy and took away the fun. And flying on an airplane? No way could he do that. Too many people in close proximity for too long would spell disaster
for him. He’d kill half the passengers before the air marshal killed him.
Stiggs backed away from the curb and pulled into the light traffic. He headed west on Sherman Street toward his rental home in a trailer park at the edge of town. He needed to pick up some gear before heading toward the Pacific Northwest and a date with Nathan Banks.
****
“Keep shining your flashlight onto me so I can see,” Banks said to his dinner companion. Inside the bunker, Banks worked at illuminating the interior. He held a four-foot pine branch in his right hand. One end of the branch was sharpened to a point. Banks knelt down and blew on the coals from the fire he enjoyed the night before. He kept blowing on them until a few coals glowed orange and a small flame emerged.
Banks quickly placed the unsharpened end of the branch into the glowing coals in his fire pit. The branch quickly caught and became a blazing torch. Banks stood up and plunged the branch’s sharpened end into the moist earth making up his floor.
“That was nifty. It’s like a Tiki torch,” Brooke said.
Banks nodded. “And it will burn for hours.”
“But doesn’t the whole branch catch and burn up?”
“Eventually, but not for a while. The branch is green. The pine resin wedges I’ve stuffed into the notches at the flaming end are the only things burning.” Banks watched Brooke take in his earthen home.
Brooke examined the various roots and bulbs laying in log bins on the floor and the drying leaves hanging on one wall. “What are all these leaves and roots?”
Banks added firewood to his pit and started the cook fire before answering her query. “The roots and bulbs in the bins are edible. They’re mostly wild lily bulbs and yampah roots. I cook them like potatoes or eat them raw. The drying foliage that looks like a weed is chamomile. I use it for making tea. The small, fresh leaves are mint. I use the mint leaves to brush my teeth and freshen my breath. And the large, fresh leaves are big leaf maple leaves I use in place of toilet paper.
“I’ve run into problems with using leaves for toilet paper,” Brooke admitted.
Banks grinned knowingly. “I did too at first. But now I rub the leaf on my arm. And if my arm doesn’t break out after an hour, I figure it’s safe for other regions. The key is to run this test long before you feel the urge to go.” Banks grabbed three small sticks off the ground and formed a spit over the fire. He then picked some wild garlic from out of one of the bins and rubbed the squirrel with it. He then draped the squirrel on the horizontal branch of the spit.
“You said these small leaves are for brushing teeth?”
Banks nodded, and watched Brooke pinch off some mint leaves and rub them onto her teeth.
“Wow, this is super refreshing!”
Banks nodded. “You’re not pregnant are you?”
Brooke whirled around. “What kind of question is that? Do I look pregnant?”
“No, you’re skinny like a model. I only made the comment because mint oil is considered unsafe for pregnant women.”
“Well, I don’t need to worry about mint oil. That’s for sure.” She looked at him curiously. “So, Mr. Banks, how long have you been living out here, cut off from the world?”
“Please call me, Nathan. Mr. Banks sounds like a Disney movie.”
Brooke smiled. “You must be referring to Saving Mr. Banks. I’ve seen the movie and liked it.”
Banks nodded. “It wasn’t a bad movie. But to answer your question, I’ve been out here since two months after the Rapture took place.”
“Whew, you’ve been living in this hobbit hole for a long time. Have you always been a survival expert?”
The squirrel sizzled as it cooked. Banks became aware his mouth watered. He lowered the spit to shorten the cooking time. “I really didn’t know much at all at first. But I wasn’t completely helpless. I was an eagle scout as a kid. So I’d been camping a lot. But I got lucky when I met an old mountain man living around here. He taught me woodcraft and mentored me. Without Big Jon I wouldn’t be alive right now.”
“Is he still teaching you stuff?”
Banks shook his head. “Jon died a few months back. Someone turned him in as an unchipped person. UWC officers came out to his cabin and arrested him. He wouldn’t take the mark. So they executed him on the spot. I buried him in a meadow filled with wildflowers. I still haven’t recovered from the trauma of burying him. They cut off his head.”
“That’s terrible. Did you watch it happen?”
“No, I went to visit him and found his decapitated body just outside his cabin. It must’ve happened just before I arrived because his corpse was still warm.”
Brooke shivered. “Why would someone rat on your friend like that?”
Banks got up and selected some lily bulbs from a bin and started slicing them. “Whoever ratted on Jon, they did it for easy money. When I first came out here there were maybe a dozen preppers, some of them families. It was like a secret community. We all helped each other. We shared food and other supplies. But then as the struggle to survive grew harder, people gave up and volunteered to be chipped. And then those people started turning us in to collect the reward money offered up by Henrik Skymolt.”
“I can’t stand Henrik Skymolt. He’s the Antichrist, and the devil lives inside him. At least that’s what I believe,” Brooke said.
Banks shrugged. “That’s what people like to call Skymolt. I’m still undecided whether he’s the devil or not. I just know he’s a very bad man. And that he tricked everyone at first with his fancy talk and false promises.”
Brooke nodded her agreement, and then asked, “This fire you’re using to cook the squirrel—won’t someone see the smoke rising up out of the log?”
“Possibly. I usually only have a fire after the sun goes down. But I thought it was the least I could do since you spent the night in my trap.”
“Thank you, Nathan. My stomach appreciates it.” There was silence for a few moments. They watched the fire and listened to the wood crackle and snap. Brooke cleared her throat. “So did you lose anybody to the Rapture?”
“I lost my wife. My mom and dad had already passed when it happened,” Banks said. “How about you, Brooke? Did you lose anyone?”
She nodded solemnly. “My parents and my older brother. I’m sorry about your wife. You must miss her a great deal.”
“I do. Some days are worse than others. But I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your entire family.”
Brooke eyed the squirrel as she shook her head. “I didn’t lose everyone. C.J. and Tanner are still alive. They’re my twin brothers, and they’re semi-professional snowboarders. They were up in Anchorage at an X Games qualifier when the Rapture happened.”
“Wait a second, I think I’ve heard of C.J. and Tanner Mason. They’re notorious here in the Pacific Northwest, sort of like folk heroes. They’ve been vandalizing chipping kiosks in Canada.”
Brooke smiled proudly. “Yes, that’s them. They’re heading in this direction too.”
Banks poked at the squirrel and determined it was roasted enough to eat. He took the meat off the spit and placed it on a flat rock to cool. “I take it they’re heading this way to meet up with you?”
“Yes, we’re going to meet up at the bunker my father built. I was trying to find it when I fell into your pitfall.”
“Again, I apologize for nearly killing you.” Banks sliced off some meat and handed it to her. “Be careful, it’s hot.”
Brooke took the meat and blew on it before putting it in her mouth. She chewed for a few seconds and then smiled at him. “Maybe it’s only because I’m starving, but this squirrel tastes wonderful.”
Banks handed her a lily bulb slice. “Try this. It’s better when it’s cooked, but it’s still edible raw. It sort of tastes like cauliflower.” He then sliced some meat off for himself. “So I take it your father was a prepper?”
“No, not really. He just could never decide if the Rapture would take place pre-trib, post-trib, or pre-wrath. So he bought
some land and built a bunker just in case it came later than he expected. C.J. and Tanner helped him build it.” Brooke popped the lily bulb into her mouth. “It does taste like cauliflower.”
Banks sliced her some more squirrel. “You can have the rest. I have some smoked salmon and some wild hazelnuts I can eat.” He rose up off his haunches and retrieved a bear barrel from nearby. He took the lid off the bear-proof container and pulled out a small piece of salmon he caught and smoked earlier in the year. He became aware of her watching him. “Do you want to try some of this salmon?”
Brooke nodded and snatched up a large salmon chunk.
“You are hungry. When was the last time you ate?”
“Two days ago. I was hoping to be at my father’s bunker by now. It’s stocked with nonperishable food. But I dropped my GPS receiver and it shattered on a rock. And I can’t figure out how to use my compass. I got lost real quick in this dense rainforest.”
Banks ate some salmon, reveling in how fast his energy picked up after eating protein and omega-3 fatty acids. He watched Brooke stand up and shine her flashlight on the rafters of his bunker. “What are you doing?”
Brooke turned back and faced him. “This hole in the ground isn’t safe for you to live in. You have all kinds of mold growing on these rafters.”
“What are you, some kind of home inspector?”
“No, I’m a nurse, or I used to be. And I know how harmful exposure to mold can be. Long-term exposure to mold spores can result in blindness, brain damage, cancer and even death.”
“I haven’t been sick, and I’m not experiencing any unusual symptoms,” Banks argued.
“Then you are extremely fortunate. Keep staying here and you’ll push your luck.”
“But this has been my home for over three years.”
“This home has kept you hidden, but its killing you slowly. There’s just too much moisture in the ground. These rafters are a mold factory.”
