The opposite shore didn’t seem to grow any larger as he continued to row, and he paused for a minute, letting the boat drift. The moon was bright enough, and his eyes adjusted to the dark. He took a moment to inspect the backpack that Jacob packed. Right on top was a canteen, and Brian nearly tore the cap off before taking large gulps. The cool water absorbed into his stomach the moment it was swallowed and quenched the burning in his throat.
Most of the backpack was taken up by a sleeping bag, stuffed in a smaller sack, but there was also a folding knife, two loose apples, a compass, and at the bottom, a pistol. Brian removed the clip and felt the top cartridge, making sure all fifteen rounds remained. He slid the clip back in, chambered a round, and double-checked the safety before placing it on the bench beside him. He then snapped the pocketknife open and cut away two small sections of the backpack’s inner, second layer of fabric and wrapped them around each hand. It made the oars a bit slippery, but his palms were protected and the pain subdued.
The shore grew larger at the slowest pace imaginable. His back was sore, and his neck muscles ached, but he didn’t stop paddling until the horizon was overcome by shoreline and the gentle surf propelled him toward a sandy bank. There was a slight grating as the hull hit the soft sand, and Brian let go of the oars with an internal sigh of relief.
He removed his shoes and socks and rolled up his pants before stepping out into the water. They were still wet from when he’d walked into the water in Hightown, and he wished he’d thought ahead to how miserable it would be to hike for miles with soaked shoes.
After tucking the pistol in his rear pocket and shouldering the bag, Brian moved inland. By moonlight he rechecked the compass and proceeded in a southern direction, toward Alice. Like hell he wasn’t going to return home—war or not. He had to make sure Carolanne and Bethany were safe.
Chapter Thirty-Two
United
An immense pine tree in the wooded section of Alice Springs Park burned, from base to crown, in a torrent of flames leaping to the heavens, scouring neighboring bark and boughs. Simon carried Connor through the woods with Carolanne a foot behind, occasionally bumping into his back when they came to hard terrain, and Bethany remained close to his side. There were four others with them who had escaped as the Red Hands overwhelmed Alice.
Winston remained in the lead, and Simon kept an eye on the horizon, but relied on his dog to keep vigil on upcoming hazards. When scouting or hunting, Simon had trained himself to let his field of vision broaden, so that he could notice slight movements in the woods. If he were hunting a deer, a flight of birds from a neighboring tree might suggest a disturbance up the trail. In that manner, he also watched Winston—noticed the way his head turned and sniffed the air, if his fur would begin to stand on end.
The mass of the townspeople had a solid lead on them and were nowhere in sight, but on the side of the trail they encountered bodies scattered in the brush, mortally wounded or bled out. Simon gave fast, high-pitched whistles as Winston trailed over to investigate, diverting the dog’s attention. They also passed a Hummer resting low on the tires of its broken frame.
Connor’s weight became difficult to bear the farther they fled, and by the time they were close to the border of Alice Springs Park, Simon’s biceps were stiff and cramping up. The boy had kept his arms wrapped around Simon’s neck the entire journey, and his face buried in his shoulder.
When they neared the edge of the woods, with homes and once-manicured lawns taking over the trees and brush, the group slowed and stopped, dropping to their knees. Everyone was out of breath and dripping sweat.
The four guards escaping with them were all injured in some capacity. One, Jay, appeared to have escaped the melee with some minor bruises and scrapes. He said, “I’ll take Connor for a while. You take point.” Jay was about Simon’s height, but with wide, thick forearms. Two of the other soldiers had more serious wounds, with bandages and rags wrapped around arms and legs. One man held a thick rag over his stomach, with both arms bleeding, and a host of scrapes and lacerations covered his face. Carolanne began inspecting the wounds and bandages. The other soldiers, Ellen and Jack, insisted they were okay. The wounds on their hands and arms were superficial.
Simon attempted to hand Connor over, but the boy’s grip remained firm around his neck. “Connor, buddy,” Simon said in a whisper. “Jay here’s going to take you, okay?” Connor didn’t budge. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.” Reluctantly, Connor pulled away and nodded. He kept his eyes down, his face crimson and wet with tears. “You okay?” Simon asked. Connor nodded. “You hurt?” Connor shook his head. Jay reached out and took the boy.
“Hey, kiddo,” Jay said, “I got you.”
Simon shook out his stiff arms and removed a folded map from his breast pocket. He traced the area with his finger over the page. Ellen, tending to the bandage on her forearm, said, “We need to move.” She peered behind her, as if a force of Red Hands would appear at any moment, which was entirely possible. “We can follow the tire and foot tracks, at least to the paved road.”
Simon nodded. “Keep a look out to the north as we go; their scouts could be cutting a similar path. Beth, take point with me.” The group reshouldered their bags and readied their rifles. Simon pooled some water from his canteen into his palm for Winston to lap up and looked at Carolanne, who was switching the pistol he’d given her from hand to hand. “We’ll be okay,” he said.
She nodded and swallowed visibly. Her jaw trembled open, and she said, “It’s … we can’t keep going on like this.” A tear dropped as her eyes clenched shut.
Bethany turned fast to her. “It’s not like we got a damn choice, now do we?” Her voice held a hint of anger.
Carolanne met her gaze, her eyes watery. “We’ve been running, hiding, watching our friends die for years now.”
“I know,” Bethany said in a softer tone. “It’s not fair. Never was, never will be. We can’t think of these things. We can’t think of …” She paused in contemplation, then continued, “…the ones we lost. Not now.”
Carolanne wiped her eyes on a sleeve and nodded.
“I’ll take up the rear,” Ellen interjected, holding her rifle and rechecking the chamber. She was shorter than Simon, but wide and strong, hardened by years in the military. Ellen had been stationed in the trade grounds, protecting the access door. She was there when the Red Hands advanced upon the gate, and she’d told them that in her estimation, less than a dozen of their soldiers stationed there had escaped the onslaught.
Before leaving, Simon took the handheld radio from his bag and turned it on now that they were far enough away to have the volume on low. He typed a passcode to access the encrypted frequency and the airwaves came to life with voices speaking fast, back and forth, a bit fuzzy with distortion.
Jack put his arm under the more seriously injured soldier’s shoulders, and they began stepping out, following the dozens of zigzagging tire tracks implanted in the dirt. Then Simon froze and put the radio closer to his ear.
“What is it?” Bethany asked.
Simon put a finger in the air as he listened to the report. After a moment he looked up at the group, meeting their combined gazes, and said, “We need to hurry to the refuel point. They’re forming a perimeter.”
“Who?” Ellen asked, “Alice? It’s a half-day’s drive to get there.”
Simon shook his head. “It’s California and Texas. They’ve joined the battle.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Human Semblance
Dew collected like crystalline pearls on the thin complexity of a spiderweb, each orb reflecting the transparent morning sky. Brian crouched in a thicket of branches, leaning against the base of a maple tree with bright green boughs. Two Red Hands soldiers were stopped in the road ahead, hunched over the open hood of a pickup. They were far from the fighting in Alice, which, if what Brian had been told was correct, might be long over.
The lack of additional voices urged Brian to
creep closer and closer, staying low and going slow, gripping his compact Ruger pistol before him. When movement was visible, he stopped and watched. The sun rose in the sky, and the two men spoke loud, yet muffled, laughing at times, and taking breaks from fixing the stalled vehicle to smoke cigarettes.
The dew droplets grew smaller and then evaporated altogether as the sun broke free from the morning confines, producing a dazzling and vibrant blue. The men wore a disarray of army fatigues of no particular origin, the dark hues stained darker in patches with various rips, holes, and frayed edges. They were bearded, filthy, yet appeared strong and in good health. They leaned against the truck, assault rifles nearby, and smoked cigarettes as they spoke and peered upward, admiring the weather.
The more Brian stared, even from his distance, the more he could make out nuances in their personas. One had a minor limp, barely noticeable. The other might be missing fingers, or just held his cigarette in an odd manner. Both wore pistol belts with long combat knives and pouches for spare magazines and radio receivers. And both had red handprints painted over their hearts.
The men ground their cigarettes out on the pavement and turned to the open hood. One wiped his grease-stained palms on his pant legs and picked up a wrench before leaning his head into the cavity.
Brian closed his eyes and inhaled deep and exhaled slow. What was that meditation thing that Simon had told him about months ago? Something about breathing in, being a bird or a rock or some shit? A plant or a tree?
With open eyes, he clicked the safety off his pistol and stood slowly, his back against the rough bark of the maple, his backpack left at the base. He peered out and then took a step, and then another and another. He approached from behind, taking each footfall with care, cautious of sticks and leaves. He heard their radio crackle. Heard the men say stuff like, “Can’t reach the bolt … not till this afternoon … give it another hour …”
Then he squatted, aimed between the shoulder blades of one man, and pulled the trigger. The pop was loud, and the sudden evacuation of birds from the neighboring trees seemed to make the whole atmosphere come alive. The soldier rocked further into the cavity of the truck, and Brian aimed the pistol fast toward the other man, who barely had enough time to jolt before Brian pulled the trigger twice. Both bullets struck the man in the back, and he made a huffing sound as the air escaped his lungs. Brian sprinted toward them as they toppled over. A flash of memory crossed his mind, the cell walls in the dark basement, the feeling of the damp cold entering his skin, his stomach consuming his muscles to keep him alive. He fired two more shots at close proximity.
Brian stood over them, reining in his heavy breathing. The air grew quiet once more, except for the occasional report coming in over the radios. He went to the driver side door and found a canteen on the front seat. The liquid smelled clean, and he took a long pull of water. The men’s backpacks were in the back seat, each with food rations, sleeping bags, and plenty of ammunition. He consolidated what he could, then dragged the men into the brush, one at a time. A stain of red trailed behind; hiding their bodies wasn’t worth the effort.
Before leaving, Brian took their pistols and knives and examined their boots, but neither was large enough to fit him. It was a tough decision between his damp shoes or their tight ones, but he decided to keep the ones he had. He hoped to swap out his wet socks, but the dead men’s were so well-worn, carrying an undeniable stench, that he opted to keep his. After tossing the boots, he used a combat knife to cut strips of a blanket and fashion them into something resembling gloves. The blisters from the oars had burst while he was paddling, and his palms stung. Brian took the last apple that Jacob had left for him and bit into the sweet, crisp flesh as he walked back into the wild.
***
His heels were raw from rubbing against his wet socks, his toes like squashed fruit, and the handle of the assault rifle bothered his burst blisters, despite the material wrapped around his palms. Starting a fire would do wonders to strengthen his resolve and dry out his clothes, yet Brian knew how foolish it would be to bring attention to himself. If he’d learned anything from his journey to Alice all that time ago, it was that he could override comfort if it meant survival. So onward he went, toward Alice.
He used the position of the sun to guide him south, along with an estimate of where the ocean resided. At least he no longer experienced the pangs of starvation he’d suffered in the prison cell. The soldiers he’d killed each had a hunk of stale bread, a sack of dried fruits, a pouch of smoked meat, and four high-calorie survival bars. He’d already peeled back the vacuum-sealed silver foil of one of the wrappers and ate a full bar, which tasted like chewy wood sprinkled with cinnamon and had the calories of a full meal.
Keeping close to the water’s edge, away from the main road between Hightown and Alice, Brian managed to avoid seeing more Red Hands, or anyone for that matter, aside from birds and squirrels. Every ten minutes or so, he clicked on the slain soldier’s radio to save the battery life, keeping the volume low. The radio was small and handheld, and the programmed frequencies were mostly silent. Occasionally he heard someone asking for reports on the vehicles, so it was safe to assume the men he’d killed were limited to a mechanical detachment. He scanned other channels, but aside from two that came in scrambled, there were no other active lines. And now, only a few miles further south, he was losing the short-wave distance from the other relays, and conversations were choppy.
Again, he tried to remember Simon’s meditation: I am the animal, the wind … shit … the rock, the tree? It would have come in handy down in the jail cell … Don’t think about the past. Don’t dwell on thoughts that can harm your mind, dull your senses. Remember what it was like in the woods after you left Steven for dead?
He shook the memory away.
Insanity was close at hand back then, along with a terrible fever. If he hadn’t found Bethany’s bunker when he did, he surely would have perished out there among the pine trees and wavering brush, lost with the scattered bones of the departed.
After the battle at Nick’s mansion, the faces of the slain and the cries of the dying haunted him for weeks. He’d often thought that he could never aim and shoot a gun at another human again, no matter their crimes. But less than two hours ago, he’d shot and killed two Red Hands without the slightest trepidation. He moved as if in a dream, aware that he was doing the things he’d done, but it was as if he were watching himself do it. He tried to remember the faces of the men he’d just killed, their eye color, jaw structure, the way their mouths dropped open moments before death as if in disbelief, the things that used to haunt his dreams, but the details were blurred. And it didn’t bother him in the slightest. Those men deserved to die. All of the Red Hands deserved to find death in the most horrifying of conditions. They were not human. They had no semblance of a soul, and lived with such reckless abandon that they would leach the blood from children just to see them die. They were insects. Vermin. Monsters, and Brian had no hesitation to swat as many as he could. The thought gave him a warm embrace, a pleasant tingle. Without realizing it, his lips cracked into a smile.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Smoke and Ash
Ellen told a rushed tale of the Red Hands’ invasion of the easternmost section, where she’d been stationed along with Andrew, the man with the stomach wound. They were both members of Alice’s Guards division, and among the first to deal with the onslaught.
“It was those damn helicopters more than anything else,” she said. “We heard them before we could see them, and then when they appeared high up in the air, they were already unloading their ordnance. We were expecting the ground assault, but their numbers … Jesus, where did they get so many soldiers? They came like a flood out of the woods.”
“Louisiana,” Simon said, despite being aware she already knew. “They betrayed Alice.”
“If it weren’t for Andrew getting hit early on, I don’t know if either of us would have made it much further. I started dragging him ba
ck behind cover after the shrapnel tore him up. Another Guard helped us, but a bullet hit him plumb center.” She lifted her camouflaged military cap by the visor and pointed to the center of her forehead. Simon noticed she too had some scrapes on her cheek, behind the layer of grit that seemed to cover everyone who had fought. “I got him to the medics, who were beyond saturated with the injured coming in from the fighting up north. I was about to turn back to the line, leave him on the grass, but with him slipping in and out of consciousness and no one able to hold the bandage to his wounds, I stayed. Then we heard that our line was broken. The sound of bullet fire grew closer. We got the order to retreat, and luckily I found Jack and Jay, who were able to help me get Andrew out of Alice.”
Simon was half listening to Ellen’s story, but trying to focus more on the sounds of the wild and the broadcast coming in over the radio. It was doubtful that the Red Hands had any men stationed this far west of Alice, but it was possible. It was more likely that a division was following the trail of the retreating army to finish them off, and would soon be at their heels.
After a brief silence, Bethany asked, “You think they know about California and Texas?”
“The Red Hands? I’m not sure.” Simon had been wondering the same thing. “There’s no doubt that they have our radios in their possession, but who knows if they have the access codes.” The frequencies were all encrypted, and a code had to be entered into the receivers for them to broadcast. As the leader of the Rangers, Simon had codes to access frequencies used only by officers. “If the Red Hands captured an officer, it’s possible they have the cipher in their possession.”
Bethany nodded.
Someday Soon Page 16
