Parker: The Story of an Apocalypse Survivor: COMPLETE SERIES

by Ben Stevens

  Parker began to weep, silently.

  After a while, he wiped his eyes and again stared out at the highway.

  And then he realized that they were watching him again, on top of the rocky face opposite, maybe four or five hundred yards away.

  Two figures on horseback, just sat there.

  Wanting –

  What the hell did they want?

  The horsemen descended slowly along one of the steep tracks leading from the top of the rock-face down to the side of the highway. Clouds of dust blew up behind them from the hooves of the animals, as they picked their way past the reddish boulders and small, stunted bushes which looked dead yet, somehow, remained alive in this hellish climate.

  Parker tried to say something, but there was no saliva in his mouth and the first word emerged as nothing more than a croak. He took a mouthful of water, rinsed, spat and tried again –

  ‘What do you want?’

  Parker saw now that the material covering the horsemen’s heads was dark-brown rather than black. It also covered their shoulders and upper bodies like a poncho, while they wore blue jeans and brown boots. They were both bearded, the rifles carried on their backs by a strap.

  ‘Figured you could use some help,’ returned one of the horsemen almost laconically. ‘Seen you before on that bicycle of yours, and figured you’d wind up like this sooner or later.’

  Parker thought of the pistol carried in his pocket. The men were still some distance away – far enough that Parker had had to raise his voice in order to address them. But something told him that if they had had bad intentions, then they could have got to him before he knew what was happening and simply cut him down.

  Still, he would be cautious. But, right now, he had to pray that these men were as ‘straight’ as they somehow appeared. Otherwise, he and the girl were dead however this scenario ultimately played out.

  ‘This girl – she’s sick,’ said Parker hesitantly, indicating Abby as she continued to sleep. ‘Got a fever, or something.’

  The horseman nodded, as he and his companion now slowly began advancing again.

  ‘That will happen, you start trying to cross this desert on that thing of yours,’ said the man, still in that laconic voice. ‘She your daughter?’

  ‘Not... my daughter,’ returned Parker. ‘Her... her mother made me promise I’d look after her, before she died.’

  The horsemen came to a halt a few feet away from where Parker was kneeling beside Abby. The same man who’d talked to him so far momentarily looked up at the sun, squinting his steely-blue eyes against its heat and brightness.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he said then, returning his steady gaze towards Parker.

  ‘Parker – John Parker.’

  ‘Well, Mr. John Parker, I’ll make it real easy for you. You and the girl can stay here and die, or you can come with us. You ain’t got nothing to worry about from us, by the way – or those others we live with. We’ll take you some little way to where there’s a river, food, somewhere safe to rest and such. And Granny Smith can take a look at the girl, there.’

  “Granny Smith’...?’ repeated Parker, bewilderment showing perfectly in both his voice and sweat-smeared expression.

  The other man spoke for the first time –

  ‘There ain’t no hospitals an’ such anymore, of course,’ he said. ‘But Granny Smith’s about the second best thing. Ain’t much she can’t cure, even if it’s what you might call of a serious nature. And I reckon that girl just needs a cool place and rest, mainly. Like yourself, I’m guessin’.’

  Parker stood up as the men now moved so close that Parker could smell the horses. He patted one on its nose as he thought desperately of something to say.

  ‘I’d appreciate that,’ he said at last. It seemed all about he could say. ‘I really would.’

  ‘I’ll take the girl, hold her in front of me as we ride,’ said the first horseman who’d spoken. ‘You’ll have to ride bareback, I’m afraid, sitting behind Lane. You okay with that – I mean, you got sufficient strength still in you? It ain’t far – maybe twenty minutes’ ride.’

  ‘I can do that,’ returned Parker.

  Abby moaned slightly as he lifted her up to the first horseman, who muttered ‘Name’s Webb, by the way’ as he positioned the girl as comfortably as he could in front of her.

  It took Parker a few attempts to get onto the back of Lane’s horse, even with Lane leaning round to try and help pull him up. Finally he was on, Lane instructing him to ‘Get a good hold round my waist, ‘cause it’s clear you ain’t never ridden before, and you sure don’t want to take a tumble any time in the next twenty-odd minutes’ before they set off.

  There was obviously no way to take any of the luggage or supplies still on the tray at the back of the bicycle with them. All Parker had was the rucksack that was almost always on his back, containing the most essential of items – and his gun, in the pocket of the light jacket wrapped around his waist.

  The two horses made their way back up the steep trail, leading away from the highway. At the top of the trail, saw Parker, the land opened up. More boulders lying here and there, cactuses and those prickly, gnarled bushes. Mountains ahead, the tops of them hazy against the blue sky with the few, scraggly white clouds and the blazing sun. Lane and Webb spurred the two horses into a run and the breeze created buffeted off Parker’s face.

  He felt a little embarrassed, holding on to Lane’s waist as though he were a child. Yet he realized that this was really the only way. He was sat perilously near the rear of the horse, and already saddle-sore from the bicycle he was soon gritting his teeth against the discomfort.

  As though realizing this, Lane turned his head round slightly and said –

  ‘Not long now, John – just hold on a short while longer.’

  And after a few minutes more, when Parker estimated that two or three miles had been covered, the plain they were on began to drop downwards. Soon the horses were slowed, as the riders again navigated their way along a steep, winding track, leading down towards...

  Parker could hardly believe it.

  A river! – just as Webb had said, though then Parker hadn’t even been sure he’d heard correctly... Fairly wide, the water flowing and undoubtedly so beautifully cool. Lush green vegetation in places along the bank, and –

  He freed one hand from round Lane’s waist to rub his bleary eyes. What looked like several women, cleaning clothes in the water. One stood up, and briefly waved her hand at the approaching riders.

  Parker looked further along the river, and there were a number of what he could have best described as ‘wooden huts’. Smoke rising from a small fire outside. Some children playing in the sandy soil, and then a little further along were various vegetables growing in lines within a series of small ‘allotments’, sited close to the river and undoubtedly irrigated by its water. There were also some animals, kept in a number of small pens – Parker saw some hens, a pig...

  Webb and Lane rode into the area occupied by the series of large wooden huts, which Parker saw now had actual glass in their windows, shutters and a real homely air. Looking through the open door of one, there were chairs, a table – a bed in one corner... The majority of the huts had been constructed raised slightly from the ground, so that several steps led up to the inside floors which were also wooden.

  Webb slid down off his horse in one easy movement, and then helped Parker get stiffly down. Lane had already dismounted, carrying Abby. There was another wooden building, larger than any of the huts and not raised from the ground. Parker looked inside and there were some other horses tethered to long, horizontal posts, some well-bitten vegetables lying here and there on the dusty ground and saddles, reigns and such hanging from a series of wooden ‘pegs’ protruding from one wall.

  Lane led the two animals into the stable, as an elderly woman with the most lined face Parker had ever seen emerged from one of the huts. She stalked over, her grey hair drawn back tight in a bun.

  �
�These the two you talkin’ ‘bout earlier?’ she demanded of Webb, ignoring Parker completely. Several men, women and children had gathered round to watch.

  ‘Yes ma’am,’ replied Webb deferentially.

  The old woman stuck her face close to Abby’s, the young girl continuing to sleep cradled in Webb’s arms.

  ‘Get her into my hut, immediately,’ said the old woman then. ‘Lay her down on the bed while I get some things to set her right.’

  ‘Yes ma’am,’ replied Webb again, but the elderly woman wasn’t listening, already bustling away in the direction of the river as she muttered to herself –

  ‘Now, gonna need something to bring down the fever, in the first place, then think about cleaning her up a bit...’

  With the old woman walking away, and Webb inside one of the huts with Abby, Parker realized that he was stood on his own. That was, he was stood by himself but now surrounded by about twenty men, women and children. They stared at him openly, with no trace of hostility – perhaps just a little curiosity.

  ‘Hey,’ tried Parker, nodding at a few of them. They returned the gesture, but did not speak. Then Lane returned from inside the stable.

  ‘C’mon, John, let’s go get cleaned up. Sure get dusty riding. Supper’ll be served soon; probably gonna be better than that canned stuff you’ve no doubt gotten used to eating.’

  Lane then looked at one of the men (dressed like the others in jeans and checked shirt – Webb and Lane had also removed their head-covering and poncho, along with their rifles, as soon as they’d dismounted), cocked his head and said –

  ‘Danny, any chance you could loan John here a set of clothes? That is, ‘til such time as his own get washed and dried. You’re ‘bout his size.’

  ‘Be glad to,’ replied Danny, who along with one other man was the only completely clean-shaven male. (Parker, who’d always shaved regularly, now realised that he too had some facial hair.)

  ‘Thank you,’ said Parker, nodding at the man.

  ‘Pleasure,’ returned Danny. ‘Glad to have you here. Hope the little one’s okay.’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ declared Lane confidently. ‘Old Granny Smith’s taking care of her, and when Granny Smith – ’

  ‘ –is in earshot, she sure don’t like being referred to as ‘Old Granny Smith’,’ declared the old woman brusquely, who’d returned unobserved by Lane carrying some sort of plant, its roots long and still covered in dusty earth.

  ‘Now,’ continued the woman, ‘I got something here to treat that little one good, right away. So you gonna take this man here to get himself cleaned up before we eat, or just stand around yapping for the rest of the evening?’

  ‘Just heading to have a wash now, ma’am,’ returned Lane almost meekly, as several men and women covered what were obvious smiles with their hands.

  ‘I’ll bring the clothes in a minute,’ said Danny then, as, thus bidden, Parker followed Lane the short distance towards the edge of the river.

  The water was wonderfully cool, the bottom of the river comprised mainly of soft sand. Parker waded slowly in, like Lane stark naked. He’d left his clothes by the river bank – including his jacket, with the gun in it...

  ...So nice just to lie back; to let the gently-flowing water sooth and caress his aching, burnt, exhausted body. The sun which was slowly starting to set dappling off the river’s surface, shooting gentle darts and beams into Parker’s eyes. Partially submerging his face, he sucked in a little river water, before spitting it back out.

  ‘You could pretty much drink that,’ declared Lane, immersed up to his shoulders nearby.

  Then, with a shrug, he added: ‘That said, we still filter it pretty good before we do drink it.’

  Parker grinned, stretching out his arms.

  ‘This river is pretty much essential to you, right?’

  As soon as he asked this question he felt foolish – the answer was obvious – yet Lane merely gave a serious-looking nod.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said the bearded, narrow-eyed man. ‘It’s life. We can get clothing and such from the stores lying either side of this patch of the desert; but to actually maintain a community, to grow things and to be able to put down some kind of roots, requires this river. Sometimes in the height of summer she gets a little thin, but she always keeps flowing. Never failed us yet.’

  So how long you been here? was the question Parker felt like asking. Yet he refrained from doing so. Somehow, he recognized that questions weren’t welcome. He’d been asked a cursory question about his relation to Abby – She your daughter? – and that had been all. The river kept flowing and people living here (or brought here, as in his case) gave up information as and when they felt comfortable doing so. That was all.

  Webb now appeared, walking down to the river’s edge. He stripped, and entered into the water.

  ‘Lord, but don’t that feel good,’ he sighed, immersing himself up to his shoulders, and then briefly ducking his head.

  He looked almost sympathetically at Parker.

  ‘Tough times, huh?’ was all he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Parker. ‘Can be.’

  ‘Guess if you were on the road long enough, you might have encountered some of them hogs,’ suggested Lane, almost carelessly. Parker understood that any suggestion of a direct question was being scrupulously avoided.

  Parker decided to reply in an equally roundabout manner. No point in being too honest; he was grateful these men had saved not only his life but also Abby’s, but still that didn’t mean he had to open himself up to every one of their vague questions.

  ‘A few times,’ said Parker. ‘Had much to do with them yourself?’

  ‘Nope,’ returned Lane, lying back in the river and shooting up a spurt of water. ‘They don’t venture into the desert; and if they did, they’d get their asses handed to them.’

  Parker nodded, thinking of those two men on horseback riding along the rocky ridge beside the highway. Anyone they chose to pick off with those rifles of theirs would certainly be dead meat...

  ‘So many of them, though...’ ruminated Parker then, almost just thinking aloud. ‘I don’t understand... How can so many men – well, and just a few women, sometimes – so evil-minded, have survived and... Come together like that?’

  A long pause followed this question of his that was almost rhetorical. Then, Webb said slowly –

  ‘Maybe, just maybe I’ve got the answer to that...’

  Parker and Lane looked across at him.

  ‘Before any of this... happened, if you get me,’ began Webb, ‘I was in the military. Special Forces. Saw action in a number of countries. Then they started trialling this new drug on us. Our choice whether to take it or not, but they said it would just generally boost our immune system, increase our recovery time from fatigue, give our senses an ‘edge’ and stuff like that.

  ‘Sounded okay, so me and a bunch of other guys began taking it. Took only a short while to realize there’d been what you might call a ‘change’ in my character. And in the character of those other men who were taking it.’

  Webb stared across at a mountaintop, his flinty eyes grey and distant. He shook his head slightly.

  ‘I don’t want to say too much about that time. Enough to tell you that I and the others were often in action, which served to show perfectly just how mean this drug could make you. Like it was slowly stripping away all humanity, all conscience, to leave you as this sort of shell of a person that was capable only of committing gross violence...’

  Webb’s voice had increased in pitch, his words coming out faster. He took a deep breath, calming himself.

  ‘Then I got shot, in the leg. Was lifted out and actually returned home, once they realized I’d need a series of specialist operations – the round had shattered part of the shin. They did a pretty good patch-up job; only aches now when there’s rain coming – so living here, that’s hardly ever...

  ‘But, that meant that I stopped taking this drug. Sort of managed to come back to my sens
es, then; realized just what it had been doing to me, and the others who were I guessed still taking it.

  ‘Almost as soon as I was fit enough to leave the hospital, the virus broke out. I was drafted in to combat those things, try to stop the rioting and such. But everyday more and more of us got sick, or badly bit or injured some other way; and then they started giving out that drug again. There was a rumor that it somehow made you immune to the virus – if you took enough of it. And because of the massive losses in the regular army, we were having to get in all these National Defence boys and such, who already seemed almost to be enjoying the situation.

  ‘Soon, it seemed there was more of them guys than there was actual soldiers. And they were growing their hair long, sporting these strange beards and taking as much of this drug as they could get their hands on – in fact, a number of times I saw them come to blows over it. But it seemed to be ‘working’, you might say; I saw very few of those guys get sick. Myself, by then I realized that I was somehow immune from the virus (maybe the amount of the drug I’d taken before had at least done that for me); and when shit really went bust, I got out.’

  Webb looked briefly first at Lane and then at Parker, before nodding almost to himself. No explanation of how he’d ultimately come to be here, thought Parker – and this appeared to be the first time that Lane had heard this story of Webb’s, concerning the strange drug.

  ‘Hey,’ said a voice from the river bank. Parker looked round, to see the man called ‘Danny’.

  ‘Here’s your clothes,’ said Danny to Parker, putting down a bundle. ‘I’ll give what you’ve been wearing to a couple of the women to wash.’

  ‘Wait – ’ began Parker, as Danny began assembling his worn jeans, T-shirt and jacket that Parker had left lying on the riverbank. But Danny had already felt the weight in the jacket pocket.

  ‘I’ll be leaving you the jacket,’ said Danny simply. ‘Obviously you ain’t gonna need that rucksack of yours washed, either.’