by A. R. Daun
“If I knew you would be following me today, I would have taken a morning shower first,” he said conversationally.
“Hello,” the woman finally said. Her voice was low and sultry, and her brown almond-shaped eyes looked up at Denzel, then darted to her companion. “There's no need for profanities. My name is Ammara, and my friend here is called Edmund.”
Denzel raised his own hand in greeting. “I walked in from Miami,” he explained. “The name's Denzel. Pleased to meet you. To be honest, I didn't expect to find anyone alive.”
He carefully step down and walked over to the two. The feel of the fine sand between his toes was exquisite after the rough and slightly hot surface of the rocks.
Edmund cocked his head when he stood before them, but did not offer to shake his hand, which Denzel had automatically half-raised. He dropped the hand and settled on giving them his best shit-eating grin. You can take the man away from civilization, but you can't take civilization out of the man, he thought wryly.
“Most have been taken away by the nanoswarms, that's true,” the woman said, nodding. “But there are a few of us left who have come together to form a community.”
Denzel thought, nanoswarms? He started feeling like someone who had been dropped into the middle of a foreign country whose populace spoke English, but one which had grown a local flavor that was understood nowhere else.
“A community?” Daniel mused. He took in a deep breath and turned to gaze out to sea, watching as the waves broke upon the surf. “How's that possible? How did you survive those...things?”
“It's a long story,” Ammara explained behind him, and he could sense a vast well of sadness in her voice. “And we've come a long way. But I can fill you in later. Our vehicle is parked close to the bridge to the mainland. You can come with us and meet the rest of our group. There are about two hundred fifty of us.”
Denzel turned back and looked at her skeptically. It had never entered his mind that he would meet anyone living on his trek. At best he was thinking that some outside entity, the United Nations perhaps, would someday send reconnaissance units in after some time had passed.
But now that he had actually stumbled on others, he was at a loss as to what he actually wanted to do.
“That sounds like a plan,” he finally agreed, nodding thoughtfully. He decided that he was curious after all about the community this young woman was assembling. “I think I'd like like that. I haven't seen a single soul since....well, since I left the Truman all those months ago. To be quite honest, I never expected to see anyone ever again before one of those things got to me. I...ah...it was lonely out there.”
He looked at her, wondering whether this display of weakness would make her think less of him. But her eyes were full of honest sympathy and kindness, and Denzel wondered why he suddenly cared so much what this newly-met stranger thought about him.
He rubbed his palms briskly to break the moment and get the sand out of his hands. “Well, now that we got that out of the way,” he said, and glanced pointedly at Edmund. “Does your friend ever speak?”
Ammara smiled up at him. “I'm glad you decided to join us, Denzel,” she said, then placed one hand affectionately on her companion's shoulder. “Edmund is...shy. But he's the one who led me to you. We need your help Denzel. We need all the help we can find to make sure our community survives.”
He looked at her earnest face. “Cool,” Denzel replied grimly, and something in the tone of his voice made her smile falter. He pocketed the shells he had collected, and started walking back the way he had come, then stopped and turned to face them.
“Well....what are you waiting for? Lead the way...Ammara,” he said and at the mention of her name a genuine smile touched his lips. He really had been lonely after weeks of wandering alone in a world that was suddenly bereft of people. It had taken this meeting to bring the fact home. Perhaps what he had been secretly craving all these time was a return to a life that had some meaning, and maybe...just maybe, this strange beautiful woman and her mute assistant would be the key to that life.
Denzel whistled a soft tune as he continued walking, savoring the warmth of the sun on his face and bare shoulders. Behind them, a flock of small birds with light gray plumage and white underbellies skittered along the sand on long thin legs, their beady little eyes darting to and fro in search of small crustaceans. One willet stared at the departing people until they rounded a curve and were lost from sight. It uttered a high pitched kip-kip-kip call, but the sound went unremarked in the deserted beach.
PART 3: THE COMING STORM
CHAPTER 29
Day -250 A.R.
20 miles west of Bandera, Texas
In Hinduism, the leaf of the Banyan tree is said to be the resting place for the god Krishna.
The horse ranch was located only 80 miles from San Antonio, but to Haley Miles it might as well have been a continent away. Gone were the crowded thoroughfares, the sidewalks swarming with tourists and office workers, the nauseating smell of exhaust in the air, and the noises of a thousand thousand people all shouting and cursing and talking and laughing. Instead when she looked around she saw tall, rugged hills built from granite and limestone. Above the thin layer of topsoil grew scraggly Yucca, Texas Live Oak, Cedar Scrub, and prickly pear cactus, while cypress-lined creeks and rivers wound their way between the few gritty towns that squatted like ugly toadstools in the midst of so much natural splendor.
Guests reach the 380 acre ranch by following state route 16 as it meanders its way out of the northern suburbs of San Antonio and intertwines with the Medina River. The two lane highway gradually gives way to a one lane road as it passes the small dusty town of Bandera, whose few hundred inhabitants inhabitants crown their home the “Cowboy Capital of the World”, but which Haley thought seemed to have more tough looking bikers in full leathers than actual cowboys. Around thirty miles west of the town, visitors are directed to a narrow dirt road that branches off to the south. A large front facing wooden sign proclaims “Welcome to the Western Oaks Guest Ranch” in big bold Rio Grande font, and after 300 hundred yards of fairly smooth driving several large and rectangular log buildings come into view.
The property centers on a dining hall and lodge, and stone and dirt paths ramify from these to a nearby laundry and utility building, as well as log cabins and sheds that are interspersed between towering live oak. Man-made ponds dot the landscape, with corrals in the north and a barn located in the south side. An asphalt road runs through the central property and climbs up a nearby hillside.
Haley had been working here only a couple months, and already she could not imagine life away from the place. She loved the horses, and admired the wranglers who cared and handled them; she enjoyed the daily routine of the place: getting up at sunset before breakfast and working continuously throughout the long day until dinnertime; but most of all she loved guiding the guests who frequented the place during the summer months along the various nature trails that extended outwards from the ranch into the surrounding hills and valleys.
The work was hard but rewarding. The staff were expected to work six day weeks, and although she had been mainly recruited for her knowledge of the surrounding hiking trails, like most of the other people employed in reality she had a broad range of duties, including housekeeping, waitressing, nannying, office work, cattle round ups, trail rides, and other ranch activities. However, the staff were expected to mingle with the guests extensively, which fostered a close and friendly atmosphere in the relatively isolated ranch, and also meant that they got to eat at the same table and sample the same quality foods as the visitors.
Today she found herself assisting the head cook as the kitchen staff prepared for a large western style barbecue to be held in the afternoon. In addition to chopping veggies and preparing sauces, she would be part of the wait staff later, and help serve meals to the hundred of so guests currently staying at the ranch. She was joking around with one of the assistant cooks named Juan while mincing some ga
rlic, when she first noticed the new hire.
He was doing the dishes in a methodical fashion and with an intensity and focus that was out of all proportion to the job and the casual attitude of most of the staff. A tall rangy man who looked somehow desiccated, as if he had been put out to dry in the hot sun for too long, he wore a felt western hat with a cattleman crown and a 4 inch brim that topped a mop of dirty blond hair which looked like it hadn't felt the touch of a comb in years. He had a classic blue plaid shirt with flap pockets on the chest and stone washed jeans that seemed to hang loosely on his thin frame, and he stood on shiny square-toed black cowboy boots which looked incongruous on his otherwise common outfit due to the stylish gator belly print foot. His whole ensemble sagged loosely around him, and looked as if they had been thrown together haphazardly by some Hollywood designer who had only the vaguest notion of what cowboys wore.
“Who's the cowboy?” She whispered at Juan, who glanced briefly at the man and grimaced. He had been unsuccessfully courting Haley for the past three weeks and was averse to letting her interest wander to any other males within a hundred miles radius.
“Just some gringo who came in with no references, but he works even cheaper than the illegals.” He shrugged, as if that explained everything. Then added superfluously. “He's old girl.”
Haley nodded. The guy did indeed look old, ancient in fact to a girl in her mid-twenties, although if pressed she would have admitted that she could not pinpoint his age with any degree of accuracy. He was one of those people who could have been anywhere from his forties to his early sixties, and from the melange of crevices, shadowed valleys and razor sharp ridges of his craggy weather beaten face a pair of blazing bright blue eyes peered down dubiously at the world around him.
“What's his name?” She asked Juan, but he shrugged again and at that moment the head cook called them both over, and Haley forgot all about the odd new man.
At least until a few hours later. The barbecue lunch had been a spectacular success, and most of the guests were now working off the effects of the meal by taking an afternoon siesta or lolling in the ranch main pool. The hot Texan sun beat down all other attempts at recreation, and the air seemed to flow like slow molasses, so that even the horses, who were normally so spirited and ebullient, now seemed weighted down and sluggish.
Haley had been watching the wranglers coaxing their equine charges. She was leaning against the rough sawn pressure treated lumber that fenced in the corral when a lean shadow briefly eclipsed the sun and the tall rangy figure of the dish washer was suddenly standing next to her.
“My name's Richard,” a low gravelly voice said, and Haley turned to face him. He was so tall that she had to crane her neck up to meet his deep set eyes, which were peering at her suspiciously. “Richard Blakely. I hope that answers your question. And if I'm not mistaken you're the resident trail guide. Haley, right?”
Haley blushed, then nodded shyly. The guy obviously had ears like a bat, and she felt slightly abashed that she had been caught asking about him.
The man looked at her for a few more seconds.
“You know these hills well Haley?” He finally asked.
She considered the question carefully before replying. She was naturally a shy person, notwithstanding her official capacity as one of the trail guides in the place. In truth, she spent most of her time checking out the paths and identifying interesting flora along the trails. She was very pretty in an elfin kind of way, a slender tiny girl with big pale blue eyes and a large expressive mouth, so she was naturally leery of strange men taking an interest in her. But in this case she somehow did not think he was making a pass. He seemed too old and beaten down somehow; too world weary to be interested in a naive girl like her.
“I grew up near here,” she replied, her strong Texas accent giving a sing song quality to her voice. “My Daddy used to take me riding in the hills there. And even while I was doing my college work at UTSA some weekends I'd take a horse and just spend some time on the old paths we used to take.”
She looked at him, emboldened by the belief that he now owed her some explanation as well after her honest answer to his question.
“And what about you Mister?” she asked. “You look like an old trail hand, but you've got a flat northern accent.”
He smiled, revealing small even white teeth.
“You're right Haley. I'm Yankee to the bone. Lived most of my life in Boston, or thereabouts. Put me on a horse and I'd be flat on my butt in about two seconds flat.”
She chuckled, and he grinned back. She could not help herself. It was mainly the incongruity of hearing this man, who looked like the quintessential cowboy, admitting his failings, but it was also because his smile was so genuine and guileless that Haley had no recourse but to join in his self-effacing humor. She immediately revised her estimate of his age downwards, then wondered worriedly why this should matter to her.
“You can't be that bad Mr. Blakely,” Haley said, but mostly to be polite. She had seen her share of some spectacularly inept horse riding from guests who hailed from the suburbs or urban areas.
“Please, call me Richard.” He admonished gently. “Someone calls me that and I have this strong urge to turn around and see whether my Father's standing behind me. And yes, I actually never even rode on a horse until a few months back, and the only farm I visited were during apple picking trips with Mary Anne and...”
He stopped, a pained look briefly crossing his rough handsome features, and Haley looked down.
“I'm sorry,” he continued. “Too much information, as they used to say. What I actually want to ask is whether I could show you something up in the hills there. During my break times I have taken to wandering the off beaten paths. It's beautiful here. I can't believe how fresh the air seems, how invigorating.”
Haley looked up again and nodded, though she wasn't sure whether she was agreeing with his assessment of the merits of the place, or his request that she accompany him. He was friendly enough, and now that she had met him, he seemed vulnerable somehow, a fish out of water with his New England accent and his admitted failing as a rider. But Haley had been taught never to go with first impressions, and her shy nature made her doubly careful of trusting people so quickly.
“I found something,” Richard said. “Something unusual. I'm no biologist, no naturalist, so I'd like someone who knows more about the plants here to identify it for me.”
He shook his head, then smiled somewhat sheepishly.
“It's probably nothing.” He concluded, but Haley surprised herself.
“It's ok,” she said. “We can go out and do it right now. How far away is it?”
He considered for a moment.
“Around an hour walk southwest from here,” he finally said. “Up on one of the bluffs beyond Winan's Creek.”
He looked up at the blinding sun.
“Yes, we can go now.” He said. “I won't need to be here until near dinner time.”
“We'll ride,” Haley started for one of the corrals, then stifled a grin as she caught the quick grimace on his face.
It took them around forty minutes to find the place, and Haley realized quickly that her companion was not kidding about his riding abilities. He slouched, had a tendency to hold his hands too high, and his legs gripped the horse's flank so tightly she was afraid his tense and rigid posture might send false signals to the horse.
“Just relax and sit up straight,” she had admonished him. “And breathe evenly in and out.”
He nodded gratefully, and they managed to get to the bluff without any untoward accidents.
Haley noted that there was nothing to distinguish the place from any other. The vegetation was typical scrub, although the view of the valley below from the bluff was spectacular and she made a mental note to investigate later whether this might be used as stop-over point in one of the guided tours.
Richard had gone forward to near the cliff edge, and now gestured her over to him. He was standing over a sm
all circular area of approximately 3 meter diameter that seemed to have been cleared of all life, and Haley knelt beside him to examine what looked at first glance to be a small woody herbaceous plant.
It stood perhaps a foot and a half tall, with small elliptic shaped leaves that were leathery and glossy, and a main trunk that ended in buttress roots. Haley could also see the beginnings of prop roots reaching down from the lower branches towards the ground, where she knew they would take firm hold and become main trunks in time. But its most surprising feature were its leaves, as they were all a bright dark red in color!
She glanced at Richard as the thought that he was trying to put one on her briefly passed her mind, but he was staring fixedly at the thing, and she quickly discounted the thought. The plant looked for all the world like a banyan tree, perhaps one of those bonsai that Haley had seen in some gardens given its size. But the dark red glossy leaves were like nothing she had ever seen before, and banyans were tropical trees that could not survive the harsh Texas climate.
She felt a hand touch her shoulder, and glanced up again.
“Look closely hun,” Richard said, and pointed at the main trunk. “I only found it two days ago during one of my hikes, but I immediately noticed something unusual about it. It's grown since then.”
Haley bent down and realized that the smooth trunk was crawling with tiny brown dots. She peered more closely, thinking at first that it was infested with insects or spider mites, but the things were simple brownish ovals, with no hint of limbs or any other external appendages. They were going up and down the trunk in several long continuous lines. Haley could not see where they ended up in the crown, but she noticed that they slipped between the buttress roots before disappearing into the parched soil.
“Have you seen anything like it before?” Richard inquired softly.
Haley shook her head.
“No. The plant looks like a bonsai of a banyan tree, like Ficus benghalensis, but I've never seen anything like the things crawling around on its trunk. They're not spider mites, or anything else arachnid, and neither do they look like insects. The way they cluster together and move in a swarm-like manner almost makes me think they're colonial, but they're not any ant or termite I've ever seen.”
