TOILS AND SNARES
A Deserted Lands Novel
Robert L. Slater
ROCKET TEARS PRESS
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Copyright © 2017 by Robert L. Slater
Published by Rocket Tears Press
Cover design by Pintado
Interior design by Pronoun
Edited by Amanda J. Hagarty
Copy editing by Spencer Ellsworth
Beta reading by Jesikah Sundin
Distribution by Pronoun
ISBN: 9781942096085
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
More to Come
About the Author
Other Works
BELLINGHAM, WA
To all the grandparents, born and chosen.
And for the special ones who taught the lessons in the story.
CHAPTER ONE
SAMUEL HERMAN FELT MOVEMENT IN his wife Anna’s pregnant belly. “Everything will be okay.” He nestled his chin in the curve of her neck.
“Sam,” Anna said. “We need to leave now.” Her voice rose, still a whisper, but audible to their children down the hall. “Leave Portland. Go into the wilderness, like Moses. Go where there aren’t any people.”
“How many times, Anna?” he said, softening his voice, hoping she would do the same. Noah was too young to understand anything except the tension in their voices, but Abigail was six and sharp as a tack.
“If we don’t leave Portland and one of my kids gets the plague…” She spun, eyes stabbing, voice still rising. “What then?”
My kids too. “Honey, shhhh… Let’s not scare the kids any more than they are already.” Samuel placed his hands on her shoulders. Then slowly he started working on her knotted muscles. “It’s not the plague.”
“I don’t care what it’s called. They might get infected. The hospitals are closing. There’s no reason to stay—”
“No reason?”
For a moment, she looked chastised and guilty as her eyes fell from his. But it only took a moment for her eyes to glaze with anger again. She spoke, no longer even attempting to be quiet. “None of us have it yet. People are looking at us funny.”
Samuel could not imagine that anyone had even seen them. “Who is looking at us funny?” He had been in the office crunching numbers until two days ago when the Emergency Order had been issued, but people had been staying inside. Those that weren’t already dead and dying.
“People.” Anna grabbed his face, in order to hold his gaze.
Had the stress kicked her back into mental health watch mode? He needed her here, not catatonic. “When Maria gets here. Then we’ll go.”
“Maria may not even be on the way. Your daughter—”
“Maria is our daughter.” His face flushed hot. “When you married me, she was part of the package. I know you two don’t get along, but she is ours.”
She pursed her lips and nodded.
Samuel choked down his frustration. “We can go to your grandpa’s place up at Lake Quinault. That’s the middle of nowhere.”
“Yes. That’s perfect.” A slight smile snuck past Anna’s guard. “Thanks for not thinking I’m losing it again.”
“Honey, I never-”
“If you don’t find Maria—”
“I will find her.” Sweat broke out on Samuel’s forehead as his anger surged back. He spoke deliberately, “If you can’t wait, you take the younger kids and I’ll come when I can.”
Samuel watched her reassessing, closing him off.
“Okay,” Anna agreed. “Go see Brad. Please.”
“I called him four times.”
“He’s not going to call you back. Go see if he and Pam are— Ask him for help. Ask them to come with us. I would go with them.”
Samuel sighed and stood. “Okay. I’ll go talk to Brad.” He paused at the door, facing away from her as he spoke. “If Maria hasn’t called by tomorrow, you can leave with them while I head East to find her.” The last thing he wanted to do was leave his pregnant wife alone; how could a man choose between his daughter and his wife?
“Go to Brad’s,” she said. “Go now.” Her jaw clamped down. “Be careful. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She wanted to say something else.
“What is it?”
“If they—if Pam and the kids are—” Anna couldn’t say the word.
Samuel kissed her forehead, then held her at arm’s length, memorizing her worried scowl, even angry she was an amazing beauty. “This is Brad and his family we’re talking about, honey. He’s been preparing for this his whole life. They are probably the safest people in the city.” No new reports of looters in weeks, but the level of lawlessness they represented made Samuel nervous. “Lock the deadbolt.”
Samuel climbed into his truck, turned the heater on against the October chill and flipped the radio to the Oldies station. Bill Haley told him the time as he rocked around the clock backing out of the driveway.
Tonight was Halloween. This morning he’d pulled a box of oatmeal out of the emergency supplies pantry cabinet and spotted the candy stash. It felt wrong that his children were going stir crazy instead of squealing with excitement at their choice of costumes; arguing over whose was the best, and would get the most treats.
Deserted streets should be full of kids—zombies and ghosts. Some of the pandemic survivors looked like zombies, but they didn’t eat flesh. Samuel searched the fading twilight. He didn’t want to run into any cops asking questions about why he’d broken the curfew.
Samuel’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, feeling guilty for checking it while driving. An alert flashed on the screen. Samuel pressed the play icon and a recorded announcement overrode the music.
“There are reports of a secondary wave of the virus. It is unknown if survivors are immune to this strain. Stay in your homes. Portland area hospitals will not be accepting new patients. This message will be repeated and rebroadcast through bluetruth networks and all other emergency systems. Stay in your homes. May God save us. Goodnight.”
Samuel glanced up as he rolled through a flashing red light. “Shit.” He jammed on the brakes; his chest tightened. The CDC said the twenty percent survival rate had stabilized. How deadly would this new strain be? The intersection was deserted, he let the car roll forward again.
Maybe Anna was right and God had taken enough of their children. Maybe miscarriages and losing a baby to SIDS gave them some sort of pass. But despite his decades of Catholic guilt, Samuel couldn’t believe in the God that carried Anna through. If He was watching over every human action, why would He let innocents die? Why did He stand by while others inflicted suffering on so many?
Let Anna believe in that God. It had saved her sanity. Let her believe that one day she’d see all her children again. Adopting Abigail and giving birt
h to Noah had further cemented her faith. But if God was rewarding her for her faith, would Samuel get that same reward with his lack?
He slid his thumb over his phone. “Call Maria.” He had hardly heard from his oldest daughter since she started her second year of video-game production courses at Eastern Oregon University in September. Facebook posts and a text here and there. Then the pandemic hit. “Dad, you know the media is always making things out as worse than they are. Fear mongers. You taught me that.”
When the University closed a week ago, she said she was going to find her boyfriend James on the Warm Springs Reservation and head to Portland. Then the cells went down except for local point-to-point bluetruth networks. They worked again now in Portland, but what about where Maria was? The phone finally started ringing her number as he counted to five. When the line connected Maria said, “Yeah?”
He took a breath to speak, then stopped. He hated her voice-mail. Her voice sounded so real that every time he heard it, his heart thought she was there.
But her voice on the other end continued. “Leave a message if you want to, but I won’t promise to call you back. Send me a text.”
He’d tried texting, too, with no more luck. Samuel spoke. “Ria. It’s Dad. It’s Halloween. We’re leaving town. Call me now.” He ended the call. Was she still alive?
Samuel shook himself out of those thoughts. He hated being held hostage to his fear. There were riots in L.A., New York City, New Orleans, D.C. But there had been little violence here in Portland. Not yet. Some people thought the government was holding out on them, convinced that the cure was out there, or that a government project had gone wrong.
An old drunk, one of the secondary casualties lost in his head, stumbled down the middle of the empty street. If Samuel lost his family, give it a week and he would look just as bad. But his family was alive, against all odds. Anna was right. He had to get them out.
Part of Samuel did not want to check on Brad, his oldest friend. It had been more than two years since he’d seen him. As Brad had become angrier and more paranoid, Samuel found reasons to not be around him. But he’d be a good man to have around if things got even worse.
Samuel pulled into the driveway of the 1970s era split level and sat in his truck surveying the house. The lawn was high, and the lights were out. Pam’s Trans-Am was the only car in the driveway. Had they gotten out? That’s why no one had answered his calls. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but there might be extra survival gear even if they were gone.
He opened the truck door and stepped down. The flimsy veil of street lights held back the dark of night. Most of the other houses were dark, too. When he reached the door, he knocked, waited a moment, then knocked again. Peering through the curtains didn’t help; the inside looked black. He reached under the porch, hoping the key would still be there on the nail. Yes. He pulled the key off and slid it right into the lock; the telltale drip showed that Brad had applied WD-40 anticipating the coming winter. Brad was a fanatic about electrical and mechanical things. The cold knob turned silently, and he pushed the door open.
Samuel reached for the light, but the click of a handgun’s hammer froze his finger on the switch.
~
Maria Herman slipped into the quiet house in Warm Springs as the sun set over the flat-top hills. She’d found the door swinging free and closed it behind her. All the lights were on. James’ truck was parked out front of his family’s house. He had to be here. “James?” she called softly. Her breathing quickened.
Inside the house was a mess. Very unlike the usually neat company-ready home his mother kept. Scents of smoke and mold permeated the house. The table held the remains of a meal, casserole dishes, salmon bones, glasses. Bottles littered the counter. Candles and tokens of affection—remnants of a memorial service—surrounded a photo of James’ mother and his sister, Karaya.
Down the hall, she opened each door. “Mr. Johnson? I’m looking for James.” She had to know if he was still alive. She wasn’t sure if she loved James, and she still wasn’t going to marry him, but none of that mattered anymore.
At the last door at the end of the hall she paused—James’ father’s room. The door had never been opened when she visited. Maria knocked softly. She heard a sound. With a deep breath she turned the knob. A cloth draped over a lamp shade gave off soft reddish light. There was a body in the bed and another on the floor. As her eyes readjusted, she recognized James’ bulky body on the floor curled inward at his father’s deathbed. Oh, God. Not you too. She knelt to kiss him, her movements stiff as tears spilled. Her lips touched his forehead. Not cold. Her hand felt for his heartbeat.
James eyes snapped wide open and locked onto her face as they focused. “Ria?” He stared as if he didn’t believe she was real. “Ria?”
“You were sleeping.” She touched his face. “I’m here.”
James sat up and glanced around, still confused. His eyes took in the body on the bed. “Dad and I were walking down by the…”
Maria saw the realization dawn as the confusion turned to grief and a moan escaped his mouth.
“No,” he whispered, collapsing back to the floor, his body in the fetal position.
Maria wrapped her arms around him. “James.” Her heart pounded in shared pain. She held him as he sobbed, her face on his. She knew the pain of losing a parent. Her mother had died in a car accident a few years after her parents’ divorce. But she didn’t know what it felt like to lose her entire family. “I thought you were…”
He rolled to his back and opened up his arms to her.
She laid her face on his chest, happy to listen to his pounding heart. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
His big arms held her tight, clinging to her. His teeth ground together. After a few moments, he spoke a strangled, “Thanks.”
Silence stretched between them once more. What could she say? As if sensing her discomfort, James took another shuddering breath and whispered, “I’m glad you’re alive.”
“You didn’t answer your phone.”
James stared at her blankly and patted his pockets. “Huh. I don’t know where it is.”
“It doesn’t matter now. I don’t have service here anyway.” Maria slid off his chest and rested herself on her elbow, her small hand nestled in his. “I need you to come with me. Back to Portland. I’m scared. I think we’re safer there.”
“I don’t think anywhere is safe anymore.” James sat up, not letting go of Maria’s hand.
Maria’s mind raced. How should she tell him? Her heart pounded and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She knelt in front of James and held his face in her hands. “I’m scared,” she said, soft and gentle, “because I don’t know what’s going to happen to our baby.” She watched James process the information.
“Oh, god.” James’ eyes closed. He turned away from her. After a moment he returned to face her. “If you were... But, I… I didn’t—” His jaw tightened as he glanced at his father’s body on the bed. “I don’t know if I can handle it, Ria.”
Maria’s stomach churned. “We’re gonna be fine.” Her hands returned to his face. “I’m here. You’re here. We’ll handle it. Together.”
“Yeah.” His features softened. “We’re gonna have a baby?”
“Yeah.”
James stared at her. His eyes lit up, and he jumped to his feet, dragging Maria gently to hers. “We’re gonna have a baby.” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. “Can we name him after my father?
“Who says we’re having a boy?” Maria laughed. Her heart warmed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed.
James kissed her. She closed her eyes, tasting salt on his rough lips.
He set her down on the floor. “When?”
“I’m not sure. Near as I can figure, in about seven and a half months. Must have been that last time. Before you quit school.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you, Maria.”
“No.” She pres
sed her fingers to his lips. “Your mother was dying.” She shrugged, though part of her was still angry. It wasn’t right to be angry about a thing like that. Not now.
“She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“They all are.” James knelt by his father.
Maria knelt beside him and took his hand.
“Goodbye, Father. If you can hear me, take care of Mama and Raya.” He looked upward. “Mama, I’m sorry you didn’t get to be a grandma. Watch over my oha’a, I will teach him what you taught me. Take care of Father.” He brushed the hair back from his father’s, craggy face.
Maria marveled that even in death he seemed calm. She had seen him getting chewed out by James’ mom and always that hint of a twinkle in his eyes, patiently waited for a moment to escape. She loved that about James, too.
“I suppose I should do something, but there is no one—hardly anyone left.” He glanced sideways at Maria. “No survivors to sings songs or give gifts to.” His voice faded out.
“I’ll sing with you.” She felt a calmness that scared her.
His voice started softly, a low rumble, and his hands beat a rhythm on his thighs. After a few cracks and stumbles, his voice rose in confidence. No words, or if there were, Maria could not understand them, but she could follow the music as it repeated. She held onto him as they sang. When the song stopped, the calm remained. He kissed his father’s brow and stood.
“I’ll get some things and then we can go.”
“Take all the time you need.”
“No. It is time to go. Only death lives here now.” He strode from the room.
Maria followed him out. He stepped into a room and closed the door behind him. What did he need and why shut the door?
Moments later the door reopened and James, a mild smile on his face, held something behind his back. “I have a gift for you. For us. For the baby.” He pulled a pretty, beaded frame of leather and woven reeds from behind him. “It’s my hoob, my baby basket,” he said. “My mother made it for me. Then my sister used it.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he held the basket out to her. “She would want you to have it.”
Deserted Lands (Novel): Toils and Snares Page 1
