The Legion

by Melissa Delport

  “Oh, I think we can take more than just a spin,” Adam smiles.

  “But, if they’re being tracked . . .” I say, not following.

  “Crackerjack will take care of the trackers,” he answers enigmatically.

  Curious, I follow Crackerjack into the first Humvee, watching as he opens the rear door and drops a heavy metal tool box on one of the seats. I stick my head inside the open door, checking out the interior. The two front seats of the vehicle are similar to an SUV, but in the back are six seats, three on each side, facing not the front, but each other. Even further back is a large open space obviously for storage. Crackerjack gets into the driver’s seat and I go around the other side and climb into the passenger seat. I watch as he sticks his head under the dash and pulls a smaller tool kit from his belt. The others are inspecting the remaining two cars, taking turns driving them up and down the deserted street.

  “So, why do they call you Crackerjack?” I ask, making small talk.

  “It means a person or thing that shows marked ability or intelligence,” he mumbles from below.

  “So, because you’re smart?” I speculate as he emerges.

  “That, and my name actually is Jack,” he adds, retrieving a small screwdriver and handing me the tool kit. “Hold that, will you.” He crouches under the dash once more and again I am struck by the difference between Crackerjack and the others. He is far better groomed and seems almost too educated for someone who has spent his life in the Rebeldom. He also has a name – a real name, unlike the others. Someone must have given it to him before he joined the Ordinary.

  “How did you end up with Adam?” I ask.

  “Same as the others, really. He found me in Arizona, offered me a place in his community. I gladly accepted. I had been on my own for almost a year; I was going crazy.”

  “Who were you with, before?”

  “Hand me the pliers, please,” he asks and I pass them down to him. He is silent for a moment and I think he has forgotten the question when he suddenly answers.

  “I grew up with my dad. He was an academic; did his master’s in applied physics at Harvard. He had just landed some high-powered position with the government, but he and my mom decided to go and visit her parents in Arizona. They arrived a week before the bombs hit. I was born a few years later. My mother died when I was two. She couldn’t cope with it all; the way the world was. She became depressed, stopped fighting. She just didn’t have the will to carry on. You can put these back,” he adds, holding up the pliers. “She committed suicide,” he continues as I take them, and I blink in surprise. “There’s a tool box in the back, can you find me a small crowbar?”

  “Sure.” I slip easily between the seats and into the back. Opening the tool box, I rummage around, extract the crowbar and make my way back to the front.

  “Here,” I pass it down to him.

  “Thanks.” He is quiet for a minute and I wonder if all this talk of his parents has upset him, when I hear him grunt with exertion.

  “Dammit!” He pokes his head out from under the dash and eyes me thoughtfully.

  “Could you do me a favour,” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  Crammed together under the dash, Jack points at a small black box with a blinking red light mounted under the steering column.

  “You see it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t get it off, not even with the crowbar. I’m not strong enough, it’s bolted pretty tight.”

  “Give it to me.” He hands me the crowbar and I wedge the curved end behind the small rectangular unit. I give a quick tug and the black box drops into Jack’s outstretched hand.

  “Nice one,” he grins and wriggles out of the confined space. He waits for me to emerge and then grabs his tool box.

  “Could you help me with the other two?”

  “Of course,” I smile.

  “So, your mom committed suicide?” I prompt, while I wait for him to expose the tracking unit in the second Humvee.

  “Yeah, but I don’t really remember her much. It was harder on my dad. He holed us up in a library in Glendale. It’s funny how in times of chaos and looting, nobody wants to steal books. Anyway, my dad was relentless, he taught me to read and write, and he made me study every day. I must have read every book in that library, although we avoided the fiction. My education was intense.”

  “What happened to him?” I ask, as he sits up and indicates that it’s my turn. I slither down under the dash with the crowbar and a second later I hand the tracking unit up to him.

  “Your dad,” I remind him.

  “He died about three years ago. He stopped eating, and then came the vomiting and the diarrhoea. I think it was gastrointestinal, but obviously I can’t be sure. I nursed him as best I could, but he didn’t survive. I was twenty-one,” he adds.

  “And that’s when you were on your own?”

  “Yes. It was the longest year of my life. I tried to carry on with my lessons, to do what he would have wanted, but I started to get depressed. There were some days that I wouldn’t even get out of bed. They say depression can be hereditary. If Adam hadn’t found me I don’t know how much longer I could have gone on.” This further example of Adam’s benevolence only serves to fuel my growing respect for the Leader of the Ordinary.

  “Only one more,” Crackerjack announces, opening the door and climbing out.

  “Tim!” I flag him down, indicating that we need the third Humvee. He pulls up, pouting that his joyride has come to an end. It takes only another ten minutes and we have all three tracking devices.

  “What should we do with them?” Adam asks, and I shrug.

  “Leave them here, I guess.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Archer says, a smug expression on his face. Coming from him I take this to mean that some poor unsuspecting animal is going to lead the tailing convoy on a wild goose chase.

  “Just be quick about it, we don’t have much time. They won’t be too far behind.”

  As we pack up I notice the members of the Ordinary are stripping the NUSA soldiers down to their underwear.

  “Waste not, want not,” Big Boy calls as he passes, a pair of combat boots in his hands.

  We now have six vehicles between fifteen of us, meaning we can travel in small groups of two to three. Adam insists we keep the truck, much to Reed’s disgust, but his reasoning is sound. It will enable us to bring back more supplies, if we find any, and there will be more space available for any Deranged we may come across in California. Tim, much to his delight, gets one of the Humvees, with Morgan and David as passengers, David relishing the space to sleep on the way. Reed is driving the other Humvee, Jethro alongside him. He reluctantly relinquished the last military vehicle to Archer, who is transporting Little Chef and Big Boy.

  Loader and Diesel take the truck, and Aidan and Crackerjack our Jeep. I am quite happy to keep the Discovery, the monstrous Humvees holding no appeal for me, and Adam offers to accompany me. Hope will not travel with anyone but her father, so the three of us climb into the Land Rover together.

  “How come your people know how to drive?” I ask Adam as we pull out of Flagstaff, heading west towards Los Angeles, which seems as good a place as any to start. Prior to 2016, it was the busiest container port in the US.

  “It’s one of the first things we teach them; it’s part of our rehabilitation programme,” he answers. Adam himself doesn’t drive – his poor vision means he is not safe behind the wheel.

  “What else do you teach them?”

  “The first step is to integrate them into our community, give them basic social skills and make them feel welcome. We feed them, clothe them, get them cleaned up. They learn how to hunt, how to prepare food and boil water. Personal hygiene is important, driving and simple medical care is mandatory. We also offer basic schooling, trying to focus on areas that they’r
e interested in, English, mathematics, history, that kind of thing. They are very much like children when they come to us, but most are eager to learn.”

  “Most? So there are some who don’t?”

  “There are those amongst the lost who can’t be saved; they are too savage and too far gone. They pose a danger to themselves and to us, and we have to let them be.” I assume he is talking about the Rados, but all this talk of the Deranged reminds me of something.

  “There was a family sleeping in a church in Durango when we passed through a few days ago. Today I saw them again being cleaned up in the hall,” I say.

  Adam nods. “Hope found the child alone in the street after your departure, and we located the parents shortly after that. They were fairly hostile in the beginning, but we often find this is the case where there is a child involved. Parents are highly protective, but once they realised we had food and water and were prepared to share it, they settled down quickly.” I barely hear the last part of his story, I am too focused on what he has just said.

  “After our departure?” I repeat his words. “So you knew we were there?”

  “We saw you from the mountains,” he explains, and I feel the gooseflesh rise on my arms.

  “So it was Aidan,” I murmur, and he eyes me quizzically. “We saw you,” I clarify, “when we were leaving Durango. There were three of you standing on a ridge. I recognised Aidan, although at the time I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”

  “How are you coping with it all?” he asks kindly.

  “I don’t think it’s really hit me yet.” I am trying to make light of the situation but he sees straight through my bravado.

  “He could get his memory back at any time.”

  “Or never at all,” I point out. “He seems happy, though.” I can’t seem to drop the subject, regardless of the personal pain it causes.

  “He is by nature a positive person, but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. He seems to genuinely believe in what we are doing and has made friends quickly.”

  “He and Crackerjack seem close?” I ask, hating that I have to find out about Aidan’s life through this stranger who barely knows him. Adam knows more about Aidan now than I do, regardless of our history.

  “They spend a lot of time together,” Adam confirms. “Jack is one of our more esteemed colleagues, so to speak. You know what they say, birds of a feather.”

  “So, where are we heading?” I ask, changing the subject as we turn onto Route 66. The truck is leading the way.

  “Kingman,” he answers smoothly. “We’re nearly there.” We have covered the 150 miles in three hours which, considering the limited speed of the truck, is quite an achievement. Kingman, Arizona is only about 85 miles south-east of Vegas, and I fight the urge to veer right and keep driving until I reach home. I miss Alex, and I’m desperate to know if the others have made it to safety.

  “What’s in Kingman?” I ask, wondering why we aren’t driving straight through to Los Angeles.

  “You’ll see.” Adam smiles and with that I have to be content.

  “This is the farthest west we have ever travelled,” Adam remarks as we enter the city. “When we leave Kingman, it will be a new frontier for all of us.” We continue for a few miles and then he instructs me to overtake the others and pull ahead of the truck. My curiosity piqued, I do as he says. “Any minute now,” he murmurs, and I sense Hope sitting forward in her seat, scanning the road.

  Then, without warning, a mob of angry people swarm into the street ahead of us, men and women, all armed with the same sort of primitive weaponry that the Ordinary carry.

  “What the hell!” I kick the Discovery into reverse, but I have not even put my foot down on the gas pedal when Adam’s authoritative voice rings out.

  “Rebecca, stop.”

  I hesitate, but I have barely a moment to weigh up our options when Adam opens the passenger door and steps out onto the street, completely vulnerable.

  “Dammit!” I put the gearshift in park and leap out of the car, leaving the engine running. My protective instinct will not let me abandon Adam. Reed and Jethro appear at my side, Tim only a moment later.

  Adam steps out in full view of the crowd and, to my relief, they immediately lower their weapons, a collective smile of recognition passing over their faces.

  “Right, so no need to panic then,” Tim saunters forward to stand beside Adam as an older man, who looks to be in his late fifties, strides forward, his arms extended in greeting.

  Chapter 23

  Adam makes a few introductions and we are led down the street to a small, modest house belonging to the older man who first greeted Adam. His name is Peter Presley and we soon learn that he is the unofficial ‘mayor’ of the town.

  “Please,” he offers, “make yourselves at home.” He leaves us alone for a minute in the clean but ramshackle sitting room, and I turn to Adam.

  “How many people live here?”

  “About three hundred,” he answers, smiling at my surprised expression. Peter returns more quickly than expected and I do not have the opportunity to question Adam further.

  “I’ve asked them to get you something to eat,” Peter says. “I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

  “Aren’t we always?” Adam laughs.

  “You know you’re welcome to stay,” Peter jests, sounding as though they have had this discussion before.

  “I know, and thank you, old friend, but, as you know, we have work to do. We’re just passing through,” he adds, “we’re heading for LA.”

  “Breaking new ground, I see.”

  “We’re foraging; we want to see if there’s anything salvageable in the harbours.”

  “If you find anything, feel free to send some our way,” Peter winks.

  “You know we will,” Adam replies earnestly.

  Hope enters with a woman, who I assume must be Peter’s wife, each of them holding two trays brimming with food. My mouth waters when I see fresh fruit and vegetables and I smile in appreciation and tuck in. In a matter of minutes the trays are empty and the same woman retrieves them.

  “I’ll bring some more,” she sounds slightly anxious and her husband glares at her.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Adam insists and she looks relieved. “We’ve had more than enough.” Looking across at Tim’s crestfallen face, I give a tiny shake of my head, warning him to keep quiet. Obviously food is a scarce commodity, and I suspect that Adam does not want to take more than they can afford to give. “I will, however, be needing some of the fuel.” He looks across at Peter, who nods straight away.

  “It’s your gas,” he points out, and then turning to the rest of us, he continues, “Adam leaves a few essentials with us for his return.” He turns back to Adam. “We don’t have any vehicles in running order, so you know we won’t be needing it. Although we have used a keg or two for cooking and a few of the generators.”

  “You’re welcome to whatever you need,” Adam reassures him.

  “So, you’re just stuck here?” I ask, instantly regretting it. I don’t want to be rude, but I cannot fathom how they get by without any cars.

  “Stuck?” Peter laughs. “Where else would we go?”

  I have no answer and I suppose he’s right. Their community is established and they obviously have the resources that they need to survive. Where else would they go?

  “I suppose,” I answer eventually. “But what if you were attacked? By NUSA, or the Deranged?”

  “NUSA won’t come out here, they couldn’t be bothered,” he answers, unconcerned. “And as for the Deranged, when they come looking we do what Adam would do; we help them. Where do you think most of our people come from? On the odd occasion that they can’t be helped, we simply send them packing.”

  I fall silent, my eyes finding Adam. He has achieved so much and helped so many people. His kindn
ess and compassion is humbling, and again I feel the instinctive urge to protect him.

  “We should go,” Adam gets to his feet and the rest of us follow suit. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He shakes Peter’s hand and the two embrace briefly.

  “Unbelievable,” Reed murmurs as we make our way back to the cars, which are being loaded with the additional fuel reserves.

  “I know.” I never suspected there were other whole communities living in the Rebeldom – I thought ours was the last.

  “I’ve missed you,” Reed changes the subject, speaking softly so that only I can hear him. I turn to face him, putting my arms around his waist and relax into his strong arms.

  “You too,” I lean back and smile into his eyes, and he drops a kiss on my nose.

  Suddenly I see Aidan standing a short distance away watching us, and I automatically step away from Reed, my face flushing. Reed frowns, glancing back over his shoulder for the cause of my sudden change in mood, and he stiffens when his eyes find Aidan.

  “I’m sorry,” I grab his arm. “It’s nothing. It’s just weird, that’s all.”

  “Sure it is,” he utters indifferently, and then he walks to the waiting Humvee without so much as saying goodbye.

  My mood is considerably darker as we head towards Los Angeles, and Adam and Hope make conversation among themselves, sensing that I want to be left alone. We travel for almost four hours without incident, and then I start to notice a change in the landscape. Everything seems greyer, and there is very little vegetation. The dust here is thicker, and the buildings more dilapidated than I have seen anywhere else.

  “We’re entering the dead zone,” Adam’s voice is low and depressed.

  Fortunately darkness falls and the blanket of blindness that comes with it is a welcome reprieve. We decide to rest and continue at first light. Tired and despondent, I leave Adam and Hope in the Discovery and make my way to the Humvee that Reed has been driving. As I pass the Jeep, which I know Aidan is travelling in, I will myself not to look inside. When I reach the monstrous military vehicle, I yank open the rear door. Jethro is stretched out in the space between the rear seats. Seeing me, he quickly offers to trade places with Reed, who is lounging across the front seats. Without a word, I nestle myself beside Reed’s warm comforting body, my head on his chest. After only a moment, his arms come around me and I am asleep in a matter of minutes.