“So many friendly people everywhere you go,” Malin said.
“We’re just about the only travelers on the road,” Elna said. “Haven’t you noticed? Other than our mysterious tagalong, everyone else is hunkered down in homes or camps. Probably for safety. We seem to be a spectacle.”
Malin glanced at the park again and realized the old man and his walking stick had changed their minds, shuffling through the rows of tents to intersect them at the far corner of the park.
“Here he comes,” Malin said.
“Careful what you say,” Mark said. “We don’t owe these people anything.”
At the southwest corner of the small park, a flat rock created a makeshift boundary marker. It was speckled with years and layers of graffiti. The old man clambered up on the rock, tapping his walking stick loudly, as if to draw their attention, just as they passed by in the southbound lane.
“Where you fine folks headed?” he asked.
Now that he was closer, Malin realized that he probably wasn’t as old as he seemed. A lack of hygiene, shaving, hair care, and clean clothing had combined to make him seem like an ancient wildman, but up close, his face was relatively unlined. Malin estimated him to be in his early forties.
“I said, where you fine folks headed?” the man asked again, tapping the stick for emphasis.
“We heard you the first time,” Mark replied in his booming voice, “but we didn’t invite an interrogation, you crap-geezer. Shuffle off back to your people and quit accosting strangers. It won’t end well.”
Malin winced at the man’s words. Did he really have to be so harsh? A simple “We’re just passing through” might have been enough to pacify the man.
“It’s not an interrogation,” the old man said. “It is friendly curiosity. You don’t seem like the average road-traveler. That’s all.”
They were moving past the park now. For a second, Malin was afraid the old man would follow them, but he tapped his walking stick a final time and headed back into the park.
“Better not to get into conversations with them,” Mark said.
“With who?” Elna asked.
“With anyone. You never know what they’re really after. Best to mind your own business and just keep on moving to your destination.” As if to prove the point, he gave the flatbed cart a forceful push over a pile of road debris. Raymond was jostled, and one of the sleeping bags fell into the road. Elna rushed to retrieve it and put it back on the cart.
They were passing through a small downtown area. Most of the old shop buildings were of the “local attorney and local realtor” variety, but one store stood out. It was the only retail business on the block that didn’t look like a converted house. A small replica of a big-box store, it had a cracked sign above the glass doors that read “Haven Sporting Goods.”
“Seems like they’re open for business,” Malin said sarcastically, pointing at the shattered glass doors. “I’ll bet we could find some real bargains in there.”
The interior of the store was wrecked, shelves overturned and boxes dumped. Though the place had clearly been picked over, there was still quite a bit of stuff left behind, mostly athletic equipment.
“We should take a look,” Elna said. “They might have guns and ammo.”
“Doubt it,” Mark said. “That’ll be the first stuff to go, but if you want to check, go ahead. I’ll keep moseying along. You can catch up.”
“Let me take a look,” Malin said to Elna. “You keep walking. I’ll be right back.”
“Just hurry,” she said. “Watch out for squatters.”
He turned and headed into the store, broken glass crunching under his shoes. There wasn’t a single inch of bare floor. Everything had been overthrown, tossed about, picked through, and many items were broken. Malin kicked his way through mounds of deflated soccer balls and basketballs, athletic clothing, crushed and torn boxes. The shoe aisle was cleared out, with only a few single, unmatched shoes left behind.
He found a gun and ammo department in the very back of the store, identified by a small sign hanging over a shattered glass counter. The sign read “Safety First. Always Treat the Gun Like It Is Loaded. Keep the Barrel Pointed in A Safe Direction.” Whatever the counter and the rack behind it had once contained was a mystery. Every single gun and every box of ammo was gone, and the cash register looked like it had been sledgehammered open.
“Well, it was worth a look,” Malin muttered, as he turned to pick his way back through the store.
As he traced the clear path he’d kicked through the center aisle, something caught his eye. It was just poking out from under a pile of bent and torn cardboard boxes. Malin went to it, tossing the boxes aside to reveal a beautiful blue compound bow. He picked it up and examined it. It seemed to be in great shape. The bow string was intact. It had a nice padded grip, a fancy bow sight, a weighted stabilizer. It even had four arrows with green-and-white fletching in a bow-mounted quiver on one side.
“Jackpot,” he said. He wasn’t much of a bow hunter, though he’d taken a single archery class in middle school. Nevertheless, with a little practice, he thought he could get the hang of it. He hoisted the bow up to get a feel for it. The weight was perfect, and the grip was comfortable. “Yep, hunting season is open.”
He dug around for more arrows, but didn’t find any. However, he did come across a few pouches of freeze-dried emergency food and a package of water filters. He stuffed them in his pockets and headed back outside. Mark and Elna were trudging along, and he rushed to catch up to them, holding his new prize over his head.
“Wow, good find,” Elna said. “With arrows and everything. We can hunt for real meat.”
“You know how to use that thing?” Mark asked.
“I might be a bit rusty, but I’ll practice when we settle down for the night,” Malin replied. “I know we’re on the coast, but it’s pretty woodsy along here. Figure I can bag us a deer?”
From his crunched-up position on the flatbed cart, Raymond moaned and rubbed his belly. “Man, you have no idea how much I want to eat cooked red meat. Not dried or cured, not pieces of bird or fox, but a thick steak.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Malin said, patting the side of the bow.
As the sun sank in the west, Malin realized they weren’t going to reach another town. By dumb luck, they just happened to be on a side road in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees. Evening brought a renewed cold, and Malin found himself walking close to Elna, the two of them trying to draw warmth from each other. Raymond unrolled one of the sleeping bags and laid it over himself like a blanket. Only Mark seemed unaffected by the cold. The giant man kept trudging along like some rare beast on its relentless way home, bent over the flatbed cart with a look of quiet determination on his craggy face. Even though Malin found the guy rather intimidating, there was something reassuring about his implacable progress.
“It’s getting dark,” Malin said.
“I know,” Mark replied. “We’re moving slower than I intended, but we’re burdened by this overloaded cart. If I push it too fast, it’ll turn over as soon as it hits a crack or pothole. I wanted to get to the next town, but it’s not going to happen.”
“There,” Elna said, pointing into the distance.
A small dirt turnaround carved an opening in the trees. Malin saw the residue of an old campfire in the middle.
“Let’s stop over there for the night,” he said. “We can make a fire, eat, and settle in before it gets too dark to see our surroundings.”
Mark aimed the cart for the clearing, circling around an abandoned SUV. As he followed, Malin glanced over his shoulder, casually pointing the bow back the way they’d come. He hadn’t heard a peep out of their follower in hours, and he saw no sign of him now—just a half mile of empty road that gradually curved out of sight behind the trees.
Pointing the bow was, of course, absurd, but he sure loved the feel of the compound bow. He’d been daydreaming about bringing down an enormous eighteen-p
oint buck all day, though they hadn’t seen any large game.
Man, it would have been nice to enjoy a nice, juicy steak cooked over a campfire tonight, he thought, his stomach rumbling. Raymond was right about that.
They set up camp around the ashes of the old campfire, unrolling the sleeping bags so that they angled away from the road toward the trees and using other supplies to create makeshift walls on either side. Mark locked the wheels of the flatbed cart and tipped it onto its handle so that the bed of the cart served as another barrier between the camp and the road—a perfect place to use as cover if they got into a fight.
Raymond was on his knees in front of the old campfire, digging a trench around it with his good hand, when Mark caught his eye and wagged a finger.
“No fire tonight,” he said. “It’ll draw people and predators. We’ve got nothing to cook anyway.”
“I hoped maybe my friend here might go hunting,” Raymond said, gesturing at Malin. “He’s carried that bow all day. I think he’s quite ready to use it.”
“If he kills something, we’ll make a fire,” Mark said, settling his long limbs behind the cart-barrier. “Otherwise, no use risking it. That’s what I think, anyway. Any of you care to disagree?”
He turned a flinty, dark eye on Elna, but she was lost in thought again. Her gaze had drifted toward the trees, and her lips were pressed tightly together. After a moment, she seemed to sense that people were looking at her, and she glanced at Malin and then at Mark.
“We’re not making good enough time,” she said. “We have to pick up the pace. What’s it going to take?”
“A team of horses and a stagecoach,” Malin said, but he didn’t get the barest hint of a smile at this.
“Can this one walk?” Mark said, waving a hand at Raymond. “His arm is injured, not his leg. If I didn’t have to push such a heavy load, I could pick up the pace.”
Raymond grimaced and bowed his head. The comment had apparently embarrassed him. The moment was so awkward that Malin dug a pouch of freeze-dried vegetables out of his pocket and worked at opening it. Fortunately, Elna broke the tension.
“What’s your pain level, Raymond?” she asked.
“Better than this morning,” he replied, “thanks to the doctor here, but still…maybe a six out of ten. I don’t know.”
Elna nodded. “I’ve got an idea. Hang on.”
She drew her pocket knife, opened it, and headed toward the trees. As she did that, Malin passed around the open pouch of freeze-dried food.
“It works better as soup,” he said, “but it’s fine to eat it raw. Help yourselves.”
Raymond took the pouch first and tipped it back, pouring some of the shriveled flakes into his mouth.
“It doesn’t taste good,” he said, as he chewed it, “but it’s food.”
Elna returned then, stepping through the trees into the clearing. She had a long, straight branch in her left hand, and as she sat down beside Malin, she was cutting away the bark with her pocket knife.
“I got this idea from the old guy we saw in the park,” she said, ripping a loose strip of bark free and tossing it aside. “Sycamore walking stick. It should be sturdy, and it might help you, Raymond. What do you think?”
“Thank you, my friend,” he replied. “I will certainly try. Tomorrow, I will walk all day, if I can.”
As she carved out the final knots, they sat quietly, listening to a chilly evening breeze sweeping through the trees. Mark had his back to the flatbed cart, his massive arms crossed over his chest. He seemed half-asleep, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open. The black curls of his hair had wilted a bit from exertion, but altogether, he was still a rather intimidating man. Not a bad addition to the traveling party, really. Any hostiles would think twice about accosting them with this brute in their company.
Malin was just sealing the pouch of freeze-dried vegetables when he sensed movement in the distance. He was sitting cross-legged beside Elna on the far side of the firepit, which gave him a clear, though limited, view of the road. The compound bow lay on the sleeping bag beside him. He reached for it.
It took a moment to spot the figure standing beside the abandoned van. He had a lean and hungry look, his sandy hair wild and windswept. A scraggly beard covered his cheeks and chin, and his clothes—a black t-shirt and faded jeans—were absolutely filthy. Malin rose, pulling an arrow from the quiver.
“Looks like we’ve got a visitor,” he said.
Mark turned and glanced over the top of the cart as Elna stood up beside Malin.
“Is that the guy who was following us earlier?” she asked.
“Our follower had a red hooded sweatshirt,” Malin said. “I think this is some new tagalong.”
“Could be the same guy,” Mark said. “Similar build, and a sweatshirt can be removed.”
Malin stepped over the firepit and moved past the flatbed cart, motioning for Elna to get behind him. Now that he had the attention of the entire camp, the stranger bared his teeth in a look that was half-smile and half-grimace and raised one filthy hand, waving it back and forth over his head. He did have a similar build as their earlier tagalong, but Malin had seen a lot of lean, hungry people in the camps they’d passed.
“Be careful approaching him, Malin,” Elna said. “Something’s not right with that one.”
Instead of crossing the street, Malin moved to the edge of the dirt turnaround and waved the man over. Immediately, the guy came bounding across the lanes, and, indeed, Elna was right. There was a weird, unfocused sheen in the man’s eyes.
“Right there is just fine,” Malin said, as soon as he reached the shoulder of the northbound lane. “That’s close enough. Are you following us?” He nocked the arrow and made sure the man saw him do it.
“Sorry, dude, I saw you folks eating something, and I couldn’t help staring,” the man said. He spoke with a distinct L.A. twang. Malin had met a thousand guys like this on the beaches of Southern California during his surfing days, but this one was either drunk as hell or tweaked out of his mind—possibly both.
Mark stood up then, brushing the dirt off the seat of his pants, and the stranger visibly cowered, holding up his grubby hands as if pleading for his life. Malin expected the man to say something, but apparently he just wanted to make his sheer bulk obvious.
“So, what were you planning on doing?” Malin asked. “Were you just going to lurk back there in the road until we went to sleep then sneak in and help yourself?”
The stranger shook his head vigorously. When he did, dust puffed off his hair. “No, no, not at all. I’m not like that, no matter how I look. I was trying to work up the courage to come over and ask for a little bit of food. Not much, of course. I’m not greedy. Maybe just a couple bites of something. What do you say?”
Malin glanced at Elna. He didn’t trust this guy at all. He looked like a human weasel. But he also didn’t want to make the decision. Elna stood there with her hands on her hips, giving the stranger a sharp, though not entirely unfriendly, look.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Tomek,” he said, beaming—as if the name should mean something to them. “Tomek Hayden. Look, guys, I’m just hungry, that’s all. I’m no trouble, I promise. If you’d be so kind as to give me just a little bit of food, I swear I’ll leave you alone. You don’t know how hard it is these days trying to fill your belly. Heck, you’ve got each other, and I’ve got nobody.”
Malin and Elna glanced at each other, then Malin turned to Mark, but the man was just standing there like a stone tower.
“Hey, do us a favor, Tomek,” Malin said. He brushed a hand at the man. “Give us a little space here. Walk back across the street and let us talk about it for a minute, okay?”
Tomek gave him a dramatic bow, rolling one hand. “No problem. No problem whatsoever.” And with that, he backed away, shuffling his feet as he crossed the lanes and slipped behind the van where Malin had first spotted him.
As soon as he was out of sight, Malin
turned around. “What do you say, guys? Do we give him a little food and send him on his way?”
Raymond was sitting on one of the sleeping bags. He looked like he was in significant pain, his lips pulled back, his left hand resting on his right shoulder. Still, he managed to speak, though the words were tight.
“Looks like he’s drugged out of his mind to me,” he said. “I don’t trust him. I think he’s planning on robbing us.”
“He’s a tweaker,” Mark said. “Did you see his teeth? He’s missing a few, and the others are rotten. If his face wasn’t so dirty, we’d probably see the telltale sores. Plus, he seems really twitchy, constantly moving, can’t stand still.”
“Is he the same guy as before?” Elna asked.
Malin shrugged but Mark nodded.
“Same guy, I think,” Mark said. “The build, the way he moves…yeah, same guy. He dumped the sweatshirt somewhere along the way. Thinks he’s being clever. He wants us to think he’s just passing through and happened on our camp, when he’s actually been tracking us all day.”
“Get rid of him,” Raymond said. “We’ve got our own problems. The last thing we need is a drug user pestering us. Doctor, if you scare him away, he’ll go.”
“Not if he’s desperate enough,” Mark said. “He’ll just hide and wait until we’re not looking.”
“Not if you’re really scary,” Raymond said.
Mark gestured at Malin. “He’s the one with the weapon. If you really want to get rid of this pest, you have the means to do it.”
Malin felt the bowstring against his fingertips, the fletching of an arrow against his knuckles.
“No, no, no,” Elna said, drumming her fingers against the side of her head, as if driving out bad thoughts. “No violence. We’ll give him some food and send him on his way. Malin, you’ve shown him the bow. Warn him about coming back. Let’s hold off on more extreme responses for now, okay? Plus, he’s more likely to keep following us if we don’t give him something. That’s what I think.”
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 37
