“Right,” he said as he sat up. “Let’s get the maps out.”
“I’ve got them right here,” Caleb said as he knelt next to them.
Caleb handed Will a leather folio bound with thin cords. He freed the strings and pulled a stack of yellowed papers from within, setting them gingerly on the deck. His fingers traced the distinct coastline of Raphael Island, over the dot representing Camp Eight.
“We need to keep an eye on the coast for prominent features. That will help us figure out how far we’re going each day. When we make it to the strait, that’s when we need to decide how we get to the mainland.”
Will tapped his fingers on the map just over a large dot a little inland from the northern coast of a nearby continent. Gabi’s eyes fixated on the dot, and the lines flowing next to it that represented a river.
So that’s where we were supposed to land when I was younger, huh?
Calvin McLaughlin
14 June, 6 yal, 10:55
North Concordia
Sweat dripped from Cal’s brow as he checked the batch of crude glycerin. Satisfied that the speed of the mixer was correct, he adjusted the shut-off timer for his equipment and walked out from under the cover of the outdoor shed attached to the rear of his shop. He loosened his vapor mask and let it sit slack against his chest, then stripped off his goggles and stowed them in one of the inner pockets of his leather apron.
A stiff breeze kicked up, blowing down the Fairweather River from the hills. The winds cooled the sweat on his skin, giving him pleasant relief from the midday sun. He glanced across the river to its southern banks. A small log jam in the excavated cove beneath the mill just downstream and across the river told Cal that his friends had just received fresh materials for their work, although the silence in the air led him to believe that the mill was idle at that moment. In the distance, Cal could hear the deep chime of the Civic Hall’s clock toll once.
Another beautiful day, Concordia.
Cal retrieved a blue handkerchief from his apron and swiped it across his forehead, then walked through the shed past the rows of stills, heating plates, and cauldrons. He moved past the staircase to the upstairs apartment and through the storage room that dominated the bulk of the building’s lower floor, and into the small storefront. Alexis sat behind the modest counter on a high backed wooden chair. Her swollen, pregnant belly was prominent under her long green linen dress. When she saw Cal enter, she quickly withdrew her arm from a basket that sat on the counter and popped something in her mouth, and gave him a playfully guilty look; her slight smile giving away any hint of innocence.
“Hey now,” he chuckled. “Don’t eat it all before we get to the park. Kind of spoils the idea of a picnic.”
Alexis stuck her lip out in a dramatic pout. “I’m just having a little nibble.”
“Alright,” he said as he stole a kiss from her. “Just a nibble.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“I’m serious, babe. I don’t want you to spoil your appetite before we get there.”
“Hey, don’t deny the pregnant lady.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I know the consequences,” he grinned.
Cal walked around the counter to a pair of tall wooden shelves along the side wall. He tidied up the displays, and fussed for a couple minutes on how he would best face the bottles of soft soap on the shelf.
“C’mon, Cal. Quit being anal and let’s go.”
“Just straightening up. I’ve got five more minutes before I have to move the batch along. I can’t leave before then.”
Alexis rolled her shoulders and sighed heavily. “I don’t want to be cooped up all day, hurry up!”
The front door swung open with a soft creak, and Dr. Taylor emerged with her grandchildren Steven and Hannah in tow. The doctor and Hannah were dressed in long dresses and their hair was bound in matching pigtails. Steven wore loose trousers and a short-sleeved shirt that had a pair of broad, muddy swipes down the front, and his left cheek was tinted tan with mud that his grandmother had not quite been able to scrub away.
Cal took one glance at the grimace on Dr. Taylor’s face. “Again?”
“Again,” she replied.
“Steven, are you being a hassle for your grandma?”
The young boy shuffled his feet. “I wasn’t trying to. I saw a frog down by the river and went to go catch it. Only I slipped.”
“Face first into the mud,” Dr. Taylor added. “It’s a wonder you didn’t break a tooth or an arm the way you took a dive there, kiddo. It’s a wonder that your mom lets me take you out at all.” Cal chuckled and retrieved a bottle of laundry soap from his shelf, flipped it in his hand, and offered it to her. “I also think sometimes you set up shop here on the river just so I can fund your retirement.”
Alexis laughed from her chair near the corner. “No, just a happy coincidence. We’ll do this bottle for just one favor so you know we’re not taking advantage of you. I’ll put it on your tab. Say, you’re all dressed up today, where are you guys going?”
“Thanks for the discount. I was going to take the munchkins to Benedict Square, but now it looks like there may be a detour home to clean up a certain mud monster.”
Alexis’s eyes lit up. “Hey, we’re just about to go there too. Cal’s making me wait forever for his work though. Do you mind if I tag along?”
“We still need to get Steven cleaned up.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s not like Darius is going to call the mud police on us,” she pled with a wry grin.
“Just be patient, my dear. I’m sure we’ll see you there.”
“Well. I guess you leave me no choice,” Alexis said as she lifted herself slowly from the chair and grabbed the basket. “My dear husband is going to sit here and work all day, and my friends are all going to ditch me. What’s a pregnant girl to do on a hot summer day but walk down the street with this heavy basket?”
Dr. Taylor groaned. “Is she always this stubborn and dramatic?”
“Only on days that end with y,” Cal replied as he winked at his wife. “C’mon, no one will care if Steven has a little mud on him. Besides, you know he’s just going to get dirty again if you change him. Might as well bathe him once instead of twice. I’ll be along in just a few, okay?”
“Alright, alright. Goodness, if having to deal with one McLaughlin isn’t bad enough, what chance do I have when they gang up against me?” Dr. Taylor smiled and took the basket from Alexis. “Come on, kids. Let’s go.”
Alexis planted a kiss on Cal’s lips on her way out. “My hero. Don’t make me wait, okay?”
“I promise.”
After the party left, Cal went out the back door to the open-sided shed. The mixer and heating plate had turned off automatically. He detached the mixer attachment and set it aside, then covered the batch and moved it near the wall, double-checked that all of the plates were off, and went back into the storage room. He checked on the progress of a couple of batches of biodiesel and a batch of bar soap, tidied up, and went upstairs to the modest apartment that he and Alexis called home.
He ran a hand across the top of the crib that sat empty and waiting at the foot of their bed. The light color of the Demeter fir that it was crafted out of made it almost glow from the sunlight that shone through the open window shutters.
I still can’t believe it. I’m going to be a father.
The thought still gave him butterflies, both of excitement and apprehension. The closer it got to the due date, the more intense the knot in his stomach became. Cal was starting to think that any day he might explode from the anticipation. For the past two weeks he had trouble sleeping. He thought his tossing and turning at night might clue Alexis into his worries, but she always slept soundly.
Cal smiled and grabbed a package that he had carefully hidden under the compacted mattress. His fingers ran along the folded, waxy paper and coarse flax string. He set it down on the bed long enough to remove his oil splattered apron and drop it to the ground,
then he picked up the parcel and tucked it in his pants behind his back. He quickly made his way down the stairs and out the front door of his shop. He began to whistle a familiar tune as he walked down the packed dirt span of River Way, turning left onto Benedict Boulevard.
The boulevard was the widest street in Concordia, and preparations were well underway to make it the first paved street in town. Benedict was also the western edge of the market square, a section of town built after the first winter. Like his own dwelling, the structures that comprised the market were made from layers of coarse river stone and rough-hewn timbers mucked together with native clay. All were two stories tall, with apartments constructed above shops. Though doors had been planked and installed in the subsequent years, the structures lacked glass windows. Instead, similar to his home, large, open windows were equipped with wooden shutters that swung outward to let light and air in.
There were several passers-by as he made his way toward Benedict Square, and businesses along the row appeared to be readying for the afternoon rush. He smiled as he spotted Frank, the butcher, laying out a selection of meats in the front display of his own store, which was little more than an oversized set of wooden shutters on the ground floor that retracted to reveal the tables and hanging meats beyond. He exchanged quick pleasantries with Mr. and Mrs. Walker as they strolled into the clothing shop operated by Saika Kimura. He even exchanged a courteous nod with Traci Josephson. The years had not made their relationship any less awkward, though at least now it was civil.
The prominent gable of the clock tower at Civic Hall jutted up from the street far ahead in the distance, against the backdrop of the battered and aging hull of Michael. Benedict Square stretched out in a “U” shape behind it. A hundred acres of fields, native shade trees, a fledgling apple orchard, and even a few picnic areas drew families and romancing couples alike. Every year, nearly everyone in Concordia would come at some point or another to pay their respects at the Rafael Disaster Memorial.
For Cal, there was a measure of awkward pride whenever he stopped to view the Project Columbus Monument. The miniature statues of Michael and Gabriel still gave him a chill when he saw them together. The memories of what almost happened six years ago, just a few hundred feet from this very site, were still as fresh as if they had happened a mere week ago. And yet, any time a member of either crew would take him aside and congratulate him for his role during the Unification, he would still blush and fidget. He knew that somehow he had helped, but he was just an awkward kid back then, rushing in without thinking. Cal shook his head and took a moment to read the clock in the distance, then doubled his pace.
Lexi’s going to kill me if I’m any later. Hell of a way to start off an anniversary. Note to self, work can wait.
Cal was nearing the end of the boulevard when his legs seemed to bow under him. He wobbled for a moment, lost his footing, and his head smacked the packed earth. In an instant he rolled to his back and yelled for help, but a terrible grumbling noise had risen up. The buildings swayed all around him, and he could hear the terrified shouts of the nearest townsfolk. Disoriented, he tried to scramble to his feet and assess the situation, but could barely regain his knees.
The world wouldn’t stop jarring and shaking, and his stomach felt like it was in free fall. Cal took a deep breath and forced the pain to the back of his mind. His eyes caught the form of Traci running toward him at full steam. Her lips were moving, but his ears were ringing, and he couldn’t hear what she was saying. Then in an instant, he saw fear in her eyes as she pulled up and skidded to a halt fifteen feet from him. He heard and a few loud, rapid cracks. Cal was hurled to the ground from his blind side, and the world went dark.
Stabbing, agonizing pain ripped through the left side of his body and he came to with a loud moan. He felt like he was being pressed into the ground. There was a voice, feminine. He was looking at the smooth, packed dirt of Benedict Boulevard. He tried to push his body upright but flopped back down. Blood stained the pavement where he had momentarily risen from. The voice called out to him again.
“Calvin, are you alright?”
He tasted blood and spat a glob of red saliva onto the ground.
“Calvin, answer me. Are you alright?”
“What… what the hell just happened? Why can’t I move?”
He heard the clatter of rocks and wood against the ground, and the nearly crushing weight began to subside.
“Hang on, I’ll get you out of there. Oh God… stay with me.”
Another voice caught his ears. Sharp. Commanding. “I’ve got him. Go get your truck, Sergeant.”
“Yes sir,” Traci snapped back.
Sergeant, Cal thought as he closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to force back the pain. Captain Devereaux?
The weight gradually released as the din continued. It seemed to become quicker, more frantic. He felt hands on his shoulders, and someone rolled him into his back. The burning orange ball of Bravo hung high in the blue sky, and then was quickly eclipsed by the dark form of a man kneeling over him. Feeling him. Checking him.
“Where are you hurt? Can you move, Cal?” There was a pause. “Cal, are you with me?”
Cal put his right elbow under him and lifted his head off the ground a few inches. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his abdomen and he winced, but it did not stop him from peering at his rescuer.
“Frank? What the hell was that?” he croaked.
His brow was wrinkled in concern and Cal could tell that even the veteran ex-Marine was doing all he could to remain calm. “Earthquake. We just got hit by an earthquake.”
Cal turned his head to each side and saw rubble strewn throughout the street. To his left side, the entire wall of a shop had sloughed away; its trail of debris led into the street to where he lay.
Oh God… Lexi!
He rolled to his knees and forced his body to rise. Cal stood for a moment. He saw Frank Devereaux utter one word that he didn’t hear, and his knees came out from under him. Frank lunged forward and caught Cal in his arms, easing him down to the pavement.
More words flowed from Frank’s mouth, though as the man turned around to bark at anyone nearby, Cal’s focus began to fade and his vision blurred. At the same time, something from within him screamed at him to get up and find his wife. He tried again to right himself, but Devereaux planted his meaty hand firmly on Cal’s chest and kept him still.
“Let me up,” Cal mumbled. “I have to find Lexi.”
Though the ringing in his ears was more intense than ever, Cal was able to read Frank’s lips as his intense stare locked on him. “We’ll find her, don’t worry. Just lay still.”
“No,” he protested weakly.
Frank did not relent, holding Cal steady and doing what he could to control the bleeding from a wound on the back of his head. A minute later he could smell the pungent scent of exhaust as Traci backed her city-issued truck to within a few feet of him. Frank hoisted him as if he weighed nothing, then carefully loaded him in the bed of the conveyance. The militia captain then jumped in the rear of the truck and slapped his hand on the roof, prompting Traci to move out down the street.
Cal winced and closed his eyes as the wheels bumped over the debris that littered the streets. He sucked in a great breath of air and held it, hoping that the pain would ebb. The truck lurched to a halt at the end of the street, far sooner than he had expected, and most certainly not anywhere near Concordia’s modest hospital.
They did not move right away as Cal had expected. As the time passed, his head started to spin, and what little will he had left to get up and search for Alexis soon faded as he realized that he was in no condition to do so. Instead, the urge to rest replaced it, surging stronger with every dizzying revolution of his mental malaise. Cal could hold out no more, and he slipped into the black.
Gov. Darius Owens
14 June, 6 yal, 11:21
Concordia Civic Hall
“Tom!” he sputtered as loudly as his dust-choked l
ungs would allow. A chilling silence answered his call. His heart pounded furiously, and he coughed as he sucked in another breath of contaminated air. “Tom, where the hell are you?”
This time he heard a faint groan from just beyond his stout desk. Darius rolled his body around to see where he had just been sitting moments earlier. A snapped timber had fallen directly into the seat of his chair, flattening it and splaying its legs and back like a shattered flower. Light poured in from beyond, where the wall of his office had stood just prior to the sickening sway of the building.
Darius craned his neck out timidly from under his hiding place. A six-foot swath of the roof had fallen away as the roof timber had snapped; the other two beams that he could see were still intact, though the whole building seemed to creak with every breath he took. The floor seemed solid enough, and it still ran intact all the way to where the wall had peeled away. Though he feared that the action of standing might cause the structure to collapse, Darius knew that it would not be prudent for him and his deputy to stay inside the structure.
“Tom!” he called out as he rose and swiftly rounded the end of his desk.
Dayton lay sprawled in front of the great bureau. He was bleeding from a laceration at his hair line, and his legs were pinned under the bookshelf that had toppled during the temblor. Darius rushed to his side and checked for a pulse, even as shouts began to rise from outside the damaged building.
Good, he’s still alive.
Darius heaved at the shelf, grunting and straining under the weight of the solid furniture. He was able to hoist it and pivot just enough to lean it on the top corner of his desk. Darius rolled up Tom’s pants legs to check for obvious trauma, of which there was none. He then wrapped his cohort’s arm around his neck and rose up, bearing both of their weights as he dragged the limp, semi-conscious man through the open office door and down the hall toward the stairs. His relief at seeing the stairs intact was tempered with rising apprehension at the loud creaks emitted from the wood with every tread they descended.
Project Columbus: Omnibus Page 106
