Backland: Unremembered (Book #1)
Page 8
In fact, all that finally remained was a dull, yet persistent ache down somewhere in the subterranean recesses of his soul. And he’d grown so used to it he was only aware of its presence at rare introspective moments such as this, like some old man with a bad knee that smarts when he’s suddenly conscious of the coming rain.
12
The dawn broke as a bare sliver of angry crimson on the horizon. Cam threw off his blanket and rolled out from under the wagon. Only a few stirred in the camp around him. He folded up his ground cloth and gently placed it in the back of the wagon. He then slung his pack over his shoulder. Adjusting his quiver and picking up his re-curve, he took a final glance at the three sleeping forms and walked away.
As he waited for the guard to open the gate, Dave stepped out of the booth, eyeing him with hostility.
“Leaving so soon?”
“Yep.”
“By yourself?”
“Yep.”
“Who are you?” Dave rudely probed, peering intently into Cam’s face.
“Probably better you didn’t know.”
“Loners are suspect in these parts.”
“I’m about to no longer be your concern.”
“You got that right.” Dave motioned and the two gate guards leveled their rifles on Cam. “I’ll be taking that weapon of yours now,” he said, holding out a hand to receive it.
Cam surveyed his predicament. He slowly un-slung his bow and reluctantly turned it over.
“Quiver, bag…and that knife there too.”
Cam gave him these as well. “So much for land of the free,” he muttered cynically.
“Turn around. Hands behind your back,” Dave ordered.
Cam felt the handcuffs cinch down on his wrists.
“Follow him.”
Cam fell in behind one of the guards as the other took up his rear. He was marched around the perimeter and up a ramp that led into the back of the main building. Off of the warehouse space within and down a hall was a door that led into a small room. He was roughly ushered in and sat in a chair facing the table. Surveying his surroundings, he noted the antique refrigerator and microwave. He doubted the Wart even generated enough power to run them, assuming they even still worked. After ten slow minutes the door opened and in walked the Wart’s head of security.
“Sorry for any inconvenience,” he apologized. “Name’s Strickman.”
Cam returned his introduction with a complacent stare.
“We aren’t use to strange faces around here.”
“Really, that’s interesting,” replied Cam smugly. “I would’ve thought being a trading post you get strangers in here all the time.”
“Oh, we do,” Strickman responded thoughtfully. “But not quite like you.”
Cam remained silent.
“What are you doing here, really?” Strickman asked.
“Trying to mind my own business. But I keep getting interrupted.”
“You don’t seem to understand,” Strickman began with a pretentious air, “that it’s in your best interest to cooperate with me.”
Cam declined to answer further. His interrogator turned the other chair around and sat down in it backwards directly across the table from him. They glared at one another for a full thirty seconds before Strickman finally said, “I have plenty of methods that I’ve honed over the years. When I’m done, men beg me to let them talk.”
He paused to see the effect this would have on Cam. Receiving no acknowledgement and sensing no fear, he continued. “Though it appears you could probably endure most of those. So I’ll level with you, instead.”
Cam indicated he was listening with a slight nod.
“My men don’t think you should leave this room alive. They believe you’re a CENTGOV agent.”
Cam contemplated this. Strickman had just made a flat-out admission that he was no supporter of the federal government. That was dangerous talk, even if Cam wasn’t who Strickman suspected. The accusation was calculated to produce a particular reaction. The resistance must be strong in these parts, an assumption now confirmed to him.
“What do you think?” Cam asked, unmoved.
“Give me a reason to believe you’re not,” his interrogator replied.
Cam leaned in, a gesture that beckoned Strickman to do the same. “The red moon is falling,” he said just above a whisper.
The effect couldn’t have been greater had Cam yelled it while simultaneously slapping Strickman across the face. It was, fortunately, the response he had counted on. The security head’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. He quickly recovered his composure, but assumed an expression that told Cam he now had the upper hand.
“When will it fall?”Strickman asked, almost timidly.
“When the wound bleeds for winter,” Cam returned in an intentionally low tone. He waited to see if Strickman would swallow the bait, waited to see if the words were still relevant.
Strickman stood and walked to the door. He dismissed the guards on the outside. Walking behind Cam, he took the cuffs off and laid them on the table. He then began pacing back and forth in front of him, wearing a look of thoughtful consternation. “You aren’t doing a very good job of blending in,” he finally said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Cam responded. “The odd-ball card seems to work quite well.”
“My guys had you picked out.”
“Your guys are useless.”
“I like ‘em just as they are. Makes my job easier. What’s the news?”
“You tell me,” Cam retorted.
Strickman narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have any?” he asked in a tone somewhere between amazement and suspicion.
Cam commenced to pull back his right sleeve. As he rolled his arm over, a distinctive skull and cross bone brand slowly came into view. Strickman immediately stood erect and thrust his hands down by his side. Looking directly ahead, he snapped, “I await your orders, sir.”
“That’s better, soldier. Update me.”
“My own intel is hazy. I’ve not been directly contacted in two years. But from what I’ve gathered, Operation Backwater is set to commence—any day, would be my best guess.”
Cam considered carefully his next question. “What are your orders when it does?”
“I have a secure bunker underground. It’s stocked with supplies to take me through until the worst blows over.”
Cam stood. Time was suddenly very short. “You’re the only one here?”
“Yes,sir.”
“You’re not suspected?”
“Not even close,” Strickman arrogantly replied.
“Well done. You know what to do when the zero-hour arrives.”
Strickman saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“Tell your men that I’m nobody. Have them return my bag and bow.”
“Is that all?”
“What more do you expect?”
Strickman stammered. “Uh, I was told to expect specific instructions—to wait for my contact. That’s not you?”
“Negative. Your orders stand.”
Cam waited for Strickman to open the door and bark the necessary commands.
*****
“So now you gonna tell me why you made us leave in such a hurry?”
“Have I ever led you wrong, Pete?” Cam asked.
“Shoot…no. But I ain’t sold nothin’ yet. Just like to know why we had to high-tail it outta there.”
“And why you came back,” Slip followed.
The Wart was almost lost over the horizon behind them as the wagon bounced down a back road leading away from the interstate.
“Operation Backwater,” Cam said.
“That supposed to mean somethin’ to me?” Pete asked.
“I wouldn’t expect so. But it means we all need to get as far away from here as possible.”
“What do you know, Cam?” Pete demanded, taking his eyes of the road momentarily to look at him.
“The great Backland culling is at hand.”
Pete’s face d
arkened into an expression of sad weariness. “So the rumors are true,” he said as he once again focused on Rheda’s progress before him.
Sarah and Slip glanced back and forth between Cam and Pete, trying to decipher their strange words.
“It’s a bio-weapon—some kind of weaponized plague.” Cam explained. “It kills fast. We saw that. But it probably dissipates relatively quickly. The disease will look as if it’s merely a natural pandemic, like those that occasionally sweep across the Backland. Only this will be the big one. I now realize the sick man Slip and I encountered was a guinea pig. They aim to finish what they started,” Cam concluded with grim solemnity.
“Who wants to finish what?” Slip asked, confused.
“CENTGOV,” Pete spat.
“Huh?” Slip said, grasping to get a handle on the affair. “CENTGOV’s supposed to protect us, right?”
“Protect us, my foot,” Pete murmured.
“Forget what you’ve ever heard about the war,” Cam told him. “Most of it’s a pack of lies.”
“You mean what really happened?” Sarah inquired as it was now her turn to be bewildered.
“That’s right. But more importantly, why it was started.”
Cam saw that Slip and Sarah were struggling to grasp the implications. “Every war has to have a bad guy,” he continued. “A controlled catastrophe is a time-tested way to consolidate power. Wars always topple old regimes and establish new ones…”
“And make certain people a lot of money,” Pete grumbled.
“But CENTGOV has control of the Backland,” Sarah said. “What’s the point of this plague now?”
“The resistance is still strong,” Cam replied. “CENTGOV doesn’t have as much control as they would have you believe. They don’t have the man-power to keep the Backland stable. We’re all in the way—like little, ugly bugs. They don’t want anyone left out here. It’s what Reconstruction was really all about. It’s always been the plan to eradicate most of the population when everything is in place.”
“When what’s in place?” Sarah followed.
“It’s taken them decades to rebuild their resources and fortify the cities. Once the culling commences, the only people left outside the Free-zones will be the survivors who can remain hidden.”
“Are you thinking we can outrun it, then?” Pete asked.
“Maybe. The most densely-populated areas will be targeted. There are still some places where we might be able to avoid contamination.”
“Like Clear Creek?” Sarah asked with a cautious grin.
“That’s where I’m headed,” Cam admitted.
“Pull your map out, Sarah,” Pete said. “Plot us a course.”
13
The four travelers rode long into the night, Pete driving the mare as far as he dared. “Rheda’s gotta rest,” he finally said. “We’ll stop here until daybreak.”
Slip had been sullen and silent since the conversation about the coming attack. He watched Cam jump down from the wagon and walk off to survey the area. He then followed, trying his best to step quietly. He knew he’d failed when Cam called out from the darkness in front of him, “What can I do for you, kid?”
“How do I know I can trust you?” Slip demanded in a whiny voice edged with anger.
“I would have thought I’d earned that trust by now.”
“Maybe that’s what you want me to think.”
“I don’t understand,” Cam evenly replied.
“You know that this government operation, or whatever it is, is about to happen.”
“You want to know who I am?” Cam turned on him suddenly. “What would you even do with that knowledge?” he taunted.
Slip glared at him defiantly.
Cam snorted, laughing facetiously. He stepped close to Slip. He then pulled back his sleeve and showed him the same brand that he’d revealed to Strickman.
Slip strained in the dark to see. Letting out a cry, he stumbled back in horror. “Pete, Sarah!” he yelled.
Cam reached out and grabbed his arm. “Stop that nonsense,” he hissed. “There’s one thing you need to learn and learn quick—all is not what it seems.”
Slip stared at Cam with fearful curiosity, unsure of how to respond.
“With me, what you see is what you get. Take it or leave it.” Cam concluded. He then brushed by him back toward the camp.
He’d only walked a few feet before he stopped and abruptly turned around. “Speaking of trust, I should be the one demanding answers. So how about you shoot straight with me. Why are you running?”
Slip gazed at Cam. He owed Cam his life. He had a respect for him that he’d never come close to feeling for anyone. He was hurt that Cam had been planning to leave. He was confused because of what Cam knew. He was frustrated because the haze around Cam’s hidden past only seemed to grow thicker, and more sinister, with time.
Telling him might be a step toward finding out the truth, a truth he was beginning to suspect went far beyond Cam; something that touched upon the fundamental question of why everything was as it was. To possibly learn this, he admitted to himself, was worth the risk of opening up—at least a little.
“I tried to kill someone,” Slip said.
Cam narrowed his gaze. “You don’t get a live bounty on your head for attempted murder.”
“It depends on who it was.”
“True enough,” Cam conceded. “Who?”
“Someone who will never stop looking until they find me.” Slip said. He waited to see what Cam would say next. But he only turned and started walking back toward the campsite.
“Everything all right?” Pete asked as Cam came into view with Slip not far behind.
“You’ll have to ask the boy,” Cam mumbled.
“Well?” Pete raised an eyebrow at Slip.
Sarah had paused in the middle of rolling out a sleeping tarp. She looked anxiously at Cam and then to Slip.
Slip only stared at a spot on the ground that he commenced kicking with his foot.
“I’ve been thinkin’,” Pete began, addressing Cam, “the future—it lies with the young ‘uns.” He pointed his chin toward Sarah and Slip. “Just maybe they can start to put back together what their forefathers did a right good job of tearin’ up.” He looked around, fixing an eye on everyone in turn. Sighing, he finished to Cam. “We sure ain’t done much about it.
A Note to the Reader
This is a story of the unknown future, of things which may never come to pass. Still, there is the old axiom: truth is stranger than fiction. I tend to think when an author writes fiction he is attempting in his own way to untangle and make sense of reality. He simply invites the reader to come along on the journey.
I obviously believe the message is relevant. And, I believe it is a message rooted in history and manifesting in the present. But for all that, it is not a prophecy, nor even a prediction. It is fodder for thought.
If you’ve feel like you’ve been left hanging, don’t worry. Lord-willing, there’s more to come!
Also by the same author:
The Hidden Altar
Available at the Kindle Store.
Contact the author: TheHiddenAltar@gmail.com
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A Note to the Reader