BARREN: Book 2 - Escape from the Ruins (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller)

by J. Thorn

  She took the charm from her neck and held it up to the light. The charm was made of sterling silver and formed in the shape of the sun. The rays extended out and looked hopeful, happy. A jagged line ran down the right edge, but in what appeared to be only one half of a charm. Dia read the inscription on the back: Tara and Mom, forever together.

  The girl hung the chain over the post, resting the charm on the side facing the mine.

  “You made it, Hado. I got you to the mine so you can see where they removed beautiful silver out of the earth. You’ll be able to stay here forever now.”

  Dia wiped a single tear from her face, staunching more with a wide grin. She felt at peace with Hado’s end, a personal tribute that only the two of them—and maybe Katy and Decker—would understand.

  She stepped out of the shadow of Chollar Mine and faced west. Based on what Hado had told her, she couldn’t be far from Lake Tahoe. If the lake was still there and the water safe, Dia would be able to rest up and prepare for the final leg of her journey to San Francisco. This time, she’d embark alone. But then again, she’d never be truly alone ever again. She would always carry with her the sacrifices of those who’d died for her, and that would help her save others.

  Chapter 42

  48 Days West of Erehwon

  Dia trudged alongside the rails, ascending into the Sierra Nevadas before going through the pass and leveling out into the sprawling ruins of Northern California near the former capital of Sacramento. After having traversed the Great Mountain range, the girl found the Sierras to be much less treacherous.

  She had spent several days at Lake Tahoe, where she’d used her senses for water detection to identify a well of clean water near a house sitting on a ridge above the lake. As with most of the ruins she’d encountered during her life, the natural beauty of Tahoe had been pockmarked, its face scarred by the charcoal shells and spray-painted structures that were barely standing.

  After fishing and trapping a few squirrels, Dia had rested. She’d found safety and seclusion in the abandoned house. All four walls had remained, and the roof had even covered half of the main room. She had almost convinced herself that she could stay there and live out her life in relative peace. Dia hadn’t so much as seen a drifting plastic bag or privy pit, indicating that it had probably been decades since anyone had inhabited the area. The elevation probably discouraged exploration, too, and there hadn’t been sufficient population for such heavy use there during the old times, not the way there had been in Denver.

  But it hadn’t been long before she’d felt a gnawing deep in her gut, the promise she’d made to not only Hado but to Erehwon, and to all of the Venganza in her mind—everywhere. Water. It was the only way they’d survive, and she was the only one who could bring the knowledge back to save them. The resource was finite in northeast Ohio just the same way it was in Denver. The settlement in the old sports stadium might have dwarfed Erehwon, but it was simply a matter of scale—more people using more water—and they’d run out at the same rate. Melting snow or capturing rainwater in containers was dependent on the weather. Simply, Dia knew that they needed to be able to manufacture safe water. Finding it wouldn’t be enough to keep them all alive.

  Shiva had rolled around in her thoughts several times as she’d packed up and come west from Lake Tahoe. The woman had raised Hado, and even though they’d had differing views on Los Muertos near Erehwon, Dia knew that Hado had loved and respected the woman. Yet, Shiva had been willing to sell Dia like a slave, which complicated the girl’s feelings about the most powerful woman on the Council.

  It took her a day or two to descend from the foothills of the Sierras, to where she was greeted by the flat, expansive ruins of Northern California. Hado had said that the mountain range separated the old providences of Nevada and California, neither of which held any significance for the girl. Just two more proper names assigned to the ghosts of the past.

  Rusted cars and burnt-out shells of buildings began to crop up as the rails took Dia toward the center of the city. She hesitated, unsure whether to follow the train tracks into what had once been a densely populated city or take her chances on one of the highways that appeared to meet the western horizon at the Pacific Ocean. Dia recalled the incidents they’d faced outside of Cleveland, near Chicago, and in the sprawling lands of the Midwest. Statistically speaking, walking into Sacramento increased her odds of confrontation considerably.

  But as she walked, the devastation made her stomach ache. Dia had grown up climbing through the ruins of Cleveland. In Ohio, the buildings appeared deserted, abandoned. In Northern California, they’d been destroyed. She tried not to think about what that meant for San Francisco. Clearly, if Lanette believed there was hope there, the city must still be standing. Or at least there’d be settlements within the ruins.

  Dia kept moving, and traversed Sacramento in a single day, stopping only once for a meal of dried squirrel. She had been torn between using her energy to keep moving west versus hunting for food that would keep her going. She remembered Hado telling her that water was most important, something about “the rule of three” for survival—three days without water, three weeks without food? She wasn’t sure if she’d remembered the number correctly, but she did know that water was more important than food when one had to make a choice, so she kept walking.

  Days blended into nights and the lush, rolling fields reclaimed from the region’s vineyards did little to lift her spirits. She’d left the rails for the old highway, Interstate 80 as some signs reminded her along the way. She walked through El Macero and Vacaville. Dia thought the air had changed, a new scent on the winds blowing from west to east. It wasn’t until she saw the first white bird that she realized the Pacific was close by. The seagulls that had lived on the shores of her Great Lake also seemed to be fond of the wide, expansive ocean.

  But her strength seemed to be dissipating as quickly as the night stole the day’s warmth in the semi-arid climate. By the time she had reached Solano County—which she knew thanks to another useless sign that had survived the destruction of the old world—Dia had begun to hallucinate. She began to have conversations with Hado, who had appeared on her left, although without the charm around her neck. Dia had not only run out of food, but her canteen was empty. The California desert had seemingly absorbed each bit of standing water into the air and carried it over the mountains, where it fell as snow. Cold, wet, glorious snow. A sentiment Dia could not have imagined feeling while trekking through the pass and across the frozen pond that had taken Hado’s life.

  She kept going, stumbling and shedding gear as she caught the first scent of the salty air. The temperature fluctuated, the micro-climates wreaking havoc on her body—which had begun to shut down, starting with her sanity.

  Dia tripped and fell head-first into a steel pole on the side of the road. She pulled herself up and looked at the sign.

  San Francisco

  City and County

  Population 715,674 Elevation 61

  Seven hundred thousand? Even if she’d been healthy and vibrant, it was not a number the girl could imagine. The sheer size of the city back then must have been extraordinary, even for those times.

  When Dia came around, she was on her feet—chunks of time slipping from her memory like the low tide. Hado had disappeared, and Dia was alone again. Lanette had told her what to look for. The old woman had tried to prepare her for the magnitude of the ruins of San Francisco. She’d told Dia that she could spend years wandering the streets and never find what she was there to discover. So when Dia turned the corner and gazed upon the bay for the first time, she knew she had finally arrived.

  The Golden Gate Bridge spanned the water, its upper reaches tilted but still standing from one edge to the other. A mountain seemed to rise out of the mist and tower over the city, the bridge connecting to its gaping maw. A cold wind came off the water then, and Dia stood on the skeleton of what had once been Pier 39. She gazed at the red giant and marveled at the massive struct
ure.

  “I’m here,” she said, collapsing to the ground and into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 43

  51 Days West of Erehwon

  The girl couldn’t die. At least not yet.

  Shiva had crossed a continent to get Dia back. She’d sacrificed Sunji and several other warriors she’d sent ahead to scout the way, and those who made it had been waiting for her here. Now that they’d all reached the western sea, and not knowing who occupied the ruins, or how many there were, it would be a risk. But she had to send one of her warriors to Dia with life-saving sustenance—at least enough food and water to get her back on her feet.

  Shiva watched from her perch, a former battlement atop the Marin Headlands. She could imagine the old world generals up here in the stiff Pacific breeze, glassing the bay and surrounding highlands for invading forces by land or by sea. One of the rusted signs had declared the lookout the “Golden Gate National Recreation Area,” and although Shiva had never been to California in the past, she remembered seeing pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge from every angle and vantage point possible. Those soft, faded memories sat superimposed on the desolate and empty metropolis beneath her.

  After they’d first met up and before the girl arrived, Shiva and her most trusted warriors had scouted the waterfront. She’d seen evidence of clans, but nothing specific. They’d kept low, crossing the Golden Gate while trying to avoid the massive holes in the surface which looked down hundreds of feet at the churning bay. They’d followed the old roadway into the recreation area, through the crumbling tunnel, and on to what was left of Battery Spencer. Each turn in the road, every switchback, had had Shiva on edge. She had seen evidence of tribes living in the city, so why wouldn’t they occupy the highest point? In the eyes of a military leader with a strategic aim, it didn’t seem to make sense.

  Even after Sunji had taken her own life and Hado had perished in the frozen waters, Shiva had resisted the temptation to reveal herself to Dia. Partly out of morbid fascination—she had wanted to see what the girl would do. Would she lie down and die? Hardly. But how she’d motivated herself to trudge along, alone and without supplies, had told Shiva more about the girl than she could have possibly known from Dia simply water whispering in the ruins of Cleveland. One of Shiva’s advisors had recommended coming to the girl’s aid just east of Lake Tahoe, but Shiva had resisted. Instead, she’d waited it out and then given the girl time to recover. Whatever hope remained in California was enough to keep the girl’s spirit alive, and that was not worth tampering with.

  “She’s beginning to move about. Like normal.”

  The words shook Shiva from her thoughts. She rested the binoculars on her chest and turned to face the warrior who’d brought her the news.

  “I can see that. She’s eating the food and drinking the water you left?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh, Lanette, you dumb hag, Shiva thought. You really believed that you’d outwit me?

  “I told you she’d make it here, didn’t I? Three days without food and water, and the girl has returned from near-death.”

  The warrior waited, unsure whether to verbally agree or give a non-committal nod. She did neither, instead standing still and awaiting Shiva’s next command.

  “The others?”

  “Signaled. On their way back here.”

  She had sent the rest of her remaining warriors to the shoreline after leaving Dia supplies. They’d been sent to scour the ruins near the Marine District and the Presidio. As Shiva had expected, a clan had taken up residence in the Presidio—an area with a long military history which was easily defensible. She’d given her warriors strict orders to remain unseen, at all costs.

  “Who do you think the girl is looking for?”

  The warrior shrugged. “I’m hoping the scouts can tell us that.”

  “Yes, as am I.”

  Shiva turned as she heard footsteps coming up the path. The scouts had returned, all of them breathing heavily from the climb up to Battery Spencer.

  “Well?”

  The first Venganza warrior to stand before Shiva lifted her mask and then rested her spear against the rampart’s wall. The transcontinental odyssey had turned River from a girl to a woman.

  “A clan occupies the Presidio. The Marine District appears abandoned, and most of the structures near what you called ‘North Beach’ and the ‘Embarcadero’ look like they’ve been flattened by a giant’s hand.”

  “Earthquakes.”

  River tilted her head slightly.

  “Common here. The ground shakes the rock beneath us, turns buildings to rubble.”

  The warriors looked at each other, color draining from their faces.

  “Forget it. For now, we’re not in immediate danger. Continue.”

  “That’s about it. We did our best to get Dia food and water, and then she discovered a small vegetable garden which she’s been plundering. We don’t think she’s seen us.”

  “Oh, she knows you’re there. The girl has senses you can’t even understand.” Shiva sighed and waved a hand in the air. “We will deal with the girl later. What else?”

  “It seems as though the clan is building something on an island in the ocean.”

  Shiva closed her eyes, trying to recall the features of a city lost to time.

  “Alcatraz?”

  The warriors looked at each other, unsure of the name of the island made of rock.

  “Adrift in the bay or connected to a bridge?”

  “Connected to a bridge.”

  She smiled. “Treasure Island. The Bay Bridge.”

  They stood there, forced to assume Shiva had correctly identified it.

  “Of course. It makes perfect sense. Old military base, proximity to the water, easy to spot invasions. What did you see there?”

  “Pipes, buckets. Lots of things for transporting water.”

  If you’re still alive when we return home, I might have to kiss you, Lanette.

  “That’s it. That is where they’re treating water. Or at least attempting to. Has Dia seen it yet? Does she have any idea what’s there?”

  “I don’t think so. She’s only now had enough strength to wander from her camp. But she’ll discover it soon enough. It’s only an hour’s walk from her camp to the base of the bridge.”

  Shiva grinned and took a deep breath. She grabbed the canteen from her waist and took a long, luxurious swig. It seemed as though their water troubles might finally be over. Forever.

  The Venganza warriors dropped their shoulders, tension easing from their lined faces.

  “Excellent. Tomorrow, we shall conduct surveillance and develop our strategy. After we retrieve the girl.”

  River, the scout who had reported to Shiva, shuffled her feet while the others slapped each other on the back. Shiva noticed the woman biting her bottom lip as she turned to climb down from Battery Spencer.

  “Wait. What troubles you?”

  River paused, turning her back to Shiva. “There is more.”

  “Well, have at it, child. Do you think we’ve come all this way, chasing a girl and a magical water filtration technology only to discover it, and then to sulk away into the darkness? Speak.”

  “The clan at the Presidio and the people working the water plant at Treasure Island. I noticed something about them.”

  “Don’t make me beat it out of you. What is it?”

  “They all seem to belong to the same clan. I noticed a similar patch on the back of every man and woman in their settlement, and those working the water.”

  Shiva felt a tingle at the base of her spine, and her gut tightened. The other women had already walked away and lit herb when River dropped her voice to a whisper.

  “The clan name arched across their back is Los Muertos.”

  Return to the Ruins

  Barren: Book Three

  Coming 2018

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  About J. Thorn

  J. Thorn is a Top 100 Most Popular Author in Horror, Science Fiction, Action & Adventure and Fantasy (Amazon Author Rank). He has published over one million words and has sold more than 170,000 books worldwide.

  He is an official, active member of the Horror Writers Association and a member of the Great Lakes Association of Horror Writers. J. is a contributor to disinformation.com and a staff writer for HeavyPlanet.net as well as a founding board member of the Author Marketing Institute.

  For More Information

  www.jthorn.net

  jthorn.writer@gmail.com

  About Zach Bohannon

  Zach Bohannon is a horror, science fiction, and fantasy author. His critically acclaimed post-apocalyptic zombie series, Empty Bodies, is a former Amazon #1 bestseller. He lives in Tennessee with his wife, daughter, and German shepherd. He loves hockey, heavy metal, video games, reading, and he doesn’t trust a beer he can see through. He’s a retired drummer, and has had a beard since 2003—long before it was cool.

  For More Information

  www.zachbohannon.com

  info@zachbohannon.com