Luke's Trek

by Scott Medbury

The awkwardness passed as they talked. It turns out Becky had been in the Drake Mountain facility too, one of the first kids taken in, along with her brother. He had been killed during the firefight between Randall’s men and the Homeland Security people.

  Neither of them remembered the other, which was unsurprising given that close to six years had passed, and Luke had only been there briefly. Becky was originally from Boston and had fled with her brother and two of his friends. They had also heard of the haven in the White Mountains and had been picked up by a patrol of Randall’s men just south of Lincoln.

  Luke told her his story too, about the escape from the facility and finding the farm but didn’t elaborate any further than telling her they’d had to leave and find somewhere new.

  “The farm sounds wonderful. You were lucky to find it. This place is great now, but it was pretty rough at the beginning.”

  “Yeah, it’s fantastic.” Luke had sobered up considerably now. He put his hand on her arm. “Well, thanks for the dancing and the great conversation, but I have to get going early tomorrow. I might head to bed.”

  She looked at him and smiled.

  “Sure, me too,” she said, rising to her feet. “I know he looks laidback, but my boss is a stickler for things like starting work on time.”

  “No! Colonel Randall?” They both laughed as Luke stood too. He was barely on his feet before Becky stood on tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “Thanks, for being a gentleman. Your lady is a lucky girl,” she said and turned away.

  Luke watched her go, a strange empty feeling inside.

  Maybe I will be back sometime.

  Luke went back out front and spoke to the Colonel for around twenty minutes. He was glad he did because the Colonel, possibly a little loose-tongued because of the beer, gave him some valuable intel.

  Randall and his group had divided the area surrounding Concord, up to a hundred-mile radius, into four quadrants. They were systematically going into each quadrant, town by town and house by house, bringing back anything edible or of use to their growing community.

  The Colonel currently had his teams foraging in the western quadrant, so for now at least, there wasn’t much chance of Randall’s group meeting Isaac’s to the south.

  “We’ve already foraged the quadrants to the east and north dry. And we only just started in to the west,” he explained.

  Because they grew a lot of their own food now, it could be years before they began moving through the southern quadrant. It was obvious the two groups would encounter one another at some stage so Luke decided to disclose the location of Isaac’s group and the fact they’d only just avoided a battle that could have wiped them out.

  “I’m not sure what happened to the rest of the Marauder army, but I assume they went back to Ashland. Isaac would know.”

  Randall looked slightly concerned now that he knew where Isaac and their people were.

  “Manchester? I’m surprised our scouts didn’t spot a movement of men that big heading south. I may have to review our processes… Thanks for sharing Luke. In fact, I’ll give them time to settle in and then head down there myself in a week or so to talk to Isaac.”

  Luke felt better now, he trusted the Colonel completely and was confident it would be a happy meeting which may not have been the case if there had been a surprise encounter between the two groups.

  He said his goodnights and Bowman led him inside and through to the sleeping quarters in the back of the big old building. The cot wasn’t as comfortable as the sofa he had spent the previous few nights on, but with a full belly and the last pleasant buzz of alcohol still in his system, he fell fast asleep within seconds of his head touching the pillow.

  ***

  That was the first night that Brooke didn’t haunt his dreams and when the other occupants of the room began to wake up and move around, he awoke surprisingly fresh and alert.

  “You have hot showers?” he asked, when one of the soldiers came into the room, wrapped in a towel, his damp hair steaming in the cool air.

  “Yes, Sir. Right through that door.”

  Within two minutes Luke was standing under a steaming spray of water, oblivious of the naked bodies around him. He hadn’t had a hot shower since Drake Mountain. They’d managed a few hot baths back at the farm, but those were a rare treat and, just like the first one back at Drake Mountain after weeks of hard travelling, it seemed about the best damn thing in the world.

  Bowman collected him for breakfast as he was zipping up his leather jacket. Luke saw the other man eye his fluffy, clean hair and patted it down self-consciously. That was one downside to washing his hair. He had no doubt it would soon dirty up and fade to a less glaring shade of red.

  “Colonel Randall thought you might like breakfast,” said Bowman. “He’s waiting in his quarters.”

  “Okay thanks, I’m starved.” He followed Bowman through the door and up to Randall’s level. “You guys are living the dream here, Bowman.”

  “Thanks, yeah it’s alright. You sure you don’t want to stay?”

  “Nah, I need to… I need to get away from everyone and everything for a while, you know?”

  “Sure,” said Bowman as they reached Randall’s quarters. Becky’s desk was unattended. Luke somehow felt disappointed and relieved. The soldier held out his hand. “Well, I’m going out on patrol now. Take care, Luke.”

  “You too.”

  They shook, and Luke rapped on the door.

  “Come.”

  “Morning, Sir.”

  “Good morning, Luke. Made use of the showers I see?” said Randall, gesturing vaguely at his hair.

  “Yes, Sir, now in full Ronald McDonald mode,” he said, and saluted.

  Randall laughed gruffly and waved to the plates on his desk.

  “Sit and eat before you head on your way.”

  Luke’s mouth started to water at the sight of thick roughly cut toast, butter and honey. Not to mention more instant coffee. A breakfast he wouldn’t have sniffed at in the before days, but one that right then looked like manna from Heaven.

  Luke’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head as he took the first bite of generously buttered toast topped with honey. It really had been at least six years since he’d tasted toast and honey.

  “We keep bees,” said Randall, anticipating the question. “Best you’ve ever tasted, right?”

  “You’re not fuc… sorry, you’re not kidding,” he said, licking his fingers un self-consciously. “Best ever.”

  He washed four slices of honey toast down with two mugs of black coffee then sat back and held his belly.

  “I want to thank you for having me. I can’t really repay your generosity but maybe if I head back this way I can stop and work for a while?”

  “We’d be glad to have you son, but you’re under no obligation. It was just nice to hear that you and your group thrived after Drake Mountain.”

  Luke felt warmth for the Colonel. While his defenses had been on high alert yesterday when he’d been picked up by the patrol, having seen how things operated here in Concord he knew they would be great allies for Isaac’s group.

  “Thanks again for letting me know about Manchester. I know you were being cautious, and with good reason, but I’ll offer anything I can to help them make a go of it. I’m sure we can be of value to each other going forward. Now, I’m not sure why you don’t carry a gun, but in case you were thinking of asking, I can’t give you one.”

  Luke held up his good hand.

  “No, I understand. It’s okay, I kind of left in a hurry and didn’t really think about supplies. But I plan to avoid trouble so hopefully I won’t need one.”

  “Okay then.”

  An hour later, armed with his axe and a map provided by the Colonel and his sack replaced by a backpack, Luke found his way back onto Main Street and turned onto Route 202.

  9

  The skip in his step when he left Concord faded after five miles of walking. He stopped for water
and to consult his map in a bus shelter that had managed to survive the elements pretty well.

  He planned to follow the 393 which turned back into the 202 and follow it all the way through to Rochester near the border of Maine. He wouldn’t get all the way to Rochester by nightfall so would find somewhere to lay up along the way. In the morning, he would set out and try to reach a little town called Alfred by sunset.

  ***

  He estimated it was about three or four in the afternoon when he approached a turn off the 202 to a little town called Bow Lake Village.

  Luke paused and took a drink of water. Bow Lake Village sounded almost too inviting to pass up.

  “Screw it, it’s not like I’m on a schedule.”

  He took the turn and began walking north. He would spend the night in Bow Lake Village and then simply take the road out of town back down to join the 202 again. A nice little side trip.

  The narrow road north to the village, Ridge Road, was dotted with homes on each side. He imagined it was once considered ‘tree lined’ but was now so overgrown that in some places the road had almost disappeared.

  The further north he walked the more spaced out the homes became, allowing the overgrowth to close in on the road and put it entirely in shadow. It felt a little creepy, like the road in Sleepy Hollow, and he began to wonder if he should have avoided the stopover after all.

  ***

  Twenty-five minutes later, in the last light of day, he reached Bow Lake Village. It was quiet and in the fast fading dusk, no less creepy than the road in had been.

  “So, what does one do in Bow Lake Village?” Luke asked, aloud. “Why, go and look at the lake of course!”

  He made his way past the quaint, white washed buildings in the small town center and headed down to the lake. Luke imagined at this time of year it would be quite beautiful in full daylight. He walked out onto a rickety wooden pier. There was mist upon the lake and the opposite shoreline was painted with autumn gold and rust colored leaves.

  “Beautiful! Not bad, Bow Lake.”

  He took off his backpack and sat down on the end of the pier, fishing out the last beef and tomato sandwich packed for him by Randall’s people and began chewing happily.

  Brooke would have loved this spot.

  It was the first time he had been able to think about her without being overwhelmed by grief. After washing down his sandwich with a few mouthfuls of water from the army issue canteen (another gift from Concord), he headed back up the hill feeling almost content.

  “Time to find some lodgings for the night.”

  It was almost full dark now and while he had forgotten the eeriness of the little village when he was eating his sandwich by the lake, it returned quickly. The dark empty windows and the wind whistling through the pine needles put him on edge. He decided he would stop and stay at the first house he came to.

  He turned left from the main road and then turned down 3rd Street. It ran parallel to Main Street. On the right-hand side of 3rd Street was a row of houses. He checked out the first one. It was a white timber double story with flaky paint. A wrought iron gate hung askew on the low fence that ran along the front of the lot. Moth-eaten curtains hung in the windows.

  He thought anyone could be watching him from the darkened windows and he’d be oblivious. He shivered and passed it by. The next house looked just as haunted, but the third was okay.

  He pushed open the stubborn gate and winced at the terrible screech the rusted hinges made.

  Well, if there is anyone here and they didn’t know I was in town, they do now.

  He had barely placed a foot on the path when he heard the soft crying of a child behind him. Startled, he swung around and scanned the buildings across the road. They were the rears of the storefronts he had just passed on the main road. He couldn’t see anyone, but the child’s crying was unmistakable.

  “Hello?” he called.

  There was no response, but the soft crying continued. Concern chased away any sense of disquiet he had, and Luke headed back through the gate and onto the road, pausing in the middle to cock his head.

  The crying was louder now, and he knew it was coming from a small alleyway that led between the two buildings directly in front of him. He took a deep breath and pulled himself up to his full height and strode across the road, hoping he appeared more confident than he felt as he headed for the shadowy alleyway.

  By the thin light of the quarter moon he could see a few feet ahead. The alley looked pretty much like any alley you would see behind a main street. There was scattered trash, an old chair and a big dumpster. That’s where the crying was coming from.

  Behind the dumpster.

  “Hello?” Luke called again.

  The crying paused briefly then continued. Luke looked up and down the street before taking a few tentative steps into the alley.

  “Hey kid, are you okay? Why don’t you come out where I can see you?”

  The soft crying continued. Luke shook his head, nothing for it. He began to walk towards the dumpster.

  It wasn’t until he heard a grunt of exertion behind him that he realized he wasn’t alone with the crying kid. His head exploded in bright agony. Luke spun around, but his world was tilting, his legs suddenly made of jelly. On his way down the express elevator to unconsciousness, he caught a brief glimpse of unkempt hair, filthy faces and wild eyes.

  Part Two: Dog Meat

  10

  Luke’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t move. The back of his head was a hot mess of agony.

  He was on his back, the sun high in the sky above, his axe resting uncomfortably under his right shoulder… his field of vision was framed by the buildings either side of the alley he had walked into the night before.

  Ambushed.

  The bastards had ambushed him with the oldest trick in the book and he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Time to take stock. He moved his feet then his hand. He didn’t appear to have any injuries besides a cracked skull. He scanned the alley with his eyes, not trusting yet that he could move his head without its contents spilling out onto the ground.

  He was alone.

  Time to move, old boy.

  He braced himself with his elbows and pushed up.

  Luke wasn’t sure what horrified him more, the white agony that shot through his head or the sound of his hair – glued to the cracked pavement by crusted blood – pulling free.

  He sat until the roar of pain rushing through his head subsided to a dull throb, then slowly raised himself to his feet. The world tilted and for a second, he thought he would fall back on his ass. He didn’t.

  He raised his hand to the back of his head and inspected the damage. Thankfully it wasn’t as bad as it felt. His gently probing fingers found a hell of a bump crowned with a split in the skin under his stiff hair. The wound was about an inch and a half long, but it had crusted over, the coagulants in his blood doing their job.

  Turning gingerly, he took stock of the crime scene. His backpack was gone, clearly it was the intended target of the wild-eyed bastards. There was no sign of the ambushers.

  Sore but thankful that he was still breathing, he couldn’t even raise a puff of anger. There was no point trying to find the backpack, there were a thousand places the little bastards could be hiding, and he didn’t want to risk foraging for replacement supplies and risk another ambush.

  The only thing to do was to get back on the road again. As he left the alleyway he found the map from his backpack wedged under the old paling fence, one corner flapping in the gentle breeze as if to catch his attention.

  He dusted it off, refolded it and slipped it inside his jacket.

  Erring on the side of caution, he pulled out his axe and held it as a deterrent as he made his way back out of Bow Lake Village. This time he travelled via the 202A, a wider road and a lot more pleasant to walk along than the one that had taken him into the village. It would take him south east and join up with its big sister, the 202.

  The day was warm
. Besides flies annoying the hell out of him, he didn’t have any more trouble as he continued his journey and stowed his axe after half a mile.

  After an hour of walking he reached the 202 and, ignoring the angry noises coming from his stomach, pulled out the map. In just over a mile he would pass the North River Pond, a big freshwater lake. That would be his first stop. At the very least he would drink a belly full of water and wash the crusted blood from his still sore head.

  The North River Pond was also picturesque, the part of the shoreline he accessed was overgrown with long, lush grass. He took off his jacket and headed into the water, gingerly washing his hair and the wound before moving to a new spot and drinking his fill of the cool fresh water.

  As he was getting out, he found an old plastic soda bottle floating by the shoreline. He washed it out as best he could before refilling it with water from the lake. That would hopefully keep him hydrated for a day.

  He put his jacket back on and, feeling refreshed, investigated two houses on the lake for food. Their pantries were bare. The Colonel’s teams had obviously been this way. He resigned himself to the fact he probably wouldn’t find food anywhere on the 202 and would have to make his way off it to get lucky.

  Dusk came two hours after his stop at the lake and he decided when passing through a small town he would camp there for the night. Town was too generous a word really. It was more a cluster of homes that seemed to have sprung up like mushrooms alongside a gas station/general store.

  Luke didn’t bother checking the store. Its windows were smashed in and its door lay in pieces on the pavement. Through the windows it was easy to see the shelves were barren. He didn’t hold out much hope for the houses that ran along the side street either but decided he would check up to three of them for food. If he had no luck, he would bed down for the night in the third one.

  The first two were empty, and he almost didn’t bother with the next. Boy, was he glad he made the effort. The front door was already open, jimmied by past raiders, and he didn’t waste any time heading straight to the kitchen.

  There, in the failing light, sitting on the small Formica topped kitchen table like it had been left by a thoughtful friend, was a pistol and two clips of ammo.