Humanity Gone (Book 2): Facade of Order

by Derek Deremer

  Body-bags.

  I close my eyes and try to slow down my heart. My right hand holds my bow and I feel my fist tighten. The bow feels like it could snap as my knuckles become whiter and whiter. I want to start firing arrows at every one of those men in black. How could they be so cruel?

  So evil?

  Tonight, I will try and get in and at the very least I can slit some of their throats. I feel the corners of my lips turn briefly upwards as I finger the top of Walt's knife in my belt.

  Knives aren't meant to be used on innocent women on the side of the road. They were meant to be used to kill beasts.

  I hide among the tall grass along the road for the next several hours in the dark. When the moon is bright in the sky, I travel amongst the trees in a wide circle to the rear of the center.

  Like the fast food restaurant there are just a few guards at the rear. Someday they will focus on other entrances besides the one in the front.

  There is a pair of guards walking around the center, but they are too involved in their conversation. If I time it right, I won't even have to kill them to get inside. Despite how much these soldiers need to die, leaving dead bodies makes a dangerous path that can be followed.

  I move behind the dumpster. The smell is horrendous and I almost gag. I imagine the bodies. The little girl.

  Never mind. I am going to kill these two guards. While holding my breath, I sling the bow onto my shoulder and pull out two knives. One of them was Walter's. One belonged to the monster from the black helicopter.

  I tiptoe closer to the building and squeeze the handles tightly in my fists. Just as I duck down behind a bush, they round the corner and prepare for another lap of the rear. A few more steps then they'll have their backs towards me.

  As soon as they face the other way, I stand up and leap meticulously so that I am within arm's reach. They are too busy talking to hear me.

  And I am too stealthy.

  Neither of them makes a noise as they both fall to the ground in unison. I pull each knife from the backs of their skulls and return the blades to my belt. I switch back to my bow and approach the door while notching an arrow. My hand grabs the door's handle and pulls. The door is locked.

  I swear to myself. It's dangerous, but I guess I will have to try the front entrance. It's night so I probably still have time before they find the bodies. I drag my back along the wall as I steady the arrow. The brick changes to glass along the wall, and I squat down but continue to walk towards the entrance. I single guard is in the front under the overhang. He is smoking. The others are on the roof, and probably can't see the guard under the overhang.

  The man on the ground keeps looking around. Unlike the other two, he has his helmet on. His hair is blonde or red.

  It reminds me of someone.

  He begins to turn his body. When his eyes meet mine, my arrow is already in flight. The cigarette falls to the asphalt around the same time his body quietly slumps to the ground. When the guard on the roof disappears from view, I retrieve the arrow from his forehead and look through the front entrance. It looks empty though the glass. Maybe I will be lucky, and they all are sleeping at this hour.

  My elbow nudges the glass door slightly open and the knife in my hand points toward the opening. In the lobby of the center is a propane lantern turned down low. The room is empty and quiet except for the hiss of the gas lamp.

  I move towards the reception desk and return the bow to my hand with an arrow ready to fly. The tip of the arrow still slowly drips from the man outside. Behind the reception desk are stacks of binders and loose papers. I hesitate on their importance, and then I notice that along the top of several binders reads:

  WORKER LISTING of SKILLS and LOCATIONS

  WORKER MANAGEMENT STATION B

  I turn to a random page in the top binder marked “W.” A dozen names are on each page. One reads:

  TRAVIS WEST M 12/97 MANUAL LANCASTER 16-17

  WIMINGTON 17-

  Scanning the document, I figure out that it is a record of each worker who was initially registered at this station. They are binders full of women and men and organized by last names. Each binder was then organized by the date the laborer was captured. Each record shows the worker's gender, age, and at what farms they worked at throughout the territory. Many of the entries have a bright red stamp over the name. It reads DECEASED and covers the majority of the entry. These binders are the record I have been looking for. These are only station B's records, but maybe, God just maybe, she was here.

  I quickly search for my last name's binder and flip through it. This binder is also organized by date of entry. I go to the beginning, searching for entries from around when those black helicopters changed everything five years ago. My finger runs down line by line and page after page.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  Then I see it. Sara's entry. It is completely blank other than her name and birthday. Over the whole entry was a simple “X” that looked like it was marked in blue pen. Beside it was an indecipherable signature. What did that mean? Obviously, they had a stamp for deceased, why would she have an “X?”

  I swear again. Another dead end. This one was so close.

  A noise.

  I turn to the sound of rustling to my right. My eyes focus on the stock of a gun approaching my head. My arms pull my bow quickly up, and...

  The impact causes me to drop my weapons. Through blurry eyes I try to cover my face, but I feel another impact on the back of my head.

  I fall to the floor and nearly pass out as they are upon me.

  Chapter 12: Carter

  I walk out of the house and move towards the school. Things with Paige have been stressed since Jocelyn arrived. I've avoided both throughout the day. I wish being with Paige and not being with Jocelyn is as easy as I pretended a week ago. I feel guilty for what I told Paige the first night, because I don't know if it's true. Hopefully I figure it out soon. I don't want to hurt anyone. They both mean so much to me. They are both my family.

  I push open the door to the gymnasium, and I'm greeted by the excitement going on inside. Many of the remaining workers from the Mill are becoming restless inside and are getting rowdier. We brought them here nearly a week ago and about a third remain. Many left to try to make it back to where ever they once called home. Some are still sick or malnourished. A few decided to stay with us, and we are slow getting them into new houses. Many of the empty structures need some work before people can move inside.

  After a few steps forward, I see David sitting on a cot. One of my medical team members is changing out the bandage on his arm again. I checked over his wound yesterday, and it was healing nicely. It looked worse initially when he refused to wear a sling and was continuously ripping out stitches. I gave him a tranquilizer to force him to take it easy for a few days. Now his arm is looking much better. He turns to me and smiles lightly.

  “It's pretty much good to go,” he says stretching his arm around.

  “Good,” I reply. I look around the gymnasium. It's loud, but there are not as many people here as I hoped. Most are already gone. The young girl from the barn left with a few workers to return to their settlement fifty miles to the south. We gave them what we could spare and they headed off. Considering it has been five years, most people already belonged to a survivor group, or they are looking for the rest of their kin. Sometimes, we try to tell them their search would be fruitless, but I can't blame their tenacity. “I really wish more of the workers would have stayed. We will need the help. We still have time, but winter is coming.”

  “That's what Ryan keeps saying. Some said they would have stayed, but they are now afraid that after this little fiasco the New Americans are going to be coming at us long and hard.” Dave laughs briefly to himself for a moment. I shake my head, and gently punch him in his good arm.

  “They won't find us. The territory is too big, and I imagine they have enough other enemies as it is,” I say, reassuring myself more than him.
Dave is generally carefree. According to him, things will always be alright. “At least, I hope that's true.”

  “Aw man, we'll be fine,” David answers. With a grin. The two of us have become close these past few years. Being the two oldest came with a responsibility that at least I took seriously all the time. Without him though, the Resistance would never even stood any chance against New America. The fact that the two of us were immune must mean we are here for some reason.

  A loud crack erupts from behind me when the gymnasium door opens, and the late summer light pours briefly inside. Kevin holds the door open as a younger woman walks in. Her clothes look worn and her skin is smudged with dirt. If she was cleaned up she'd probably be quite a sight. Behind her, a similarly dressed man walks in. He is thin, but his arms are defined. A thick beard covers most of his face. He looks like someone who can take care of himself, or at least once was able to. Their faces are drawn tightly. They must have been eating even less then we do. Kevin follows behind them as the door shuts with a clang. The gym becomes loud again. The couple looks a little confused, and then Kevin comes up beside them and points to us.

  “Look what Kevin brought in,” David whispers as he rolls down his sleeve over the bandages and straightens his shirt. He stares at the pair walking towards us. Well, he stares at the woman. Another one of his fine characteristics...

  “Found them when patrolling through the streets. They need a home,” Kevin answers. I smile softly, but David holds his good arm out to the woman. She is a brunette and her hair looks hastily pulled back. Her shirt has drops of maroon around the collar. They apparently have been on their own in the wild for some time. It is dangerous out there.

  “Welcome, welcome,” David says while shaking her hand. The man outstretches his and David ignores it.“You are...?”

  “My name is Tori, and this is my husband Darrel.”

  David's shoulders fall a bit and he fades behind me. He was hoping she would say brother. Maybe next time.

  “We never imagined any other communities like this. We've seen some camps, but this place looks amazing. Kevin said you have room for more,” Tori says with an unsure smile. David has already checked out of the conversation so I speak up.

  “Definitely. You two are welcome to stay.” I say and go over some procedure with them. As long as you work hard, anyone is welcome here. You don't have to be a soldier or a farmer. We were successful because we found everyone a purpose. After a while Tori turns to her husband and smiles. She has a cut on her neck, the source of the dried blood at the top of her collar.

  “Here let me take a look at that, I'm a doctor.” I say and move closer. Despite not having my medical degree, it seems an appropriate title considering what I do around here. She reaches her hand to her throat and cover's it a little.

  “It isn't that bad.”

  Darrel turns and looks her. “Dear, let him look.”

  She lowers her hand. It isn't too deep, but it will leave a scar if I don't treat it some. It looks slightly red and possibly infected.

  “Let's just clean it to be on the safe side.”

  I help her sit down on the cot and sit on the edge of a rolling chair beside it. Darrel stands beside me.

  I reach into the tray beside the table from where they patched up David and put on two rubber gloves. She looks up to the ceiling as I swipe the cut with hydrogen peroxide and then follow with some antibiotics. They are manufactured in our limited labs led by a few of our geniuses that also made the rooftop water tanks. Thanks to those guys we have half the stuff we have.

  The Resistance was lucky to become home to a group of high school students who were at a national science competition when the plague broke out. This competition was not the exploding volcano kind, it was the kind that drug companies send scouts to find future investments. The competition was in Florida and they never were able to leave due to the chaos of the plague. Two summers later, the ten boys and girls decided to try and make it back home. Florida's heat made survival rather difficult. Their vehicle died in West Virginia, and I actually found them nearly frozen to death on a routine patrol. They were still trying to journey to the north with the hopes of finding their families. I brought them back here, and they never left. More than likely, their parents were dead, and they started to accept that. They made a home with us.

  I would like to say that we saved their lives, but they have saved ours. Their ingenuity and creativity are half the reason the Resistance existed. The water system, most of the medicines, the gasoline, and the electricity are all thanks to them. They mostly keep to themselves in the science classrooms of the school, constantly finding new solutions to problems we haven't even thought of yet. The antibiotic paste is running low; I am going to need to ask them to generate some more. I tighten the lid on the container, and focus back on her wound with a cotton ball of the paste.

  “So how did this happen?”

  “It was a misunderstanding...” the woman begins. Her husband cuts her off.

  “Some crazy girl attacked her.” he says. Tori gives him a hurt look.

  “Well it's not too deep for someone attacking. Consider yourself lucky. What did she want?” I ask trying to start some small talk

  “I dunno. She said she was trying to find her twin sister, but I doubt...” Darrel says. I don't hear the rest of his words. My eyes widen as I stare at the cut.

  “Um, are you okay?” Tori says, awakening me from my daze. Could it be?

  “This girl,” I begin, “Did she have black hair and bright blue eyes.”

  The man looks taken aback. The woman nods.

  My eyes start to pace along the floor.

  “She had a bow over her shoulder with red arrows in a quiver.” Tori says. I drop the cotton ball and stand up.

  Caitlyn. She's alive.

  * * *

  “It might not even be her!” Paige yells at me.

  “I have to try.” My voice rises. “I won't give up. If it's her she could get killed.”

  “On the slim chance it is her, it was yesterday they saw her, she is either going to be dead or long gone. Is she worth dying over?”

  I ignore Paige. Caitlyn is worth dying for. Ryan stands up from his chair at my dining room table. After Darrel and Tori told me the whole story, I gathered the five of us in my house- Ryan, David, Jocelyn, and Paige. We have to go and find her.

  “Well if you're going, I'm going with you,” Ryan says, “Carter, you have done enough for me these few years.”

  “They need you here.” I respond. Ryan, above anyone else, should not be risking his life.

  “I'm tired of being treated like royalty. This place would manage fine without me. I'm going. We should only take a single car, and no one else is as qualified as me.” He turns to David and looks to David's bandaged arm in the sling.

  “It works as well as all other parts of me. You know I wouldn't miss a chance.” David replies. He removes the sling, and stretches the arm. Under normal circumstances I would have yelled at him.

  “Well, if she’s there. It might be best if I'm there,” Jocelyn adds, “by what that woman described, Caitlyn's going through a lot. My face may help.” Jocelyn has gained a little more weight and looks much healthier than when we found her. If she thinks she's ready, she is ready.

  “You're right,” I say. “Let's leave in a half hour. It should take about five hours to get there. We will arrive around midnight.”

  Ryan and David walk out of the room. Jocelyn hesitates for a second, looks at me, and follows them out. Paige remains staring at me. She begins to open her mouth. I cut her off before she speaks.

  “We are going. I would rather you stay behind.” I walk over the threshold. “I needed you to have my back on this one.”

  We stand in silence for several moments.

  “I always have your back.” she says, “This is too dangerous, and we don't even know if those two wanderers are reliable. Things were just starting to have a sense of normalcy. ” I don't know if I w
ould use normal to describe this past week.

  “If you know me at all you know I have to do this. This is the closest I have ever come. They are my family.”

  SLAP.

  Pain lingers on my cheek as Paige holds out her hand in front of her. Anger flickers across Paige's eyes before it is replaced with remorse.

  “Dammit Carter, I'm your family now.”

  The impact was all I needed. I am being selfish. Sometimes I take for granted what she means to me, and I forgot to consider what I mean to her.

  “Carter, I'm sorry... it's just... it's just.” I take a step forward towards her. I wrap my arms around her and delicately press her head into my chest.

  “Paige, no. I'm sorry. You're right. I'll think this through more. We'll go tomorrow.” She releases herself into my embrace, and I kiss her on the forehead. I mean it, too. If she tells me not to go, we will change the plan. She looks up and then takes a step back.

  “No, Carter.” she pauses, looks down and then back up. “I may not like it, but you need to go now. If you would arrive too late I could never forgive myself. Just be careful. If it's too dangerous, promise me you'll back off.”

  “I promise. Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask. She nods. I hate to do this to her, but she is right. I do need to go. It may not be much, but it is the best lead I have had in five years. I promised once that I would keep those twins safe. I can't turn back now.

  “I'll stay back Carter. I'm a better medic than a soldier anyway. I'll get her room ready in the house.”

  She smiles. and I give her a final kiss. It's funny how it takes a smack across the face to remind me how much I love someone.

  I leave her behind and head upstairs to the bedroom. My shirt's white so I change to something darker. I reach into the closet and pull my bulletproof vest over my head and Velcro the sides. Opening the side drawer on the bed, I withdraw my gun, check the round in the chamber, and holster it against my back. I lift my medical bag off the floor and place it over my shoulder. My hands adjust the strap as I walk down the stairs and outside. Paige isn't anywhere around; a final goodbye would have been nice. I walk into the grass and head to the entrance of the school. In front is Dave's truck; both men are standing beside it.