by Dave Conifer
"Like, what time is it?" Dewey mumbled after Sarah had shaken him awake. Then he saw her bruised face and sat up. "Hey. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Sarah said. "I think it's about four o'clock. It'll start getting dark pretty soon. You ready to walk? I think we can make it there before nightfall if we leave soon."
They gathered the matches, a few utensils and the water jugs, which were mostly empty again, and made sure they had the knife and gun. Dewey bagged up the last few strips of meat and the stack of hard tack crackers that remained. Knowing how much it had helped with her recovery, Sarah remembered to take the bottle of Lysol cleaner and jam it into the cloth bag with the jugs before they left.
The first morning at the cabin they’d discovered an overgrown dirt road that trailed off into the woods. Sarah thought it likely that this would take them back to Dixontown Road, and that turned out to be the case. When the road was in sight Sarah asked Dewey if he recognized where he was, thinking that he’d probably hiked this way and back when he escaped from the deer hunters.
Before he could answer, they both heard the rumble of an engine coming from the south. They hunkered down, making sure they could see the road. Seconds later a heavily-bearded man roared by in the saddle of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Like everybody else, Sarah still hadn’t gotten the hang of knowing what machines worked and what machines didn’t. But that Harley sure did. Once it was quiet again, they stood up and prepared to move on.
"This might sound risky, but we're going to have to cross this road and then get across a golf course," Sarah explained. "So we'll be out in the open a little more than we should be. You up for that?"
"Uh, yeah, sure," Dewey answered. “If you are. It’s getting dark soon. That’ll help.”
"Then we have to cross another road," Sarah said. "That’ll take us to the lake. The house is on the other side of the lake, but there's a bridge we’ll cross."
“My leg’s bleeding again,” Dewey said. Sarah wasn’t sure how he could tell, with all the dried blood on his jeans. “But, like, it’ll bleed no matter what I do. It doesn’t hurt much. I’m up for walking.”
“Just let me know anytime you need a break,” Sarah said.
“Same to you,” Dewey said. Both of them chuckled. “Sarah, what if, like, your house and all, you know, is as messed up as everyplace else we’ve seen?” Dewey asked. “We’ll turn back, right? Like, even if we weren’t all beat up, we don’t need to be looking for fights, right? We don’t know who’s here.”
“Dewey, this is my home,” Sarah said. “I’m not giving up on it that easy.” She paused and looked across the road. She could see the golf course through the trees now. “But we’ll play it by ear, okay? I’ll try to leave emotion out of it.”
“Okay,” Dewey answered.
“Can I have the gun for a while?” she asked. Dewey handed it over.
Remembering that she’d already pulled out a partially filled magazine a few days earlier, she ejected the one in the gun now and balanced it in her hand. “How many shots did you fire?” she asked. “Two, right?”
“I thought it was three,” Dewey told her.
“We’ll just stick with this one,” she said. “Hopefully we won’t need it, anyway.” She jammed it back into its slot. “Ready to cross?”
“Yup,” Dewey answered.
Sarah wasn’t sure why she was being so dramatic about it, because in the past two days they’d seen exactly one person on the road. Everything here was quiet. Nevertheless, both of them hunkered down like they were storming the beach at Normandy and hustled to the other side of Dixontown Road. To Sarah, it was one more barrier overcome on the way back home.
They passed through a small thicket of trees and found themselves on the golf course. It was much browner than it had ever been, overgrown and stricken with weeds. Even the sand traps, usually bleach white, were sandy and laced with vegetation. Regardless, Sarah still recognized it as the country club she’d driven past countless times.
They were both uncomfortable out in the open in the daylight, so they crossed the expanse of the course as quickly as possible. Having learned on the job about detecting trouble, they both eyed the clubhouse carefully as they passed, but saw nothing unexpected. It looked unharmed, actually. A rare sight these days, Sarah told herself.
When they reached McKeldin Road on the other side of the course, Dewey collapsed in a cluster of shrubbery without saying a word. Knowing he was suffering from the pain of his leg wound, Sarah sat down beside him and waited for him to signal that he was ready to move on. The chance to rest was a good reminder about her own injuries. There was no reason to rush this. They were just a few minutes away.
“There are some houses across this road,” Sarah said. “Maybe we should wait until dark.”
“Are we getting close?” Dewey asked.
“My house is just a few streets from the bridge on the other side of the lake,” Sarah answered. “But who knows what we’ll find in these houses. Or who.”
“There’s a lake here?” Dewey asked.
“Yeah, I told you that before,” Sarah said, exasperated.
“Maybe it would be, like, better to go around,” Dewey said.
“It’s too big,” Sarah said. “It would take too much time. What’s the point? There’s nobody here. The bridge will be okay. We just have to get through a few streets first.”
“Okay,” Dewey said. “Just, like, give me a minute.”
“You’re good,” Sarah said. “Thanks for coming with me, Dewey. I’m glad I’m not alone.”
The streets on the other side of McKeldin Road were strictly residential. The sight of houses ahead made both of them nervous, although they’d still seen nobody. It appeared to both of them that there had been minimal destruction here.
“This is your neighborhood, right?” Dewey asked.
“Sure is,” Sarah answered.
“I thought you were, like, rich,” Dewey said. “These houses are smaller than Nick’s.”
“It’s not always about the size of the house,” Sarah said. “Speaking of houses, these ones are making me nervous. What do you say we go behind the houses and cut through the woods? At least until we reach the lake.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Dewey answered. Both of them felt better when they were under cover. As they approached the lake they surveyed every house. Again, there was no sign of anybody. Sarah tried to make sense of it. It wasn’t like Nick’s neighborhood, smack in the middle of suburbia and chock full of people. That’s the kind of place where the predators would go. And it’s probably where everybody who’d been here had gone. You don’t have to be a predator to need to feed your family, she reminded herself. It was understandable that an area like this was calmer and safer, at least for now. In fact, that was why Grover had chosen to move into the Pine Barrens.
They were at the edge of the lake now, within sight of a low concrete bridge that carried automobile traffic as well as pedestrians. Sarah knew it was also a popular spot to jump into the lake from, although that was strictly forbidden. Just like the land around it, the surface of the lake was strewn with trash. Other than that, it looked about the same to Sarah. “Jenny and Ashley usually spend half the summer at this lake. Either in it or on it.”
“Whoa!” Dewey said when he saw the head of a snake who was swimming past silently. He involuntarily stepped backwards. “It doesn’t look like the EMP bothered him at all.” He looked across the lake. “We have to go across that bridge, don’t we? After that, are we close?”
“If we weren’t worried about getting jumped,” she answered, “It’s a two-minute walk to my house.”
Without a word, they trudged through the marshy woods until they emerged into the light and reached the road that would take them across the bridge. “Here goes,” Sarah said. “Once we do this, we’re in full view of anybody who’s watching.” She stepped into the road and walked onto the empty bridge. Dewey was right behind her.
All was well
until they were two thirds of the way across, when Dewey grabbed Sarah’s arm. “Look down there!” he hissed. “There’s a bunch of dudes down at the end of the lake!”
Sure enough, there were several figures moving about on the shoreline, and another had apparently just shoved off in a rowboat. Almost as if they’d somehow heard Dewey, they all froze, their faces clearly turned toward the bridge. The ones on land came together. The boat did a one-eighty and turned back to the dock it had apparently been launched from. They’d spotted Sarah and Dewey, and been spotted themselves at the same time.
“Who are they? What do we do?” Dewey whispered frantically. “Forward or backward?”
“Forward,” Sarah said. “It’s closer.” They moved as quickly as they could off the bridge. Still out in the open, they scrambled into a clump of trees at the edge of the lake. Once there, they took a moment to catch their breath while scanning the lake. From this vantage point the mysterious figures at the end of the lake were no longer in view.
“What do we do now?” Dewey asked again. “They definitely saw us, don’t you think? Maybe we should get out of here. Like, we could go back the way we came, while we still can.”
“Not me,” Sarah answered. “I’m two minutes from my house. Maybe I’ll think about turning back after I see it. But I have to know for sure if Eli’s there or not. I’d never forgive myself if I turned back now that I’m so close.”
Fourteen
With Mark at his side, Roethke finally tracked Grover down near the bathrooms that evening. After hearing what had gone down at Tabernacle that afternoon, Roethke knew this was something that required immediate attention. And Grover hadn't disagreed. It took only ten minutes for Mark to explain what happened. After a few questions and a few answers, Mark was dismissed and told to stand by for a decision soon.
"As far as the immediate issue goes," Grover said, "I think Nick the roofer is right. We can use these people. We have to grow, whenever we can. This is one of those times. In the long term, circling the wagons isn't the answer. Eventually we'll run out of resources and people, and we'll be vulnerable." He looked inquisitively at Roethke.
"Agreed," Roethke said. "But for the moment, I'm hoping to shoot the messenger rather than focus on the message. This man is getting awfully uppity for somebody who's been with us for, what, a few weeks? A month? He was uppity even before he joined. He worries me. He complicates things. And that's without even talking about his two followers who jumped off the bus."
"Yes, he's a free spirit, isn't he?" Grover answered. "It's not too late to channel that to our advantage. Ideas are good. The problems start when going against the grain gets to be a habit. For now, we'll keep an eye on him and leave it at that. If we have to smack him down, we will. But not yet."
"What about that woman and the shaggy kid who waltzed into the darkness that night?” Roethke asked. “Any change there?"
"No," Grover said firmly. "They’re not to be readmitted. We have no use for them if they're not committed to us."
"Okay, just checking," Roethke said.
"What about your army friend?" Grover asked. "When's he coming? What's his name, again?"
"Colonel Quigley," Roethke answered. "Stan Quigley, if I remember correctly. I don't know if or when he's coming. He only mentioned it once. I've only talked to him two times in my life. Once in a conference call, and once on the satellite phone a few days after that. Next time I hear from him, I'll let you know. Is he still welcome?"
“Absolutely,” Grover answered. “He has information we need. He can come anytime he wants to.”
~~~
By chance, Roethke passed Nick in the hall outside the cafeteria a few minutes after the corridor conference with Mark and Grover. "Hey Roofer, got a minute?"
Nick was disappointed. Partly because he was hungry and was on his way to enjoy dinner. Partly because he was looking forward to hearing how the day had gone for the other Outhouse Coalition members. But mostly because Roethke made his skin crawl.
"Always do, for you," Nick answered. He slouched against the wall. Could he know about the stolen wine? It had to be about that. Until then, he was sure he'd pulled it off.
"We heard you were out recruiting today down at Tabernacle," Roethke said.
So that was it, Nick thought. Better that than having the stolen wine discovered and confiscated. "Not exactly," Nick said. "But we found some people in the woods. I tried to talk Mark Roman into--"
"I know all about it," Roethke said, cutting him off with a raised hand. "Do you seriously think you should be dabbling in something on that level? What world do you live in? How long have you been with us? Five or six days?"
"These are good, hard-working people. I’m sure of it. We can use them, Roethke," Nick said. "They--"
"Again," Roethke said, waving his hand, "I already know all this. Why do you think I'm here having this pleasant conversation with you?"
"I don't know exactly why, then," Nick said. Still relieved that his other secret had not been revealed, he wanted to tread lightly. "Why don't you tell me?"
"Grover is not thrilled about what you did," Roethke said. "And that’s an understatement. I think he's having second thoughts about signing you up, because you, sir, are a troublemaker. Wait, did I say second thoughts? Make that eighth or ninth, at least. That should be enough of a reason for you. You had two strikes on you when you joined up. Now you're closer to 2.99. Are we clear?"
Nick stared at the floor, trying to keep his composure. He’d staked a lot on this, and now he was being shot down. This was going to cost him, he was sure about that. His appetite suddenly spoiled, he knew he would turn around and go straight back to his room after this. "Crystal clear," he answered. He had plenty more he wanted to say, but for now he just had to get away from there.
"Good," Roethke told him. “Please, Roofer, stay out of the recruiting business.”
As soon as Roethke was gone Nick turned and headed back to his room. If he’d been having second thoughts about what he’d stolen earlier, he felt a lot better about it now. He was glad it was there waiting for him.
~~~
Back in his room, he felt around the door knob but couldn’t find any way to lock the door. Doesn’t matter, he told himself. Nobody knows I’m here. Or cares. The only one who cared anymore was Sarah, and she’d left a long time ago.
The cloth bag was in the bottom drawer of the teacher’s desk in the front of the room. Already wondering how he was going to remove the cork, he reached in and pulled one of the bottles out. A screwdriver would have done the job, but of course all the tools around this place were property of and held closely by – the Committee.
He pulled open the top drawer. With a little work, one of the large-size paper clips would have functioned adequately as a corkscrew. That would take too long, he decided. Instead, he chose a ball point pen and busied himself digging out the cork. In the end, he’d pulverized it rather than removed it. That wasn’t going to be a problem. By the time he was done with the bottle he wouldn’t need it anymore, he told himself.
A glass would be nice. He hated to drink straight out of the bottle. But after a quick trip around the room, he knew he was out of luck. Who keeps wine glasses in a classroom? He squeezed himself into one of the middle school student-sized desks with the bottle. The first swig was filled with cork bits, so he spat it onto the floor as he contemplated the bizarre taste. It was wine, he was sure, but it wasn’t like any wine he’d ever drunk before. What was it?
It took three or four more swallows before he recognized the taste and realized he was drinking cranberry wine. Until then, he’d never known such a thing existed. A handful of drinks later, he couldn’t tell the difference from any of the wine he’d consumed over the years. He was more of a bourbon guy, anyway. Wine was wine.
It hit him hard and it hit him fast. Part of that was because of his empty stomach, he knew. But this stuff had a bigger kick than any wine he’d ever had. The first bottle was gone and he was bus
y digging out the cork from the next one when the banging on the door started. Don’t they know there’s no lock? Before he knew it, Matt, Penny and Tom were in his face, demanding—something. He wasn’t even sure what they wanted. All he knew was that they were making a lot of faces at him. And that one of them had taken the bottle from his hands.
~~~
The old feeling was back when Nick awoke the next morning on his cot. The familiarity was almost a relief. The pounding head, the cotton mouth, and the simultaneous fear of and desire to vomit were discomforts he was well accustomed to. However, they were all a bit worse than he expected; after reviewing the events of previous evening, he blamed it on the wine. Who knows what else was in it?
Normally he’d be swallowing Tylenol and drowning himself in water in this situation, trying to lessen the effect of the hangover. But neither of those were readily available to him now. In fact, they were more valuable than any amount of money, as things stood. He’d have to suffer for his excesses.
While he wasn’t usually a wine drinker, he’d had his share, and it had never hit him like this. Maybe it wasn’t plain wine as he knew it. Or maybe it was a step or two closer to nature than he was used to, whatever that even meant. It didn’t matter anyway. If he’d left any of it un-drunk, something he couldn’t remember at all, it was surely long gone by now.
Somebody had set up another cot next to his, and was sleeping soundly. Now I need a babysitter? But he couldn’t blame them for worrying. He’d made a mistake, a mistake they’d learned to expect from him. At least they cared. That always mattered.
The body in the cot stirred, and then rolled over toward him. “Nick! You’re awake!” It was Matt who he was bunking with. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrible,” Nick said. “And a little embarrassed, if you want to know the truth. What happened? I mean, after I drained that bottle of wine?”
