Keepers of the Flame

by McFadden III, Edward J.

  “Looks like a trap,” Tye said.

  “Virals could do that? Keep things clean and trim the hedges?” Milly said. “If it’s a trap, it wasn’t set by those beasts.”

  She had a point. “You and I should reconnoiter the town. No one else. You have the gun and I have my bolas, but Peter…”

  “You’re right. They can stay here and rest and you and I will go. Much safer that way.”

  “Peter will never go for it,” Tye said.

  “He will because I’ll make him,” Milly said.

  Tye lifted an eyebrow. “How about I talk to him? Tell him I need him to protect camp. Imply you can’t handle it on your own.” Tye smirked.

  Her eyes blazed, but she nodded.

  When they rejoined the group, Vera, Jerome and Robin huddled around Peter.

  “What did you find?” Tye asked.

  Peter held out his prize, confusion and elation fighting for control of his face.

  “An axe,” Tye said. He took it, wiped off dirt, and caressed the composite fiberglass handle. The head was rusted, but it was still usable.

  “What is this?” Peter took the axe back and stroked the handle and rubber grip.

  “Like plastic,” Tye said. “And you can fix that blade up on a stone. When we have time and the right place, I’ll show you.”

  Plastic meant magic of the old world to them. Milly took the axe from Peter and caressed the handle and ran her finger over the blade.

  “Check this out,” Vera said. She pulled dead grass away from a stone.

  Chiseled into the side of the rock was the likeness of a turtle, its neck extended and pointing toward the valley. The symbol was crude, nothing more than an oval with hash marks down the center, four stick legs and a stick tail, and a neck and head that looked like a sock. Tye couldn’t tell how old the markings were, but the turtle’s neck definitely pointed toward town. The pristine church filled his mind. The sun had cooked him, and hunger gnawed at his stomach and growled like an angry dog.

  Milly stared at the symbol, and traced the lines with her finger.

  “Have you seen that before?” Peter asked.

  “No.”

  Tye thought she answered a little too fast, and too defensively.

  “It’s nothing. Vera, help me find firewood.” Milly stalked off into the trees.

  Everyone else helped make camp, except Tye. He stared at the turtle. Was the neck pointing directly at the church? How could it be there when everything else had wasted away? When Vera and Robin were settled in for the night, he’d find out.

  Chapter Nine

  Year 2066, Central Mexico

  As soon as darkness fell, Milly and Tye followed the ancient road down to the remains of the village. They stayed in the tree break as much as possible and saw no fires or any signs of Uruks. A warm breeze rustled the dried grass, and the creatures of the night sang their shrill symphony. With the day moon gone from the night sky they only had starlight to guide them, and shadows lurked under every tree and around every boulder. Eyes glowed in the trees, coyotes cried, and pumas snarled. She was more worried about them than she was about the orc-men. She’d hear the Uruks coming.

  Peter hadn’t put up much of a fight and agreed to hold down camp until they got back. To be safe, Tye told them they might not return until the following day. The town was several miles in the distance and it would take two hours or more to get there, so they might have to hunker down and rest before they came back.

  Milly didn’t realize they’d entered the town until Tye put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. They stood between crumbled structures, their roofs gone, everything but the stone components deteriorating to rubble. She tried to picture it before the decay, before the plants had retaken their territory, when some buildings had glass windows and magical electricity, but she couldn’t. To her it was like trying to visualize the Chicago described in sacred text Divergent. She had no frame of reference.

  “We need to take wire as we find it,” Tye said. “Copper or aluminum with plastic sheathing could be useful for many things.”

  “Can’t see anything. Can I light a torch?”

  “No,” Tye said. “Might as well shoot off a bottle-rocket.”

  “What?”

  “Forget it.”

  Nothing moved in the remains of the houses. Steel rebar stuck from decaying concrete, and here and there stone or brick steps led up to nothingness, the structure long gone, but its entrance still standing tall. Human bones lay scattered about like trash and dying weeds protruded from every crack and seam.

  “The paint’s gone off everything. Look at this,” Tye said. He walked toward an overgrown pile of metal and pointed to a round black object on the side of the trash pile. “This is a tire. If you walk around the pile, you’ll find three more. This was a car.” All the paint had flecked off and the metal was rusting away. Plastic parts remained identifiable, but in twenty more years the car would be unrecognizable except for the tires which would last for centuries.

  Milly had never seen a car, but she understood what it was. Many of the sacred texts featured automobiles.

  She stepped in a hole, lost her balance, and fell.

  Tye caught her. “It’s always good when you fall but don’t get hurt.”

  “Lesson learned with no cost?” Milly said.

  “Your mom raised you well,” Tye said.

  “You and her worked together and became friendly, right?”

  Tye breathed out sharply. “Friends? On the island I got to know her. So I guess Sarah version two and I became friends. I didn’t know Staff Captain Sarah Hendricks well.”

  “Why isn’t there more evidence of the gone world? Was it that fragile?” Milly asked. They drifted through the shadows, working toward the center of town.

  “Again with this? You learned at Foundation that some substances last longer than others no matter the conditions, but environments affect how things deteriorate. Metals, plastics, other synthetics decay at a much slower rate. Wood, concrete, blacktop, and paper go fast if not maintained in a suitable environment. Then you have steel, which will last if maintained, but fails at an exponential rate if it isn’t. Why aren’t there more things visible here? Because this town we’re walking through was probably falling apart before The Day. Mexico was a poor country.”

  “Poor?” She understood what the word meant, but not the context. This land looked bountiful and unspoiled to her.

  “In a monetary way. Nothing is permanent. Look here.” Tye veered off the path to one of the old houses. “See that there? Those were cinderblocks. Cheap masonry. They laid those bricks on the ground and used them as a foundation. Nothing anchored this structure. As we go north, you’ll see how we used to build partway in the ground.”

  “We. It’s always weird when you say that.”

  “It feels weird to say it. It was so long ago sometimes I question if I’m remembering things right. I think maybe you kids aren’t all wrong.”

  “What’s that?”

  The glow of light crept toward them through the ruins and weeds. “Come on,” Tye said. Milly followed him through the remnants of several structures, or perhaps it had been one large structure. When they came out on the opposite side, they found the source of the light.

  The church glowed white in the darkness and torches lit the path to its open front doors. A white picket fence surrounded a manicured yard. Weeds and overgrowth covered everything, but stopped dead at the small fence as if an invisible barrier kept it at bay. Firelight spilled through the church’s entrance, and dappled rays of colored light burst through intact stained glass windows.

  “Look there.” Tye pointed.

  A turtle symbol was painted on the fence gate, its neck pointing toward the church. “And there,” Milly said. One of the stained-glass windows was decorated and the light streaming through it cast tiny turtles all about the church yard.

  Tye opened the gate, and they passed through. As they advanced, the torches went out behi
nd them, snuffed by an unseen hand. The night grew still, the breeze died away, and everything but the church faded into darkness. The wooden steps creaked and moaned, and the sweet scent of lemon wafted from within. Tinkling bells rose from a low rattle to a coordinated melody that lifted Milly’s spirits and made her remember happier times.

  A large fire roared at the front of the church, and pews ran off the center aisle to the right and left. Candles of every shape, size, and color cast flickering light all about the nave. The cross above the dais was broken and formed a T, just like the one on the steeple. The skeleton nailed to the broken cross was headless.

  A child knelt before the fire, back to them. The symbol of the turtle was painted on pews, walls, ceiling, doors, and floor. Everywhere the turtle pointed to the fire. They walked up the center aisle, exchanging glances.

  The child had long dark hair and wore a white robe. When she turned, Milly gasped. The girl’s pupils were blue but heavily flecked with silver, her irises the orange-red of fire. The silver sparkled, and Milly shook her head. She had an itch on her brain she couldn’t scratch. The girl watched her, a smile spreading across her face.

  “Welcome to the desert of the living,” the little girl said. “My name is Hansa. What’s yours?”

  “Tye, and this is Milly. Are you here alone?” Tye’s brown skin glistened with perspiration in the candlelight.

  Hansa’s face was tan and free of blemishes. She looked in perfect health, and her robe was clean. “Does the fire not bring you comfort? Certainly you, fire guard, must appreciate it,” Hansa said, her voice lyrical and soft.

  Milly smiled at the girl, then looked to Tye who stared at the child with wide eyes. “How do you know I was a fire guard?” Milly said.

  “I see clearly what has been so the sins of the past are not redone. The future shifts and bends like the wind,” Hansa said.

  “So what’s the present?” Tye asked.

  “A storm.”

  Yelling and commotion echoed from outside, the guttural grunts of the virals unmistakable.

  “Are you alone here?” Milly said.

  “No.”

  Tye ran to the back of the church so he could see into the yard. “They’re here,” he yelled.

  Milly pictured the Uruks coming up the steps into the church, but heard no footfall. Tye closed the large wooden doors. Hansa appeared unconcerned.

  “Uruks. Very good. I will call the virals that also,” Hansa said.

  “How did you know we call them Uruks?” Milly said.

  “They have us surrounded. There’s a hundred of them at least,” Tye said.

  Milly drew the Glock. Hansa’s eyes locked on it, and for an instant, Milly imagined the child would take it from her.

  The screeching outside grew louder.

  “What are we going to do?” Milly said.

  “I don’t know,” Tye said.

  “Worry not. They won’t bother us here,” Hansa said.

  “Are you bezoomny? They’ll break in here and have us for dinner,” Tye said.

  “No. They won’t,” the girl said. She was still calm and unconcerned.

  “Why is that?” Milly said.

  “While I’m here, this is sacred ground.”

  That made no sense at all. “Where are your parents?” Milly asked.

  The girl looked distressed for the first time. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she looked away. In that moment Hansa looked like a little girl, lost and afraid. She recovered quickly. “They’re gone.”

  “For how long?” Milly said.

  “Since the turtle swam to the bottom of the world,” Hansa said.

  Tye and Milly said nothing.

  “You don’t understand,” Hansa said.

  Milly’s brain itched again. It was maddening. She cracked her neck and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to scratch the itch, but the sensation didn’t go away.

  “They’ve been gone since The Day,” the child said. Her voice was low and mournful, but her eyes still shone like crystals.

  “But The Day was a long time ago. How old are you, Hansa? How long have you been here alone?” Milly said. She knelt before the child and held her hands.

  “How long?” Hansa smiled. “It’s all right. You don’t have to worry for me.”

  Something thumped against the side of the church.

  “How can you be here? How do you keep the Uruks away?” Tye said.

  “You will find many things have changed, Tye Rantic,” Hansa said.

  “My last name. How?”

  “The disease killed almost everyone. Some people hid from it as you did. Those who contracted the sickness but survived were changed. Others became Uruks. Those who didn’t became…”

  “Became what?” Tye said.

  “Something different. No two of my kind are alike,” Hansa said.

  “How do you know this?”

  Hansa grabbed Milly’s arm and pulled her close. “It was you who heard the message, but you…”

  “How do you know of the message?” Milly said.

  “I’ve heard it myself, many times. I am a disciple of the turtle,” Hansa said. Her silver eyes sparkled, and Milly felt like the girl was looking through her, seeing every wrong she’d ever done, adding up her weaknesses and counting her sins. “I see you didn’t tell your people the real message.”

  “Real message?” Tye said. He turned and stared at Milly.

  Hansa said, “Follow the turtle that swam to the bottom of the water that engulfed the world. Follow he who surfaced with mud covering his protective shell. The mud the creator used to remake the world. Follow the sign of the turtle.”

  Chapter Ten

  Year 2066, Central Mexico

  Tye said nothing. His mind spun like a carousel of emotions; extreme anger flew by, then confusion, and he stopped on concern. Why had Milly lied? What purpose would that serve? The entire journey was based on the information in the message, and now what would they do? He twirled his bolas out of habit, the balls hissing through the air.

  Milly stood silent, staring at the floor.

  “To anyone who can hear this, you are not alone. We’re rebuilding. Come join the world in New Austin. We have food and supplies. All you need to bring is an honest heart and a will to work. We hope you find us at the end of your journey,” Tye said. “That’s what you said the message was. Why Austin? I mean, now that I think about it, I get why you lied. This crazy turtle shit and all, but why Austin?”

  Milly looked up, her eyes glassy and afraid. “I figured it had to be in the old US and as close as possible to Respite. Ms. Kingston lived in Austin, told me all about it. Where it was, how she used to watch huge bats rest on a bridge by her house. I thought that was strange.”

  “Don’t change the subject. You knew the council would never have helped you with only the turtle,” Tye said.

  Hansa watched them, her gaze flicking back and forth as they spoke.

  “What about now?” Milly said.

  Tye didn’t like her prissy little tone one bit. “Now I’m more pissed that you didn’t say anything before we came into town. You should have said something when you first saw the symbol of the turtle. I put my life on the line and you didn’t give me the full story.” He stopped whipping his bolas and placed it on his belt.

  Milly’s face twisted as she prepared a return strike, but her expression softened as she processed what he’d told her and realized she was wrong. “I’m sorry, but nobody knows. Can we keep it that way for now?”

  Tye stayed quiet.

  “Hansa can tell them about the turtle, and nothing else,” Milly said.

  “Fine.” Now he understood. She hadn’t told Peter. “For now.”

  “I won’t say anything, but he knows,” Hansa said.

  Tye and Milly stared at the child. Another heavy thump against the church, and the wall mounted candleholders shook, their light flickering. A few candles winked out as wax washed over wicks, and the fire beneath the T with the headless
skeleton nailed to it dimmed, as if the candles going out had somehow lessened the flames.

  “Peter knows you lied about the message,” Hansa said.

  “How? How do you…”

  “Milly, he knows you better than anyone. He can tell when you’re lying.”

  Milly looked Tye’s way, but he couldn’t help her. The odd relationship of Milly and Peter was as clear as the sea after a storm, but who was he to judge? He knew Milly’s husband, Curso and he seemed like a good guy and appeared to treat Milly and Randy right. He didn’t deserve whatever Peter and Milly were, which in his opinion wasn’t much at all. Peter chased, and she ran, except when she stopped to use him. Everyone except Peter understood this, including his wife, Tris and their daughter, Hazel.

  Tye snuck a peek through a clear portion of stained-glass. More orc-men encircled the church. Tye tried to look at the creatures with different eyes since the kid confirmed they were people, or more likely the descendants of people. It surprised him how he accepted everything the child said as fact without question. In the gone world he accepted nothing until verified, and he had lessened his burden of proof only slightly while on Respite, but Hansa was different. When she spoke, Tye believed.

  “We’re never going to get out of here,” Tye said.

  “Hansa, will they leave when the sun comes up?” Milly said.

  “No. They will never leave until they have me.”

  “Then why did you stay here?” Tye asked.

  “I was waiting.”

  “Waiting? For us?” Milly said.

  “I’m coming with you,” Hansa said. The silver in her eyes twinkled in the firelight and her irises smoldered. She smiled, and Tye knew everything would be all right.

  “Unless you know something we don’t, I don’t see how we’re getting out of here,” Milly said.