Harvest of Ruin (Book 3): A Spring of Sorrow

by Mongelli, Arthur

  Jack nodded towards the passenger side where Amber sat, staring vacantly out of the side window, before continuing.

  “Right, Mark. We are gonna pass most of the way through the Ochoco before we reach the cabin. You're gonna have to leave that little car out on the road though, no way you'll get her up the trail to the cabin. If you tried, the only thing you'll do is get her stuck and block us all in.”

  Mark blanched at the idea of abandoning his seventy-thousand dollar car on the side of some rural Oregon highway, but did his best to take it in stride.

  “I'm sure you must've paid a pretty penny for 'er,” Jack continued. “Maserati is it? But there just ain't no way she's making it up that trail. Tell you what though, there is a fire break a mile or so past the driveway, we can pull it off the road there and try and hide it under some brush. Should be able to get it hidden no problem, so long as your girlfriend don't mind the walking.”

  “Wife,” Mark blurted out. “Amber's my wife.”

  “Right,” Jack said, eyeing his bare ring finger, suspiciously. “Well, that sound acceptable to you, Mark?”

  “Yeah, if that's what we gotta do, let's just do it.”

  Jack spun about and started walking towards the Bronco but froze and spun back after two steps.

  “Mark, come here,” Jack said, looking back over his shoulder.

  Mark had to force his legs to start moving as the tension that still racked his muscles refused to allow his knees to bend. He stepped forward to Jack, who edged in close to him and spoke quietly so no one else could hear.

  “I just want us to get things straight real quick, so we are on the same page. I'm a family man first and foremost, Mark. I talk a lot of shit and mess around a bit and overall I'm a pretty friendly guy, but don't get your wires crossed on me okay? I want you to come with us, I welcome it with open arms and an open heart as the lord wants me to. But you need to know that I will kill you and anyone else if you threaten my family or my ability to protect them. We understand each other on that?”

  Mark stood doe eyed as the man spoke, merely nodding his understanding before the man moved off to the Bronco, leaving him dumbfounded and exposed, standing in the middle of the desolate roadway.

  Mark was entirely out of his element and uncomfortable with the entire arrangement, but returned to the Tesla and followed along helplessly. With his own fears and Amber in tow, he knew there were no realistic alternatives. As the procession started off again, moving into the dense forest, he employed the de-stressing techniques he had learned after his heart attack to push away some of the fear that gripped his heart. After twenty minutes of calming and thinking, he made the conscious choice to trust Jack and hope that the man would be good to his word.

  He knew that he had never been a leader, even as the CEO of his own company, he waffled for weeks on minor decisions. Through his life he had always followed people quietly, even if he knew they were wrong, out of a desire to blend in. He was a quiet kid throughout schooling, managed to skate under the bullies’ radar just by keeping quiet and not engaging them on any level. The idea of physical confrontation was one of his biggest fears. Using his brain and meek demeanor, he had made it through the first thirty years of his life without ever being punched. He knew that he had the responsibility to try and protect Amber, but he also knew that he wasn't able to do it through brute force. As with every other problem he had in his life, he had to solve it with smarts.

  *

  The morning they were to depart was a true test of patience for Tim. The group of seven had planned to leave in the late morning after finishing the job of loading all their gear into, onto, and behind the fortified Yukon. As soon as they had gotten settled in at the Benoit house late the prior year, Tim had clumsily welded bars over the windows as well as a bumper car-like buffer to keep the undead at arms length from it. They all had their doubts as to the effectiveness of the fortifications, but he figured they would be better than nothing. He spent the morning rushing around the others trying to get everything stowed. As the morning turned to afternoon, he started to get irritated as the rest of the group seemed more interested in playing with the kids and idle conversation than getting on the road. By the time everything was loaded and the kids were settled into place it was late afternoon and the sun was fast on the descent to the west.

  Tim almost suggested going back inside and trying again the following morning but held his tongue in check. He immediately recognized that it would just allow for a continuation of the argument of the day before. They had all agreed to the journey, but that agreement didn't stop the discord among the group. Tim took a deep breath to steady himself and slid the shifter into drive, figuring that an uncomfortable rest on the road would be a better alternative, just to have made the first step. They had lived in relative comfort through the winter months. Even struggling with water, the cold, and finding ample food, they had carved out a safe spot at the farmhouse. The small amount of comforts they had amassed over the cold months was difficult for all of them to leave behind.

  Between the food, fuel and other preparations they had made for the journey, they were all feeling as optimistic as possible. The lackluster work to pack and depart that morning was a true indicator of how hesitant they were about stepping back out into the dead world. They all had wrestled with their own doubts and fears over the course of the day. With a shadow over his heart and a great deal of trepidation, Tim guided the vehicle and its trailer onto the main road, heading eastwards towards route 63. Their course would take them southwest, skirting around the edges of Minneapolis into Rochester, Minnesota, where they would finally turn their course west. They planned on following rural highways for the entirety of their travels, figuring that there was less chance of congested roadways than on the more heavily traveled interstates. Their previous experiences on interstates had been bleak, gridlocked and terrifying. The initial dread tinged with excitement quickly turned to boredom as the miles drifted past along the empty rural roads.

  Unreaped crops, flattened by the heavy snows lay rotting in the fields all around them as they drove. Any doubts they had about the extent of the collapse were cast away at the sight of so much food wasting away, untouched. Even with no undead in sight, the significance of the dead crops left to rot in the fields dampened the mood in the vehicle. Only the children were left unfazed by the change in scenery. Luna's squeals of joy and laughter as she played with Sophie were the only sounds to cut the silence in the vehicle.

  The road brought back the thoughts of Bjorn and Nick to all of them. The bulk of their grief had been pushed to the fringes by the immediacy of the needs of their situation when they arrived at the farmhouse. Over the course of the winter, the pained memories transformed to a heavy-hearted sadness whenever they thought about their losses. It wasn't out of disrespect for those who died, but for those who were fortunate enough to be able to draw breath, it was all they could do to keep their efforts focused on continuing to do so. The thoughts for their own beloved dead were reserved for the scant moments of exhaustion from the time one lay down on their bed, until the time sleep took them. The time from wakefulness to rest was a never ending list of chores. Fortification, patrol, hunting, gathering, water gathering, child-care/teaching and cooking were among the major responsibilities they shared. Even among the five adults it was often enough to eat up sixteen hours of daylight, at a time of the year when there was barely eight.

  They encountered the first barricade of their new journey running from one edge of the forest to the other, blocking the entirety of the roadway just outside Drummond. Tim stopped the vehicle well short of the barrier and they lingered for a moment, scanning the area. The wall, made of felled timbers and disabled vehicles, loomed in the distance, just at the edge of their vision. The decision to turn around and find an alternate course south went unchallenged. No one even considered taking the risk of approaching the barricade no matter how curious they were. All eyes lingered hopefully, watching the barrier, eager at
the chance to maybe see another living human. They hadn't seen a living person other than those in their group since they took to the ice all those months before.

  “What do you think it is?” Laura asked.

  “Guessing some people holed up in the town over there don't want visitors,” Will said quietly.

  “Or didn't,” Tim clarified based on the obvious lack of activity.

  Their conversations over the course of the winter covered a vast array of questions about the undead and the potential for encounters with other survivors. The majority of the answers to questions about the undead were shrouded in mystery, but they all saw the sense in avoiding other people. There was now a great deal of danger inherent in interacting with others. Tim had gotten shot by some others, though whether he was an innocent victim or he was shot for stealing someone's car still nagged at him. Between Tim's gunshot and a later gunfight with a group of men before setting on the lake, they all had suspicion and doubt in dealings with other humans. Here, the sight of the wall, obviously built by survivors, those same questions came back to the surface. The group sat quietly in the vehicle, sorting through their hopes and fears elicited by the barricade. At length, seeing no sign of life or death, Tim put the shifter in reverse and slowly turned the SUV around.

  They made their way, in a meandering course of back roads and bi-ways, to Turtle Lake, Wisconsin before stopping to rest for the night. Tim steered the SUV off the road and onto a dirt track that led into the forest, making sure to pull far enough into the woods that the vehicle couldn't be seen from the road. Due to their late start, they had spent a total of three hours and fifteen minutes driving that day. In that time, they hadn't witnessed another soul, living or dead. They knew the undead were still about as they were, nearly daily, staggering up to the fencing around Will's house, needing to be both dispatched and their bodies burned. The lack of any movement during the afternoon's travel excited them at the prospect of not having to deal with the stress and danger of an encounter, but also worried them for what the coming night held in store. Tim and Jen, picking up silent cues from one another, exited from the driver's side of the vehicle simultaneously.

  Laura locked the doors behind them and sat watchful with her pistol on her lap and Luna on the floor at her feet, playing with her toy ponies. Laura had spent many hours over the winter working to improve on her marksmanship and she was proud of her progress. She insisted on using the live rounds during the practice, despite the protests of the others. They all knew that the noise would draw the undead in from miles away, but Laura wanted to feel the recoil and hear the report. She wanted to get used to the sound and feel, knowing that in a real life scenario, it was a skill that could keep her daughter safe. She tried not to think about something happening to Tim, especially when he and Jen were out on supply runs. She did her best to put on the brave face, but deep down she always feared that he wouldn't return from one of those runs. The knowledge that something could happen to him spurred her need to learn how to shoot better. The supply runs he went on and her shooting live rounds were just a couple of the many things she and Tim found to fight about over the course of the long winter.

  Tim and Jen circled around the SUV with weapons in hand. Tim carried a framing hammer that he had modified. He had replaced the haft with a two-foot length of ax handle and had sharpened the claw. Jen carried a machete with the last six inches cut off. The shortened blade made it both easier to swing and better suited for use in tight quarters, such as supermarket aisles and hallways of houses. Having the experience of a number of encounters with the undead, both in their journey to Wisconsin, as well as on their supply runs, they reserved their guns for emergencies only.

  Tim and Jen split and moved to opposite sides of the SUV. When they had each had a good view of both sides of the SUV they met eyes and began moving. They came around the Yukon, moving in the same direction in ever expanding loops around the vehicle. As they had previously done in securing their vehicle on supply runs, they continued circling outwards, widening the perimeter until the vehicle was nearly out of sight. With the events of the day, Tim's mind was distracted. His thoughts were focused on the annoyances of the morning and their course the following day rather than any present dangers. Tomorrow was the day they would skirt around Minneapolis, something that terrified him. The thoughts of passing within thirty minutes of a major metropolis weighed heavily on his thoughts.

  It was only when he felt the crunch of bone underneath his feet that he recognized that his distracted mind had left him with no real knowledge of the area around him. The remnants of a campsite were obvious all around him. There was a stone circle containing the disintegrated remnants of charred wood along with a log pulled close to it, most likely used as a seat. A faded length of yellow twine hung from a nearby tree and beneath his feet the skeletal remains of a small child. Tim immediately crouched low, as panic welled up inside him. He cursed himself for being distracted as he scanned the woods around the site for the living and the dead.

  *

  An hour later the Bronco and the Tesla had passed through the densest part of the forest and the Ochoco started thinning out. Mark slowed to a stop as the Bronco filled with Jack's family nosed its way up a barely visible set of tire ruts and came to a stop. Mark and Amber had to look closely to see what could only loosely be described as a driveway. The tire ruts packed down into the tall browning grasses could barely be discerned against the surrounding forest. Mark felt immediately hopeful that regardless of the severity of the events happening, they might be able to remain hidden up there. Jack walked around the rear of the truck with shotgun in hand to meet them as they sat waiting for his directions. Amber visibly tensed at the sight of the openly brandished weapon. Jack didn't notice her unease, he was too occupied in examining their surroundings.

  “I'll ride with you up to the firebreak and help you hide your car. That way y'all aren't walking blind and weaponless down the roadway,” he said, patting his shotgun as he yanked on the rear door handle.

  Jack nearly fell over as the gull-wing door slid up and struck him in the shoulder. He composed himself, grumbling something about “Jap crap” as he slid in the backseat.

  He shifted his bulk to the center of the rear seat, still clutching his shotgun.

  “What kinda fucking car is this anyways?” he mumbled.

  “That gun is making me really fucking nervous,” Amber shouted.

  Jack looked confused for a moment, staring blankly at Amber before he was able to recognize her issue.

  “Look, y'all might be from the most liberal state on earth, living in cities with a cop on every corner, endless resources, and disposable income; but around here. . .around most of the country in fact, this here gun that you're so scared of, puts dinner on the table.” He paused to see if that made sense to the woman before continuing. “Miss, I know this is a fucked up situation, but this gun will keep us safe and fed. I ask you to believe me when I tell you that me and my family mean no danger to you or any good decent people living on God's green earth.”

  With that he looked up into the rear-view mirror, meeting eyes with Mark and said:

  “'Bout a mile up the road, when you see a sign with a tent on it, pull behind it.”

  Mark pressed on the accelerator and the car moved silently down the road.

  “Your family going to be okay without you?” Mark asked.

  “Yeah, the missus has her pistol, she's in the Guard,” he nodded knowingly.

  Twenty minutes later they were placing the last of the pine boughs Jack had cut off nearby trees against the car, masking it from the roadway. Mark cringed to think about the scratches the branches were causing to the roof and hood of his pristine luxury car.

  “To be honest, now that I think about it, it kinda works out having the car here. Y'know, in case we need an escape route,” Jack said as he tucked a pouch of chew inside his lip. “Shit goes south and we take the game trail to the fire-break and ride this thing out of here. Will
be a tight fit with six of us, but desperate times and all that.”

  Mark just nodded, too exhausted from the stress of the day to inquire as to what might cause 'shit to go south'. Instead, he put his arm around Amber's shoulders and walked with her back to the road. Jack slid in on Amber's opposite side, grim-faced, carrying his shotgun at the ready. Even with the silly-looking wraparound sunglasses Mark thought he cut a pretty mean picture. They saw no other vehicles on the way back to the Bronco, and if it weren't for one inhuman, harrowing roar that echoed up the roadway, they all might have thought that everything was normal.

  “Go, go, go!” Jack hissed.

  He urged them on to greater pace following the roar and Mark could see the goose flesh on the man's skin. They half-jogged, half-ran the remaining quarter mile to the Bronco. They hurriedly piled in, with Mark and Amber crowding into the back seat with the kids. Mark looked to Jack's wife, Esme, sitting in the passenger's seat. He was immediately struck by her appearance, to him she looked to be a caricature of a 1980's lesbian. She sported a bleached-blonde mullet and wore a fringed leather jacket with an American flag and eagle on the back. To top the image off she wore the same Oakley sunglasses that Jack wore. Esme turned in her seat holding her 9mm pistol on the leg of her blue jeans. She appeared relaxed, but Mark could see that with the way she was turned, the barrel of the gun was pointed directly at him. In that instant, he knew beyond a doubt, that this wasn't accidental. He sighed and nodded at the woman, doing his best to sublimate his terror at having a pistol aimed at his chest.

  “Ma'am,” he greeted her, doing his best to try on colloquial charm.

  Introductions were made briefly as Jack threw the truck in gear and started up the rocky trail. Everyone seemed to breathe a little easier as they rounded a bend and lost sight of the roadway behind. Mark noticed, to his unease, that the barrel of the pistol never left his chest. As nervous as it made him, he couldn't begrudge the woman. He understood that they were strangers who were cramped in the backseat with the woman's children; the children who Mark assessed as being two of the chubbiest, most unfortunate looking children he had ever seen. John Jr. couldn't have been more than ten, whose age was lost in the pink fleshiness of his round face and mop of curly red hair, he wore a NASCAR t-shirt and didn't lift his eyes from the handheld video game he played. Sammy, their daughter, wore pigtails, and the doughy, pink skin and upturned nose gave the instant impression of a pig in an ice cream stained white cotton dress. Mark generally considered himself to be a nice person. It wasn't in his nature to judge a person by their skin, gender or their sexuality, but in the cramped backseat, he had a hard time stifling a smile at the expense of the people whose lives both he and Amber now relied upon.