The Descendant: Baltin Trilogy (Book 1)

by Melissa Riddell

  An inch or two underneath the soil and gray soot lies several faint orange glows. The outside surfaces, white and ashy, offer the promise of warmth. A steady swing of the stick brushes off the cooler layer of white powder. Embers now exposed, I toss some leaves on top and fan the air until they crackle. An extra log from last night feeds the growing flames.

  Kodiak, still nestling in a warm cocoon of body heat, twitches and then stills.

  “Time for some coffee, at least for the human.”

  A squawking grackle hops onto the large tree brought down by the sphere last night. After a few cursory glances at the bark, the bird gives another noisy caw and flies off.

  Seeing the reminder of last night’s entanglement prickles my skin.

  What if I’d set the bed up in that area? The thought is sobering.

  What was it doing here, though? We’re in the middle of the woods—no cities or settlements for miles. No humans in range.

  Except for me.

  I try to put the event out of my mind. Thinking about the sphere causes anxiety, and my head needs to focus on my quest: Survive and find Sissy. And coffee, find coffee—lots of coffee.

  This morning’s coffee routine has become just that—routine. Before the world collapsed, I’d have popped in a K-cup, waited a few minutes, and voila—nectar of life brewed and ready to rejuvenate my brain, right at my fingertips. That single cup, loaded with the right amount of caffeine, enabled me to carry on the rest of the day without tearing someone’s head off.

  Two bottles of precious water crowd my backpack. Even in early fall, it won’t last long in the thralls of the Texas heat. So, locating a water source today ranks high on my list of priorities.

  I pour a little of the clear, liquid gold into an old, dented tin pitcher.

  Caffeine dehydrates, but without this ritual—this bad habit—my mind may not be as alert as it should be. That could be a fatal mistake when walking the road. Besides patrolling spheres, there are still dangerous survivors who prey on those they deem weaker. At least, this is the justification I tell myself to feed my caffeine craze.

  My fingers scoop a small amount of coffee grounds, a combination of damp and dry from the humidity, into an old-fashioned paper filter. With a flick of a wrist, I twist and then tie the paper packet of goodness with a string. This keeps the little bits out of the liquid. I bob the package in and out of the water.

  When the water comes to a boil, the aromatic steam screams coffee; rich and exotic in the fresh morning air.

  On my pallet, and cross-legged, I hold the makeshift packet against the side of the tin. Mentally, I urge it to steep faster with the tap of my foot on a rock.

  Food and water aren’t the only things I’m running low on, not by a long shot.

  Even though coffee isn’t an absolute necessity, I still crave it. Who’d guess caffeine addiction would be a problem in the apocalypse? But hey, it could be worse.

  If we run out of this magical drug, though, someone will be a grumpy butt in the mornings—correction—a grumpier butt in the mornings.

  Before the invasion, my family, especially Sissy, capitalized on every moment possible to point out my cynical views on life, or my strong distaste for sunrise.

  Mamma had even mentioned she should’ve named me Eeyore, from the Winnie the Pooh books.

  Well, we can’t all be sunshine and puppies, now can we?

  In the bright morning light, the memories of family are happier, less pain filled. Nights are worse because once it’s dark, there’s nothing left to do but sit and think, opening old wounds and fears.

  Kodiak finally joins the land of the living. His nose, the first thing to appear from under the cover, whiffs the air. He hates early mornings almost as much as I do, or so it seems. The rest of his body appears, and he lifts his butt high into the air and shakes it back and forth.

  “Come on, lazybones. It’s time for breakfast.” A corner of my mouth tips up. “Want some artichokes?”

  He stands and trots closer to see what kind of buffet awaits.

  The artichokes, still sealed in their jar, sit on a rock by the fire.

  His nostrils flute out then lower, and he sniffs the lid. Rolling his head toward me, he turns his nose up and scampers off into the woods.

  “Oh, I see,” I call after him. “It’s okay if I eat them, but not you?” The tip of his tail sways in the tall weeds and grass that fill gaps between tree trunks. “You’re spoiled. You know that?” He’s out of sight, but with those ears, I know he can hear me.

  If Kodiak isn’t lucky on his hunts, I always have something he can eat, but we’ve run across few stores with goods over the past several weeks. Plus, I can only carry so many supplies. Hmmm, I should find a mule or a horse on today’s walk. I could pack more food on its back.

  Oh wait—I know zilch about mule or horse upkeep. I may be from Texas, but a cowgirl I’m not, or even a horse-gal for that matter.

  Not long after Kodiak found me at the gas station, I fashioned a holster for the new shotgun out of an old arm sling left behind in a pharmacy. Well, “fashioned” is too strong a word—I wear it backward. The contraption isn’t very pretty, but it serves its purpose. The elbow pocket lets the butt of the gun rest at the small of my back. This position allows me to reach over my shoulder and grab the barrel. My pistol stays either in my boot or in the waistband of my jeans.

  Finishing the steaming coffee, I scoop some of the artichokes in my mouth.

  They aren’t the worst thing I’ve ever eaten but rank near the top of the list.

  When the world was whole and sane, I preferred artichokes in a creamy dip, accompanied by a large batch of tortilla chips. Guess those days are over with now. Before I can give myself time to stall any longer, the remainder of the jar goes into my mouth. I try not to gag.

  God, or whoever is listening, please let us find fresh meat, dried fruit, nuts, sauerkraut, a jar of salsa, or anything besides artichokes today. Amen.

  I wipe my hands on some leaves on the ground. My attention flickers to the sky, where the orb created an opening in the camp. Something about its proximity and searching behavior continues to disturb my inner peace. What was it hunting?

  My eyes rove over the former campsite one last time to ensure no supplies still linger behind.

  A short, high whistle blows from my lips. Kodiak’s gangly body bounds from beneath some brush. With bright eyes shining, he licks his chops. At least one of us had a filling breakfast.

  “I guess your breakfast was better than my warmed artichokes.”

  His tongue moves around his lips. I’m sure he’s telling me it was much tastier than mine.

  “That good, huh?” I laugh and ruffle the fur on his neck. “Well, you want to know why they’re called artichokes?”

  His head tilts in a question.

  “Because you have to choke them down artfully.”

  Not impressed with the joke, he blows a snort through his nose.

  “Hey, come on now. That was a first-class joke.” My arms shrug my pack across my shoulders. “Everyone’s a damn critic.”

  All gear packed and ready, we backtrack in the general direction of the road we’ve been following. Not long into the trip, a rushing noise fills my ears—one that sounds like running water.

  “Woohoo. Come on, slowpoke.”

  Dodging between the rough-barked bodies of towering pines, I follow the noise to a small running creek. “Get the lead out, boy.”

  Ecstatic, I kneel, not even caring red mud squelches all over the knees of my jeans. I pull out several empty water bottles and dunk them in the water to boil later.

  Thank goodness—one problem solved for a little while.

  My reflection ripples in the water and stares back, distorted, and not quite how I remember seeing myself.

  That’s because it’s similar to Mamma’s face now. The shock of how alike in appearance we are is sobering and sends a wave of pain through my heart.

  Bright green eyes and reddish-
brown hair falls to my shoulders. Light freckles dot the bridge of my nose.

  Plunging my hands into the water to destroy the image, I cup them and lower my palms into the clean liquid. The water’s icy, so a quick scrub ensues. The dual sensations—freezing and refreshing—reenergizes my spirits.

  After breaking open a new box of toothpaste, my teeth get a much-needed scrub. Slow, steady strokes of my fingers comb twisted knots from my hair.

  A whiff of body odor reinforces the need for some antiperspirant.

  I could use a washing, but shiver at the thought of submerging myself into the frigid creek. A quick sniff of my clothing is reassuring. Not too bad, a little ripe. Not strong enough to risk pneumonia, though. Besides, Kodiak smells worse than me.

  “Outdoor bathing’s overrated.” I hate bathing in nippy water, naked and in the middle of a forest. “Wouldn’t a hot bath in a real bathroom be heaven?”

  Kodiak bends his head to the stream and laps at the meandering flow. When he finishes, he shakes his fur and droplets of water fly everywhere.

  I wipe my face—again—and shake a finger. “Stop that. Don’t make me smell like wet dog, too.”

  He jumps to my waist and licks me on the cheek.

  My arms wrap around his body, and I lean into his neck for a hug. “Fine, you’re forgiven. We can stink together.” It’s not like I have anyone to impress. Smelling good’s not essential to survival.

  Foregoing a dip in the stream, I shoulder the backpack, careful to not restrict access to the shotgun.

  “Come on, boy.” I head out on another glorious day of walking. “Daylight’s a burning.”

  The sky is clear, so I hope the weather holds out—as well as my legs—and I can get in another fifteen miles. At that rate, we should be able to hit Rosemary Beach, Florida, in two months, unless I find a working bicycle. I don’t know how fast Kodiak can run, or how far, even if I do manage to locate some wheels. Perhaps, I can find an old granny bike with a wicker basket and make him ride in it, like Toto in The Wizard of Oz.

  I picture trying to shove his long legs and big butt into a tiny basket strapped to the front handlebars. He’d be so tall, I wouldn’t be able to see over his head to steer and would spill us both to the ground. The image in my head of this ludicrous sight fills me with happiness, and I bust out laughing.

  On second thought, wouldn’t that make me the witch?

  Kodiak, three yards ahead, turns and holds my gaze, disapproval in his serious stare. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s an old soul lurking in a dog’s body.

  “Oh, come on, stop being such a grump. You’d be funny as Toto.”

  We take the smaller roads while we travel, even though Interstate 20 offers the quickest, straightest route to Florida’s panhandle. But the little wooded area opens onto the safer, less-traveled road we’ve been following the past few days. And in all honesty, I’d trade the quiet comfort of the forest any day over the straight line of a boring, desolate road with little cover in an ambush.

  An enormous advantage of roadways, though, besides making it easier for us to travel, is the presence of stalled cars from the pulse attack. Never one to pass on an opportunity of chance, I check each vehicle because I never know what treasures lurk.

  Last week, after I popped the trunk of an old Subaru, I found its past owner was most definitely a hoarder. There were books, jackets, blankets, pillows, an empty coke bottle collection, a broken fan, and a live aloe vera plant.

  Who keeps a live plant in their trunk, and why would they even want to? Even more disturbing—how was it still alive without sunlight or water in that dark, enclosed space?

  Amazed by the little plant’s hardiness, after clipping a couple of leaves and sticking them in my backpack, I dug a hole and placed it in the ground next to the road with a swig of water to settle it in. The compulsion to plant the little wilted succulent was overpowering. Something about leaving it there to die didn’t seem right, and a desperate urge to give it a chance at life compelled me to try.

  Kodiak and I trudge along the road for hours, with nothing to loot along the way.

  Late afternoon begins its descent into early evening, so a break is in order. I’m hungry, tired, and beat, and sure Kodiak is just as exhausted, though he’s perky enough for the moment. The damn dog still has the energy to dart off into a cluster of bushes to hunt ground squirrels—more power to him.

  “Good luck, mighty hunter.”

  His efforts are in vain, though, when the tiny critters scatter into their holes before he gets close. A distinct feeling falls over me. Who’s hunting whom?

  The little mammals, crafty and devious, bait him and then chatter, sounding suspiciously like laughter when his back turns.

  “Whew. Your squirrel skills are impressive. Wait, are you hunting or playing with them?”

  That brown eye of his gives me a peripheral glance before he refocuses on his task.

  “Just sayin’.”

  As soon as he chases one into its burrow, another pops out of a hole several feet away, chittering like mad. They’re playing a live version of whack-a-mole when he runs and jumps at the holes.

  “You’re never gonna catch ‘em, Kodiak.” Unable to hold it in, a snicker rolls off my lips. “They’re playing hard to get.”

  The stare he throws over his shoulder tells me otherwise.

  Now that the sun is well past the midday mark, the pavement’s hot and my mouth’s dry. A swig of water washes the road dust from my lips and refreshes my throat. The memory of the icy stream this morning causes a small pang of regret. Right now, a dip in chilly water would feel fantastic.

  Despite the dwindling supplies and terrible scavenging prospects today, I’m content. The sun’s out, I have water, and I’m fifteen miles closer to Florida.

  Break over, I spot a car up ahead and move a little faster. Luck will change, and I’ll find something useful—no, edible—in the vehicle. If nothing else, at least, I can sit and rest my weary bones.

  Closer inspection confirms it’s a red SUV parked on the shoulder.

  Hand touching the glass, I wipe enough of the dust away to peer through the driver’s side window. Unable to see anything inside, I shield my face to block out the glare of sunlight.

  Nothing in the front seat screams, you need me, so I move to the rear of the vehicle.

  The opaque windows in the back, even after a quick rubdown, reveal nothing. It’s too dark to see through the tint. A click greets me when the door handle opens.

  Yes. One for Team Kodiak the Canine and Tilly the Traveler. Zero for Team Alien Asshats.

  Inside the back seat, sliding my legs in, the creamy leather takes my weight and cradles me in comfort.

  “Oh, yeah.” My achy calves thank me for the downtime, even if it’s for a few minutes.

  “Come here, boy, you gotta try this out.” My scalp sinks into the headrest. So, this is how the other half used to live. I sigh. Nice.

  Kodiak, giving up his squirrel chase, at last, leaps inside and sits next to me, tongue lolling and dripping drool everywhere.

  “Ew, you’re getting slobber all over the place, man. Put that thing back in your mouth before you drown us both.”

  Ignoring my comment, he snuffles his nose to my face and sneezes.

  “Jeez, dog.” Wrinkling my nose, the back of my hand wipes something wet from my cheek and I rub the substance on the floorboard. I don’t want to know if it was mucus or drool. “Gross, Kodiak, gross. Guess I deserved it, though.”

  He relaxes his big body on the seat and dangles a paw off the edge.

  “See? Told you it’s nice. I bet the owners didn’t let big, goofy, snotty dogs in their car, especially ones who drool all over the place.”

  Wriggling his butt, he flops onto his spine and twists back and forth, angling for a perfect scratch on his itchy back.

  “Okay, make yourself useful. It’s time to get to work.”

  My fingers extended, I reach down and feel under the back of the driver’s seat
, hoping there’s a half-empty water bottle or coke that’s gotten itself wedged in the tight space. Or hell, even a stale package of crackers would be a welcome treat. At this point, I’ll take what I can get.

  Kodiak, realizing it’s scrapper time, jumps into the rear of the car, sniffing around to help with the scavenge.

  “That’s right, let that nose of yours do its thing.”

  His snout, a precious asset in loot hauls, works wonders and can sniff out even the strangest hiding locations. It can tease out hidden gems of food my sub-par human nose couldn’t find even if it were sitting right in front of my face.

  As I rummage around, something smooth and elongated under the passenger’s seat tempts my hand, but I can’t quite free it.

  “Come on, you little fucker. Give up.” Whatever it is, it’s stuck tight. “It’s getting downright hot in here.” Sweat beads on my forehead, but I’m not giving up the fight. Whatever the mystery item is, it’s going into my supplies.

  Cheek smashing the floorboard, I struggle to see what’s impeding progress. One rough tug and the item dislodges.

  “Woohoo. Got it.”

  Kodiak releases a short whine and low growl from behind the backseat.

  “What’d you find, boy? It better not be a spider.”

  A faint whirring sound buzzes overhead.

  “What the—” I freeze in place, fear tightening my chest and blood surging to my head.

  My stomach turns with dread, and I strain my ears. I know that familiar sound all too well.

  No, no, no, why are you here again?

  An icy shiver travels through my veins, and I try to clamp down on the fear that wants to take control. Is the sphere following us? Focus. Survive and find Sissy.

  Kodiak leaps onto the seat and bares his teeth. Another low growl rumbles from deep in his chest.

  “Hush.” I motion for silence. Did it see me? It’s not like I—we—have anything they want.

  How should I know what they want? Other than the death of every human being on Earth, I don’t know what purpose would have brought them back.