by Chris Babu
Drayden loved watching them attempt to stuff the bottles into their pockets, only to find these particular bottles too big. Plus, their pockets were loaded with ammunition, among other things.
“What about the life vests?” Drayden asked. “They’re cloth. Use them as sacks.”
The Guardians stared at him like he’d just invented air.
“Nice!” Eugene said. “Genius. See? This is why we needed you here.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Drayden said. “We’re going to head north up Highway 88 for roughly ten miles. Then we turn right onto Highway 177 for a mile or two and head east on Route 6 after that for a long stretch.”
“Listen up,” Lindrick said. “I want a single column formation out there with a scout up front. Lieutenant Duarte is the scout. Privates in the middle single file, flanked by me and Sergeant Greaney. Corporal Austin in the rear.”
“Corporal in the rear,” Charlie whispered. He couldn’t stop giggling.
Sidney flicked his ear. “Shut up, Charlie.”
“A refreshing ten-mile hike is cake. We’ll reach Route 177 in under three hours, and we don’t stop for a break until we do.
Move out!”
“Sir, yes sir!” the Guardians and Charlie shouted in unison.
The march commenced. A salty, fishy smell permeated the humid air. The glaring sun and warmth dried their clothes within an hour, and their boots within two, which was more than enough time for wet boots to cause blisters on both feet.
The real world outside New America blew Drayden away. It was exactly as he had imagined when he lay beside his mother in Madison Square Park. They would gaze up at the sky, blocking out the buildings with their hands, pretending the whole world consisted of flora.
Everything was lush, including Highway 88. At one time, it must have been asphalt, like New America’s streets. Now weeds, wild grasses, bushes, and even trees had sprouted through it. Though walkable, a bus couldn’t make it thirty feet. A crumbling cement barrier, which probably separated the traffic in opposing directions, split the roadway down the middle.
The Guardians described the greenery as bramble, or overgrowth. Bushes and weeds sprouted wild and uncontained. The PostCon world was gradually returning to its original state—how it existed before mankind came along and ruined it. Mother Nature was reclaiming what was once hers.
For the first hour, no one said a word, each of them absorbing their unfamiliar surroundings with curiosity and amazement. But the hike quickly grew monotonous and the privates’ commitment to the formation and discipline got a little lazy.
The most unlikely of them broke the prolonged silence.
“Eugene, how did your parents feel about you going on this expedition?” Catrice asked quietly, slowing until she walked beside him.
“Uh…they were supportive. They’re both teachers in the Palace. The Guardians permitted me to tell them the purpose, and they understood how crucial it was. What did your parents think?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. They still live in the Dorms.”
“Oh, I got it. That means you didn’t want them in the Palace.” He raised his hands. “Say no more.”
Damn, he’s good, Drayden thought.
“Thank you,” she said, staring at the ground as she walked. “Most people don’t get that I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You never learned how to swim, huh?”
Catrice took a swig of water. “No. But that’s twice in three weeks I’ve needed to know how. I guess it’s time to learn.”
“Wait; if there was a swimming challenge in the Initiation, how did you pass it?”
Charlie raised his finger high in the air ahead of them without turning around.
Catrice chuckled. “Charlie carried me on his back. I just
held on.”
“You the man, Charlie,” Eugene said.
Drayden’s neck stiffened. Two could play at this game. “Hey, Sid,” he called, “you have any trouble swimming in that water back there? I know you’re a great swimmer.”
She regarded him as if he were insane. “I’m a good swimmer. I’ve never even dreamed of water like that. Without the life vest, I would have drowned.”
He inched closer to her. “Hey, my brother told me they’re placing him and my father in our apartment building. Did they do the same with your sister and grandparents?”
Her face brightened. “Yes! Technically Nora will live with them, but if I want she can stay with me. I’m so thankful to be able to take care of her. She’s such an angel. So innocent. I’m praying we reach Boston so we can get them moved to nicer apartments.” She cocked her head. “I wonder what jobs we’ll have, by the way. If we make it back.”
Drayden shrugged. “I think you have a career with the Guardians if you want it. I have no idea if the Bureau will give us options. Nobody’s really said.”
With it spoken aloud, it was one of the things bugging him about this mission. The Bureau had provided zero guidance on what would happen when they came back. It was as if the Bureau wasn’t counting on their return. Originally, Premier Holst had described their apartments as temporary, but nobody had discussed moving them, nor had employment been addressed.
Something caught Drayden’s eye. At first, it didn’t register as out of place until he looked again. “Captain Lindrick!” he whispered with force.
Everyone stopped. The Guardians raised their rifles. “What is it, Private?” Lindrick asked.
Lieutenant Duarte, who as scout regularly checked on the group, rushed back.
Drayden approached the red object off to the side of the road and knelt beside it.
It was an apple. A half-eaten one. There were no apple trees around, and the eaten part was still white. It hadn’t oxidized and turned brown.
“This isn’t ours,” Drayden said. “It’s fresh. Someone just dropped this here.”
“Tracks.” Sergeant Greaney’s eyes followed footsteps in the mud heading into the woods.
“People are alive here,” Sidney said. “Should we go search for them?”
Sergeant Greaney lowered his rifle. “We have no idea if they’re friendly. They know these woods. We don’t. We need to stick to the road.”
“The sergeant is right,” Lindrick said. “If there was a person here, we’re bound to run into others.”
Drayden wasn’t sure if they should follow or not. He couldn’t believe that people were alive out here. How had they survived? What were their lives like?
“Let’s keep moving,” Captain Lindrick said. “It’s can’t be much further to Highway 177.”
They continued their hike with the lieutenant resuming scout duty. Everyone remained quiet, scanning the woods for people. After half an hour, the excitement had worn off.
The highway ran in a straightaway in this section. Though weeds and tall grasses covered it like an African plain, no trees obstructed it for the next mile or so.
“Guess it was nothing,” Charlie muttered.
A man bolted across the street a hundred yards in front of them, from the woods on the left to the woods on the right.
Lieutenant Duarte raised his rifle and fired it in one swift motion. The deafening boom echoed throughout the silent world like an explosion.
“Hold your fire!” Lindrick yelled as the Guardians raised their weapons and everyone got down.
Lieutenant Duarte hustled back.
“What are you doing?” Drayden asked. “How could you fire at him? The poor guy was probably trying to get away from us.”
“I’m protecting you and us. And I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Don’t shoot these people!” Drayden yelled. “We need to talk to them. Catrice? Do you think we should follow him? There must be a community around here.”
Her cheeks were red and sweat beaded on her nose. “We have a four-
day hike. I’m guessing we’ll see others.”
“I think she should be in charge, not you, string bean,” Lieutenant Duarte said.
Drayden gritted his teeth. He could foresee a showdown with this Duarte creep at some point in the future.
“Let’s move out,” Captain Lindrick said. “Guardians, I want your weapons sling-ready, but don’t fire on sight.”
They continued the slow march. No landmarks stood out before they reached Highway 177. Hopefully it would be marked.
Finally, they reached a part where the roadway widened. A second lane emerged on the right and forked off ahead. That was it. If they considered Highway 88 overgrown, it was just the warmup. Highway 177 was the main event. Barely a trace of roadway remained. It was all bramble.
CHAPTER 16
The group took a much-needed break near the entrance to Highway 177. After peeing in some bushes, Drayden thought about distribution of the food again.
The Bureau had assembled the packs. He was pretty sure the Guardians hadn’t taken stock of them before the boat sank, meaning they didn’t know exactly how much food each contained, and he preferred they not find out. Not having enough food for everyone could escalate into a dangerous situation. The privates would be easily outmuscled in a physical confrontation with the Guardians.
Rather than aggregating all the remaining food and splitting it eight ways, Drayden collected a few items from each private for the Guardians: a pear, a damp slice of bread, and a boiled potato.
Under the shade of a sprawling tree, Eugene crashed with the privates—or technically with Catrice—while the other Guardians rested off by themselves.
Drayden wanted to show the Guardians he wasn’t intimidated, so he personally delivered their food. Only Sergeant Greaney thanked him when he passed it out. On the way back, he watched Catrice, who was sharing other items from her own pack openly with Eugene. Special things, like a cookie.
Although the growing closeness between them was a problem for him, Catrice’s misguided generosity was a problem for everyone. It wasn’t fair. The food in their packs was effectively community food now, and she shouldn’t have been oversharing it with the super cute boy she fancied. Rather than say anything, he grumbled to himself and plopped down beside Sidney.
She took off her boots. “My feet are killing me. Anyone else have blisters?”
Drayden groaned. “Yup. Both feet.”
“Mine are numb,” Charlie said. “They feel like boiled potatoes.”
Drayden chugged water. “These boots aren’t made for walking. Sadly, we’re nine miles into an eighty-five-mile walk.”
Charlie gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up. “Thanks for that reminder.”
Drayden couldn’t help himself and eavesdropped on Catrice and Eugene.
“Doesn’t being out here give you all sorts of ideas for things to draw?” Eugene asked. “I wish I had a sketch pad with me.”
“Oh my God, totally. I’d love to draw this tree we’re sitting under. We don’t have this tree in New America, and the leaves are so beautiful.”
Drayden felt sick to his stomach, contemplating whether the two of them could sketch him putting a bullet into his own head.
Charlie poked him. “Told you.” He snickered. “Stole.”
“Shut up,” Drayden snapped. “You also said love moves around like wildflowers. Wildflowers don’t move.”
“You’re wasting your time with that waif,” Sidney said quietly. “She has no soul. She’s empty inside, Dray. That’s so not cool, what she’s doing right now. Why would you want to be with someone who treats you like that?”
He wasn’t sure. As Shahnee had said, a spark existed between them that he couldn’t explain with logic. It wasn’t just that they were similar, that they both liked math, and were top students. It was more than that. Wasn’t it?
Though she wasn’t paying him any attention, and in fact was totally ignoring him, he still liked her. Maybe even loved her. Fine, she wasn’t at her best girlfriend form at the moment, but nobody knew her the way he did. They didn’t witness how thoughtful and caring she was in private.
Whatever the status of their undefined relationship, she apparently didn’t consider it as serious as he did. He’d never forget her expression when he called her his girlfriend. If he acted like a jealous boyfriend now, he might scare her away, or make her think less of him. But if he said nothing, Eugene was free to take his best crack at her, and he was hitting it out of the park. Drayden needed to show Catrice that he was every bit as good, or better, than Eugene.
Charlie rubbed his belly. “I don’t know about you guys. I’m stuffed after that half pear and potato sandwich.”
Charlie’s predictable humor underscored a serious issue. The food situation was a major problem. They needed a lot more, but how? Drayden grew angrier at Catrice for her schoolgirl flirting with the new boy. He needed her to brainstorm with him. This was a life-or-death situation.
They hadn’t seen any animals to hunt. Plus, the scientists said not to eat them anyway. If the opportunity arose, they could try fishing, but they lacked gear and wouldn’t encounter water for a while. They needed to find a camp of people and ask for food.
“Captain Lindrick,” Drayden said, “Charlie raises a valid point. We don’t have nearly enough food. The next person we see, we follow. Go where they lead us.”
“Fine,” Lindrick said. “We go where I say we go. If we find a village, everyone follows my lead. Understood? This is my area.”
“Deal,” Drayden said. “But no shooting.”
Lieutenant Duarte smirked. He tossed his knife in the air and caught it.
Lieutenant Duarte swung the machete with such force and aggression it was clear he relished it. The guy seemed to have anger issues and some inner need to cut things.
Where was he hiding a machete?
Duarte led the trek into the wilderness of Highway 177, hacking and slicing as he walked. The bramble provided some welcome shade from the early afternoon sun. The whole group now walked single file, with Duarte and Lindrick up front, and Greaney bringing up the rear.
Drayden had worked things so Catrice had to walk between Charlie and Sidney, which meant she couldn’t discuss drawing with Eugene. Petty, sure, but he had to do something. Unfortunately, they would have seventy-five more miles to marvel at the fascinating leaves. He groaned inwardly, knowing he needed to get out of this negative funk, since he was only making himself uglier.
Eugene quietly whistled with a trill effect, the way Drayden imagined a songbird would sound. Lindrick and Duarte both stopped and turned their heads back.
“Check it out, nine o’clock,” Eugene whispered, flashing his rifle that way.
The ruins of a house were hidden to their left, set back a bit from the street amongst the overgrowth. Cement steps gave way to a faded red front door that led nowhere. Everything else besides the chimney was missing. As they carried on, the outlines of additional homes periodically popped up. Some were still standing, though were mostly empty shells.
Nobody lived in these houses. They were long abandoned, which made Drayden curious where that running man lived. He may have been a lone survivor, a nomad, scrounging off the land without the benefit of a larger community. That would make finding food unlikely.
Despite their crawl through the forest, it was only an hour hike to Route 6. After forty-five minutes, the brush thinned, and they entered a wide-open space. What remained of the asphalt of Highway 177 spread out in every direction, with several old buildings around its borders. Duarte stopped, and everyone took stock of the area.
“Captain Lindrick, three o’clock,” Sergeant Greaney whispered forcefully.
Captain Lindrick whipped his rifle to the right, panning it back and forth. Everyone saw it at the same time, their eyes heading skyward.
Smoke. A large plume rose to the right, d
eep into the woods, with the remnants of a road leading toward it.
Captain Lindrick lowered his weapon and faced the group. “Time to go to work. We follow that road until we see who’s burning that fire. We go quiet, and we go in heavy. High-ready.”
“What does that mean?” Drayden studied the Guardians. “High-ready.”
“It means we go in with our weapons up,” Eugene said, “ready to act if necessary.”
They were talking about people surviving in the wilderness. Drayden did yearn to prove he could be tough and strong like the Guardians, yet there was a difference between toughness and brutality. “Captain, I think that’s excessive. We’re going to frighten these people.”
“I agree with Drayden,” Catrice said.
Captain Lindrick turned red, gritting his teeth. “Privates. This part of the mission I’m unequivocally in charge of. If you choose to keep your weapon holstered, I can’t stop you, but we intend to make sure everyone is safe until we can guarantee the situation is secure. We have no idea what kind of threat we’re dealing with. Is that understood?”
Drayden hesitated, finally muttering, “Yes, sir.”
Lindrick checked his rifle. “No talking. Single file. Everyone as quiet as possible.”
Lieutenant Duarte slid his machete into a sleeve in his pants and raised his rifle, leading the way. Though overgrown, the road was passable, bordered by houses that appeared less deserted the further they went.
Duarte dropped to a squat and motioned with his arm for the others to lower down. Everybody crouched.
Drayden’s eyes bulged at the sight.
In a clearing ahead, a bonfire raged. Several makeshift wooden stands surrounded it, holding rangy sticks over the fire with objects hanging off their tips.
Food.
People were cooking. A good fifteen survivors, some young children, milled around the fire, and others were coming and going. A mother carried her baby in a maroon sash around her neck. Everyone looked awful—dirty, skinny, swaddled in rags.
Drayden wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it himself. People were alive. They’d somehow outlived the Confluence and found a way to endure its aftermath. One glimpse of them revealed survival was a struggle. Either people in this particular region were special in some way, or these survivors had found each other and formed a community. It was astounding. Besides securing food, he needed to ask some questions.
