After the Shift: The Complete Series

by Grace Hamilton

  “Yes,” Nathan replied with a nod, “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “It did cross my mind, believe me. We lost two good men in the last month, just so that S.O.B. could take a couple of goats.”

  Larson’s voice was almost accentless, and Nathan couldn’t for the life of him pin down where the big man might hail from. He could be American, European or Martian—there was nothing in it to hook him into a location. “So, what’s the setup here?”

  Prompted by the question, Larson explained that the Drymouth Gold Rush Museum and Heritage Center had been a thriving tourist business before the Big Winter. When people had stopped visiting, the staff, reenactors, and curators had either followed the hoards south or made their way to the FEMA-controlled facilities in Denver.

  Larson told them that he himself had been the principal of a progressive school in Boulder, and he and a few friends had taken over the museum buildings a little over eighteen months before. There were thirty souls there now, all told. Besides him, there were nine men, eight women, and twelve children under the age of eighteen. The buildings were sound, they had a couple of well-entrenched hydroponic systems in large, barnlike equipment sheds, and they kept goats and chickens in two other sheds. The main pithead building and bunkhouse contained the sleeping quarters and main living areas of the group. There was water running deep in the mine that they could bring up with hand pumps. “It has to be boiled and filtered to remove the impurities leeching from the rocks, but it’s okay after processing.”

  Larson went on to explain that they also used one of the nearer surface mine galleries for storage. The hydroponics setup in the barn grew enough food for the human and animal inhabitants of Drymouth, and they supplemented their produce by bartering every few weeks on trips to the city.

  That had all been fine until the change in the weather, with the Big Winter on the move south, and now with the sniper threatening their precarious livelihood. The mine itself had been worked out many years ago, but it was a good, solid, dry, and warm place to shelter below that they could retreat to if conditions worsened considerably, or it would serve as an excellent safety cell if the sniper or other attackers descended on the museum.

  “As you can see, we’re pretty well entrenched here,” Larson said as he got to the end of his thumbnail of their facilities. “You’re welcome to stay if you like the look of the place. We could do with a few more strong hands.”

  Nathan and Free exchanged looks. Beside them, Syd shrugged, and yet again, Tommy said nothing.

  The next day dawned gray with the threat of more chilling flurries.

  Through the window, the sky appeared swollen and solid. The group had slept well in the furs and blankets in the room. In the morning, one of Drymouth’s women—a thin, wiry, blue-eyed ash-blonde who introduced herself as Sally—showed them how they could get to the bathhouse without leaving the main building and having to go through the snow. She also told them how to access the kitchen so they could fix themselves breakfast.

  They ran into a few of the residents as they moved between washing up and making toast and eggs. The residents they did meet were friendly and welcoming. They showed them where the stores were and didn’t put any limits on what they could take for themselves to cook. There was some fresh goat’s cheese which tasted like heaven on the toast, and it was the best-tasting meal Nathan had had in a while.

  Lucy made stupendous omelets for everyone on a wood-burning range, and while they ate, the residents of Drymouth went quietly about their business, nodding hello but not hanging around to pass the day or get news of the outside world. That in itself felt strange, but kind of understandable. “I guess they don’t want to seem like they’re pressurizing us to stay,” Nathan commented to the others at the breakfast table in the kitchen.

  “And I guess not all of us are going out of our way to be friendly, either,” Lucy said, flicking her eyes back in the direction of the room where they’d slept. Dave, Donie, and Tommy had all declined breakfast and gone back to the room where they’d slept.

  “We’ve all had a few tough days. If some of us want to use the time for a bit of R&R, then I’m cool with that,” Nathan said, trying to pour oil on Lucy’s tetchiness. “Let’s keep a cool head, yeah?”

  Lucy shrugged, and Free squeezed her hand.

  By now, Tony and Syd were using each other’s plates as pucks in a game of table hockey and laughing and joshing, thick as thieves. A deeper contrast to Lucy’s grim face, Nathan couldn’t hope to see, and it gave him something warm to carry with him.

  Once everyone was washed and breakfasted, Larson came to take Nathan and Free for a tour of the mine. A heavy sheet of fresh snow made the wooden clapboard, pine buildings of the Drymouth Museum buildings look like broken yellow teeth thrusting up from a bleached jawbone. Nathan, Larson, and Free made their way to look at the hydroponics setup in one of the old two-story equipment sheds.

  Inside, there were plenty of electric lights run from roof-mounted turbines, and water in vats which they pumped up from the mine workings, supplemented it with snow when it fell. Two of Larson’s men were pushing a mine car along a haulageway track, from the mine-head’s entrance through a set of double doors leading into the shed. The mine car had been packed with snow, and as they brought it into the building, they shut the double doors behind them and began to shovel the snow into a water vat.

  “Easier than pumping it up by hand. When we do get some snowfall, we like to take advantage.”

  “Organize finding a few wind turbines, and I’m pretty sure Free and I could set you up an electric pump. You could run that all the hours you wanted,” Nathan said, noting the red faces and the harsh breathing of the men shoveling the snow.

  Larson grinned and clapped Nathan on the shoulder. “That’s exactly the thinking we need. Of course, our guys are smart and they’re good thinkers, but everything we’ve set up here has come from book learning and hand-me-down ideas. What we lack here is the truly… earthy… practicalities of men like you, Nathan.”

  Nathan couldn’t work out if he was being complimented or patronized within an inch of his life. He didn’t feel he had anywhere the full measure of Larson yet—and wouldn’t for a few days, he knew—but initial indications were that the Drymouth could easily absorb him and the others into their settlement. He was sure there was steel beneath Larson’s bonhomie, but right now, the place didn’t feel at all threatening. And that was a premium situation in these troubled times.

  Larson left them to their own devices in the shed while he went to what he called a meeting, saying that he would catch up with them in an hour or so.

  The two men who’d been shoveling the snow finished up and followed Larson out of the shed, loping off behind him like seagulls flying behind a trawler, waiting to see what scraps would be thrown over the side.

  A steady stream of Drymouth residents, some with toddlers in arms, others with youngsters by the hands, were coming out of the various buildings and heading toward the mine entrance. They were chatting, smiling, and seemed in generally high spirits.

  Seeing the entire population of Drymouth for the first time, it struck Nathan that none of the residents were wearing anything that could be described as modern clothes. The men were in ancient work boots, rough-cut plain shirts, and thick denim pants. The women wore long skirts with pinafores and white lace caps. If Nathan hadn’t known any better, he’d have thought he was looking back in time.

  Free whistled as he puffed out his cheeks. “Why can’t we find anywhere that isn’t weird?”

  Nathan snorted. “Maybe they just had stockpiles of old mining clothes for the tourists or actors? Who knows?”

  “Or maybe they’re just weird.”

  Nathan headed for the door they’d come in. “Come on. Let’s get back to the others.” They struck out across the white expanse of the courtyard between the buildings, but didn’t get more than twenty yards, before Nathan heard an engine fir
e into a deep rumble, and Lucy shouting, “Tommy! Tommy! Wait! Don’t go! Stop! Stop!”

  16

  As they reached the area where the Land Cruiser and the F-350 had been parked overnight, they saw Lucy standing with her hands on her hips and watching the Toyota, now unhooked from its trailer, bumping through the snow back toward the road.

  “Tommy!” Lucy called fruitlessly one more time, just as Nathan and Free reached her.

  “What’s going on?” Nathan asked.

  “Damn Tommy and his strong silent type act!” Lucy hissed as the back of the Toyota disappeared from view into the trees.

  “You want me to go after him?” Free asked, pointing at the Ford.

  Nathan shook his head. “Let’s find out what’s going on first. When Tommy’s got the bit between his teeth, there’s nothing that’s gonna make him come back until he’s ready. Come on—let’s get inside.”

  Back in the room where they’d spent the night, Lucy was still apoplectic. She paced and thumped the table, and if she could have worked off her tension by stamping her feet and having a tantrum, Nathan felt convinced she would have.

  “He’s so stubborn! Doesn’t want to listen to reason or offer up his own solutions. It’s just his way or the damn highway!”

  “So, what went down?” Nathan sat down with a coffee that Donie put into his hand as they’d come back inside.

  Lucy’s eyes flicked to the door, as if to make sure no one from Drymouth was loitering or about to come in. “All I said was that this looked, like Caleb’s place before, like a good place to think about staying for a while.”

  “And?”

  “And Tommy just shook his head in that sarcastic way of his. Rolled his eyes at me and said I was, as usual, bringing up my ideas from where the sun won’t have warmed them.”

  Nathan sighed. He’d thought that the rivalry between Tommy and Lucy had at least settled down now that he was well enough to be back leading the group. But alas, that seemed not to be the case.

  “So, where has Tommy gone? Just to cool off?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me. Just stormed out like a child, unhooked the trailer, and drove off before I could stop him. My clothes are in the back of that truck! If he doesn’t come back, I’m going to have to dress like the women here, like an extra from The Handmaid’s Tale!”

  Lucy didn’t calm down for some time, and so Nathan spoke with Free, Dave, and Donie while she sat boiling in the corner.

  “What do we make of this place, then?”

  Dave and Donie were noncommittal, but did tell Nathan about what Tommy had asked them to do before he’d had the run-in with Lucy. Donie pointed at the laptop. “First thing this morning, while you guys were off in the bathhouse, Tommy asked us to set up the uplink and see if we could get any information on Greg Larson.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Nope, and we couldn’t get a signal anyway. The clouds must have brought a lot of dust in with the storm. It’ll settle down in a day or so, but until then we’re internet blind.”

  Why would Tommy be so anxious to find out about Larson? Was he just applying the principles of due diligence? Tommy hadn’t shown that much interest in Dave and Donie’s technical expertise in the past, so why now? And why hadn’t he come to Nathan with his concerns?

  Syd came back in with Rapier, who she’d taken outside for exercise, and to have a look around the mine workings herself.

  “Did Tommy mention anything to you last night or this morning?” Nathan asked her as she got herself a coffee and fed some breakfast scraps to the dog. Syd shook her head. “He’s probably only said seven words to me since I got back with you guys. I get the impression he’s not too comfortable around the fairer sex.”

  “Ain’t that the goddamn truth!” Lucy said from the corner.

  Nathan didn’t want to wait for Larson to come find him, so he left the others to find him—with instructions to Donie to keep trying the uplink to find out if they could get the information Tommy was after—Nathan heading to the mine entrance himself.

  The old mine had been given a touristy makeover, more signs, a barrier, a kiosk for a staff member to take tickets from, and mine cars which looked more like roller-coaster carriages than authentic nineteenth century mining gear.

  Three of the cars were backed up in a small siding inside the entrance. The roof had been shored up with the thick trunks of trees, but when Nathan rapped one with his knuckles, he was greeted with the hollow ring of metal. All fake. There was also a line of dim electric lamps leading down along a tracked slope. The illuminations had been made to look like old-time Davy Lamps, and he figured they were being fed by power lines from turbines standing somewhere up on the hillside.

  A man Nathan didn’t recognize stepped out from the shadows further down the incline. He was dressed like the rest of the men of Drymouth, and had a grizzly gray beard which reached to his sternum. Nathan might not have known him, but he knew Nathan. “Can I help you, Mr. Tolley?”

  There was no overt threat in Beard’s voice, but Nathan immediately felt uneasy. Beard had taken up a position in the middle of the track that was obviously defensive, and it was one that would not allow Nathan to pass with just a “Hi” or a “Cold morning today, isn’t it?”

  Beard looked as if he was fixing to make sure no one went down the mine, and if they tried, he was going to stop them.

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. Larson, please.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. He’s in a meeting.” Beard crossed his arms across his chest as if it would end the conversation and Nathan would just turn around and go away.

  “Yeah, I know. But this is important.”

  “So is the meeting. I ask that you go back to your room and await Greg. I’m sure he’ll be with you before dark.”

  “I really want to speak to him before then. If you could…”

  “But I’m not going to.” Beard dropped his arms and widened his stance.

  “Hey, there’s no need for you to get bent out of shape.”

  “Then don’t give me a reason to bend you out of shape, Mr. Tolley.”

  And that was that.

  Whatever Tommy thought he knew about Larson, Nathan wasn’t going to get the opportunity to quiz him about it until whatever the meeting was about was done.

  Nathan trudged back through the snow, through the near dead silence coming off the hills, acoustics heavily truncated by the snow. The sky was still fully pregnant and looked about to burst open at any moment. It didn’t help assuage the pit of damp anxiety which was building in his gut. With Tommy taking the Land Cruiser and leaving the trailer behind, they were all effectively trapped here until he came back. There was no way they could get away from Drymouth with everyone and their gear.

  Damn Tommy and his moods.

  Nathan approached the main building where the F-350 was parked, one side half-buried in the snow that had come during the night. There looked to be something odd about it, though.

  The snowdrift should by rights have extended all around the back of the truck, but the back end of it was mostly clear, back where the two metal doors opened above the tailgate into the steel utility box they used to transport gear and themselves when the need arose.

  Nathan saw there were many footprints in the snow, too, as if a couple of guys had been at the back of the truck clearing away the snow from the doors. As he got closer, he saw one of the locks on the door had been busted open. Someone had been going through their gear, and hadn’t cared at all who knew it.

  Nathan reached the back of the truck and pulled at the door. It swung open easily, and he looked inside. It seemed like all of the food, camping equipment, and personal effects—like Tony’s box of comics—were still there, but the guns were gone. Where once there had been two canvas bags of military hardware and ammo, there was nothing.

  Nathan smashed his hand on the door, slamming it shut, and turned around and went back the way he’d just come. He didn’t wait till he reached Bear
d before he called out and got the man’s attention.

  “This is not acceptable! Someone has been through our gear—without permission—and taken our weapons.”

  Beard was back in the center of the tunnel. “Be reasonable, Mr. Tolley. If we’d have asked your permission, would you have given up the guns? I really don’t think so.”

  Nathan couldn’t fault Beard’s logic, but that didn’t stop him wanting to thump the smug man of questionable parentage in the face with a balled fist. “You will go down there now, and you will get Larson, and you will bring him here.”

  “Not possible.”

  “Then you will take me to him.”

  “Again…”

  And that’s when Nathan threw the punch.

  Beard was a big man who didn’t move fast, but he at least had the wherewithal to move back as the punch connected with his chin, thus taking more than fifty percent of its potential sting away at once.

  Nathan followed through with a harsh left, which caught Beard just below the ribs and sent him down on one knee, ‘Oooofing’ as he was winded.

  “I don’t need my guns all the time, pal.”

  Nathan punched Beard hard in the side of the head and the man went over like a felled log. It had been a long time since Nathan had had a full-on fist fight—probably not since the one with Sonny Shapp in grade school when the other boy had said something he couldn’t remember about Nathan’s daddy. He’d sent the boy sprawling back over a chair in the classroom to the cheers of the class, who hated Sonny Shapp, and to the immense annoyance of the teacher, who’d pretty much dragged him by the ear to the principal’s office. It hadn’t been his finest moment at school, and punching Beard’s lights out wasn’t his best moment in the Big Winter, but it sure was satisfying.

  Nathan made sure Beard was in the recovery position on the floor before he began to jog down the tunnel.

  There wasn’t much of the original excavation left from the nineteenth century. The tunnel down to the galleries had been widened at some point, and the walls reinforced. The walls themselves looked old and cracked and dangerous, but Nathan could see this was just window dressing that had been created to give the impression of an old, rackety mine’s workings. Just the fact that he could stand up to his full height and still have some clearance above his head told him that a fair amount of money had been spent on the place to get it up to tourist specs.