by Eric Keller
Now, watching the teenagers, moving across the Clearing, Morreign knew logic dictated she should be glad her son found someone, especially given the new world realities. However, in her heart, she felt nothing but worry. Louisa, while having become a smart, charming and stable member of the Malden community, Morreign thought she saw glimpses of a deeply injured psyche. She worried her son, with limited partner options, became enamored with this girl because of her vulnerability and that such an attraction could not form the basis for a relationship. Regardless, she could not help but grin as she saw them laugh at the excited children tumbling around them.
The constant thwacking of axes coming from the tree line stopped, work put on hold, as the adults now ventured towards the returning pair. Paul, looking tired and dirty but smiling happily beneath the tangle of his own patchy beard and too-long hair, slipped through the crowd which slapped him on the back as he strode towards her. Without a word, they embraced, and he kissed her, first softly, then deeply. As they separated, Morreign fought back the tears which seemed to come more and more easily with each passing year.
With a slightly mocking tone, she said, “Finally. You guys stop at a strip club or something?”
“Yeah, Sam had a coupon for a free lap dance that was about to expire. Couldn’t let it go to waste.”
She laughed at the idea of silent Sam in a strip club. Waving a hand in front of her face, she said, “You definitely didn’t stop to bathe. You must be beat. Let me get you some tea.”
He gently eased her back to her chair, taking the weight off her wrecked hip. He said, “I’ll get the tea. How’re you feeling?”
“Sore but ok. On the plus side, I’m getting pretty good at knitting. More importantly, how’d things go with you guys?”
He hesitated for a heartbeat, the minor thing only married people would notice, before sitting next to her and saying, “Ok, not great, but ok.”
“Tell me.”
“Not a lot left out there. We didn’t find any salt, only a few things with salt, cans of soup and the like but nothing all that significant.”
One of the biggest concerns facing Malden in the last few years was finding enough sodium for everyone so they all hoped Sam and Paul would come across processed foods or other salt sources. Not wanting to show her disappointment, she said, “Well there’s still that case of pretzels which should last us quite a while as long as we’re careful. Anything else?”
Paul went on to explain all about their trip. Morreign leaned back in her chair, letting his natural storytelling ability wash over her, reveling in having her husband and friend back. Finally, he stood up and said, “I guess I better get cleaned up. I hurried to make sure we got back for the big celebration, can’t be late now.”
She heard the slight marital poke in his voice, and she shook her head at him. “I might claim to be too sore to go.”
He called back as he strode into the cabin, “Good luck with that, they’ll all just show up here to bask in your importance.”
. . .
Noticing the absence of the usual funky, musty smell in the apartment caused Hale to stop in the doorway. Kinma, dressed in her overly large sweater, with her black hair tucked under her yellow toque, bounded out of the bathroom. “Hey. I opened the windows, get some of that smoke and dirty old man smell outta here. Better, right?”
Hale handed her the rest of the cereal and said, “Yeah, much better.”
Apparently sensing his unease, she ignored the food, and she asked, “What’s wrong? Spring’s finally here, and they brought in some new supplies, you should be happy.”
He learned over the years that it was pointless to not be straightforward with Kinma. “Harrison wants me to go out on patrol, take care of a problem.”
A good head shorter than him, the petite woman tilted her head back to look up at him, “What? I thought you guys had a deal about that?”
Hale had told her of the détente reached with Harrison, explaining why he no longer took turns going on supply patrols. He answered, “We did, but things change, and this is something different.”
They walked into the living room and flopped down on the couch. She prodded, “Different how?”
Normally Hale, never keen on discussions, would have shook this question off, but he figured she deserved to know. “The Survivalists. It’s the Survivalists.”
Concern filled her voice, “Really?”
Over the years, the Survivalists became something of a legend among the Bankers, boogie men in the dark, wolves in the woods. In actuality, Hale knew they were rarely seen, however, stories of them attacking patrols were often told and retold to fend off boredom in a world without TV or internet.
“Yeah.”
“Why does it need to be you?”
He sighed, not wanting to have to explain but doubting the woman would leave him be if he didn’t. “I had a run in with them few years after the Bombs. Harrison thinks I could’ve easily shut ’em down back then, so he doesn’t want to make someone else go risk their life to fix my mistake. Also, he feels like I’m the best guy to get this done. At least that’s the reasoning he’s telling me.”
Always keen, Kinma caught on and jumped right to the point, “The asshole wants you to get killed.”
“Maybe. There’s a lot of tension ‘round here, even more than usual lately and he probably suspects I could cause problems or am causing problems. It’s a no lose for him. If we’re successful we come back with a mess of supplies, a great story of victory and everyone celebrates. If we’re unsuccessful, he can say nice things about me while extolling the dangers facing the Bank, get everyone to pull in tighter and have a few fewer mouths to feed.”
There was a pause as they both contemplated the untenable situation. Finally, seemingly unable to find a solution, she said, “What happened? Back then, with the Survivalists.”
It took a great deal of time, but Hale, a mainly silent man, grew somewhat accustomed to Kinma’s questionings. This, however, would be difficult to answer. He sighed, “It’s kind of a story.”
“I got nothing but time. You start talking, I’ll make some tea.”
Early on after the Bombs, Hale invented a brazier of sorts that could be easily fashioned out of scrap metal. Each of the occupied apartments now contained one of these “Hale Stoves.” He watched as she filled the kettle and gently pumped the bellows to get the embers inside the stove hot again. Sensing his gaze, she smiled back at him and said, “Quit stalling.”
Knowing there was no getting out of it, Hale decided to tell the story. “A straggler showed up here, a tough white beard trapper guy. In exchange for getting to stay, he told us about a settlement to the West. This was early on, and we still had good gas back then, so five of us got in a truck and took off.”
Kinma, taking cups out of the cupboard, asked over her shoulder, “What old trapper? I don’t know any trappers?”
“He pissed off Clarence, something to do with when they found Andrea. Clarence got Harrison to step in so the trapper’s no longer around.”
Familiar with how Harrison dealt with those he deemed troublesome, Kinma merely said, “Oh. Okay, keep going.”
“Anyway, the trapper guy’s directions were vague, and by the time we found the place we were all tired, starving and irritated, not to mention running low on gas. The settlement looked sort of like, I guess, an old-timey gold mining town or something.”
“Gold mining town? What do you mean?”
“You know? Think of a picture of someplace in the Yukon two hundred years ago. Slab board houses built into hills, a low barn, couple of canvas tents. There was even a well with one of those hand pumps.”
Kinma poured hot wate
r into cups and asked, “Really? I’ve never heard of such a place. Why was it built like that?”
Wondering, for the hundredth time, how women always wanted you to tell them about something and then interrupted you as you tried to explain, Hale continued, “I don’t know why. At first, I thought it was some sort of government sanctioned enclave for traditional native rights. Giving Indians the opportunity to go back to living on the land if they wanted, or something like that. There were families, and they had hunting rifles, so natives returning to their roots under some government system made sense.”
She handed him his weak tea made with a tea bag on about its hundredth use. Taking the warm cup he smiled at her, enjoying the way she tried to give their life at least sliver normality. Sitting next to him she said, “Oh, okay.”
He took a sip of the hot water before continuing, “We got lucky, they didn’t see us, and we were in good cover, a couple hundred yards away. For hours we watched, trying to get a sense of what we were facing. Clearly, these guys were fine out in the middle of nowhere on their own, doing way better than us. There was a shed full of food, buckets of water were pumped from the well, piles of firewood everywhere. Hell, they even had a herd of these hairy goat things and two mules.”
Hale hesitated, using tea drinking as a cover as he thought back, the scene remarkably clear in his mind. Women moved about the space, chatting while they did various chores, apparently taking their time despite the cold. Numerous kids, dressed in bulky coats, chased the goats and played in the snow. Men brought in a sled loaded with firewood, the mules snorting fog. The very vision of peacefulness except for the guns everywhere.
He decided he would feel foolish trying to explain this, even to Kinma. He said, “I’m not going to lie, a pretty tasty looking target. But lots of rifles and the guys looked like they could use them. I was worried we would lose…”
Kinma shifted, looking up at him. He drank some more tea. She knew him too well to buy the story. They spent endless hours together plus stories told about his early victories were common entertainment fodder amongst the Bankers.
He sighed, “Fine. It was the kids, the goddamn kids. There were kids, lots of kids. Families living their lives like families did before the Bombs. I couldn’t wreck that. Hell, it was the only good thing I’d witness humans doing in forever.”
She rubbed his back lightly and asked, “How’d the guys with you take that decision?”
A slight laugh. “Not well. Got tense fast. Milo was with us, he backed me. And, for once, I was glad for Harrison’s rigid rules. They knew what could happen if they disobeyed an order from a patrol leader. Not a happy ride home regardless.”
“I can only imagine. Bunch of guys half-starved watching women carrying food around…”
Her voice trailed off as she realized. The men didn’t care about the food. They wanted the women. The story showed its violent, true color. She curled up against him, “But they aren’t some native band living peacefully?”
“Yeah, a while later we found a map in a government truck, it labels the place Boulder Station. Couple of the guys recognized the name as belonging to a survivalist camp. Guess it’s a bunch of nuts that hoped for the apocalypse and got their wish.”
They heard yelling coming from somewhere down below followed by the familiar sounds of a fight punctuated by a woman screaming. Neither Hale nor Kinma moved, calmly waiting for the chaos to calm. Finally, the noise subsided, and she asked, “What are you going to do?”
No point in telling her about Harrison’s threat, it’d only make her more afraid, cause her unfair guilt. The idea of leaving her here, alone, surrounded by beasts, made his chest ache. Regardless Hale could think of no way to escape Harrison’s trap. “I need to go. If I refuse, he’ll tell everyone why, get me deemed a coward. Plus, if I am out of here with some of the better men, I can talk with them in safety, come up with a plan for this place.”
She seemed to understand the unsaid point that cowards could be executed as she merely asked, “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
He could feel her tense up and then she began to shake slightly as the tears came. “Make me a promise.”
“Okay.”
“If you can get away. If you can get away somewhere safe, you do it. Don’t come back here for me.”
Hale finished his tea and calmly responded, “No deal.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JUNE 6, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX
“Can you believe we gotta do this every damn year?”
Jacob chose to ignore Griffith Hope, allowing Louisa to answer for them both, “Give it a rest Griff, we know you wanna be here as much as everyone else.”
Her tone seemed smiling despite the condescending words. They all knew she was right, no one would miss the Longest Night Gathering. Jacob let his hand sink to Louisa’s waist as Griff responded with his normal wit, “Whatever.”
Jacob watched his friend take a sip from an aluminum water bottle before handing it over to him. Keeping one hand on Louisa, he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank a mouthful of the putrid liquid, forcing himself not to wince. Griff’s parents called it homemade wine. Some sort of concoction made out of canned fruit, potato peelings, pine needles and whatever else they could find. He handed the bottle over to Louisa.
Jacob knew her very well, but he could never predict when she would join in the drinking and when she would beg off. This evening she took the bottle from him and drank a careful sip. A ripple of excitement rolled over him. She generally accepted his advances more eagerly on nights when she drank. That coupled with this being a special night, gave him hope. He gave her a gentle squeeze as his father, Paul, walked into the Lodge.
The twenty-three people crammed into the Lodge’s dining hall broke into spontaneous applause. Paul grinned, moving through the crowd, shaking hands and accepting more slaps on the back.
Once the gratitude for Paul bringing back the supplies died down, Luke noticed Sam had slipped in. A few people quietly shook his hand, but everyone knew Sam did not like public praise, so they gave him the gift of ignoring him. He took up his usual post, against the back wall where the weathered sign him and Griff found as kids deep beneath the porch now hung. The faded, green letters read, “Sychar Lodge and Resort.” They all figured it referenced some long-dead owner’s last name, whoever ran the place before it became Camp Malden. However, Luke liked that name better than Malden and had filled his childhood with daydreamed fantasies about Sychar being some great hero.
Shaking his head slightly, Griff took the bottle back from Louisa and said, “Man, all they brought back was some soup and a few mangled books.”
Jacob knew Sam, and Paul’s supply run impressed Griff, and his words stemmed from jealousy. Griff badly wanted to go on supply runs, he wanted to walk into the Lodge and be the one everyone cheered for bringing new and helpful items into their lives.
Jacob responded, “Yeah, pretty nice to get something new to read, though.”
Tina, reaching her one arm towards Griff for the bottle, interjected, “I hear that, I couldn’t read The Stand one more time without going insane. And Louisa’s going back through all those religion books again.”
Louisa shrugged, “Some of them have good stories.”
Griff handed over the bottle, growling, “A couple of books doesn’t mean this place isn’t still boring as hell.”
The left side of her face twisted by old burn scars and her left eye permanently pinched shut, Tina’s grimace after drinking the harsh drink was even more pronounced as she said, “Sure, but I’ll take boring as hell with a new book over boring as hell with an old book any day.”
Before they cou
ld say anything further, Jacob’s uncle Leo climbed on the sturdy table in the middle of the room and everyone grew quiet. “Thanks, everyone for coming, especially Paul and Sam who hurried back to bring us treats in time for tonight.”
Another round of applause and a few jovial cheers filled the space before Leo held up his hands and continued, “This year is special because, for the first time, a child born at Malden has been selected to do the first reading.”
Leo climbed off the table and helped up Paulina, a pale girl of eight with long black hair who always appeared, to Jacob, to be on the verge of crying. Tonight, standing on the table and opening the Diary, Jacob thought it cruel how nervous they were making her. She managed to get the Diary open to the first page and, standing in the rustic room lit by candles and firelight, the girl began to read in a soft, almost whispering voice.
“February 4, 2036. We drove all night, going too fast for the icy roads. All the time we were driving I hated Morreign. She yanked my family into her crazy fantasy. I could barely speak to Leo, so mad at him for agreeing to go along with the stupidity. Then it happened. A huge explosion behind us lit up the entire sky. Morreign saved us, she saved us all. I don’t even want to think about what happened at Thule, can’t think about it.”
Paulina turns the page and continues, her voice growing slightly stronger as nervousness recedes and confidence grows. “February 6, 2036. This place is in ruins, and it’s always freezing, impossible to get warm. Now that I can’t be mad anymore all I have left is the fear, the fear of me and my children dying of cold or hunger or some other unseen danger. Paul and Leo somehow remain cheerful, even keeping the kids mainly happy while fixing things up as best as possible. Morreign is putting on a strong face, but I think she’s as afraid as I am. We all need to keep appearing strong, but I’m tired, very tired.”
Another page turn. “February 13, 2036. Yesterday a strange man named Sam and his dog without a name showed up out of nowhere.”
