by Eric Keller
The aluminum boat brought by Boris and Samantha to Malden, now with numerous patches, was stored up by the tree line. Griff grabbed the axe from the water and tossed it up onto the grass as Tina and Jacob hurried towards the trees. They carefully and silently moved the simple craft back to the rushing, freezing water.
As they climbed into the boat, the powerful pull of the fast-moving river became obvious to Jacob. He shared a look with his friends, knowing they would have the same worry. Griff whispered, “Do we have to try?”
Jacob and Tina both mouthed the same answer, “Yeah.”
“Water’s really moving.”
Fear and uncertainty filled him, but Jacob only nodded sternly. They simply could not let that much meat get away. Jacob considered telling Tina she should wait on shore, but he knew she would not listen. He pushed the boat into the current and jumped in.
They immediately got sucked out to the middle of the river, instantly moving at an alarming speed. It was difficult to keep his balance, but Jacob pushed down his panic, moved into a crouch and leveled his bow at the elk as the boat rapidly neared them.
For a heartbeat, the animals merely looked at the strange sight hurtling down the river then, with a shiver, the cow turned and darted out of the water, heading for the brush with one calf immediately behind her. The smaller calf, front legs in the rushing water, stayed confused for an extra breath and Jacob fired.
His shot was off slightly, the arrow sinking into the animal’s shoulder rather than its neck. The calf tried to turn but stumbled, falling into the fast, frigid river. The stampeding water grabbed the fallen elk and pulled it in despite its struggles. Griff cursed, “Shit.”
With the excitement of the hunt, Jacob forgot their own peril as he nocked another arrow and commanded, “Hurry, get us in front of it.”
Using the boat’s oars, Griff and Tina fought the current with all their strength, managing to pull the boat over a few feet, so they passed near the flailing elk. Jacob fired into the frothing water and then fired again. The struggling animal stilled, floating calmly along the speeding current. Jacob said, “Ok, I got it. Slow us down.”
Panic filled Tina’s voice, “Slow us down? Are you kidding?”
Jacob hurried to sit next to Griff and grabbed onto Tina’s oar. Plunging the wood into the water, it took all his might not to have it yanked out of their hands, however, the extra drag did slow the boat enough to let the elk catch up to them. “Ok, it’s getting closer. Hold on.”
Through gritted teeth, Griff said, “You know we’re very quickly getting very bloody far from home.”
An obvious point. They would need to get the boat and the elk back to Malden and, at this crazy speed, the upriver return distance was getting long in a hurry. But Jacob could see his kill floating behind them, and that’s all that mattered to him. He imagined dropping the carcass at the door of the Lodge as everyone came rushing to clap him on the back and to thank him for the fresh meat. He could hear his dad’s praise and see his mom’s approving look. More importantly, he could picture Louisa seeing him as a man instead of the boy she grew up with.
He growled, “We’re getting that goddamn elk. Pull on the damn oars.”
. . .
Harrison watched from the corner, hidden in the deep shadows left by two weak lanterns. He knew the twins were not actually stupid, they simply chose not to waste energy thinking too deeply, finding it more fun to live on pure impulse.
Harrison found them two weeks after the Bombs, living in the rubble of the officers’ quarters, burning furniture and files for heat while drinking bar supplies for sustenance. Despite their difficult situation, the two heavily muscled men with long blonde hair and standing nearly seven feet, remained shockingly fit. Also, they did not seem concerned that strange men were pointing rifles at them. Harrison immediately knew they could be valuable additions. Thankfully they both agreed to his proposal of joining with matching shrugs.
Initially, they stayed to themselves but seemed contently loyal to Harrison mostly because he made sure they were well fed and well rewarded. Over time, they talked more with their European accents Harrison could not place and, while they only spoke in vagaries, it became clear they were military trained by some unnamed entity and were sent to places where conflicts erupted to engage in unnamed tasks.
Upon seeing their highly skilled violence and the innate way the twin brothers fought together as one massive beast, the other men gave them a wide berth and were especially careful to not offend them. Harrison remembered the night, after a particularly savage encounter with a truckload of survivors which the twins dominated, a brave soul, overcome with the adrenaline of winning a fight, took one look at their immense, blonde beards covered in the blood of others and nicknamed them the Vikings. The other men laughed, but the twins merely glared at this attempt at inclusion before both striking drown the man in perfect unison and stomping him to death. Only after the murder did the twins discuss name between themselves and decide it was acceptable.
Despite the occasional outburst like this, Harrison figured they were content at the Bank. They clearly enjoyed violence and were smart enough to realize life at the Bank put them in a great position to engage in that pastime with little chance of any negative repercussions. Plus, Harrison knew enough to ensure the tasks he had them perform involved indulging in the instinctive behaviors they craved.
Tonight, the Vikings had cornered Kinma at the end of the second-floor hallway which served as the makeshift laundry room. In the dimness, Harrison could not make out her features, but it appeared that she was doing a decent job of maintaining her composure despite the massive threats moving in on her. One twin, chuckled, “You think Hale’ll make it back? Them Survival pricks are pretty tough. Got lotta of guns too.”
The other Viking took a step forward, shoving a clothes’ rack out of his way and added, “I’m ok that he up and decided to leave us at home like a fool, for sure he gonna get killed without us there. Suppose he wanted us to look out for his wifey wife while he was away?”
Kinma casually ducked under a line as she stepped back, the hanging blankets providing only pretend protection as she quipped, “Nah, I think he left you two guys behind because you’d eat too much out there.”
Impressive banter considering the situation. The Vikings were proud of their appetites despite it being an odd thing to take pride in when food was scarce. Her friendly jab a smart attempt to dissuade the impending attack. While both brothers laughed, they continued to move slowly toward her.
There was nowhere for her to go. They could have easily rushed her, but Harrison figured they were enjoying the stalking, a form of entertainment. Moving in unison, as usual, they knocked the clothesline down, the damp blankets crumpling to the floor, leaving Kinma standing with her back to the wall and nothing between her and them.
For a moment, both merely stared at her hungrily. She looked tiny as she tried not to cower. Harrison ensured the two brutes never lacked for female companionship but, like most, they always desired that which they had not had before. One feinted to slip out to her left causing her to turn and kick out at empty air with a pathetic, feminine grunt. The other Viking, anticipating his brother’s move, slipped in behind and pinned her arms to her sides as he lifted her into the air.
Feet dangling, Kinma struggled in the huge man’s grasp and managed to land a booted foot against the other’s chest. One brother laughed at the other as he struggled for a moment to catch his breath before laughing himself and then perfunctorily punching Kinma in the stomach. She doubled over but kept weakly kicking.
Having witnessed innumerable struggles since the Bombs, Harrison could tell the difference between one borne from panic and one borne from rage. Strangely, this struggle seemed borne of both. Kinma mana
ged to stomp the Viking holding her with a boot heel, cutting off his laughter.
With both now struck an annoying blow, they were done playing for fun. The Vikings roughly slammed her against the wall as if they were slapping a freshly caught fish against the side of a boat. Each grasped the neck of her shirt, pulled her back up and, together, ripped the worn fabric apart. Her sweaty skin shone in the dim light, and she let out a scream of frustration. One Viking clapped a heavy hand against her throat, pinning her to the wall while the other fought to loosen her belt as Kinma pumped her knees like pistons.
Another punch, more pressure on her throat, a harsh slap. The jeans were pulled down. Finally, her legs stopped struggling as rough hands pulled down her underwear. Sobbing. Harrison heard sobbing. He stepped from the shadow.
“Alright guys, that should be enough.”
He spoke calmly but used a commanding tone. The Vikings stopped and looked over their respective shoulders at him. Identical confusion clear on their identical faces. One of them said, “What are–”
Interrupting, Harrison said, “You head on out of here. Leave her with me.”
The Vikings must have been wondering if they had been set up. Harrison casually rested his hand on the sidearm on his hip. His gun held their last seven bullets. Normally the gun stayed locked in his room with the invaluable ammunition always in his pocket as he did not need to constantly remind people of his power. Today he wanted the reminder, clear and visible and obvious.
“It’s ok. Go.”
The hulking men slipped by Harrison but hesitated to tower above him for an instant, a silent indication from the violent men that they were dissatisfied. A year ago such a display would not have been dared, even by them. Harrison would need to do something to repay them for his deceptive tease of telling them to attack her and then stopping them. However, that was a problem for a later time. He turned his attention to Kinma.
In the brief delay, Kinma managed to pull her underwear and pants back on, and she was standing defiantly.
“You injured?”
She merely glared at him. Kinma would know he put the Vikings up to the attack as there was no reason for him to be in the laundry area. He was sending a message, telling her he could do whatever he wanted with her. Harrison moved forward and said, “He’s not coming back.”
Wrath filled her face as she spat out, “You don’t know that. You don’t know.”
“I do know. And you need to decide, right here, right now, how you are going to deal with that certainty.”
The hatred in her eyes could almost be felt physically. Perhaps he misjudged this woman, underestimated her spirit. Perhaps she would not bend as he hoped. Her popularity was not as powerful as Hale’s, but she was well-liked for her common sense, her strength and her link to Hale. Further, he could not merely exile or kill an attractive woman, the men would revolt at the wastefulness. Her voice might become even louder when Hale became a martyr so Harrison decided he would be better off if she spoke in unison with him.
Her rage seemed to dissipate somewhat underneath fearful concern, her hands moved to cover her chest, and she asked sternly, “How do you know? How do you know he’s not coming back?”
“I know. It’s taken care of.”
Lowering her gaze slightly, Harrison was surprised when, instead of arguing, Kinma calmly asked, “What are my options?”
“You don’t speak out against me, and I pair you with a decent man. You say anything I don’t like, and you become communal property with no protection from me.”
Her eyes flicked up to his. The life of an unpaired woman was beyond miserable. Those women abandoned into communal purgatory became living, breathing tragedies. For a moment, they merely looked at one another before she lowered her gaze, gathered up her clothes and hurried away.
CHAPTER NINE
JUNE 7, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SEVEN
With a soft thunk, the elk’s hoof hit the aluminum of the boat. Through force of will Jacob, Griff and Tina had managed to slow the boat enough. Now they needed to get the animal onboard.
Releasing the oar he shared with Tina, Jacob said, “Ok, hold as best you can, I’ll try to haul it in.”
Tina put the oar in her armpits, wrapped her good arm over her stump and hunched over the oar as she grunted her ascent.
Moving carefully to the prow of the boat, Jacob knelt, but, with the icy water rushing about, the elk kept disappearing and reappearing. Leaning far over the hull, his heart pounding, he plunged his hands into the water and managed to get his freezing fingers around a foreleg. Pushing against the metal of the boat, his legs pulling with all his waning strength, the elk slid out of the moving water, landing on top of Jacob as he fell back.
He heard Griff cheer as he tried to catch the breath being pushed out of him by the weight of the wet, dead animal. They did it. The calf would not be a lot of meat but it enough for a decent feast, a feast where Jacob would be the man of honour. He began to struggle out from under the corpse when it twitched. Then it twitched again.
The once dead calf, apparently rejuvenated by being out of the icy water, started kicking and clamouring. A hoof struck Jacob in the stomach and then in the thigh as the elk made its way onto uncertain feet. With a lurch and a jump, the terrified calf charged straight over Griff, bounded off Tina’s back and into the water.
Unsure what happened, Jacob stumbled to his knees and crawled to Griff who had slumped over. Blood gushed from a gash crossing his forehead. His friend appeared conscious, but his eyes did not seem to be focussing. Panic atop of panic. Grabbing his friend by the shoulders, Jacob shook him, gently at first, then harder.
Tina moved beside him, apparently unhurt. “Careful, don’t shake him too hard.”
Jacob stopped, and Griff’s blurry eyes blinked a few times as he muttered, “Enough, damn it, enough, my head’s gonna split.”
Relief as Jacob asked, “You ok?”
Griff wiped at the blood pouring down his face, looked at his red hand and said, “Doesn’t look like I am, but I think so. You two?”
Soreness in his ribs and leg but Jacob did not think anything was broke. “Hurt but ok.”
Tina said, “Going to have a decent bruise on my shoulder but that’s it.”
Sitting back up Griff, asked, “What the hell happened?”
Jacob pulled off his scarf and started to wrap it around Griff’s head. “Guess the elk was only stunned or something. Once he got out of the water and felt something solid under him, he decided to bolt.”
Tina asked, “Damn it, where’re the oars?”
“What?”
Looking around, she said, “The oars. I dropped my damn oar, and I don’t see Griff’s.”
Frantically looking around, Jacob could not see them in the boat. Looking out into the water, he could see the elk behind them thrashing about the ice floats as it vainly fought against its new found freedom, but the oars were nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, he said, “They’re gone.”
Holding the scarf to his damaged head, Griff said, “Yeah. That went about as shitty as possible, didn’t it?”
Tina, looking back towards Malden, responded, “Yeah. I hate agreeing with you, but I think that’s a fair assessment.”
With no oars and the boat in the middle of the wide river, they were helpless to stop. They sat in silence with their injuries and watched the trees on the distant banks speeding by, the powerful current inexorably pulling them farther and farther away from home.
. . .
Closing the door of the apartment behind her, Kinma locked the deadbolt knowing it to be pointless as Harrison kept keys to ever
y lock in the Bank. She leaned against the wall and let herself slip to the floor. Fear or anger or humiliation should have been the dominant emotions, but they were all absent. All she felt was a deep loneliness.
She came north as a teenager with her mother, a strong single parent who took a job cleaning work camps in the frozen dark because it paid slightly better than cleaning hotel rooms in the city and, more importantly, because it would remove her rebellious daughter from the bad influences of urban life. At the time, Kinma hated the idea of moving to the wilderness, away from her friends and civilization but, once she got over her adolescent rage, she came to appreciate the outdoors. Life was far from easy, but she tempered the hardships with camping, fishing, and hikes. The night the war started, she was sleeping next to a robust campfire, nestled in a thermal sleeping bag inside a cave-like crevice a good four miles from Thule. She heard the Bombs and knew enough to stay put, far away from the chaos.
Two scared soldiers, wandering about confused and hungry, found her a few days later. Kinma would have viewed them as a threat, but they seemed far more interested in the soup of dried lentils she was making than any type of malice. They explained to her how the world had ended and all hopes of finding her mother painfully faded.
One of them was heavily feverish with flu and died within days. The other soldier seemed to have been entirely numbed by whatever horrors he saw before escaping the attack. She and the traumatized young man stayed in the cave, living off her wilderness skills for almost a year.
The attackers from the Bank came at dusk. The firefight brief. The young soldier firing blindly as a half-dozen men shot him down from all directions. Kinma immediately scurried deeper into the crevice where she remained hidden while the men looted her friend’s corpse and took all their supplies. Huddled as far back as possible she saw a flashlight beam wave across the cramped space.
A man’s face. A scruffy, reddish beard and grey, icy eyes. Their gazes met, and Kinma feared she was about to be killed or, likely, worse. He lifted his finger to his lips, telling her to remain silent and then stepped back.
