by Eric Keller
Seanah shook her head saying, “If the men around her spent more time trapping and less time bickering with one another we’d all be a hell of a lot better fed.”
Alice added, “They all say it’s boring. Walking around out there like that, looking for rodents.”
“Right, ‘cause washing dishes all damn day is nonstop excitement.”
For an hour, the three of them gossiped and joked as they went through their tasks. Gratitude filled Kinma as the pointless conversation buried her unpleasant thoughts. They were laughing about how one of the older women kept hoarding matches even though there were numerous, nearby flames burning at any given time when a loud knock on the door interrupted them.
They all turned to see Tall Tony standing in the doorway. Tony was in his late fifties with rotten teeth, a weepy eye and an aversion to soap. Kinma sensed Alice and Seanah tense up. His eyes flitted over Kinma as if he was checking out a used car on a sales lot before, unashamedly, he pointed at Alice with a grimy finger which he curled slowly.
As Alice took her time wiping her hands, Seanah softly rubbed her back. Eventually, Tony said, “C’mon. Hurry up.”
Alice moved out of the kitchen with the dirty man and Seanah began to softly cry. Wiping her eyes, she said to Kinma, “Sorry, sorry. It shouldn’t make me cry after all this time but it does.”
Unsure how to react, Kinma dumbly asked, “Does that happen often? I mean, does that sort of request come up a lot?”
Seanah, her eyes moist, looked at her with astonishment on her face and said, “Yeah, of course. Couple of times a day at least. It’s awful, at first you hope whoever shows up will choose any other woman in the room, so you don’t have to go. And then, when they do pick someone else, you get this great sense of relief because it’s not you, but then, this powerful guilt at feeling relief over someone else’s suffering hits you.”
Seanah dabbed her eyes with a sleeve and continued, “I get off a bit easier ‘cause I got men to stay with but doesn’t make me immune, I get picked once in a while, normally when someone wants to piss off someone else, a pawn in a juvenile power struggle. Anyway, I guess I should be glad. But, you know, though, it’s kinda funny, the act actually gets easier over time, I mean you don’t want to do it, but you learn to go numb or whatever. Guess your dignity can only take so many beatings before it dies… But the guilt at wanting the awfulness to land on someone else, well, that hurts every time.”
Unsure what to do, Kinma put her arm around Seanah. “I think that’s natural. You’ve been thrust into a horrible situation, of course, you’re going to look out for yourself, that’s only fair.”
“No. None of this is fair.”
With that, they went back to the chores, but now worked in silence with Kinma often glancing at the empty doorway.
. . .
For a long time, Milo, Taco and Hale watched the scene in the woods without speaking. The two guards occasionally barked a command at the workers but, in general, the toil was done without speaking. Finally, Hale crawled back from under the pine and the three of them moved around through the forest to the ridge where the others waited.
“So, what’s the plan?” Clarence asked immediately.
Everyone gathered around to listen as Hale crouched down and explained, “They seem to have captured some survivors and are using them as slaves.”
Hale and Milo explained, as best they could, the scene they witnessed as Taco nodded along. When the tale finished, Clarence jumped back in, “Great, maybe we’ll have some allies. Let’s get moving.”
Milo interjected for Hale, “Didn’t you hear? They got rifles, and we don’t know how many of ‘em there are yet.”
Using hushed voices, a ridiculous debate amongst the men broke out. Hale knew the patrol did not have enough information to make a decision, but he let the discussion play out, hoping to give the illusion they were all involved in the process. Eventually, he broke in and said, “We wait. We spread out, stay out of sight and watch. Count their rifles, try to keep track of where they are. Also, watch for anything you think might let us turn these prisoner folks to our advantage.”
Clarence started to protest, but Hale cut him off, “Milo, get everyone organized, circle the settlement. If any of you get seen, run west to that fork in the creek and hide there. When we think it’s safe, we’ll come get you there.”
Milo took over the more detailed instructions, and Hale crawled back up the ridge to resume his watch and to try to understand the strange village.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JUNE 10, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY
The clear, silver disc of a full moon hung over the river. Jacob figured their luck finally changed when they stumbled into a patch of early spring clover and dandelions as soon as they escaped across the ice bridge allowing them to feast until their stomachs hurt. Plus, with an abundance of deadfall around, they were able to build a massive fire to burn away the chill ingrained in their bones.
With their stomachs full, freezing to death no longer a threat and getting home now a possibility, humor-filled relief took over as they laid by the huge fire, staring at the star-filled sky. Griff laughed loudly, saying, “Man, I thought you were gonna stay out there forever. Kneeling on that mini-iceberg with water running all around, not sure if you should shit yourself or fall off before Tina reminded you that crawling is a thing.”
Not willing to take the ribbing silently, Jacob fired back, “My favorite memory of all of this is you hanging off that ice dam, kicking like a kid learning to swim and before Tina pulled you up like a half-drowned rat.”
Tina, hugging herself as the fever continued to send chills through her scrawny body said, “And, not a word of thanks from either of you bastards.”
Jacob moved next to her, saying, “Yeah, yeah, I guess I owe you a thank you for that.”
Griff said, “Put it in the ledger.”
They moved on to discussing what their story to Malden would be, knowing they needed a great explanation for why they lost the boat. Jacob leaned back and listened to Griff’s powerful imagination run. He instantly came up with a story of them seeing a ragged woman being attacked by bandits on the other bank. That idea got tossed aside for a story of them seeing a child on a log floating by. Deciding that was unbelievable, Griff moved on to a tale about them fighting off river pirates come to attack Malden.
While the tales were entertaining, none were helpful. Jacob knew, when they made it back, they would tell everyone what actually happened. Griff might be able to live a story, but he and Tina could not keep up that sort of deception. They would be forgiven for their mistake, mainly because their return would be seen as miraculous but, also, because the others would appreciate the value of attempting to get meat. Probably, after time passed, they would be chided for losing the boat but the mocking would be good natured, and they would have a great story to tell and re-tell.
A smile grew on Jacob’s lips. None of it matter. He would make it home, and he would see Louisa again, hold her again, make her laugh again and kiss her again. Perhaps, most importantly he would get to apologize for his behavior and ensure his last words to her were not “rabbit hutch.” More than warmth and real food, more than his bed or even his parents, he missed her, missed her with physical pain. He would make it home, and he vowed never to take anything about her for granted ever again.
When Griff finally ran out of funny stories justifying their departure, Tina returned them to reality, asking, “What’re we gonna do about being on the wrong side of the river with no boat?”
Griff answered, “Shit, as soon as I smell the stew pot in the Lodge, it won’t matter how fast the river’s running I’ll be able to swim–.”
The crack was sharp and sickening. Jacob bolted upright in time to see Griff slumping over. He scrambled to his feet, but before he could take a step to help his friend, his head erupted in blinding pain. He stumbled forward. For an instant, he felt intense heat from the huge campfire pushing up against him but before he could fall into the flames a stern hand grabbed his shirt collar, yanking him backward.
Jacob fell to the ground and lights swam around his eyes as powerful agony filled his head. He tried to force his wobbly legs to stand, but he heard someone calmly state, “No.” before a fresh agony smashed into his head and everything went black.
. . .
Taco, always able to sleep anywhere, softly snored next to Hale. The silver moon now huge in the sky, making him worried they would be too easily seen. He knew he should give up and try to sleep as well. For over two hours now they had seen no one outside. But in the long house in the middle of the settlement, weak lights remained burning, and he could see the occasional movement of silhouettes in the windows. Plus, if he strained, he thought he could hear something. Maybe singing. Maybe talking. Maybe only leaves rustling in the breeze but the sound intrigued him.
Without warning, the wide door opened spilling the glow of firelight into the yard. Blinking fatigue from his eyes, Hale moved his binoculars up to watch. Eight people, some carrying lanterns, walked slowly out. Now Hale could hear that the sound was a low, throaty chant. Following the first eight, a man in thin nightshirt was led out by an elderly woman with gleaming hair running down her back which looked silver in the moonlight. She held a thin rope tied around the man’s wrists. Trepidation seized Hale’s stomach, certain he was viewing an awful scene about to get worse.
He elbowed Taco, wanting another witness, and whispered, “Are you seeing this?”
Shaking himself awake, Taco silently took the binoculars, looked for a moment and then let out a low, whispered whistle.
The man with the tied hands appeared oddly heavy, the once familiar sight of even a slightly fat person now completely foreign after ten years of humanity living off the scraps of destruction. He could not tell his age in the shifting shadows, but he guessed past middle years by the way he cautiously moved at a shuffle.
The soft chanting stopped, and they formed a tight circle around the captor before gently pushing him to his knees. The white-haired woman seemed to be speaking, but Hale could not make out words. After a minute of this, one of them stepped forward and pulled the shirt over the man’s head revealing shockingly pale skin while the white-haired woman moved behind him and drew a heavy blade. It glinted for a second in the lantern-light and Hale had to catch himself from screaming out a warning.
Without hesitation, she raised the blade and swung, then quickly swung again, then again. Hale could not see the impacts through the shifting crowd but, when they dispersed, the naked man lay on the grass, his head five feet away from the rest of him. Blackness surrounded his white flesh as dark blood poured out onto the grass.
He did not want to see any more. He tried to hand the binoculars over to Taco, but he merely shook his head, smart enough to know he did not need a closer look at the horrendous scene. Hale reluctantly lifted them back to his eyes.
Leaving the lanterns sitting on the grass, the chanters silently and solemnly walked back inside as others came out. These new people, two men, and two women, strode with strange hopping strides, their ankles apparently tethered like the workers in the woods. They each carried a knife and plastic containers. Following the workers, came two unfettered men, each casually holding rifles.
The riflemen stopped twenty feet from the headless corpse, merely watching as the others silently knelt over the body. He did not want to acknowledge that he knew what was happening, but Hale knew even before they began the gruesome butchering.
Taco silently looked at him with confusion in his eyes, Hale could only whisper, “Jesus Christ. Where the hell are we?”
. . .
Greyness. Jacob opened his eyes but saw only blurry greyness. He could hear voices but could not focus enough to understand words. He lay on the damp ground, curled on his side. He tried to move, to get up but discovered his ankles and wrist were tightly tied. Confused panic flooded into him. After a few moments of forcing his breathing to slow as Sam taught him, he managed to force the fear down as he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated, trying to remember what happened.
Eventually, the memories came. He recalled crossing the ad hoc ice bridge. He recalled finding the clover and dandelions. He recalled building the massive fire with Griff and Tina. They stayed up talking and enjoying the heat. Something hit Griff, and then something hit him.
“Griff? Griff, you here? Tina?”
The words came out scratchy and quiet. Jacob opened his mouth to try again, but something smashed into his back thrusting every ounce of breath from him. “No talking.”
His eyes popped open at the blow, the pain chasing the blurriness from his vision, but he only saw ground. Sucking in dirt and pine needles, he tried to get air into his lungs. Someone laughing. Laughing at his anguished struggle.
When the weight left his back, he managed to pull in one breath, then another. Jacob rolled and forced himself to his knees. For a second he thought he would vomit as the world turned and tilted awkwardly around him but, after more deep breaths, reality righted itself. Three strangers. Two men and a woman. Two carrying rifles, one casually leaning on what appeared to be an axe handle.
Jacob stared at them. He could not recall the last time he saw a person whom, for all intents and purposes, he had not known all his life. Strangers, they were called strangers in the stories. Unknown people. He used to daydream about meeting strangers, about hearing of their life outside Malden. Dreams like these were relied on to break up the mundane days. Now he wished for nothing but for the strangers to go away.
Not wanting to stare at the unpleasant trio, Jacob carefully scanned the area. Ten feet away, curled in the fetal position, laid Griff. Not moving. Tina, her one good arm tied to her waist, was sitting up, looking down at her lap, her head nodding slowly. Jacob instinctively began to move towards his friends, but the woman hefted the butt of her rifle above him and asked, “You a slow learner?”
For a heartbeat, Jacob met her eyes. They were grey, metallic in the dawn light. Steel Eyes. Her skin tanned, her completely black hair cut short like a boy’s. He guessed she was not much older than him. Pretty but in an intense, unhappy way. Steel Eyes growled, “Stay on the ground.”
Not sure if he could endure another blow, Jacob sunk back down and lowered his head. But, when he figured the immediate threat passed, he risked a sideways glance over at Griff. His chest seemed to rise and fall minutely. At least he was breathing
For an eternity, he lay, his bound hands aching, his legs going numb, his eyes kept low. His attackers spoke to one another, but Jacob could not hear what they were saying. He occasionally caught a glimpse of them moving, and it sounded like they were eating, maybe passing a jug back and forth.
Finally, Griff let out a groan, miserably soft at first then louder and more agonized. Daring to lift his head a tiny amount, Jacob saw one of the men roughly pull Griff to his knees. His hands were tied behind his back, making him lean forward with his shoulders rolled back awkwardly. Dried blood covered his face like a mask making his eyes and teeth look freakishly white as he grimaced with pain. The man grabbed a handful of Griff’s red hair, tilting his face up as he said, “Alright, enough fun? Gonna behave now?”
For a second, Griff glared up at the man. Jacob silently pleaded with his friend to not do anything stupid. With a slight twist, Griff pulled away from the man’s grasp but lowered his head and nodded slowly at the dirt.
“Good. Real good. Maybe now that ya’ are awake we can have a
little talk. Sound nice?”
It did not sound nice to Jacob. The man talking was a massive monster. Shorter but with a thick body and a gigantic head that seemed to sit on his shoulders without the benefit of a neck. His face was covered by a black beard, and a mane of messy black hair poured out from a battered ball cap. The sight reminded Jacob of the lion in an old picture book they had at Malden, one he read and re-read a thousand times as a child. Jacob’s dizzy mind decided to name him Aslan.
“He asked you all a question.”
This came from the other man. Wiry and older with a matted, greying beard and a pointed nose holding up thick eyeglasses. His heavy, grey, duster-style jacket hung off thin shoulders down to his boot tops. This one reminded him of another book from his childhood where forest animals were the characters. Jacob’s dizzy mind decided to name him Mr. Badger.
Jacob merely nodded. Griff gave a noncommittal grunt. Tina appeared to be dozing. Aslan pointed at Griff, Mr. Badger and Steel Eyes roughly picked him up, hauled him over next to Jacob and dropped him down. Aslan calmly stepped over and, looming above them both, said, “So, we’ve got two young men and an amputee girl, well fed, wearing nicely mended clothes. No settlements ‘round here that we know of, but you must’ve come from somewhere, somewhere people cook and sew for you.”
New fear piled onto Jacob’s panic filled mind. These thugs wanted to find Malden. Cruel strangers with rifles wanted to find Malden. Neither he nor Griff spoke.
“Ahh, you see, that was meant to be a question, implied I’d guess you could say. Let me ask it slow and clear like. Where the hell are you from?”
