by Eric Keller
All of that hope was taken away by that one unforeseeable accident. Looking back, like he had done innumerable times before, Harrison always thought he should’ve taken precautions, moved slower and kept some cash in reserve for emergencies. The Bombs made it all moot anyway but, still, he wished things would’ve gone differently.
Taking a sip of pine needle tea, Harrison stood from his table and stepped to the darkened window. In the starlight, the overgrown rubble of Thule was merely shadows of shadows. Nothing forever in every direction. Something needed to change, the Bank could not continue to operate the same way for long.
He put his hands on the cool glass and leaned in, staring into the endless blackness. He managed to carve out an oasis for the hint of a civilization, a sliver of an empire for him to run. He wondered if his failure at the trucking company tainted his views of how to manage in the new world. From day one, he had been cautious. Limiting the people allowed in. Not expanding beyond the one building, not venturing out too far. Keeping it all compact, not wanting to overreach.
The attack was an unmitigated disaster but from disaster is borne opportunity. Harrison knew that, but he had not taken full advantage. He could have used all the emptiness created by chaos to create a new world. He should’ve thought bigger, taken greater chances and made something more worthy of his control, something more in his image, something more than this ramshackle gang of thugs constantly near starvation.
Turning from the dark window, Harrison grabbed the map and unfolded it. Paper maps were a rarity, but they had managed to scavenge this one from an army truck. Very detailed, showing every road and creek with the numerous creeks far outnumbering the few roads. Over the years, Harrison carefully added to it, writing in the places where they had found supplies and encountered other survivors.
Leaning over the table, scouring the map, taking it all in for the thousandth time, he knew there must be other survivors out there, other places, colonies he could add to his isolated and battered empire. He would wait until the patrol returned, see what they encountered and if Clarence handled Hale. Then he would dictate a new mandate: expansion.
CHAPTER TWENTY
JUNE 25, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE
With the injured men, the cart and piles of supplies, it took six days for the patrol to reach Thule. A thoroughly unenjoyable six days for Jacob. The youths from Malden eventually mastered bike riding, discovering it to be an efficient but painful way to travel. The tension inflicting the group after Hale’s death never completely receded while the lecherous looks and comments regarding Tina increased daily. Now, though, the end was near, and Jacob forced his tired legs to push harder, pedaling up next to Tina.
“Hey, they say an hour, and we’ll be there.”
Tina, working extra hard to balance the loaded bike with her one hand, said, “Not sure if that’s good news or bad. My ass is beyond numb, and I want to get off this damn thing for good but, Jacob, I’m worried about what things are going to be like there. I doubt these men come from a welcoming place.”
With Jacob unable to think of anything reassuring to say, the two rode in silence, their breathing heavy as they pushed the bikes up the rough trail. Jacob’s initial excitement about seeing Thule had quickly faded as they traveled as he too grew more and more concerned about his traveling companions and those they were going to meet.
The night Hale was killed, he and Griff were brought by Clarence to stand awkwardly before the others to tell them about the tracks they saw in the mud. Occasionally, as they traveled, they were grilled by a furious man named Milo who clearly did not believe them as he asked accusatory questions and scowled whenever Clarence tried to intervene. Jacob had never been part of such an intense situation, and he needed to muster all his fortitude to keep from running away.
Thankfully, no one but Clarence and Milo seemed overly interested in talking to Jacob. Some of the men seemed to enjoy Griff’s jokes, but they did not answer his questions about Thule, merely shrugging them off and saying they would see when they got there. Jacob got the impression that the men thought saying too much might anger one side or the other of the unseen battle.
As Tina had worried, the men did have an especially keen interest in her. She tried to keep her distance as much as possible and always stayed close to him and Griff. But Jacob figured, given their staring, it was only Milo’s interventions and threats that kept the others from being overtly abusive. After the night, when he heard the men coming up to where they were sleeping, Jacob raised his concerns over Tina’s safety with Clarence, and he said that, in Thule, Tina would be allowed to stay with Griff and Jacob if that’s what she wanted as if this statement explained completely.
Back then, the comment placated him but, over time, worry that Clarence might be misleading them soaked into Jacob’s consciousness. The others seemed to hate him, or at least not respect him, often mocking or outright berating him while his answers to questions about Thule became more and more vague the closer they got. And, on the rare occasions when someone else started to converse with Jacob or Griff or Tina, Clarence always appeared and ruined the conversation.
They crested a slight rise on their bikes and one of the men up front called out, “Home sweet, home.”
Unconsciously stopping his bike and almost toppling over, Jacob stared. For his entire life, he heard stories of Thule. Fictionalized images mixed with his blurry childhood memories and a few faded photographs to create an awesome vision of the place. Buildings of steel and glass, taller than the tallest trees. Bright lights coming on with the touch of a finger. Heat poured from holes in the walls without wood or smoke. Places where a person could get whatever they want to eat or drink merely by asking. An unbelievable marvel of mystical proportions. This place laid out before him appeared nothing like the magical pictures filling his mind.
Of course, he knew of the attack, of the Bombs. The story of his family’s escape on the Longest Night was Malden’s purist legend, and other survivors told similar tales. But he thought an attack meant, at worst, a forest after a fire with some trees standing but burnt. Now, laid out beneath him was a grassy plain dotted with short, scrubby pines and shrubby willows amongst the occasional collapsed wall or twisted metal tower. Far off he could make out a few squat structures standing grey and lifeless.
Tina sighed, “We should have tried to go home.”
Griff pulled up beside them and let out a low whistle, saying, “Really? This is it? Malden’s got more buildings than this mess.”
As they surveyed the debunked myth in near shock, Clarence appeared from behind without them noticing his approach. Jacob worried the strange man heard and understood Griff’s careless comment as Clarence merely said, “Not much to look at, is it? You guys probably got nicer buildings back at the farm with your parents, hey?”
Trying to sound casual, Griff answered, “Yeah, there’s a house and couple of outbuildings. Whatever. It’ll be nice to get under any roof again.”
“Well, you haven’t been let inside yet. But as I said, I think you three could be helpful to us so I’m going to talk to Harrison for you. I’m sure he’ll take my recommendation. Oh, and people might have more questions about what happened to Hale out there, but as long as you tell the truth about what we saw like you’ve been doing that’ll all go fine for you.”
Confused by the last statement, and deeply wondering why he ever listened to this man in the first place, but out of other options, Jacob said weakly, “Ok, thanks.”
. . .
After five days, the bruises and soreness had faded, and Kinma could now move without flares of pain constantly reminding her of the ordeal. Regardless, the memories burned brightly in her mind, both when she was awake or asleep.
S
he had known the Vikings would not injure her too badly because that would anger Harrison as she was now a commodity, ruining her would be like breaking an important machine or spilling a stew. So, the Vikings’ repeated abuse did not cause her to fear for her physical wellbeing. Instead, the true fear came from worrying that shame and disgust would rob her of all dignity, strip her of an identity such that she would no longer truly exist.
After one night and half a day, the Vikings tired of her and Kinma had crawled out of the filth, wrapped a crusted blanket around her battered body and, with uncontrolled sobs of relief and despair wracking through her, she ran stumbling through the dim halls to her apartment. Opening the door to her former sanctuary, she wanted only to be alone, however, she discovered Luke sitting at the table, peacefully reading a book by the window.
While Luke clearly viewed Hale as a father figure, Kinma was not so foolish to think he thought of her as a mother figure. She saw the way he looked at her when he thought no one would see and it was the way of men looking at women, not the way of sons looking at mothers. Regardless, she thought it was only teenage lusting and that he would never harm her out of respect for Hale. However, when she entered, clutching the filthy blanket to her chest, smelling heavily of sex, her legs and shoulders bare, the young man looked at her like a starving man eyeing someone else’s dinner.
After endless hours of vainly fighting monsters in order to retain a sliver of pride, she could not handle fighting a perceived friend. Enough was enough, and her last vestige of adrenaline-fueled energy disappeared. She fell to her bruised knees as a wave of intense crying overtook her. Apparently seeing the normally strong person so suddenly vulnerable shocked away Luke’s animal instincts. Instead of doing whatever he had been envisioning, he hurried forward and helped her inside the apartment.
That first day, Luke had prepared her a basin of warm wash water and brought her dinner before graciously leaving her alone when she asked. Later, he clumsily explained how Harrison decided they should live together with the new arrangement being explained to Hale on his return.
Hale. She had push all thoughts of him away during the abuse but now he flooded back to her. Kinma’s tormented mind could not contemplate all the angles, but she confidently knew in her soul that, instead of being the one dealt with like Harrison and Luke planned, Hale would deal with them, all of them. And she would eagerly help.
At first, Luke continued to give her distance to heal and recover, but after a few nights, he climbed into the bedding nest in the bathroom with her. She was able to politely fend him off by saying she remained too sore, but his fumblings became more aggressive over time. She mainly used a technique of sleeping at odd times coupled with lengthy trips into the woods to avoid him as much as possible. She knew Luke could not complain to anyone about her lack of cooperation as this would make him look terribly weak. She also knew, before too long, his desire and pride would overcome the vague remnants of his polite morality, and he would take by force what Harrison had granted him by decree.
After surviving the Vikings, the idea of this child, a child she helped raise, mistreating her could not be tolerated. She knew she would do everything in her power to stop him. If Luke wanted to take what Harrison thought he could give away, it would cost the boy all she could deal out. Still, she knew such an attack would not end well for her so she continued to avoid Luke as much as possible while silently pleading with all the unseen forces in the universe that Hale would get home before she needed to act.
This morning, with the pleading mantra constantly running through Kinma’s mind as she worked on making candles in the apartment, a quick knock on the door was preceded immediately by a breathless Seanah bursting in. Excitedly the woman squealed, “Kinma, Kinma! They’re back. They’ve been spotted up on the hill.”
Her silent plea answered, Kinma darted towards the door, but Seanah stopped her and said, “No, Harrison ordered me to come and tell you to stay in here.”
Confusion and anger struck Kinma. “Why?”
“’Course he didn’t tell me why, but I’m guessing he wants to talk to Hale right away, get an inventory of the supplies or whatever. They got a whole wagon load with them.”
Seanah bolted back out of the apartment as quickly as she had come. A sharp pang of fear struck Kinma. She greatly doubted Harrison’s motives were so banal as wanting to know how many potatoes Hale had found.
. . .
The Bankers all poured out of the building, gathering out front to welcome back the patrol and check out the new supplies. Harrison stood to the back, allowing the crowd to congratulate the returning men. Murmurs of conversation increased to yells of excitement as the heavily laden patrol moved into view.
Harrison instinctively counted heads, but with injured men not on their own bikes, he could not be certain of the number. Plus they may have brought back a woman or someone of skill which would skew the numbers, again Harrison cursed the vague message Hale sent back with Taco. However, as they neared, he saw to his satisfaction that Hale did not appear to be leading them back.
The cheers of the Bank increased even further as people moved forward to help the patrol the last hundred yards. However, celebration turned into rumblings of concern as they realized the leader of the patrol was absent. Angry, worried questions were flung about. Milo dramatically climbed off his bike to loudly tell the story, a herald making a practiced proclamation to the whole village.
“Hale, always one to do his duty, went to keep watch the night before we left. When he did not return, we went out and found him, only fifty yards from where we slept, an arrow in the back and his throat cut. We hunted in the dark, seeking the cowardly attackers but found nothing.”
Milo turned his gaze to Clarence and continued, “Someone shot an arrow into his back and then slit his throat, someone no one saw coming or going-”
Harrison cursed under his breath as Clarence, the fool, stepped up, lifting a hand to interrupt as if announcing himself to be guilty of the accusation, and exclaimed, “Your claim we saw no sign of attackers is false. We came across tracks of men clearly fleeing. Surely we missed some bastardly Survivalists who came back to seek cheap revenge for our massive victory.”
Milo countered, “No Survivalists were missing, and all we saw were some scuffs in the dirt that you happened to be the one to find.”
Angrily, Clarence said, “No, again you lie. These two, these two right here discovered the tracks with me.”
With that, he pointed at two strangers. Teenagers. One darker complexioned, one redheaded and pale. Well dressed and thin but not with the normal gauntness of feral survivors, looking especially frightened and wide-eyed. Standing next to them was a girl who stared at her feet, hair falling over her face, her left arm ending in a stump at the elbow. Harrison shook his head, the idiots brought back children.
“Sure, sure. Those scared forest mice with you said they saw the tracks you found. That’s all worth a handful of fresh shit as far as I’m concerned.”
Understanding the import of the ad hoc trial happening before him, Harrison strode forward, slipping through the grimy crowd before Clarence could continue losing the debate. With calm coolness, Harrison said, “Alright, obviously, the failure of Hale to return is a great loss for the Bank. A founder of our society and friend to all of us, a true leader we could rely upon is gone, and we’ll mourn his loss. However, we knew this was a dangerous mission and let’s not overlook his last victory, a victory all of you who did return deserve congratulations for.”
With that, the Bankers moved forward at his urging and began unloading the eagerly awaited supplies. Soon, going through the new found treasures overwhelmed any sadness or questions over Hale. Harrison caught Clarence’s eye and pointed with his head up towards his apartment. Despite looking very tired, the pilot
nodded his agreement before giving Harrison an odd, annoying smirk.
. . .
Luke strode into the apartment. The seriousness on his face looked out of place, an upset toddler trying to hold back a tantrum and appear tough. Waiting impatiently, Kinma heard the too-brief cheering from below and then vainly strained to hear anything further, unable to see from the window. Worried, she hurried over to Luke, asking, “What happened? Where’s Hale?”
With sharp coldness, he said, “He’s dead. Killed on the patrol.”
She heard the words but could not believe them. “No, you’re lying. Taco came back. He was fine. He wrote me. You’re a liar!”
Luke grabbed her wrists as she began to hit his chest. Not a sizable man but well-built from a lifetime of labor and Kinma was unable to gain any freedom from his grasp. Sounding distant, he said, “I don’t lie. Dead. Shot in the back, throat cut. Milo said it himself.”
“No. He was fine. He is fine.”
With annoying ease, Luke pushed her into the apartment. Enraged by this treatment and baffled by the horrible news, Kinma yelled, “Stop. Stop! You need to tell me what happened.”
“Hale is gone. That’s the reality. You’re completely mine now.”
His voice sounded terrifyingly inhuman. Luke spun her around and roughly pushed her against the kitchen counter. Kinma’s yellow toque tumbled off her head to the floor as the edge of the counter dug into her stomach. Luke pushed down on her, bending her over before he clawed at her pants while growling, “No more waiting. No reason to.”
