by Eric Keller
JUNE 26, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-SIX
Dawn filled the summer forest with beams of shimmering light, the air smelled earthy and fresh, a perfect morning for a hike. Marge walked next to Morreign who struggled to limp along.
“Thanks again for all these supplies, like I said, I’ll come back by some time when the trapping’s been good and share my take with all of you all.”
“Oh, yes, that’d be great.”
Marge continued to talk as they walked, discussing how she thought this fall would be a good one for catching gophers because she knew of a clearing running thick with pups. Morreign actually caught herself thinking of how Marge bringing back some meat would be helpful when she saw the footbridge up ahead and remembered why they were out there. Beneath the plank bridge, a wide creek rushed, filling the forest with white noise as they neared.
As she stepped onto the worn planks, Marge said, “Wow, don’t see a lot of bridges way out here. Did you folks build this or was it -”
The arrow silently pierced through her chest and the woman collapsed mid-word. Her knees made a heavy, hollow thump on the bridge before she toppled over on to her side. While the sight revolted her, Morreign knew her role in this sick play. She drew her hunting knife and rushed, not wanting the woman to suffer. Bending over her, she felt Marge’s neck. No pulse, no breath. Morreign let out her held breath in a sigh of relief as she gratefully put away the unused knife.
Boris Walker, bow in hand, stepped out from the trees and walked purposefully onto the other end of the bridge. Without hesitation, he calmly pulled the arrow from the woman’s ruined skull, wiped it in the grass and put it back into his quiver. He then opened the sack Marge carried and began taking out the supplies Morreign had given the lone woman.
A candle. Two jars of pickled carrots from last fall. Some old magazines. A patched-up sweater. That was all. The talkative woman near ecstatic to get these simple items. Items, ten years ago, Morreign would have mindlessly tossed out if they were in her way. Now, set out next to the dead woman, they reminded her how hard and horrible life became. Exhaustion struck her, and she sat down on the wooden bridge.
Boris remained unmoving and silent for quite some time, apparently waiting for her to get herself under control and back on her feet. When it became clear that this was not going to happen, he squatted down next to her. He did not look at her, he kept looking straight out at the rushing water.
“I hate this, I truly do, but it had to be done. She wouldn’t stay. She would have told others about us, likely a lot of others given the way she talked.”
Angered at the horrible situation, she barked back, “We don’t know that. We don’t know that. We could’ve explained…”
“We do know.”
She turned on him, but he continued to look at the water. She said, “You know, way back when we first got here, I could have killed Sam. He came out of nowhere with a gun on his shoulder. Leo and I were up on a roof and had a rifle trained on him. There was no pledge from him about staying. How well do you think we would’ve made it through all this without Sam? I could have killed him.”
“Could have.”
She waved at the corpse. “How’s this any different than that? How’s this different?”
Boris answered with annoying ease. “Back then you were desperate. You needed to take the chance that he might be able to help. Now, you need to protect what you’ve built. Situations dictate decisions, not wants. You made the right decision at the right time, both then and now.”
Her anger retreated. Boris was right. But it did not make this easy. She asked, “When? When can we stop protecting and struggling? When can we merely live the life we’ve built?”
Instead of answering, Boris asked, “Can I tell you a story?”
For an instant, this made Morreign want to lash back out, she did not think it was the time for storytelling, but she also did not want to return to dealing with the body, so she merely nodded.
“When I was a teenager, like twelve or so, we lived on the edge of a town. My mom, my younger brother and me. We didn’t have much of anything but my mom worked in a store and I did odd chores in the neighborhood after school so we had groceries and the lights stayed on. Can’t say it was easy, but it was nice. Really nice. We played games. We cooked dinners together. Curled up on our worn out couch in the evenings to watch old movies.
“As a kid, you don’t understand much about adult things. But, after some time, I think my mom, she wasn’t as content with the simple life as us kids were. She started saying she was going to get us a nicer place, nicer things. She let her guard down and started dating the boss from her job.”
Boris plucked a pebble off the bridge and tossed it into the rushing water before he said, “A mistake. At first, it was ok. He brought us things and got her better shifts at work. But the man was married, and his wife found out about his dalliance. My mom got fired, and we couldn’t afford rent. I was lucky, I came up here to live with my grandfather, and he got me interested in nature and science. My brother had to go live with a great aunt who could barely care for herself and he ended up in the army. I never saw my mom again.”
Boris turned and looked at her. “Life here is not easy, it’s not perfect, but it is good. Every decision, every choice has to come from that thinking. Will doing or not doing something risk what’s here?”
He pointed back at Marge’s body and said, “Unfortunately, that was the right decision.”
Boris stood and helped Morreign to her feet. They returned to their unpleasant but necessary task.
. . .
Kinma tried to get the unknown man to talk, but he was fading in out of consciousness. She tried to give him a drink, but the water mostly dribbled onto his chest. The only light in the makeshift cell came from the thin crack under the door so she could not determine the nature of his injuries, but his murmuring unconsciousness made it clear they were extensive. When the door swung in again, the flood of light into the tiny room blinded her but, from the size of the looming silhouette, she knew it was one of the Vikings.
She pleaded, “Please, he’s really hurt. He needs help.”
No response as someone else was pushed inside. The newcomer stumbled over them, crashing into the wall, the Viking slamming the door and sending them back into darkness. The man with his head on Kinma’s lap let out a groan and the new one, in a tired, distant sounding voice asked, “Is he going to die?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see a damn thing in here. He’s not talking.”
The only response from the shadows was a quiet, “Oh.”
Carefully laying the injured man onto the floor, she slid over to the newcomer. She put the water bottle in his hand, saying, “I’m Kinma. Are you hurt?”
He slowly took the water, and she heard him drink before he said, “My name’s Jacob. I’m hurt, but ok, I think. Bleeding but ok.”
The arrival of strangers confused her. If someone arrived and Harrison did not want to allow them in they were immediately escorted away or killed, not tortured and kept. She asked, “Where’d you guys come from?”
The unseen person snapped back, “Why does everyone need to know that?”
His voice carried an edge of anger, but he sounded young, more like a petulant child than an enraged man. She said, “Calm down, calm down. Only curious about how you two got here and what happened.”
“Oh, okay, sorry. We came in with the patrol, they found us after those survivalists people kidnapped us.”
Hale, this person saw Hale. She wanted to ask about him but decided this was not the time. She said, “Interesting trip. Harrison did this to you guys?”
Kinma sensed him nodding in the darkness and asked. “Why?”
She could hear the desperate worry as he answered, “Our home. He wants our home. We wouldn’t tell him where it is, and he hurt us. Our other friend, Tina, she died.”
Kinma had no words to comfort this unknown boy. If Harrison thought they came from somewhere worth finding, he would not give up until he got what he wanted. And, if got what he wanted, it would likely go very badly for whoever was at the boy’s home. A hopeless situation she could relate to.
They merely sat in the dark and, eventually, the quiet was replaced by the slow, sputtering breathing of the newcomer’s exhausted but uneasy sleep. Huddled back in her corner, alone again, curiosity over these strangers pulled at her. She stared at the crack under the door. Would they be delivering another person? Was there some other boy upstairs being tortured because he knows something Harrison wants to know? Or would the monster do that to her next? Or would he merely let her rot in this dark room?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JUNE 30, 2046
DAY THREE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTY
Everyone gathered outside, standing before their building. Harrison stood atop the steps in front main doors and looked out over the silent group.
Earlier, he had Clarence go into the ad hoc cell that, for the last four days, served to hold the boys and Kinma. He reported back that the darker man was fairly well recovered while the other was in bad shape. Predictably, Kinma remained unbent by her confinement.
This meant there was no reason to wait, the redhead might never recover, and he only needed one of them. The murmurs amongst the Bank were growing louder and louder, no longer murmurs really. All of it made worse by the death of the Viking and Milo’s constant harassment of Clarence over Hale’s death. The Bank was becoming a powder keg. Harrison decided to put his plan into action.
Speeches were rare in the Bank, Harrison preferring to lead through silent fear and occasional, drastic action, rather than words. As a result, he knew everyone awaited his message with great anticipation. He spoke with a strong, clear voice, “We’ve grown soft. After the Bombs, we were strong, venturing far and wide to take what we needed to survive in the new world. We were built to thrive through strength. Over time, however, we became complacent, allowing the ease of a life, safe and warm at home, to seduce us.”
He could see ripples of concern in the crowd as even the dullards realized this did not sound like a preamble to good news. However, Harrison also saw hard glares, some men, tired of his command, did not like being chastised like children. He could not push too far, not like in the past.
“I am as much at fault for this development as anyone, more so even. But, regardless of where the fault lies, we are in a dire position. Even with the return of this last patrol, our general stagnation has created a perilous situation that hampers our ability to become the great society we should become, that we deserve to become.”
A few mumblings. None knew the actual state of their supplies as Harrison kept that information segregated so only he held the complete picture and dire might be overstating the problem given the supplies taken from the Survivalists, but he knew imparting a sense of desperation would make people more willing to act as he needed them to.
He lifted his hands and said, “Thankfully, we have been granted an opportunity. The very opportunity we need. Three young strangers returned here with the last patrol. Myself, with Clarence’s guidance, suspected they carried useful information.”
Harrison looked out over the grimy crowd. A few scowls remained, others looking with worried anticipation, but everyone paying attention. He took a breath, time to bet on his bluff.
“They are from a secluded community where many survivors have established themselves. Stores of dried fish and meat have been put aside, heavily planted gardens are waiting to be harvested along with stockpiles of gathered goods. We are going to go and take what, as the strongest survivors, is rightfully ours.”
This got people talking amongst themselves, more excited murmurs than worried murmurs. He continued, “Do not think this will be easy. We are talking of traveling a far distance to attack a substantial, well-supplied community with the men there protecting not only their lives but the lives of their families. Regardless, I am sure we are better equipped and, as always, better in a fight. We will succeed, but it will take a great effort from all of us working together as it will be the greatest endeavor we’ve ever undertaken. But with this success, we will be re-established, ready to flourish as we deserve. Who amongst you will take on this challenge?”
Harrison carefully watched the gathering. Most cheered with true enthusiasm. A few cheered but seemed to be slightly hesitant in showing their support. A few merely stood and stared up at him silently. This response fit with his estimate and his plan.
He raised his hands to silence them and continued, “The trip will be lengthy and arduous, moving over unexplored territory. Many will need to go, and we will need to take much of our remaining supplies with us, leaving only a brave handful behind to maintain and protect what we’ve built here for our return. This will clearly stress our group as it will require as much from those remaining here as from those traveling, but I know all of you and I know all of you will do what needs to be done. Because of this, I am certain we will emerge stronger than ever.”
Turning his back on the group, Harrison listened to them cheer, as he strode confidently back inside.
. . .
Difficult to tell but Jacob figured they had been locked in the cramped room for three days, maybe longer. They spent much of the endless time trying to take care of his and Griff’s injuries. Jacob was hurt, but his wounds were relatively minor cuts and bruises. Griff, however, was far worse off, likely having suffered a severe concussion. In the dim light with no supplies, there was little they could do for him but, fortunately, he seemed to be slowly improving nonetheless. He awoke occasionally, but he did not really speak, mainly he muttered and moaned, only taking water when a cup was pressed to his lips.
While not tending to Griff, Jacob and Kinma passed their waking hours talking into the blackness. She told stories from growing up in an actual city. She told stories about years in and around work camps. And she told a couple stories of living amongst the rough characters of the Bank. A few times she tried to talk about Hale, who Jacob learned had been her husband of sorts, but grief would always have her stop before long.
Jacob felt guilty, certain his tales were far less entertaining in comparison. He could only tell the dull tales of growing up and living in Malden where most days were filled with gardening, schooling, fishing and wood chopping, with the evenings passed knitting and cooking mixed in with the occasional card game or rare party. Regardless, Kinma continually asked for more descriptions of this simple life, especially prodding him about his relationship with Louisa.
At first, Jacob was reluctant to talk about Louisa. He never talked to anyone about his feelings towards her, other than the occasional, guarded comment to Tina. However, once he began to talk, the words came faster and easier until they poured out freely. He found reliving the numerous happy moments with Louisa addictively enjoyable in a bitter-sweet way, like poking at a sore tooth with your tongue. Now, sitting on the floor next to Griff, listening to his slow breathing and staring through the darkness, he was telling the story of their first kiss.
“The snow was starting to fall, but it was still sort of warm, so it came down heavy and wet and slow like it does. I remember thinking how strange it was that everyone was inside dancing and laughing, celebrating the last of the potato and carrot harvest when all I could do was dread the oncoming winter. Back then, I was eleven, I hated winter. Dark all the time, no more fishing, no more soccer games, a hassle to go outside and do anything. Now, I apprecia
te that getting the food in and safely stored greatly alleviated stress for the adults because having it all in the bins safe from bugs, weather and disease, meant not starving to death. I learned that lesson the next winter when an early frost hit and we all got very hungry.”
Kinma responded out of the black, “No need to retell me that one, I’ve dealt with enough hunger and, you tell stories so well, listening to it again will make my stomach hurt.”
Jacob felt his cheeks warm at the minor compliment as he continued, “I could hear music coming from the Lodge, muted already by the thickening snow, as I sulked. I was mad, you know that kind of stupid, directionless angry kids get? Not wanting to face another winter was probably the main reason I was pouting but my dad also told me I’d been given firewood collecting duty for another Turn. I’d asked to be put on trapping, but the Committee decided I was too young.
“I didn’t hear her coming, she’s always been good at moving around real quiet like. She silently slipped her mittened hand into my gloved hand. Her face was shadowed ‘cause the only light was that coming from the Lodge’s windows and she kept looking straight forward. For the longest time, we merely wandered, not talking or anything, only shuffling slow circles through the fresh snow.
“Finally, when we heard people leaving the Lodge to head to their cabins and we knew we needed to head back or they’d come looking for us, she asked, ‘You know what I like most about winter?’ I think I growled something about there being nothing to like but she turned to look at me and continued with a shy smile, ‘At night, when the air has that crisp coldness to it, cuddling up together feels even nicer.’
“My pre-adolescent mind failed to understand. She was used to me not understanding things though, and she turned to face me and leaned forward, her cheeks glistening with melted snow. She rose up on her toes and kissed me. At first, our lips were cold but they warmed fast, and I managed to come to my senses, wrapping my arms around her waist and holding her as we pressed together. It probably lasted less than five seconds but a lifetime happened before she softly broke it off, spun away and skipped off into the snowy night.”
