While they worked, he talked. “I cannot send the cattle into that field because they get too close to the water. Gators will drag down a full-grown heifer.”
“Alligators. When Arkansas becomes Florida, what has Florida become?” Wolfe asked more to himself than the others.
“That is a good question,” Walton replied. “I think it is probably gone. Why else would the gators come up here?”
Jennifer tried to quiet the man, but he did not understand.
Wolfe frowned as he explained.
“I am sorry, Mister. I meant nothing by it. Hell, what do I know?”
“You know enough to keep this farm alive through it all: through the war, the refugees, scavengers, looters, and FEDCOM.”
“FEDCOM?” Walton asked with a small shake of his head.
“You have never had Federal Command soldiers through here?”
“No soldiers. Nobody like that. Federal Command? Are they the government or something?”
“Or something,” Wolfe agreed. “They were the only ones left with guns and military hardware, so they took over. Maybe they are western only, bordering on the Red Zone that cuts through the heart of the country.”
“Red Zone? You say a lot of funny things, Mister.”
“Radioactive. You are a blessed man, having no idea what that stuff is. Did you know there was a war?”
“Contrails in the sky. I figured something bad since everything was gone. Power mostly. Phones. Nothing worked, and then the people started streaming past.”
Wolfe’s ears perked up. “Which way, and what were they running from?”
“North at first, then south.”
Wolfe waited for the man to explain further.
“With the power out in Little Rock, they were running up the Arkansas to the next big town. After a few weeks, they started coming back, heading south. They were an unhappy lot on the second trip. Not sure if they were the same people. They did not look like anyone I wanted to talk to.”
“How come they never bothered you?” Wolfe asked.
Walton nodded toward the house where his shotgun was now hanging over the fireplace. “They did. We scrapped. They ran.”
Wolfe watched the man’s eyes. Sad eyes. A proud man who had done things he never thought he would have to do. Not all of them ran, Wolfe thought.
“Looks to me like there is a Mrs. Walton.” Wolfe redirected.
“Was. She died the second year after the fall. Something we took for granted until there were no more docs. The flu.”
Wolfe toed a clump of dirt with his boot until it broke apart. Dredging up bad memories seemed to be on the day’s menu. He had not intended to kick Walton while he was down. It had happened, nonetheless. “We shall dine well tonight, and tomorrow, we will go to Little Rock,” Wolfe stated.
“I would like to come with you, but I have the cattle to take care of. They need something every day. I cannot leave them alone.”
“Why would you want to come?” Billy Ray asked. “You have it pretty nice here. If we had this, we would not be looking to go anywhere else.”
“What do you know about cattle?”
“My papa had a hundred head,” Mary Lou replied.
“Trade you,” Walton said without hesitation.
Wolfe could only watch.
“Why would you want to come?” Billy Ray repeated his question from earlier.
“Too many memories.” Walton wiped his eyes and returned to the farmhouse.
Wolfe knew what he and Jennifer were doing. He had no idea about anyone else.
Chapter Thirteen
Come morning, Walton shook hands with Billy Ray and Mary Lou and nodded to Wolfe that he was ready to go.
“Simple as that,” Wolfe said.
“What else is there?” Walton hefted a pack onto his shoulders that was heavier than he should have been carrying, but Wolfe was not going to counsel him. The man was an adult and would figure it out soon enough. In this world, one did not need a bunch of personal possessions. Survival gear was all that mattered. For Wolfe, it was food, ammunition, and water. For Jennifer, it was a couple of changes of clothes and their cookware. Wolfe pushed a two-wheeled cart with smoked beef and pork, raw vegetables, and even a bag of rough-ground flour.
It reminded Wolfe of the cart filled with supplies he had liberated from the wilders back in the Red Zone of Idaho. Maybe it was Utah. The longer ago it was, the less he remembered the particulars. He focused on what was important—the here and now.
“Miss Jennifer?” he asked.
The young girl skipped to him and took his hand as Buddy made one last run at the cow pen to bark at the stock. Jennifer called him back, and they pushed off.
“Fifteen miles to get to the southern end of Lake Maumelle, and that puts us less than ten miles from the heart of Little Rock.”
Wolfe gave a curt nod and started walking. Jennifer caught up and stretched her strides to match his. Walton was a big man who looked not to have suffered the lack of food that nearly all other survivors had endured. Farmers with an eye toward defending what was theirs.
They were the wealthy ones in the new world.
Walton kept pace easily, his natural strides those of a hardworking man. Since he had ammunition and at Wolfe’s urging, he had left the shotgun behind. It would draw needless attention. Without being able to fire back, it was more risk than it was worth. Wolfe did not expect to run across a stash of 12-gauge ammunition. Their one AR-15 would have to suffice.
Wolfe’s bow was of limited use. He had two arrows he could rely on and only a few more that were solid. He knew how to make more but did not want to invest the time. Although he preferred the bow for certain targets, he knew that he would rely on the rifle because of the amount of ammunition he carried.
But he would not give up the bow. The day the ammunition ran out would be the day the bow would be worth more gold than anyone could carry.
Not that gold had a value anymore. Food. Clean water. Ammunition.
Wolfe looked at Walton. There was something more valuable than having those things. Someone with the knowledge to provide.
“We need more farmers.” Wolfe spoke his thoughts out loud.
“You got that right.” Walton turned back to look at his farmhouse one last time. Billy Ray and Mary Lou waved from the porch. He waved back before turning his attention to the road ahead. “What makes you say that?”
“Everything we have seen since we started the long road back home.” Wolfe shifted his grip on the cart’s handle. It rolled easily and was much better than their wood-runner sled. “Being able to provide for yourself with some to share makes you the heart of a new community.”
“Like in the pioneer times. Back then, all people wanted was land to call their own. Maybe getting back to that will make us better people.”
“We only want to get home to my wife and son.” The welding goggles shielded Wolfe’s eyes from the dawn’s rays. The sun had barely climbed over the horizon. The early chill was invigorating, but they expected it to get hot later. If it did, they would stop and relax. If not, they would continue. The late summer had not yet given way to fall. Twenty-five miles would be eight hours of walking at their current pace. Wolfe looked proudly upon Jennifer. She would keep up, as she always had.
“I do not know what I want,” Walton admitted.
“Strange for a man to take a journey without knowing where he wants to go.” Wolfe glanced at the big man.
“Is it?” Walton replied.
Chapter Fourteen
By ten in the morning, Wolfe, Jennifer, Buddy, and Walton had reached Lake Maumelle. They stopped on a causeway that crossed the far western edge of the big lake. A light breeze created small, sparkling waves. The heavily forested southern side hid the shoreline from view. They stopped to enjoy the serenity of it all.
“A boat,” Jennifer said. Wolfe turned his head to find a clear area of his goggles to peer through. He could barely make out the vessel in the distance.
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Walton shielded his eyes with one hand while he squinted in the direction Jennifer was pointing. “Eyes are not as good as they used to be,” he said before giving up.
Jennifer stared. “Two people, fishing.”
“What do you say we go make some new friends?” Walton asked.
“Remember when you pulled your gun on us and almost got yourself shot?” Wolfe replied. “I am not in a hurry to go through that again anytime soon.”
Walton clapped Wolfe on the back. “All’s well that ends well. We need information, right? We will learn what we need to know by asking questions.”
“What do we need to know?”
Walton opened his mouth to reply and closed it when he had no answer.
“Maybe we can ask what the best way through Little Rock is?” Jennifer offered.
“There you are!” Walton smiled broadly and started walking.
“Why don’t you take the cart for a bit? I think I am going to need my hands free. Just in case.”
Walton’s gaze flicked toward the rifle over Wolfe’s shoulder before he nodded and stepped into place. He leaned into the handle to get the cart moving before settling into a good pace.
The road turned west at the end of the causeway, remaining a few hundred yards inland from the shore. Overgrown dirt roads led to cabins and campsites probably active before the war. They crossed an overflow from the lake and kept going. When they reached a marina, they saw their first people up close.
A family of four with three other adults were working on two different boats in the small harbor. A sign declared it to be Jolly Roger’s Marina.
“Was he?” Walton mumbled as he struggled to get a clear look at the people.
“Was he what?” Jennifer asked.
“Jolly? Was Roger jolly?” He laughed heartily at his own joke. With the shackles of his farm life behind him, Walton had become a different person.
At the rolling laughter, a man on a boat looked up. He stared at the three standing on the bridge. Ahead lay an access road leading to the marina’s parking lot.
“Shall we?” Walton asked.
The man on the boat gave no greeting, no sign that indicated how visitors would be treated. “I am not so sure they are the welcoming type. I say we move on.”
“I’ll go and talk to them. You can wait. If you hear me shout, take off. Save yourselves.” Walton started pushing the cart. The turn was not far, and he made short work of it. He left the cart on the road and, with his head back, he whistled as he walked down the access road. Wolfe moved the cart to where it would not be visible by anyone who might casually look down the road. With his rifle in his arms and a round in the chamber, he settled in to wait. Jennifer and Buddy started exploring along the side of the road but ahead, where they would go in case of trouble.
Ten minutes later, Walton returned, still whistling.
“Good people, all!” he declared and waved for Wolfe to follow. He paused, waiting until Jennifer and the big dog returned. Together, they headed into the marina to introduce themselves and hopefully learn the best way through Little Rock.
Chapter Fifteen
“Jim Wolfe.” The introductions were brief. The family stood in a line watching the newcomers. Walton remained true to his new form, all smiles as he walked from one to another, shaking their hands. “Sorry to intrude. We would appreciate any guidance you can give us to help us walk to the other side of Little Rock before we continue on our way.”
A middle-aged man with a shock of dark hair strolled forward and offered his hand. Wolfe took it—calloused and rough. The hands of a man who was not afraid of hard work. Wolfe could respect that.
“Call me Danny Boyle,” he said easily. “You will have to forgive us. We are not used to strangers, but our faith says all are welcome. We have been bad hosts. Can you forgive us?”
“Nothing to forgive,” Wolfe replied, watching the group watch him. The children stared at his welding goggles. Children were hopelessly honest, and that prompted Wolfe to face them and kneel to be at their height. “My eyes were damaged in the war. These goggles help me to see.”
“Stop staring,” a woman who looked like a grown-up version of the girls ordered. “I am sorry, Mister Wolfe. It is not in our nature to be rude, is it, girls?”
“No, ma’am,” the children replied mechanically.
Her eyes remained sad while the corners of her mouth forced upward into the caricature of a smile. Her lips parted with the effort, revealing a missing tooth up front. Her smile quickly faded.
Danny stepped into Wolfe’s line of sight. “What takes you beyond Little Rock?” the man asked.
“My wife and son. We are trying to get home to them. My daughter and I have been traveling for a while. We do not want any trouble, and we will not be staying long. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would we mind if a child of our Lord and Savior is trying to reunite his family!” Danny’s voice took on a whole new tone and volume. A fanatical expression seized his features as he continued, “Our purpose is to support those in their righteous causes! Come with us, brothers and sisters. Tonight, we will worship in the house of the Lord and pray for his divine guidance to deliver our new friends into His hands. In the name of Christ our Lord. Amen!”
Danny Boyle thrust his fist into the air to highlight his final words. Wolfe mumbled “Amen” with the others. Jennifer stood frozen. Buddy found a bush nearby that needed to be marked and did what dogs do.
“I hope to be delivered into His hands,” Wolfe said softly. “But not anytime soon.”
“Amen to that, brother!” Danny Boyle declared.
“Get ready for church,” the mother said and shooed the children away with pats on their behinds. She curtsied and followed the children toward the old harbor-office-turned-home. The other couple nodded to Wolfe and walked toward a fifth-wheel trailer set up in the marina’s parking lot.
“We have smoked meat to trade if you need some,” Wolfe said, trying to bring the man back to the present.
“We give freely of food, brother and expect you would do the same. Deny not a meal unto the hungry!” He moved next to Wolfe and tried to wrap his arm around his shoulders, but Wolfe dodged away.
“Sorry, Danny. I am not the hugging type,” Wolfe said as he squared off against the man. Walton wrapped Danny in a bear hug and bounced him off the ground.
“Rejoice, brother!” Walton cried. “Of course, we have meat to share. That is what my good friend was saying. In trade for your assistance, everything is freely given, as you have shared with us.”
Walton hugged him again and winked at Wolfe over the man’s shoulder.
“As he said, freely shared.” Wolfe decided discretion was the better part of valor and that ten pounds of smoked pork were a fair trade for two things: directions, and to disarm the fanatics. The sooner Wolfe could leave these people behind, the happier he would be.
Wolfe waved Jennifer away. She took the hint and grabbed Buddy to take him back to the road. Wolfe pulled out a wrapped slab of pork and handed it to Danny Boyle.
“Pork,” the man said, studying it. “It was truly a blessed day when you stood on our path and shone your light on us.”
Wolfe had no idea who he was talking about. Wolfe preferred the dark. Next time they approached a city, it would be at night, where Wolfe would be the one to choose whether they met with the locals or not. It would take someone special for him to reach out.
Then again, what would Lurleen think if he turned down God-fearing strangers, especially if he could provide what they so desperately needed? If you were here, these decisions would be easy.
But she wasn’t, and Wolfe had to trust his gut. It told him to run as far and as fast away from these people as he could manage.
“We will be waiting on the road,” he told Walton.
“We will walk with you, introduce you to the Pastor.”
Wolfe had thought Danny Boyle was the pastor, but he missed the respect in the man’s eyes as
he said the words.
The Pastor.
Wolfe clenched his jaw. He had hoped he would not be going to war against another dictator. He hung his head and sighed. He would do what he had to do to get home to Lurleen and little JoJo.
Chapter Sixteen
Wolfe pushed the cart toward the road, walking faster with each step. When he passed Jennifer, she looked back toward the marina.
“Are we not waiting for Mister Walton?”
“We are not, Miss Jennifer. He can catch up. We need to go as far and as fast as we can.”
Jennifer ran after Wolfe, with Buddy close on her heels. The dog was indifferent to Wolfe’s fears. His tongue lolled, and he bounced as he ran.
The creak and squeak of an old bicycle caught Wolfe’s ears. He turned as Danny Boyle pedaled by on an old beach cruiser, coasted to a stop, and turned the bike sideways across the road. Wolfe slowed and stopped. He glanced behind him to see the rest of the group hurrying from the marina onto the main road. Walton waved. He did not look happy.
“You spooked me,” Wolfe said. “It was never our intent to go into the city and meet people. Please forgive us. We have had some bad experiences during our trip.”
“You are forgiven, but we will shield you, my brother, for we wear the armor of the Lord.” Danny Boyle’s statements came straight from the pulpit, but Wolfe could not figure out which church. Danny’s quotes were not from any bible Wolfe had read.
When the rest of the group caught up, they started walking again at a reasonable pace. The adults hurried the children along. No one complained. “You go this way much?” Wolfe asked.
“We attend the Sacred Survivors’ Church every single day to pray for our salvation. It is a short five-mile walk that is good for the soul!”
A chorus of “amens” reinforced his claim. In words at least. Maybe not deeds.
“How many people attend this church?” Wolfe asked.
“The number of souls saved will equal the number of souls redeemed,” the man replied, touching a finger to his nose.
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