by J. P. Castle
“We could definitely use a couple more hands trained with weapons around here,” said Bastian. “I’ll round you up a tent to share. We take turns keeping watch at night.”
“Okay, sounds good,” said Dodi.
Bastian went into the R.V. Rani waited for him in the back bedroom. Troian held two plates of food. Bastian met her inside the door.
“You okay?” he said.
“Yes, at least there’s still hope for Tony, even if he is in a labor camp.”
“If he’s alive. We’ll find him,” said Bastian.
“Bashy, is that you?” said Rani, beckoning him away from Troian.
Bastian went to the back. Troian stepped back over to the counter to pick up plastic forks. Rani and Bastian hugged at the foot of the bed. Aware Troian was present and watching, Rani lifted Bastian’s shirt up over his head. She promptly glared at Troian the moment it covered Bastian’s face, gave a sly grin as if to say—he’s all mine tonight—then closed the bedroom door. Troian overheard Rani say, “No more daddy duty for you, mister. You’re on Rani duty now.”
Bastian laughed.
Troian rolled her eyes and carried the food outside. She couldn’t be bothered with Rani’s futile attempts to torment her right now. The possibility that a member of her immediate family may still be alive gave her hope . . . hope that she wouldn’t have to face this changing world alone.
BY THE END of the following week, everyone had settled into a daily routine, all responsibilities shared. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were eaten as a group.
Dodi and Hank taught those less skilled how to use a gun. Thirsten taught those wanting to learn more about the Bible. Some did, others didn’t. People garnered a false sense of security. They appreciated the tiny bit of normalcy, reminding them of the lives they’d lived before. The fantasy soon fell apart.
Three weeks later, things changed in a dramatic way both inside and outside of the camp. Predictions made by the Marksmen Monkeys did indeed come true. Bedlam filled every town across the nation. Families in despair took any chance they could to escape the pandemonium and the looters.
Every morning, since their arrival, Dodi and Hank jogged around the campgrounds in civilian clothes. They kept track of newcomers, which checked in daily now. Hysterical people trying to escape the clutches of Red Fang. Violence surrounded every corner of every town. Families fled from the soldiers continuously trying to force citizens into the white tents.
Store shelves—empty. Deliveries had all but stopped, and going to town was out of the question, too dangerous. The final news appearance occurred three days early. During the last broadcast, the correspondent delivered the news with her white vaccination bracelet on.
She coughed endlessly and encouraged people to get the shot to protect themselves. The station aired footage of mass graves. Heavy smoke billowed from the bottomless pits as bodies smoldered below.
Schools closed their doors as deaths amassed in startling numbers across the nation. A plastic tide rolled in, dead whales and other deceased sea life lined the shores. The smell of death escalated in those places. Cleanup crews that usually dealt with plastic tides abandoned their duties. Decaying fish carcasses floated between dwellings that hadn’t fallen entirely into the sea yet.
The final piece of news she mentioned—the new labor camps. All prison survivors and those sentenced to hard labor would work the fields with new monitoring devices installed, neurotransmitters.
Prisoners would assist the cleanup effort under close military guard, while the government and nation reorganized itself. The days of sitting around for free on the taxpayer’s dime, eating four free squares per day, utilizing free medical care—over.
The government secured a free workforce of relatively non-violent offenders—the rest had been eliminated. Any prisoner unaccounted for during the frequent monitoring checks had their neurotransmitter activated, no questions asked. There would be no more lengthy searches requiring mass manpower and costly expenditures. The news anchor went over the same slew of things nightly before she succumbed to Red Fang.
An inescapable smell of burnt flesh wafted through the remote area of Vedauwoo, serving as a constant reminder of the horror that laid outside of the camp. The sense of security they clung to a few weeks back, faded as each person drifted back into the reality of the dire situation.
“Vedauwoo camp’s full, there are no more spaces left. My fear is what these people are gonna do when they run out of food,” said Dodi.
“I agree,” said Bastian. “It’d be best from now on if we eat inside the R.V. or tents, so they don’t see what all we have.”
“Yeah, good thinking,” said Caleb, who’d healed to almost full power. “Warn the girls not to be wandering around, too. There are probably a lot of crazies lodged up in here. Hate to say that . . .”
“But, it’s true,” said Ledger, finishing his sentence.
“We’ve been in hiding now for forty-three days. It’s been twenty-nine days since national vaccinations started. According to the files I read, the deaths should stop from the vaccine in about two more weeks at the latest,” said Bastian. “Who’s to say how things will reorganize after that, plus we have to clear our names. Until then, we’ll start rationing our food.”
“I don’t want these people to hear us hunting with our guns or catch us with a carcass, but somehow we’re gonna have to secure more meat,” said Ledger.
“Hank and I will take care of that,” said Dodi.
After the meeting, Caleb went inside to rest for a minute. He sat down on the edge of the couch with Troian to play with baby Ezra.
“Do you know who that is over there, Ezra?” said Caleb holding the baby’s hand. “That’s your mean ole Aunty Bryce. She wields secret witch powers and hates men.”
Bryce glared at Caleb.
Troian laughed; even she had grown tired of the cat ‘n mouse game Bryce played with Caleb. Troian wondered if Bryce really knew how Caleb felt, was too immature to realize it . . . or simply didn’t have any interest in him, but didn’t want anyone else to either.
Baby Ezra had grown slightly, his cheeks thickened with baby fat. He’d fully bonded with Troian and fondly cooed at Bastian, who spent time with him every evening. Troian slept with baby Ezra between her and Caleb on the fold-out couch each night. Bryce bunked with Ledger, unable to set aside her ignorance or stubbornness—whichever one—or she could’ve been the one sleeping next to Caleb.
Troian didn’t realize the jealousy she infused in both Bryce and Rani. The unknown power she innocently wielded over their minds. What Troian did understand—most girls don’t get thrust into motherhood, instantly. Troian managed it the best she could.
Rani failed to see it from that standpoint and didn’t care to empathize with Troian’s plight. What Rani knew . . . the situation annoyed her to the max, and her annoyance only pushed Bastian further away.
Evening drew near, and a wild bunch had moved into camp about an eighth of a mile down the road. The heathens could be heard each night howling at the moon, smashing liquor bottles, and cursing at one another. Since they’d arrived, Bastian and Dodi decided it best to post two guards at night instead of one.
“They’re trouble,” said Hank.
“Yeah, it’s only a matter of time before one of them gets loaded up enough to come over here and try his luck,” said Ledger, while he and Hank stood guard.
“There are five or six of ‘em altogether from what I’ve seen on me ‘n Dodi’s morning runs.”
“We really don’t need any trouble or attention right now,” said Ledger.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” said Hank.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Grave Diggers
Sunday, September 30, 2085
FALL SEASON PRESENTED with the usual signs. Leaves turned from green to bright hues of yellow, orange, and red. Daytime temperatures began to drop and plummeted at night, dipping into the low thirties and forties. Rain fell all morning, stirring the road a
nd surroundings into a muddy mess. The dreary weather set everyone’s mood into a somber tone.
Hank noticed a scruffy man making his way toward the group in a ripped pair of jeans and a ragged shirt. The heels of his unlaced boots scuffed the dirt road with each sloth filled step.
Hank advanced about twenty feet away from the edge of camp to meet the man head-on before he invaded their private space. Dodi, Bastian, Ledger, and Caleb sat at the picnic table. They stopped mid-conversation to listen.
“Sure is a nice rig you got there, friend,” said the man. “Ours has been leaking ever since this rain started. They call me, Tank,” he said, rounding his arms into a fighting position to flex his muscles, “because I’m always plowing my way through shit.”
Hank chuckled inside at the failed intimidation display the man tried to instill. He could tell right away, Tank worked his mouth way more than any of his other muscles.
“Hey man, we’re out of smokes over in my camp. You got one?”
“Don’t smoke. Never have,” said Hank. “No one here does.”
“Well, hello Dolly,” said the man, eyeing Rani over like a rabid wolf. “That your girl?”
“No, my sister.”
“She free?”
“No, she’s not. RANI get inside,” snapped Hank, whose demeanor usually presented as respectful and calm. But today, Tank pressed on the one good nerve he had left.
Rani looked over at Bastian for guidance, who nodded in agreement for her to listen to Hank. She entered the R.V. with pressed lips and a snarl on her face. Rani never liked being ordered to do anything.
“Whoa, bro. Protective of your women, I get it, I get it. The hound won’t chase the fox.” Tank scratched the scruff growing on his chin, sizing up the nerve to ask his next question. “Do you have any food to spare? Looks like you have a pretty large group here. Surely you all came prepared and could spare a few cans for your dear old friend, Tank,” he said, clasping his hands together, resembling a child begging for one more cookie.
“Sorry, man, we barely have enough for ourselves. Not trying to be mean. There are plenty of squirrels ‘n rabbits around here, though.”
“Ah, screw that, I need some canned food. Hunting live game is wayyy to much work for this ole boy right here,” said Tank, slapping his gut. “Unless I’m hunting your fine sister, the fox . . . kiddin’ just kiddin’ around, bro. Gotta have a sense of humor in this dying world.”
“Best of luck to you,” said Hank, giving the man an obvious cue to leave . . . while he still could.
“Not very neighborly, but okay man, thanks anyway.”
Hank appeared pretty harmless and less frightening in civilian clothes. But Dodi knew he could take the man down with one hand if he needed to. Tank staggered off, continuing to scrape his boots along the way with his lazy stride. He slogged on toward the next camp in search of a free meal, trying to rid himself of his morning hangover. Hank returned to the picnic table.
“He’ll be back,” said Dodi.
“Yep,” said Hank, tightening his jaw. “Wow, he smelled like he’d bathed in a bottle of bourbon. He really stunk.”
“How did you guys survive all this time out here?” said Dodi, eyeing around the table.
Bastian, Ledger, and Caleb traded eyes, slightly offended, even though Dodi meant nothing negative by the comment at all.
“Oh, don’t underestimate this group here, that would be a huge mistake,” said Mr. McCrady, overhearing the comment. “I’ve seen them go bat—you know what—crazy on trained military people they kidnapped all by themselves. Trust me, they’re survivors, hahaha. You truly have no idea,” he said, rolling his eyes around and shaking his head. “None whatsoever.”
Bastian, Ledger, and Caleb laughed.
“So, you believe that guy will be back?” said Mr. McCrady.
“Oh yes, especially if he thinks we’re sitting on a stash of food here. He’ll be back. He’s one drink away from an unwise decision,” said Dodi.
Dodi had turned twenty-four this year. He’d been in the military since his high school graduation, wasn’t married, and didn’t have any kids. Unlike his comrade Tony, he didn’t specialize in air defense. Dodi’s skillset came in the form of a Ground Combat Specialist.
His partner, Hank, about to turn twenty-five, had also been in since graduation. Hank knew how to fight well, but his specialized training came from sniper school. He and Dodi had fought overseas together before landing in Tony’s unit. Both admired and respected Tony.
Hank stuck his head inside the R.V. “Rani, I didn’t snap at you to be mean. I told that guy you were my sister after some comments he made. That guy’s dangerous, and I need you to understand it was all part of my act. I wanted him to get the picture that you are off-limits.”
“Caught me off guard for a sec, Hank, but I figured it out,” said Rani with a smile.
THE SUN TOOK its evening refuge behind the mountains, while the moon rose to take its place. Bastian and Ledger slept in lawn chairs beneath the awning of the R.V.
Dodi and Hank positioned themselves in a concealed spot behind some shrubbery. Dodi nudged Hank about 1:00 a.m. when a shadow moved toward camp.
“False alarm,” whispered Dodi, “just a deer.”
An hour later, another shadow caught Hank’s attention. Dodi had nearly nodded off, lying in the dirt flat on his stomach. Hank touched his shoulder, then pointed in the direction of the figure, splitting into two silhouettes.
They watched the men enter camp. Dodi and Hank didn’t need to speak to read each other’s minds. Whatever happened, they wanted the area to remain silent, no noise. Other campers slept within earshot. No one needed to ask questions about gunfire or any loud commotions.
Bastian and Ledger snored in their lawn chairs, allowing the invaders to ease right passed. Dodi identified a buck knife in each man’s hand. Clearly, they’d come prepared to fight for whatever—food, transportation, one of the girls, or all the above.
Hank and Dodi traded hand signals. Dodi holstered his weapon, crept through the darkness, silent, and pulled out a throwing blade. Hank circled around the backside of the motorhome from the opposite direction.
Rain started falling again, making plenty of noise pelting down on the awning. The moon drifted in and out of the clouds. Dodi crept fifteen feet behind the first man, who never heard him approach. He watched the intruder peek through the window of the van, which held part of the camp’s food staples. The man opened the back door of the vehicle, while his buddy moved on to check out the SUV.
Dodi made the tiniest sound with his mouth. The startled man turned and charged Dodi with his buck knife raised. Dodi threw his blade, plunging it deep into the center of the man’s chest, collapsing him. He quickly covered the man’s mouth to prevent him from making any sound. Blood pooled beneath the man’s body, creating a soupy red mixture with the mud. Hank heard the thud of Dodi’s kill hit the ground, even in the rain.
The dead man’s buddy found the SUV locked and sneaked back toward the van—where he met Hank, waiting. The second thief tried in vain to stab Hank, but Hank swiftly flipped the robber into a subdued position and broke his neck. Hank circled the area, searching for any of Tank’s other buddies possibly lurking around. Once he’d cleared the perimeter, he joined Dodi beside the dead bodies.
Dodi rolled the man over. “Same cat from this morning, except this time he came with company,” he said.
Thunder crackled. Lightning flashed various streaked patterns across the sky. Rain slinked down both soldier’s faces and through their eyes; neither allowed the elements to distract them. They’d been trained to perform their duties under any circumstances—without fail.
No one in the camp stirred a muscle during the silent disturbance. They were all spared the mental anguish of knowing two deeply deranged killers invaded their inner sanctuary. Dodi and Hank, prowling through the obscurity of night, had protected the camp.
Bastian and Ledger woke when sheets of rain started blowing
in on them. Bastian scanned the area, weary from the unsound sleep the lawn chair had provided. Oddly, no one sat at the picnic table, or over by the tree, where they always stood guard. He rose from his chair, lumbered to the edge of the awning, and made out Dodi and Hank hovering over two dead bodies.
Bastian motioned Ledger to get up and follow. Rain soaked through their clothes in minutes. Bastian shivered but toughed through it, not wanting to appear less than the two hardened soldiers in front of him.
“I knew he’d be back. Problem is now what do we do about his buddies,” said Hank. “They’re gonna come hunting for these two, asking questions.”
“I say we carry these two back there behind camp for Bastian and Ledger to bury. Ledger give me your wrist-unit. Hank and I will circle around to find out what their buddies are up to. Bastian, I’ll text the number seven if we need help, but come quietly. It’s 2:30 a.m. now, we have about three hours until daybreak,” said Dodi.
“Okay, let’s do this,” said Bastian. “I’m sorry we weren’t awake to help with them.”
“Don’t worry, it wasn’t your shift anyway,” said Hank. “We had it covered.”
Ledger handed off his wrist-unit to Dodi and brought the shovel. He and Dodi carried one body, Bastian and Hank took the other. They moved the dead men a reasonable distance behind camp. Dodi and Hank split across the way to find the other heathens. Ledger started to dig, listening to coyotes yelp and howl all around him and Bastian.
“Glad we bought this shovel for the firepit, though I never figured I’d be using it for this,” said Bastian. “We’re lucky Dodi and Hank found us.”
“It doesn’t hurt anything having them around, that’s for sure. It’s good to have the extra muscle, highly skilled, too. You think Dodi ‘n Hank will kill their friends?”
