Authors: G.L. Snodgrass
Chapter Two
I climbed into the bell tower the next afternoon in a rather foul mood.
I was going to have to start naming the gargoyles if I was going to continue coming up here
. Hell
they may be the only friends I ever had.
“She isn’t the only person in town,” I mumbled to the stone creature next to me. “Not even the only girl I’d bet. There must be other people. Someone must be willing to talk, maybe an adult.” Okay, I talk to myself. It happens when you live all alone for as long as I did.
I could easily see what the city used to be like, full of movements, never still. Cars and people rushing everywhere, horns blaring, music spilling out of the bars and taverns, traffic lights, neon signs, and street lights mixing together to create a canvas of vibrant images. The aroma of fresh bread, car exhaust, and the ozone of electric motors mingled to form the sweet smell of progress and comfort. I could taste it on my tongue I wanted it so bad.
Now the city was dead stone buildings, tan, brown, and gray interspersed with glass and steel. All of it drab, dirty. The black streets lay out in a grid. Shuffling blowing trash from one side to the other. If I listened hard I could hear the wind whistling through the man-made canyons across the sun faded cars parked neatly along broken sidewalks. Today’s city had that sweet dry smell of dust and old death. The smell was constant, regardless of which way the wind blew. A deep sadness at the huge waste of it all washed through me.
Pulling my dad's pocket knife from my pocket I absent mindedly flicked it open. Closed it, and flicked it open again. It was a habit I'd picked up since leaving the mountains. I think it kept me in touch with my home, my dad, and all I'd left behind.
If I closed my eyes I could also see what the city would become, a future pile of grass covered rubble located next to the river, a huge hill between the prairie and the mountains. The type of place that the future local wondering nomads spoke of in hushed tones as they migrated with the great herds. A place filled with un-placated ghosts.
I’d left the mountains on my eighteenth birthday two weeks earlier after spending five years up there on my own. Ignoring everything my father had said on his death bed. Disregarding the three black and white marbled notebooks crammed with dictated information passed along by a dying man who knew he was leaving his son all alone in the world. Books filled with everything from how to dress a deer to changing a flat tire, all of the things he thought I’d need to survive in this new world. The pages interlaced with a single message – Avoid people at all costs.
After five years I couldn’t take it any longer. I didn’t care. I couldn’t stay there all alone anymore, living like a hermit. Something inside my gut pushed me. An unknown force was driving me to stretch the limits, to break some rules, to ignore what was smart and do what felt good instead. To hell with the consequences. Maybe it was hormones. I don’t know and there wasn’t anybody to ask.
So without really thinking about it I’d left our small farm on a tree covered mountain and sneaked into the deserted city hoping to find other people. This was not what I expected.
I sat there on the ledge sixty feet above the deserted street, my feet dangled over the side as my mind drifted to the past. The plague was pretty efficient, leaving five people for every 10,000 it took. It’d come out of some Mid-East war and spread across the world in less than a month. Most people had time to make it home and crawl into bed before dying an agonizing death. Not everyone had chosen that path of course as the pews in the church below demonstrated. Old white bones covered in old clothes were the iconic image of this new age.
Movement caught the corner of my eye; a pack of feral dogs was hunting near the park. Their noses close to the ground, sweeping back and forth as they searched for that elusive scent which would signal dinner. I shivered. It hadn’t taken long after the illness swept through before they’d gotten used to human flesh; there’d been a full course meal on every corner.
My mind flashed back a couple of months ago to Mrs. Jacobson on the side of the road. It looked like some wild dogs or a
wolf pack had caught her too far away from her house. I don’t think I’ll ever get that sight out of my mind. She’d been the last person I knew from before the plague. In fact, she was the last person I knew period. A sweet lady like her shouldn’t have had to worry about wild dogs.
She’d stop by and make sure I was alright. Even tried to take me in after my dad died. I’d always found some excuse not to. Maybe if I was there she wouldn’t have been taken like that.
As I watched, the dogs caught a scent and tore into the park, baying in full throated glory. A doe sprang from the bushes and scampered across the park’s meadow and into the trees. The dogs had her scent though and wouldn’t give up easily. A large German Shepherd raced to the front of the pack while a beautiful Red Irish setter turned to the left, trying to herd the deer back towards the shepherd.
I had a bird’s eye view and watched, fascinated when the dogs trapped the young deer by a chain link fence, her path cut at every turn. She turned to face her enemies, frantic, still searching for that escape. I felt sorry for her, it was hopeless.
The dogs moved in cautiously, knowing they had her trapped. Working together they turned the dear and the shepherd got in close to hamstring her. As he held her heel the big red setter got her by the throat. In an instance she was down.
I couldn’t pull my eyes away as the dogs tore into the tawny hide and began to feast, snapping and snarling at each other over the choicer parts.
Without thinking, I reached for my bow and quiver making sure they were close. Even at sixty feet above the scene a disquieting sliver of fear crept up my spine. I’d taken my share of deer, this was different. Seeing such violence inside the city made me uncomfortable. For the thousandth time I desperately wished I had a gun. A bow, even a professional compound bow like the one dad had left me was great for hunting, but I’d need a machine gun if I ever got cornered by a large pack of wild dogs.
Living was easier at the beginning, as long as you didn’t mind the over powering stink when going into some a dead person’s house to retrieve their food. Now, after five years, the easily found stuff was running out or had already spoilt. I could survive in the mountains on my own, - barely, but it was close and wasn’t much fun and only a small step up from the dogs below.
Tearing my gaze away, I returned to scanning the city. The cathedral sat catty corner from my library overlooking the park and the river. Several places on both sides of the river had been turned into blackened rubble. There hadn’t been anybody to put the fires out. Still other buildings had smashed windows and doors hanging open on their broken hinges. Most of the city looked normal, only abandoned, As if someone had vacuumed up all the people and left everything else untouched.
An eagle cruised above the building behind me. Suddenly a pair of crows flew up to harass the bigger bird. They acted like fighter jets attacking a lumbering bomber. They’d swoop in from above and then dart out of the way before getting too close. Cawing and raising all kind of hell the whole time. The eagle tried to ignore them, probably frustrated out of his mind. Deciding he’d had enough he turned and slowly left the area. He must have traveled a good mile before the smaller black birds left him alone.
Smiling to myself I returned to searching the city. I tried to come here at least once a day. It was definitely the best vantage point. Automatically I looked at the last place I’d seen her, what I called “Her building”. I tried to scan the rest of the city but my eyes kept being pulled back to that spot.
Only after a long time could I force them away. I slowly searched each street and the park. Gasping with shock as I grabbed the ledge for balance. Smoke rose inside the park, a long column stretching into the ski. A campfire at the far end. How had I missed
that? A fire meant someone wasn’t afraid, someone willing to be found. My heart racing once again I ran down the stairs and into the park.
I’d gone a few feet into the trees of the park before I froze, slow down Kris, I thought. Just because they’re willing to be found, doesn’t mean that all the dangerous beasties have disappeared. Putting my head on a swivel, looking everywhere, I notched an arrow and slowly made my way forward, crouching and constantly scanning everything around me.
The acrid smell of charred wood tickled my nose long before I saw anything. Slowly I approached the edge of the tree line, being careful not to scare anyone away. If the last time had been any indication, people around here didn’t like strangers. I stopped at the edge, being sure to remain hidden.
Three wagons, the type with big wooden wheels, were arranged in a loose triangle, six horses were picketed not far away tearing at the luscious green grass of the park.
Weren’t these people scared of the dog packs? I wondered. Or did they not know about them? Maybe they were from outside of the city. Maybe they weren’t afraid of strangers. I had to fight to keep my heart from jumping out of my body. Still I didn’t move, I’d spent too many years being cautious to throw away good habits now. I could hear my father whispering in my ear. “Patience Kris. Nothing was ever accomplished by rushing.” And “Slow and steady wins the race every time.” I wished my dad was here now, he’d know what to do.
Shaking off the maudlin thoughts, I made my way to the right, hoping to get a better look into the campsite. I’d traveled about ten feet when I caught site of a man squatting by the fire, stirring it with a stick. The man was old, about forty, (my dad’s age), dressed in jeans, boots, a red flannel shirt and a blue ball cap. He appeared to have something hanging on his left hip, it was too small to be a sword and to big… A GUN! No wonder they didn’t worry about the dog
pack. How did he get a gun? They were supposed to have all been confiscated decades ago when the 2
nd
amendment was revoked. We were taught about it all in school. Every year there would be several lessons about why no one had guns, and why no one ever would.
I was sure it was a gun, I could see the wooden grip, the hammer and the back of the trigger guard. It was in a leather holster hanging from a belt with several bullets filling the special loops. I’d seen enough pictures and remembered my dad talking about them wistfully. My mouth began to salivate as I thought about what I could do with a gun. I’d love to run into that dog pack, boy would they be surprised. Maybe the men had extras and would be willing to trade, although, I couldn’t imagine what I could have that they might want. They could pick up anything they needed in the city for free.
My stomach got that nervous feeling it always got when I came across something unknown. Looking at my measly bow I shook my head. Careful Kris, a gun changes things.
Turning I looked over my shoulder and tried to catch a glimpse of the sun through the trees. At least two hours before dark. I had to start making some decisions soon. I didn’t want to be caught in the park at night.
Continuing to make my way to the left, I saw two more men, both with guns on their hips and one caring a rifle. Jesus, it wasn’t fair, the man had two guns. The immense wealth was hard for me to fathom and a feeling of green jealousy washed through my body. I knew I wasn’t supposed to feel like this, it wasn’t right; maybe the man earned his wealth. My heart raced, I craved a gun like nothing else in this world.
As I watched the man with the rifle got up and said something to his companions, dressed in Jeans, cowboy boots and a suede jacket with a wool collar he was too far away to be heard clearly. His body language screamed alpha mail marking him the guy in charge. The third man was about my age, with beady eyes and greasy hair tied back in a long pony tail that stretched to the middle of his back.
I saw that the bushes were closer to the wagons about twenty feet further to the right and slowly made my way to them and peered through the branches I had slowly spread.
I was shocked to my core to see two girls tied to one of the wagon wheels. The first girl was about six or seven, with brown hair and wearing a pink parka. She looked scared, her forehead creased in worry, like a rabbit snared in a trap. She slightly blocked my view of the other girl. I could tell it was a girl because of the way her jeans were stretched over a tight rounded hip and her long legs ended in small black, pointy toed boots, just like …
I gasped and froze, afraid the men would hear me. Thankfully they didn’t react. Quietly I moved a little, I had to know. Yes it was her alright, the girl I’d met the other day. She was pissed off enough to kill a grizzly. She had a big red bruise on her cheek and kept pulling at the ropes binding her hands.
I glanced down at my bow and mentally counted the seven arrows in my quiver.
Oh crap, what had I gotten myself into this time?
Chapter Three
I was confused. Why? The two girls were frightened, their hands tied in front and secured to the wagon wheel. They were obvious prisoners. What did the men want with them?
Quietly blending back into the trees, I was able to work my way around the wagons and come to them on the other side and get close enough to hear the men talking. The men looked like a rough group, dressed in jeans and heavy coats. Their faces hardened by years of sun and wind. They stood in a group and watched the eagle in the far distance.
“I’m telling you Johnny, Big Jake will never know,” said the youngest of the group. He sounded like a little kid begging for a Christmas present.
“It don’t matter. You know the rules; no one gets to them till Big Jake is done with them,” said the man with both the pistol and rifle. Looking at the girls he shook his head in regret and turned back to his companions. “Big Jake always knows, and I don’t plan on being the one to deliver damaged goods.”
My skin ran cold as I realized that they were talking about, and wondered who this Big Jake was that he could scare a man with two guns.
This sucks in so many ways I thought as I crouched behind some bushes. My gut told me to back away, to leave this alone, it wasn’t my problem. One look at the two girl’s frightened faces however ruined any chance of getting away. My father would have risen from the grave and disowned me if I’d abandoned them.
My legs were killing me as I crouched behind the bushes, watching the girls and their captors. I kept glancing at the sun, trying to hurry it along as I tried to come up with a plan that might work. I reviewed everything I’d ever read about tactics, everything my father had ever told me. No matter what I tried, every scenario ended with someone dead.
Realizing that the men had their backs towards me and the girls were facing me I unthinkingly stood and waved my arms and quickly crouched back down behind my bush.
Both girls had seen me, their eyes springing open then, just as quick, they shut down, glancing at the men to see if I’d been noticed. Seeing that everything was still safe they continued to stare at me and my bush.
Feeling like a game of charades, I tried to tell them to wait until everyone was asleep and that I’d be back. The older girl gave a quick nod of understanding and a slight smile of thanks.
Wiping the sweat from my eyes for the thousandth time, I decided to back up into the woods and rest. It was obvious they weren’t leaving, and I wasn’t going to hear anything more not without risking detection. So I duck walked into the woods, my legs screaming with every movement until I was able to take shelter behind a huge oak tree where I spent the next several hours watching the wagons.
It bugged me, I couldn’t think of an easy away to get them out of there. My mind searched and analyzed every plan I came up with. There was no one to go to for help; the men had four guns to my one bow. Hell, maybe there was a legitimate reason to tie up two young girls to a wagon wheel.
No there isn’t
you
idiot. Wishing was not going to make the problem go away. And if I didn’t do something soon, the men would load the wagons with their prisoners and leave tomorrow morning.
Thankfully it was becoming a moonless, cloudy night. The anxiety continued to eat at my gut as I waited for it to grow dark enough to crawl back to the tree line. Slowly the gray evening became black and the darkness was broken by the feeble glow of the camp fire.
Crouching in the bushes, I saw the girls, lying on their sides, huddled together. They appeared to be asleep. The older girl had her arms wrapped around the younger, trying to keep them warm. Both were still tied to the wagon.
A bunch of orange sparks lifted into the sky as the guard stirred the fire. The glow threw everything into weird shadows. The
other two men wrapped in blankets slept by the each of the other wagons.
Crawling on my belly across the forest floor, I slowly made my way under the girl’s wagon and behind them.
“Psst, are you awake,” I whispered. The loudness surprised me, sounding like it could wake the dead. Obviously the guard couldn’t hear anything over the crackle of the fire along with the crickets chirping in the grass and trees around the camp.
“Psst, are you awake,” I tried again. “Nod your head.” I held my breath, waiting for some sign. Finally a faint nod, then a second more positive movement.
Crawling up, I used my hunting knife to cut the long rope tying them to the wagon. “Turn over,” I whispered. Slowly the older girl brought the younger girl over and between her and the wagon. I stared at the guard, but he didn’t glance our way.
The girls were pleading with their eyes, begging to be released. “Don’t move after I cut the rope,” I whispered. I quickly freed their bound hands with a careful cut of my knife. A short swish and their ankles were free. Reaching out my other hand I gently touched her cheek, “Hold on until I call you, meet me on the other side of the wagon,” I said. The older girl nodded, her eyes searching my face for any sign of competence and trustworthiness.
Feeling a little like a hero and scared out of my mind that I might fail, I slowly backed out from under the wagon and back to the tree line. I spent a quick moment gathering rocks and pebbles from the forest floor. Taking careful aim, I started lobbing rocks in a high arc over the campsite and into the horses picketed outside the fire’s glow. It only took a few lucky throws before the horses started to get restless, shuffling their feet, snorting with fear and whinnying an alarm.
The guards head came up. A quick look at his prisoners confirmed they were still tied to the wagon. Drawing his gun he stepped into the dark night to check the horses.
“Now” I hissed. The girls sprang from their position and were around the wagon in an instant while rocks continued to fall amongst the horses.
Grabbing the little girls hand and making sure the older girl had a hold of the other. I led them quietly into the trees at a brisk walk, waiting until we were about twenty yards in before starting to run. The three of us scrambled between trees and over ditches as we tried to put distance between us and the wagons. A hundred yards farther and I skidded to a halt trying to catch my breath as I gathered my bearings. Looking back along their path, I expected to see the three men tracking us down. Nothing moved, had we gotten away?
Realizing we were safe for the moment, I decided to let the girls catch their breath, but was surprised to see that the older girl didn’t appear to be breathless as her eyes scanned the forest for any signs of danger.
“What’s your name,” I said. I hated the idea of thinking of them as Older Girl and Younger Girl.
“Claire, and this is Ellen,” the older girl said.
Before I could ask more we heard a crashing sound in the bushes behind us and saw a weak light waving back and forth over the ground as the men searched for our path.
“Over here,” one of the men yelled as he stepped onto the trail.
I could see it was the guard and he had his gun in hand.
“This way,” I whispered, leading them to the left. And back into the bushes. I gripped the little girl’s hand, Ellen, worried I was holding it too tight. I knew if I let go we’d never find each other in the dark.
I tried to hold the tree limbs out of the way, making sure they didn’t snap back and hit one of the girls, at the same time I was running faster than I’d ever run before, pulling them along. My heart was about ready to race out of my chest as I gulped huge breaths.
“We need to get into the buildings, we can lose them there,” I gasped when we reached the black wrought-iron fence bordering the park. Slipping through a gate we started across the street towards what appeared to be a department store.
“No this way,” Claire called out; dragging us to the store’s next door neighbor, another department and jewelry store. I was confused, what’s the difference, I wondered.
As we reached the dark doorway, I heard someone yell “STOP” sending chills up my back while my heart skipped. Claire didn’t hesitate, dipping into the store.
I turned and saw the guard holding a flashlight in one hand and the gun in the other. Without thinking I stepped between the girls and the guard. I raised my bow and pulled the notched arrow back to my ear. Without warning the man’s hand exploded and a sharp burning sensation radiated down my leg. Needless to say I was shocked to realize I’d been shot, I let out half a breath and steadied my aim and let loose the arrow, watching it all the way to dead center in the man’s chest.
I’d reacted without thinking, destroy or be destroyed was my only thought. I could have lifted a mountain over a fence, every bit of my being was thrumming. I knew I’d never forget the sound of that arrow striking flesh and bone or the look on the man’s face when he realized what had happened. He had looked down at the arrow with a surprised expression then back at me, as if begging me to take it back. Slowly the light left the man’s eyes as he crumpled behind the iron fence.
Frozen in place, I couldn’t move. The thought that I had just killed a man kept racing through my mind.
“Come on,” Claire called. But I couldn’t move, still locked in place my eyes couldn’t to leave the body behind the fence.
Another light appeared in the park. Within seconds another man appeared. His flashlight beam finding his companion in a heap, the arrow sticking up into the air like an exclamation mark. Still
unable to move, I watched the flashlight beam scan the street and find me. The two of us looked at each other, our eyes assessing the other
The man’s gun was still in his holster and tied down with a leather thong. As I watched the man’s eyes widened as he realized his friend’s killer was standing there with a bow in is hands and it’s arrow in his friend. Grabbing for his gun, the man fumbled with the tie down, finally freeing the gun, he quickly brought it up.
Seeing the man go for his gun had thawed out my mind enough so I could move. Grasping an arrow from my quiver I pulled back the bow string, my fingers shook a little as I held off letting it go, remembering the death look in the first man’s eyes. Without thinking, I adjusted my aim and let the arrow fly as the man brought his gun up.
The arrow flew true; as I’d known it would and took the man in the right shoulder. Finally free of the power that had locked me in place, I saw another light in the park and turned towards the building the girls had entered.