Mankind destroyed itself.
Desire snapped the end of a sweet, crisp carrot between her teeth with the thought, chewed hard, and kicked aside another
dead branch. Her father’s stories always began with those words. Her memories held full of the upheaval accounts as
he reported them. Yet Desire knew very little details about how or why the disasters happened. The exact time the world changed
had also been muddled through the years. The one fact Desire knew beyond doubt was only four generations separated her from
a very different existence.
What
was so wrong with questioning the story facts? Why had her father felt the need to raise his voice as if she were a child?
She had no doubt what he said held mostly truth, but for some reason, she couldn’t accept it as absolute unbending fact
anymore. He’d changed too many of the rules. Then he wondered why she wouldn’t go home.
Four
generations before her, life changed as they knew it, but somewhere at the start of that generation line, one of Desire’s
ancestors saw it coming, or felt it. Somehow. One of her mother’s ancestors, not her father’s. None of her maternal
family remained living to satisfy her roaming qualms.
Desire
dragged her heavy one-wheeled cart through a stream, its clear water licking her boots, seeping in around the buttons and
laces. Her feet were already wet, nothing she wasn’t accustomed to. What she didn’t look forward to was the skin
irritation the pollution in this water would cause. Sinking sunrays glowed ahead, revealing the grassy field between her woods
and the citadel. Her destination.
Maybe
it was true. Her prolonged visits to the citadel did make her question how things were done at her birth home. She didn’t
believe they should adopt anything of the citadel culture, but seeing the life in it, hearing the tales from the troops who
traveled from the west, she couldn’t help questioning the beliefs pounded into her head. And she couldn’t help
thinking her ancestor hadn’t wanted things as closed-minded as they were.
A
grandmother or grandfather, she didn’t know, but her ancestor began teaching in the early turn of the twenty-first century.
Teaching how to survive in a destroyed world without things they took for granted everyday while stockpiling as much technology
as they could. Things in Desire’s great-grandmother’s books. Something called the World Wide Web was the hardest
for her to understand. No electronic webs existed in any known position now though she knew it once had for certain. The one
working computer remaining in her family’s compound gave hints of some such system. Telephones, those she understood.
She knew the location of each communication post, had been to the one in the compound just ahead and witnessed its use herself.
Electricity existed only because of the sun, wind or water.
Shouts
sounded from the field. She halted. A training order to stand at attention. She recognized Darvid’s booming voice and
furrowed her brow. He rarely trekked into the field for training, preferring to stand watch in the citadel tower and view
his majors in action with the junior officers.
She
tugged the cart forward beyond water’s reach. Through a wall of twisted and thorned tree limbs and withered brush, she
saw a group of men numbering larger than those she left five hours ago. No group so large in need of training resided at the
citadel. Unless…
Reinforcements
from the interior lands weren’t the best hope for any of them. They weren’t taught to fight. They were recruited
by government, made promises, and sent east. The truth of it ground hard against her already tight nerves as she watched the
pathetic excuses for fighters practice battle swings in the sun streaked and muddy field. Each spring, summer and autumn,
men and sometimes a few women would arrive from the inland garrisons by the hundreds with false notions and false confidence
that they could handle anything. Those who kept those notions turned up dead within a month. Those willing to change and learn
usually lasted longer. But not always.
Desire
crunched another bite of carrot between her teeth and chewed her thoughts. Darvid didn’t have time to train and he had
few men intelligent and able enough to teach anymore. The Oceaners had evolved their ships quickly over the last year and
were hitting the coast fast and hard more often than ever before. It also meant they were killing more than before.
She
wrapped the strap of her cart in her fist and hooked it over her shoulder as she moved from behind the trees and brush. The
cart-full, included with what she previously stored that morning, held precious few vegetables for those she knew to reside
in the citadel, not for new arrivals, but it would have to do. She would check her traps again, see if she could stir up some
protein for the new troops, but the field crops had little left ready to give for at least a week.
Darvid
shouted to the dozens of men before him, his domineering form casting a deep shadow over her path as she passed. He glanced
her way, his eyes narrow in the sunlight. She shot him a quick, tight-lipped smile. She had no doubt he would complain of
her absence during the reinforcements’ arrival. He always wanted her there to gauge each junior officer so she could
later advise what garrison to place them with, the north or south — or keep them there.
She
scanned the new juniors, most of them too malnourished and gray haired for her comfort. Dressed in leathers or fur it was
hard to judge muscle mass. That she could only tell by watching them in action. The majority held their gazes low at their
own feet or the twisted and crimson-stained grasses. Few met Darvid’s demanding stare as he paced before them. At his
silence though, more cast their eyes upward. Some spotted her.
Timid
farmers she guessed. Nowhere near warriors. She hated to tell Darvid such, but she would. He would have to keep them north
or in the back lines if he hoped to keep any new arrivals for more than a few battles.
Tom
Washman stood against the citadel’s outer wall, its sun bleached wood just as pale as his thick hair above water-blue
eyes. Age curved his slight shoulders.
“Wha’cha
got good for me this eve, Miss Scout?”
She
pulled a few bundles of tender orange carrots from the sack, placed them on top then dug into the second pouch for potatoes
and into her pockets for the clusters of wild onions she unearthed.
Tom
waved a carrot at his mouth and sniffed deeply. He smiled at the onions and lifted the still dirty clumps from her hand.
“Oh,
these will go quite nice with them deer you brought in this morn’ and what I’ve got rationed,” he said.
“I can smell the big pots of boilin’ stew already.”
She
handed him the thick cart strap. “I stashed four other loads in the storeroom when you were out, added to what I saw
in there, if we’re careful, it should be enough to go around for two days or so.”
“You
know, if you’d show me where you’s gittin’ these pleasantries, it would save you from haulin’ all
this in for me. Might not be able to bring in the game you do, but I kin dig roots.”
Desire
smiled. At least once a week, Tom tried to whittle the location of the crops out of her.
“Now,
Tom, how many times have I told you I won’t do that?”
“Ah,
but Miss, what if, God forbid, somethin’ were to happen to ya. The rest of us would starve.”
She
chuckled. “You know that can’t happen,” she said and patted his shoulder as she walked away. He didn’t
need to know she had arrangements with Darvid if she would ever fall. He knew the location of papers with directions to others
who knew of the hidden crops, and Darvid was the only person at the citadel she knew who could read them. Telling anyone before
she was dead wasn’t an option as far as she was concerned. It would take only one greedy person to seize too much and
destroy it all. They didn’t know her family had been nursing the fields, working the dirt, collecting seeds in the fall,
doing it all for no less than seven decades to yield the sizeable variety of crops they had. It held strong to feed the several
hundred head in the citadel she pretended to call home, and the eight hundred at her birth home but wouldn’t if more
was taken.
A
careful balance. A balance too many people didn’t understand. Desire couldn’t help believing the human condition
of take without giving back had contributed to their dire way of life now and would completely destroy them if they weren’t
careful. She trusted that message from her father’s stories.
“And,
ya know, Miss Scout, if’n I’d been diggin’ these roots, you wouldn’t be in fer the steamin’
Darvid’s apt to give you fer not bein’ here to inspect them new juniors.”
Desire
twisted on her heel and grinned, nearly laughing.
“You
really are getting desperate there, Tom, to even think Darvid could give me a steaming.”
Tom
lowered his head and shook it through a hearty chuckle. Desire hurried over the stone passage to the well and reached through
a group of several resident roosters and hens, ignoring their noisy protest and flapping wings. Thirst raked her throat raw.
She pulled up the wooden bucket and dipped the tin scoop into it. The water was warm, but clean and wet, coming from one of
the few less contaminated underground rivers and run through filters and conditioners kept in the citadel foundation. The
waterways were slowly clearing, though few were yet totally safe for consumption without filtration.
The
crunch of stone under many feet sounded behind her. She turned to find Darvid leading dozens of human forms through the stone
archway followed by more. Counting them wasn’t her agenda. She wanted to see their faces. They each stopped by the citadel
records keeper who set up a chair and small folding table. He filled out a form for each of them, handed them their government
issued supplies, consisting of a tin plate and fork and folding knife, before directing them away.
She
wiped water from her lips and shook her head at Darvid Squire. He acted as if he led a herd of bovine. The hint of amusement
creased his thin lips.
“Took
you long enough,” he said, speaking from the corner of his smirk.
“You
should’ve called for me.”
“Now
why would I do that? My scout should always know when she’s needed just by using her skills.” He tapped his cheek
below his eye and then his ear.
“Even
when I sleep.” Desire couldn’t stifle her smile.
“Since
when do you sleep? I’ve never seen it.”
“That’s
because you sleep like the dead more often than any mortal should need.”
Darvid
chuckled. “Enough with the evening insults and tell me what you think. Any hope we’ll keep any of these for long?”
Desire
scanned the dozens of new faces, all lined with age or wear or both. She stepped around Darvid, staying in his shadow. She
studied their eyes but too many refused eye contact. She spun from them.
“Timid,”
she said. “Should listen to you with no argument though.”
“Unlike
you.”
Desire
watched Darvid from the corner of her eye. He had sounded as if that was a bad thing. He knew she listened to no one but herself.
He knew it when he asked her to unite with him in his cause to protect the thousands of people struggling to reestablish a
civilization close to the one of old on a devastated continent. Desire still wasn’t sure his goal was a smart one. Not
considering what she knew of their original demise.
Someone
closed in from behind. Desire moved quickly, spinning to the two who approached. She recognized Jacob instantly. A man only
a few years older than her own from the far shores of Tennessee. She’d known him since he crossed the citadel’s west
gates three years prior. A good fighter with a sharp eye and quick reflexes, he’d survived longer than most others who
joined at the same time. He held one of the highest ranks now, Sergeant.
The
man beside him, she didn’t know, nor had she ever seen his face before. She furrowed her brow; she’d missed this
one entering the compound. He certainly wasn’t old or timid. His deep brown eyes shined below a lengthy fringe of dark
hair and settled on her, then Darvid.
“I
wanted to introduce my brother first hand, Sir,” Jacob said.
Darvid
nodded to the pair and shook hands with the new recruit. Desire slipped behind Darvid and closer to the wall into early evening
shadows.
“Good
to have you,” Darvid said.
“Rand
Caldair’s the name.”
Unusual
from a family whose first son they called a solid biblical name, Jacob. Desire blinked away the thought and climbed two dozen
steps to the wall overlooking the field. Her own name fit no such pattern in her family so she had no right to judge that
of another. She slipped inside the south tower and up steep narrow stairs to her room. Night would soon fall but not stay
long and she had much territory to scout come dawn.
×Ø
Rand
blew out a breath when the massive man Jacob called Commander Darvid finally left to speak with the others. It wasn’t
hard to see why Darvid ruled the largest group of garrisons in the states.
“See,
that wasn’t so bad,” Jacob said. “Helps that he likes me.”
“And
you just had to single me out,” Rand said.
For
as far back as Rand remembered, Jacob always insisted on strutting him around in front of people. Their
mother told him it was because he was a proud big brother. Rand didn’t care; he simply wished
it would stop. Jacob slapped a firm hand to his shoulder and pushed him forward, not saying a word about where they were headed
next.
“I
didn’t single you out for nothing. I’ve introduced, my next step is to ask you be added to my troop. We don’t
usually have a choice, but I’m hoping he’ll take my input on this. Can’t hurt to let him see we’re
on speaking terms.”
Rand
rolled his head side to side, stretching his stiff neck. For a month he walked with the group, carrying his large pack with
what little clothes and weapons he had, all self made.
“We
doing that now?”
Jacob
laughed. “No, I do know the art of timing. Right now we need to find you something to eat, at least some jerky.”
“Great,
something I haven’t had constantly for weeks.” He groaned, not looking forward to chewing more leathered meat.
“Fresh
stuff is a bit rare out here and kept for evening meals. I’ll warn you though, the cook stretches everything to the
max, so don’t expect much.”
Rand
scratched his itching scalp. Muck from swamps, then dust from the road and dry grasses of the fields had plastered to his
flesh and added stiff weight to his clothes.
“What
about that girl, she had a fresh root in her hand,” Rand said, though the root hadn’t been
all he observed about her. He noticed her the moment she stepped from the woods and strode across the field before all of
them with not a second’s hesitation in her stride, her shining crow-black hair blowing behind her in the breeze. The
cart she led appeared heavy on its single axle, but she showed no sign of it. Her dark, scrutinizing eyes had halted him in
position even through several rows of men. She pierced them all with a mental syringe, though he wasn’t sure anyone
else noticed.
Up
close he saw an exquisitely designed and vicious looking stone-handled battle axe against her right thigh, some kind of sheathed
blade on her left, both held tight to her long, black-trousered legs by golden rawhide the same shade as her wrapped shirt.
The shirt was clean, but showed signs of repaired tears at the arms and down one side. The skin of her arms and face was flawless,
though tanned or maybe of the Hispanic race, though these days, with so few people and such strong intermixing through the
years, it was hard to tell. She hadn’t stayed long enough for him to catch much more about her, not even her name.
Jacob
huffed. “Oh, that’s Scout. Not sure she qualifies as a ‘girl’ exactly. She’s a lot annoying,
comes and goes and does as she pleases when and how she pleases and no one complains. Not right, especially for a female.
Darvid uses her as an advisor. He wouldn’t take the crap she does from anyone else here though. Not sure how she gets
away with it all, but I doubt she does anything special for him like some say. Some say she wears witch symbols on her weapons.
Sometimes I doubt she’s even human.”
She
didn’t seem odd to Rand in the slightest, but he wasn’t about to argue. “So that’s
her name? Scout?”
Jacob
shrugged. “That’s what she’s called around here. You’ll be hard pressed to find someone other than
Darvid and the head cook who’s actually talked at length with her. You won’t see her much and if you do, you most
likely won’t notice her. You’ll never have to deal with her. Here, this’ll be your room. I have the top
bunk on the left, the bottom is open.”
Rand
peered past the dirty curtain his brother held aside into a dank little area with three bunk cots barely big enough for a
full grown man. He suddenly wondered if leaving the valley farm was the smart thing to do. Sure, things had been sparse, the
house small, but not near as depressing as the huge stone and wood expanse surrounding him. The smell of dust and must mixed
with sweat and some underlying hint of rot created a mood he could only describe as despair.
He
spent years fighting off the few Oceaners dumb enough to try travel inland along the west coast, only five of those years
in the Tennessee Guard. He’d heard tales stating what was once called the south east of the United States was under
water, but not so far under to let huge vessels pass far north to dry land without at least a day’s trek through reptilian
infested swamps. So many ships had sunk, they made their own blockade and the confrontations there had dwindled to nearly
none.
Boredom
struck. He wanted adventure, wanted to do more with a chance of accomplishing something larger than a winter’s worth
of food. And he wanted to leave ugly memories behind. When the recruiter made his yearly visit from the capital in Kentucky
in search of men to help hold the east walls secure, he’d grasped at the chance. Maybe too fast.
Jacob
left three years earlier and their mother had cried. Jacob was the one his parents expected to take over the family farm.
When Rand spoke the news of his leaving, she shed some tears, but also admitted she had expected as
much. All they asked was for him to send word as often as possible of his and Jacob’s well being. Jacob had never been
one for the written word. Rand didn’t mind it.
Now
he wished the stories he read from yellowed paper bound between hard covers in the small town library had satisfied his restlessness.
Or maybe he was just weary of the month long constant change and uncertainty.
He stepped into the room
and tossed his meager pack onto his cot, drooped in the center. His back ached from the sight of it.
