The Survivalist (Road Home)

Foreword

There have been countless stories of heroes facing arduous journeys returning home. Perhaps the greatest ever told was Homer’s The Odyssey. In it, the King of Ithaca, Odysseus, must return home after the fall of Troy. Thanks in part to curses from angry gods, as well as an incredibly onerous voyage, it takes him ten long years to get back to Ithaca. Along the way, he encounters all sorts of dangers, including a one-eyed Cyclops, man-eating giants, seductive sirens, and even a six-headed sea monster.

The Odyssey, like many other adventure stories, tells of the importance of family. Throughout his ten-year voyage, Odysseus never loses faith that he will one day return to his wife and son. Even after making it back to Ithaca, he must overcome suitors who have forced their way into the kingdom during his absence. In the end, Odysseus defeats them in a contest of strength, and later kills them outright for their heinous actions.

The central theme in such stories is that, for the right hero, love of family can overcome any challenge. All that is required is perseverance and an undying determination to return home. Should an apocalyptic event occur one day, it is all but certain that men and women will find themselves separated from those that they love. Many will no doubt succumb to the dangers of the journey home. A few, however, will possess the resolve of Odysseus, overcoming man and beast alike, to once again feel the warm embrace of their family.

Chapter 1

The soil in the flower garden was soft and loose, dark grains of earth that looked more like volcanic ash than it did dirt. As Mason went about scooping the rich soil to one side, he allowed his mind to wander. He imagined his life as a series of experiences stitched together into a colorful tapestry. Red and black splashed out in every direction, scenes of violence and death that tracked him as sure as any bloodhound. But between those patches were smaller images made up of bright blues, yellows, and greens, vestiges of happiness and wonder that, while never able to displace the darkness, had been unwilling to be devoured by despair.

He glanced over at Brooke’s body. She lay on her back, eyes closed, with both hands resting on her stomach. If it hadn’t been for the dark pool of blood soaking her cotton shirt, she might have been mistaken for someone enjoying an afternoon siesta.

I think you’ll like it here, he said in a soft voice. Plenty of flowers, and this old house has a warmth to it. You said so yourself.

Talking to the dead was not something Mason was accustomed to doing, but he wasn’t quite ready to let Brooke go just yet. While it was true that she had been a deceitful woman, capable of doing nearly anything to stay alive, she was also someone he had come to love. And love was not something that could be plucked from the soul like grounds from hot coffee. Love was messy, awful sometimes, but that’s also what made it as close to perfect as any emotion could be.

Treachery or not, Brooke had proven her feelings in a way that said more than any declaration of love ever could. She had given her life for his, and such debts could never be repaid. Nor were they expected to be. Sacrifices of that sort were gifts that must be accepted with grace and humility. To do anything less would lead to self-loathing and guilt.

When the hole was finally deep enough, Mason lifted Brooke into his arms. She felt lighter than he remembered, as if the departing of her soul could somehow be measured.

A more sensitive man might have wept as he gently placed her into the narrow hole.

Mason didn’t.

Instead, he kissed his fingertips and gently touched them to her mouth.

Sleep easy, my love.

Without further goodbyes, he picked up the shovel and began slowly covering her body with the dark soil. Bowie, who had been lying nearby watching him, moseyed over and peered down into the hole. The wolfhound wasn’t confused, only accepting. Brooke would no longer speak or walk beside them, just as others who had left them in the past.

He looked up at Mason, who by now was covered in a layer of sweat. Bowie licked the fur around his mouth, imagining the salty taste of his master’s skin. But he made no move to inch closer. There was a solemnness surrounding Mason that was less than inviting. Bowie licked his mouth again. He could wait, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

When Mason finished with the grave, he went to the trouble of covering it with a dozen large flat pavers that surrounded the garden. The stones wouldn’t stop a grave robber, but they might at least prevent a pack of wandering dogs from digging her up.

He took a few drinks of water from a bottle in his pack and then used an old t-shirt to mop the sweat from his neck and face.

Sensing that the job was done, Bowie looked first at the boxy Ford Flex parked in the driveway of the small cedar home and then back at Mason. Whoever said that animals couldn’t communicate had obviously never met Bowie.

In a minute, replied Mason.

He turned back and faced the grave. It felt as if he should say something, but the only words that came out were, Okay then.

Tossing aside the old shovel, he returned to the Flex, let Bowie in the passenger side, and slipped in behind the steering wheel. He turned the key and double checked the fuel gauge.

Half full. It should be enough to return him to Gloucester, Virginia, to where Jessie awaited.

Burying one lover only hours before returning to another might seem callous to some, but Mason accepted that life was a series of losses. To dwell on them was to lose sight of what wonders might yet lie ahead. Perhaps such thinking was a little of his father’s Buddhist philosophy rubbing off on him, or maybe it was just an understanding that every day was precious and to be lived to the fullest. Either way, it was time to move forward.

He felt Bowie’s tongue slide against the side of his neck. Once. Twice. By the third lashing, it became clear that this was to be more of a bath than a simple I love you.

Mason gently pushed the big dog away as he lowered the window on Bowie’s side of the car. The wolfhound immediately turned and leaned his head out through the open window, marveling at the sights, sounds, and smells just beyond his reach.

With a tight three-point turn, Mason wheeled the Flex around and started down the narrow driveway. As he glanced in the rearview mirror, he could barely make out the discoloration of the freshly dug dirt.

Brooke had finally found peace.

As Mason prepared to turn north onto Highway 32, it occurred to him that he was at the cusp of a new life. With Beebie heading back to the New Colony, there was a decent chance that his days of being an outlaw were coming to an end. When Beebie relayed what he knew of Brooke’s role in the deception surrounding The Farm, the New Colony’s leadership would have little reason to pursue Mason further. While they may not choose to fully exonerate him without some form of hearing, they would almost certainly decide to drop the matter. It was just that kind of world now. The squeakiest wheels got the grease, and Mason was no longer one of those wheels.

While it was possible to return to the New Colony to fully clear his name, Mason was not inclined to do so. Call it hurt feelings or just a grudge, he wasn’t yet ready to forgive those who had accused him of being a rapist and murderer.

The New Colony and Brooke were both in his past, and he was determined to keep it that way. He needed to turn his attention to the future. A beautiful young woman awaited him, and he was bound and determined to give her his all.

Too bad his all was nothing more than the pack on his back. While he was certain that Jessie would be content with him arriving emptyhanded, Mason couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. For a time, he and Jessie would very likely have to live with her father, Jack, eating food that he had planted the previous season. Mason was no stranger to hard work, and he was confident that he could build a plentiful life with Jessie. But that would take time, and the thought of depending on anyone was contrary to his nature.

Mason’s eyes turned westward. It had been nearly a year since he had hidden a large cache of gold coins. With the New Colony’s adoption of a gold-backed currency, that stash now held tremendous value. Unfortunately, it was resting at the bottom of Lake Crawford, nearly three-hundred miles away.

Three-hundred miles, he said aloud, as if the words might help to sway his decision. Even if there were no hitches, the trip would add a full day to his journey. And that assumed he could find gas or a suitable replacement vehicle along the way.

Hearing his master’s voice, Bowie pulled his enormous head in from the open window and stared at him with curious eyes.

It’s a long way to go. No doubt we’d run into trouble of one kind or another. What do you say, boy? Are you up for a little detour?

The wolfhound let out a soft woof.

Mason smiled. All right then, let’s go get Jessie the treasure that she deserves.

Chapter 2

Tanner tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of the old Toyota pickup, humming to the tune of Poco’s Keep on Trying. The CD had been left behind by Reverend Purdy or one of his followers, and its songs seemed to capture Tanner’s unusually upbeat mood.

Other than a large pileup of abandoned cars forcing them to detour north towards Cincinnati, the trip had proven so far to be uneventful. For the better part of an hour, he and Samantha had switched from one small county road to another, constantly weaving their way northeast toward Mount Weather.

You seem awfully cheerful, she said.

You say that like it’s a bad thing.

She shrugged. Not bad. Just not like you, that’s all.

What’s not to be cheerful about? We’re both in one piece and headed back to Issa. Doesn’t get much better.

Samantha glanced back at the two nuclear projectiles and accompanying launch tube lying in the bed of the truck.

Those don’t worry you?

Why should they?

Oh, I don’t know, maybe because they could blow us five hundred feet into the air.

He scoffed. You worry too much. Besides, he said with a grin, if those babies go off, they won’t blow us into the air; they’ll vaporize us. Nothing left but our shadows.

She rolled her eyes. "Great. That makes me feel much better."

He reached over and mussed her hair.

Relax, kiddo. We’re on the home stretch.

Unable to shake the feeling that some dark discovery yet lay ahead, Samantha turned to look out her window, hoping for a distraction.

Where are we anyway?

Highway 42.

"I mean what state are we in?"

Kentucky.

She studied the passing trees, trying to determine if they were in fact Kentucky trees.

You sure we’re not lost?

I’ve told you a hundred times, I don’t get lost.

She smirked. I’m pretty sure ninety-nine of those times we were lost.

Samantha popped open the glove box. Inside, she found a small stack of pink tax receipts and a folded map of the Eastern United States.

Hey, look, she said, holding up the map. Now we really won’t get lost.

You’re going to trust a piece of paper over my intuition?

I am if the paper says map on it, and maybe even if it doesn’t.

He grinned. Check it out if you want, but I’m telling you as long as we head northeast, we’ll find our way back.

Even so, she said unfolding the map onto the dash, it never hurts to be sure.

Samantha had been risk-averse since their very first meeting, and nothing Tanner could say would ever change that. All in all, he thought that her cautious nature was probably a good thing, since it tended to balance out what Issa had called his manly recklessness.

Samantha took a few moments to study the map, first finding their location and then tracking a path over to Mount Weather. Based on what she saw, Tanner indeed appeared to be heading in the right direction. Instead of telling him that, however, she folded the map and quietly placed it back into the glovebox.

Well? he said, glancing over at her.

Well what?

Are we going the right way?

More or less.

Tanner smiled. It was as close to a compliment as he was likely to receive from Samantha.

She rolled her window down a few inches and felt of the air.

It feels like a cold snap is coming. We’ll need to break out our jackets.

A cold snap? What are you from the 50’s?

My father used to say that.

Tanner nodded. Samantha didn’t talk about her dad much, but when she did, he made it a point to be quiet and let her speak.

He never really understood me. Is that bad for me to say?

Not a bit.

I mean he was nice and all, and I certainly loved him.

Of course.

It’s just he didn’t make me feel strong. You know?

A daddy’s little girl is always his little girl.

I guess. She paused. "Am I your little girl?"

"What do you think?"

She considered the question. I think I’m more like your partner in crime.

He grinned. Nailed it.

She giggled. Are you eager to get back to Issa?

More than you know.

Samantha imagined Issa’s face, and a warm smile touched her lips. Issa had never bothered to declare herself Samantha’s new mother. She had simply stepped in and provided the love and protection that a mother gives her child. Samantha was thankful for both, as well as the lack of over-the-top doting that some adopting mothers might feel compelled to show. Issa had just been Issa, and that had been enough.

I hope she’s okay.

I’m sure she’s fine. We’re talking about Issa, here.

Samantha nodded her agreement. Pregnant or not, Issa was a force of nature in her own right. Besides, Mother was wise enough to know better than to harm her. Tanner’s promise to destroy all of Mount Weather should something bad befall his wife or unborn child had not been the boast of an arrogant man. If he said he was going to break something, he broke it.

According to the map, we’ll need to turn east once we get close to Cincinnati.

Sounds about right. Tanner yawned. Gonna be a long day of driving.

Samantha squirmed ever so slightly on her seat.

So, it’s going to be awhile before we stop then?

Tanner knew that Samantha was not one to ask for a pee-break unless it was absolutely necessary. Every stop brought with it real-world dangers. With nothing more than a bit of bad luck, the slightest detour could become the end of the road.

You know, now that you bring it up, I could use a quick pit stop, drain the old dragon, as it were.

Really? she said, trying to hide her relief.

He nodded. Too much of Reverend Purdy’s coffee, I guess.

"I suppose I could go too, you know, since you need to stop anyway."

Tanner gestured toward a small stretch of houses on the left side of the road.

Dealer’s choice.

She seemed surprised. We get to use a toilet?

Darlin’, sometimes it’s the little things in life.

Without waiting for Samantha to pick a house, he wheeled the pickup into the driveway of a 1970’s-style, brick rancher. A white Toyota Corolla sat on four rotted-out tires, rust slowly eating the car from the bottom up.

Samantha lifted her newly acquired CZ 452, .22 caliber rifle out from behind the seat. It was a little bigger than her previous rifle, and it had a nifty Bushnell scope that she was dying to try out. She doubled checked that her Bond Arms Patriot derringer hung from her left hip and that her knife was seated at the small of her back.

Ready, she announced.

Let’s do it then.

Tanner snatched the Benelli M4 from the floorboard. The shotgun was a big tactical twelve-gauge with all the bells and whistles, including a pistol grip stock, titanium Cerakote finish, and ghost ring sights. He quickly checked that it was fully loaded.

It was. Five plus one in the chamber.

What kind of world do we live in where we need guns to go to the bathroom? Samantha said as they started walking toward the house.

You know what kind of world we live in.

Yeah, she breathed, a bad one.

As they approached the front door, it suddenly swung open, and both Samantha and Tanner instinctively brought their weapons to their shoulders.

A lanky man in his late twenties with bright yellow hair and tiny spectacles stood before them.

Well, hello there, he said, managing a warm but nervous smile.

Samantha glanced at Tanner, and he did the same to her. Neither knew what to make of the stranger. Such greetings were certainly not the norm.

Samantha lowered her rifle and said, Do you live here?

The man pressed his lips together as if giving the question a great deal of consideration.

"I suppose I do."

You don’t know if you live here?

I’ve been staying here for some time now, so in a sense, I guess it’s as much my home as any other place. The smile never left his face as he spoke.

She squinted. Do we know you?

No, I don’t think so. Why?

It’s just that you seem awfully happy to see us. Doesn’t he, Tanner?

Like a cat that swallowed a canary, Tanner said, lowering his shotgun to waist level but keeping it pointed at the stranger’s gut.

Indeed, I am happy to see you. It’s been nearly a month since I’ve laid eyes on another human being. Such solitude makes a person lonely.

No one else lives around here? Samantha said, glancing around at the houses.

Not a soul.

Why not? It looks peaceful enough.

I’m sure it was a lovely community back in its day. Unfortunately, it seems to have been hit particularly hard by the pox.

"How’d you get here?" Tanner said, eyeing the broken-down Corolla.

Hitchhiked.

Really? said Samantha. Isn’t that dangerous?

It can be.

Weren’t you worried about getting into a car with strangers?

Nah, I get along with folks pretty well, he said, brandishing his smile once again.

I’ll say.

My wife, God rest her soul, always said that proper conversation starts with a handshake and an exchange of names. He extended his hand. I’m Sully.

Samantha, she said, shaking his hand, and this is my dad, Tanner.

Tanner leaned sideways to get a glimpse inside the house. A backpack sat on the couch, and there was a plate of half-eaten food on the coffee table.

What exactly brought you here?

I came looking for an elderly woman named Margaret Wilson. Unfortunately, she died in bed some months ago. I buried what was left of her out back. Figured it was the least I could do.

I’m sorry, said Samantha. Were the two of you close?

Sully shook his head. No, I’d never met her.

Samantha’s brow furrowed.

I’m sorry, I should have explained. I’m a bounty hunter.

I thought bounty hunters found criminals.

In the old days, yes. Now, ‘bounty hunters’ is sort of a collective term for people who do things for others.

What kind of things?

Kill people, for one, growled Tanner.

You kill people for money? Samantha said with a frown.

While it’s true that some bounty hunters are nothing more than paid assassins sent out to even a score, I don’t do that kind of work.

"What do you do?"

Mostly I look for missing people. When the virus hit, it left families spread across the country. I help them to get back together.

I would think that if someone’s missing after all this time, they’re probably dead.

And nine times out of ten, you’d be right.

But you’ve found people alive?

I certainly have.

If they’re dead, do you get paid?

Usually half for the effort of finding them.

How do people know that you found them?

He reached into his pocket and removed a small gold necklace with a turquoise and silver cross.

I bring them back something from their loved one. This little beauty was Margaret’s.

Staring at the cross, Samantha said, It seems so sad.

Maybe, but at least it gives the family some peace of mind. Not knowing is worse, believe me.

Samantha nodded her approval. It sounds like you have a good job, Mr. Sully. You’re helping people. Tanner and I help people, too.

Oh? What is it that you do?

We’re monster hunters, she said very matter of fact. Well, we used to be. We’re thinking of quitting.

Sully looked from Samantha to Tanner and then back again, clearly uncertain if she was pulling his leg. When he couldn’t reconcile her words with what he was seeing, he said, Why would you ever decide to do something like that?

She shrugged. We sort of stumbled into it. It’s messy work though. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve pulled from my hair.

Sully’s face wrinkled with discomfort.

When Samantha said nothing more, he shook the image from his head and said, Obviously, you folks came here looking for something. What can I get you? Food, water, a place to rest?

Samantha blushed. To be honest, we’re looking for a bathroom.

Ah, he said with a chuckle. Well, I would say you could use mine, but you’d be better off checking out the neighbor’s. I’m guessing it’s cleaner.

Thanks, she said with a nod, we’ll do that.

As she and Tanner turned to leave, Sully called after them.

If you have a few minutes after you finish your business, kindly stop back by. I’d like to discuss a proposition with you.

Sure thing, Samantha