Bakerstown

Episode 2 of

The Drifter

An America Falls Serialized Novel

__________

Written by Scott Medbury

Copyright 2022 Scott Medbury

All characters and events depicted in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Also by Scott Medbury

You can listen to my audiobooks free here: https://www.youtube.com/c/scottmedburyauthor

The America Falls Series:

Hell Week

On the Run

Cold Comfort

Rude Shock

Luke’s Trek

Civil War

Lone Wolf

Messenger (Novella)

The Rabid States Series:

Unleashed

Alpha Pack

Fox Hole

Standalone novels:

INGA

www.scottmedbury.com

Chapter 1

Ragland liked to pride himself in finding solutions to problems. All those years tracking, hunting, and surviving the new world had taught him how to handle most things that came up.

Now, hanging eighty feet over a gorge, with the unconscious girl in one hand, and the splintered beam in the other, he was finally stumped.

Another finger slipped.

Three left.

It wouldn’t be long now.

For a horrible but fleeting moment, he considered letting Kit fall to her death so he could try and save himself, but with epic timing she spared him that moral dilemma by blinking back to consciousness and beginning to thrash wildly when she found herself hanging upside down over the deep gorge.

‘Stop! Don’t move!’

Kit cried, her breathing coming in quick bursts as she hyperventilated.

The girl waking up spurred him back into survival mode and he looked around for something… anything to get them out of their predicament. He found it, three feet away. The one remaining support beam that connected both sides of the bridge, one that had run parallel to the broken beam he hung from. It was their only chance.

‘Hey, Kit. Listen to me. Listen,’ he pleaded. ‘You see that beam there? That thick piece of wood that spans the gap?’

She dared open her eyes and tried to find what Ragland was talking about from her upside-down perspective.

‘Yeah, I see it. Oh my God. Oh my God.’

‘Good,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I’m going to need you to work with me here, Okay? I’m going to swing you toward it, and I want you to grab it.’

Kit started to hyperventilate again, and he couldn’t blame her. His third finger was cutting into the wood and blood from it was trickling down to his wrist.

‘I know! I know but look. If we don’t do this, we both die. You got this! Here we go.’

The wolf above became agitated, perhaps sensing this last-ditch effort at escape, and paced along the edge of the fractured bridge above him, dipping its head and sniffing at the very beam he was going to try and swing Kit too.

Ragland clenched his jaw and started slowly building momentum. At first it felt fruitless, with the wind creating a challenge, but after a few twists, he was creating enough pivot from his shoulder to develop an arc.

Kit clawed the air as she gradually swung closer to the beam, her hair dangling beneath her, damp with blood and sweat.

‘I can’t get it!’ she moaned, her fingers swiping a good six inches from the beam.

‘You can!’

He gave her another swing and felt his third finger slip right to the edge, the tendons in his wrist popped in protest and he let out an involuntary cry; this seemed to spook the wolf, which dashed out of sight.

This time, Kit’s fingertip brushed the edge of the structure before she swung away.

‘I- I almost got it!’ she shouted. ‘One more!’

Ragland didn’t know if he had another. Closing his eyes and biting down hard, he let out a howl and with all his might threw her, releasing his grip and in the same move, reaching up and grabbing his own beam with the newly free hand.

Dangling with his eyes closed in dread, he waited for the scream as she fell. Instead, he heard a thud and the sound of Kit scrambling onto the unbroken beam.

Looking across and suddenly feeling a hell of a lot lighter, Ragland saw her pull herself up and begin crawling along the beam until she reached safety at the edge of the remaining substructure. From there she had a quick climb to the surface of the bridge.

Thank god.

‘You good?’ he shouted.

‘I think so…’

She bent over, sucking in deep breaths. She looked shaken and he couldn’t blame her.

Even though he was free of her weight, he still struggled to pull himself up; his muscles were fatigued and trembled violently. He took a deep breath when he had half crawled onto it then carefully got to his feet. Once upright he dared a glance in the direction of the wolf. It had retreated to the end of the bridge and stood with its sole surviving packmate, but as soon as it saw his head and shoulders peak above the bridge surface, it barked and ran towards him.

Staying calm he leapt across to the other beam. Kit screamed as he teetered with his arms waving wildly before finding his balance and turning towards her.

‘Hurry! It’s coming!’

No shit Sherlock, he thought, as he began speed walking along the beam with his arms out like a tightrope walker.

He heard claws scrabbling behind him as the predator came to a skidding halt. He didn’t think it would attempt to jump down onto the narrow beam but regardless, he awkwardly ran the last two yards when he thought he was within range of Kit’s outstretched hands.

He came in too fast and leapt onto the surface, barreling into her, causing them both to fall to the weathered sleepers. Once he knew he hadn’t killed her, he rolled onto his back and began to laugh. It started as a giggle, then turned into a deep belly laugh. Kit joined in too. When the laughter finally subsided, he nursed his left hand and stared up at the sky, which had rapidly fallen into night.

Never had the stars looked so beautiful.

‘Shit,’ he panted.

‘Let’s get off this thing, like, right now,’ Kit said, her face still pale.

‘Yeah, good call.’

He rolled over onto his side and wearily climbed to his feet. The two wolves still watched. He was tempted to flip them the bird, but turned and hastened after Kit, not wanting to tempt fate or linger any longer in case they plucked up the courage to attempt to jump down onto the beam and follow.

It was certainly possible. It was wide enough, and he knew it was only the jump of five feet from the surface to the intact beam that was stopping them. They were undoubtedly nimble enough to traverse it.

Once safely off the bridge, they both jogged a short distance and fell to the earth. Kit was back up again within seconds to throw up into a bush to the left, hucking up all the turkey she’d eaten earlier.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her plaid shirt, she staggered back and fell to her knees next to Ragland, trying in vain to wipe the blood from her forehead.

‘That was too close.’

‘You did good,’ he breathed, feeling for his gear. ‘Real good… Ah shit.’

He walked back to the edge of the gorge, but darkness had swallowed it and Ragland couldn’t make out the bottom, let alone see if his bow or knife were down there with the dead wolves.

‘Goddamn it.’

‘Sorry,’ he heard Kit say behind him, sniffing. ‘I didn’t mean to drop the bow.’

He shook his head, trying not to feel personally wronged, because ever since he rescued her, things had been a hot damn mess.

‘No,’ he said, helping her up from the dirt. ‘Not your fault. We have what we need. Our lives. Besides, I still have the pack, I can replace the bow and knife eventually. For now, we just have to make it to Bakerstown. Know the way?’

Kit looked back at the bridge, then surveyed the trees. For a second, he was worried she was lost, and that after everything they’d survived, it was all for nothing.

‘This way,’ she said, finally.

‘Sure?’

Kit nodded. ‘I’m sure. We’ll reach the Hunting Lodge first. It’s always got someone there for lookout. Probably Peter or Alex.’

‘And what are these folks of yours like?’

‘They’re good people, old man. I wouldn’t have stayed there if they weren’t. So, like, let’s just get going. This place is giving me the creeps.’

Ragland looked around. He felt it too, like someone was watching. Not wanting to chance their luck any further, they made off into the woods. Luckily it was a full moonlit night, but they still had to tread carefully to avoid stumbling in the dark.

Chapter 2

‘Shhh,’ said Kit, stopping and cocking her head, after an hour and a half of difficult trekking.

Ragland paused behind her and then heard what she was listening for. The babbling of a stream.

‘This way!’ she said and moved off again without checking to see if he was following.

The cold night bit at their exposed skin. Both hungry, Kit more so for throwing up everything in her stomach, and exhausted from the ordeal, they staggered down a rocky path between the trees, following the noise of the stream to their right.

It sounded closer with every step they took.

‘We’re here,’ she whispered finally, her feet practically dragging themselves through the dirt.

Ragland was about to ask where exactly, but before he could open his mouth, the flickering of torchlight winked at him through the branches.

The woodland path opened onto a narrow walkway over the rocky stream that cascaded down from the higher ground to their west.

Water always calmed Ragland. The soothing slosh and trickle as it rolled its way over rock and pebble. But not tonight. Instead, despite fatigue, he was on high alert, eyeing the balcony of the big log cabin on the other side of the water. A large man in a cutter’s cowboy hat and holding a long rifle at the ready stood at the railing watching them cross.

Kit jogged in front of Ragland, waving her hand.

‘Hey, Peter, it’s me. Kit.’

If he was smart, Ragland thought, he’d have his gun pointed on me within a heartbeat.

And he was.

No sooner had Kit crossed the short lawn to the decking than Peter swung his rifle up to his shoulder and brought it to bear on Ragland, his feet spread and a cold look on his face.

‘That’s about far enough.’

‘Peter,’ Kit protested, grabbing her savior’s arm. ‘His name’s Ragland. He saved my life. Twice! We owe him. Food and a bed for the night at least.’

‘I’ll decide what we do. Where the hell have you been, girl? We was worried sick. Thought you’d gone and got yourself lost. Me and Alex were fixing to go lookin’ for ya tomorrow.’

‘Peter, please.’

Ragland remained stock still on the lodge end of the bridge, his hands up and waiting patiently.

‘Toss that bag over here,’ the man ordered, not paying Kit any attention.

‘Listen. Peter, is it? I’m no bother. I can just leave right now, and we don’t—’

‘I said, toss the bag! You deaf or just dumb, old man?’

It was all he could do not to groan. This scrawny hero, Peter, looked at least a decade younger than him, with his jeans held up by a too big belt whose excess length flapped down beside the gun holster on his hip.

‘You sure I can’t persuade you?’

‘Throw it here!’

Peter clicked back the hammer. Ragland didn’t like the look of his trigger discipline—or lack of. He took off his backpack reluctantly and threw it towards the deck.

Peter nudged Kit, who stepped down off the veranda and picked up the bag. She looked at Ragland, mouthed sorry, and took it back to Peter, setting it on a wooden table near him.

‘Pull up your shirt and give us a turn, princess.’

He’s not messing around, thought Ragland.

This Peter, no matter how young, knew the rules of survival, at least when it came to strangers. Feeling only mildly humiliated, he lifted up his shirt to show no concealed weapons and turned slowly.

‘I’m unarmed,’ Ragland shouted, when he had done his three-sixty turn. ‘Just give me my gear and I’ll be gone.’

‘No can do.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Don’t trust you. This could be some sorta trap, or something. You don’t get to come any closer, so on yer bike and don’t come back.’

Ragland turned to Kit.

‘Is this the welcome party you mentioned?’

‘Peter,’ she said. ‘For god’s sake. Stop this macho shit, right now. No one cares. You’ve stripped him of everything. Can you at least let him in?’

The young cowboy seemed to think on it. It was clear he wanted to show he was in charge, but a flash of doubt crossed his features in the torchlight. That doubt made him look more like a kid with a button nose trying to play adult, than a hardened sentry.

‘Look,’ Ragland said, his already sore arms aching from being held up too long. ‘I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. But I figure, if word got around in this town of yours that you stripped the guy who saved one of your own, before sending him helpless into the woods, it won’t earn you any brownie points. You don’t have to roll out the red carpet, kid. Just let me take my stuff and I’ll be on my way. I never wanted to get mixed up in this anyway.’

Kit glowered. He could see the words hurt her, but he’d had enough. This was exactly why he kept to himself and got involved with others as infrequently as possible.

‘What’s going on here?’

The woman’s voice came from inside the lodge and a figure emerged. She was shorter than both Kit and Peter and her voice was soft but held a tone of authority. Not unlike a mother who’d just found her kids causing trouble.

As she stepped into the torchlight, Ragland saw she was a petite woman, much closer in age to him, maybe 27 or so, with sleep-tousled blond hair. She was wearing a denim shirt under a thick puffer jacket and jeans.

‘Well?’

Ragland’s eyes met with hers. In that instant, he knew she was the real boss around here. Someone who meant business and didn’t need to point a gun to take control.

‘He wandered in here with Kit. Don’t know who he is and what with Kit missin’ and all… come on, Marly.’

The woman named Marly walked over to Kit, putting her arm around her shoulders.

‘Good to see you back, kid. Want to tell me the story?’

‘This old man saved me. Twice. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be lunch and dinner for a pack of cannibals a few days walk from here. Seriously, like, I owe him my life. But Peter, here, is fu—’

Marly held up a hand, smiled, and stepped down off the veranda and walked across to Ragland.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Ragland, ma’am. Joshua Ragland.’

‘True, is it? You saved her from them?’

Surprised to see her waltz on up to him without a blink of hesitation, he looked down at her and nodded. The height difference was almost comical, and she had to crane her neck up, hand on her hips, to get a good look at him.

‘Yes, that’s pretty much how it went down.’

She regarded him a second longer, then nodded.

‘I can tell when a man’s lying. Peter!’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘Put that rifle down, you big lump, and go send word to Claire.’

Peter hung his head, embarrassed, and skulked off back into the lodge.

‘So we good then?’

‘Sure. Sorry about him. Peter. He gets awful protective about what we have here. Doesn’t take kindly to strangers.’

‘It’s no bother. Mind if I get my stuff?’

She gave him a quick once over then nodded.

Ragland side-stepped Marly and grabbed his backpack from the table on the veranda. Kit was still there, and she looked on the brink of collapsing.

It was after throwing his backpack on, that he considered the issue of losing his bow and hunting knife. He’d had both for a very long time and had grown attached to them. He was lucky to still have his pendant.

Holding the onyx stone in his hand, he knew, in his heart, that venturing back out into the wild without a weapon and the means to hunt would be suicide. He needed to stay, regroup and replenish his energy before figuring out his next moves.

Marly joined them, smiling at Kit and rubbing her arm.

‘When Alex gets here, we’ll get you right on over to Claire. Okay?’

Kit nodded.

Given how uncharacteristically quiet she was, Ragland thought she must be on the edge of exhaustion. 

‘Who’s Claire?’ he asked, adjusting the straps on his bag.

‘Our town medic.’

Ragland’s eyes widened.

‘Those aren’t too common these days.’

‘We’re lucky to have her. Here, let’s get inside and start a fire. Alex will be a while yet.’

Still on edge, and checking shadows, Ragland followed Kit and Marly into the lodge. The interior was, as expected, dark wood, dusty taxidermy, flags and badges over the walls, and a big old gun over the stone fireplace.

A long couch ran for a good fifteen feet next to a shaggy rug that had seen better days. Kit slumped onto the lounge, taking up a moth-eaten blanket and tucking her legs in. Poor kid, he thought.

Opposite the living area, an island bench that looked like it had been surgically removed from another building entirely and grafted into the lodge, designated the kitchen.

He wandered over to the kitchen island, wiping his muddied hand over it; newer it might be, but it was thick with dust.

‘Hey, sasquatch, wanna help me with the fire?’ Marly called to him, bending down to poke the charred remains in the hearth, making room for fresh wood.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘What you got?’

‘Tinder’s over in the basket there,’ she pointed. ‘And some more logs out on the porch. You get those?’

Ragland smiled. She sure had a way with managing people. She’d known him all of five minutes, and already had him running around doing errands.

His boots echoed across the floorboards on his way to the front door. Next to it, in the half-open drawer of the side table, he could see the rotten covers of old fiction titles and a few magazines. On top, there were a few melted candles and a tin dish filled with coins and screws that no one would have a use for ever again.

Out on the porch, the cool air ruffled his hair. North facing, the lodge’s front caught most of the weather, feeling substantially colder than the back where they’d entered. To his right was a porch swing covered in leaves with an old book face down on the seat. To his left, the logs Marly had requested.

Grabbing an armful, he returned to Marly, who had cleared a good space, adding plenty of smaller kindling. Ragland knelt, knees clicking, and arranged the logs across each other to maximize oxygen.

‘Got a match or lighter?’

‘No matches, sorry. We ran out years ago. Same with lighters. You don’t have any yourself, do you?’ Marly asked, looking vaguely hopeful.

‘No, sorry. Flint then?’

Marly picked up a rock and a small piece of flint from the top of the mantelpiece and handed it to him. Ragland took it and noticed the scratches and burns across the rock where it’d been used hundreds of times.

He’d used matches and lighters, in the early years. Then, when they ran out, he’d taken to using flutes of wood and kindling to generate a fire. An old trick he’d picked up from books, but one that played havoc on his hands.

It was only after a year that he decided to start collecting flint when he could. It proved to be a game-changer. The shame of it taking him a good year to move to flint still stung on occasion, the callouses on his palms a permanent reminder.

‘Thank you,’ he said, striking the flint just twice on the rock, sparks leaping off and catching in the kindling immediately.

Orange heat flared and glowed hot. Ragland bent close and blew gently on the kindling, creating a thick plume of grey smoke to fill the space between the logs. He stopped, took a breath and blew again.

The fire took, flames belching into life, curling their hot fingers around the wood. Ragland sat back on his haunches and glanced over at Marly.

‘Should do.’

She nodded with a smile.

‘Not bad, old man.’

‘Hey, I get enough of that from the kid,’ he said, pointing a thumb at Kit, who was already fast asleep.

‘For good reason,’ she said, frowning now as the same light lit up Ragland’s face. ‘You’re the oldest person we’ve seen in a very long time. We thought the virus had killed them off. How old were you when it happened?’

‘Twenty-four.’

‘Wow, life must be hard out there on your own. You look like you’re pushing forty with that beard. No offense.’

Ragland felt exposed. He couldn’t remember ever meeting someone so capable of seeing right through him. She was right. The years in the wild had been hard on him. He felt like each year aged him by three.

‘I’m gonna go grab some air on the veranda until your guy comes down.’

Marly grinned.

‘Your old bones weary, huh?’

He was of course tired and sore from the ordeal over the gorge and the long trek to the lodge but didn’t want to give away just how vulnerable he was.

‘No, just have some thinking to do is all…’

Ragland left her to it, glancing over his shoulder to see her watching him and knowing she didn’t buy it. He knew he desperately needed the chance to recover after what had happened. Kit was just mature enough to know when she was beat and needed rest. He could be a stubborn mule at the best of times.

Out on the front porch Ragland went to the swinging bench and picked up the hardcover book, marveling at its pristine condition.

Stamped in gold leaf on the black bound cover was: Dubliners, by James Joyce.

Before he could flick through the pages, a man’s voice boomed from the trees in front of the porch.

‘Best not be losing my place there, sir.’

Chapter 3

Ragland looked up and saw a tall black man, in a dark winter jacket and blue jeans. He had on him a small backpack and a rifle slung across his right shoulder. As he walked closer, he noted stubble on the newcomer’s chin and bright, intelligent eyes beneath a Red Sox cap.

‘No problem,’ he called back, placing the book down slowly and standing up.

Alex stepped up onto the porch, giving Ragland a quick once over, wearing an expression far more relaxed than his friend Peter had.

‘You must be the old guy Peter mentioned?’

Alex looked no older than nineteen, maybe twenty. Which meant, like Kit, he’d spent half of his life in the post-virus apocalypse. Something about the young man’s demeanor put Ragland at ease. A relaxing aura he couldn’t put his finger on.

He gestured to the book.

‘And you must be the town scholar?’

Alex laughed.

‘Peter didn’t say you were funny. But, then again, Peter wouldn’t know funny if it bit his ass.’ He rubbed his stubble, nodding to the door. ‘They inside?’

Ragland nodded. ‘Kit’s resting up.’

The two men stepped back into the lodge. Marly sat on the edge of the couch with Kit, using a damp cloth to wipe the blood and dirt from her face. Alex took care to be quiet, as he put his gear down.

‘Hey, just got in. What happened?’

Marly glanced at Ragland, then placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder as he sat opposite, next to Kit’s feet. Ragland remained standing by the fireplace, warming his back.

‘Don’t know the full story yet, and I’m not sure what Peter told you, but this man saved Kit from some bad trouble and brought her back to us.’

Alex looked back at Ragland, a smile brightening up his face. He nodded, then took off his hat.

‘Thank you.’

Ragland nodded.

Kit stirred at the sound of voices, peeling her eyes open to see Alex. She sat herself up quickly and wrapped her arms around him. Alex did the same, burying his face in her neck, before kissing her on the forehead.

Marly got up to leave them to it, shoving her hands into her pockets. She walked over to Ragland.

‘Alex will swap over from Peter for the night watch. We’ll walk back with Kit to Bakerstown. I’ll get you a bed for the night and feed you breakfast tomorrow. After that, what you do is entirely up to you. But I must emphasize that what you did was a good thing. The town will be thankful for it, and you’ll be welcomed. There’s enough food to go around, and another pair of hands would go far. So, if you ever—’

‘I appreciate the offer,’ Ragland interrupted, averting his gaze from Alex and Kit whispering and kissing each other. ‘But that’s just not me. I’m happy to have helped, but food and shelter will be a fine payment. Really.’

Marly’s eyes studied him again. Searching. She stopped, dropping her gaze and placing her hands on her hips.

‘Very well, Mr. Ragland, let’s get us all back to Bakerstown. Alex, you all set up and good?’

Alex was in the middle of softly admonishing Kit. Ragland heard snippets about leaving without warning or backup. He was inclined to agree with the boy, who appeared to have a good head on his shoulders.

‘Yeah, all good here,’ said Alex, before standing up, walking over to Ragland and holding out a hand. ‘I mean it. Thank you. Let me know, and I’ll repay you in whatever way I can.’

‘Don’t even mention it, kid. A life is gift enough.’

‘I’m serious. Name your price.’

‘And so am I. No payment needed.’

‘Kit,’ Marly said, grabbing her own small backpack. ‘You think you can manage the hike back into town?’

She nodded. ‘Yeah. Just a little tired. I’ll be alright.’

Groggily she climbed off the couch, throwing aside the blanket and grabbed a jacket from the clothes peg by the front door.

‘Hey, one more thing,’ Alex said to Ragland before he left with Marly and Kit. ‘Sorry about Peter. He told me he had you at gunpoint. He’s always been like that. Protective. Go easy on him. The other folks will be happy to see you.’

Ragland frowned.

‘How many people know I’m here?’

‘Ah, it’s not like that. Peter doesn’t gossip.’

‘Sure.’

‘Thanks again, old man. Say, what’s your name? I only got your surname.’

‘Joshua. You can call me Josh.’

Alex smiled, slapping him on the arm. The contact surprised Ragland. The sort of jovial interaction between men that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. ‘Alright then, Josh. Good meeting you.’

The slow walk through the trees, onto a small asphalt road, and up to the wooden gates of what he assumed was Bakerstown, had been more pleasant than he’d anticipated. Cool air, quietness and the soft chatter between Marly and Kit soothing to his aching head and muscles.

The scent of pine hung in the cold air, mingling with the earthy aroma of soil. He snapped off leaves to pick at as he walked, soon appreciating the more level surface of the road that led up to the town entrance.

As they approached, Ragland could see the night sky glowed with light from the town. It was clearly bigger than he’d thought, assuming all that light was coming from torches.

Ahead, erected to what looked like roughly twenty feet high, stood a timber wall. Obviously built to keep strangers out, it was not dissimilar to the barriers and fences around many other towns that he had seen on his travels, although this one was perhaps the most impressive he had seen. It was constructed from big, rough-hewn logs, laid horizontally and strapped together with iron bands.

The gates were reinforced with iron plates and looked heavy enough to withstand a battering ram for a good hour or two. At the top of the gates, torches silhouetted two figures with guns pointed down toward their party.

Marly walked out in front, waving.

‘It’s Marly. One of ya’ll go fetch Claire. We’ve got a couple of injured people to look at.’

‘Open up!’ boomed one of the voices.

The rumbling creak of the gates sounded in the night as they rolled and scraped over the road, two figures, pushing them open.

‘Looks a lot of effort,’ Ragland remarked.

‘We had a winch mechanism before,’ Marly replied. ‘Long story short, shit happened, and we had to rebuild quickly. It’ll do for now.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Well get you through to see Claire, make sure you’re alright.’

‘If it’s all the same, I think I’ll just catch some Z’s.’

She shrugged, already several paces ahead of him.

‘Suit yourself. Don’t expect a marked grave if you die in your sleep.’

Ragland smiled.

Passing through the gates, he looked at the folk standing guard. All eyes on him, the stranger to Bakerstown. They all looked young. Much younger than he’d been when he’d gone from his last year of law school to living in the after days. And yet their faces spoke of hard experience. The grim reality that one didn’t get to choose—it just came knocking at the door and had to be dealt with.

Ragland felt a small sadness then, just as he had when he’d seen it before, in other kids across the country. Childhoods ripped away from them when the virus took their parents. Their friends. Their ordinary lives.

He didn’t see the sadness reflected in those faces. Just grit and their will to survive. They might be young, but they weren’t to be underestimated.

‘Thank you, Rufus,’ Marly shouted up onto the wooden walkway that had been built like scaffolding behind the perimeter fence.

A skinny white kid with curly hair nodded. Next to him, an Asian kid pointed to Ragland.

‘Who’s that?’

‘None of your business, Charlie. Keep the watch. You did ask for it, remember?’

Ragland saw the kid’s shoulders slump but had already moved on.

In front of him was the town, similar to any other from the age before America fell but changed by necessity. The road they walked acted as the main avenue, bisecting the town. A big sign proclaimed MAIN ST.

On the left and right, several smaller streets led off from it. Ragland noted that many of the original buildings were still intact—some even refurbished.

He concluded from the rough bricks and new mortar, that they had a stonemason in their ranks. Not bad considering that the oldest person he’d seen would only have been seventeen at the most during the Fall. Even in the dim light, he could tell that some of the wooden structures also looked just a few years old. And there were a lot of them too.

As the trio walked down through the town, deserted due to the time of night, Ragland could see that Kit’s hometown was sprawling, full of growth and sustainability.

It occurred to him that Marly’s offer to stay as a much-needed pair of hands, was just kindness. They didn’t need him at all. If anything, he’d probably just get in the way.

Bakerstown was thriving.

Opposite what looked like a converted bookshop, Ragland saw a tall brunette emerge from one of the repurposed shops. Judging by the large red cross above the window, this was the town medic, Claire.

‘Hey,’ she said to Marly, smiling at Kit and taking a furtive glance at Ragland. ‘Everything okay? Peter and Alex told me.’

‘Just a few scratches and bruises, but we should be sure. If you take Kit, I’ll get our guest here to his quarters for the night.’

‘Sure you don’t need looking at?’ the doctor offered, looking Ragland over.

He held up a hand.

‘I’m fine, will be good as new after a few hours shuteye.’

‘Whatever you say, stranger.’ She turned to Kit, rubbing her shoulders. ‘Hey there, you okay? Let’s get you cleaned up.’

The doctor led Kit back across the street and into her office, which looked to be lit by a few lanterns.

Ragland often wished he’d trained to be an electrician or another useful trade. There was no call for lawyers in Post America, but to be able to work on a plant and revive an electricity grid, even a small one, would have been something exceptional.

Instead, they were in the dark ages. With such a miniscule number of adult survivors after the Fall, lanterns and torches and the occasional small generator would be the best they’d ever have.

At least until an industrial rebirth.

‘You there?’ Marly called, clicking her fingers. ‘Don’t fall asleep on me now. That there was Claire. She’s an angel. She looks after this town more than anyone. Including me.’

‘Claire? Right. Yeah, sorry. I guess I’m tired.’

‘No bother, let’s get you over to the shack. We have a small house at the end here, where we put up travelers or people passing through. We call it the Creaky Motel.’

‘Creaky?’

‘It wobbles like a bitch. One of Charlie’s first projects. Rahul helped. You’ll meet them all tomorrow. They’re some of the handymen in town who keep things going.’

‘Right.’

The two walked down the rest of the avenue in silence, Ragland turning his head left and right to soak it all in. They passed more stores and buildings converted into living space. Some were demolished on the outskirts of town, fenced up and used to grow crops. To the left, a church and then to the right, what looked to be the original town’s school, looked after and according to Marly, still used for its original purpose.

The juxtaposition of original buildings and new wooden structures reminded Ragland they were living and breathing a real American apocalypse. Thrown back into the Wild West, with wooden swing doors, horses as main transport, and canned beans the new delicacy.

‘Do you ever miss it?’ Ragland said, deciding to break the quiet. ‘The old world? Before the virus hit?’

‘Sure I do. You know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a meme?’

They both laughed, shaking their heads at the lost technology that used to seem so important.

She tapped his arm.

‘Not sure I miss all that. But I miss how easy it was. My biggest gripe back then was mom waking me up too early on a Saturday…’ He saw a sadness cross her features and he reminded himself she really was just a kid too, early twenties at the most. ‘Now it’s how to help the town survive another winter without losing another soul.’

‘I’m sure you’ve seen it on your travels. The struggles and harshness of life now. Seems funny that most people back then were more concerned about whether you were a Democrat or a Republican, or the price of gas, or Bitcoin or Elon’s next tweet. I think the virus was more like a time machine, than anything else. Took us back a century, but who knows, maybe that’s what we needed?’

Ragland liked the analogy. It did feel like getting hurled back in time by an invisible hand and waking up living in an old western movie.

‘Elon Musk! I haven’t heard that name in years. You know, I heard a rumor about a year after from someone, that he lifted off for Mars in one of his rockets a week before the attack. It was all on the hush hush of course. Just him, his family and a select group of scientists.’

‘Naw! Bullshit!’

‘You know, it probably is bullshit, but a tiny piece of me hopes it’s true. That he got to live out his dream.’

They both looked up to the stars and were silent for a minute, contemplating the possibility it was true.

‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘You miss it?’

His hand touching the onyx stone on his chest didn’t go unnoticed by Marly.

‘A few things. Sure. Certainly took electricity for granted, didn’t we?’

‘Sure as hell did. Though, I heard a rumor last year of folks a state over trying to rebuild a plant and learn how to run it.’

‘Really?’

‘Hell yeah. It’s not over for us yet, Mr. Ragland.’

They had finally arrived at a rundown-looking shack, with a front door and no windows. Scrawled in white paint above the door was Creaky Motel. A big, old Coca-Cola sign, made from tin and spotted with rust, was nailed to the wall. Ragland wasn’t sure it was there purely for decoration.

‘Thank you,’ he said, opening the door to peek in.

It was bare, with only a fireplace, a bed, and a chest of drawers on the opposite side. A small fire was crackling away in the fireplace.

‘You’re welcome. Had Peter come by and set it up for us.’

‘How’d you know I’d stay?’

Marly smiled, giving him a wink.

‘You’ll get to know my ways. Sleep tight now. Come by the square at sun-up. I’ll introduce you to the town and organize you some breakfast.’

‘Sure thing,’ he said, nodding. ‘And call me Josh.’

She returned the nod and pulled the door closed. The weary drifter stowed what little he had left, then collapsed onto the bed, asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Chapter 4

Three loud gunshots ripped Ragland from a deep sleep. He bolted upright, the room dark, feeling for the hunting knife he’d lost the day before. He was still getting his bearings when the bangs came again. No, not gunshots. It was some damn fool rapping on the tin Coca-Cola sign next to the door.

He climbed off the battered mattress, rubbing his back, and realized just how cold it was with the fire out.

Grumbling, he staggered over and pulled the door open.

Kit, patched up and in fresh clothes, stood with her arms folded.

‘You been sleeping this whole time?’

Ragland squinted up at the cloudy sky.

‘What time is it?’

‘Time you got dressed, old man. Here,’ she bent and picked up a bag she’d left on the steps and flung it into his arms. ‘Fresh clothes. Towel. Home-made soap. There’s a shower behind this shack.’

‘A shower?’

Kit smirked.

‘Well, more like a bucket. I’m sure it’ll be an upgrade from bathing in rivers though. It’ll be cold. We don’t heat water for bathing until it gets to winter, just to conserve our resources.’

Ragland nodded. ‘Makes sense. Listen, about yesterday. You doing okay? It was a hell of a getaway.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, fidgeting with her jacket sleeve. ‘Claire checked me over. Nothing major. So, like, I guess I’m invincible, or whatever. Anyway, I just swung by to wake your ass up and give you the clothes. Marly’s expecting you in the square, so I’d hurry up if I were you. She hates tardiness.’

‘Roger that.’

She was right. The water was cold. He took an old dishcloth from the bag and used it with the soap to wash off the worst of it. Not knowing how full the tank was, he hurried himself up. It took vigorous scrubbing to shift the dirt and blood from his travels—especially his matted hair. He’d turned half-wild.

Feeling rejuvenated from his baptism, he rummaged through the clothes and pulled out a pair of black jeans, a white t-shirt, socks, and some underwear. Pulling them on, the jeans were a little loose, but otherwise, everything fit.

Ragland smiled to himself, as he pulled the socks on. That Marly knew how to measure by the eye, that’s for sure.

With no mirror to check, he swiped his fingers through his long hair and beard, hoping for the best. He grabbed his old jacket, which was still dirty, and took it with him on his walk to find the town square.

Bakerstown looked very different in the daylight. The streets were filled with people coming and going, most busy with tasks or errands, by the looks of it. Men, women, and children delivering everything: long pieces of timber for the houses; wagons filled with water tanks; horses strapped with tools for the workers, and others loaded with fresh produce.

Spying the wicker baskets, Ragland had a hunch they’d be heading to a town square to share out the crop. He’d seen similar behaviors in other smaller towns and villages before. It seemed at the end of the world communities gravitated towards socialism in the real sense of the word.

Backpack over one shoulder, Ragland followed the two kids up the side street, getting constant side-glances and looks from the locals. A few stopped their DIY projects, or paused their chatter, eyes searching and studying.

Don’t worry, he thought. I won’t be here for long.

The kids rounded left onto another road, where horses and wagons were running back and forth with goods and equipment. It felt eerily like stepping back to a time well before the virus. Civilization here in Bakerstown was thriving in a symphony of trade and primitive industry.

Navigating the horses, earning a few more stares, Ragland continued his tail of the two kids, as they turned onto another side street. It opened up onto Main Street. This section saw the road widening for what had once been on-street parking opposite the town hall. Now the entire area had been repurposed as a market, with rudimentary stands and tables laid out in a semi-circle.

Ragland could smell the food from a mile away, lifting his head to catch every last scent.

He closed his eyes and listed everything: earthy potatoes, apples, peaches, cabbage, beans, tomatoes, and even cherries.

‘Can I help you?’

Ragland peeled open his eyes and looked down to his right. A kid no older than eight, with scruffy brown hair and big eyes, gawked at him with a single eyebrow raised.

The drifter smiled.

‘Hey, kid.’

‘I’m no kid, jerk face. You’re not from here, are you?’

‘You got that right.’

He turned to survey the market. No one had noticed a stranger talking to one of their own just yet, everyone was too engrossed with handing out the food. It looked to Ragland like they’d formed a rudimentary system of bartering.

‘Know who Marly is, kid?’

‘My name’s Jackson, not kid. Don’t call me that. Call me Jackson. Everyone knows Marly, jerk face.’

Ragland held up his hands in mock offense.

‘Hey now, I’m just asking where she is.’

‘She’s right here,’ a familiar voice spoke from Ragland’s left.

He turned to see Marly standing hands on hips and glaring at Jackson.

‘Now what have I told you, Jackson, about calling people jerk face. It’s not nice, is it? What would your mom and pa, say? Huh?’

The kid looked abashed, looked sideways at Ragland and started chewing something in his mouth.

‘Sorry.’

‘Been called worse. Don’t worry about it, ki- Jackson.’

Marly flapped a hand. ‘Get. Erica will be wondering where you’re at.’

Without another word, the kid bolted, sprinting up the street. Marly turned to Ragland, smiling. She tucked some loose hair behind her ear, giving him the once over.

‘I see you found the shower. Anyway, I promised you a tour. Have you eaten yet?’

‘No, ma’am,’ he found himself saying, which made her laugh.

‘We can nip that in the bud right away, old man. I’m not your ma’am. Call me Marly. The kids call me Mayor Marly for fun. Whatever gives you your kicks, I guess.’

‘Marly it is.’

‘Let’s get you fed then. Simon will have some oats ready for ya.’

Marly was straight into the action, saying goodbye to a few of the folks at the market, and waving at others as she turned back toward the avenue. For a short person, she sure had a stride on her. Ragland had to focus to keep up.

‘That right there’s the florist. Casey and Fred run that.’

‘A florist?’

She laughed.

‘I’m guessing you’re wondering why we’d need one, right? Low on the priorities? Well, Bakerstown doesn’t just exist for function. Not anymore. We saw the value in the little extras. Keeps morale up and offers more purpose to our lives than turning over human waste for fertilizer and digging up crops.’

He wasn’t convinced. The land around them was their garden. A florist shop felt tacked on and unnecessary, but what did he know about running a town.

‘Sure.’

‘Don’t you get all grumpy on me again, old man. I’m sure some honey oats will flip that frown of yours.’

‘Honey?’ he found himself asking.

‘Oh yeah, we do alright, us Bakerstown folk.’

Their tour to wherever Simon was located, led conveniently through most of the settlement. It allowed Marly to stretch her legs and introduce Ragland to what felt like half the population.

Not far from the florist was an old civil building. They were in time to see a tall, shaven haired woman with tattoos and glasses carrying a load of books through the main entrance.

‘That’s Jenny,’ Marly said. ‘She’s the town librarian and chronologist. She makes sure we keep record of everything. That we don’t lose our little bits of history. As you know, with the virus wiping out the adult population—well except for you apparently—there was no one to keep the power on, let alone servers or computers running. So, we’re back to paper. Jenny keeps us from going all the way back to the dark ages.’

Next up, outside the refurbished school, a chunky-looking man, also wearing glasses, was theatrically gesticulating in front of a group of young kids sitting cross-legged on the lawn outside the building.

‘That’s one of our teachers. Clint. His parents, before the virus, were teachers. He’s a quiet one. Stoic, you would say. Bit like you. But when he’s around kids, he lights up. Has near boundless amounts of energy, too. He and Erica, who I mentioned earlier, are the two in Bakerstown who help educate the next generation.’

‘The next generation?’

‘Sure. Claire has helped deliver quite a few little sprites since the fall.’

‘Oh.’

‘We lost a few too, but…’

Marly’s pause was a stab of melancholy in their otherwise enjoyable introduction to the Bakerstown people. He was still dwelling on it by the time they reached Simon’s Café and Bar.

‘Here we are,’ she said, waving at the sign.

‘Wow.’

A lot of work had been done to the building in front of Ragland. Peering closer at it, he could see from some of the base brickwork that it had once been two buildings, a separate bar and the smaller café next to it, but now supports had been placed and the middle wall knocked through with a serving window. From the kitchen there was a direct view into the bar and vice versa.

Ragland crossed his arms, nodding his head slowly in admiration.

‘Nice handiwork there.’

‘Sure is. Charlie helped Rahul with the project when he was just fifteen years old. Hell of a kid. You saw him when you came in last night. You haven’t met Rahul yet. He’s the local blacksmith, as if this place isn’t quite wild west enough for you.’

‘All that’s missing is a saloon and hitching posts,’ he laughed.

‘Anyway,’ she clapped. ‘I have to go. Hey, Si. Got a new one here. Give him a bowl or two of your best honey oats, okay? Don’t want our reputation slipping!’

Simon, a red-haired man almost as tall as Ragland, with a long ginger beard and thick arms, waved Ragland in.

‘Sure thing Marly.’

Marly winked, already speed walking back the way she came.

Ragland, shifting the backpack on his shoulder, ducked into the café side of the building, breathing in the fresh smell of hot oats and the sweet tang of honey in the air. It smelt so good. Stomach growling, he ambled over toward the counter, where Simon gave him a polite smile.

‘So, you’re new to Bakerstown, eh? What’s your name?’

His Canadian accent was strong, soft, with a musical tone to it. Despite his size, Ragland felt Simon was someone who wouldn’t cause him any trouble.

‘I’m not staying long. Listen, I need new gear. I lost my knife and bow out there and need to trade to get something new. Tell me where I can go, and I’ll get out of your hair as quick as I can?’

‘The hell you will, hoser,’ Simon barked from behind his great beard.

‘What did you call me?’

‘Listen. Marly tells me I gotta feed you. So, I do as I’m told and you sit yourself down and relax and eat, then we can talk.’

Ragland shook his head with a grimace.

‘Is everyone so stubborn in this goddamned place?’

‘Welcome to Bakerstown, old man. Finest hot oats and the stubbornest people you ever did meet. Here.’

Simon slopped a ladle full of porridge into a bowl, then topped it off with a generous spoonful of honey. It was the first fresh batch of the stuff Ragland had seen in years. Plenty of settlements didn’t bother with the luxury, preferring to keep away from bees. He didn’t blame them.

Ragland sat at the counter and took the bowl and spoon.

‘Thank you.’

The bearded Canadian threw a towel over his shoulder and leaned over the counter, peering at him. Ragland wasn’t fond of being watched and felt himself bristle.

‘What?’

‘I want a verdict.’

His patience was wearing thin, but he humored the guy because he just wanted to eat and get moving. He took a decent spoonful and put it into his mouth.

Then it hit him.

‘Jesus,’ he whispered, refilling his spoon and taking another mouthful.

Simon crossed his arms.

‘You’re welcome. Have I at least earned your name now?’

His eyes half-lidded in pleasure, Ragland swallowed his third spoonful of oats and nodded.

‘Joshua Ragland.’

‘Surnames too, huh? Well, pleased to meet you, Joshua Ragland. I’m Simon Tremblay.’

Chapter 5

By the afternoon, Ragland had met with more of the people in town and had returned to Simon’s for lunch. Simon had been happy to serve him the spicy bean casserole now that they were on a “first name basis”.

One of the other townspeople who had impressed him was the town butcher, who supplied their very limited stock of fresh meat. His name was Jack, a Scottish lad who had come over with his family before the virus hit. He had been stranded in the States ever since and Marly had given him a home, she told him on their continued tour, because he had no one else left.

‘His father was a butcher and Jack had been helping out in the store since he was ten. He’s been a godsend. We keep our dependency low. Hunt enough to offer it to the town a few times a week.’

‘Seems a good kid,’ Ragland muttered. ‘Hunting and butchering is a key skill.’

‘Sure is. I hear you’re a dab hand yourself, old man.’

Ragland smirked.

‘Kit?’

‘Yup. Spoke with her after I left you with Simon. She’s doing well and back to helping Erica with the kids at school.’

‘Great.’

He could still feel the stares of the locals. Little itches at the back of his head, then when he turned, the low murmur of suspicion. It was the one thing he hated most when passing through settlements. He would always be a stranger to them. A wanderer. A drifter.

Being alone was in his blood. He liked to help where he could, but Ragland always made sure to draw back into his own world when enough was done. Already, he’d allowed himself too many comforts. Honey oats. Beans. A shower. It was time to go.

‘Listen. I’ve stayed too long as it is. I need to replace my gear. Do you have somewhere I co—’

Marly nodded. ‘Why don’t we pay Rahul a visit?’

On the edge of the town, beside an open plot of unused land, a large double-door garage belched heat. Inside, Ragland could make out workshop benches, an anvil, a furnace rigged to the roof to remove the smoke, and endless rows of shelving filled with tools and equipment. Like a thin veneer, charcoal dust and filth coated the floor and walls.

By the anvil, a big man in an apron and large protective gloves pulled back his tinted face shield, revealing eyes that were such a deep brown they were almost black, and a bushy black mustache.

The man drilled him with an intense stare that he returned in kind. Neither man dropped their gaze and Rahul finally jabbed the hammer toward him.

‘Who’s the asshole, Mayor?’

‘This is Ragland, the asshole who saved Kit from a pack of cannibals two days’ walk from here,’ she said, marching up to him and crossing her arms. ‘How’re the nails coming along?’

Rahul finally let his eyes stray from Ragland.

‘Good. Managed to smelt some struts off an old pylon out east, which will give us another few hundred or so.’

Marly nodded.

‘Good. Listen. Our friend here is looking to part ways, as much as it pains me,’ she emphasized the last two words, glancing at Ragland. ‘But he lost his gear getting Kit back to us.’

‘And it’s my problem, how?’

‘Jesus, Rahul.’

‘I make stuff for the town, Mayor. I don’t pawn my shit off to out-of-towners. That ain’t how it works.’

‘Well,’ she said, pointing a finger at the blacksmith’s chest. ‘We owe him. And we always pay our due. So, what will it be? You gonna brood or are you gonna fetch this fine hero a hunting knife, so he doesn’t starve by sundown?’

Rahul’s eyes narrowed. He worked his jaw, a lot like Peter had when he leveled the rifle at him back at the lodge. Finally, he huffed and stalked off and through an adjacent door.

The pair heard banging and clanging—Marly giving Ragland a wink—before the smith returned, holding what looked to be a seven or eight-inch blade in one hand and a leather sheath in the other.

‘Here,’ Rahul grumbled, sliding the knife home and shoving it toward Ragland.

‘Wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Marly said, shaking her head.

‘A word?’ Rahul snapped.

The pair stepped away from Ragland. They got into it, their hands gesticulating and their voices rising enough for him to catch a few words about limited resources and helping strangers.

Marly returned, with a glint in her eyes.

‘Shall we go?’

‘All good then?’

‘Yeah,’ she said.

Ragland watched the sour Rahul pull his visor down and go back to work, re-heating the rod he’d been working on when they arrived.

‘Listen. You mind if I say goodbye to the kid?’

‘Kit?’

‘Yeah. Wouldn’t be right if I… just left.’

Marly smiled, inclining her head.

‘No. It wouldn’t. Come on now.’

Chapter 6

Kit stepped away from the group of young kids after placing a crayon and piece of paper next to them. Her expression clearly painted her disappointment in the news.

‘When are you leaving?’

‘Now. I’ve just re-stocked. Marly helped me out with a knife and some food for the road.’

‘What about your bow? Isn’t that, like, key for hunting or whatever?’

‘I’ll manage with traps for now. Have done it before.’

The classroom Ragland and Marly had interrupted proved too loud for conversations to continue, so the three stepped outside into the cool, crisp air that was signaling a turn toward winter.

‘Why not stay until spring, when it gets warmer?’ she said, rubbing her upper arms. ‘The weather will only get worse. Can’t imagine how friggin’ cold it gets out there, you know? And you’re no young buck neither, right?’

‘I’ll be just fine.’

Looking uncomfortable, perhaps sensing that trauma had created a certain bond between the two, Marly cleared her throat.

‘I’ll leave you two to say your goodbyes. Mr. Ragland, I’ll be at the gate.’

He nodded.

After she’d walked a good distance away, Kit fired up, detailing all the idiotic consequences of his decisions and why it made more sense to stay, even if it was for the short term.

‘You’re being such an ass, you know that? No. A jerk face, as Jackson would say. A friggin’ jerk face.’

‘Listen. You wouldn’t understand. Besides, I’ve gotten you home safe, like I promised. There’s nothing more I can do for you or this town.’

‘Maybe there’s something we can do for you?’

Ragland wasn’t getting through to her and didn’t like how her attitude echoed that of his sister when they argued. It made biting back that much harder.

‘Damn it, kid, I’m going. I came to say goodbye out of courtesy.’

He turned to leave, but Kit stopped him in his tracks with her next words.

‘Would she want you to be out there in the world alone?’

‘What did you say?’

‘Your sister,’ Kit said. ‘I think she’d want you to make a home, you know?’

He spun and crossed the space between them in a flash.

‘You don’t know a goddamn thing about her! Just because I saved your life, doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like that. I don’t owe you a damn thing.’

Kit’s eyes welled up.

‘Asshole!’

Their shouting had alerted one of the teachers inside. A woman poked her head out the door.

‘Everything okay, Kit?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, wiping her eyes and stepping away from Ragland. ‘All good here, Erica. Just, er… saying goodbye. You know?’ She looked back to Ragland, a look of betrayal and hurt on her face. ‘Have a nice life.’

And then she was gone, leaving Ragland alone in the street, with more eyes on him.

Now itching to leave, guilt for his harsh words a mighty motivator, Ragland speed-walked the quarter mile to the gate, where he saw Marly with a few faces he didn’t recognize, and one he did.

Alex, Kit’s boyfriend.

Marly’s arm went up when she spotted Ragland approaching, and the guards began to push the gate open.

‘You sure about this?’ she asked one last time. ‘You know you’re welcome to stay, so long as you pull your weight. Offer’s still on the table, old man.’

Ragland sighed, which Marly decoded within a heartbeat.

‘Guessin’ she didn’t take it too well, huh?’

‘No,’ he replied, searching the tree line outside the perimeter. ‘She did not.’

Alex overheard.

‘Everything okay?’

Marly rested a hand on his shoulder.

‘Everything’s fine. You get to sleep. You’ve earned it after that watch.’

The young kid eyed Ragland.

‘What did you say to her?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Don’t lie to me. Kit doesn’t upset easy, and I’m not stupid.’

Ragland shifted the backpack on his shoulders, threading his left arm through and clicking in the straps. He made sure the knife on his hip was secured properly; he had already checked the blade and couldn’t help admiring the work Rahul had done on the weapon. It would serve him well.

He couldn’t find the words to answer Alex. Instead, Marly found them for him.

‘Go see her then, Alex. She’s just upset that Mr. Ragland has to leave. A visit from her boyfriend will cheer her up.’

‘Yeah, I think I will,’ Alex said, then looked back at Ragland and held out his hand. ‘I know my manners. Thank you again for bringing Kit back to us. Whatever you two said is between you, but if you upset her… well then, maybe don’t come back.’

Ragland nodded, his first impression that he was a loyal, good-hearted kid reinforced.

‘Sure thing kid,’ he said, before turning to Marly. ‘Thanks for everything Mayor Marly.’

‘Anytime.’

Ragland glanced back to see them watching him as the guards pulled the gates closed. When they snapped shut, he filled his lungs with the cool, pine scented air. It’d only been twelve hours at most, but he’d missed it all the same.

In just a day, Ragland managed a modest five-mile hike south from Bakerstown before making camp. In the morning, he intended to head east to the coast, before heading south for winter.

He got to test the efficacy of his newly acquired hunting knife. Clean, and sharp, it made quick work of a raccoon he’d been lucky enough to trap.

I suppose it wasn’t all for nothing, he mused, as he worked.

But still, he wished he hadn’t lost his bow. It’d take him some time to replace it, he’d need to either make a replacement, or travel into a ghost town or city to try and find one.

For now, he’d stick to traps and the knife.

The campfire had been quicker to light too, the sharp blade sparking the tinder in one go.

The fire snapped and popped as Ragland held a piece of his small game over the flames, staring into the fire.

Would she want you to be out there in the world alone?

Kit’s words swirled in his mind, bringing back regrets and memories.

The smell of charred meat jerked him back to the present. Ragland swore, pulling the meat up and inspecting the damage. Half of it was blackened beyond saving, so he took the knife and sliced it in half, chewing on the rest.

Above, shifting and winking around and through the plume of wood smoke, the stars of the cold night drew his attention. Ragland leaned back on his elbows and squinted at them, his eyes adjusting to the dark around him.

I think she’d want you to make a home, you know?

He threw the last bit of gristle into the trees, angry at the tormenting thoughts. The kid didn’t know shit. She’d known him for a day or two. Not long enough to unpack a decade of grief and regret.

Ragland was away in his head, the camp still not fully set up, when he heard the scuffle of feet behind him. He had no time to react before a boney arm wrapped around his neck.

Cursing, Ragland clutched the arm, leaned forward, then threw his head back as hard as he could. It was like hitting rock, but he was rewarded with the muffled crunch of a nose breaking and a shriek that almost burst his eardrums. As warm blood gushed onto the back of his head, the arm loosened and he scrambled away.

He rose to his feet and turned to confront his attacker. It was a cannibal. Clearly a Zom, half-dressed almost more creature than man, with blackened teeth, long fingernails, and bloodstained lips.

Slowly, it rose from where it had fallen. Ragland’s mouth dropped. It didn’t seem possible. The bastard was huge. At least six foot six. As he scrambled frantically for his new hunting knife, the creature leapt at him, knocking him to the ground and began trying to claw his face and throat.

Suffocating under the immense weight and retched stench that filled his nose, Ragland desperately felt the ground around him until his fingers happened upon the handle of the knife. He gripped it just as the cannibal bit down hard on his ear.

Ragland screamed and warm blood oozed down the side of his face—he could feel it slicking his neck. Wasting no time, he thrust the knife up into the Zom’s throat. He gave the blade a quick jerk to the right and a waterfall of blood gushed from the seam, drenching him.

The cannibal, eyes wide in shock, twitched, gurgled, then flopped backwards, clutching frantically at the mortal wound.

Panting, Ragland sat up, watching it die, then heard the distant cry of more of them in the night. A branch snapped behind him and he turned holding his knife out in front of him, only to find a familiar face illuminated eerily by the glow of the campfire.

‘Let’s get you the hell outta here, old man,’ said Alex, from Bakerstown.

The end of Episode 2

Don't miss Episode Three: The Bad Penny Available here

Also by Scott Medbury

You can listen to my audiobooks free here: https://www.youtube.com/c/scottmedburyauthor

The America Falls Series:

Hell Week

On the Run

Cold Comfort

Rude Shock

Luke’s Trek

Civil War

Lone Wolf

Messenger (Novella)

The Rabid States Series:

Unleashed

Alpha Pack

Fox Hole

Standalone novels:

INGA

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