The Seeds of Man

Chapter Fourteen

The Deacon screamed as the hot iron touched his open wound. He was hanging upside down in the barn where Voss’s personal horses, tack, and wagons were kept. Voss was seated on a chair not five feet away. The tip of his cigar glowed as he drew on it. The expedition had been costly but qualified as a success. Thanks to Afton’s militia and his artillery, Hashi had been forced to flee south with her tail between her legs. And, had Voss been able to field all his mercenaries, he might have been able to capture some of her windmills. So there was reason to celebrate. Or should have been.

Unfortunately, he had returned to find that one of his canneries had been looted and his home had been attacked—not for the purpose of stealing his wealth, because there had been no attempt to open the strong room in the basement, but in order to free Sara. And why? Because her brother was a bandit—that was why. The same bandit who had attacked one of his convoys and captured a garbage mine. A man named Crow.

Crow and his gang had a hideout up in the mountains. Everyone agreed on that. But where? Efforts to find the place had been fruitless. But now, with a bona fide gang member hanging upside down in front of him, Voss stood a good chance of finding out. The thought pleased him, and he blew a smoke ring to celebrate. “So,” he said. “You’re going to die, Deacon… You know that. But how long will it take? A day? A week? It’s up to you.”

Two days after arriving in the Tangle, they left. Tre figured that the worst of the manhunt was over by then. Plus there was work to do if the group wanted to consolidate the gains made over the last few weeks.

And Lora had reason to see Crow too. Having been forced to reveal the Sanctuary’s location to Voss, she feared what would happen next. Her first impulse had been to head north to warn the keepers. But Tre opposed that course of action, pointing out that the chances of getting there alone approached zero.

Lora had to admit that Tre was right but was worried that Voss would send mercenaries north at any moment. And what if Crow wasn’t interested? Then she would have to go for it, and the sooner, the better. Winter was coming, and that would make travel more difficult.

Tre wasn’t about to let Lora go alone but hadn’t told her that because he knew that two people weren’t likely to survive either. So it would be his task to convince Crow that the trip was a worthy goal.

That and much more was on Tre’s mind as they rode east on Highway 34 until they arrived on the outskirts of Freedom. It was late afternoon by then, so rather than pass through town during daylight hours and risk running into some mercenaries, they elected to take cover in an old barn on the west side of town.

A fire was too risky, so they ate cold beans, washed the meal down with water, and took turns scanning the surrounding countryside with Tre’s binoculars. They could see occasional riders off to the east, but they were too far away to identify with any certainty.

One thing was for sure, however—it would be foolish to take chances. Tre assumed that the wanted posters with his likeness on them were still posted up and down Highway 89. And he’d seen the V-shaped scar tissue on the upper part of Lora’s right arm. So if they were captured, she would be returned to Voss in a matter of hours.

But in spite of the danger, it was an opportunity to talk, and Tre peppered her with questions about the Sanctuary. He wanted to know everything. How did the nuclear power plant work? Where did their water come from? How did they grow their food? Lora knew some of the answers, and he listened intently as she described how the habitat operated.

Once darkness fell, it was time to mount up and pick their way through a patchwork quilt of partially cultivated fields. Dogs barked more than once, and there was a brief pause in response to the sound of a distant gunshot, but other than that the trip across the valley was uneventful.

Once they reached the foothills, Tre led Lora up a trail to a spot where they could water the horses and make camp. Both were tired, so after a snack they laid out their sleeping bags and crawled inside. Tre had his favorite bag, and Lora’s was made out of two blankets folded over and pinned to create an envelope. He waited for her to fall asleep, got up, and stood watch with the M4. Hours passed and the next thing Tre knew, Lora was touching his arm. “Good morning… Here’s a cup of tea.”

Tre opened his eyes, saw that it was daylight, and felt a sense of guilt as he accepted the mug.

Lora smiled. “I appreciate the thought… but next time let’s share the watches.”

Tre nodded but was too embarrassed to look her in the eye.

Breakfast consisted of oatmeal cooked over a can of Sterno. It was reminiscent of the slop served to slaves at Kimble’s garbage mine, but Tre ate it without complaint.

Once the meal was over, it was time to find the horses, remove their hobbles, and saddle up. The trail led steadily upward. They traveled for hours without running into anyone, but Tre knew appearances could be deceiving. Crow’s gang weren’t the only ones hiding in the forest, and Tre didn’t want to lead anyone to the mine, so they stopped occasionally to give the horses a rest and watch their back trail.

Once, while on a hillside, Tre thought he caught a glimpse of a rider passing through a clearing hundreds of feet below. But the image was so fleeting he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it had been an elk. Or nothing at all.

Clusters of pines and aspens bordered the trail, which switchbacked up past small lakes. Some were the result of beaver dams and so calm that they reflected the clouds above. Old bridges still survived in some locations, but more often than not it was necessaryfor the horses to wade through rushing water in order to cross streams. Farther up there were rockslides, where marmots sat on boulders and whistled at each other.

Hours passed, and eventually, as the riders neared the mine, they had to cross an ancient steel bridge. The framework was brown with rust, but the wooden planks were relatively new. White water jumped and foamed below as the horses clopped their way over to the other side.

The far end of the bridge terminated at the edge of a large clearing populated by an army of old stumps, all that remained of the trees that had been cut down for use within the mine. Over time the ground cover had returned, and small shrubs had grown up around the stumps but had yet to hide them.

That was where a woman on a horse materialized out of a small stand of timber. It was Smoke. “Well,” she said archly, “look at what the cat dragged in! Crow sent Fade down to look for you. And what’s this? Are we recruiting boys now?”

Tre turned to Lora. Her hair was hidden under a Stetson. “This is Smoke… one of our scouts. Smoke, this is Lora. She is, or was, one of Voss’s slaves.”

“My mistake,” Smoke said. “Good to meet you, Lora. Go on up… The gang will be glad to see you.”

Tre led Lora up the final stretch of trail to the mine, where both dismounted. Tre’s boots had barely touched the ground when Freak exploded out of the mine, ran over, and kissed him on the mouth. Lora watched with interest as Tre untangled himself. He pointed her way. “Freak, this is Lora, a new member of our group.”

Freak turned to Lora and smiled beatifically. “Toadstools!”

Lora looked at Tre and back again. Her expression softened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Freak took the horses as Crow appeared. He was smiling. “Sticks! Where the heck have you been? I sent Fade out to find you.”

“We got separated,” Tre explained, “and had a run-in with some mercenaries. So we went into hiding for a couple of days. This is Lora Larsy. She was a slave. As we attacked, she escaped an underground cell.”

Crow extended a hand. “Glad to meet you, Lora. Come in… I’ll bet you’re hungry.” Lora was surprised by how homey a mine could be—and impressed by the food that the man named Hog served her. “While we were raiding the house, Smoke looted one of Voss’s canneries,” Crow explained. “She got away with four wagons of food and hid them. We’re using mules to bring it up here. So tell me… how did you wind up as a slave?”

So Lora gave Crow an abbreviated version of the story. This was her chance to explain the Sanctuary, tell him about the millions of seeds stored there and the need to safeguard them. Or better yet to use them, just as her father and the rest of the leavers had intended. And Lora knew, if she could successfully make her case, more than two thousand lives would be saved as well.

Crow listened intently and asked questions every now and then. “So,” Lora said as she brought the narrative to an end, “I’m hoping you’ll help. It’s imperative that we reach the Sanctuary before Voss does. He has too much power now… What if he acquires all those seeds? Not to mention nuclear power.”

“Maybe we could learn how to build a nuclear power plant!” Tre said eagerly. “Imagine what a difference that would make.”

Crow frowned. “Remember the war? The one that caused all the destruction? It was fought with nuclear weapons.”

But before Tre could respond, Fade burst in. She was disheveled and bleeding from a shoulder wound. “Voss is on his way! He has at least a hundred mercs with him, maybe more. We have no more than an hour to get ready.”

Tre felt a sudden emptiness in his gut as Crow stood. “Sound the alarm. We’ll meet them at the bridge. Somebody slap a bandage on Fade. She’s leaking.”

There was a plan. It had been in place for a long time. And the plan was to hold any invader down at the river, so every horse they had on hand was brought out, loaded with supplies, and taken down to what Patch referred to as the stump farm. That was where two machine guns and two mortars were set up in prepared positions. Veterans and new recruits alike took cover behind the stumps that lined the edge of the river.

Tre wanted to protect Lora, wanted to send her up to the mine, but knew she wouldn’t countenance that. So all he could do was give her plenty of ammo for the scope-mounted Winchester and hope for the best. He was carrying the M4 plus a hunting rifle on the theory that a long-range weapon could come in handy.

The bandits were still working on their defenses when the first shell came screaming in and exploded in the middle of the clearing. The dark shape of a stump could be seen through a mist of soil as it soared up into the air, paused there, and plummeted to the ground. “The bastards are using artillery,” a man named Fish said. “We’re dead.”

“Keep talking and you will be,” Hog said grimly. “I’ll shoot you myself.”

Crow shouted, “Dig in!” and the gang hurried to obey, some with their bare hands. Tre was fortunate enough to have a shovel and put it to good use knowing that another round could fall at any time. But it was a full four minutes before that occurred, suggesting that the attackers had only one gun. And that made sense, since hauling an artillery piece up into the mountains would be a difficult and time-consuming task.

But as the second round hit, it was closer to the area where Crow’s people were digging in. That could be a matter of luck—or it could mean that the enemy had a spotter. Tre was reminded of the “elk” he’d seen earlier. What if that had been a rider after all? A merc sent to find an observation point from which he could radio reports back to Voss’s gunners?

With that possibility in mind, Tre surrendered the shovel to Lora, brought the scoped rifle up to his shoulder, and began to look around. Where would he conceal himself if he was an observer? On the other side of the river. That was certain. And up high, where he would have a good view. There were trees, of course, many of which would serve. But if given a choice, Tre knew he would prefer a more substantial perch, a place where he wouldn’t have to worry about falling. And as scenery blurred through the scope, Tre saw something that made him swing back. It was a rocky prominence that was home to scrubby evergreens and high enough to overlook the stump farm.

Concerned lest the observer spot him, Tre took cover behind a stump, rested the rifle on top of it, and began an inch-by-inch examination of the target area. He saw nothing at first. But then, as Tre began a second sweep, he observed a momentary flash—as if sunlight had been reflected off a lens!

A shell screamed in from the north, struck the ground, and killed a mortar team. Tre bit his lower lip, glassed the spot he’d been looking at before, and waited. Then he saw it—a slight movement. The rifle seemed to fire itself. The sound echoed off nearby cliffs as a camo-clad body separated itself from the rocks and pitched headfirst into the river below.

A reedy cheer went up as the gang continued to dig in, but it wasn’t long before mercs appeared on the far side of the river and a desultory firefight began. It was as if the mercs had orders to engage but to stay where they were for the moment. The bridge was the obvious objective, so why wait? Another shell exploded, and that suggested an answer. If the mercs crossed the bridge, they could wind up victims of their own artillery fire.

Dirt was still falling when a group of riders appeared on the other side of the bridge. Someone fired at them, and Crow, who was peering through a pair of binoculars, ordered them to stop. “It’s Voss,” Lora said as she peered through her scope, “and Miss Silverton.”

“Miss who?” Tre wanted to know, but the question was preempted by a much-amplified voice.

“This is Luther Voss,” the man said as he raised the bullhorn to his lips. “I wish to speak with Anthony Silverton.”

Tre watched in amazement as Crow rose from his hiding place and stepped out onto the road. He didn’t have a bullhorn, but his voice carried well. “I’m Silverton.”

“I have your sister.” Their horses were side by side nearly touching.

Tre stood, made his way over to Crow’s side, and waited to see what would happen next.

“Cross the bridge,” Voss said, “and give yourself up. You will hang, but your sister will live, as will your followers. I can always use more slaves.”

“Don’t do it!” Sara Silverton shouted as she stood in her stirrups.

Crow was clearly torn. No matter what he did, other people would suffer. Then, as Crow opened his mouth to speak, Voss’s right hand came around. He was holding a pistol and it struck Sara’s forehead. Her body seemed to fall in slow motion. Crow shouted something incomprehensible, drew his pistols, and began to run. His intent was clear: to cross the bridge and kill Voss, regardless of the cost.

But Tre knew it wouldn’t work. The whole idea was to provoke Crow and to bring him into range. Bullets kicked up puffs of dust all around Crow as Tre shot him in the right leg. Tre shouted, “Blow the bridge!” and began to run.

Smoke had the remote. Would she obey? And if she did, would the charges go off? They’d been in place for a long time. There was no way to be certain as Tre grabbed one of Crow’s arms and began to tow him to safety. A woman named Dusty took hold of the other arm.

Both rescuers were thrown to the ground as a massive explosion tore the bridge apart. Splinters of wood whirred through the air like daggers, beams gave way, and wreckage splashed into the river.

The noise scared Odin, who reared up, brought both front feet down, and nearly threw Voss from the saddle. Maybe, if the horse hadn’t been moving, Voss would have noticed the arrow. Freak had fired it high, so that the shaft was little more than a speck at apogee but took on more substance as it fell. Voss felt the full force of impact as the hunting point sank deep into his flesh. Then, as the food lord wondered how such a thing could happen to him, he fell to the ground.

Tre was back on his feet by then. He looked at Freak with open admiration. “That was amazing.”

“He was a bad man,” Freak said, and walked away.

Tre was still in the process of absorbing that when Lora appeared next to him. “They’re pulling back,” she said. “You stopped them.”

“Freak stopped them,” Tre replied. “They’re mercenaries, and without Voss, there’s no reason to fight.”

Lora looked up at him, and just the sight of her was enough to make his heart ache. “I have to go north,” she said.

“Yes, I know,” he replied. His hand found hers, and together they stared across the river. A cold breeze tugged at her hair. Winter had arrived.