The Seeds of Man

Chapter Three

The leavers were gathered around the Sno-Cats, ready to board, when Hal Mackey and six protectors appeared. As the police charged out onto the perimeter road, Mackey shouted for the dissidents to surrender. But a man named Stan Valez had other ideas. He ran straight at Mackey, shouting obscenities. And that was when one of the police officers shot him.

The bullet hit Valez in the chest, plucked him off his feet, and dumped him onto the ground. None of the protectors had killed a citizen before, so the death stunned everyone except former police officer Larry Fry, who opened fire with his assault weapon. The slugs were intentionally aimed low, so most of the protectors had their legs knocked out from under them. But automatic weapons have a tendency to rise as they’re fired—and as Lora looked on she saw a bullet smash into Hal Mackey’s face. As he fell, George grabbed her arm. “Get on the Sno-Cat—now!”

Lora did as she was told, heard the doors slam, and felt the vehicle jerk into motion. As she looked out the window, she could see protectors sprawled in all sorts of positions. Most were out of action, but one fired a pistol. Fry shot her dead.

Hatch 5 was open by that time, and snowflakes swirled around the Sno-Cat as the V-shaped blade mounted on the front of the vehicle pushed through a snowdrift. The headlights swung wildly and Lora got a glimpse of stunted trees as the driver turned onto an old access road. Lora heard someone say, “The second Cat is out,” and knew the group was in the clear—all except for Stan Valez. He was dead and she was to blame. Lora began to cry, and a woman named Cassie Elano tried to comfort her. “Everything will be okay,” Cassie said, but Lora knew better. Everything wouldn’t be okay, couldn’t be okay after what she’d done. The Cat bounced wildly as it passed over an obstacle, the headlights bored holes in the darkness, and the wilderness consumed them.

Lora stopped crying after a while and sat with her eyes closed and listened to the adults talk. The majority believed there was very little chance that the council would send protectors after them. For one thing, the leavers had both Sno-Cats. Even so, the protectors could follow on snowmobiles if they chose to. But most thought they wouldn’t. The keepers feared the outer world and were unlikely to send protectors into it.

Regardless, the leavers wanted to put some distance between themselves and the Sanctuary. The plan was to keep going. Eventually the voices started to fade, and the drone of the engine lulled Lora to sleep. When she awoke, it was to find that the Sno-Cat was stopped. It was dark outside and she could see snow falling through the beams from the headlights. “Where are we?”

“About a hundred miles south of the Sanctuary,” Cassie replied. “There’s a restaurant off to our left. Fry took a couple of men to check it out. Assuming it’s clear, we’ll go in and take a break.”

The all clear came a few minutes later, and both Snow-Cats pulled into the area behind the restaurant. Lora felt a blast of cold air as somebody opened a door. A man named Harvey Nix instructed them to bring all the packs inside, and so they did. The snow was about a foot deep, making it difficult to walk, and because Lora was wearing school shoes rather than boots, her feet were cold and wet by the time she entered the building.

Battery-powered lamps were set up on tables in a back room where the light wouldn’t be visible through the front windows. The building had clearly been looted, but most of the furniture was intact. “Put the packs on the tables,” Harvey Nix instructed. “Then look for the one with your name on it. Once you find it, I suggest that you remove the parka and boots. You’ll want to wear them from this point forward.”

One of the adults called Lora’s name and waved her over. The pack was dark blue and clearly full. A ground tarp, sleeping bag, and snowshoes were attached to it. Lora felt grateful. Now she had something of her own. But once the parka and boots were removed from the pack, it was half-empty. That was something of a shock and made her wonder. Did the group have enough supplies?

Only one pack went unclaimed—the one with the name “Stan Valez” on it. “We’ll divvy Stan’s stuff up during the next couple of days,” Nix said.

His statement triggered a series of comments. “Poor bastard.”

“Did you see that? He charged them!”

“Yeah, but how did the protectors know?”

“Hal Mackey was with them.”

“Okay, but how did he know?“

The last question was followed by a moment of silence. George Larsy broke it. His expression was bleak. “What about that, Lora? Do you know how Mr. Mackey found out?”

Lora felt an overwhelming sense of shame as all eyes focused on her. She looked down at her feet. “I told his son, Matt. He promised not to tell.”

George nodded. “I think we can assume that Matt broke his promise to you. Just as you broke your promise to me. I’m very sorry,” George said as he looked from face to face. “I thought I could trust Lora and I was wrong. I hope you can forgive us.”

“Tell it to Stan,” one of the men said bitterly.

“She’s only a kid,” Cassie put in.

“A stupid kid,” one of the others said, and Lora knew he was right. Trusting Matt had been very stupid indeed.

The impromptu meeting broke up as people went to work pulling on boots and inspecting the items in their packs. That was when George came over to wrap an arm around Lora’s shoulders. She was sobbing. “I’m sorry, honey… but there was no way to conceal what you did—and it would have been wrong to try. Don’t worry. Time will pass, and as people get to know you, feelings will change.”

Lora wiped her face with her sleeve. She didn’t believe it but nodded anyway.

After spending the night in the restaurant, the leavers got up, made individual breakfasts, and were back in the Sno-Cats by nine a.m. There had been no signs of pursuit, and morale was high, the single exception being Lora. Her father spoke to her, as did Cassie, but the rest of the group seemed determined to ignore her. But you’re used to that, Lora told herself. And you deserve it.

Lora retreated into herself as the Sno-Cat followed the highway south. And there was plenty to think about. She loved her father but knew him to be an idealist and less than pragmatic. Yet there had been no reason to assume that all the leavers were equally lame. To the contrary, Lora had assumed that the others were competent. Unfortunately, as the hours passed, they proved her wrong.

The first problem was that half of the Sno-Cat’s fuel supply was gone. She could see that by looking at the gauge. And while math wasn’t Lora’s best subject, she knew that if the Cat could hold twenty-five gallons of fuel and it was crawling along at ten miles per hour, the leavers could travel only 250 miles before they ran out of gas. Then what?

After asking a series of questions, she was able to learn that, no, the group didn’t expect to find any additional fuel, and, yes, they planned to proceed on foot. The prospect didn’t seem to worry her companions in spite of the fact that at least half of them were clearly out of shape.

But given her age and lack of social standing, Lora knew none of them would listen to her. So all she could do was sit wedged between her father and Cassie while the wintry scenery rolled past. It seemed as if the two adults had a lot to say to each other, and while most of it had to do with their unrealistic hopes for the future, there were other undertones as well, what Lora recognized as man-woman stuff. And that was when Lora realized something very disturbing. Her father was interested in Cassie!

Not counting her mother, he’d never had a relationship before, not so far as Lora knew, so why now? Maybe the answer lay in the almost giddy sense of freedom that the people around her seemed to be experiencing. Whatever the reason, Lora didn’t like it. Her father was the one person she had left, and if Cassie took him she’d be all alone.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Cats turned off the road and followed a long driveway up to a house and barn. They stopped short of the buildings so a team led by Fry could check them both.

With that out of the way, both vehicles were driven into the barn and parked side by side—for good, Lora thought, given the fact that the fuel gauge in her vehicle was sitting on “E.” That judgment was confirmed an hour later as the group met in the barn, which was empty except for the Cats, an old tractor, and lots of rusty junk. Lora could see her breath, but Fry said they couldn’t have a fire until nightfall, when the smoke wouldn’t show.

Once again it seemed as if Nix was in charge. “We’re about 225 miles south of the Sanctuary,” he said proudly, “and that means phase one of our plan is complete. Tomorrow marks the beginning of phase two. Since the Sno-Cats are nearly out of fuel, we’ll walk from this point forward. Each person will be responsible for their own pack, and we’ll take turns carrying the seeds.”

By that time Lora had seen the trunk-sized containers and knew that each one was filled with pilfered seed packets. The goal was to find the right community and plant them, triggering what the group imagined would be a virtuous cycle. As crops were harvested, seeds would be put aside for sharing, and that would lead to the rebirth of agriculture in North America.

It was a noble ambition, and one that Lora favored, the problem being that lots of things could go wrong. The leavers were committed to the concept, however, and if any members of the group had doubts, they didn’t choose to voice them.

“Okay,” Nix finished, “eat dinner and get some sleep. Most of us are out of shape, so we’ll take it easy tomorrow. The goal is to walk ten miles. Any questions?”

Lora had questions but couldn’t ask them publically, so she went to her father. He was busy laying his sleeping bag on a blue tarp and smiled when he saw her. “There you are! It might be a good idea to keep your clothes on tonight. It’s bound to get even colder.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Lora said obediently. “I have a question about tomorrow. What if we run into the barbarians? Mr. Fry won’t be able to defend us all by himself. Shouldn’t he train people to fight?”

“That’s a very good question,” George said, “and we discussed it. But here’s the problem. If we were to stay here for a week, we would consume seven days’ worth of rations, and we can’t afford to do that. So Mr. Fry will train us while we travel south.”

Much to Lora’s surprise, the answer made sense. It was risky, however, because there was a chance that the party would be attacked before the training took place, but at least the leavers had given the matter some thought.

So Lora said good night and went over to the area where the single females were going to sleep and got ready for bed. Fortunately it was warm inside the sleeping bag and it wasn’t long before Lora fell asleep.

Morning came quickly, and when it did most of the leavers rose in a good mood, eager to tackle the task ahead. Many ate hearty breakfasts, but Lora was the exception. Some of the adults thought the party would find food along the way, but Lora had seen the inside of the restaurant and thought that a substantial find was unlikely. She consumed half of what she wanted to, stored the rest of her breakfast in her pack, and spent the rest of the time adjusting her pack and getting used to the snowshoes.

Once the group was ready to go, Fry led them out. He had two people with him at all times. Their job was to break trail while learning whatever they could from the ex-protector, who, truth be told, hadn’t been trained for cross-country hikes. In fact, according to Lora’s analysis, the only thing Fry could teach them was how to use firearms. And once the rest of the adults acquired that knowledge, they would be as skilled as he was. Still, most of the leavers seemed to take comfort in the myth that Fry could protect them, and that was good for morale.

As the leavers left the barn, they stepped into bright sunshine, which was rare due to all the smoke and particulate matter thrown up into the atmosphere by the nuclear war five decades earlier. So the clear weather seemed like a good omen, and even Lora felt a sense of optimism as they set out. Not counting the trip in the Sno-Cat, and brief journeys to and from it, this was the first time she’d been outside the Sanctuary. She delighted in the cold, crisp air, the crunching sound that her snowshoes made as they broke through crusty snow, and all the wild vegetation. Wherever Lora looked, there were trees, bushes, and a wide variety of plants, all growing in a random manner. It was very different from the strictly controlled environment she was used to.

She’d seen pictures, of course, but the foliage looked greener, the ice crystals embedded in the top layer of snow glittered like tiny diamonds, and the sky was a beautiful blue. Up front she could see Fry, accompanied by her father and Don Beck, both armed with rifles. Then came Ed Dero and Jon Gore, carrying a trunk full of seeds on what amounted to a litter. Tim Hobbs and Ralph Kilmer were right behind them with a second box. Because each container weighed a hundred pounds, both men were carrying fifty pounds in addition to their packs. That made it difficult for them to match the pace of the people who weren’t carrying an extra burden.

Meanwhile, Lora was stepping on her own snowshoes. Gradually she discovered that it was necessary to adopt a wider stance. That helped, but there were slippery spots and places where it was necessary to negotiate obstacles. Lora began to watch for small trees that could be used to make trekking poles.

Then, as the road began to rise, the group was forced to use the traction devices on the bottom of their snowshoes and the pace slowed. Shortly thereafter the rotations started, and Lora and three adult women were brought forward to carry a seed box.

Lora didn’t mind carrying her share of the load but could tell that some of the older women were struggling, and she thought she knew why. It wasn’t the weight so much as the need to stay in step with each other. Something to think about.

Clouds gradually moved in to block the sun, and what originally seemed like fun became a grueling march. Three hours later, when the group arrived at what had been a combination gas station and country store, all of them were ready for a rest. The complex had been looted so many times that all the windows were broken, the shelves were empty, and the gas pumps were riddled with bullet holes. Still, it was a place to pause, and people went every which way looking for places to sit and eat.

Lora took the opportunity to seek out her father. He was sitting on a seed trunk next to Cassie, and as they looked up at her, the two adults wore guilty expressions, like kids caught raiding a cookie jar. Lora felt the usual sense of resentment but pushed it away. Her father desired some happiness, and if that meant Cassie, then so be it. Lora would get out of the way. “Hey, Lora,” George said awkwardly. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Lora replied, “but I think some people are struggling.”

George nodded. “You’re right. We’re out of shape.”

“That’s true,” Lora agreed, “but it’s more than that. The seed boxes are hard to carry.”

George frowned. “We aren’t going to dump the seeds, Lora… not after all we sacrificed to get here.”

“That isn’t what I have in mind,” Lora replied. “My pack is half-empty. So is yours. Why not divvy the seeds up between everyone in the group? Give the men more, younger women a little less, and old people a minimal amount. That would be fair and make it easier to walk through the snow.”

Cassie smiled. “I think Lora’s plan is absolutely brilliant.”

George nodded. “You’re right. She should take the idea to Harvey Nix.”

“No,” Lora said emphatically. “You tell him. He’ll listen to you.”

“She’s right,” Cassie put in. “People will get over the Mackey thing—but it’s still fresh in their minds.”

So George went to see Nix, and after a fifteen-minute discussion, the decision was made. All the leavers were told to empty their packs so that a package of seeds could be placed in the bottom of each. Lora wouldn’t get credit for the idea but didn’t care. It was going to make the trip easier for everyone concerned, and that was the main thing.

Just as the rest of the group finished the process of dividing the seeds, Beck appeared with an armful of poles. While some were made from aluminum tubing and some had been cut from dowels, all had been found in the piles of junk out back. There was a clatter as they spilled onto the ground. “There aren’t enough for everyone,” Beck announced, “but it’s a start. I cut them long so people can whittle them down to the length they need.”

Lora made no attempt to acquire poles for herself, knowing others needed them more, but made a note to keep her eyes peeled. In her opinion, the aluminum tubing looked like the way to go.

By the time it was over, the break had consumed two hours rather than the half hour Nix had envisioned. But having rid themselves of the boxes, and having acquired trekking poles for half the group, the leavers were able to move more quickly than before. The highway wasn’t what it had been fifty years earlier, yet thanks to the fact that the section they were on was flat and straight, it was easy to circumvent the few obstacles they encountered.

It wasn’t long before the group established a regular rhythm in which people went forward to learn about the firearms some of them had been issued, stayed for a while, and were rotated to the back of the column. Lora knew it was important to learn everything she could, so she forced herself into the rotation and was pleased to find that no one objected. Fry had the instructions down by the time she reached him, so it wasn’t long before she understood the difference between a rifle and a shotgun, the advantages of each, and the basics of gun safety.

At about three in the afternoon, they arrived at an intersection where roads came in from the east and west. There were some run-down buildings, some snow-humped cars, and a lot of tracks, all headed south. “It looks as if people are coming together for some reason,” Ed Dero observed. “I wonder what it is?”

Lora and Dero were walking side by side at that point, talking about his favorite subject, hydroponics. As the rest of the group came to a halt, they did too. A leadership conference followed but soon came to the obvious conclusion. The leavers couldn’t go back and didn’t have enough provisions to stay where they were, so all they could do was keep going and hope for the best.

As the group followed the tracks south, Lora was stunned by the vast sweep of the cloud-strewn sky, the snow-covered fields that seemed to stretch forever, and the arrow-straight road that ran all the way to the southern horizon. There was comfort in knowing that they could see trouble coming from a long way off. The final hours of the afternoon passed pleasantly, and by the time they arrived in what had once been a small hamlet, the dimly seen sun was low in the western sky. Nix called a halt, and after a quick look around, it was agreed that they would hole up in what had once been a post office.

The concrete-block building had been occupied recently, judging from the hot embers in the old-fashioned potbellied stove, an amenity that was too heavy to steal. It sat in the corner of a large room with a counter and storage area in the back.

As darkness fell, the leavers settled in, made their meals, and prepared for bed. Once Lora’s sleeping bag was laid out, she made a mug of hot tea and took it out back, where a semicircle of plastic chairs was waiting. The fact that no one had bothered to take them was a testimonial to how common lawn furniture was—and how many people had perished since the war.

Lora sat down, took a sip of tea, and savored the peace and quiet. Earlier in the day she had been struck by how vast the world was. Now, as she began to contemplate the future, she wondered what it would hold. That was a new experience. Inside the Sanctuary children took tests, were told what they would be good at, and were assigned to those occupations. They claimed it was a scientific way to make sure that all the citizens were happy, but Lora had doubts. Were the people who held the most desirable jobs the best qualified to do so? Or had they been selected for political reasons? Take Matt, for example. He smoked weed and he was slated for an administrative post—or had been. Would his father’s death put an end to that?

Lora was considering that possibility when she heard the muted pop-pop-pop of what might have been gunfire. And she wasn’t the only one. Fry materialized out of the darkness. He was standing in the spill of light from the open door. “Did you hear that?”

Lora looked up at him. “It could have been gunfire. Off thata way.”

Fry nodded and disappeared inside. A bustle of activity followed as people with guns appeared and took up defensive positions around the building. All the leavers were on edge after that, but there were no further noises and the night passed without incident.

Once daylight came, Fry and two other men went out to take a look around. When they came back, it was with disturbing news. Judging from all the hoofprints, a party of up to thirty riders had circled the hamlet during the night. But why?

That question was the subject of considerable debate. Should they continue to travel south, which would take them in the direction of the gunfire heard the night before, or should they remain where they were? The problem was that they didn’t have enough food to hole up in the post office. After much dithering, the decision was made to resume the march, a course of action Lora understood but was worried about.

So they ate, packed, and hit the road. As they had the day before, they made good progress, but there were no lighthearted conversations or friendly snowball fights today. The air felt clammy, and a thick layer of mist clung to the ground, making it impossible to see for more than five hundred yards. Thirty minutes into the march, Lyn Cho pointed to the east. “Look! Riders!”

“And there are more to the west,” Hobbs added.

“Okay, close it up!” Fry ordered, and they did. Not that Lora thought it would do much good if the horsemen attacked them. They had the advantage, so why not use it? Were they friendly? No, it seemed logical to believe that friendly people would come over and identify themselves.

All the leavers had were questions with no answers—until they came to the steel bridge. There was nothing special about it except for the bodies hanging from the superstructure, two male and one female. It looked as though all three had been shot. And there, waiting at the other end of the span, were three riders. They were dressed in a combination of regular clothing and crudely sewn animal skins. All were heavily armed, and the one in the middle was wearing a football helmet decorated with a set of antlers.

“Look!” Dero exclaimed. “They’re closing in on us!” and Lora saw that he was correct. Both columns of outriders had turned in on them and were approaching the highway. There was no avenue of escape—or that was what Lora though until Fry raised his assault weapon and fired. The bullets hit horses and men alike. Animals screamed and fell in a welter of blood. They were still in the process of dying when Fry waved the others forward. “Follow me!”

They did, shuffling on snowshoes, as the man with the antlers tried to rise. Fry shot him again. “Take cover behind the horses!”

Most of the leavers did so as the horsemen at the north end of the bridge came together into a single mob and trotted onto the bridge. Tom Jager, though, was standing with his weapon raised. “Kill them!” he shouted, and fired his shotgun. It was the first time he had done so, but the enemy was so close he couldn’t miss. A charge of double-aught buck caught a horse in the face and neck. The animal screamed piteously and reared up. That was when the rest of the leavers fired a ragged volley, and bullets tore into the horse’s belly. It went down, taking its rider with it.

A member of the horde fired a pistol in response. The heavy slug hit Jager in the chest and threw him to the ground. Lora was frightened but knew the enemy had to be stopped. She elbowed her way over to the body, struggled to free Jager’s semiauto pistol, and held it in both hands. A man wearing a wolf skull on top of his head was hiding behind a dead horse. She aimed the weapon at him and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

The safety! The man with the wolf skull saw her and brought his rifle around. Lora felt a stab of fear as she thumbed the safety. Then she knew the pistol was ready to fire, so she did. Nine times.

The first bullet struck sparks off the bridge deck. The second hit the horse. The third struck the man’s rifle, which spoiled his aim. He was in the process of recovering from the jolt when a slug nicked his left ear, another passed through his throat, and the rest went wide. His hands came up in a futile attempt to stop the blood, then fell away as he lost consciousness.

As Lora was just starting to process that when Lou Martinez shouted a warning. “They’re attacking from behind!”

She turned to look, saw that Martinez was correct, and wondered how many bullets she had left. A large group of horsemen was thundering in from the south, but as a leaver fired at them, Lora noticed that the men on the north side of the bridge were backing away. “Don’t shoot!” she shouted. “They’re friends.”

That wasn’t necessarily true, of course, but Lora figured it was, and she feared what would happen if the leavers attacked potential allies. Fortunately her father had reached the same conclusion and ordered the group to stop shooting—and a good thing too, because as the riders from the south arrived, they passed between the leavers and took off after the barbarians.

What ensued was not pleasant to watch. The pursuers uttered what might have been war cries and urged their horses forward. The barbarians split into small groups of two or three. Whether that was by design or the result of panic wasn’t clear. One thing was for sure, however: it was a bad strategy. The southerners rode them down. Some of the fugitives fought and some tried to surrender, but it made no difference. All of them went down, at which point riders went from body to body and shot the wounded. Lora heard a mournful voice and turned to look. “Oh, no! They killed Linda.”

Lora remembered Linda Lemo as one of the people who would barely speak to her, but she still felt sorry as Fry scooped her body up and carried it to the south end of the bridge. It took two men to do the same with Jager. The price of victory had been high.

One of the riders came back across the bridge. He was bareheaded in spite of the cold and dressed in beautifully crafted buckskins. His hair was long and worn in two braids, both of which were decorated with feathers, and when he slid down off his horse, Lora saw that he was well over six feet tall. She guessed he might be in his thirties, but it was impossible to be sure. “You are on Blackfoot land,” he said solemnly, “and you are welcome here. Please accept my condolences regarding the members of your party who were killed. As you saw, the Blood Kin murdered three of our people as well. They, like many others, were on their way to our annual powwow.”

“Blood Kin?” Nix inquired.

“Yes. That is what they call themselves,” the Blackfoot replied. “They drink the blood of animals as a way to acquire animal virtues. That’s nonsense, of course, but it binds them together, and that makes them even more dangerous.”

“I see,” Nix said. “My name is Harvey Nix. And you are?”

“My birth name is Luke Twolakes.”

Lora got the impression that Twolakes might have other names but preferred to keep them to himself. The two men shook hands. “Thank you,” Nix said sincerely. “I fear that if you and your men hadn’t arrived when you did, we would be dead.”

Twolakes nodded. “You are welcome. The Blood Kin know about our annual gathering and often prey on those headed to the powwow. Small groups are easy to attack and carry items they hope to trade. My war party was sent to secure this section of the highway. Where are you headed?”

“South,” Nix said. “We’re hoping to find an agricultural community that will take us in.” Lora took note of the fact that Nix had chosen to omit any mention of the Sanctuary or the seeds.

“I know of several,” Twolakes said, “and one that might be of particular interest. But first we must take care of our dead.”

Having stripped the Blood Kin of everything useful, members of the war party cut the bodies of their people down and laid them across empty saddles. The horses could smell the fresh blood and were skittish.

Lora noticed that the warriors were dressed in a mix of regular clothing and deerskin garments. Some of them were armed with guns and some carried high-tech bows.

After a short meeting, it was agreed that all five dead bodies would be taken out into an adjoining field where a huge oak tree stood. Its branches were spread like welcoming arms and ready to receive the freshly cut saplings that were laid across them. Then, once the Native American bodies had been wrapped in blankets and bound with cord, they were placed on the platform. It was, Twolakes explained, the Blackfoot way.

Meanwhile two graves had been dug twenty feet away from the tree. Once they were ready, Jager and Lemo were lowered into them. As dirt was shoveled in on top of them, Tim Hobbs said a few words. “Forasmuch as it hath pleased almighty God in his great mercy to take unto himself the souls of brother Jager and sister Lemo, we therefore commit their bodies to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.”

There was a moment of silence followed by the flutter of wings as a black crow landed on one of the bodies in the tree above. It uttered a strident caw, ruffled its feathers, and eyed the humans below. Lora shivered and snow began to fall.