“Yeah. What do you want? Warning us of a roadblock?”
He laughed, revealing a fine set of strong white teeth. “Hell, no! In a way it’s the opposite. We got a community settled down near the beach. Every now and again one of us comes up here on the chance of seeing outlanders coming through.”
“You see many?” called Jeff. “Particularly, have you see any sign of—” He stopped dead as Nanci leaned across and casually laid a hand in his lap, gripping so hard that the words choked in his throat.
His face turned gray, and sweat burst from his forehead at the pain.
“Quiet, Jefferson,” she warned him, holding a big smile for the benefit of the man with the flag. “Never, ever talk when you can keep your mouth shut.”
“Didn’t hear you?” shouted the man, taking a couple of steps toward them but halting when Nanci waved a finger at him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to. Listen, you folks’d be real welcome to come down and join us. There’s some old huts and cottages and a few tents down there. Not like a real village. ‘Newtown’ is what we call it.” He shrugged and grinned boyishly at her. “Not very original, is it? We got food and some fuel and we want decent people to think about joining us.”
“Why?” asked Henderson “Mac” McGill. He’d jumped down from the Phantasm and now stood alongside Nanci’s truck with a SIG-Sauer P-230 in his hand. His son Paul had joined him, holding one of the Winchester Defender 1700 12-gauge shotguns.
“You mean what’s in it for you, mister?”
“Yeah.”
“Safety in numbers. How many you got in your party? Around a dozen at the most. Time’ll come there’s no more gas to steal from isolated places. Then you got to settle down. Better amongst decent God-fearing people than some murderous rabble. Unless you all got somewhere better to go?”
Nanci answered him. “We’re just moving on. Lot of sense in what you say. How many in your community?”
The man tucked the flag into the waistband of his pants. “Around thirty at the moment. Eight are little ones, under ten. Most are married couples.”
“How do you eat?” asked Paul McGill.
There was a heartbeat’s hesitation that only Nanci Simms noticed.
“Fish is plentiful. We send out groups to scout the hills inland, and they bring back good things for us. And the Lord Jesus provides.”
“What d’you think, Nanci?” asked Mac. “Worth the risk of staying a night?”
“Maybe. It’s just that when I hear someone talking about the Good Lord providing, I tend to reach for my scattergun. Still, we can leave a guard on the vehicles, specially the gas. And keep our eyes wide open. We can try it.” Then she raised her voice, speaking to the stranger. “Glad to visit with you, down in Newtown.”
“Hey, that’s good! That’s real good. Everyone’ll be so happy to see so many strangers.”
IT WAS THE BEST TIME any of them had enjoyed since the beginning of Earthblood.
Newtown was just as the flagman, whose name was Jed Harman, had described it. An easygoing assortment of old cottages and huts clung to the top of a steep cliff above a bleak and rocky beach. There were two good fires burning at the center of the community, and everyone came out to welcome the arrival of the group of strangers and their three vehicles.
Despite Jeanne’s warnings, both Sukie and Jocelyn disappeared with a group of other small children, whooping away into the gathering dusk.
The rest of them were ushered into the biggest of the huts, where most of the adults pressed them for news of where they’d been and what they’d seen.
When suppertime came, they were served a rich stew flavored with a mix of herbs and spices that rather dominated the taste of the meat. Jeanne licked her lips, turning to the young woman next to her.
“What’s in it?”
“The stew?”
“Yeah. Is it pork?”
The woman nodded. “Right. That’s what it is, Jeanne. Finest pork.”
After they’d eaten, Nanci managed to catch Mac’s eye while they were sitting around the blazing fire, drinking some kind of coffee substitute flavored with a bottle of brandy that Jed Harman had produced with a flourish from his own cottage.