Deep Trek

He had spotted tracks all around their camp every morning. Some of them looked like the marks of a sizable bear, but he’d never been that good on identifying spoor when he’d been doing his survivalist courses.

“Dad.”

It was a bear.

Black bear.

Jim eased the hammer down on the powerful handgun, smiling at the fat little cub as it rolled its way past the dented front of their trusty van. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of months old, its bright button eyes staring fearlessly up at the two intruders.

“Cute,” said Jim.

“Shoot it, quick, Dad. Be good eating.”

“It’s a little cub.” He was shocked at his daughter’s instant, cold-blooded reaction. “I couldn’t… Heather, it’d be like blasting Bambi.”

“Bullshit, Dad.” Her hand reached for the Ruger. “Give it me, if you won’t do it. We need meat.”

It was true.

The kick of the gun ran to his shoulder, and the furry bundle rolled over dead. The echoes of the shot seemed to ring through the trees forever.

As father and daughter began together to butcher the little carcass, Jim kept his handgun ready. He knew from books and vids that the next likely event would be the appearance of the giant, enraged mother of the cub.

But nothing happened.

The melting snow continued to drip from the trees, and low clouds blew their sullen way across the forest. The blood ran away, turning pink in the trickling water, and Jim tossed the furry skin and innards off into the undergrowth.

A profound depression settled over his soul.

The memories of so many deaths plagued him, and he began to anticipate a future that seemed ever more hopeless. Despite the occasional clues, there was no real guarantee that Aurora even existed.

Perhaps they’d never find it and wander the deserted blacktops and avoid the hostile fortress communities forever, just he and Heather. Until death would relieve them of their lonely suffering.

He stood up and wiped the blade of his sheath knife in the soft earth, then dried it on the leg of his pants. Being on the move again would be the only way of shaking off the pervading sadness, he decided.

“We going, Dad?”

“Yeah. I’ll find a good place to leave a note for the others. If they are… I’ll nail it up to the board by the main entrance to the woods.”

Just then they both spun around, alerted by the sudden noise. Out of the shadows beneath the trees something big and bulky was rushing fast toward them. Breathing harsh and heavy.

Jim drew the Ruger and waited, motioning Heather to stand behind him.

The large shape burst out, water glistening on its shoulders, teeth bared.

Bared in a smile.

“Hi Jim and hi Heather. It me, Sly.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jeff Thomas couldn’t stand the suspense.

When he’d heard the voice of Nanci Simms as she threw back the bolts on his cell door, the ex-journalist of the West American had nearly fainted. It wasn’t something that he’d ever done before, though there’d been some desperate moments during his twenty-five years of life.

He’d stood up slowly, but the small room seemed to have filled with a dense mist. His own voice sounded hollow and very far away. “Hi, Nanci. What a surprise.”

“We’re leaving, Jeff. Now.”

She took his arm as he stumbled and nearly fell. Then she thrust a heavy .38 in his belt. “Pull yourself together. Flake out on me now, Jefferson, and I’ll cause you some swift and grievous suffering before I kill you.”

“I didn’t mean to leave you,” he heard himself mumbling as they moved out into the corridor. “How’s your leg?” But it seemed as if the woman wasn’t hearing him. He felt as if he wanted to throw up on the floor.

When he saw the two examples of Nanci’s brutal handiwork, he did throw up.

“We’ll talk about you leaving me in a while. First things first, Jefferson.”

He remembered her sliding back the massive security bolts on the door at the end of the corridor. The surge of cool fresh air, cleansed the stench of blood and death for a few precious moments.

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