Hell Follows After (Monster of the Apocalypse Saga)

Hell Follows After

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Hell Follows After
©2015 by Charles Martens

Edited by Kari Carlisle

Cover art by Ida Jansson from Amygdala Design

www.readmota.com

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

L
urching and shifting, as the great beasts settled into their yokes and worked in unison, the massive redwood moved along the crumbling Highway 5. Twenty-six span of three-thousand-pound animals strained against their traces a day at a time, inching the load toward Roseburg in Sullivan Territory.

On average, one beast would die every day, its heart burst from the massive strain. The team would be uncoupled and the downed animal dragged from the position in the hitch. Before they were well off the road, another span would replace them, and the thirty-foot bull whips would begin to crack and pop. Six drivers, three on each side, would nary peel a hair from the beasts’ hides, much less draw blood. The animals knew the sting of the lash well enough from years in early training and required little urging by the time they reached their maximum weight and strength.

The ten pair closest to the tree were bulls. Stronger than steers, they provided a lever made of muscle and bone to winch the load forward whenever it stalled. Even though they were more powerful, care was taken to keep the pull in a straight line. Otherwise the steers would drag the bulls to the side and off the road, inevitably resulting in injury. Injured animals would have to be put down.

An entire industry revolved around the care and maintenance of the animals, alive and dead. The mature man in charge of the laboring oxen, Drill Shannon, and his son, Edge, made sure at least four spare span walked alongside the hitch at all times, led by young boys new to the work. A scout on horseback, sent ahead to inspect the path and anticipate obstacles along the sides, relayed information back every quarter mile. The instructions determined where the replacement spans were positioned so they would be accessible immediately but stay out of the way.

There were two men with single oxen to drag the dead out of the way. They would attach their single ox to the outside of the yoke opposite the live animal, the downed ox between them, and pull the dead beast back to the processing area to be turned into cured meat. As the operation progressed, there was always a freight wagon full of bagged and stacked jerky to be delivered to town.

Two men worked the meatwagon which doubled as a chuck wagon, and a freightwagon delivered processed meat in round trips to Roseburg. A boy at the lead oxen with a lanyard and four men were employed to service the heavy cart beneath the load and remove or smooth out perturbations in the path. Four herdsmen cared for and moved the resting oxen. Along with a Blacksmith and his helper with their own wagon and the Load Master, a big man with a voice like the bullwhip he carried, all told, twenty-eight men and over four hundred oxen had left Roseburg to retrieve the big tree. With any luck all twenty-eight men and two thirds of the animals would return.

But luck was not in the cards. An unseen divot, hidden by thick, overhanging grass beneath the right front wheel, plunged the load six inches into the earth. Enough jolt to crack the carriage and shatter the axle, the massive wheel fell sideways and hit the ground like a huge sledge hammer, catching the off side carter between his neck and left arm. The weight, and the heavy iron rim, sliced his body through from shoulder to waist before smashing his hips and splintering his thigh bones into the decaying concrete of the old freeway. The other off side carter, following far behind and seeing what was happening, was helpless and scrambled beneath the load to the safety of the other side.

The tons of tree settled, and the next axle popped, and then the third and fourth. Enough to upset the balance and shift the center of gravity, the load groaned as it snapped the front chains holding it in place. The event cascaded, and the load came free.

Both the meatwagon and the Smithy had moved up earlier to a small meadow alongside the old highway, just shy of where they would halt for the day. Fate, or bad luck, placed the disintegrating load immediately uphill of the parked camp.

The Smith looked up and realized what was happening. He grabbed his apprentice and ran to the rear of his wagon, away from the trajectory of the oncoming behemoth. The two butchers manning the meatwagon were intent on hoisting a fresh carcass opposite the road, the heavy block and tackle masking any sounds as they focused on their work.

A fresh span was being led to the head of the column alongside the load. The inexperienced kid with the lanyard froze, his eyes growing wide and bulging as though being pulled from between his lids.

From the front of the bull teams, Edge watched as a man launched himself toward the kid leading the oxen. He grabbed the youngster and pulled him by the arm, jerking it viciously. Suddenly the boy seemed to wake, and he scrambled with the other man toward safety, dropping the lead rope. They ran toward the front of the descending tonnage. Just as the mass rolled completely off the cradle, the older man stumbled and fell. The kid stopped and reached back, but the man waved him away and screamed for him to run. He did, making it to safety just before he would have been crushed.

The tree did not hesitate as it flattened the two wagons to the ground. It rolled over the remains in slow motion. The butchers, under the wreckage and not visible, had to be dead. The abandoned yoke of oxen had seen the danger but had been caught by their dragging trace chain and driven into the ground as they turned to run. They looked like hide rugs lying on a grassy floor. A surreal thought occurred to young Edge as he recognized that the rugs had a yoke around their necks.

The man who had helped the young kid was flattened as well. Edge could hear someone screaming as he fell to his knees, realizing that the prone, collapsed form wore the shirt he had given his father for his birthday. He did not realize that the screams were his own until being told later.

The great tree settled against some small pines, just past what was left of the wagons, as though the saplings had brought it to a halt.

In the sudden silence, only screams echoed off the hills.

The shunning continued. The loss of four men, three being journeymen and important to the community, demanded it. There were seven men caught up in the shunning. The scout, for failing to see the abandoned badger hole. The off side drivers and the youth leading the replacement span that was positioned on that side, for the same reason. The carter that ducked beneath the load. Even the youngster that escaped being crushed because he was not at his post alongside the hitch and might have seen the depression by being there. And the last, Edge, was on the right side and checking the oxen for anomalies in how they moved, how they planted their feet, for signs of fatigue or injury. He should have been watching the roadbed as well.

The young man at the head of the pull was reprimanded but spared shunning. He was a Sullivan.

Six months later, as spring buds opened and the fragrance of living things filled the air after a cold and wet winter season, Edge considered his options. Until the accident, they had been good. He was assured of his place in the community by being the oldest male heir of his father’s first wife. Now, his mother being taken into another man’s home as a charity had taken all of that away. Even his approved engagement to one of the local young women, the daughter of a Sullivan, was terminated. He had no status without his father until he earned his journeyman credentials, and after four years he still had another year to go. Being shunned did not help. No one would accept him as an apprentice so he could fulfill the missing requirements. It mattered not that he was better in his craft than many of the men he could work for. He was condemned.

Unless he could contract to get his credentials, he would never have a family. The community ruled that any man without a profession had no rights to marriage or any women other than the whores living outside the bounds of the community across the river.

Edge’s only hope lay in the new trading expedition being mounted into the interior. The thirty wagons would be pulled by oxen, and the man chosen to run the Company teams had a new and inexperienced apprentice. Although Edge could not bump the contracted boy from his position, he could be hired as an alternate and asked to prove himself. The problem was that the journeyman, Arc, had been at odds with Edge’s father since they were youths.

Sharing the same father but with two different mothers who vied for favor, the two men had a childhood full of competition. Naturally, there was one who excelled, and he was also the tall, fortunately featured son. Drill was good at everything he did, and he easily overshadowed the small, stocky Arc. While their father tried his best to spread his love and attention equally between his offspring, over time Arc’s mother drove a wedge between the two boys. She was a mean-spirited woman, prone to violent rages and verbal abuse, and Arc learned at her knee. By the time Drill and Arc had become Masters in their craft, they had stopped speaking directly to each other.

The young apprentice, Edge, took after his father. Tall and lean, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, he looked on the world through clear greenish eyes that would change color for reasons unknown. His hair, worn long enough to gather in a short ponytail, was dark blond, but had he allowed his beard to grow out it would have been red. Just as his father had before him, he excelled in any task put to him and loved to sweat in the act of honest labor. A kind heart and a gentle hand allowed him a special ability with the animals he had chosen to make his life’s work.

An accepted practice in acquiring position was to purchase opportunity. The teams that Drill had given his son on completing each of his four years were better than most. A difficult decision but necessary in order to establish a place on the wagon train, Edge considered which team to offer Arc in payment to take him on as an apprentice for his final year.

The oldest oxen were the most experienced, but by practice they were ready to be fattened for beef. The transition event of selling them and replacing them with two young animals to put into training would have been part of Edge’s fifth year learning. The animals were reduced in value once they reached the age of being replaced. Edge was sure that Arc would see it as an insult to be offered them.

To offer one of the next two teams was to split his hitch and create a gap. It meant he would have a void in the routine of buying and selling one team a year. It could be done but would seem unsavory to anyone in the profession.

That left the youngest team, and the best. Each year, Drill had improved on his son’s animals as he proved himself worthy. But even though they were the best animals, they were not yet schooled enough to be valued highly. Once again, Arc might see them as an insult.

And then there was the fact that a wagon needed eight oxen at minimum, by practice two animals in reserve to be traded out as necessary so the others could rest or to be used in heavy or steep hauls. Without the necessity of reacquiring his apprenticeship, Edge would have hoped to contract as a drayage man, a freighter with a team to pull a wagon. With only six in his hitch, the wagon would have to be light.

The last option was to sell the entire hitch and offer Arc money. His uncle was as tight as a banjo string but would not want to leave money with the wives he left behind, and there was no use for money on the trail. The only thing he might be tempted by would be to improve his trade goods for the trip. The natives of the interior would have valuable commodities to be brought back, and any value in trade goods would be doubled or more.

Deciding to chance incurring the wrath of Arc, Edge chose to offer the youngest team. They would increase in usefulness as they were used, and Arc would know that. They would make a worthy addition to the animals he would take for himself.

A group of men were gathered at the Master Sawyer’s shop, adjacent to the Smithy and opposite the ox-for-hire paddock. The men quieted as Edge approached, looking at the ground as he should in a shunning.

The ugly little man leaned against a sawhorse and watched his nephew as he approached, leading the young team. Edge could tell that Arc had anticipated the parley. His uncle had a sour expression on his face already.

“Good even, Master Arc.” Edge tasted bile in his throat at the necessity for civility. “I come to implore your favor.”

Squinting through narrowed lids, the Ox Master spat in the dust before replying. It was an implied disrespect but not a blatant one. Still, they and anyone observing understood the action for what it was.

“Good, indeed, young droog.” Arc used a term for a man lacking any apprenticeship experience, a common laborer. “What will you?”

“To implore your necessity of another man, sir. I wish to offer myself.”

“I have a man, be he small and inexperienced, but he is enow.” The little troll was determined to make this difficult, and Edge decided to relish the exchange. His nature to be competitive came to the fore, but the other man held all the cards and knew it.

“Aye, he is small, and he is inexperienced. My thought was that you require a man of more, but perhaps I was wrong.” He turned to walk away.

“Belay your haste, Mister Edge, and make your case.” The man’s eyes were appraising the team as Edge turned back. “I will listen and make the judgment.”

Edge did his best to define what the perils of the journey portended and what his worth was in making the man’s life easier on the trail. He offered more than the child under contract, that he knew. But there were only thirty wagons, and the Master might feel that he, alone, was enough.

Arc summed it up. “So, the stated case is that you feel I am inadequate to the task. And that even with the admittedly inexperienced assistant, I will be unable to provide competence to my charge.”

That was not what Edge had said at all, and they both knew it. The young man was growing impatient, though, and wished for this to be ended. He would make his offer and let the chips fall.

“I question not your expertise, Master Arc, only that you may wish for help to ease your burdens so that you can be ready when necessary for trade. It would be a shame if you missed opportunity due to an apprentice lacking what you require.”

They both understood that this was where any offer would be made, and both hesitated in order to provide the opportunity for the other to exhibit impatience. The moment hung in the air, with neither man willing to speak first. Finally, the younger man broke his silence. He already believed the exchange would be a failure, so losing the stand-off did not matter.

“I offer these oxen in payment to apprentice in your care, Master Arc. I have but a year to go, as you well know, and would be an asset to your effort during that time.”

The man spat in the dust again and made as if considering the offer. Eventually he spoke.

“I see nothing about these beasts that speaks to me of being worthy to make a team. They are young and inexperienced as is my man.” He grimaced as though in contempt of the animals, even though Edge knew he would like to have them. “Besides, your contract being of a year complete is not attractive to me. I am unconvinced that your fourth year was well satisfied.”

The statement was a high insult, to question any man’s completed efforts. Edge had certainly never expected as much from anyone, even the Ox Master, his own reviled uncle that disliked his father. The men standing nigh gasped and whispered amongst themselves. It was a low blow, and even a shunned man who was worthy deserved better. And they all knew Edge was worthy.

Pivoting on his heel once again, Edge took his turn to spit. The action was a clear disrespect to any Master journeyman. Not only did he not acknowledge the man in departing, thanking him for his attention, but the gesture was derogatory and clearly meant to devalue the Ox Master in the eyes of those observing.

The man was beyond any insult, however. He began to laugh as the former apprentice with the young team departed, tail between his legs.

Arc shouted after him, “Come back with a better offer, young droog. I might consider the entire hitch in payment. Then again, that might not be enough… but you could try me.”

Seething, his ears burning, Edge did his best to walk slowly so that anyone watching would not see his discomfiture. Still, he was pumped so full of adrenaline that he felt like he was walking on wooden legs. Even after turning the corner and exiting their sight, he felt uncomfortable. There were no carry weapons allowed inside the city limits, and for the first time in his young years, Edge understood what it was like to truly hate a man.

Not prone to violence, Edge was incensed. The man had not only turned down animals of worth, as well as his own value, but had managed to insult the memory of his father. By denying the value in his training, he had insulted the teacher. Regardless of any loss of status, Edge would never work for the man now.

The only thing left to him was as an unlicensed freighter. The team would do what they were intended to do, but he would never be accorded the station in life that would lead to family or children. Not unless he lowered himself to going across the river and engaging the services of a woman of no stature. By doing so he would insult himself and his family, and the shunning would become permanent.

Besides, in order to freight he needed a wagon, and after searching he could find nothing in good enough repair that he could afford. Any prospective employer would look at him and his team and be confident, but if they saw him pull up in a wagon unworthy of respect, they would deny him a load.

The pasture he kept his animals in lay to the west of town, and he led the young team to it and turned them out. He was proud of them. They and the older oxen were well conditioned and fit for any labor they could be put to. A shame that he could not afford a wagon, he would have to consider further.

As Edge walked back into town to bunk with the other bachelors, one last thought came to his mind. He could sell his hitch and buy riding stock and go along on the expedition as a contract mercenary. All he would need was a pistol, a good rifle, and his own bedding. Ammunition would be supplied as well as any other requirements.

Any one of his oxen would buy him a couple of good ponies, and a rifle worth using would cost another two. That meant he could pocket the price of the remaining five.

The problem was that if he did it, sold out and quit, there would never be any returning to position. He would still be a man without a hope of wives.