Hell Follows After (Monster of the Apocalypse Saga) (15 page)

No one missed the little man the next day. He had slept in often enough, trusting his silent wife to hitch the oxen and guide the teams along the journey. As usual he had left plenty of instruction to those he commanded, and they did their duties, relieved to be out from under his scrutiny.

The woman with the long sleeves and downcast, bonnet-shadowed face spoke to no one, even when she stopped for the night. The next day she was silent as well.

The scouts came into camp the next morning with a stranger, a man of the wild who fascinated everyone. Very different from past encounters, he gathered a crowd wherever he was and spoke as eloquently as any man in camp.

As they moved out to make camp in the Laramie Valley, Arc’s wife seemed to have developed a marked limp. She struggled on for some time until the Wagon Master called Jody over to fill her position leading the hitch. Anyone unaware of the change would have had to look closely to see that it was Jody, except for the difference in clothing.

Had anyone noticed, it might have seemed odd that Till had requested Jody’s assistance yet never inquired of Arc.

Unusual, too, was the sound coming from Occam’s throat as he guided his oxen. He sang a sad but beautiful dirge with a deep baritone as he trudged in time with the rhythm.

It was not until they camped in the little town to trade that anyone even remarked on Arc’s absence. There was a flurry of activity as an unusually short search was made, and Olivia was questioned inside the Wagon Master’s conveyance. It was quickly noted that the leggy chestnut was missing as well. With that information, everyone with any questions assumed that Arc had abandoned them for reasons unknown. His disappearance was a mystery.

In the bottom of the creek, days behind the wagons, the chestnut gelding worried his tether until it came untied. The knot was meant to slip with enough tugging, and the horse was free after some days of grazing on the lush grass that he could reach next to the cool stream. As the rope slipped from his neck, he worked his way downstream and past the chilled body in the creek. The bank was too steep to negotiate at this point, so he meandered easily until he found a way up and over the side and into the high desert. His feet felt light without the iron shoes that had been newly removed and lay rusting in the grass. There were others of his kind out here, and he would eventually find a bachelor band to run with.

T
he days after Arc’s demise were troublesome. Somehow Jody knew Olivia was injured and offered to help. She borrowed a dress and bonnet that covered her completely and took her place walking beside the oxen, acting as though she were Olivia. As far as Jody could tell, no one was the wiser. After two days Olivia tried to relieve Jody, but her injured foot was so visible that Till sent Jody back. Still, the subterfuge could not last. By the time anyone noticed that Arc was missing, they would travel many miles.

There had to be questions asked, and Till made a point of having the conversation quietly performed with a limited audience of trusted friends. From the outside, it was to appear an interrogation, but inside the Conestoga, the direction taken was more to assure and support Olivia. Still, the Wagon Master’s inquiry was stressful. Anticipating being questioned, Olivia had not known what she could say. But the weathered Till was sympathetic to her in the most odd way and seemed to coach her through her answers.

“So, Olivia, you be saying that Arc went to bed last night as usual and then decided to go riding before dawn?” Till was nodding his head as though expecting her to affirm his query. He was looking intently into her eyes as he asked each question, making sure that most were yes or no answers.

Glancing back and forth between Till, Brick, and Occam, she nodded in time to Till’s own bobbing head. “Yes.”

“And he took supplies with him?” Again Till’s head nodded even before the question was complete. “As though he might be away, perchance for more than a day?”

Olivia looked at each man again. Occam was nodding his head as well. “Yes, sir… as though he be gone for some time.”

“But he didn’t confide in you, did he?”

By now, Olivia understood she was being led. “No, Master Till, he said naught.”

A few more questions and some sympathy expressed, and Till stood up, his chair scraping against the floorboards of the wagon as it moved away from the desk. The leather-bound log he had been filling out as he put his questions slammed shut. The others rose from the crate and traveling chest that they had occupied. They each had a satisfied look on their faces.

Giving Olivia a supportive look of concern, Occam spoke to her as he helped her down from her interrogation.

“Let me know if there be anything you need assistance with, young lady. Either I, or my man, Edge, will accommodate your necessity.” Almost as an afterthought, Occam added, “And young Jody would surely be glad of your company. She has enjoyed the knowing of you.” He looked down at her with soft, kind eyes.

Although most of the people on the train seemed expectant of Arc’s return, the men present at her inquiry clearly did not. But Olivia did not ask questions of what was not offered. She kept her thoughts to herself. Kept them to herself and was glad to do so. And her questioners were quietly appreciative as well.

Coming back to her wagon, the one she had shared with Arc as a home on the trail, Olivia noted something unusual. Arc’s saddle, still in the wagon, was now well covered with a blanket. She had not thought about how the saddle and bridle would have to be explained if her husband had been said to have left on a horse. She fretted about how to explain it, but she need not have.

When she woke the next morning, the tack was gone.

The big Smith was true to his offer. If he noticed Olivia struggling to yoke one of her beasts, he would send Edge to assist her. By the time the train was approaching their encampment to the south of Boulder, she and Edge had become friends. In fact Olivia had begun to come out of her shell. She showed up one evening, soon after Laramie, with a Dutch oven full of dried apple crisp. She was welcomed and invited to eat with them from then on. The young people and Occam made a good group. Before long, there was comfort, friendship, and laughter. Olivia had not realized how much she had missed people. At the usual Sunday get-together she participated for the first time. She was quiet and reserved, but she smiled often.

The small book of history and ethics published in Reno made its way into Bluehawk’s hand. He absorbed it hungrily. Newly printed written words were scarce and most of those only one page newspapers distributed in small towns. Hard to come by, they were unavailable beyond their local territories. Information and the opportunity to learn were important to Bluehawk. The gathering of minds and the exploration of past tomes preserved at the university in Boulder fed him like water to a parched land.

With Boulder close, the wagon train picked up the pace. Attitudes changed, and many of the small aggravations and dramas within the group dissolved and dissipated into the ether. Along the trail the caravan had been larger in population than many of the communities they encountered. With the expectation of being overwhelmed by the greater numbers of a large city of ten thousand or more, the train solidified within itself, becoming a unit of self-protection. Trusting, but not knowing what to expect, they would support one another.

The early fall weather was changing. Winds became more blustery, and the first hints of color started to tinge the leaves in the higher meadows. Geese and ducks filled the skies with a cacophony of wing beats. Herons grew loud with their flight song. Wolf, coyote, and bear ate well, staying close to waterways choked by beaver ponds full of fish and waterfowl. The first serious frost of the season came early.

Till Willis, the Wagon Master, gathered his best advisors and information to him as the journey wound down. Edge, having taken on a more important role before, and especially after, the disappearance of Arc, was welcomed into the close knit group. Bluehawk, too, was invited, as the native man had spent time in the community they approached. Although Cy knew the trail, he had little knowledge of the Denver area or its ways. He and Occam, Till’s second in command, Brick, and a few others met and discussed what to expect.

As a trading hub for the Great Plains, Boulder was a thriving and fast growing city. Bluehawk knew the history of the area both from his time there and his interest studying local history. In the evening campfire gatherings he spoke of what he knew, of the three educated people who had met by chance within the first decade of the plague event and how they began actively searching for others who valued education. Early success came as they gathered people with a yearning to learn and created a functional society based on the preservation and further advancement of knowledge. The university community attracted intelligence, and intelligence attracted talent… and others. Craftspeople from far distances came to trade, and many ended up staying. One early policy became custom, and the township supplied housing for visitors. If they were not offered a place in a neighborhood of preserved ancient homes, they would be offered communal living in longhouses built for the purpose. The practice was good business and good for the town.

At Bluehawk’s suggestion, Till rode ahead in order to meet and make arrangements with the leaders in Boulder before they arrived. He and the nomad invited Occam to accompany them. Concerned for Occam’s state of mind, Till thought it would be good for him to get away from the wagon train. They would have their meeting and wait as the wagons arrived from the north. By then they would be able to lead the Company directly to whatever accommodations were available.

Returning to Boulder was cathartic to Bluehawk. As a respected shaman within his tribe, he was still lonely when living among them. Sometimes intelligence drives people away, and Bluehawk had never figured out how to hide his. Usually he would mentor a youngster each year and bring them along to spend time away from village life, allowing them a chance to gain perspective as they experienced a different culture. This year the young man so carefully groomed had at the last minute chosen to stay behind. The decision was disappointing, but Bluehawk would not allow it to quell the enjoyment of his return. In many ways Boulder was his real home. His birthplace was in the mountains of Wyoming, his hunting grounds in the forests and plains, but his mind belonged to Boulder.

Leading the two men from the wagon train into town and introducing them to those who would be of most use to them, Bluehawk was greeted as a valued friend. He was home.

The wagons moved easily along the old roadbed. Close to their destination, the surfaces were maintained to some degree. Brick was a competent replacement for Till and encouraged those about him with his confidence and easy manner.

The last hill was negotiated, and the party came to the outskirts of the city. Till, Bluehawk, and a local man of importance met them and led them to their encampment. Accommodations being on the south end of town, the train made its way down the main thoroughfare in the business district. Most of the buildings were newer wooden structures, built after a fire had gutted the older buildings of the original community. The street was wide and so broad that a wagon and hitch could turn around without circling the block. Of course the town was too busy to try that. The economy was good and the streets crowded.

Passing through, everyone in the wagon train marveled at the strange things they saw. Any new town offered interesting things to see. The shop windows were filled with bright colors and a variety of fashions. Unknown tools, pottery of strange design, and harness in odd colors and configurations filled store fronts. A small, open, graveled lot held some light, three-wheeled vehicles that did not appear to have rigging to be drawn by horses or oxen. A large solar panel to one side had a long cord running to one of them.

The locals did their fair share of inspecting the newcomers. Men in shop aprons came to their doors and stood to watch and evaluate. Women with flour-dusted hands and hair brought laden baskets out, handing fresh, paper-wrapped pastries to those leading the oxen.

One young lady seemed particularly engaged with Cable, who had borrowed his old buckskin to ride through town. She found it easy to keep him immobile with her flashing eyes and quick smile. Walking alongside in a passing wagon, Jody noticed and felt a strange burst of jealousy that surprised her. She was not the only one. The local young men standing on the boardwalks were studying the exchange with frowns, dark looks, and quiet commentary as well.

A man with a metal star beneath his outer coat, pinned to his vest, stood watching both groups. He knew the locals, every single one, as part of his profession. Some he knew quite well and better than they would like. As he watched the parade of newcomers, he evaluated those who drew his attention. The man on the buckskin was one, and there were several others. He knew there was an adjustment period with any two groups of people coming together, and in this town there were more than two. His job was to keep the peace, and that was what he and his deputies would do.

Walking beside her lead team through Boulder, there were many of the young, local men who noticed the striking blonde with the flowing, long hair. Several of the bolder men hooted, gave catcalls, or whistled. Olivia paid them little mind as she pretended to ignore them.

Finally, noting what he saw as disrespect, Edge asked Jody to take over walking with his oxen, and he moved back to protect Olivia. It was a lost effort as the catcalls were then directed at Jody. It was Cy’s turn to dismount his pony and walk beside his sister. Still, there were some rude noises made to illicit a response from the young women.

An open air market at the center of town was passed to one side. Broad avenues with wares spilling into them from covered stalls shocked the eye with strange contraptions and variety. People in leather leggings and bone breast-plates vied with others in finely woven dashikis worn long over open sandals.

One of the small vehicles seen earlier pulled out from a lane and surprised everyone by moving past without an animal pulling it. The strange contrivance whirred and whined quietly as it made its way into town, a spectacled man directing its course. The oxen stepped sideways with wide eyes, keeping their attention on the vehicle as it passed.

A slight hill, down and through a grove of aging orchard trees heavy with fruit, led to an open area surrounded by simple structures. Cabins with sides constructed with large, hinged doors that could be lifted and supported to provide a shaded area and ventilation lined the perimeter closely. The largest was built as a pavilion with sliding walls that nested together when open. A community kitchen and dining area occupied the space within. Another building next to it held outhouse facilities and a communal shower. A small stable with a reasonable corral stood beside the outhouse facility. There was a large, security fenced area on the other side that would protect their wagons from casual theft and a low fence delineating the boundary between the lodgings and another facility next door.

Oxen were unhitched and the younger children assigned the duty of taking them and the excess horses to a location further down the road. Till had made arrangements for a pasture close to town and on the main thoroughfare so that the animals brought to be sold could be displayed, and the bulls went the opposite direction.

As everyone was so well practiced at packing and unpacking after a summer on the trail, the cabins were occupied quickly. The Renoites shared two, and the others were divvied up between the people from Roseburg. There were enough single men that one cabin full of bunk beds was filled and a smaller cabin by unattached women. The married couples were allotted space in cabins divided into four equal quarters by movable, temporary walls.

Occam stood, looking about. This was the first time he had to make a decision as a new widower. He did not know whether to take a place in the bachelor quarters or a place in a cabin. His newly lean face lengthened in a sad hopelessness in his confusion.

The Vintner’s wife came out and took Occam’s hand, leading him to an unoccupied space in their cabin. She left him at the door to his area as she had things to do. He stood looking into the room, not sure of what to do first.

What little Olivia had to do could wait. She noticed the Vintner’s wife lead Occam into a cabin, and glancing in she realized he had likely never been in the position of making a home for himself. Moving to his wagon, she chose a light chest that she was sure carried personal items and carried it inside. She nudged Occam as he stood in the door, and he moved aside. He watched her place the box on the floor. After she returned with a second load, he joined her. Soon his personal items lined the walls, and the raised platform was filled with his bedroll. The space was small but uncrowded with only one occupant.

Olivia gave him a sad smile and gripped his forearm in assurance as she passed wordlessly out and back to her tasks.

After the initial unloading, the men manhandled the wagons into the fenced yard. By then late evening was upon them. A light snack for some, and a bed without any meal for those too tired to eat, and the camp was put to sleep.