Broken Mirror: Apophis 2029 (21 page)

  We woke to the soft drizzle of a morning rain.  A light fog rose off the top of the glassy surface of the lake, though the fine mist quickly faded with the break of sunrise.  It was a pleasant change from the artificial lighting of the bunker and the recycled O2 we had to breath, compared to the cool crisp air of daybreak.  The pleasantries of nature were interrupted by the grumble in our bellies for lack of food, since we had all split the mere two cans of beans we had found the night before.   Haiti found a few empty pans and collected sparse amounts of rainwater before the showers stopped, knowing better than to drink from the river without boiling it first. 

  After checking the perimeter, we finally got ourselves cleaned up to a small measure of comfort and took account of our situation.  Thoroughly searching the Mill, we found an old logging map of the area that was littered with elevation tags and markers, but it did show a few access roads.  Thorn pointed something of interest on the upper corner.

  "Those buildings look like loggers’ cabins," he blurted out.

  "What is that?" Haiti was quick to respond, as was Beatrice, who was certainly looking the worse for wear from having to sleep on the cold floor for the first time in her life; but chose to join us at the counter table where we had the oil soaked map rolled out.

  "It's similar to a mining town, only it's a temporary settlement for their staff that work the lumber site.  A section of the woods is cleared and they build housing for their crew," Thorn stated.

  "Hell, that's worth searching," I concurred, my stomach talking for me, "and it looks like its secluded enough to be off the beaten path."

  "I agree, it's certainly worth a look," Thorn admitted, "I once worked on a firefighting crew one summer for the Forestry Department and those camps are usually kept well stocked since they operate so far out in the country," he smiled, "it might give us a chance to re-supply."

  "Unless it's already ransacked," Haiti interjected, while I noted he had slowly started twisting his hair back into dreads whenever he had a moment to spare.

  There was always the risk of running into armed survivors, which were many times more dangerous than the infected.  Anyone who made it this long through such hardships had learned the art of guile and strategy, nor would they just welcome any wandering dandy with open arms into their camp.  It was unfortunate that many people had devolved into mere scavengers that had no value for any other human life but their own.  At least Weepers weren't prone to trickery or deceit; which were a few endearing human qualities, which regrettably, had earned its own sense of value in these circumstances.

  The infected had a habit to creating dens in places which had a supply of nourishment nearby or sparse measure of protection from the weather; which is why you could find them huddling together in piles to keep themselves warm.   One thing was certain; whether you crossed paths with survivors or a horde of infected, both were a real risk.  If we were to have any chance of finding our way back to the others of our group, we needed better weapons and supplies.  There was relatively safety here at the mill with the only one access door we had blocked and the surrounding exterior gate was intact; though, once outside the perimeter we were open game.  With that in mind, I folded up the map and took it with us. 

  Out in the forests away from the deserted towns and ravaged cities it was easy to forget that anything had ever happened to the world.  Most coastal ranges had been entirely decimated from the first piece of the asteroid that splashed down in the ocean, causing tidal surges that reached many miles inland.  Here in the landlocked woodlands, little had been touched, and there were still an abundance of wildlife.  It was strange to see how little difference mammals had made in the ecosystem when they had been suddenly but removed from the food chain. 

  Mother Nature found other ways of dealing with the unbalance, but it was human kind that had created the biggest disturbance in their struggle to regain their place back on the top rung of the ladder.  After the initial impact and destruction subsided, there was a brief period of confusion worldwide when dolphins, whales, seals and a list of other sea mammals began to wash up on beaches.  Marine biologists around the globe were clueless until the MN4 virus was verified to be carried by infected waterborne mammals, which had traveled with the ocean currents.  Their usual migration paths had been upset and the crazed creatures ended up on distant shores where they had never been seen before.  Their beached carcasses only ended up spreading the disease to far-flung reaches of the earth, even in places where mankind had yet to venture. 

  The ocean itself became a nightmare for seafarers trying to escape the ravages inland; thinking they could escape the outbreak.  There were sparse accounts of rabid whales attacking huge ships, and on many accounts, they were successful in destroying smaller boats.  They became the sea monsters of old, giants of the deep that terrorized harbors.  It was a mortal risk to take out a small boat into open waters, and with the abundant food supplies of the ocean depths there was no way to know their numbers or where the aquatic beasts could strike.  Mankind once again feared the seas and what lurked beneath their dark mysterious waters.

  The briny depths were a world away from this thick mountain forest, but even here, packs of infected squirrels or waves of mice could turn a peaceful woodland hike into a scene of nightmarish horror.  If you let your mind wander on the risks and dangers, paranoia could drive anyone to the brink of insanity.  Survivors dealt with their stress in different ways, some better than others.  Mine was to fade away into daydreams from time to time to escape reality; I really didn't know how to control it.  Perhaps I had already lost my mind long ago.

  It was depressing thinking about what once was, and how it was all gone.  The family or friends you knew had disappeared or had died as you watched; but there was always this spark of hope that lingered in those chosen few who refused to give up on life.  Surviving wasn't actually about finding food and shelter, it was about being tempered enough not to let yourself be broken.  It was almost spiritual, if you were inclined to look at it that way.

  Trekking through the forest towards this hidden loggers’
camp, we began to smell smoke wafting through the woods; the faint tinge you get from a wood stove.  We followed the haze to its source as we approached upon the borders of the small camp, identical to the one shown upon our map.  Ahead of us through the tall trees, we saw several rough log cabins with rusted metal roof sheeting.  To the far left in a partial clearing, we noted three chairs with people sitting in them around a smoking campfire, over which hung a kettle pot on a spit. 

  This was a mixed situation, as it was certainly better that finding a horde of hungry weepers infesting the campsite; but armed survivors could be even more so unpredictable.  On separate occasions, both my friends and I have tripped across lone camps where being unknown posed a risk of being shot on sight out of fear of being a carrier of the virus; or simply gutted for any supplies you might be carrying instead.  People could be desperate in the most vicious of ways.  Human life meant little nowadays if you had something that could help someone else survive one more day.  Food, ammunition, clothing ...it didn't matter what.  In any circumstance, a safe haven would be strongly defended against trespassers.

  Of course, we would have much rather found the place deserted, but there were people here who could possibly help us, so we had to take a chance to find out if they were hostile or not.  Haiti was the cautious one of the group, noting that we should approach quietly to get some Intel, and find out how many people were here before we went stumbling blindly into their camp.  He scouted ahead, and took a covered position with a clear view of the campsite where the three individual sat in their chairs, unmoving.  Hands cupped to his ears, he listened intently for about ten minutes and quietly crawled back to us under the cover of the brush.

  "I don't get it, man," he whispered with a hint of confusion, "they is all just sitting there, not talk'in about nuth'in at all.  Something ain't right," he professed.

  "Did you see anybody else?" Thorn inquired, but the island man just shook his head.

  "Ain't no lights in the windows, and that fire is mighty low.  They isn't stoking it nor speak'in a word between them.  They just sitting there..." he trailed off with a wrinkled brow. 

  We did not have much time on our hands as the sun was beginning to cross over the canopy and darkness fell quickly in the forest.  Betty suggested that we sneak up from the backside to one of the cabins and peek through the windows.  Problem with that was with our limited munitions, anyone caught skulking around would likely be considered an act of aggression.  Most survivors had little patience and a hair trigger for that kind of illicit behavior.

  It was interesting to note how having the world turned on its heel could dissolve social fabric so quickly.  Being overly friendly was viewed with a tone of suspicion in most circles, or could just as swiftly get you killed in the wrong crowd.  Human nature was a saucy bitch when it came down to brass tax of the have and have-nots, or those few who believed they deserved more than others.  Then again, that pretty much sums up several thousand years of human history, now that I think of it. 

  As we were debating plans, in an unpredicted move the old woman got up and stomped out of our hidden cluster and out towards the group sitting by the fireplace.

  "We don't have time for this..." were her only words as she trailed off with a gleam of impatience in her eyes.  That kind of attitude could get us all killed, but she was just out of arms reach as Haiti lurched for her a little too late; who was just as startled as the rest of us.  We took cover again behind the trees as Betty stepped into full view in the clearing.  Had we the chance, we would have sent a scout to circle around first so as not to give away our initial location, but Beatrice didn't possess that measure of tactical training or common sense.  Before this moment, it all fazed us that her ineptitude in real world situations might eventually become a liability to us all at some point.  Obviously, that point came a lot quicker than we would have realized.

  We stood breathless as she plodded her way towards the campfire, calling out a greeting as she approached.  The reaction we expected would have been for the group around the smoking coals to jump up fully armed at the announcement of their surprise guest, but oddly, they just sat there unflinching. The three of them remained sitting as she got several steps nearer to them, and it struck me that something was seriously wrong here.  When the old woman was only a few feet away, she slowed down and turned back towards us with a look of concern crossing her face.  That is when we heard a shot crack the air as it echoed through the forest.

  Dirt kicked up in front of her and the old woman froze, cowering to cover her head, then a grumbled voice called out from the tree line.  The position of the buildings deflected the words so that it was impossible to be certain which direction the shooter was speaking from.  Whoever it was, they were well trained in laying traps.

  Beatrice had walked upon decoys, mannequins fitted with pants, shirts and jackets, all stuffed with a skeleton of leaves and branches, finished off with hats that shadowed faces crudely drawn upon tarp cloth.  A great deal of effort had been taken to make them anatomically correct and posed to be believable at a distance.  The firearms lying next to them were rusted props, though the burning fireplace was the jewel of this elaborate ruse.  By my guess, the sniper was in the canopy somewhere due to the angle of the shot, but the direction of it I couldn't even begin to guess.

  Beatrice had walked straight into an ambush, likely one that the sniper had prepared just for us having detected our approach long enough beforehand to have lit the fire; knowing we would have smelled the smoke and would have been lured in its direction.  The old woman had done an immaculate job of giving away our position in the underbrush.  There was no ignoring the instructions we were given, lest we sacrifice her and chance a wild retreat into unknown territory.

  "The three of you come out in the open, or the woman dies!" the rough voice demanded, echoing off the cabins and through the trees making pinpointing its origin impossible.  Thorn, Haiti, and I all shared a quick worried glance.  Without hesitation another shot rang out, this one merely a breath away kicking up the moist dirt at Beatrice's feet as she jerked in fear.

  "I won't ask again.  You have five seconds to comply or the next one goes through her head!" the stranger warned.  We all held our breath, wondering what to do at this turn of events, "Five," we speculated for a moment if we could escape behind one of the buildings, or split up and take our chances, "...Four," only to realize that the buildings were actually too far in the open and the sniper already had the initiative, "...Three," we could flee and just leave her, which would be a real shitty thing to do, but the old woman had walked right into that trap of her own volition, "...Two," then again, we had no idea how many other snipers there were with their sights trained on us, so with a sigh we stood up to expose ourselves, "...One!"

  "We're coming out," Thorn yelled out from behind the brush as we made our way out of cover.  With our shock pistols held up in the air with our hands as the three of us strolled into the clearing to surrender.  As we got closer to Betty, we saw the decoy mannequins ourselves, embarrassed by our stupidity.