Children of a New Earth (18 page)

What did it mean? What were the weapons of mass destruction? How were they sacrificed? Then it hit her. “It’s gun metal,” she said.

“What?” Luke asked.

“The statue,” she replied. “It’s made of gun metal. That’s what it means by weapons of mass destruction. Someone melted down over thirteen hundred guns to make . . . this.”

“What sort of fool would melt down guns to make something sick like this?” Mark demanded.

“I don’t care,” Patrick replied. “But it creeps me out. Let’s get out of here.”

After another moment, Luke nodded his agreement and led them off.

They camped at the base of the valley within sight of the river. A serviceable wooden bridge led across. The next morning, they crossed and continued their journey.

After a few miles they came to a crossroads. They went straight, as Roger had directed.

After the crossroads, the road began to look more and more used. Ruts from wagon wheels became more common, and the woods that now gathered on either side had a manicured look to them.

Just before noon, they woods gave way to a rolling land of farms and plowed fields. Sheep and cattle grazed by thatched barns. Amy followed Shawn’s wide-eyed gaze to a young lady who casually regarded them from the other side of a low stone wall.

Chapter 6

THE QUIET EARTH SOCIETY

Seemingly unconcerned by their sudden appearance, the woman watched them as they approached. She wore a simple blue dress and a small corset of dark brown material. The dress and corset combination showed quite a bit more cleavage than the ranch women would have found appropriate. At her waist, a leather belt held numerous pouches and a thick wooden cup.
She could be right out of a medieval fairytale
, Amy thought.

“We come in peace,” Luke said. He started to describe their mission.

The woman cut him off. “What’s that oaf staring at?” she asked. “Hasn’t he ever seen a woman before?”

Shawn went beet red and looked away mumbling.
He’s hoping to find a woman,
Amy realized with a start. All her life she had moaned and complained about the ranch, about how she had only one friend. What about Shawn? He had friends, sure, but what was it like knowing there was no woman for him? Amy would most likely end up a spinster, but that was her own damn fault. Should Shawn be forced into permanent bachelorhood by simple mathematics?

“You guys have come from a long way off, by the look of it,” the woman said, her demeanor turning pleasant again. “Do you have any news for a poor girl who has never left her valley?”

Luke looked uncertain. Amy stepped up. She felt vaguely jealous of the attention the woman was paying to Luke. She knew that was irrational. “Not really,” she told the woman. “We come from up in the mountains and have just left our valley for the first time. I am Amy Beland of Freedom Ranch.”

The woman introduced herself as Wren. Amy introduced the men.

Wren looked up at the distant mountains and whistled. “I didn’t know anybody lived up there.”

“We kind of keep to ourselves,” Luke said. “Do you know the way to the village?”

She gave him a long, patient look. “Road only goes two ways, Honey.” Luke blushed. “Tell you what,” she continued, “I’ll escort you in. A bunch of big, strapping, mountain lads shouldn’t be wandering around all by yourselves, now should you?” She vaulted the wall easily and took Luke’s arm. “Right this way, kind sir.”

Amy felt another pang of irrational jealousy and quickly squelched it. Wren led Luke off, chatting amiably. The other boys followed close behind, watching her.
They aren’t being suspicious this time
.

Just over the crest of the next hill, they could see the village. It was all laid out in one lane, a collection of thirty or so houses of the same earthen material as the Akira’s. While several had heavy sod roofs like the Akira’s, most favored second stories of wood and thatched roofs. At the end of the village, the lane bent around a large community hall.

The thatched roofs and smoking chimneys gave the whole village a fairytale look. Amy recalled several swords and sorcery books that Luke had talked her into reading; this would the perfect setting for any of them.

As they approached, Amy saw many distant figures heading toward the village. Their approach had not gone unremarked, and apparently visitors were rare enough to draw a crowd. Then again, how would the ranch handle half a dozen visitors?

At the edge of town, an old man sat on a stool with his back against a tree and his nose in a book. He wore a simple tunic of rusty brown that went almost to his knees and gray leggings. Beside him was an unstrung bow.

“Amos Dietrich!” Wren shouted. “Some guard you make.”

“What’s that, Wren?” he muttered, looking up. Spying the strangers, he stumbled to his feet, fumbling for his knife. “Friend or foe?”

“Friend,” Luke assured him quickly.

“You are absolutely hopeless, Amos,” Wren went on. “Just go and get Mr. Quimby, will you?”

“Yes, Wren,” he said and was gone.

“I really have to apologize for Amos,” Wren said. “It’s been years since guard duty meant anything except lazing in the shade. Only the worst of the lazy ones take it.”

Amy couldn’t help but notice that Shawn was still watching Wren, though more discreetly. She had noticed out of the corner of her eye, after being introduced, he had sounded Wren’s name out to himself several times as though trying to be extra sure he remembered it.

An elderly man approached. He was tall with shoulder-length, dark hair that was peppered with gray. He wore a simple brown tunic as well, with gray leggings and a tooled leather belt. Despite the similarities in dress, his bearing couldn’t have been more different than Amos’s. You could tell he was one of the village leaders, just as you could tell that Amos Deaton ran the ranch. It was something in the way he held himself.

“I am Johnathan Quimby, gatekeeper for the village of Bullhaven,” he said in a deep sonorous voice. “I bid you welcome and offer you our hospitality.”

“I am Luke Zachary of Freedom Ranch,” Luke said, taking his hand. “We gladly accept your hospitality. We are here on an urgent mission—”

“Later, son,” the man interjected with a wave of his hand. “First, hospitality. You must be weary and thirsty.” He turned to the gathering crowd. “We are honored by guests. We will toast their arrival in the hall, and tonight there will be a feast.”

A cheer greeted this pronouncement. Quimby led Luke off, the two falling into conversation at once. Everyone else followed behind. Villagers started plying the boys with question about the world beyond their little valley.

Amy could only guess from their reception that the days of bandits must be long over. No one seemed to doubt their peaceful intentions.
Maybe they should
, she thought as she watched Patrick’s assault rifle bounce across his back.

They passed into the community building. It was dark and cool inside. The main room was filled with long, low wooden tables and benches. Cups were being filled behind a bar and passed around. Several were brought their way.

One was pressed into Amy’s hand. She eyed it suspiciously. The dark frothy liquid inside smelled strongly of yeast. She was not sure what she was expected to do, so she held it.

“To your health and good fortune,” Mr. Quimby told them loudly.

“To your health and good fortune,” Luke returned. A cheer showed that he had made the proper reply. Following Luke’s and Quimby’s example, Amy tilted the mug back to her mouth. She nearly spit the liquid back out. It was bitter and foul, as bad if not worse than it looked.

“What is this stuff?” she whispered to Luke.

“To long life and happiness,” someone shouted at the back of the crowd. Luke responded in kind, and there was another long drink.

“It’s beer,” Luke whispered back as he lowered his mug.

“Beer?” Amy replied. “Doesn’t look anything like the stuff Dad drinks.”

“That’s the O’Malley’s home brew,” Luke told her. “I’ve had a taste or two. This is much darker and stronger, but it the same stuff, I’m sure.”

The toasting went on for some time. Even taking the tiniest swallows, Amy had drained half her mug. Most people had been through at least one refill.

Amy looked around her. The hall was an amazing re-creation of a medieval feasting hall. It had a large fireplace on one side, which was quickly being filled and a fire lit. Heavy tapestries hung on the other walls and oil lamps were spaced evenly along the wall.

The people helped to complete the image. The men and several of the women wore simple tunics of earthen colors and leggings. Other woman wore floor-length dresses, with or without a corset like Wren’s.

Amy felt a tug at her sleeve. How long had she been spacing off? Luke was pulling her through the crowd after Mr. Quimby. She managed to deposit her mug on a table and shake her head to clear it as she followed.

“He wants to discuss our mission,” Luke said. They broke through the crowd and were led down a back hallway. They were shown into a small side chamber that housed a short table and a half-dozen chairs. An elderly lady in a floor-length white dress was already seated waiting for them. She rose as they entered.

“This is Irene McKinis,” Mr. Quimby told them, “the head of the village counsel. You’ll deal with her.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Luke said taking her offered hand. “I am Luke Zachary of Freedom Ranch.”

Amy had thought Quimby was the leader. Now she discovered the village was led by this woman. She was impressed by that fact.

Luke impressed her even more. He didn’t miss a beat. If a woman leader surprised him, he didn’t show it one bit. After introductions, he immediately began to describe the plight of the ranch, with an occasional nod to Quimby, to whom he had already spoken. Amy listened in silence, unsure what her presence was meant to imply. Surely they had already proved their goodwill?

Luke produced a neatly folded stack of papers, the list of what the ranch needed, and handed it to Quimby. The older man read it intently while Luke finished his story.

“Our village has always been ready to help those in need, even in the early days when we had little ourselves,” the elderly lady told him. “However, charity breeds dependence. That’s bad for both sides. We would work a trade, if possible.”

“Of course, I agree totally,” Luke said. “I’ve been thinking about that. To be honest, we didn’t expect to find any civilization . . . quite like yours. I am not sure that we have anything you would want or need. But we do have six strong men willing to work, and Amy here.”

Amy squirmed uncomfortably as she became the center of attention.

“The mechanic?” Quimby asked mildly. Luke nodded.

As if in answer to Amy’s unspoken question, Irene said, “Perhaps you think we are too primitive to need your help?”

Amy shrugged noncommittally, not sure what to say. It certainly seemed primitive, even by the ranch’s meager standards. Irene chuckled. She drew a flashlight from a drawer on one side of the table and flicked it on, shining it at the ceiling. Deep in the shadows above the sputtering oil lamps were dark, long panels: fluorescent lighting.

“I saw the wind generator on the way in,” Luke said. “It was not running, so I took a chance and dropped the hint that we had a mechanic of sorts along.”

“The oil lamps are quaint, but I’d really like my real lights back,” Irene said. 

Amy was startled; she had missed the generator. Lucky that Luke hadn’t. 

Irene went on. “We don’t know what’s wrong. It went out during the last storm. We have a backup biodiesel generator. We use it for some things, but it is too resource-intensive for everyday use. We have sent to the Greenbowes for a repairperson. Spring is their busiest time, and the usual repairwoman is out. It could be several months before she’ll be able to find time for us.”

Amy was getting the gist of it now. “I can take a look. We had a wind generator at the ranch at one point, so I know the basics. I can’t make any promises until I’ve seen it.”

“Understood,” Irene assured her. “At any rate, that’ll be a big help. If you can even tell us what’s wrong with it, then the Greenbowes will know what and who to send.”

“Even so we may have a problem,” Quimby said, looking up from the list. “We can certainly provide an equivalent to all of the household things on the list, canning jars and whatnot. But there are some technical things here, solar panels and batteries? The Greenbowes produce that sort of stuff. Refrigerant? You’d have to contact the Cyclers about that.”

“We had hoped to salvage,” Luke insisted. “Are there any abandoned towns nearby?”

“I’m afraid not,” Irene said. “Years ago, back in the early days, there were groups that made their livings on salvage. They were often violent, quasi-military groups, not a nice bunch at all. We had enough fighting by then, and it served both of our interests to let them be. We even helped them from time to time. We didn’t want abandoned cars and crap sullying the ‘natural landscape’ we were trying to create.”

“And it got them out of our region faster,” Quimby agreed. “The three closest towns were reduced to little more than foundations before they gave up. We can check with neighboring villages, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”

“Then it’s hopeless?” Luke asked.

“Not hopeless,” Irene assured him. “Farther in, you will find more. They may have scavenged the little towns dry, but it will take years to empty the major cities of everything of value. Every major city is home to communities of Cyclers, who live by salvage. We’ll pave the way for you even. We’ll set up credit with the Greenbowes and with the nearest Cyclers, in Kansas City. They will give you what you need, and we will see that it is paid for after the harvest.

“That just leaves you to settle with us. Spring is a busy time here as well, and we certainly can use six strong men. However, your road ahead is still long, and we shouldn’t keep you. So here’s my offer—you will work for us for one week, the service of six strong backs and one skilled mechanic. Then you will go on to the Greenbowes and the Cyclers. It is a long trip that we rarely make anymore, so we’ll ask you to do some minor business for us as well. Does that seem fair?”