“What is it?” Maria said.
“Transport,” Charlie said. They unclipped the plastic ties of the container, leaving the lid on the broken road. Inside was a rubber dinghy with a small outboard motor. A compressed-air tank would self-inflate it. They lifted it out and depressed a button on the canister and watched as it took form over the course of a few short minutes.
“Come on,” Charlie said, “Let’s get this in the water.”
The dinghy hit the surface with a wet slap. Charlie sat in the back, manning the outboard. The others sat on the hull, with Denver at the front, facing the mainland, his sniper rifle shouldered, scope to his eye. He scanned in slow, sweeping arcs, keeping them protected.
Progress was slow across the bay as the prop struggled to propel the boat through the thick water. They had to stop a number of times to get around dense weeds that had grown up from the bay’s bed. They looked like vines, alien and entirely out of place for the water. But then that’s what those bastards wanted: to turn Earth into their world.
They eventually reached the mainland and pulled the boat up into a wooded area. The weather was getting cooler. Charlie zipped his camouflaged combat jacket. He’d have to get Ethan and Maria some better clothes; their uniforms from the harvester were getting badly torn and damaged, and being blue and orange were standing out too easily for his liking.
“Where now?” Maria said as Pip pointed her nose toward the foliage-strangled city. Her head tipped up as she picked up a scent. Charlie could smell it too. Roasting meat.
Charlie held up his hand. “Okay, listen to me. The city will have pockets of survivors. Some will be friendly, others won’t; don’t do anything stupid. Just follow Denver’s lead and mine. By the smell of it, there’s a group not far from here, and the wind direction is telling me they’re just beyond this copse of trees.”
“So why don’t we just go round and avoid them?” Ethan asked.
“Too far,” Denver replied. “Most of the city was totally leveled during the war. Entire buildings and towers were toppled, roads destroyed. It won’t be easy and the longer we’re out in the open the longer we’re a target for anyone who doesn’t want us around, or wants our supplies.” Denver pointed to the three backpacks of gear, food and water they had brought with them.
Charlie hefted one onto his back, Maria and Ethan took the other two, leaving Denver free to carry and aim his rifle. As the best shot in the group and with vision that would rival an eagle, it was better to have him free to move.
“Let’s go. Lead the way, Den,” Charlie said.
His son nodded once and turned his back. With two long strides he moved into the forest, Pip dutifully staying by his side.
It was cooler inside the forest with the thick tree cover blocking out the morning sun. The smell remained though, carried on a breeze. It didn’t take long for them to hear the sound of voices. Thankfully human.
Although the problem with that was that it wasn’t always clear what their motivations were. Just because they were human, didn’t mean they had the same outlook as Charlie.
All this time under the new alien paradigm had really shifted people’s perception of what it meant to be human and what society should and shouldn’t be. Sure, he had to be selfish at times to ensure his survival, but wherever possible he sought ways to be inclusive.
It’s why he sent Ben to the farm. There was certainly no love lost between them and Gregor, but Charlie knew that Ben would find a way into their support and would be taken care of. There was no way he’d be able to cope on his own in this kind of environment. He needed a more clear-cut structure and someone strong to lead him.
Despite what Charlie thought of Gregor and his methods, he was certainly a strong leader and would take care of Ben, at least long enough that they could get the inside info from him and free those poor bastards trapped in the farm.
Pip stopped and wagged her tail. Denver took a knee and held his hand up. The rest of the group stopped as Charlie walked slowly to kneel beside his son. “What’s up, Den?”
“A group of three, about forty feet away around a fire. One’s armed with a pistol. They’re just eating, chatting. They seem to have set up camp. There’s no obvious way around.”
Denver pointed to the artificial valley caused by two collapsed buildings to either side of the camp. The large concrete mounds with sheer sides where the towers had fallen directly down meant they had no easy way around.
Going too far around would lead into the busy area of west Manhattan, putting them far out of their way and exposing them too much. Charlie took his monocular from the webbing on his backpack and took a closer look.
He hoped to recognize some of them. Since his time going back and forward to his old office, he had come to know some of the survivors. Most of them were with him in the caverns where many had lived out the ice age, but not this group. Two of them were young, post-ice age, Charlie didn’t recognize the older man.
Weighing up the odds, Charlie thought about going in with firearms and dealing with it quickly, but the two young ones, two girls, looked like they were suffering from malnutrition. The roasting meat smell came from a tiny charred squirrel over a poorly made spit. These people weren’t surviving particularly well. That catch wouldn’t feed one person let alone three.
“What’s going on?” Ethan said as he clumsily sat by Charlie, knocking a pan from the side of his backpack. The metal vessel struck a rock, ringing out. The three survivors moved with unexpected swiftness to the source of the sound.
The older man raised his pistol and fired twice into the trees, directly at Charlie and the others. They ducked, but the bullets were already going high and wide striking the thick trunks of the alien redwoods.
“You damned fool,” Charlie said, pushing Ethan away. Charlie shrugged the pack off his shoulders and grabbed his own firearm from the holster around his belt. “Stay down.”
Another two shots whipped through the trees, striking branches and leaves. He was getting closer. Denver raised the rifle and chambered a round. The three survivors were now just a few feet away from the tree line. They’d be instantly killed from that range.
“Wait,” Charlie said, this time speaking loudly so that he could address everyone including these other three. “We’re human, friends, don’t shoot.” He touched Denver on the shoulder and whispered, “Hold your fire, son.”
“Show yourself,” the older man said, still aiming his pistol into the trees.
Charlie placed his pistol back into the holster, covering it with his jacket. He could still draw it quickly if he needed, having modified the holster so nothing obstructed the gun.
Maria gave him a concerned look. Ethan looked scared but in control. This was progress. They were getting used to life out of the harvester. “Wait here,” Charlie said, “and watch. Keep me covered if the shit hits the fan.”
With that, Charlie tapped Denver twice on the shoulder and stepped out with his arms up. The three survivors stepped back to give him room. The older man, his face craggy and white hair tied back in a ponytail, kept the weapon trained on him. He squinted his eyes, scrutinizing Charlie. “Who are you? What do you want?” he said, a noticeable shake making his weapon judder within his grip.
“We mean you no harm,” Charlie said. “We’re just passing through. If you let us, we’ll be gone right away. We don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“Who are you?” He asked again.
“My name’s Charlie Jackson; I’m like you, a survivor.”
“They all say they’re like us, but then they always say something.” The old man looked to the young girls. Up close, Charlie could see the resemblance now; they were clearly his daughters and he could just imagine what some of the other people would want with them. They both looked to the ground unable to hold Charlie’s eye.