Part One:
"Here,
where the rain falls, we will find our salvation."
He lifted his field glasses to his eyes, hooded by an old ball cap. His camouflage jacket draped damply over his shoulders. The left lens was cracked, but it still brought into focus a low farmhouse in a clearing across the long, overgrown pond where he had set up camp.
The radio crackled again, "Right where they said right?"
"Right," Lister said, but he didn't pick up or speak into the radio.
Static gurgled, "You there? Copy me?"
Lister moved slow and dropped the field glasses back around his neck.
"Copy," He said, clicking the button on the side of a beetle-black portable radio, its antenna made from a long, patinaed brass bolt.
The radio hissed, "Okay, so when?"
"We'll just stay put tonight."
A few pops, and a little static, "All right. I'll be 84 then."
Lister squinted as smoke from the little fire burned his eyes, "Over and out." He turned a tiny knob and the radio blinked dark.
Cad and Lister sat in the light and warmth of their tiny campfire. they finally conceded they would need one source of fuel, and set off in search of at the very least a thick branch. The Great Thicket and Woods that was once the southland was no more, and only here in the Foggy Mountains could stands of oak and poplar and beech, not to mention the rain needed to keep them alive, be found. A great indicator of human presence in the Foggy Mountains was always an absence of deadfall, snatched up first before any trees could be felled for fuel. For miles through the forest Cad and Lister noticed cleared pathways in the privet underbrush, as well as several piles of splinters where large deadfall had been broken up. They were indeed on the right track.
Cad's knit cap was still dewy from the rain. The light from the fire made all the droplets glitter and the men's breath competed for space under the tarp with the ambient fog and white smoke.
"So you really think this is the bunch?" Cad asked, he shifted in his canvas jacket and sat on a small stone he had warmed by the fire.
"I really do." Lister grinned at his friend and nodded his head.
A greasy dog that had once been bright blonde (now stained a rusty-screw, burnished clay brown,) trotted into the camp, lolling his tongue.
"Sit, boy." Cad spoke to his dog in an even but vibratory tone. Lister thought of it as Cad's "dog talk."
The mutt sat and closed his mouth. Still breathing heavily, the dog's ribs were slowly flapping like a seabird, out wide, heaving for air. Cad reached into a pants pocket, and removed a small ball of deer and blackberry pemmican. He tossed it to the dog who snatched it out of the air with little fanfare and even less chewing.
"We should have him stay close," Lister said.
"You're right. In the morning, I'll leash him," Cad reached over and inspected a weeping scratch on the dog's ear.
After she died, Lister made his way north from Genoa, begged of an old friend new closeness in an ever-darkening, expanding world. So in the Rennaissance, and the golden age of exploration the world had become smaller, in these late days after the cataclysms the world grew again, until the little counties Cad and Lister had once driven through in mere minutes now stretched out before them in infinite acres, uncountable footsteps. They had marched, following the water and rain. Cad's wife had fled with their son when their homestead in the woods outside of Genoa was raided by the Republic men, and Cad had attempted to defend their home by attrition. After stealing most of his belongings of any value, the Republic men had fled one early morning when Cad open-fired on them sleeping in the open. Cad and his dog had hidden in a collapsed chicken coop for three days before they got the drop on them.
"I know I got three." Cad had told Lister one cold, dry night when they had first reached the mountains. The clear sky threw a million specks of stars on a black canvas. Lister had gazed up at it all and asked, "Killed them?"
Cad nodded, "They're cowards, they didn't even try to fight. Got spooked, blasted a couple of rounds around, and jumped in their trucks and hauled ass." He blew into his hands to warm them, "Didn't even try to get their buddies."
Lister blew steam out of his nostrils, "What did you do with them?"
"Well, I had a jam, coincidentally, so I kicked the bolt back and dug out a casing, chambered a round and popped 'em one more time apiece." He shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes.
"I know you didn't like it," Lister said, turning to his friend.
"Ha! No, no I guess I didn't."
"Y'ever think about 'em?"
"Nope, after I rounded up a little stuff, I've never been back there. Never been back. I still haven't heard from Sarah."
This was a thing he would stumble and say from time to time. They had started to lose count of the days since they'd left Genoa county, and Lister knew full well he hadn't heard from his wife and child.
Lister would struggle every time, "Well, you know." He kicked at the dirt, "She's a tough cookie. She's able, she's fit, she's smart."
Cad lifted his eyes to the stars. The moon was a small sliver that hung on an invisible line in a dark sea. The men were silent more often after that.
Morning rose slowly and the season was falling back to the rainy cycle. Cold winds, freezing rain, mudslides, the odd flurry of snow. Cad and Lister had cursed the very rain they drank, and they thought about the times they had been thirsty. Cad and the dog had been up for a while, and the fire had been stoked back enough to cook a pat of bannock bread for the each of them, a doughy lump of random seed flour and water wrapped around a stick would give them the energy to begin to surround the site. His AK-47 was propped against the tree, its stock unfolded and a half-empty magazine on the ground beside it. It always made Lister touch the K-frame on his hip, knowing how easily the pair could be outgunned.
In any case, it really was just a rumor. It could be the wildest goose ever chased. But after some careful consideration, Cad and Lister had decided it was worth the risk and the journey. The treasure that could be out here, it was hard to even imagine what it could do for them. So here in this nameless, half-dead wood, they found themselves slowly, carefully, approaching a few structures wherein the riches and protectors may lie.
A greasy dog that had once been bright blonde (now stained a rusty-screw, burnished clay brown,) trotted into the camp, lolling his tongue.
"Sit, boy." Cad spoke to his dog in an even but vibratory tone. Lister thought of it as Cad's "dog talk."
The mutt sat and closed his mouth. Still breathing heavily, the dog's ribs were slowly flapping like a seabird, out wide, heaving for air. Cad reached into a pants pocket, and removed a small ball of deer and blackberry pemmican. He tossed it to the dog who snatched it out of the air with little fanfare and even less chewing.
"We should have him stay close," Lister said.
"You're right. In the morning, I'll leash him," Cad reached over and inspected a weeping scratch on the dog's ear.
After she died, Lister made his way north from Genoa, begged of an old friend new closeness in an ever-darkening, expanding world. So in the Rennaissance, and the golden age of exploration the world had become smaller, in these late days after the cataclysms the world grew again, until the little counties Cad and Lister had once driven through in mere minutes now stretched out before them in infinite acres, uncountable footsteps. They had marched, following the water and rain. Cad's wife had fled with their son when their homestead in the woods outside of Genoa was raided by the Republic men, and Cad had attempted to defend their home by attrition. After stealing most of his belongings of any value, the Republic men had fled one early morning when Cad open-fired on them sleeping in the open. Cad and his dog had hidden in a collapsed chicken coop for three days before they got the drop on them.
"I know I got three." Cad had told Lister one cold, dry night when they had first reached the mountains. The clear sky threw a million specks of stars on a black canvas. Lister had gazed up at it all and asked, "Killed them?"
Cad nodded, "They're cowards, they didn't even try to fight. Got spooked, blasted a couple of rounds around, and jumped in their trucks and hauled ass." He blew into his hands to warm them, "Didn't even try to get their buddies."
Lister blew steam out of his nostrils, "What did you do with them?"
"Well, I had a jam, coincidentally, so I kicked the bolt back and dug out a casing, chambered a round and popped 'em one more time apiece." He shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes.
"I know you didn't like it," Lister said, turning to his friend.
"Ha! No, no I guess I didn't."
"Y'ever think about 'em?"
"Nope, after I rounded up a little stuff, I've never been back there. Never been back. I still haven't heard from Sarah."
This was a thing he would stumble and say from time to time. They had started to lose count of the days since they'd left Genoa county, and Lister knew full well he hadn't heard from his wife and child.
Lister would struggle every time, "Well, you know." He kicked at the dirt, "She's a tough cookie. She's able, she's fit, she's smart."
Cad lifted his eyes to the stars. The moon was a small sliver that hung on an invisible line in a dark sea. The men were silent more often after that.
Morning rose slowly and the season was falling back to the rainy cycle. Cold winds, freezing rain, mudslides, the odd flurry of snow. Cad and Lister had cursed the very rain they drank, and they thought about the times they had been thirsty. Cad and the dog had been up for a while, and the fire had been stoked back enough to cook a pat of bannock bread for the each of them, a doughy lump of random seed flour and water wrapped around a stick would give them the energy to begin to surround the site. His AK-47 was propped against the tree, its stock unfolded and a half-empty magazine on the ground beside it. It always made Lister touch the K-frame on his hip, knowing how easily the pair could be outgunned.
In any case, it really was just a rumor. It could be the wildest goose ever chased. But after some careful consideration, Cad and Lister had decided it was worth the risk and the journey. The treasure that could be out here, it was hard to even imagine what it could do for them. So here in this nameless, half-dead wood, they found themselves slowly, carefully, approaching a few structures wherein the riches and protectors may lie.
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