Midnight, Anna Dove [ebook smartphone .TXT] 📗

side. A chipmunk scurried down the trunk, and finding itself face to face with Logan, scuttled quickly back to the opposite side of the tree.

It was always the same, being on watch. The oaky smell, the rustling of the leaves, the patches of sunlight, the hard branches to one’s back. Small animals running about. Birds flitting restlessly. Chirping, clicking, croaking. Occasionally a deer with its great brown eyes would wander by, unaware of the human being in the treetops. Logan would hunt when necessary, but there was something particularly special about watching in silence as the beautiful hooved creatures strode by, sometimes with spotted fawns behind them. Deer moved cautiously, until they had reason to believe that they were in danger; then, in the twinkling of an eye, they would disappear white-tailed into the woods.

Logan let one of his legs stretch out onto the branch. He only had one more hour.

A faint noise caught his attention. It sounded from his right, and seemed to be far away, but it seemed out of the ordinary. A crunching, crackling noise, occasionally pausing. Barely discerning it, he strained his ears and turned in that direction, drawing his leg back in. There--now it was a little louder. He could hear more clearly now, sticks breaking and leaves under pressure.

It could only be sound of human steps.

Logan could hear his heart beating in his own ears. The memory of the intruders less than a month ago filled his mind. His hand slipped to his side, and he pulled the handgun from its case. He clicked off the safety, and cocked the gun slowly.

The steps were approaching now quite audibly. They were not evenly spaced as in a march, but rather trailing and sporadic as if the person found walking quite laborious. Logan’s attention was now fully focused as his eyes strained to anticipate the arrival of whomever the woods would reveal.

He was high enough in the tree that he felt sure of seeing the newcomer before the newcomer saw him. Even so, he pressed his back against the trunk in an effort to be less noticeable.

The steps neared closer and closer, and presently into Logan’s view came a man, about thirty yards away. He was very tall and quite thin, emaciated rather. His beard grew short around his chin and he wore stained clothes. His gait was slow, and each step seemed premeditated. His feet dragged, sometimes crunching through a pile of leaves or coming down on twigs. He did not appear very menacing, and Logan relaxed almost imperceptibly, while still training his eyes like a hawk on the approaching figure.

It appeared as though the man would pass directly under Logan’s tree; and so Logan waited patiently until the man was near enough to be within easy shot range before summoning all his nerve and calling out,

“Hey there! Stop!”

The newcomer obeyed, and looked up alertly, locating Logan after a few seconds. He then raised his thin right arm, and standing very straight all of a sudden, saluted. Logan thought this to be very strange.

“Who are you?” called Logan.

“Names Jack.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Just wandering. Trying to find food and shelter, as I presume you are as well.”

“No, I’m not,” said Logan.

Jack peered up quizzically.

“So what are you doing then?”

“I believe I asked you that, sir,” said Logan. “How do you find yourself here? Where are you from?” He made sure that the firearm was visible to the newcomer, not in a threatening way, but an informative suggestion sort of way.

“Well, I’ve been living in Washington DC, if that’s what you want to know.”

“You’ve come all the way here from there?” Logan was slightly surprised. Washington was no less than two hours by car, and on foot—weeks.

“Sure have.”

“You have any weapons?”

The man held up his two hands, empty.

Logan adroitly climbed down from his perch, and dropped to the ground, landing solidly on his feet. He walked up to Jack.

“Well, sir, you’ve stumbled into a community. I’m a sentry. I’ll have to take you back to our community now, and they’ll want to question you.”

“Sure, sure. More than happy. I don’t suppose you all have a bite to eat? And water? It’s been longer than I thought since I ate last, and a man burns helluva lots energy when he walks.”

Logan nodded, but still held his gun. “Now you walk in front of me, and I’ll tell you where to go.” He stepped behind the man, his eyes alert on Jack’s movements as they both began forwards. He stayed a decent four feet behind Jack, still not quite trusting the man. Seems relatively harmless, he thought, but best to be safe in every circumstance.

He watched as Jack’s feet trailed along the earth.

“Are you tired?” Asked Logan, wondering why the man walked like that.

“No,” said the other. “But I’ve had a terrible few weeks. I’m lucky to be alive. Lucky to be here.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, I was in the city when it happened,” said the man. “Nightmare—planes falling from the sky, people bleeding out in the car crashes. Horrible stuff. People losing their minds. I was drunk, luckily, or I would have been more scared. It was worse than anything I’ve seen and I’ve seen a lot.”

He trudged on a few steps and then continued.

“The food on grocery store shelves was gone in one day. One day! That’s all we had. I moved into the woods--had to detox from alcohol.”

Logan felt a pang of pity.

“Well, I did eventually,” said the man, and fell quiet. He stepped on painstakingly. “Not as easy to move along as it once was though. Feel sometimes like I’m a whole new man but a whole new man who’s been hit by a freight train.”

They soon came to the glen that led to the farmhouse. Jack stopped