Facing North (The Drifts, #1), page 1
The Drifts
Facing North
Emily V. Webster
Copyright © 2021 by Emily V. Webster
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
Edited by Cassandra Chaput
Formatted by Nicole Scarano
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Acknowledgments
About the Author
4 ½ years after the Global Collapse
Chapter 1
I watch him – the man I’ll have to kill. His hollow eyes echoing my fears and doubts so loudly I feel like I’m standing under a bell at the next hour. When he’s going to die shouldn’t be a thought in the back of my mind, and it really shouldn’t be one at all. It’s not that I want to think this way. That’s just how things are now. I don’t want to kill him, but I know any other option puts my life at risk. Truth be told, he would already be dead if I didn’t need him. And maybe he should already be dead regardless.
He and some other soldiers came for my sister and me. They got Natalie. That was a week ago – it’s November, I think. I’m not even sure what day it is anymore. Whether it’s Monday or Saturday doesn’t matter. Either day I might die.
The other soldiers left him. I’m assuming they thought he was dead. I even thought he was dead when I went over to his body to take whatever I could to help me survive the winter and my journey to find my little sister. As soon as I heard him groan, I used his overcoat to tie his wrists together and I did the best I could with some twine around his ankles.
“When’s the last time you slept?” he asks.
As soon as he mentions sleep, my eyes beg to shut. But it’s hard for me to sleep anyway. As soon as I shut my eyes, I see their faces – Mom, Dad, Natalie, anyone and everyone I’ve ever known, ever loved. And when I wake, it feels as though they leave me all over again. So, I never slept well before, but between losing my sister and a prisoner beside me, I’m not sure I’ve felt anything close to sleep in a week. I bet he has. He knows I’ve been keeping an eye out. He doesn’t have to worry. He knows I’ll take care of it because if something comes for him, chances are it’ll come for me, too.
I look around the pavilion we’re sheltered under. Once the next snowfall hits, this thing will come down. Judging on several information signs planted in the ground or ones that have fallen down, I think we’re in what used to be a park. I don’t see anything that looks dangerous, but that doesn’t mean anything.
“What state are we in?” I ask him, eyeing the dark uniform he has on, signifying he’s from the Supremacy. After everything happened and the world basically died along with all but maybe five percent of its population, someone decided to grab whatever power there was to be taken. That’s what I’ve heard.
He raises an eyebrow, and wrinkles form under his scruff around the corners of his mouth. “I think you need to answer some of my questions first, before I answer any of yours.”
For a moment, the cold is gone, my body stops shivering, and I feel heat building up in my core. “I owe you nothing.” My stare drills into him, but I look away quickly. I don’t want him to know he’s pressed my buttons. It annoys me how calm and collected he can be. It’s almost scary, really. I wonder if it came from soldier training. They would train soldiers, right? Or do they just find strong enough, capable people and tell them to fight? That’s what they do with the people they capture. But volunteers – the real soldiers – I’m sure get training.
“You’re right.” He gives a nod, and I get a glimpse of the gash on the top of his head. I’ll be surprised if it isn’t infected by now. I haven’t done anything to keep it from getting that way. “I’m your prisoner. Sorry. I’m not used to this role reversal.” I keep an eye on his bound ankles and his hands still tied tightly in his lap. He’s already tried to make a move twice. The first time to attack me while thinking I was asleep. And the second just to simply run away.
This time I don’t let him see how much his words phase me. In a few hours the sun will be down, and it’ll be too dark to see the expression on my face, and then he can make all the remarks he wants. All there will be is the moonlight and starlight to help me watch him and my surroundings. I don’t do fires. Might as well make a big neon sign that says come get me.
“I’m going to try again, okay, captor?” he says. I haven’t told him my name. He told me his was Mitchell. Maybe it is or maybe it isn’t, but what does it matter? “Here’s a question for you: how much longer are we going to keep this up?” I feel like he’s watching my every move. Perhaps trying to figure out when to strike or just reading me. I’m weak because I haven’t slept. He’s weak because he hasn’t eaten in a week and has had a limited supply of water. I don’t want to test which one of us would come out the victor in a tussle, though. I tighten my grip on my Colt .45 resting on my leg.
“Are you saying you want me to get this over with?” I retort. He knows why he’s alive. He’s still breathing because he knows where Natalie is. Here’s the thing. The Supremacy isn’t just one place. It’s south. There are a bunch of little outposts and towns all over the south-east United States – or rather, what was the US. She could be in any of them.
“By all means.” Mitchell goes to spread his arms, I’m sure forgetting he’s restrained. He’s only taunting me. I can tell by how he’s acting he thinks he’s going to get away soon. And to be honest, I’m afraid of that.
“We’re in Ohio, aren’t we?” I push my last question. “Indiana?”
He simply smiles. As far as he’s concerned, I won’t be able to go through with it, and somehow or another, he’ll make his way back to his territory. “How were you two not already caught by now? Usually we come across small groups of people. Not too often it’s just two girls,” he says as though he’s not my age. “What? Twenty-something and fifteen?”
Twenty. Natalie’s seventeen, I think to myself.
“You’re not from the east, are you?” he shakes his head as if I’ve surprised him. “What on earth were you two doing coming over here?”
I’ll agree with Mitchell on this one. We never should have come this way. We should have stayed in the west. Sure, everywhere is dangerous, but at least we wouldn’t have been tracked down by soldiers. I should have listened to Mom. Even though she couldn’t have predicted the rise of corrupt powers, she was right. “Refuge for the Remaining, but you just had to go and burn that down, didn’t you?” The place was still in flames by the time Natalie and I arrived. If we had been any sooner, we would’ve gone down with it.
“What’s that?” he replies, unamused.
“A safe haven. Food, shelter, . . . safety.”
“Oh.” He gives another nod. “I don’t know exactly which one you’re talking about, but I know the type of thing. Those little places scattered around the north and south that go undetected, huh? They don’t stay that way for long.” When I don’t respond, he goes on, “Whose land? Supremacy or Alliance?”
“The Alliance. The lesser of two evils.”
“Lesser of two evils?” He holds up his hands and lifts one finger. “First off, thank you for finally answering one of my questions.” He drops them back in his lap. “They do the exact same thing as us. They find survivors and turn them into fighters and thinkers for the war. Only difference is they came late to the party.”
“At least at one point they tried to take you down for the good of everyone.”
He shifts in his spot, and at first it makes me nervous, but then I realize, I’ve finally pushed his buttons. Mitchell leans forward. “You know what happened? The world went to shit. Someone smart enough to make a biological weapon was dumb enough to aim it at militaries not thinking it could spread to civilians. A month later, a couple nukes hit, and somehow created an EMP. Someone with some brains figured people would come toward D.C. for help not knowing the government vanished. They made a civilization. Then a year later, some group wants to come and tear that down. The Revolutionary Alliance,” he mocks. “There’s a reason they shortened their name. They’re the reason for this war.”
“I was there for the strikes. Trust me, I remember. And from what I’ve heard,” I say, this time being the calmest in our conversation, “your people were forcing others to stay and build that civilization like slaves. The Revolutionary Alliance tried to help, but got corrupted by power.”
“That’s what you’ve heard, huh? And where were you for all of it? It’s not like you could turn on the T.V. and watch it on CNN.”
Nowhere is safe, and as much as I hate to say it since the west has bandits and more areas of radiation from meltdowns, at least people are free there. “Yeah, that’s what I heard. And from what I’ve seen, I believe it.” I believe people will do anything to survive. Within the four years since The Global Collapse, my eyes have been opened to more things than I would have cared to s
There’s silence between us for a moment. He seems to have calmed down. We just look at each other like we usually do, other than when I’m scanning the area around us. “Aren’t you afraid this war you’re fighting will make things worse instead of better? It only took a year of us being at war to cause all this,” I say. It’s doubtful, but maybe instead of only giving him the cold shoulder, some conversation will help encourage him to tell me Natalie’s location. If not, I’ll move to other means to get the information I want.
“How could things get worse? The world died in months. Which parts did you experience?” Mitchell pauses, but I can tell he doesn’t expect me to answer right away. “At least your sister lived through the madness. My little brother died. You know, it only took a few days for the virus to kill its host. And all the hospitals shut down. No room. Now before you ask if I had to watch my brother die in my arms, don’t. I never got to see him, ‘cause I got the call three days before he passed. And on my way to him, the two or three nukes hit somewhere in the world and all of a sudden, my car stalled, and my phone wouldn’t work.” He waits a couple seconds, and for the second time, his steady manner is gone. “So how do things get worse than that? The reason I didn’t die from the plague? I was immune. He didn’t survive because he was my half-brother. Guess he didn’t get that gene.”
I’m not sure if he wants my sympathy, but he’s not going to get it. Everyone alive has a sob story. It’s not that I don’t feel bad for his brother, if his story is even true, but I can’t afford to show pity. Plus, I have enough loss of my own. I remember it all, especially the electromagnetic pulse. There were no broadcasts of the events of the war. No cellphone reception. No electricity at all. The nuclear bombs exploded high enough in the atmosphere to cause an EMP that disabled anything electronic, even most cars. It had something to do with the movement of charges and electrons being knocked free from their atoms. That’s what Dad told me. It wasn’t like I could look it up on the internet because it made that vanish, too. Airplanes plummeted to the ground. Elevators stopped working, trapping people inside. I remember the highways near Tucson. They were cluttered with cars that didn’t work anymore – left there like they were worthless. That’s when a lot of people went east on foot or on bicycles in hopes that the government was still operating. They went in hope that there was hope. Hope for society. Hope that someone would help them. But the government collapsed as soon as that EMP hit.
“Hey, captor,” Mitchell says as I start spacing out in thought. I quickly focus back in on him. For a moment I wonder why he didn’t take that chance to get up and bolt, but I should know by now he’s smarter than that. “We’re not so different, right? You look at me like you don’t know why I’m one of the few who made it. Like I’m a monster who doesn’t deserve to live. But we’ve got the same immunity genes.”
“I’m not immune,” I tell him. There was barely enough time to find a vaccine before the spread got out of hand. The “lucky” ones got the vaccine, and by that, I mean the higher social classes. Supply and demand. I never thought that was fair. But it’s strange how things can change like how money saved my life, but now, money is nothing – nothing except a reminder of how materialistic we were back then.
“Of course,” he replies knowingly, rolling his eyes. “Good thing your parents had some money, huh? But that didn’t get them very far, did it?”
I hold a blank stare, doing my best not to jump across the space between us and break his nose. Mom got us to a small community after home wasn’t safe anymore, but she didn’t get to leave with us. Dad didn’t make it, and I know it sounds awful to say, but maybe it’s better he didn’t. Sometimes I wish I didn’t make it past that stage of chaos. I’ve lost everyone in this dark age where it’s kill or be killed and where I hope I don’t walk into a radiation-soaked area left behind by the melted down reactors.
He breaks the stare, looking away toward a grouping of naked trees. I guess he’s done talking. Finally. The next thing that comes out of his mouth better be my sister’s location. We’ve been circling the same areas around the border, which is just a waste of time. I haven’t made us go south yet. Once we get into Supremacy territory, it won’t be hard for him to call for help and get me killed. The best option is to kill him before I go that way. But not before he tells me where she is.
I pick up a stick and start drawing in the dirt. I make my best outline of what we can only remember as The United States. Not much united about it anymore. I drag the stick halfway across the drawn map and bring it down. Most everything south of what was West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and Iowa belongs to his people. They’ve taken as much west as part of Kansas along with half of Oklahoma and half of Texas, and even some of Mexico. The Alliance territory is everything north of the Supremacy, and east of what was the Dakotas, and not including much of Canada.
“Where?” I say, hovering the stick above the dirt.
Mitchell takes a look at my drawing. “It’s hard to see upside down.” He cocks his head to the side and squints, and I know he’s only trying to annoy me.
“There are other ways to do this,” I say, dropping the stick, and pulling a pocket knife out of my backpack. I stand up, putting the Colt in my waistband, and displaying the three-inch blade. He thinks things are going to stay easy, but I’ve lost my patience.
“You’re going to torture me?” He looks surprised, but not scared, almost like he doesn’t think I’ll go through with it. “If I told you, you wouldn’t make it. But I don’t break so easily.”
I think now he knows I’ll kill him, and that’s the reason he won’t give me what I want. Otherwise, what’s the harm in telling one girl which direction to walk when entering the lion’s den?
“Are you that cruel?” he quips.
I take a step closer to him. “I’m desperate.” My grip tightens, keeping the knife from sliding out of my clammy hands.
As soon as I go to kneel in front of him, working myself up to the task, he raises his bound hands up fast, knocking the knife out of my hand, and causing me to drop backwards. I push myself up and when I look down at him, he’s just finished cutting the twine away around his ankles. He hops up, towering a half foot above me, working the blade against the clothing tied tightly around his wrists. “It’s a shame,” he says, letting the overcoat sleeves drop to the ground, rotating his free wrists back and forth, one hand holding my knife. “You could’ve been a good fighter, but I don’t feel like dealing with you.”
I take a step back. I reach for my .45, but as soon as I touch it, he rams forward, knocking me onto my back again. He’s above me, back into the position of control after a week of being my prisoner. He doesn’t look quite as menacing as he had the first time. His biceps don’t fill his long, dark sleeves, his cheeks have become slightly sunken in, and there are red indents around his wrist where I had them tied so tightly.
My Colt is still in my waistband, but as soon as I move for it, I know he’ll run the knife down into my chest. Maybe I’ll be fast enough to shoot him before the blade makes it to me. But maybe I won’t.
All I can feel is the tension creeping into my skin as if the blade is already pressing into my body. Mitchell waits as if he knows I’m going to make a move. He should know I’m a fighter. I’m not just going to let myself die. Then there’s a twitch in his eye, and I know it’s time. He bolts forward, and my hand races for the .45 at my side, but there’s a blast, and his body tumbles over on top of me, the knife dropping beside us.
For a moment, everything feels still, and the only thing I can hear is my breathing. Mitchell doesn’t move. I feel something pouring on my neck and sliding down over my shoulder, bleeding into my jacket. Without making much movement, I do my best to look downward, able to see the gash inflicted on him a week earlier. And then, there’s a gasp, and Mitchell’s head rears upward, his eyes disoriented, and his face falls again. He breathes heavily, but doesn’t move much other than what I can feel of his diaphragm expanding and contracting.
