For some reason, the image of that Spewer bitch sprang into his mind like a cougar pouncing from a cliff . He saw her eyes, smoldering with a hatred that felt as though it could direct a concentrated blast of pure incineration at her chosen target; with her teeth clenched so forcefully that the veins in her temples bulged, her hair blew in a hot breeze like tongues of flame.
Shaking off the chill tingling his spine caused the vision of Lila to dissipate like the fog at dawn. Yet the residual feelings of unease left by her apparition remained and Tanner limped across the courtyard far too slowly for his liking. He wanted to run, to stand atop the grassy mound and scrutinize the forest for the slightest indication of danger. Because of his injury, however, he was forced to hobble forward at a pace that reminded him of the three- legged races they sometimes held in his home community and he longed to feel the comforting stock of his rifled pressed against his shoulder.
Jayme, the unofficial leader of Knoll, stood atop the grass wall in a wide-legged stance. His long hair fluttered in the wind as he raised a pair of field glasses to his eyes. Even though the wall was several feet taller than Tanner, the Sweeper could still see the man’s body stiffen.
“It’s them, isn’t it?” Tanner’s voice was tight and gruff, but Jayme never looked away from the smoke in the distance. “The Spewers. It’s those filthy beasts.”
“Can’t be sure.” Jayme finally mumbled. “Pretty sure the smoke’s coming from Willowglade. But maybe a cook stove got out of control and… .”
“No. It’s them… it’s
The rest of the community had filtered out of the buildings and clustered behind Tanner silently. A man named Ashton stepped forward and placed his hand on Tanner’s shoulder. The man’s bushy eyebrows lowered, as if he were taking mental stock of their guest, and with pursed lips, he stroked his beard.
“You were a Sweeper, yes? In your home community?”
Tanner tilted his chin and straightened to his full height, ignoring the extra discomfort subjected upon his ankle.
“I
“Fair enough.” The man nodded. “Not sure if you’ve noticed yet, but ours hasn’t returned since yesterday evening. It’s not like Charles to go this long without checking in.”
“I’ll go then.” There was no hesitation or doubt in Tanner’s voice as he blurted out the words. “Where are your guns?”
The conversation had captured the attention of Jayme, who looked down upon the gathered crowd like a shocked god. “Don’t be a fool, man… .”
“I will lay down my life so that others might live.”
“
The force of Jayme’s words struck Tanner like a physical blow to the chest. He blinked up at the man and noticed how the field glasses trembled in his hand. Studying the deep lines etched into the Jayme’s face and the ashen pallor that leeched color from his flesh, Tanner realized the leader of the community was terrified. He’d seen something out there. Something which had shaken him so badly that his confidence had crumbled like the buildings standing against the skyline.
“We… we need you here, Kline. In case… well, in case something happens.”
The man’s unease was not lost on the people who looked to him for guidance. Their silence was shattered with a nervous babble of chatter, gasps, and a half dozen questions asked simultaneously. Even Ashton seemed taken back by the outburst, his jaw dropping open as he stood with his hand on Tanner’s shoulder..
Pulling away from the man, Tanner scuttled up the embankment on all fours, using his hands and knees to ease the strain on his injured ankle. The worn tread of the sandals covering his feet slipped in the dew-slick grass as his fingernails raked ragged furrows into the earth in an attempt to keep from sliding backward. Halfway up the small hill, he kicked the shoes off in a flurry of movement and was then able to reach the summit in a fraction of the time it’d taken him to arrive at the midpoint
While the sides of the embankment were covered with grass and clover, Knoll’s missing Sweeper had beaten a dusty path into the top of the ridge with his ceaseless patrolling. This dirt stuck to Tanner’s wet soles like gritty sand and protruding stones dug into his heels as he teetered to his feet.
Up close, the head of the community looked like a man who’d glimpsed an inevitable future and wished he hadn’t. His pupils were dilated to the point that the green irises surrounding them were nothing more than thin rings. He somehow looked slumped and tense at the same time, as if his body couldn’t decide whether to fight with everything it could muster or simply lay down and await death. Though it was still early enough in the day that most of the assembled citizens donned long sleeves or shawls, a tang of sweat wafted from Jayme’s body. He tried to meet Tanner’s gaze, held it long enough for his left eye to twitch twice, and then apparently found something of intense interest on his hands. He held them at chest level and turned them back and forth in front of him, as if comparing the callused mounds of his palms to the scrapes and scabs on his knuckles.
“I’m just a moisture farmer, Sweeper.” He said softly. “These people look to me for protection. For guidance. I’m… I’m just a moisture farmer, ya know?”
The statement hung in the air like an admission of guilt and neither man said a word, allowing the implications to sink in. Finally, Tanner placed his hand on the crook of the man’s elbow and squeezed so softly that it almost seemed as if he were testing the ripeness of a fruit.
“So be it, moisture farmer. Stand down.”
Jayme’s head snapped up and a shadow passed over his face. Tanner had seen the same look when weeding recruits from potential Sweepers for communities who’d lost their own. It was an expression of conflicting resolve and shame, of someone who wished they had what it took to protect their settlement but was also too keenly aware of his own shortcomings.
“Sometimes,” Tanner whispered, “being a leader means knowing when to hand over the reins. There’s no disgrace in that, friend. I’ll protect your people as if they were my own. I give you my word as a Sweeper. But, more importantly… as a father.”
Without another word, Jayme slipped the strap of the binoculars over his head and handed them to the man by his side. The moisture farmer’s head wasn’t nearly as broad as Tanner’s and the Sweeper struggled to adjust the old field glasses to accommodate his own eyes. The mount hadn’t been cared for properly and the mechanism was stiff, but as Tanner applied downward pressure while simultaneously lifting the sides, the span begrudgingly widened.
The rubber cups surrounding the eyepieces were hard and brittle, causing the bruise on Tanner’s cheek to ache; but this was a manageable pain so he slowly swept the binoculars across the landscape. At first he saw nothing but trees and field, marred by magnified scratches on the lenses. Except for the dark smoke curling above the forest, it could have been just another peaceful Summer morning. Tracking across a field of wildflowers brought his field of vision to the riverbank – and it was there that he saw what had had caused a once-proud man to deteriorate when faced with his own limitations. For what Jayme had seen, and Tanner now watched, was a young girl with a tear streaked face running as if a pack of wild dogs were on her trail. She was dressed in the traditional, long sleeved smock of a girl whose body had just started down the path to womanhood and her mouth opened wide, releasing a scream whose power was robbed by distance.
Tanner’s jaw tensed as his training rushed to the forefront of his mind.
There was no denying it now, no chance that the smoke on the horizon was an accidental fire or anything other than all out war. For the terrified girl was covered in fresh blood.
There was no hesitation, no regard for his own well-being or safety. He dropped the binoculars without thinking. Before they even hit the ground, Tanner Kline slid down the outer embankment and tumbled across the grass outside the relative protection of Knoll. Half-running, half limping, he shambled toward the girl, tempering the explosions of pain in his ankle with the calm familiarity of the Sweeper mantra.
Without the help of field glasses, the running girl was nothing more than a speck in the distance. Though she had looked several years older than his little princess, Tanner’s mind superimposed Shayla onto the memory of that brief glimpse. It was all too easy to imagine his daughter’s pigtails bouncing as she fled from the horrors that caused the spatter to stand in stark contrast against a face that looked drained of blood. The birthmark on her throat, the one which almost looked like a tiny heart, pulsed and throbbed with each palpitation of her carotid artery and he could even imagine seeing inside her, her real heart thudding like a frightened bunny.
