Avarice Desperation Valley Ch. 25

Thanks to everyone for your support of my work, I really didn't know if it would do so well on this site. Please understand that this is a world Post apocalypse, so bear in mind many people when faced with the idea that they may not be alive tomorrow would not act the way we do. For those of you who do not like the idea of a pet dying please do not read this chapter.

Deliverance.

Carlos woke surprisingly early it was not his usual habit to do so. Purpose on his mind this day, long before most others in the camp had stirred, with a sense of renewed energy. He was usually one to sleep very late, lethargy was an easy mindset to succumb to as a slave. However this morning was decisively different. No longer owned but a free man in his own right, it was a good feeling and bolstered his sense of worth and future, yet it felt alien to him also. The concept of freedom so long denied was difficult to get into his head. At long last he had a destiny of his own, free from the wills and limitations of others.

With this new horizon in mind he set about the task of organizing Bennett's abandoned abode to his liking. Orange, powdery bull dust had invaded everything, nothing was sacred. A few short weeks was all nature had needed to reclaim anything in this place. He shook out the bed clothes draping them on some scrawny bushes nearby to air. They were dusty and dirty but there would be no hope of washing them, water was too precious to be wasted on such vanities, the fresh wind would have to suffice. The same treatment for the mattress too, leaving it to air for the day.

Carlos discovered many valuable and interesting treasures as he cleaned out the ramshackle cabin. His eyes bulged when he discovered a collection of knives in varying sizes, the surgical stainless steel blades smooth and cool to the touch, all neatly wrapped in some cloth and tied with a strip of rawhide. They were well made, razor sharp, and had seen little use. He was surprised no one had taken these prizes sooner as they were deemed valuable currency indeed.

However the specter of Bennett their uncompromising former leader still struck dread and respect into all. It would take some time before the fear the man generated subsided from the minds of the inhabitants in this camp. After all he was the founder of this place, and Bennett's rule and leadership permeated everything here from task to ritual, dawn to dusk.

In this clean up he also located a few useful items of clothing jammed down in an old metal filing cabinet. Most of Bennett's clothes naturally were way too large for him, these he set aside. Others would be grateful for their use. He cursed his bad luck as he found a pair of good boots which were much too large for him also, he desperately needed a new pair as his were very battered and fast getting toward the end of their life.

Stowed here and there were many items from before the war as well. Tokens that had little use now except as historical reminders of what civilization used to be before the chaos of conflict ensued. Old watches, a camera, credit cards, computer disks and a plethora of scratched CD's, even a battery operated radio. The batteries in it all gone bad, its insides destroyed by the corrosion of the leaking battery acid.

The young man reminisced briefly on the joy of music as he played with the now mute receiver. It had been years now since he had heard music. The world had become a quiet, tuneless, place and he was not sure the human race was richer for its absence. Remembering his mother had a passion for music and her apartment was constantly filled with the sounds of her expensive stereo that he was forbidden to touch. It had taken Carlos a long time to grow accustomed to music's absence in his life if he even had. He hated the silence the new world seemed so filled with.

There were reminders of Bennett's pre-war world also, most of it lost on the young man as he rifled through the belongings of his much hated adversary. Photos and personal effects he found were all hidden from sight in the underneath of a velvet lined pistol box. Carlos had no such physical memories left of his own, and was more interested in the handguns whereabouts. Though he was fairly certain Bennett had taken the much prized weapon with him into battle, he would have liked to possess it dearly. The ammunition for it was gone as well, so he cast the box aside into the cardboard carton of other useless paraphernalia beneath the old table.

The sun was bright and warm as he sat in the doorway surveying his little corner of the world. He was pleased with his mornings work but he did not feel so enthusiastic to see Raissa approaching his newly found kingdom. He had wondered how long it would take her to grace his doorstep now his freedom was common knowledge in the camp. He hoped this would not be a long visit, or become a regular occurrence. He could not help groaning inwardly as she approached, the young man realizing it had been folly to have ever taken her to his bed in the first place.

"Hi," she said tentatively as she came up the path her golden hair back lit by the sun, her uncertain eyes anywhere but seeking his. "It is a beautiful day, if not for the wind." Meandered her somewhat hesitant small talk.

Carlos just nodded, in no mood to respond, or to be welcoming, his black lashed eyes part closed enjoying his new found liberty and the warm sun, whilst sheltering in the lee of the cabin out of the worst of the frigid winds' bite.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Raissa pressed, not giving him time to answer or invite her, as she settled herself down awkwardly close by. He did not feel like talking this day, least of all to Raissa, and he hoped her visit would be brief and painless. He definitely had no desire to relive her disappointments, it was over between them. She would just have to accept that and move on, as he had.

Carlos sat there twisting the dragon ring on his finger in awkward silence, wishing Raissa gone. Though her closeness still stirred passions in him that he wished he could repress better, and her scent was as intoxicating to him as always reminding him of the forbidden pleasures they had shared at every opportunity in the caves high above. He shifted uncomfortably and sighed trying to put the desires out of his mind and forced forth other thoughts.

She could have at least been useful and bought some food and drink he pondered somewhat aggrieved. With that a heartless idea began to surface in his mind, he decided in an instant he would run with it. The girl was a mere slave after all wasn't she? He reasoned. Perhaps if he treated her like one she would learn to act accordingly and it would be easier to ignore her and put her in her place in the future?

It was cruel and possibly heartless, but it was worth a shot. If he was going to stay here in this camp and become a warrior with the respect the other men had this problem must be dealt with swiftly for his own sense of personal comfort. Deciding in a heartbeat he would treat her just as all the other warriors did, like the slave she was.

The former slave wasn't used to giving orders to anyone, but the words came from his lips nonetheless, emotionless and hard. Attempting to sound like the other warriors in the camp with his order.

"You come here empty handed? Make yourself useful. Bring me some food and drink, now."

Carlos did not look at her, but Raissa stared at him eyes wide, mouth twisting, ready with a retort. It never came forth, she was clearly taken aback.

"Now, or I will make you sorry!" Carlos warned in a growl, his body tense reaching for a nearby stick to strike her. The young man was overcompensating profusely, not wishing to give Raissa a chance at any further words.

Raissa leapt up open mouthed, but she dared not defy him openly, clumsy and slow with her expanding belly, and seething with disappointment in the one she had figured would be better than the others.

This obdurate man who sat before her was a warrior now, and he could punish her for any offense real or imagined. She would have no recourse. His coldness amazed her. If this is the way he wants to play it, then let him she thought. He will get no more sympathy or favors from me.

In spite of her accusation there were tears apparent as she turned to do as she was bid. However she did not let him see them, or how his attitude had stung her. In truth she had expected better from Carlos after all they had shared, but as in all her dealings with men she had again been proven wrong. Perhaps that was just the nature of them all she ruminated. Deciding she would concentrate on her unborn child, no more heartbreak for her at the hands of careless men.

Carlos meanwhile sat unmoving and was inwardly very satisfied with his treatment of Raissa. He was happy in himself being finally presented with a way to deal with this woman who would not let his youthful oversight die.

It had been mere lust after all, at least on his behalf. He had been wrong to play with the girl's heart like that he knew, but if he felt any remorse he swiftly wiped the emotion away. As for his own view of their relationship he was simply satisfying a normal need for pleasure, and hopefully she would derive some benefit from it also. Recalling vividly their many afternoon trysts in the caves that dotted the cliffs, rising far above, Raissa had seemed to enjoy the physical aspect of their relationship as much as he did.

The inexperienced man had never meant for it to go any further than that. Carlos had never felt love at any point for Raissa, and he was glad to be free of her emotional entanglement, and its restrictions. Let someone else deal with her he brooded, there were plenty others who would take her on.

*****

Nathan had silently fretted for three days, the stress of each failed attempt to escape each ensuing evening had left him most distraught. The boy tried hard to mask his frayed nerves, but he felt fragile and broken. Without fail Robbie had commandeered him for some other duty each evening, it was as if he knew Nathan's mind. Though in reality he had no idea of the plan his boy, who was very not his boy, was brewing.

It was simple lust that drove the man's decision, and the fact dinner preparations had run early. Instead the fat cook would send one of the others to the cells with the food foiling Nathan's carefully contrived plans.

Nathan agonized his master would be suffering surely, and with each day that passed escape would be made more difficult if his master was too incapacitated to help the others. Knowing he was such a slight, weak boy and stood little chance of being any real help other than with the initial escape. Success relied heavily on Bennett's huge strength, stamina, and quick mind in a battle situation. Without that all would be lost.

Nathan felt bleak and hopeless as he worked, trapped by the endless kitchen drudgery, under the ever watchful eyes of his tormentor and the others. He was growing more desperate by the hour and had decided he was seriously running out of time and must move tonight no matter what action he may be forced to take to enact his plans.

He shuddered at the thought of how far he may have to go if things went awry. Again his emerald green eyes searched out the sharp carving knife laying innocently on the wooden carving platter, and he hoped he had the fortitude to use it when the time came and not to pause in uncertainty. For that action would mean sure death for them all.

*****

The days went by in the valley somewhat peaceably, the quiet becoming tense and difficult to live with, all were affected by it. The weather each day was a carbon copy of the day preceding it. Azure skies framed the upright sticks of dead corn that rustled in the arid orange soil, and the last tired leaves left the grape vines in preparation for winters' hibernation. The garden preparation usually a very important task was left in favor of the watch. Everyone was drafted to do their time, even the women and Aran himself. The nervous sentries reported nothing moving anywhere on the horizon but the occasional eddy of a passing dust storm, or some scant herd of wild half starved farm animals.

On one such afternoon three emaciated cattle were sighted wandering aimlessly in search of some green and water. This used to be a commonplace event but had become rarer in the past couple of years. They moved closer and closer to the valley scenting water but not seeing any as herd animals often do.

The men took advantage of the animal's plight almost immediately, it was too good an opportunity to miss, especially since raiding was out of the question with such reduced numbers. Todd and Will managed to shoot all three desperate animals, thirst and weakness had made them an easy kill, and the slaves were ordered to bring all the newly butchered meat back to camp. It was hard thankless work and the clouds of flies descending on the bloody carcasses plagued everyone almost to madness.

That evening all were content to enjoy this much welcome change in their usual diet of goat, rabbit, and the occasional unfortunate bird. The beef was stringy and tough, but no one noticed or cared, it all tasted deliciously good and was devoured swiftly. Not a scrap was wasted, sinews, bone, hide and horn, it was all useful for something. Supplies had never been so lean.

All the men had gorged on the best cuts, it had been rare recently they could feast like this. The mood was relaxed. Orange and yellow fire danced on the blackened stone hearth in the cave's center. The men reclined around it, mending or making weapons, conversing or playing dice.

Aran was as usual thoughtfully quiet sitting apart from the others, he sensed the men did not respect him as they had their former leader. Perhaps it was his youth and untried inexperience, or was it he had hesitated to deal with the issue of Renard, and his men were confused at this seeming lack of swift justice on their leaders behalf? Bennett would not have dallied on such a matter.

Aran had imprisoned the traitor instead in the cattle trailer pending his decision which he still wrestled with and had got no further toward resolving. His warriors who were not privy to Aran's true motive for the hesitation to mete out justice as befitted a leader, they thought him weak, and often said so quietly amongst themselves. At times Aran overheard their whispers of malcontent, words that stung him, but unlike his predecessor who would have immediately quashed his warriors doubt with violence, Aran just sat insecure and undecided while the whispers went on unabated.

Night and day he struggled with the puzzle of what to do next, fearing a reprisal attack soon from the steel fortress, or even a raid from another haphazard force like their own. The green leader knew if attacked they would be ill prepared. The camp would be left with little alternative but to run and hide, something that stung his pride, but a harsh reality nonetheless.

Raiding for supplies was also fraught with difficulty if not impossible, the men were too few to venture forth and stand guard at camp at the same time. Aran felt like he was stranded on a sinking vessel, damned if he left it, and damned if he stayed. Due to this the morale of his handful of warriors sunk lower by the day, along with their respect for him, and their supplies.

It was his task as leader to present them with meaning and direction. Thus far he had failed to do so even though his rule here had been but a few days old, he could see plainly where things were headed. Leading the camp weighed on him heavily and he had no one to turn to for support.

Aran missed his brother's council sorely. Yet he sensed not one man there would challenge his prowess openly, at least not yet. That may come in time he imagined. The dissension was there Aran could feel it plainly and it worried at him as he walked the camp in the warm afternoons, and as he sat at the hearth in the still evenings. Unity must be achieved, but how?

In his waking and sleeping hours Aran dredged the depths of his brain for a solution which would not surface, his leadership becoming a meaningless sham, the seeds of dissension grew by the day. Soon his inaction would be his undoing, he had to decide an appropriate sentence to pass on Renard. The only suitable sentence for a traitor, death.

Renard the scapegoat, the blood of an innocent required for his leadership to survive, it was not right in his eyes, it was not just. Aran was sure though Bennett would have and probably had done the same thing many times in his reign, and thought no more on it. Conscience a hindrance for a leader as Aran was fast finding out, and his mind was heavy with this debate, he needed to lose himself if only for a little while. Clinging to the faint hope that perhaps tomorrow his troubles would look clearer and easier to resolve to him, and a path of action would be apparent.

He raised yet another cup of firewater to his lips and took a long draught, more lighter fuel than a consumable beverage it burned all the way down, but the troubled man did not flinch in the slightest. The alcohol they had left in the stores was so terrible only the hardiest of souls could or would consume it. It seemed appropriate to him the stuff tasted so bad, misery begets misery he mused.

Aran swiftly felt his self imposed constraints leave him as the vile brew did its work, eyes of others less accusing now, troubles conveniently pushed aside, he knew he had had quite enough already, but he called for yet another. All eyes were on him as he descended into drunken oblivion, most there wondering if he truly was fit to rule?

*****

On the fourth night Nathan could take no more. He had spent a nerve wracked day furtively preparing for his exodus. Going through his plan, placing the items he would need in readiness, and thinking of possible contingencies should something go wrong. He was unused to such stress and he felt sick with it.

As the hour approached he felt like he could not go on but Nathan knew he could tarry no longer, chances were already that his Master would be in bad shape. All he could hope was that his effort had come in time. Dinner was almost prepared it would soon be the hour to act. He did not anticipate any trouble from the two slaves, they would most likely run and hide, but he could not afford to miss his mark with Robbie, that was the part of his plan he was dreading most. He took a deep breath and committed himself to action.

It was his nightly task to prepare the tray for the prison so nothing seemed out of the norm. As usual three very plain meals for the prisoners accompanied by water, and one superior one for the warden on duty. The warden was Nathan's biggest impediment to his entire plan, the boy was no match for a fully trained soldier seasoned by many battles. So the problem presented to the scheming lad was how to remove this man easily?

He had debated it endlessly. Nathan would have to take him out of the picture by stealth, the reed thin boy stood little hope of confronting him to get the keys or being successful in any kind of outright attack. Captain Harris always took wine with his meal, it was the same every evening. Nathan had observed the pitcher always returned empty, the man obviously enjoyed his wine, a perk of the office he held. Nathan had also carefully noted on the one visit to deliver the meals the Captain took the wine before he ate. He hoped this was a usual habit of the soldier as he mulled over his papers on his desk. Please let it be so he prayed.

Red wine the color garnet, the color of blood, and today the deliverer of death, Nathan mused as he shakily poured the claret beverage into the pitcher shielding his quick and nimble hands from sight as he added the caustic soda powder as slowly as he dared, careful not to let any touch his skin. It was a coup he had found the stuff, quite forgotten beneath the shelves in the store room yesterday.