nothing.
“I’m no grasshopper. I offer something. If it is just a warning that a big truck full of killers is headed your way … fine. You can choose to ignore it, or prepare for it on your own. It doesn’t matter to me. But I am offering to stay and help. And not for your winter stores. I don’t want anything.”
“Then why would you help?”
“Because, I used to be an ant.” He shifted his feet and choked back a hard memory. “And grasshoppers took everything from me. Good people of New Hope, I see potential in this new world. The blight of mankind’s evil was not wiped from this Earth with everything else. But, from what’s left there is the hope that a town such as yours can be the model for the new world. It is a good town. A town ruled by the people. Good people.
“And now you are in the path of a force ruled by fear. The two will collide. Whichever is left standing will shape the world to come.
“There is a grasshopper out there and I can’t let this be a world created by grasshoppers. I want to live in a world of ants. I want to side with you and protect your way of life. Our way of life.”
The crowd was silent, but he could see that his words had moved them. Timothy Simmons saw it as well and sank into his seat. Logan was confident that he could speak without protest.
“I don’t want anything from you. I just want to help. Now, I’m going to need some things. We don’t have much time.”
“How much time do we have?” the sheriff pointed back at the truck.
“We can’t be certain. I made the drive from Vita Nova in under a day. They’ll take a little longer.”
“Why is that?”
“The roads aren’t clear enough for a rig of this size. They don’t have the luxury of crossing medians. They’ll have to make their own path.”
EIGHT
Ash that had been Vita Nova shifted beneath his boots as he moved slowly through the town. Patches of the ground were warm beneath his feet as they stirred the coals of a devastating blaze. An odor hung in the air; it smelled like a campfire that had melted a pair of sneakers.
Frames of the buildings still stood, but they were charred and brittle like burnt matchsticks. Bodies lay everywhere. Some burned beyond recognition, others untouched by the flames. There was nothing left in the town but death and a tricycle.
The little red tricycle lay on its side; one wheel spun from the rising heat of the town. He didn’t see the child that once rode it. He didn’t want to.
Wasteland travels had exposed him to horrific creatures. Mutant animals hunted for prey with a ferocity and viciousness that no creature had been capable of prior to the bombs.
However, only man could create destruction such as this. Men with a cruelty that rivaled those who had unleashed the apocalypse itself. Only man, or really, really smart bears, could treat living creatures with such malice.
The squeak of the tricycle’s wheel slowed and stopped. Apart from the occasional crack of a weakened structure, the town was silent except for a single sound.
Weeping.
“Hello?” The ash soaked up his voice as it swirled around him, driven by a light wind. He yelled louder, “Hello?”
He must have been heard, because the weeping stopped. Footing was hard to find on the ash, but he ran to where he thought the sound had originated. Slipping on the char and coals of the town, he tripped several times. Often he had to put his knee down to maintain his balance. Through his jeans he could feel that parts of the ground were still warm.
Despite the hazardous landscape, he risked twisted or broken ankles to find the source of the crying. Every step stirred a plume of smoke from the ground.
“It’s okay to come out. I’m not a threat.” He slung the shotgun across his back as he slowed his pace. “I want to help.”
There was no response but popping cinders from the town.
“Chewy, find them.”
The mastiff barked and began to sniff the air. She traced the scent into
“I’m no grasshopper. I offer something. If it is just a warning that a big truck full of killers is headed your way … fine. You can choose to ignore it, or prepare for it on your own. It doesn’t matter to me. But I am offering to stay and help. And not for your winter stores. I don’t want anything.”
“Then why would you help?”
“Because, I used to be an ant.” He shifted his feet and choked back a hard memory. “And grasshoppers took everything from me. Good people of New Hope, I see potential in this new world. The blight of mankind’s evil was not wiped from this Earth with everything else. But, from what’s left there is the hope that a town such as yours can be the model for the new world. It is a good town. A town ruled by the people. Good people.
“And now you are in the path of a force ruled by fear. The two will collide. Whichever is left standing will shape the world to come.
“There is a grasshopper out there and I can’t let this be a world created by grasshoppers. I want to live in a world of ants. I want to side with you and protect your way of life. Our way of life.”
The crowd was silent, but he could see that his words had moved them. Timothy Simmons saw it as well and sank into his seat. Logan was confident that he could speak without protest.
“I don’t want anything from you. I just want to help. Now, I’m going to need some things. We don’t have much time.”
“How much time do we have?” the sheriff pointed back at the truck.
“We can’t be certain. I made the drive from Vita Nova in under a day. They’ll take a little longer.”
“Why is that?”
“The roads aren’t clear enough for a rig of this size. They don’t have the luxury of crossing medians. They’ll have to make their own path.”
EIGHT
Ash that had been Vita Nova shifted beneath his boots as he moved slowly through the town. Patches of the ground were warm beneath his feet as they stirred the coals of a devastating blaze. An odor hung in the air; it smelled like a campfire that had melted a pair of sneakers.
Frames of the buildings still stood, but they were charred and brittle like burnt matchsticks. Bodies lay everywhere. Some burned beyond recognition, others untouched by the flames. There was nothing left in the town but death and a tricycle.
The little red tricycle lay on its side; one wheel spun from the rising heat of the town. He didn’t see the child that once rode it. He didn’t want to.
Wasteland travels had exposed him to horrific creatures. Mutant animals hunted for prey with a ferocity and viciousness that no creature had been capable of prior to the bombs.
However, only man could create destruction such as this. Men with a cruelty that rivaled those who had unleashed the apocalypse itself. Only man, or really, really smart bears, could treat living creatures with such malice.
The squeak of the tricycle’s wheel slowed and stopped. Apart from the occasional crack of a weakened structure, the town was silent except for a single sound.
Weeping.
“Hello?” The ash soaked up his voice as it swirled around him, driven by a light wind. He yelled louder, “Hello?”
He must have been heard, because the weeping stopped. Footing was hard to find on the ash, but he ran to where he thought the sound had originated. Slipping on the char and coals of the town, he tripped several times. Often he had to put his knee down to maintain his balance. Through his jeans he could feel that parts of the ground were still warm.
Despite the hazardous landscape, he risked twisted or broken ankles to find the source of the crying. Every step stirred a plume of smoke from the ground.
“It’s okay to come out. I’m not a threat.” He slung the shotgun across his back as he slowed his pace. “I want to help.”
There was no response but popping cinders from the town.
“Chewy, find them.”
The mastiff barked and began to sniff the air. She traced the scent into
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