Huntsmen Part 1, Chapter 9

*copyrighted material*

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   “Are you sure about this, kid?” Woodbone inquired, shoving down six cans of convenience food into an old, discolored leather satchel bag. He’d also packed pre-cooked meals, drinking water, medicinal herbs, ethanol, and bandages as well as a wooden knife kit to cut roots and vegetables, a wolf skin blanket, an oil lantern, matchboxes, a hooded parka coat, and even an aged cooking pan the old man didn’t use anymore. Cooking well Carol’s hunts would be the real challenge if he wanted to live in Mt. Mowaki’s woods for an indefinite time.

    “Absolutely,” Calvin replied. He’d not forgotten about the bibliotheca’s ghost manuscripts and the old server notepad detailing his encounter with them, he’d be ready to see them again if the stars aligned to do so. The boy would find a way to deliver the Rootstocks’ letter and sapling photograph to the person it belonged to one way or another. All would be rectified. But his hands sweated cold and despised the merciless frost burning his fingertips to the point of bleeding. He’d taken his gloves off for just a moment but nature just proved to be relentless. However, his grip on Carol’s leash only seemed to tighten. The fox looked up at him with an unfeigned stare, as if she were conscious of this unavoidable step forward. He found her eyes unsettling for a brief second, but she licked his hand and the sensation melted away. Indescribably, the mood

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was replaced by a quiet, collected, and a little less cowardly frame of mind. The teenager was still coping with the idea of joining the military’s hunting party to achieve a potentially hazardous mission. Find Dr. Mickey Mulhouse before the Roanoke Military could ever lay their hands on her. Hand in the letter and photograph she was supposed to receive the tragic night of the plane crash and therefore, join the Rootstocks to find his brother before any of them got executed. He would have to escape the military’s escort and befriend the notorious leader of the biggest rebel coordination structure in Roanoke’s history, not a walk in the park, surely.

    Calvin said goodbye to those he knew would need an explanation of the conditions of his departure, as well as those that would need to fill up the desk, and work over it. He’d chosen Nelson first, who had not taken the news lightly over what the man called the boy’s tactics a dumb trick. Nonetheless, he had already attended the first official hunting party meeting and had written his name on a list back at the police station. Whatever Nelson tried to do to stop him then would have been against martial law. The owner of the bar had questioned everything, yet with absolute surrender. The boy knew that soon enough the authorities building the Red List would realize he was Andrew Elsner’s son. After all, Nelson was a close friend of his, and by law, would be interrogated. It was just a matter of time before the Roanoke Military showed up at Booze Bucket Bar with inquiries of his whereabouts. Nelson would have no other option but to cooperate, and Calvin’s official renouncement paperwork as a shoveler to join the hunt would back up the man’s story in every way to ensure his friend his freedom and well-being. 

    Afterward, he visited Edna Watt’s home. Luckily it was her day off from the madness at the hangars and the kid wanted to thank her for filing his paperwork quite quickly as he had been required to join the hunting party on time. She called home a decrepit-looking ranch on the Western side of town, surrounded by dry weed and whitebark pine trees. He had knocked at her

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door and found her on the other side, robed, with her chestnut hair in a low folded bun, full makeup, and a glass of orange juice in her hand.

    “Your beast stays out as always.” She hummed. Her distinctive frown mask was ready for any occasion.

    “Oh, come on! She took a bath this week.” Calvin crossed his arms, “Don’t you know how hard to achieve that is . . . ?”

    She looked at him dead serious, then pursed her glossy red lips. “Sure . . . Come in then. Just make sure she doesn’t touch anything.”

    “Like what? The floor?”

    Her brows sank deeper, but she raised her gaze to the sky as it began to snow again. Edna sighed. “Come in now, you smart ass. I don’t have all day.” She was surely having none of that iron-handed mood back in her sanctuary. Or probably the fact that she couldn’t scold him over his job made her feel favorably disposed of for the first time. Friendly. Agreeable.

    The old ranch, however, looked spotless from the inside. Tidy and colorful, timbered furniture with baby blue, yellow, and pastel rose pigments. The floor, made from the same material, was uneven and overlapped, yet he could breathe the cozy atmosphere. The boy inspected the rest of the place, the snuff-colored pictures on the walls, the vivid carpets, and ornamental porcelain dolls and crockery as well as her small fireplace.

    Edna took him to the kitchen’s dinner table and offered him some orange juice, which he accepted. Carol curled up beneath the four-legged board and pressed her chin to the floor for a quick snooze.

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    “It’s pretty early to knock at my door, Calvin.” She said, digging at her simple toast, butter, and homemade grape jelly breakfast.

    “We’ll be off in four hours, but I’m still a bit uneasy. I’m sorry. I had to say thank you for what you did back at the hangars. It could have taken way too much time.”

    “You don’t need to thank me. We’ve known each other for a decade or so. You were quite good company after Allegra died. She was a dazzling star.” She checked the toaster and placed two more pieces on a white plate, just for him.

    “Oh, thank you.”

    “You know, Calvin . . . I think I’ve got the right thing for you and this trip. Let me go grab it.”

    “Sure.” He chewed.

    Edna disappeared and came back with her purse. She sat down next to him and took out a luger gun. The boy stopped chewing while she took out the bullets and placed them on the table.

    “Have you always carried one of those in your purse?” He choked.

    “Always.”

    “Have you ever used it?”

    “A couple of times . . . Great to make horny teenagers stay off my lawn. Or when I come back late from work.” She muttered, taking a kitchen cloth from her sink to clean the surface of the gun. “Here, take it with you.” She also took out a small box of ammunition. “It’s best if you avoid being hunted yourself, right?”

    “I guess,” He gulped.

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    “Don’t forget to remove the safe before using it. It will make a big difference if you get to shoot first.”

    “What about you? Don’t you need it?” Calvin asked, closing his palm around the handle.

    “Oh no, don’t mind that. I got another one beneath my mattress. I’ll be fine. The important question is, will YOU be fine? I mean, I don’t try to question anyone’s motives for absolutely anything, but this is not your style.”

    He pressed his lips together and forced a smile. “Yeah, I think I’ll be fine. I just don't wanna be here anymore . . . ”

    “I see . . . Very good. I have a few more things for you in my purse. Let’s see . . . ”

    Edna gave him a pack of cigarettes and a lighter for the hard nights to come. Additionally, three large packages of hot pink chewing gum from her ‘anti-stress’ stock glowed in the dark upon chewing them. An off the market kind. Edna went on and told him the story of how she had won some popular bubble gum brand’s chewing competition when she was thirteen. She had been crowned the Chicle Gum Queen for popping the biggest chewing gum bubble of the tournament, winning a lifetime supply, and all sorts of eccentric new kinds of gum. She even showed him a framed certificate that proved it. He was not exactly sure how that many packages of gum would help him on the hunt but he smiled again and shook her hand for what he thought would be the last time. But she came in for a hug too.

     He continued his farewell huddle with the woodcutters, to the friendly fellows of The Lodge House, and later to the rest of his co-workers at the runways. He had also parted ways with his old and rusty shovel for he was ready to take a chance after so long. As the final stretch, he had come looking for Randall Haagensen and his insightful words, Calvin felt daunted and could

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sense his unsound fixations clawing up to his shoulders by then. He was about to put himself under the spotlight over high treason. The risk to burn under the luster, and later on, he’d discover what the price tag was.

    “Boy, trust no one. The pack is full of backscratchers and bloodsuckers. Those kinds of creatures want one of two things, either the prize or a glimpse at the Northern border.” Woodbone sat over his front porch gnawing on a couple of uncharted periwinkle leaves. “Now tell me, what are you up to?”

    “I want to know more about the Rootstocks, maybe they can keep me and my family safe. Dr. Mulhouse is our one fighting chance. Whatever the letter contains could be a game-changer, otherwise, her people wouldn’t have taken such a long shot to deliver it. This is for every single one of us.” Calvin looked at Woodbone’s disheveled features for approval.       

    “What about your brother?”

    “If I play the cards right I might get the Rootstocks to help me look for him, mom and dad too. I just hope I’m not too late by the time I find them.” The kid bit his tongue, “I haven’t talked about Wyatt with anyone for years, not even with Nelson. Not after what happened to Vivian and her family, and not after Wyatt left. I know he loved her, but he fell too deep into that pit. I tried my best to be there for him but amongst all the pain . . . He didn’t see me.”

    Woodbone pondered for a while. As he knew he had no words for that, he remained silent for a brief moment before continuing the conversation.

    “. . . Then a Rootstock you are, huh? That’s what people call lads like you these days anyway. Gutsy, young boys. You always struck me as one of their kind. Very well, do what you need to do. Just don’t forget, once you’ve become Roanoke’s opponent they’ll chase you down to all

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corners of the country. They will say despicable things about you and turn those that fear them against you to the verge of assassination. Escaping from the hunting group won’t be child’s play. They will make sure all of you stick together, Jesse’s people will kill you the moment they know what you are planning. Make no mistake about it. You will likely need a diversion, but working alone is the only way to succeed.” He paused, rubbing his chin. “I know you are handicapped in this game. You are just a kid and trust me, no one in that hunting party is going to tend to your needs or listen to you. You’ll be ignored, use that against them. Do you understand?”

    Calvin nodded, then rubbed his bleeding fingernails against his coat before putting his gloves back on and burying his hands back into his pockets.

    “Good.” The man spat the leaves. Stood up and kneeled beside Carol, who registered no danger, instead, she wiggled her tail. “You’ll have to take care of him while none of us can’t, little missy.” Woodbone massaged her pelt, “Be obedient. And keep him alive.” Like that, they said goodbye. Calvin left Randall’s property with far too many doubts, he walked back to town in silence. Thoughtful, he paced while his red fox howled towards the distant pine trees. Her behavior had turned a bit too erratic the last few days, which could only mean breeding season would creep in soon.

     Nooktown’s plaza was not entirely deserted that morning, but still clearly indicated it to be a bad time for those that ran their business at the most money-spinning avenue. He wondered if people were concealing their faces through the curtains of their homes, fearful of what might happen outdoors. Or maybe getting ready to do the inconceivable for a chance to flee from a nation’s unquenchable claws. All kinds of scenarios played in the boy’s mind. He’d imagine the ice cream man taking off his soda-jerk hat, picking up a coat and his rifle. Shuffling sweetness for brackishness. Perhaps the proficient farmer that sold cranberries and peaches at the side of the

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roads would consider it? Suddenly visualizing an alien but much more gainful line of work, somewhere far away. It was natural, this sort of thing weakened the town’s economy.

    Calvin took the nearest by-street for a quicker arrival to the hunting party checkpoint. The final gathering would take place on the other side of town, South of where he was now. He could hear a nearby radio playing somewhere. He’d recognize the song anywhere. It was ‘Maybe’ by Jimmie Carol. A best-loved song by the general public.

 Maybe this is really what I wanted. Really?

Maybe this is really what I needed. Dream it.

Maybe this is really why it feels enchanted. Live it.

Maybe this was all at the bottom of my soul!

The journey to sugary love.

While I cherish every little second.

Together as one.

Together as one.

Maybe this is really what I wanted. Really?

Maybe this is really what I wanted. Dream it.

Maybe this is really what I wanted. Live it.

Maybe all of this would leave a hole!

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    Calvin found the assemblage waiting at the Southern entrance of the city as they had been instructed by the Roanoke Military. A desert place with just a few snow-covered cabins dotting the area. No pavement, just a dirt road to the woodlands ahead of them and up the mountain from there, a safer path. The majority of partakers carried guns, machetes, and axes. He spotted heavy ankle-length raccoon coats, solid leather hi-cut husky boots, gloves, and thick fur hats that would keep them blood hot for days or maybe months. Among them he counted a pair of falconry scouts, at least thirty infantrymen, and a dozen Dobermann hounds ready to cover the territory. He noted the stillness in their postures even when Carol came in range. Not a single flinch. Or a growl. Just discipline.   

    Despite the apprehension the sight brought him to, he pressed all sides of his feet to the ground and settled back on his shoulders joining the group with quiet steps. Carol snarled at nothing in the act of chewing at the leash tied around her neck. He quelled the fox budging his leg against her hip, forcing her to let go of the leather strap. She whined, but everyone’s attention turned back to the plated streamliner car with whitewall tires that came to view from inside the town. The luxurious four-wheeler was known by all townsfolk as the Mayor’s vehicle.

    As quick as Jesse Mcallister’s men were, they commanded all hunting participants to line up in five perfectly aligned rows. Calvin was caught unaware when some infantryman grabbed his arm and hastily guided him to the left corner of the front row. The driver of the silver automobile parked sideways before the controlled crowd and hopped out of the car to open Jesse’s door with reverence.

    The respected thirty-year-old military leader came out with his broad shoulders and chin up high. Dusky ash hair with a nobleman’s complex, using a cobalt-colored military service

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uniform, a single-breasted jacket extended below the crotch, pants of the same color, and black polished boots. When he thought it was appropriate, he introduced himself by taking off his cap in the process.

    “Hello, fellow men. You might know me as Jesse Mcallister. Head Commander, Mayor, proud and allegiant servant of this country. I think we all owe the service to this land. The Rootstocks, as you already know, are a group of insidious individuals trying to mislead our people. That is their goal . . . Chaos amongst us. But as citizens and soldiers, we have a goal too. One that must not be forgotten, law and order go first for it’ll show the right way to our communities, neighborhoods, and families. Some may call it tyranny. We call it . . . unity.” He stopped and paced with slow and careful steps. “I’m delighted that so many of you are willing to help our country in such hurry-scurry times. It’s clear now that we don’t lack men but unanimity. With the proper weight, it can become obtainable, of course. It’s all we need gentlemen. Yet,” He continued, “You need to understand that under our service there are rules you must not forget. And that treachery is not taken lightly in our institution. The moment you set foot out of this town you are being watched and evaluated meticulously by my men. The Rootstocks may fall into our hands soon, and if we all do our job right, it will be thanks to you and the reward all yours. The fist of our men will . . . ”

    Carol couldn’t contain herself any longer and howled halfway through the speech. Jesse detected where the sound had come from with ease. He walked up to the kid and contemplated him for a moment with stoic eyes. His gaze fell and met Carol’s pitch-black eyes, and she didn’t mind howling a second time.

      “Interesting creature you have Elsner. I’ve never liked it.”

      “With all due respect Sir, it might be reciprocated.” The boy responded calmly.

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    Jesse laughed and clapped. “I’m happy to see your good old humor in all of this  . . . I’d love to see how your humor enlightens these men while exploring Mt. Mowaki’s deadly high grounds. Sadly, I won’t be there to see it . . . But what I can see now is your face finally healing, don’t get too cocky, Elsner . . . ” The Head Commander smirked, walked away, and continued with his speech.

END OF MY CHAPTER #9