Part 5 - A Vicious Dagger in the Night

  The two weeks that followed the arrival of the Oakborough crew saw NorthStar transformed completely. Twenty-five new hands and sets of eyes saw things that Rob and the women hadn’t, and the ideas for change and renovation came fast and frequent.

  In the southern end of NorthStar, the perimeter fence was expanded to accommodate the growing village. Five small sleeping huts were constructed, along with a communal area for cooking and food preparation.

  One of the first additions to NorthStar was a kiln. Marcus Furrow the blacksmith had organized the mason, Thomin Lats, and the potter, Cyrus Daniels, into getting a rudimentary kiln going. Marcus had his own motivation, and in the span of the two weeks since they’d arrived, Cyrus had been able to fire tableware for the community; more importantly to Marcus, he now had the fired clay blocks to construct a forge.

  In the western corner inside the fence, all the tradespeople set up shop, including the small forge, workbenches, the kiln, and the tools of the blacksmith, carpenter, mason, and the tailor. Willie and his machines had to wait – hauling 2,500-pound beasts off the back-end of a haul trailer was a significant task, and they were all still trying to decide where to plant those seeds of industry.

  An additional building was constructed on the southeast side, housing a clinic where Dr. Sophia Chen could monitor the health of the community. The compound pharmacist, Rebecca Puget, worked closely with Sophia, and together with Maria, they gathered various herbs for producing tinctures, including golden poppies for pain relief.

  The rancher and farmer were busy, as well. Shep Tiscon set up dedicated animal pens connected to the wall, with a fenced area outside the perimeter for grazing. Meanwhile, the farmer, Adella Summers, oversaw the expansion the cropland to two acres, planting additional staples she had brought, including canola for biodiesel and hemp for textiles.

  NorthStar buzzed with activity, and everyone was excited about what they were building together. The communal area helped their community grow – meal preparation and dinners together. And Thomin Lats had also installed a brick oven and stove in the main house; the stove was so powerful that it felt like standing near a blast furnace.

  One evening, Elias Banks approached Rob, studying him with a calculating gaze. "You haven’t let us down, Rob. You and Sarah and Lisa and Maria. These Oakborough folk are Star Valley people now, mark my words."

  The old man's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his weathered face etched with the wisdom of years and hard experience. "I’ve been watching, and you don’t seem the type to want to lead, but the decisions you make stick. That’s fine, Rob. But this place will become a beacon, and just make sure you keep the center on the four of you." He gestured to the bustling scene around them, where Sarah and Lisa and Maria laughed with new friends.

  "These people are your greatest asset now. Nurture them, protect them, help them find purpose and belonging. A strong community is built on trust, respect, and shared purpose." The elderly man's gaze turned piercing, boring into Rob with an intensity learned through hard experience. "You have a rare gift, lad – and a rarer opportunity."

  There had been eyes on NorthStar for the last ten days from every angle and through every hour of the day and night; military-grade multispectral optics had been used to track and account for every person in NorthStar.

  On May 23rd, the inhabitants of NorthStar busied themselves with the approach of dusk. Maria stood at the edge of the new garden plot, watching Eloise Burns tailoring shop take shape on the far-western end of NorthStar. The sound of Marcus’s hammering echoed off the pines – Marcus and Paul Brims framing the last wall of a weather shelter for the kiln and forge. Children's laughter drifted from the fields, where Lily was teaching them how to water freshly sown seeds.

  It should have felt perfect.

  But something was wrong.

  Shadow, normally playful and curious, had been whimpering all morning, pacing the wall near the river, hackles raised. The goats were restless. Even the chickens seemed agitated, clustered together instead of foraging.

  Maria's skin prickled. The feeling of being watched – she'd had it for days now, dismissed it as paranoia, the lingering trauma of the collapse. But it was getting stronger.

  She found Rob in the main house, rewiring the solar panel junction box, his hands greasy with electrical tape and wire strippers.

  "Rob," she said quietly. "Something's wrong."

  He looked up, saw her face, and immediately set down his tools. "What is it?"

  "I don't know." She moved to the window, scanning the wall to the east near the river. "Shadow's been acting strange. The animals are nervous. And I..." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I feel like we're being watched."

  Rob stepped up to her side, following her gaze. The valley looked peaceful – people working, building, laughing. But he trusted Maria's instincts. She'd been right about the man on SR-49. She'd been right about bypassing Wilkens.

  "I'll take a look," he said, reaching for the M4. "Stay inside with…"

  A child's scream split the air.

  Not a playful scream. Not a surprised scream.

  A scream of pure terror.

  Rob burst through the door, Benelli M4 in his hands, and followed the pointing fingers toward the river.

  Five figures stood on the opposite bank, maybe seventy yards out. They weren't hiding. They weren't approaching. They were just... standing there. Watching.

  All five were armed – rifles held with professional ease, not the desperate grip of scavengers. They wore tactical gear, forest camouflage, load-bearing vests. Their faces were hard to make out in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, but their posture said everything.

  These were not refugees. These were not survivors stumbling out of the woods. These were operators.

  Behind Rob, Star Valley erupted into chaos. Men scrambling for weapons. Women pulling children inside. Marcus appeared with a hunting rifle, Elias with an old carbine, Willie with a shotgun.

  "Don't shoot!" Rob shouted, raising a hand. "Holy shit, don’t shoot."

  He started toward the river, Benelli raised to his shoulder, sighting down the barrel at the figure in the center – a tall, broad-shouldered man who stood with the stillness of a predator.

  As Rob moved closer, the five figures fanned out in a tactical spread, creating overlapping fields of fire. Professional. Disciplined.

  And then Rob saw the red dots. Laser sights. Three of them. Dancing across his chest, his throat, his forehead.

  He froze.

  Lisa appeared at his side, AR-15 in her trembling hands. "Rob, what do we do?"

  "Stay back," he said, his voice tight. "Everyone stay back."

  At fifty yards, he stopped and raised his hunting scope, scanning their faces.

  The man in the center – broad-shouldered, calm eyes, maybe forty-five. A younger man beside him, massive, silent. A woman on the other side, lean and coiled like a spring. Another man with restless, calculating eyes. And at the far end was a second woman who moved like death itself.

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  Grey eyes. Cold. Assessing. The way she held her rifle – not aiming, just... ready – spoke of thousands of hours of training. Of kills made and survived.

  This woman was a virtuoso of violence.

  His mind raced as the people behind him descended into panic; cries of horror at the memory of slavers and raiders, children weeping, men blustering with uncertainty. And then Rob saw it. Hanging from the tall man's rifle – a leather strap with distinctive banded stripes. Handmade. Unmistakable.

  Rob's breath caught. ‘Old Tom Hollard’s work’, he said to himself.

  He'd recognize that pattern anywhere. The alternating dark and light bands, the specific knot work, the brass ring at the attachment point. Old Tom had been making those straps for thirty years, sold them out of his shop to hunters who knew quality when they saw it.

  If these people had Old Tom's gear, they weren't raiders. They weren't scavengers. They were hunters. Old-world hunters who knew the mountains, knew the code, knew the people who mattered.

  Rob made a decision.

  He lowered the Benelli, turned it sideways – barrel pointing away from the figures.

  Behind him, Marcus hissed, "Rob, what the hell are you doing?"

  Rob ignored him. He racked the shotgun, ejecting the chambered shell into his hand. The distinctive chak-ak-chak echoed across the river.

  He held the shell up, high above his head, turning it so the sunlight caught the painted bands around the brass - Old Tom's markings.

  For a long moment, nothing happened. The five figures across the river stood motionless. The red laser dots remained on Rob's chest.

  Then the tall man raised a hand and the laser dots vanished.

  The man stepped forward to the water's edge, his rifle still slung across his back. He reached up and touched the leather strap, running his fingers over the distinctive bands. Then he called across the river, his voice carrying clear and strong: "If you want to bag your tag, you need Old Tom's rounds"

  Rob's knees nearly buckled. That was the phrase. The joke. The thing Old Tom said to every customer who walked into his shop, complaining about the trophy buck or elk they missed.

  ‘If you want to bag your tag, you need Old Tom's rounds’

  Rob lowered the shell, his hand shaking. He looked at Sarah, at Lisa, at Maria – their faces confused, terrified, hopeful.

  The tall man in the middle unslung his rifle completely, holding it by the barrel, and planted the stock in the ground. A universal gesture: I'm not a threat. Let’s talk.

  Rob turned to his people. "Lower your weapons. Stand down."

  "Rob, we don't know who they are…,” Marcus started.

  "No, we don’t," Rob said firmly, turning toward him. "But they move like my Special Forces buddy, which means they could have taken us all out if they wanted to. We have to talk."

  He looked at the five figures across the river – still wary, still ready, but no longer aiming. "Let's find out what they want."

  Rob gathered everyone around the central campfire in the communal living area, the flames crackling and casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. The five newcomers had revealed only their first names – Ghost, broad-shouldered and calm-eyed, like a mountain lion sniffing the wind for danger; Wolf, a hulking man with a silent sophistication next to him; Viper, with restless fingers like her namesake positioned on Ghost’s other side; Falcon, with eyes that never stopped moving, calculating angles, exits, and threats; and Raven, who sat at the far end. She spoke little, but her piercing grey eyes seemed to absorb every detail, moving with an unsettling grace that reminded Rob of death.

  Rob, Sarah, Lisa, Maria, big Marcus, and Elias settled on one side of the campfire, while Ghost and Raven and Viper stood on the other side. Wolf and Falcon never rested; they haunted the perimeter, just beyond the veil of the approaching night.

  “How did you find us?” Rob asked, his voice steady but his heart racing beneath the weight of uncertainty.

  Ghost glanced between his companions, his gaze flickering momentarily to the dancing flames before returning to Rob. “We were moving through,” he started. “Saw your trip back in with a loaded trailer.”

  Rob's gaze shifted to his companions, who exchanged uneasy glances.

  “We’ve been camped in the woods for the last ten days, monitoring your movements. Wanted to make sure you weren’t some god-forsaken cult leader.”

  Maria looked at Rob and then across to Ghost, then to Viper and Raven. “Why are you here?” she asked simply.

  Raven looked her dead in the eyes. “Why does a man take three women into his bed at the end of the world?” she demanded.

  Sarah and Lisa recoiled, leaning back and crossing their arms in disgust, but Maria lean in further. “Oh, I’ll tell you, but I’m asking the questions right now. Why the hell are you here?” she demanded.

  Maria and Raven kept their eyes locked on one another, but Ghost just pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette and lit it and took a deep drag.

  He was wearing a battered leather cowboy hat, and he let the blue-grey smoke swirl around his head. He looked at Maria, her eyes still locked on Raven.

  “We’d like to build a spot out there on the forest line,” he said, gesturing toward the southwest.

  Shock sprouted across everyone’s face, and Rob just shook his head in disbelief. He glanced at Sarah and Lisa and Maria, seeking their reactions. Sarah squeezed his hand tightly, but Maria was still locked with Raven.

  “Your turn, darling,” glared Raven.

  Maria held her grey eyes, then she scanned across to Viper and Ghost. “The three of us were in a stairwell with an axe handle and a shattered door handle, and we killed two attackers – the next man up the stairs was Rob with that gun,” she glared.

  Ghost nodded to her and Viper scrunched her nose. "Oh, you are a mean bitch," Viper smiled. "I like that." There was an unnerving flicker that looked like madness in the woman's eyes – the kind that came from seeing too much, surviving too long.

  Maria glared at Raven. “We spent the next month all sleeping in the camper truck together and building that house. Rob doesn’t take three women into his bed – three women chose to take one man. You remember that, woman,” she hissed.

  Raven’s piercing grey eyes changed just a bit, and the nod she gave Maria could have been mistaken for a twitch; both women understood.

  Rob looked at Ghost. “We’ve got 29 people here. These people left Oakborough, their home, for a chance that we were offering. We’re trying to build a community here,” he spoke up, his voice resolute, cutting through the tension.

  “Look, I’m a biochemistry professor, not a warrior. This isn’t our land to dictate terms, but I promised these people a new way, and I’m not going to allow some unknown to sit on our border and watch us,” said Rob.

  Sarah’s grip on Rob’s hand tightened, as she started to speak. “Will you pledge to join our community?” she asked, meeting Ghost’s eyes with a fierce determination. Her gaze moved to Raven, whose icy grey eyes held her for an unnerving moment before shifting to Rob.

  Raven’s expression was as hard as ice. “I don’t follow charismatic leaders any longer,” Raven hissed.

  Lisa leaned forward. “If you stay, you don’t answer to Rob. You answer to all of us, just like we all do. Marcus doesn’t craft tools for Rob; Eloise isn’t spinning yarn for Rob.”

  Raven ground her teeth and then turned on Rob, her eyes glaring. “That Benelli M4 you hold,” she said, her voice slicing through the tension like a knife, “is a special-ops custom-built issue, and it’s not for sale. Nobody gives that gun up unless they’re dead. So, biochemistry professor, tell me where you got that gun, and rest assured I’ll know if you’re lying.” Her eyes bore into his, unwavering and fierce.

  Rob met her intensity, refusing to back down. “Lance Taylor. His first major engagement was Tora Bora. Second was Fallujah. Then Abbottabad in Operation 88X, the logistics battle before the big fight, followed by Benghazi. He called the veteran suicide hotline with that gun between his teeth, wife screaming in the background. He’s the one who showed me Old Tom’s spot and showed me this spot; he died a few months ago on a motorcycle,” Rob replied, watching as Raven’s steely demeanor cracked.

  Sarah and Lisa and Maria looked astonished. They’d heard a bit of the Lance’s story, but this was more intense than they could have imagined. A heavy silence enveloped everyone around the fire, broken only by the crackling of the flames, the flickering light illuminating the tension etched on everyone’s faces. Ghost nodded and lit another hand-rolled cigarette while Viper kept her eyes on Maria.

  Finally, Raven looked up. “Delta Force?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Rob nodded. “I think so. That was my guess – but he never said.”

  Raven stalked out of the fire-light. “I need a fucking minute,” she barked over her shoulder, as she headed for the approaching darkness.

  Ghost and Viper stood there as Adella Summers, the farmer, strode up to them with two bowls of stew. “You two take a seat now – get some food in you. We’ll get a couple bowls out to them other two,” she said simply.

  Ghost looked at her and tipped his hat. “Thank you, ‘mam.”

  Raven stalked through the darkness south of NorthStar, out towards the fields. Her skin felt like it was on fire – it was the PTSD she would not acknowledge. Her fists were clenched and her mind was spinning. She wanted to scream; she wanted to tear the bark of every tree.

  She’d been part of the military response to this catastrophe they were all trying to survive – deployed to Alta Sierra. She could still feel the madness in those streets, in that city. Society had completely collapsed, and in the face of that collapse, she’d been given orders that were worse than death; orders that would have burned her soul from her body.

  She could still see the women and children screaming, begging for help – red laser dots dancing over their bodies as members of her platoon cut them down.

  She could still hear her own screams reverberating in her skull as she watched women and children slaughtered before her eyes.

  She stopped under the stars and in the darkness of the southern meadow and she looked around. She hadn’t followed those orders, and she would never follow orders ever again. She couldn’t – that part of her had died.

  It would have been easier for her if Rob had just been some charismatic asshole – she could just write him off and move on. ‘This fucking biochemistry professor volunteered for a veteran crisis hotline,’ she thought.

  “God damn it,” she barked at herself and then kicked a mound of dirt. She turned back toward the camp and stalked back toward the fire light.

  Raven walked back into the firelight, her jaw tight, her hands still clenched. She didn't look at Rob – she couldn't yet. She turned to Viper and Ghost, who were finishing their stew.

  Ghost raised an eyebrow. A silent question: ‘You good?’

  Raven gave a single, sharp nod. Then she turned to Sarah and Maria.

  “You give us a week. Let us camp in the swathe of woods to the southwest and we’ll contribute to your community. We’ll be your vicious dagger in the night – and after a week, we’ll all decide if we stay,” she said.

  Maria looked up. “You’ll decide if you join our community. You’ve got a week – but you are part of the community in that week – I don’t’ care where your camp is located. You contribute just like the rest of us,” she demanded.

  Raven nodded. “Fair. A week,” she said.

  May 23rd 2024; Population: 34