📖 The Ghost of Emily - Chapter 13

In which Jake meets his captor and a surprising old friend.

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When Gus awoke, he was not disoriented or afraid. He immediately knew where he was, how he got there, and who was nearby. Nimrod lay by his side on the carpet below the bunk bed, and Olivia was sitting at the dining table sipping from a steaming mug. She smiled at him as he raised himself to look around. Out the small window above the table, he could see it was evening, almost dark.

“You slept well. You didn’t move once," she told him.

“Mm... I was really tired. It’s almost dark. I don’t know where...” his voice trailed off. He didn’t quite know what to say, or what to ask.

“Listen to me, Gus," she said, gravely.

He closed his lips and looked at her directly.

“I can’t stay with you here. Nobody knows about this place except you and me. Not even my father knows where I hid it. This is our secret, and it’s very important that if you see anyone you don’t tell them, okay?”

He nodded, without any pause to consider.

“Now, as it stands, I can’t take you with me. It’s not safe. I have to go back to town; people there are waiting for me. Those men you saw. I live with them.”

“Wha… what? Why?!”

“I’m not there by choice. I am captive. They are keeping me against my will. Do you understand?”

“No.”

“They have my father. He’s old, and they don’t think he’s of any use. They will kill him if I am not there too. I am of use to them, you see. I’m their best hunter. So I hunt for them. And they let my father live. They are not good men, Gus. I can’t let them know about you.”

Gus nodded, the pieces of the story beginning to fit together in his mind.

“So you and Nimrod will stay here. There’s plenty of food. The walls are insulated. That means you won’t be cold at night. There’s also an electric heater and the batteries are working just fine - you can use that on the really cold nights.” She reached across and showed him the controls of the heater. “There’s water in the faucet to drink. Put some in a pot, and you can boil it here to make tea.” She gestured at the small gas stove next to the sink. “There are books to read. Do you read?”

He shook his head, sadly.

“Oh... well, I’ll fix that," she grinned at him, as his head raised and his eyes sparkled with hope. “The rules, Gus. Keep the lights low, just one candle at night. Keep the curtains closed. You can go outside when you need to, or when Nimrod does, but keep your rifle on you.” She patted the child-sized Crickett rifle leaning against the wall next to her. “Stay inside as much as you can, with the door locked. There’s no key, so it can only be bolted from the inside. Only open it if you hear my voice. If you hear anyone approaching, stay silent. Lay low and don’t look out the window. If you think they are going to break in, or break the windows, you can get out here.”

She stood and moved towards the bunk bed, crouching beside him. The door under the lower bunk popped open under her grip and exposed a narrow opening to the earth below the motorhome. Gus nodded, signaling his understanding of the instructions.

“I’ll come back as often as I can to check on you, I’ll come in daylight. I still need to hunt. If I go too many days without any game they will get suspicious. But whenever I can, I will come and see you. Just stay here, and stay safe, okay?”

“Okay, Olivia.”

“Livy. You can call me Livy," she said, her voice low. “Gus, I am going to find your father. I’ll find him for you, and when it is safe, I will bring him here to you. You must wait.”

“Livy, please find my sister too… she must be so afraid, out there on her own. Please find her, bring her and my Papa to me!”

“I’ll try, Gus. I really will.” She kissed him on the head, a gesture he did not expect, but loved.

She stood, and without another word she walked out the door, closing it behind her. Nimrod had leapt to his feet also, and now sat by the closed door, listening to her crunching steps fade into the cacophony of crickets and birds that was consuming the darkening forest around them.

As Gus stepped towards the door and slid the bolt into its catch, Nimrod whimpered quietly, still staring through the closed door, his head tilted to one side.

---

The two disheveled riflemen directed Jake across the field of lawn that spread out before the enormous brick building that loomed over him, seeming to grow and lean forward as he approached it. Jake was not comfortable at the sight of large buildings. Small shacks, barns and houses were fine - they meant easy shelter and safety, but buildings like this were alien to him. Foreboding.

A bonfire was being stacked on the lawn ahead, with men spectating around it. The men were thin, with eyes bulging almost out of their sockets. Some men were armed with rifles slung across their shoulders, some with knives in sheaths on leather belts. They each looked at Jake as he moved towards the steps of the building. Jim and Phil marched beside him, their guns lowered, trusting that Jake had no intention of escaping.

As he passed the bonfire, he saw miscellaneous scraps of wood, old rags, and a complete wooden door with a large axe-hole in its centre lying flat across the middle of the pile. Piled on top of the door were dozens of books. Jake winced at the sight. Books were not of any use to him, but he knew what they represented; human knowledge. They were the product of many creative minds, the collation of centuries of data and wisdom. For Jake they were the regret of having never learned to read. These books would never be read again. He did not know what titles they were, or what they were about, but he hoped that one day he would see copies of them again, and be able to read them.

As Jim and Phil led him onto the concrete paving that surrounded the menacing building, a crowd of sickly-looking men gathered around the base of the steps. Jake looked over his shoulder and counted close to thirty of them. This was the most men he had ever seen at one time. They were all thin, with greyish skin and sunken eyes. Some looked desperate to Jake. Others looked barely conscious. Some had their hands cupped in front of them, as if waiting for Jake to give them something.

Jim and Phil grabbed the bars that cut across the timber of the green double-doors, and in tempo with one another they leaned in, depressing the bars and pushing the doors open to expose the huge main hall within.

The raucous sound struck Jake first. Then the darkness. The huge room was black to Jake’s eyes at first, but as he stepped through the doors and the blackness enveloped him, his eyes slowly adjusted.

The loud hum was unlike anything he had ever heard before, but he knew almost immediately that it was the sound of a group of men. They were laughing, shouting, talking, singing. Some men were clinking mugs and cans together, and wine was spilling over their rims onto the polished wooden floor. In the centre of the room was another bonfire; the smouldering remains of last night’s heating. The room smelt of smoke, and of wine and sweat.

Jake looked up and saw that the once white ceiling high above him had a thick black smoke-stain across it, darkest in the centre and softening outwards in the impression of a circle. Around the ceiling was a perimeter of vents, each of them open, allowing the billows of smoke to eventually escape.

The men inside did not stop to look at Jake as he was led through the middle of the room, around the bonfire, and towards the front of the raised stage that was embedded in the wall at the far end. There were chairs and benches strewn haphazardly all over the hall, some sat upon, others toppled. Broken bottles, spills of food, and piles of indistinguishable loot were sitting at random intervals. Jake could not tell if these were prized collections, or merely piles of fuel for the fire. When he noticed a heaping pile of books at one of the side walls, he knew it was fuel.

He counted the men as he walked, there were thirteen of them, and these men were not as thin as the men outside, or his two escorts. They were jolly, and rotund.

They reached the stage, where the thirteenth man sat silently, his back towards them, hunched over a small portable gas stove with a saucepan on top. He was bald, his skin wrinkled and covered in freckles, moles and patches of scarring and other damage that Jake couldn’t quite identify. The little hair he did have, mostly growing in mangy patches around his ears, was grey and white. He looked to be in his mid sixties.

He was poking at the contents of the saucepan with a fork. It was Spaghetti PLUS Sausages. He lifted his head abruptly as he heard the footsteps of Jake, Phil and Jim come to a halt behind him. Jake looked at his captors. They both stared forward, not at the man, but at the empty space above him, in the darkness of the stage. Their eyes were afraid.

Jake looked around the room some more, and noticed a pile of emptied food cans in one corner. In the opposite corner he saw an old man, huddled in the darkness under a blanket. The man was odd amidst the rest of the crowd. He sat still and in silence, and though almost invisible in the shadows, Jake could feel that he was looking right at him.

The man seated in front of Jake and his captors poked his food a couple more times. He violently flicked the knob of the gas stove, extinguishing its blue flame, then he stood, still holding his fork in a tight fist. He turned to look at Jim and Phil, then - needing to raise his head some more to see him - he looked up at Jake.

He kept his eyes locked on Jake’s as he spoke. His eyes were vicious, black orbs that were squeezed between heavy grey eyelids. They almost looked as if they would burst open like boiled eggs trodden on by a boot.

“Well, well, little leeches. What have you brought me?” Jake recognised his accent. It reminded him of a man he had travelled with as a child, a Frenchman his mother had taken under her wing and taught to survive.

“We fou…” Jim began, but his voice cracked and he cleared his throat to start again. “We found him lying in the street. He says he’s been living in the bush. He says he’s a hunter.”

“Ah good, good!” said the Frenchman, his second utterance confirming Jake’s suspicion about his heritage. “We need more hunters. Olivia could use the help.”

The man smiled at Jake, but his smile seemed false. Jake’s eyebrows furrowed, in instant response to the familiar girl’s name he had just heard. The Frenchman’s eyes squinted a little further in kind, and Jake quickly relaxed his face.

The Frenchmen held his suspicious glance, but carried on speaking. “And what is the hunter’s name, little leeches?”

Phil opened his mouth to answer, but Jake, determined to show the leader of this gang that he did not fear him as his minions did, spoke instead.

“My name is Jake Thorne."

The Frenchman stared at him for a long moment. “Jake... Thorne," the Frenchman whispered, squinting so much that his dark, cruel eyes became tiny slash marks on his face.

Jake observed the posture of this stocky little man. He looked as if he might suddenly pounce on him and draw a weapon. Unpredictable. What have these men seen you do to make them fear you so much?

The Frenchman suddenly threw his head back, and laughed. His laugh was bold, uninhibited. It cut above the sound of the rest of the room, and for a moment, the twelve other men stopped what they were doing and looked over. When the laughing stopped, they resumed their merriment and the Frenchman simply looked at Jake, with a sheepish, bitter grin. “Well, leeches, you’ve brought me an old friend! Good work. Now, fuck off!”

The Frenchman studied Jake with a fixed expression as Jim and Phil marched all the way back outside, shutting the doors behind them. He pointed at a crate. “Sit.”

Jake sat, and the Frenchman followed, scooping his saucepan up again and slopping some food into his mouth.

“I did not recognise you under all that filth and that awful beard. If you prove your worth around here, I’ll let you take a bath and get one of the leeches to give you a haircut and a shave. You’ll feel a new man!”

Jake said nothing, but silently, he agreed that the prospect sounded pleasant.

The Frenchman finished slurping his food down, and as he swallowed the last gulp, he looked down at the empty saucepan and his face changed to amusement, and fake remorse. “Oh dear! But I’m so rude. I ate it all. Don’t worry - there’s plenty more. You must have been looking for food, Jake, no? Game running a little low out there for you? Well, you did the right thing coming to town. I’m so glad we found you. We could use a man like you around here; badly! Someone who knows something about how to survive this mess. I bet you’ve seen some things in the last thirty years, being dragged around by that mad bitch mother of yours!”

The corner of Jake’s lip twitched, suppressing the torrent of words that he wanted to shout in response to this insult.

The Frenchman paused, and his smile returned. He had noticed the twitch. “Ah... you’re alive after all! And yes, it is you. I remember you well. You were a feisty little shit, and your mother did nothing about it. Yes, I remember you, you precocious bastard. Your mother should’ve smacked those talkative lips of yours and taught you to know your place! But she didn’t. Perhaps you’ve changed though. Like I said, I’m sure you’ve seen some shit out there.”

“Yes,” Jake said softly, “I’ve changed.”

The Frenchman’s face lit up in another burst of self-surprise, also faked. “Where are my manners tonight? I’m sorry, Jake. You don’t remember me. My name is Reyn-”

“Reynard Trudeau," Jake snapped, interrupting him.

Reynard sat back, nodding with an amused grin. “Ah, so you do remember me. But… nothing to say to your old friend Reynard?”

“Sure. Can I leave?”

Reynard guffawed.

“Oh come now! You just arrived, look around you, Jake. We’re rebuilding civilisation here! This is a great opportunity. And, you’ll be pleased to know I’m sure, we are working on something; something big! We’re going to stop these goddamned machines once and for all. We’re just waiting for the right time.”

“I’d like to go, if I may.”

“Why? Got a lover out there in the woods?”

“No.”

“Well then, you’re a hunter! I have a job for you. An honest job. You hunt for us, bring back whatever game you catch, and you get the lion’s share of it!”

“That hardly seems to have a point. I catch my own food and eat all of it. Why should I share it?”

“Oh, you’re still the stubborn little shit I remember!” he laughed, “I’ll tell you why. You will get to live up here, inside. That’s right, you get your own room upstairs, as long as you hunt for us, you’ll live in here like a...”

“Pig?”

Reynard’s face fell. He looked at Jake, very darkly.

“King, Jake. Like a King. Those filthy leeches outside are not like this bunch. These men are my finest. Men of courage. Men of valour. Men willing to fight with me. Those cowards outside... they are scavengers. They just hang around, too terrified to fight for a place in here, too useless to hunt, too stupid to build anything or scout or think. And too clever to give themselves up to those damned base stations the machines want us all to step into.”

“Base stations?”

“Oui, didn’t you know? Those machines, they have huge bases in all the cities. But they’re just ghosts. They aren’t who they say they are.”

“I know that much.”

“Ah... lost someone special to them? Your mother?”

“My wife.”

“Ohhhh, Jake... I’m sorry. It is sad. But... c'est la vie, there is much to celebrate. You are alive! And your mother too. And be glad you don’t have children! What a ghastly world to bring children into!”

Jake grimaced, but quickly realising the danger of letting this man know about the children, spoke to cover himself. “My mother is dead, Reynard.”

“No! Alexandra!? I thought she would never die. A true survivor that woman. Don’t tell me she gave herself up!”

“No. She was bitten by a snake. A death adder.”

“Oh, Jake. That’s a shame.”

Reynard silently nodded, staring into his empty saucepan. For a moment his sadness seemed real. Jake knew that without Alexandra, Reynard would have died long ago.

“Ah well, c'est la vie. Better to have loved and lost and all that bullshit. Who even said that? Some pompous asshole from England. What does he matter now?” Reynard spoke towards his saucepan, his eyes filled with hate; his voice with bitterness.

“We are all that’s left of the world. It was all bullshit. But I’ll be damned if I hand myself over to those fuckers. Your mother was clever,” he raised his gaze to Jake again, “she let the wilderness take her. Better one of God’s creatures than those abominations growing up around us.”

Jake was puzzled by the term God’s creatures. He understood the concept of God, didn’t particularly believe it himself. It all seemed too complicated to him. But he felt that if there was a God, it would simply be the answer to the why of existence, not the how. And as he saw it, everything in existence would necessarily come under God’s purview. He wasn’t sure how machines were any less of God than he or Reynard.

“Ah, Alexandra…” Reynard said softly, his gaze distant, “I didn’t like her, your mother, but she was… impressive. And I will admit, I learned a thing or two from her. Yes, she saved me a few times too, I confess. But I was just a stupid young man on the wrong side of the world, I didn’t know how to make a campfire or gut a kangaroo! She taught me a few things. Buuutt... I don’t need to know all of that wilderness bullshit, now. I found my real calling; leadership. I found all of these lost boys and took them under my wing. They look to me for guidance. I give them what they are missing - leadership, and law.”

“Law?”

“Why, yes! Law. Since everyone started disappearing, going and getting themselves eaten, or whatever the hell happens to them when they go with the machines...”

Jake’s stomach turned in knots and a wave of nausea almost consumed him, as Reynard’s words thrust the image of his daughter into his mind and he knew he couldn’t do a thing to help her right now.

“Since then, it’s been pandemonium! Chaos. The last survivors fighting like animals for whatever scraps of food they could find. I saved one of these men from being murdered by his own brother! Yes... people are scoundrels. But give them law, and they behave. I suppose you want to know what the law is around here?”

Jake nodded, unable to speak for fear of succumbing to his nausea.

Reynard went on, matter-of-factly. “It’s simple. One: You don’t leave. We need every human we can find, especially the women. Yes, there are a few women, they are upstairs. Most of them are pregnant already. When they have their babies, one of the men will take them and care for them in a house across the park. You see, we are civilised.”

“You mean; the father will take care of them?”

“Father?! God, I don’t know. He wouldn’t know either. The women sleep with all the men. They know it’s their function. They do it willingly.”

“So they can leave if they choose?”

“Jake,” Reynard was getting annoyed, “I already told you! The first law is you don’t leave. We don’t want anyone getting taken away by the machines. No, the women stay here, we take care of them, they do their job. We only have five of them now, most die in childbirth.”

The muscles in Jake’s back began to tense. He pressed his legs into the ground and firmly clenched his teeth together, to contain his violent urges. He wondered if the saucepan in Reynard’s hands was still hot enough to be an effective weapon.

“Two: if you make yourself useful to the tribe, you live inside. You get food, you get warmth, you get running water from our tanks upstairs! If you have nothing to offer, you’re a leech - you live outside. Take a house if you want, that’s what they all do, but they can’t find their own food, so they come back here every night and wait for whatever we give them. I take care of them, I know they have their uses. Well, they will.”

“How so?”

“Not now!” he snapped. “I’m telling you the laws. You need to know this Jake, if you want to last here. Three: no violence. If I hear of anyone attacking anyone else here in town, they are punished.”

“How?”

Reynard looked Jake right in the eyes. The last remnants of his pretend joy dissolved. “I kill them. I do it. I am the leader; it is my job. No one else can do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because of the third law! No violence. Oh, Jake, you really are a terrible listener. Too long alone out there.”

Jake was boiling with tormented frustration. He could see that Reynard was nothing but a mad dog, and he had to escape, somehow.

“I’ve had enough of this now, you go upstairs. Find a room and sleep, you must be tired. Tomorrow, Olivia will take you out and show you the hunting trails - she’s our finest hunter. You’ll hunt for us. You’ll stay with her for a while though, until we know we can trust you. I’ll decide when that is. Go on, take a room. If the door’s locked, find another one. The locked ones are the women. Get out of here!” he flicked his arm in the air, gesturing towards the stairwell at the side of the room.

Jake stood. “So I am not free to leave?”

Reynard looked up at him, and placed his hand on his hip. Jake noticed the handgun that was holstered there. Reynard paced his words, and spat each one at Jake emphatically. “Do not ask me that again.”

Jake stepped backwards, in acquiescence. As Reynard lowered his gaze again to his saucepan, Jake noticed the old man sitting in the dark corner. He was fifteen metres away, but he had not moved and his eyes were still locked on Jake.

Jake turned and walked towards the stairs, passing the old man and feeling eyes on him as he ascended. When he reached the first storey of rooms, he heard footsteps behind him that had echoed in tempo with his own for a time, masked. He walked down the hall and reached for the first door handle to his left. Inside was a small office, papers and furniture scattered everywhere, but no bed in sight. He moved on.

As he reached out for the next door handle, he felt a warm hand land on his shoulder. He was not startled, the hand felt gentle, and expected. He turned.

It was the old man. He smiled at Jake, and the warm smile seemed familiar. For a moment, they both stood in silence, studying each other’s faces.

The old man spoke. “Jake Thorne.”

Jake’s eyes widened with wonder at finally recognising this man.

“I haven’t seen you in thirty years. You’re all grown up. Amazing!”

His hand sat on Jake’s shoulder, squeezing gently, as he offered the other as an old-fashioned handshake. Jake took his hand, silently, still unsure of what to say.

“You remember me, don’t you, kid? You and your mother stayed with my daughter Olivia and me out in the woods. Your mother was an incredible woman. I’m very sorry to hear that she died.”

How could he have heard that? Jake wondered, his eyes bright with astonishment. The old man cocked his head, and smiled.

“Yes, I heard it all. The ears are still pretty good, even now I’m seventy-five! Eyes are still working just fine too, though don’t tell any of those swines downstairs. They think I’m senile, they hope I’ll be dead soon. But my daughter is keeping me alive.”

Jake looked into his bright, grey eyes and he wondered why the man was trusting him so quickly. He couldn’t help but feel the trust was mutual though, as he spoke. “How long have you been here?”

“Two years. There’s no way out for now, but don’t worry, Reynard is going to get himself killed soon. He’s got a stupid plan to attack the ghosts, and that will be our chance to get out. Yours too, if you want.”

“Sure. What can I do to help?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, well Olivia will. I’ll let her know tonight you’re a friend. I think she’ll remember you. She must have read you a dozen books. I’ll never forget your little face. I think you were in love with her!” He chuckled.

He still grasped Jake’s shoulder and their handshake lingered, in a warm up-and-down motion. Jake could feel the texture of his dry, wrinkled fingers. They were long fingers, the fingers of a master craftsman, and he wasn’t rotund like the other men downstairs. Nor was he gaunt or thin like the men outside. He seemed to be perfectly healthy and fit.

“I’m so sorry, but for the life of me I can’t remember your name.”

“Oh dear, of course you don’t. You were a kid. It’s been a long time!” The old man squeezed his hand more firmly, with a warmth Jake had not felt from another adult in years.

The old man smiled and looked into his eyes. “My name is Marcus Hamlin.”