Chapter 1
Storm's coming.
Steel gray clouds and icy biting winds were indicative enough, but cold fat drops of rain stabbing into your skin like needles? That's no fun.
At first, the rain floated down gently, and Mortimer stupidly assumed that it couldn't possibly get any worse. Of course, he also assumed that after the brotherhood's Convoy crashed. And after he could find the rest of them. And after he'd been wandering around in the woods for hours. All with no way to get in touch with the others and no way to know for sure which way he was going.
Just my luck, he thought to himself.
This was a very dense forest, lots of low-hanging limbs- no walking trails or anything like that- Mort would stop and occasionally look around, thinking that he was being stalked by a wolf or bear or something. He'd been walking around for hours though, but there was nothing out that way; no roads, no other houses, it was all just empty.
A squat, dilapidated farmhouse sat stark in the middle of a clearing on a few acres of isolated land; incredibly isolated. Mort had found this bumpy and primitive access road deep in the forest, it was just a full 360 degrees of dense forest that virtually no one was in. There were no scenic trails, no hiking or camping spots, just dark dense forest everywhere he looked.
Looked as if no one had been here in ages, the place was extremely bent out of shape. He honestly thought it would have been a nice looking house. It was a good, quiet place, it looked like it just needed a little bit of TLC. But the chimney was chuffing out a long line of thick, gray smoke.
Despite all its creepiness, it looked like a decent place to take shelter from the storm.
Right in front of the porch, about seven or eight feet out was a gravel driveway. Tracks in the gravel were bubbling over with rainwater. About twenty meters away from the house to the left was the barn, and from the barn basically straight out from the porch with this huge open field filled with overgrown grass. There was the beginning of the tree line, and the really dense forest. How on earth did anyone manage to get a car through all that? Let alone an entire house?
Somehow, that just made this place even creepier.
Mort started scanning the property, not knowing exactly what he was looking for. He just thought it was so weird that he couldn't see any signs of people in the woods, but stumbled upon an empty house. But after he scanned the whole field, he didn't see anything. Something inside was making noise; he heard it through the window.
As he stepped onto the porch, his footfalls rang clear and sharp on the groaning and worn out wood. The front door opened with a loud crack, barely hanging on its hinges it seemed, and Mortimer peeked inside, finding solace in the warm air. He thought by the looks of things this place would have been abandoned, but the fresh tire tracks; the chimney; that amazing smell; someone else was definitely here. Maybe whoever was cooking was out at the moment and he could swipe a quick meal.
Timidly, he stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him.
"Hello?" Mortimer called out. "Is anyone home?"
No answer. Just a radio playing quietly somewhere in the house.
He took a moment to glance around the entryway, all dusty and covered in cobwebs. What little furniture he could see was covered in dimly patterned sheets, equally dusty.
Politely, he wiped his shoes and took off his coat.
"Hello? Anybody?" Mort called and again, no answer.
He stepped into the kitchen and immediately recognized how much cleaner it was in here. The wood floors were scratched and scuffed but clean, and the table was covered in a worn out checkered pattern. A dingy lantern hung on a hook in the corner, right above the sink, casting the room in a dull orange glow. The cabinets, though brown with age, looked relatively clean, but some were missing their doors. The sink was filled with dirty dishes and the pot on the stove was looking like it was going to bubble over.
Mort inspected the pot and lowered the heat on the burner. Whatever was in here smelled delicious. He took a deep breath and savored the smells; garlic, onions, something with beer- oh, it made his mouth water.
This little area was decidedly comfortable. Not only did the stove provide decent warmth, but the little furnace on the other side of the kitchen was even cozier. He was about to scoot a chair closer to it when he noticed the lump of blankets that were piled up on the floor in front of it, and wrapped comfortably within was a kid; a little boy.
Almost instantly, Mortimer was swamped with regret. You wouldn't approach a baby bear out in the wild, for fear that the thing's mother would be nearby. Mortimer felt the same way about most children, especially where he was concerned. It was quite typical of people to hide their precious children away from people such as him, for fear that they would somehow be corrupted. Mortimer sometimes goes out of his way to avoid interactions with children. They're too forward. Ask too many questions.
For a moment, Mort assumed that there was something wrong with this boy- his skin was muddied and brown and his dark hair looked so incredibly greasy- but when he leaned over to get a better look, he noticed that the boy's face had a sheen to it. Spotted skin and curly, dark hair; he looked like a slick lizard. Must have been sleeping here for hours.
Mortimer decided that it was best to leave him alone. Maybe he was just going to grab a bowl of soup and quietly wait out the storm on the front porch. The last thing he wanted was to cause a scene, but he was already here, and that soup just smelled so good… They probably wouldn't even notice he was there.
Just as Mortimer was reaching for the ladle, he heard the boy stirring. Panicked, he froze.
The boy pushed the layers of comforters aside and rubbed his eyes. "Mom, have you found anything out about California?"
And then he noticed that a strange old man was in the kitchen. That little boy had the most intense amber eyes he'd ever seen.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" he interrogated without hesitation. The kid's hand was gripping around something beneath his blanket, but Mort couldn't see what it was. Nothing good, no doubt.
"Easy, easy kid. I was lost. The storm outside is too harsh to move in, and then I saw your house. And-"
Amber eyes burned like wildfires. The dull drone of hail hitting the rooftop, the bubbling pot of soup, a rumble of thunder and the quiet radio was all amplified through the silence.
Defensively, Mortimer raised his hands gesturing to the pockets of his trousers, attempting to prove his innocence. "Listen, I swear I mean no trouble, I'm just cold and wet and tired. I figured I'd just hang out on the front porch, but then I smelled that soup and-"
The boy arose from his snuggly spot on the floor, taking a blanket with him, wrapped around himself like a cloak. That thing he was holding onto was a machete, a very sharp and suspiciously rusty-looking machete. At least Mortimer hoped it was rust…
If the machete wasn't enough, the way the kid was just staring at him was definitely unsettling enough. It wasn't as if Mortimer wasn't used to being stared at, just being so openly observed like this was a bit uncomfortable; the kid looked like he wanted to eat him. He was staring at his hands…
"You're like me…" the little one mused quietly.
Boldly, the kid stepped over to the stove and politely took the ladle, stirring his brew. Mort had to be honest, he couldn't really recall the last time he was this nervous around a child. Then again, he couldn't remember the last time he saw a kid confidently walking around with an enormous machete.
"I don't mind it if you just wanna eat and wait out the storm, but my mom will, and she's verrrry quick to get mad. She'll probly threaten to shoot you. Might even shoot at you."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, she has a shotgun. She likes to shoot at people. Especially trespassers."
Over to the sink and onto a step stool, the boy reached into the sink for the first bowl he could grab. He turned on the faucet and the thing made a horrible squeaking sound, all while hardly putting out any water. Thankfully it looked clean.
The boy brandished his massive knife proudly and grinned over his shoulder. "She even gave me this! I used this to butcher the rabbit."
Mortimer tensed. "You? Butchered a rabbit? All by yourself?"
The boy made a triumphant noise and began rinsing out his bowl.
"May I ask how old you are?" Mortimer asked incredulously, taking up a chair.
"I'm ten. Eleven in September. How old are you, like fifty?"
"I'm thirty-eight."
"That's almost forty. Which is almost fifty. That's pretty old."
The boy happily ladled some soup into the bowl and set it on the table in front of Mortimer with a satisfied hum.
"All the spoons broke, so you'll have to just drink it."
" It smells amazing. Did you cook this?"
"Yup. Mom bought this beer a few months ago and hasn't touched it since, so I put that in there. I'm Emile by the way. What's your name?"
"Mortimer. Thanks for the meal, Emile."
"Well, I had best get outside before your, erm, your mum comes back."
"Oh, she is back!" Emile pointed behind the elder with his chin.
The puzzled mutant followed the boy's gaze behind him and stared openly at the window. A set of horribly angry eyes glowered at him from the lower right-hand corner of the window pane, a frown growing on muddied features as she faced squarely towards them.
Of course, Mortimer about fell out of his chair and nearly spilled his soup. "OH JESUS!"