Michael Bunker - WICK

Peter knew that it was not a great plan. It might not even be a good one, but it was all they had. What they knew with certainty was that they could not make it through the winter on their own. If they’d stayed in Warwick, they would be dead already, and if they were caught by either side in the war that seemed to be around and upon them, things would not go well for them. If any of them were tortured or even closely questioned by either side, they would inevitably be found out, and all the protestations in the world wouldn’t help. The body of truth lies dead in the ditch in almost any war, a casualty of necessity and fear. Simply by virtue of their being Russian, they would be suspected and hated by anyone who caught them. What happened next would not be pretty, Peter thought. Especially for Natasha.

It is an interesting irony that in those cultures and times when women have been less equal, they have been more honored, treasured, and protected from war. Perhaps I am old-fashioned, Peter thought, grabbing a limb to steady himself as he stepped over a fallen log, but I know this to be true . Despite what many modern folks have come to believe, history reveals that when the artificial veil of civility is rent, and when the ghostly wisps and remnants of chivalry and ancient patriarchy are eradicated altogether and thrown to the ground during times of general upheaval… well, let us just say that throughout antiquity, and in every place and every time, women have fared the worst in times of war. Men are usually granted the dignity of just being killed, Peter thought.

He scratched his beard and glanced up into the sun. The more liberated the culture, the more horrible has been the treatment of women during and after that culture crumbles. Well, Natasha would have to be protected and watched over, he thought. She has no family left… that I know of . He looked around and watched the young woman walking behind him, and saw the lines of concern etched on her face. He determined that, even if she didn’t want it, he would stand in the breach and protect her.

All three of the travelers had some training. All three had gone through mandatory classes on spy craft, weapons, and tactics. However, they would now learn that there is a universe of difference between theory and the real world. Peter just hoped that the learning curve would not be too steep, and that the course in harsh reality wouldn’t kill them.

The air was crisp and cold and the sky was the bluest of blue—the kind of blue that seems impossible except by contrast. Every now and then a sharp breeze would blow and snow would fall from overhead branches where it lay trapped by pine needles and oak leaves. The snow, blown from the deposits in the trees, would swirl around them and make them uncomfortable, and, on a few occasions, it would crash down upon them, falling into their collars and sliding down their necks, melting from the heat of their bodies and trickling icy cold sludge down their backs in lacy jags, adding impetus to their chill. The cold on their backs mixing with the cold in their feet sent jolts through their systems to keep them moving ahead.

Coming over one low rise, they saw a small camp in the distance. They were far enough away and downwind so they hunkered down and watched the camp awhile from afar, wondering silently what they should do. The encampment seemed to consist of a few families, huddled around a roaring fire, their three large camping tents arranged in a triangle around the fire with the door flaps opening inward, toward the blaze.

Two of the campers, a man and a woman, were arguing loudly, and hints of words and voices tumbled through the icy air toward the hikers. They seemed to be married, the man and the woman, but it wasn’t entirely clear from the snippets of sound that reached the trio hiding along the ridge what the point of their argument was. Perhaps she was insisting on equality in the camping chores, or maybe he was blaming her for their current horrendous state. Whatever was their contention, it was clear that they blamed each other—as if either could have held back the uncertainty that now approached them. Pulling together in times of utter peril is a sign that the peril is understood and embraced. These people had no idea what they were in for, but they had camping gear, survival food, and with it, anger mixed with unhappiness. They thought they had prepared for occasions such as this, but now, as they argued in the cold, they found that they were woefully mistaken.

Peter turned to Natasha and Lang and put his finger to his lips, before whispering to them. “Obviously, these are some people who decided to ‘bug out.’ That’s the term used by preppers or survivalists who are of the opinion that they can rush out into the woods when things collapse and they’ll be okay. Volkhov purchased dozens of books that spoke of, or even encouraged, this phenomenon. He said that many Americans anticipated a major collapse of their society, but they were deceived in their ideas about how best to deal with it. Millions of people made rudimentary plans to escape the cities and towns by heading into the wilderness, but most of them have little or no training, let alone knowledge of what it would be like to live out here. They didn’t consider that there were millions of people, just like them, thinking the same thing. This will make things tougher for us.”

Peter looked down on the campers, shaking his head. “Most of these people are untrained and unpracticed, and their fantasies of wilderness survival will become nightmares within days. It won’t end well for them. But, some of the people we might run into are militia types and hard-core survivalists. These families here do not look wise or well trained at all. The other kinds—the woodsmen and real survivalists—they will have sentries and possibly scouts. We wouldn’t have been able to walk up on this ridge like this without alerting them. They’ll be better trained. Some groups might be benevolent, but others will be violent or criminally-minded. Many will be looking for trouble, for a fight. We’re better off avoiding all of them.”

Natasha chewed on the end of her glove, her eyes searching the scene in front of them. “Maybe they can help us?” she said, her voice betraying hope as well as innocence.

“No, Natasha, we mustn’t think that way,” Lang said, whispering softly. “One mistake and we could be done for. One individual or group that suspects us or is wary of us, or perhaps is just looking to steal and loot their way to survival, and we could all be killed. You heard the radio back at the plant before the EMP. Our world has changed, buttheir world,” he indicated with his hand the group in the clearing below and beyond that the wider countryside, “ their world has changed even more. We have to be smart, like Peter says.”

Lang reached over and touched Natasha lightly on her arm, and let his hand rest there a minute until she looked at him with understanding. He sympathized with her fears and even her natural tendency to trust and hope for the best, but that type of naiveté would have to be one of the first casualties of this conflict. “I agree with Peter. We need to avoid people at all costs. I’m already worried because we’re walking out in the snow, leaving a trail behind us. There’s nothing we can do about that, except try to track close to the trees and rocks. When we can get up on those rocks or exposed land, we do so. We stay midway up the hills and the mountains. Not in the valley, where we can be seen from above, and not on the peaks where we can be seen from below, but halfway up, as much as we are able, all of the time.

“But we don’t want to invite trouble by interacting with people,” Lang emphasized, looking Natasha in the eyes. “What if they know that the Russians are the ones that attacked? What if one of us slips up and speaks Russian?” He paused and let the questions answer themselves. “Even if we’ve had nothing to do with the attacks, we would be guilty in their eyes. No. Peter is right. Let’s just avoid people and look for a route that avoids contact as much as possible.”