Veil of Confusion: Kessler Effect, #3

"But if I go to the east, he is not there;

If I go to the west, I do not find him."

Job 23:8

"Though much is taken, much abides;

and though

We are not now

that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven,

that which we are, we are."

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

Chapter 1

They were up well before the sun. The items they would take with them had been laid out, sorted, packed, and then sifted through again and repacked. What could be left? What would they need?

Winter items on the bottom.

Food near the top.

Weapons in their pockets.

They’d prepared the night before and the night before that. Harper didn’t think they’d be able to sleep their last night in the old bus. She had thought they’d lie awake staring at the ceiling, imagining all that could go wrong. But she and Cade had both fallen immediately into the place of dreams and memories and hope.

They woke early. They always woke early, before the wild dogs had begun their foraging. There was little more to do than slip into their clothes and wait for the moment to shoulder their packs.

Cade had lit the single lantern and turned it to low. Harper drank in his profile—his strong jawline, warm brown eyes, slightly crooked nose. The nose helped him to fit into their world. No one should have movie-star looks, and Cade’s nose saved him from that. But it was his hands that caused a lump to rise in her throat. It was his hands that were scarred, strong, capable, tender.

We should eat something. He pulled out a piece of the hard bread they’d cooked in the campfire using a Dutch oven the day before, broke it in half, and handed it to her. Would you like some butter with that?

And jam. Strawberry please.

Neither smiled at the old joke. It had passed between them so many times that now it felt like sand slipping through their fingers.

Harper continued watching Cade as she attempted to chew the tack. Studying him, it seemed she could trace the path of their lives since June 6th. His arms had grown stronger and tan, and his hair long. The beard came in thick with a bit of gray—something that had surprised them both. His shoulders seemed broader to her, though she supposed that was impossible. One’s physique didn’t change because of the burdens you were forced to carry.

And yet they had changed—irrevocably.

Those first weeks of June weren’t something she cared to dwell on. The violence and terror and swiftness with which they’d descended into lawlessness. If she thought on those things, she was filled with a despair that threatened to strangle her.

Instead, she tried to call to mind the man she’d fallen in love with three months earlier and found she couldn’t. The face she stared at now was the only one she knew. It showed his abiding love for her, his concern for what they were about to attempt, and the strain of a life lived in El Paso’s northern barrio—otherwise known as Lugar de Los Muertos, or Muertos Norte for short.

Harper preferred northern barrio.

Cade pulled out his canister of filtered water, unscrewed the top, and passed it to her. The water was cold and a little gritty. The filters didn’t catch everything, but if the water was going to kill her it probably would have done so by now. Harper drank her fill, passed it back to Cade, and watched as he guzzled the rest.

Then he stood and refilled it from the collection tank. A pipe fitted into the ceiling of the bus collected rain water, which in far west Texas was precious little. The water slid through the pipe, passed the two sets of filters, and settled into the collection tank, which was actually an old galvanized stock tank. Cade had walked an entire day looking for that tank. He’d searched a dozen abandoned farms on the outskirts of town.

His water purification system was just one reason the bus would be claimed before they’d reached the edge of the barrio.

Harper peeked through a slit in the blackout curtains. A crescent moon dipped toward the horizon. She watched until she was able to see the outline of the Franklin Mountains, then nodded to Cade, and he doused the light. They left the bus more silently than the sun approached the horizon. They walked west.

Tía lived in a former FEMA trailer. The words were emblazoned on the side, though they’d faded in the harsh Texas sun. Harper didn’t know how old Tía was but would have guessed her to be in her eighties. She also didn’t know if the woman was Hispanic or Native American, though ethnicities had ceased to matter long ago. She didn’t even know if Tía had once had children or grandchildren. She lived alone and spoke only rarely of her life before.

Everyone called her Tía, and if there was a leader in the northern barrio, she was it.

No one entered the barrio without her approval.

No one dared to leave it without her blessing.

The rumors surrounding Tía were as numerous and varied as cacti in the desert. She’d healed a boy. She’d raised a woman from the dead. Her entire family had been killed in the fall. She’d always lived alone. She was a prophet or an empath or possibly a former spy.

Tía was sitting on the porch of her trailer, stroking an old tabby cat. How she managed to feed herself, let alone the cat, was a mystery. Harper suspected people dropped off a portion of what little they had, like sacrifices left on the steps of the Greek gods in hopes of finding favor.

Cade and Harper, it is good to see you.

Cade threw a glance at Harper. Tía had been blind for at least as long as she’d lived in the northern barrio. How she knew it was them was yet another mystery. Perhaps the loss of her sight had sharpened her other senses. It was possible that they walked differently or smelled differently.

What you have to tell me is best said inside. She gently set the cat on the ground, then pushed to her feet and led them into the single room that was her home.

One long wall of the trailer was fitted with shelves, and on those shelves sat hundreds of jars. Anyone who found a jar unshattered brought it to Tía. In turn, she filled them with herbs that she grew in the small plot of ground beside her trailer. That plot of ground was probably better guarded than the entire barrio. People depended on Tía’s herbs for medical problems, emotional problems, even spiritual problems. Harper didn’t know where the seeds had come from or how, given her blindness, Tía was able to tell one jar from another.

Once inside, Tía sat in the rocker and the cat jumped back onto her lap. So, you’re leaving?

Yes. Cade perched on the edge of the couch and Harper did the same. We wanted to say goodbye and to thank you…for everything.

You both have served an important role in our little community. The barrio will miss you, but your destiny does not lie here.

Harper let out a breath. She hadn’t realized, until that moment, how much Tía’s blessing meant to her.

Which direction will you go?

North, through the Franklin Mountains. Cade stared at his hands. We know to stay away from major roads.

Tía nodded and set the chair to rocking, studying the cat as her hand brushed it from head to tail, head to tail. Finally, she raised her head and offered a smile. Harper thought it was one of the most beautiful things she’d seen in a very long while—Tía’s smiling face, lined with the wrinkles of fate and time, her dark skin weathered to the texture of soft leather, still-mostly-black hair braided and pulled over her left shoulder.

"I am sure you have given this considerable thought. No doubt you are as prepared as two viajeros can be. She again stroked the cat. But you should go east, not north."

East? Harper’s voice broke on the word. There’s nothing…east.

Exactly. You will travel un-accosted.

I don’t understand. Cade laced his fingers together, elbows propped on his knees, and leaned forward. We need to go north. How will going east⁠—

Tía held up a weathered hand. The Guadalupe Mountains are full of caves, springs, even old cabins. The Mescalero Apache lived there for many years, and after that the white men came, looking first for water and later for oil.

McKittrick Canyon. Cade scrubbed a hand over his face. I’ve been there once, but, Tía… The next words were offered gently, nearly a plea. We need to go north.

Climb the mountains to the east. You have your spy glass, yes?

Cade hesitated, glanced at Harper, and finally nodded. Harper wondered again how the old blind woman could be aware of their silent communication, because Tía waited for that nod, then continued.

You will be able to see a great distance in every direction from Guadalupe Peak. Possibly you will even see your future. And if there is danger and destruction, as you fear, you will see that too.

Cade looked to Harper then and waited for her response. Harper didn’t know Tía’s history or what gifts she actually possessed, but she was certain that her words had the ring of truth to them. She nodded once, and it was decided. They would abandon the route they’d so carefully planned. Instead, they would walk east.

Chapter 2

Cade watched Tía again struggle to her feet. He had no doubt she would have slapped his hand away if he’d attempted to help. This woman represented so much to so many people, but for Cade she epitomized two things—the past and the future. If there was anything in their collective past worth remembering, it was Tía and all she stood for. And if there was anything in their future to hope for, it was also her and her ability to see a path through the veil of confusion that surrounded them.

Tía represented kindness and truth and compassion more than it seemed a single person could. She had somehow survived the horror of the previous months, and she’d kept those qualities intact. In fact, they shone brightly from her person like starlight piercing a pitch-black sky.

She stopped in front of Harper and placed both of her hands on his wife’s head. It should have been a funny sight—though Harper was sitting and Tía was standing they were practically the same height. But it wasn’t funny. It touched Cade’s heart at its core and caused an ache that he might once have considered a heart attack.

Harper was young and strong and vibrant.

Tía was old, fragile, full of a quiet wisdom.

She was nearing the end of her life on this earth, less than one hundred pounds, and helpless if judged by the ways of the world.

She closed her eyes and spoke in an old tongue, one Cade didn’t recognize but thought might be a combination of Hispanic and Apache. As he watched, tears slid down Harper’s face and a smile spread across Tía’s. Finally, she leaned forward, kissed Harper’s forehead and wished her Godspeed.

Harper stood, looked at them both, then whispered, I’ll wait outside.

Tía sat beside him on the couch. You are a strong man, Cade. Strong with a quick mind and a good heart. That’s a rare combination.

His pulse raced as he anticipated what she would say next because her expression had changed to one of grave concern.

Harper is also strong, but she needs you, Cade. You must protect her. You must protect the child that grows within her. You must see that they both reach a land where the child may thrive. Traveling east will be slower, but speed is not your goal. Your goal is to see those two settled in a safe section, and though you believe that to be New Mexico, it is not.

How had she known their final destination?

How had she known Harper was pregnant? They’d told no one, and she’d yet to experience any morning sickness. Only eight weeks along, she wasn’t showing yet. If he hadn’t been a doctor in the former world, he might have missed the signs himself.

Look at me, Cade. Do you understand how important this is?

Yes. The single word seemed to catch in his throat, and he made no attempt to stop the tears coursing down his face. Their destination had been Cloudcroft, or at least that area. He’d heard the rumor more than once—a small group beginning a new community in Lincoln National Forest. He was determined to find them.

Go east.

But north is where we need to be. East will more than double our distance.

If you go east, you will arrive where you need to be before winter sets in.

By then Harper will be in her second trimester.

Go east, Cade. Stay in the canyons until you’re sure it’s safe to travel farther. Should I be wrong—and yes, I have been wrong before—you can still make Cloudcroft by late spring, early summer at the latest.

But if we go north⁠—

She covered his hands with hers. They were small, brown, ancient. If you go north, you will not make it at all.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t know how to answer.

Your way east will be difficult, and there will be times… She turned away, stared at something on the far wall of the trailer and swiped at her own cheeks. When she turned back, her face glowed with an expression of calm resolve. She again reached for his hands. Clasped them. It’s possibly the most important thing you’ll ever do, but I have faith in you, Cade.

He nodded once—finally giving in to this new reality with the same stoicism he’d accepted the fall of his old world. Then they both stood and he embraced her. It was like putting his arms around a bird. He felt the breath go out of her as she sighed, and it washed over him reminding him of the time he was twelve and had been baptized in the Brazos River.

When she stepped away, he cinched up his pack, thanked her one more time, and stepped outside.

Harper turned, studied him, then nodded once.

They set out for the east side of the barrio.

It was no problem leaving the barrio. Many left to scavenge for food or weapons or clothing. Those finds had become increasingly rare, but people still searched. Their leaving would not raise suspicions. The packs they carried might. Harper was adept at telling a lie so that it rang of truth. It was one reason she’d been a bestselling author. Now she used her skill to talk her way past the guard at the east wall.

Morning, Cade. Harper.

Liam.

Cade shook the man’s hand as Harper adjusted the straps on her pack—purposely drawing Liam’s attention to it. Liam Contreras was tall with a bushy beard that seemed to fan out in all directions. His hair had grown long and was pulled up in a topknot. He seemed affable, even seemed like someone they could trust.

But how could they know for sure?

It’s possibly the most important thing you’ll ever do…

Why are you two up and about so early? And why are you going out this way? Nothing but desert. No one’s passed through this gate—coming or going—in over a month. I’m not sure why we still bother to guard it.

It’s my fault. Harper stared at her feet. When she glanced up, Cade was surprised to see her blushing. I need a few hours free of…

She looked back the way she had come, her lower lip trembling. Blinking back her tears, she cleared her throat, then continued. "I told Cade if I didn’t get out of the barrio for a couple hours, I