Chapter 79
Charlotte woke up to the soft glow of lantern light in the corners of the barn and the sound of rain tapping on the roof.
Mason was curled up against her side. She could feel that her lungs were worse.
The infection had settled into a constant burning sensation.
As she sat up and adjusted her mask, a coughing fit seized her, doubling her over.
When it finally passed, she checked the inside of her faceplate. When she emerged from the barn, she saw Helen moving through the settlement. The woman carried a map case under one arm and held a radio in her hand. She nodded to Charlotte.
Charlotte studied the map. Her route west had changed since the shoreline. The bridge at Shepherdstown was gone, the fighting had moved, and what had been a straight line toward West Virginia was now a series of detours dictated by whoever held the ground ahead.
The detour added at least eight hours. The route climbed north into the mountains before cutting west through old logging roads and abandoned mining infrastructure.
“It’s rough terrain,” Charlotte said.
“The horses can handle it if you’re careful about the footing. The advantage is that nobody’s fighting over it because there’s nothing there worth fighting for.”
Charlotte looked at Mason, who had emerged from the barn with the dog at his heels and was adjusting his mask with small, careful hands. “We’ll take the detour,” Charlotte said.
Helen folded the map and handed it to Charlotte. “Keep it. The annotations are current as of yesterday’s transmissions.”
They loaded the horses in the light rain. The settlement had given them dried apples, a flask of boiled water with salt, and a packet of antibiotics that Helen had produced from the medical stores with the flat statement that Charlotte needed them more than the settlement did.
“These are the last of that batch,” Helen said. “Use them. The clinic at Mill Gap might have more, but don’t count on it.”
Charlotte thanked her and secured the antibiotics in the saddlebag. The exchange carried the weight of resources given by people who understood scarcity. Mason climbed onto the gelding, and Charlotte settled into the mare’s saddle, gathering the reins. The dog took position at the rear.
They rode north along a creek road, entering the cover of the trees.
The rain intensified as they ascended, cooling the fever within her hazmat suit enough to make the infection manageable for the time being.
Mason rode in silence, observing the trail, the trees, and the dog as it moved through the underbrush.
Charlotte had learned to interpret his silences, recognizing them as meaningful rather than empty.
By midday, they had climbed high enough that the valley behind them was visible through breaks in the cloud cover.
The settlement had transformed into a cluster of dark shapes against the lighter farmland.
Beyond it, the ridge where the watchers had reported movement the night before was devoid of anything except trees and low clouds.
The detour took them along an old logging road, weaving through oak and maple trees.
The horses navigated the path with steady patience, and Charlotte allowed the mare to choose her footing on the steepest sections, conserving her strength.
They passed a collapsed cabin, its roof caved in.
Farther on, a rusted truck sat half-submerged in ferns, its hood open.
The terrain changed as they descended the northern slope.
The forest thinned, revealing signs of old excavation, and they crossed a stream that ran orange-brown over the stones.
The mare hesitated, but Charlotte urged her on.
Gradually, the mining town came into view.
The road improved, turning to packed gravel, and then the structures appeared: corrugated metal and weathered wood, most with intact roofs but vacant windows.
At the center stood a processing plant, and beyond it, rows of identical cabins lined the old streets.
There was no smoke, lights, or movement, only the sound of the rain on metal roofs and the occasional gust of wind shifting through gaps where doors used to be.
Charlotte reined in the mare to stop at the edge of the town.
Mason’s gelding halted beside her, and the dog emerged from the underbrush, sitting at the horse’s feet with its ears perked up and its attention focused on the empty streets ahead.
“Stay close,” Charlotte said.
They entered the mining town at a walk, and Charlotte felt the silence of a place abandoned but not forgotten.
Someone had lived there recently. The evidence was in footprints not yet washed away, in doorways where mud had dried, in the lack of dust on surfaces that should have held it.
The town wasn’t empty. It had been emptied.