Haven Hold Exclusive Preview

RCN Media
Jul 1, 2020
28 min read

Prologue

The chaos of Armageddon began at a time when society had grown decadent and wasteful, raping the environment of natural resources, polluting the air, the soil and the oceans with the waste products of their technology, a time when even human lives had become just another expendable resource to exploit. A handful of rich and powerful people controlled the destiny of billions. Humans had vastly over-populated the world, to the point where very little living space remained for other species and they began going extinct at an alarming rate. A group of elite scientists came together for a conference to brainstorm for ideas to save the environment, with among them, a brilliant genetic scientist named Kyle Lorenzana.

Lorenzana offered a detailed plan to reduce the population, restore the balance of nature and enhance the human species. The other scientists deemed him insane and laughed him out of the conference. But later, a handful of others with similar views contacted him, and they established a partnership. Working together they built a hidden, illegal facility in an isolated location and began refining Lorenzana's plan and working towards initiating it. They carefully crafted several genetic retro-viruses.

Though later legend would blur the truth and claim the existence of only seven ‘plague mothers’, the renegade scientists actually dispatched three waves of plague carriers, each with a different purpose in mind. The first and second waves each numbered fifty individuals. In the first wave, each individual unknowingly carried a highly contagious virus that manifested as a mild, short lived fever. But when the fever ended the reproductive cells had been genetically altered, so people began giving birth to children with horrifying defects and random deformities, many of whom could not survive. Efforts to trace the cause failed. While the virus itself soon got pinpointed, no one made the connection to the sudden spreading rash of mutations. Tensions flared between rival territories, each suspecting the others of biological experimentation and terrorism. Numerous wars broke out and millions died.

While the world scrambled to find an antidote to reverse the effects of the first wave, in their secret laboratory the renegade scientists completed and sent out the second wave, another virus, similar to the last, but this one designed to trigger specific mutations intended to enhance humanity, to accelerate and channel human evolution.

Within months after the second wave, the outlaw scientists completed and dispatched the third and final wave -- sixty-five carriers, dispersed to every inhabited corner of the world, infected with seven of the deadliest, fastest killing diseases known to man. Anyone infected by either of the earlier waves became automatically immune to the effects of all the others -- a safeguard to make sure the enhancements didn't succumb to the third wave or get deformed by the first. Within two years after the third wave, the world population had plummeted from billions to barely one million worldwide. Civilization collapsed and the few people remaining became little more than animals, fighting tooth and nail for survival. In a few isolated locations, small pockets of genetically pure stock remained untouched by any of the three plague waves, and in one of these groups the Armegeddonist religion began, through a grim determination to maintain the 'purity' of the original human form. The Armageddonists ruthlessly killed at birth any children born with any slight defect that fell outside their narrow concept of ‘normal’. They deemed mutants ‘spawn of the devil’. Over the centuries to follow, as civilization gradually got re-established, those poisonous ideas gained popularity, and because they dehumanized mutants, a slave culture quickly sprang up to exploit them.

As our story begins, the terrible weapons used in those ancient wars have changed the geography and much of the land remains sparsely settled, especially in the north. But isolated communities remain connected through trade routes travelled by the Kithtrekker trade caravans. Slavery has become a thriving business. However, over the generations, the natural pattern of humanity has begun to reassert itself, so that mutations caused by the first wave have become less and less drastic, making it harder to distinguish mutants from normal people. With a slave culture now well established, life for free mutants remains a battle, living in fear, hiding from slavers and soldiers and raiding farms and caravans for resources and a chance to strike back against overwhelming injustice.

Chapter One

There's a fighter inside who will never give up;

We are what we are and it's never enough;

Write the words in the sand

That this man will come again.

You may run from the sea and the words disappear,

Oh, you may fall to your knees,

But the power is here to survive,

It's shining again -- the spirit of man!

It's shining again!

-Chris DeBurgh

The lone traveler drew his cloak tighter as wind whipped a gust of rain along the open track. Spruce forest loomed on either side, lashing and ominous. Twilight spread beneath the brush of storm clouds to wash the world with a dull stain. Gradually the layers of night built to a density so opaque the traveler could no longer see. But he dared not stop. This late in the year, at this elevation, rain could easily turn to snow and trap him in the pass. He felt sure his destination could not lie more than a few miles further. He strained his eyes for a glimpse of lamplit windows. Normally the dark generated no fear in him, nor did he usually fall prey to imaginings, but this storm seemed consciously malevolent. Needles of wind driven rain penetrated his cloak and soaked him to the skin.

Lightning strobed the night, etching the world in purest black and white. In that brief flash he realized he had wandered off the trail. Thunder growled, so deep he felt the vibration in his diaphragm. He looked back and an amputated tree limb slapped him wetly across the face. He turned forward again, lashed onward by the storm. For hours he stumbled over roots and tripped over deadfalls until, covered with dirt and rotting leaves, he felt bruised and chilled to the bone. At last he caught a distant glimmer of firelight, beckoning invitingly through the trees. He hurried toward it thankfully, anticipating the hospitality of the hold, the warmth of a dry bed, a meal and companionship.

A branch cracked loudly under his foot, and abruptly something tightened around his ankle and snatched his feet from under him, hoisting him into the air. He screamed, more from startlement than pain or fear. Swinging in the upside-down, chaotic darkness, he struggled like a drowning man, not sure which way was up. His pack slid off and landed with a thud. He could only hope nothing had broken, but at least it helped to orient him. He had triggered a snare, he realized, one intended for much larger game than rabbits. His belt knife sliced through the braided rawhide and he dropped heavily, sprawled half atop his pack, adding a few new bruises to his collection.

As he climbed to his feet, lightning briefly illuminated the night, imprinting on his retinas the image of a tall, menacing figure with drawn bow, arrow aimed straight for his heart. He dropped the pack and knife and cried, "Peace! I mean no harm!"

"Who are you?" Those quiet words seemed to float disembodied on the wind, coming from no fixed direction.

"Name's Kurdy. I'm a trader."

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A long, tense moment passed, during which Kurdy wondered how many surrounded him. This was definitely not a standard holder reception. Mutants lived in these mountains too, many with good reason to hate normals like himself. The life of a solitary trader presented many hazards, and Kurdy knew of several men who had died gruesomely at the hands of mutant raiders. His heart felt like a wild animal trying to pound its way out of the cage of his ribs. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from clattering.

"I got lost in the storm. Headed for Macy's Hold. I would really appreciate a hot meal and a dry corner to sleep in."

The night thrummed silently with unspoken distrust like a subsonic vibration. Hospitality seemed an increasingly unlikely possibility, and Kurdy began to think he might feel lucky to escape with his life and his goods intact. Fingers abruptly clamped onto his shoulder from behind.

"Walk."

"My pack," Kurdy protested.

"I have it."

This seemed not a good thing, but Kurdy moved without resistance as the hand and an occasional terse word directed him through the trees in a circuitous route that apparently avoided more traps. Dim firelight flickered behind hide covered windows as they approached a roughhewn log cabin. His captor reached past him to open the door. Kurdy stumbled in and went to his knees in front of the fire, holding chilled fingers toward the warmth gratefully. A half empty pot of stew sat on the hearth and the smell made Kurdy's mouth water and his stomach cramp with hunger. His pack landed beside him with a thump that made him wince. His host stepped back into the shadows before Kurdy could get more than a brief impression of broad shoulders, a hard young face, high cheekbones and a mane of dark hair.c

"Help yourself to food. It should still be warm."

"Thanks." Kurdy wasted no time accepting the invitation, and soon scraped the last mouthful from the bottom of the pot. With a sigh of repletion, he sat back a little and let a belch roll out of him.

"I sincerely appreciate your hospitality," he said, "May I know the name of my host?"

"Daniel."

"Ah...a good Armageddonist name.” The Armageddonist cult had started a thousand generations earlier out of a grim determination to annihilate all mutants in order to preserve the purity of the human race. “Are you an Armageddonist?"

"No." The flatness of the reply left no room for further inquiry.

"Are your friends not coming in out of the storm? It's not a fit night to wander."

A quick glance around had already informed Kurdy that the cabin only housed one, but he still felt unconvinced that Daniel had remained alone out there. Crouched in a shadowed corner near the door, his host turned to study him. A chill shivered down Kurdy's spine as the firelight caught in Daniel's eyes, reflecting a flat, cold light like the eyes of a wolf just beyond the campfire. Mutant!

"My friends prefer the storm to company," Daniel replied with a certain wry amusement.

The mutant rose from his crouch in a smooth, graceful movement. "Bed down wherever you wish," he said, then stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

Kurdy slept lightly, rolled in a blanket before the fire, but Daniel never returned. The storm blew itself out some time after midnight, and morning dawned clear and crisp. Kurdy made a trip to the nearby creek to wash up and relieve himself, then returned to the cabin. With sunlight shafting in through the open door and washing the interior with a warm glow, he had enough light to do a quick inventory of the mutant's belongings. Most looked crudely functional, obviously made by Daniel himself, with some skill but no embellishment. In one corner Kurdy found a stack of hides and furs, beautifully tanned to soft suppleness. He held up a luxuriant snowcat pelt admiringly when a shadow suddenly darkened the doorway. Daniel entered and stood staring at Kurdy, his eyes strangely animal-like. By daylight he looked both more and less intimidating . . . more because the muscular strength of his body became clearly apparent . . . less because his tense, guarded expression hinted at hidden vulnerability.

"What are you doing?"

"Sorry," Kurdy apologized quickly, replacing the furs. "I'm a trader. I just wanted to assess what you might have worth bartering for. You have some lovely pelts here."

Daniel studied him narrowly. "You would trade with a mutant?"

"I'll trade with any honest man who has something to offer."

Daniel appeared to consider the idea. "I doubt you have anything I need."

"Perhaps not," Kurdy smiled, "but I may have something you will want."

He opened his pack and began laying out his wares for inspection...ribbons, lace, sewing needles, knives, axe heads, fish hooks, combs and cutlery, mirrors...one cracked after last night's misadventures...soap, candles, jewelry, several lengths of fine fabric, thread in a variety of colors, a handful of pre-Armageddon artifacts whose purpose remained a mystery, a pair of small handguns but no ammunition, a belt made of seashells, three small stone carvings of animals, several lengths of rope and a single mouth harp, obviously well used by someone.

The mutant studied the array with little enthusiasm. He picked up an iron axe head and felt its edge, then put it back, fingered the jewelry curiously, sniffed the soap and played a run of notes on the mouth harp.

"Have I nothing you want?" Kurdy asked, disappointed. He had picked out five of the best furs and set them aside hopefully.

Daniel hesitated, studying him with a frown. "Your cloak." A tightly woven garment of thick, warm wool dyed a dull grey-brown, it had comforted Kurdy through numerous adventures. "The sun is warm and the hold lies only a day’s walk away. I'm sure you could trade for another there."

"Alright," Kurdy nodded, eyeing the coveted furs. "But since this cloak is the only thing between me and the weather, I'll have to make you pay dearly. I'll want these five pelts in exchange."

"Fine," the mutant shrugged indifferently.

Kurdy almost chortled aloud at the ease of it. He could buy a dozen cloaks for the value those furs would bring. He repacked his wares and at the last minute offered Daniel an iron axe-head in exchange for a hide in which to bundle the furs.

Daniel guided Kurdy back to the trail and gave him directions to the hold. Kurdy thanked him again for the food and shelter. As he started off again, the mutant called after him, "The holders don't know I live up here. I prefer that it stays that way." Kurdy waved in acknowledgement and trudged on, plans to return already forming.

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The mountain reverberated with the thunder of hoofbeats as two dozen armed and mounted holders cantered up the rocky trail. Like an avenging army they swept into the clearing and swirled around the cabin in confusion, searching for enemies to shoot. One young holder leaped off his horse and ran to the door. Without even trying the latch, he kicked the door in while a companion covered the opening with a rifle. But no mutants leaped out or cowered within. The young man quickly ransacked the single room.

"There ain't no plunder here. Just a pile of furs he probably trapped himself." The holder gave Kurdy a suspicious glare. "What makes you so sure he's a raider?"

"Shut up, Gilly," one of the older men snapped. "Who gives a shit if he's a raider. The only good mutant is a dead one."

"He implied he had friends," said Kurdy, "but he obviously lives here alone. There may be a raider village nearby."

The holders rifled through Daniel's possessions greedily, confiscating anything of use or interest. Then they set fire to what remained. Sparks and smoke swirled skyward, filling the crisp mountain air with the acrid scent of destruction. A crow flew down to land in a tree at the edge of the clearing. It scolded them with a fury and agitation that seemed unnatural. Flames bit hungrily into the peeled logs and the holders shouted and laughed triumphantly as they sorted through the pile of belongings they had looted. Flames swept over the porch now, and suddenly a half-grown fox cub darted from beneath it, more terrified of the approaching fire than of the men who had set it. With a shout, Kurdy drew his handgun and aimed carefully at the small, rusty blur, then fired. The young fox sprawled, yelping in agony at it rolled on the ground and tried to drag itself to the safety of the trees. Kurdy stalked over to the terrified little creature and stood over it, grinning as he pulled the trigger. The fox cub jerked and then lay still.

"You didn't needa do that," Gilly scowled.

"Don't you get it?" Kurdy laughed. He whirled to aim at the frantic crow. "These are his 'friends'! Varmints, just like him." His shot clipped the branch and the crow retreated in a flurry of feathers, disappearing into the forest. Kurdy swore. "Damned mutant is half animal himself with those eyes. He's a handsome devil though. Bring a mighty nice price on the slave market. Any of you ground holders wanta help me hunt him down?"

"Nah, we got work waitin' back home. We just didn't want no raiders squattin' in our back yard. Reckon this will send a clear enough message. You can take Faris if he's willin’. He's our best tracker.

Faris nodded his agreement, and his brother Gilly unexpectedly volunteered as well, eyeing Kurdy with thoughtful suspicion.

* * * * *

From the concealing shadows amongst the trees, a pair of wild mutant eyes watched the holders pack up their plunder and depart, leaving two of their number with Kurdy, setting up camp in the clearing. This was not the first time Daniel had experienced betrayal, nor the first time he had been hunted and driven from his home. His life to this point consisted of years of social isolation and then one betrayal after another. He had known about the hold in the valley below, but the normal people, or ‘norps’ as most mutants called them, rarely ventured into these mountains, and Daniel had stayed well away from their territory. In the two years since he retreated to this remote mountain sanctuary, Kurdy was his first human contact, and the result once more confirmed past experience. Daniel's heart felt like a stone in his chest, solid and leaden -- except a stone could not hurt so much. He had loved that little fox.

To Daniel caution meant survival. He had long ago explored possible escape routes in case of attack, and he had prepared traps along those routes, most of which he could quickly set in passing. He emptied his emergency cache and headed deeper into the wilderness, travelling west and north through the roughest, rockiest terrain he could find. An expert at misdirection, he seldom left much sign, but a light snowfall on the second day of pursuit made hiding his passage virtually impossible. They pressed him hard for days, allowing him little time to rest. The tangled set of false trails he left should have confused any except the most expert of trackers, and the pitfalls he set, though not deadly, should have discouraged even the most determined slavers. Yet still they came on.

The seventh day of pursuit dawned grey and dismal, threatening more snow. With every instinct and sign indicating the hunters still followed, Daniel resorted to more dangerous and drastic measures. Across the face of a sweeping incline of rocky alpine meadow, he left an artfully hidden trail that hopefully would draw his pursuers into the final trap without arousing suspicion. When he reached the safe concealment of the trees once more, he paused to cut a stout walking stick, then climbed to the ridge above the meadow, where he could overlook the trail. There he crouched behind a jumble of loose boulders, waiting patiently, the prey become the hunter.

The shrouded sun reached its zenith and started to slip lower again before the hunters finally appeared, moving slowly out of the trees and across the slope of the meadow. The snares and pitfalls they had encountered over the past days had taught them caution and a profound respect for the ingenuity of the man they followed. Daniel watched narrowly as they traversed the slope below him, noting with satisfaction that Kurdy moved with a painful limp. The trader must have fallen afoul of one of the spring snares or trip lines that guarded Daniel's backtrail.

Directly below the mutant's vantage point lay a shallow cave, and Daniel waited tensely until his trail led the hunters to its mouth, where his tracks abruptly disappeared entirely. He listened as they argued, the holders wanting to give up and turn back and Kurdy stubbornly trying to convince them that the rewards would be worth the trouble once they captured the mutant.

Chapter Two

Daniel quietly inserted his staff beneath the keystone in the pile of boulders he had designed himself over a year ago, with just such a desperate situation in mind. As he leaned gradually on his lever, the boulder shifted slightly, making a dull grating sound. From below came sudden, startled silence. Daniel threw his weight into the effort, and with slow, majestic inevitability, the huge rock lost its balance and crashed down the slope, initiating a landslide of lesser rocks and boulders in its wake. He heard a scream from below, but cautiously kept his head down until the sounds of shifting rubble ceased. Then he moved west along the ridge a few yards before venturing a quick look. The slope of the meadow lay strewn with debris, but he could see no bodies. With his bow armed and ready, Daniel retraced his steps down from the ridge and across the meadow, where he carefully quartered the slide, searching for some evidence of his enemies. A number of rocks, including the keystone, had landed and piled up on the level before the cave mouth, completely burying it, trapping inside anyone who had taken shelter within, just as Daniel had planned. He moved closer to examine the results of his handiwork, when he heard a low moan of pain nearby. Quickly following the sound, he came upon one of the holders, right on the fringes of the slide area. The man's left leg lay twisted at a grotesque angle and splintered bone thrust whitely through a ragged, bloody tear in his breeches. The holder saw Daniel coming and scrabbled around frantically, searching for some kind of weapon. He had lost his rifle and could find nothing better than a fist sized rock that he clutched desperately. Daniel crouched a few yards away, studying him and the jumble of rocks, uneasily aware that the man's two companions remained somewhere nearby, possibly still alive.

"Where did your friends go, norp?” he demanded softly.

The young man's face twisted into a grimace. "It was you, wasn't it? You caused the slide! God damn you, mutant raider slime! You killed Faris!"

"You burned my home and stole nearly everything I had. I built that cabin with my own hands. Two years I lived on that mountain and I never once offered any harm to you or your people."

"You going to kill me?"

Daniel assessed him thoughtfully. "I might consider putting you out of your misery . . . as an alternative to leaving you here alone with a broken leg. Which would you prefer?"

The holder remained silent, shivering with shock and pain, trying not to show his terror. He expected no mercy from any wild mutant.

"Did you see what happened to Kurdy?"

"If I did, I wouldn't tell you."

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Daniel rose and stared down at the holder impassively for a long moment, considering his options. He felt tempted to just leave the man to his fate. But while his friends looted and burned Daniel’s cabin, this was the only man who had expressed doubts over the justice of what they were doing. Daniel wondered if Kurdy had it in him to care enough about the holder’s welfare to give up the hunt. He moved back over the rubble of the slide to crouch silently before the mouth of the cave, listening intently. His eyes moved constantly, searching his surroundings for any sign of movement. From deep inside the rockpile he heard scraping, shifting sounds, so faint another might not have been able to detect them. Someone definitely lay trapped within, trying to dig his way out. Daniel went back to the injured holder and squatted near him, warily raking the tree line with his gaze, still not convinced about the fate of the third man.

"Kurdy's in the cave. Should take him a few hours to dig out. I can set that leg for you, but you will have to convince that snake to take you back. If he comes after me again, I'll kill him. And then you'll be on your own."

The holder blinked in surprise and relief at the unexpected reprieve. He watched as the mutant walked away again, cautiously entering the forest edge. A few minutes later, Daniel returned carrying an armload of wood. He built a fire near the injured man, saving out a few straight pieces to use for splints. Then he settled into position beside his patient.

"What's your name," he asked quietly, as his knife skillfully slit the leg of the holder's breeches.

"Gilly," the holder gasped painfully.

"Well, Gilly, I'm no healer, but I'll do the best I can. This is going to hurt like hell, so brace yourself."

Daniel gently straightened the leg, then took a firm grip on the holder's ankle and began to pull, twisting slightly to bring the bones into proper alignment. Gilly screamed once in agony, then fainted. Daniel winced at the sound, less from sympathy than from apprehension. Real raiders dwelt in these mountains, territorial gangs, and he had no more desire to meeting them than the holder did. He felt rather than heard the dull snap as the bones locked together. With a few quick slices of his belt knife, Daniel smoothed the splints, then carefully wrapped the fabric of the breeches back around the leg to protect flesh from rough wood as he laid the splints in place and bound them firmly. His crude doctoring complete, Daniel went back to the cave mouth to listen. The sounds of digging had grown noticeably louder.

"Kurdy," he called loudly.

The digging ceased, then a muffled voice answered, "That you, mutant?"

"It's me, you treacherous scum. One of your holder friends is missing and the other has a badly broken leg. Once you get out of here, I suggest you get him to a healer as quick as you can, before infection sets in. If you abandon him to come after me, you will die as surely as he will."

Daniel heard no answer, but he expected none. He returned to the fire and built it up a little, leaving a supply of fuel where the injured man could reach it. Gilly lay awake again and he studied the mutant with open puzzlement.

"Kurdy told us you were a raider."

"Kurdy's a damned liar."

"I guess I sort of suspected. I'm . . . really sorry about your cabin. Thanks for the doctoring. The leg feels a lot better."

"It's a pretty crude job. Don't let him waste any time getting you to a proper healer. You could die of blood poisoning if that wound gets infected." Daniel rose with easy grace and took his leave.

He traveled only a short distance that day, then spent several hours the next morning lying in wait, watching his backtrail for any signs of further pursuit. When at last he moved on, he headed north, down out of the mountains and into the foothills. He felt fairly certain no one followed, but he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the past as the season would allow. Before him stretched the barren lands, dry rolling hills and sparse vegetation. He filled his water bag and started off into the desert, sure no one would be foolish enough to follow him into such desolate country. He took no chances though, travelling by night across the open, treeless hills, avoiding the skyline and making cold camp at dawn in whatever cover he could find. By the fifth day his water ran out. Far ahead he could see a line of green and the sight kept him going. Two days later that promise seemed little closer. He found a drift-water pool and filled his water bag gratefully, drinking his fill of the muddy tasting liquid before it seeped away to surface in some other place. No one knew for certain what caused drift-water . . . some suspected distant rainstorms in the mountains simply caused the ground water to rise, but that didn’t explain why the pools never seemed to appear in the same place twice. In any case, those who found the random pools usually felt too grateful to question.

At last the desert came to an end. A sheer, towering escarpment rose before Daniel, forming an impassible barrier that stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction, as if the world itself had been split in half and put back together askew. A broad fringe of forest bordered that wall to east and west, and Daniel felt thankful when he once more gained the shelter of the trees. The deprivations of the grueling journey had left him worn to the quick and facing a bitterly cold winter with no supplies or shelter. Even now a few flakes drifted on the wind, growing more numerous by the moment.

* * * * *

An icy wind swept down the valley from the north and moaned around the wall encircling Haven Hold. Young Jesse Hayes shivered as he stood atop the guardwalk that encircled the inside of the wall He gazed out over the barren hills to the south. Almost thirteen, Jesse was a slender lad in an age of flux, one moment a serious, mature young adult, the next a heedless child. He brushed dark, windblown hair out of his eyes and turned to his partner.

"I saw a few flakes earlier. Do you think we'll have time for one more hunt before first snow?"

Hutch came to stand beside him, idly examining the view, scanning for any hint of trouble. "I doubt it. I smell a storm coming." Five years older than Jesse, Hutch had a stockier, more muscular build. "Best keep moving," he said, giving his young partner a nudge. "Stand still too long, you'll freeze up."

Jesse obediently paced along the guardwalk, gazing out over the bare fields, empty now of all but stubble, much of it already plowed under for winter fallow. All the signs pointed to the likelihood of an early snowfall and a long, cold winter. The boy cast a warm glance over his shoulder at Hutch. The hold council had assigned the partnership almost a year ago, soon after Jesse's twelfth birthday, when he had graduated from the classroom. Hutch's job was to guide and train his young partner, teaching him responsibility and the skills of hunting and wilderness survival.

Jesse felt a bit disappointed at first by his assignment to Hutch. The boy had hoped for partnership with one of the more exciting, flamboyant young men, like Hutch's older brother, Tye, or Andi Tayler, who just last spring shot a mutant raider, though not in time to save his cousin Martin from the raider's spear.

A quiet, gentle man, Hutch had a penchant for collecting strays. The hold's half dozen cats descended from a pair of starving kittens he found, whose mother had gotten killed in one of the hunter's snares. Hutch had found another of his strays, Davin Mattias, wandering in the desert, the sole survivor of a raid by mutants on a trading caravan. Wounded and untrained in wilderness survival, Davin was half dead when Hutch and his brother Tye came across him. They guided him back to Haven Hold and he had stayed on to marry into the Sorenson family.

Over the years, as Hutch continued to collect strays, the holders joked and teased him about it. He just smiled good naturedly and accepted their ribbing. He rarely showed anger except in defense of another. A solid, steady and dependable young man, he hardly seemed the adventurous hero type to excite a young boy's imagination. Jesse, however, found Hutch to be a fair minded and considerate partner. Some of the senior partners acted smug and superior with their juniors, leaving any disagreeable tasks for the younger boys to perform. Hutch always treated Jesse with respect, like an equal, and if unpleasant work needed doing, they did it together.

Today they stood guard duty, though their shift was almost at an end. As the hour grew late and the light dimmed, the parties of foragers, wood cutters and hunters returned for the night. If Hutch’s weather sense proved correct, they would not go out again tomorrow. During the winter months the Haven remained reasonably safe from raider attack. Heavy snows prevented use of the treacherous trail down from the plateau, and few marauders cared to travel far during freezing weather. In spring the holders had to remain most watchful though, for then the raiding mutants, bored and hungry after a long, idle winter, searched for easy prey. But for now, the holders had the long months of cold to look forward to: weeks snowbound within the walls, warm nights of storytelling around a cozy fire, favorite projects, put away during the busy seasons but brought out now and lovingly labored over. Winter became a time to relax and play games with the children, sit and spin the wool sheared last spring, sew clothing and make those small repairs about the hold that always waited for someone to find the time.

They had filled the pantries and storage rooms to bursting with salted, dried and smoked foods of all kinds, dug the root vegetables and stored them safely in underground cellars; the silos and granaries overflowed with wheat, rye and oats and the hay lofts groaned beneath their loads of fodder. The animals sheltered snuggly in their respective barns, horses and cattle in one, sheep in another and pigs in a third. As the holders waited for the first snowfall to lock them in safety, cutting them off from the rest of the world, they felt confident that they could survive anything winter might throw at them.

Booted feet clumped up the stairs to the guardwalk, and Jesse turned to see his cousin Rennie and Hedy Kendle coming to relieve the lookouts for supper.

"Dinner time, boys! Cochita made cabbage rolls and fresh apple pie for dessert. You'd better hurry before it's all gone."

Jesse whooped in anticipation. He would have headed straight for the dining hall at a gallop, but Hutch encircled his shoulders in a warm, brotherly grip and he immediately subsided.

"Sounds good," the older boy said. "Everything seems quiet out there. With this storm on the way, anything with any sense is under cover."

"Yeah, feels like it's going to be a bad one," Rennie answered.

With a nod to the two relief guards, Hutch said, "Let's go, partner,” and they headed for the dining hall at a sedate and mannerly pace.

* * * * *

Several miles away, someone else thought longingly of hot food. Daniel had remained on the move now for nearly three weeks. Through the barrens, the snares he set mostly remained empty. He could barely remember the last time he had tasted fresh food or warmed himself with a fire. He crouched now with his back against the escarpment wall, stolidly chewing his last strip of leathery venison, considering his next move. He needed to find shelter of some sort before the storm hit. He shifted a little to ease a cramp in his leg. Lack of rest and proper food had brought him to the ragged edge of exhaustion.

Though barely into his twenties, years of bitterness had given Daniel a wary distrust he wore like armor. He drew his woolen cloak closer around him as the wind bit sharply. He liked the nondescript colour of that cloak that blended with his surroundings and camouflaged him from all but the sharpest eyes. When still, he remained virtually invisible.

He rose stiffly at last and started off again, following the cliff, hoping to find a cave or an overhang where he could shelter for the night. Seen from behind, no one would take him for a mutant. His proportions looked normal and attractive, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and long, muscular legs. Even his face looked mostly normal, with high cheekbones, straight nose and fine, sensitive mouth . . . until one noticed those strange mutant eyes. They gave him a dangerously alien appearance. Abnormally large irises the color of spring leaves showed no whites around them, making them look like cat eyes, except that the pupils were round. In dim light those pupils expanded to take up most of the iris, giving Daniel superb night vision.

The cliff Daniel followed curved gradually northward until he faced directly into the icy, cutting edge of the gale. As twilight faded into darkness, wind-driven snow began to fall in a thick curtain. He pulled a fold of cloak across his face and kept going, one half frozen hand trailing on the rough surface of the rock so he wouldn't lose it. In the hypnotic swirl of snow, even his exceptional night sight became useless. He lost all sense of time. Hours seemed to pass as he stumbled on, numb both physically and emotionally, lulled by the utter sameness of the spinning black and white that surrounded him. It seemed so peaceful, so undemanding, soothing to his battered spirit. He felt a powerful urge to lie down and just let the snow cover him in a soft, warm blanket. Nothing mattered; no one would miss him. But a tough core of stubbornness drove him on. He simply refused to surrender.

Daniel stumbled and realized he had lost track of the wall. Nothing lay on his right except more dancing snow and darkness. He finally realized dimly that he had discovered the mouth of a side canyon. He shuffled into it, thinking to at least get out of the direct wind. He felt surprised how quiet it seemed away from the gale's bluster. The snow came down softly, almost welcoming. Again, he almost lay down to rest, but some inner alarm warned him he would never get up again. He found the wall and began following it once more. It seemed to take hours to walk the length of the box canyon. He found nothing that would serve to shelter him . . . no caves, no hollows in the wall, no deadfalls, not even a large tree with trailing branches. Beginning to despair, he turned and started following the north wall back toward the entrance.

A rabbit saved him. It burst from the accumulated snow cover almost beneath his feet to bound away into darkness. The shock of the sudden violent motion sent Daniel gasping and reeling, abruptly startled from his snow trance. He staggered and fell against a thicket of brush that grew against the wall at that spot, flinging out a hand to catch himself against the cliff face. It met nothing solid. He lay for a moment, stunned. It felt so good to be horizontal that for a while he didn’t move. Then the thought slowly penetrated his dazed brain that the brush had hidden some sort of opening, a cave or something. He slowly crawled into it, feeling around with his numbed hands. It would be just his luck to find this shelter already occupied by a bear or snowcat. But as far as he could tell, it lay empty. The hollow allowed enough room for him to sit upright, but not enough to stretch his arms out straight to either side. It had a sense of depth to it, but he didn't try to explore any deeper. If something shared this shelter with him, he preferred to not disturb it.

He built a small fire out of the dry litter that carpeted the floor, the tiny flame not much more than the flickering of a candle. He fed it twigs carefully broken from the underside of the brush where the damage would not show. Even now, half frozen, he carefully left as little sign of his presence as possible. He sat right over the scanty fire with his cloak wrapped around him like a tent, hoarding the meager heat. In time, warmth began to seep back into his chilled body.

* * * * *

Daniel woke with a start, shaking with cold. He had fallen asleep in exhaustion and his fire had long ago burnt down to cold ashes. From the mouth of the cave, daylight filtered through the brush, dimly lighting the narrow confines of his shelter. A draft chilled his back. He turned and looked deeper into the hollow that sheltered him. Light seeped around a corner of stone and washed over the rough walls of a natural tunnel. Crouching low, he followed it as the shaft narrowed toward another entrance. He found the opening just large enough to allow him to crawl stiffly to its mouth and peer out cautiously. For a moment, sunlight glaring off snow dazzled his eyes, but they quickly adjusted. He gazed out on a tiny oval valley surrounded by sheer, towering cliffs. Slowly, he ventured out, wary and alert. He quickly reconnoitered the little canyon, which only covered about four and a half acres, most of it thickly wooded with alder saplings. He found no signs of human intrusion, nor in fact any signs of life at all except a few sparrows and one squirrel, its cheeks pouched with last minute nuts to add to its winter hoard.

With increasing confidence, Daniel began a more thorough exploration. At the north end of the tiny canyon he discovered a small pool, frozen over, and a sculptured sheet of ice in a frozen cascade down the cliff face, where an underground spring seeped through the rocks. A little to the east, he came upon an old landslide of jumbled boulders. Covered and softened by snow, it appeared an easy incline to the top of the cliff. He carefully picked his way over the rocks, taking his time, knowing a slip could mean a broken leg. In his present circumstance, such an injury would prove a death sentence. The top where the rough trail came out on the rim of the plateau he found choked with high bushes and brambles, and that suited him just fine. That entrance remained well hidden but not inaccessible. Just in case, he rigged a trip line and alarm system across the top of the trail. He had decided to stay. He liked this little sheltered valley. It's only two points of access remained well concealed. With the thick brush growing around the rim, the valley itself seemed likely to go unnoticed, but if by chance his refuge should get discovered, he had an escape route in either direction. When spring thaw came, he would have his own private water supply. All he needed now was a shelter and something to eat.

Leaving the rest of his explorations for later, Daniel went back to the outer box canyon and set a few snares. His need for food outweighed his concern about leaving tracks in the snow. Anyone wandering about in this freezing weather would likely not venture into this dead-end canyon, but he left a maze of false trails just in case. The sky had begun to cloud over again anyway, with more snow on the way. He built another small fire in the shelter of the tunnel and made some tea out of pine needles and snow water. It didn't do much to ease the ache of hunger, but at least it warmed him. After a while he went on with his inspection of the pocket valley. Against the east wall he found a small clearing and the dark mouth of another tunnel or cave. He made a torch to explore this new hole. He had no idea how deep it might go, and even his cat eyes couldn't see in total darkness. However, the opening turned out to be shallow, with a short, narrow entry that gradually widened into a fair sized cavern, about twenty feet by fourteen. He could not believe his good fortune. Here he had, created by nature, the perfect dwelling place -- snug, dry and fireproof. They might be able to drive him out or kill him, but no one was going to burn his home this time.

Three days later, Daniel discovered the proximity of the Hold. The weather had cleared and he spent the morning exploring the nearby rim of the plateau, setting snares along the way. Then suddenly he spotted a distant plume of woodsmoke rising in the still, frozen air. He crouched at the edge of the plateau, studying what he could see of those distant walls. He could not see any figures from this far away, but it looked like a large establishment, well fortified and capable of housing over a hundred people. And less than five miles from his refuge. He felt tempted to pack up and leave immediately, but in this weather such a move could prove more foolhardy than staying and risking discovery. He would have to wait until spring, when food became easier to find and shelter less of a mortal necessity.

Daniel moved back from the rim and headed for home, leaving a network of false trails to confuse any attempts to track him. He felt thoroughly depressed and disheartened. It seemed he could find no place to escape the treacherous proximity of people.