Dark of Winter: Prepper Book Two

Chapter VI: Smoke & Mirrors

Two hours into the hike to Radio Hill Jake and I come across the smouldering ruin of a Calvinist church just outside of town. The column of smoke that rises skyward from the charred remains of the church had lightened and thinned somewhat from when we first spotted it forty minutes prior. This wasn't the first time a distant column of smoke has filled me with a sense of foreboding.

"That would be the second church to burn this week." Jake says putting both hands on his carbine and bringing the buttstock up snug to his shoulder. His head starts to swivel as he takes in all the details of the scene. For him this is instinct.

Jake is all done up as he usually is these days, in what he and Hartt often refer to as "battle rattle". Camouflage everything, webbing, chest rigs with half-a-dozen ammo pouches over top a ballistic vest complete with hard plate armour insert.

With the exception of my thigh rig where the .45 resides, my dress code is far less tactical. I probably look like I'm going on a pheasant hunt, with my plaid jacket and blue jeans ensemble, but I am warm and comfortable. My wardrobe is sorely lacking in earth tones with the exception of an old hand-me-down hunting jacket that is just too warm for a long hike on a nice spring day.

While I do find the burnt church peculiar, my reaction is delayed as I don't feel overly threatened. After a few moments I follow Jake's lead and unsling my rifle as well. We move cautiously toward what remains of the blackened structure and as we close the distance I can begin to feel the heat still radiating from it. "Where did Freya say they saw that other church?" I ask.

"East of town, fifth concession," Jake answers, pressing forward, gun ready.

"Did she say it was a mennonite church?"

"Yeah, something like that," he answers, his voice now a harsh whisper. "Cut the chatter."

I keep my other questions to myself and put some distance between us as I circle to the right. A change in the slight breeze that had been carrying the smoke away from us wafts the grey cloud in our direction.

"Ugh, what is that smell?" I say, crinkling my nose.

Jake moves up to the steps, there is still an archway for a door, but the roof has collapsed onto the landing. He muscles aside some debris to reveal the burnt remains of what could only have been a person.

"Burnt bodies is what you smell," Jake says.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Aw, man," I say shaking my head. "That's a shitty way to go."

Jake crouches before the grisly scene, reaches down and rotates the skull. "Yeah, except this guy was shot. Back of the head. I'm not about to dig through this whole mess, but my gut tells me there are more bodies in the same condition buried in  here."

"Cover me," I say. "I need to log this."

Jake comes down from the steps and takes position near me. I take a knee and grab my log book and pencil from my pack and jot down a few details of our unexpected detour. My usually poor penmanship is exacerbated by my shaking hands as I find myself a bit unnerved by this discovery.

"That should do it," I advise and return the items to my pack.

"Let's get out of here," Jake says.

"I'm with you on that," I agree and we strike off with a quickened pace toward our original destination.

* * * * *

"When you gonna stop carrying around that relic and get a real gun?" Jake says, antagonizing me yet again for my predilection for my father's old rifle.