After the Day

by Matthew Gilman

  Amir held his rifle in hand and refused to set it down. He was convinced that the army would be back and became more paranoid as Fatima opened the can of food, black beans.

  She grabbed the pan off the counter and filled it with water from a bottle of water in her bag. She carefully stacked the wood in the fireplace and put some dried moss on the bottom for starter. When the fire was confident and fed itself she hung the pot over and poured the rice in with some curry for flavor.

  Amir watched the windows even when the sun completely fell and he couldn’t see anything.

  “You can sit down, enjoy yourself for a bit.” Fatima tried to reassure him. He grunted and still wouldn’t let the rifle out of his hands. It had become a shield for him, not the weapon that it was intended to be. Just holding it made him feel safer.

  Chapter 11: Three years after the Day

  The evening was finished with a ration of items that were handed out to the congregation. While everyone was eating mostly rice and corn bread the Reverend sat in his house enjoying bowls of squirrel stew and homemade pumpkin pie. He wanted to teach his followers that they had to earn their meal by following God’s law.

  Isabel entered the house and walked past the table. She snatched a piece of pumpkin pie and exited the room to the stairs.

  “You’re not going to give your father a hug?” the Reverend called out. The footsteps stopped and she turned around. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and kissed him on the cheek.

  She rushed up the stairs and started to prepare herself for the evening’s excitement. She had seen John earlier when her father was preaching. She couldn’t wait to have him inside her again. Between the boys from high school and the men she had been with after the fall he was by far the most exciting in bed.

  There were rules to being with a preacher’s daughter. She had learned them fast when she first discovered the joys of sex. Number one: don’t do anything that could get you pregnant. Many would think that would limit what could be done in the bedroom but if you had a creative mind it wasn’t hard to still have fun. Part of the excitement that came from fooling around like she did was that the type of sex she enjoyed was forbidden by the church. While her vagina was off limits she opened herself in other ways to still enjoy the feel of a man.

  When she left with the patrols to gather goods for the camp she would also grab lingerie that she found, if it fit, and add it to her collection. It was difficult to find items that fit her bust, and tiny frame.

  By kerosene light she applied make up and picked her outfit for the night. She enjoyed feeling desired. She felt that way with the black garter belt and stockings, matching see through lace bra, and a robe to cover her body as she snuck through the camp to John’s tent. What attracted her to John was that he never seemed to buy into her father’s ramblings. His tent was on the outside of the group. He was more likely to fill her desires without feeling guilty about it. She threw some items in a bag and tied her robe. It was pitch black out except for the fires around the camp. She would make her way around the outside of the camp to John’s tent.

  Crawling out of the window and down the trellis she quickly moved away from the house. She snuck around the camp as she had done so many times before and stopped at the spot where John’s tent should be. She looked around, found the fire pit he made, the logs that sat around it, she could tell with her feet where the grass had been pressed down and died over time. John was gone.

  She was angry. There were advantages to screwing a preacher’s daughter. There were also disadvantages if you pissed her off, and she was very, very, pissed off. She would wait until morning to find out where he had gone. If he had just moved his tent elsewhere and not told her it would be one thing, but if he left the group for good…

  You never leave a girl and not say goodbye, especially her.

  Chapter 12: Three years after the Day

  Betty and Paul had been hiking for a week and a half straight. Their food supply dried up and when they tried scavenging for food there was none to be found. Betty, a former college student in her mid- twenties survived the last three years using her degree in botany. She knew how to spot edible plants, however, it’s hard to get the calories necessary to survive through plants alone.

  Paul, a former mechanic and weekend hunter, pulled out all of his old tricks and started hunting and trapping once things went down- hill. Together they started working to feed themselves. Eventually between them and the other people around them, food became scarce. The only thing they could do was move on.

  Staying away from cities they traveled south. The idea was that food was more plentiful year round in warmer areas. Betty was sure they weren’t farther south than Lake Michigan. Paul didn’t worry about it. He figured they would eventually stop once they found a place that could support them.

  The sun was starting to set and Betty spotted a clearing in a group of trees.

  “We should set up camp here,” Betty said.

  Paul agreed and dug a quick Dakota fire pit to hide the light and needed less wood to burn. Betty looked around for edible plants and Paul scouted for some meat to eat. Before sunset both of them were back at the camp with their catch of the day. Betty had a bag filled with wild onion, mint leaves, cat tail roots, and some wild raspberries. Paul brought back the main dish of raccoon and squirrel.

  “Is it sad that I can’t wait to sink my teeth into some coon?” Betty said while Paul cleaned the raccoon.

  “Naw, it would be sad if we didn’t have the coon.”

  The reply summed up their current life and how things were. Betty still missed being able to stop into a fast food place and pick from a menu. These days she was happy to have anything to eat.

  “I want to find a place by the water. Somewhere that has crawfish. That’s what I want, some fresh crawfish.” Paul said gutting the raccoon.

  “What are crawfish?” Betty said picturing fish that crawl out of the water.

  “They are like little lobsters but grow in fresh water. You pull the tail off and pull the meat out then suck the brains out with all of the flavor. It’s like eating crab.” Paul said.

  “You had me sold on lobster and lost me on brains.” Betty said pushing the onions into the ribcage of the raccoon.

  They placed the raccoon above the fire pit and let it cook for a long time. Both of them knew the danger of eating raccoon that was too raw and snacked on the berries.

  The sound of twigs snapping in the woods caught their attention. It could be a wild animal that smelled the cooking meat. Paul grabbed his bow and arrow. He notched the arrow and looked into the dark woods.

  “What is it?” Betty said.

  “Hopefully a volunteer for more dinner.” Paul said.

  Another twig broke closer to the camp.

  “I don’t know if I’m willing to volunteer for dinner,” a man in a camouflage hat said.

  Paul stood still cautious of the new visitor.

  “What do you want?” Betty said.

  “I’m sorry, smelled the food. Heard the voices. It’s been a while since I’ve seen anybody else around here. Thought I’d say hi.” the man in the camouflage hat said.

  “Well you said hi. You can leave now.” Paul said still holding the bow and arrow.

  “No wait.” Betty grabbed the squirrel that they hadn’t cleaned and handed it to the man in the camouflage hat.

  “Thank you very much,” the man said.

  Everybody was silent. The man with the camouflage hat stepped back and put his hand in the air. He snapped his fingers and a knife appeared in front of Paul’s face. A hand grabbed his forehead and pulled his head back exposing his throat. In one slicing motion both jugulars were cut and Paul dropped to the ground in a gargling noise. A woman stood behind his body holding the knife.

  Betty stayed put trying to figure out what had happened. Her mind froze from trying to process everything too quickly.

  The woman that had cut Paul’s throat moved to Betty. She stood over her wi
th blood still dripping from the blade.

  “No. Not her.” The man in the camouflage hat said.

  “Why?” the woman said.

  “She was nice to me. Besides we only need the one. Let’s see if she’s willing to join us. We can always use her later.” The woman wiped her blade on Paul’s non- moving corpse and placed it back in its sheath.

  The man with the camouflage hat threw the squirrel on Paul’s corpse and walked up to the girl. He grabbed her chin and looked at her face. She was frightened and shaking. He enjoyed the smooth skin of her face which was flawless.

  “Yes she will do nicely.” the man with the camouflage hat said.

  “Fucking pig.” the woman said.

  “Hey, you want to eat. I have other desires.” the man with the camouflage hat said. “Let’s get him tied up and back to camp. It’s dinner time.”

  Chapter 13: Three years after the Day

  John walked the streets of the city in the blanket of night. He moved slow and quietly paid attention only to his surroundings and the time. Morning would be here too soon. He was looking at not sleeping for a few days if his plan worked. He carried his pack with everything in it. Food, water, clothes, tools, tent, and a sleeping bag. He carried his M4 rifle. This item was the reason he left the way he did. Had he told the group he was leaving they would take his rifle. It was his. He bought it, carried it, and used it after the Day. It was exactly like the one he had in Iraq. Nobody was taking it away from him, even people that were speaking for God.

  It took an hour to reach the city on foot. It was another hour to find the neighborhood that he had found the girl in. He wished he had said something to her. The fear in her eyes when he found her. He knew there was strength in numbers but becoming a part of the preacher’s congregation was an act of desperation. If he didn’t find her, he knew it was better to be on his own. In either case he had made the right choice and now set on his mission to find the girl and hopefully save her life. He took enough lives in Iraq, now it was time to give back and save one if he could.

  All the streets looked different at night. The moonlight helped with navigating the streets but didn’t help with making the houses look familiar. He found the old Mexican market at the end of the street. Then he counted the blocks until he was in the area where he found the girl. Finally, he found the house.

  He hoped she would be in there. Would she be armed now if she was? Was there a way to signal to her first or tell her he was here to help? He set his pack next to the front stairs and instantly felt like he was fifty pounds lighter, because he was. He checked his M4 and readied himself. He checked the door knob and found it locked. That was a good sign. He had left the door open when he left. He was going to scare the shit out of anybody that was in the house but kicking the door was the only feasible option. He stepped back. Counted to him-self…

  “Hands up, Muthafucka!” yelled a man from the side of the house. At first John didn’t move. “I said hands up!”

  John let the gun hang from its sling and raised his hands. He couldn’t see the man that had snuck up on him.

  “Is the girl here?” John decided to ask. What was the worst that could happen?

  “The girl?” the voice replied. “What girl you mean?”

  John now heard the accent. Middle Eastern. Whoever had the gun on him was working on their English before the fall.

  “There was a girl here yesterday. I need to find her.” John continued.

  “You need. You need girl, why. You want to rape or kill. That’s all you people do now. Things go bad, blame the brown people. No food, kill brown people. First you kill blacks, then brown. Not same God, kill them too,” the man was rambling. John felt the gun against his back. He wondered.

  Hands still up, he caught the man mid- sentence and spun around. Wrapping his arms around the gun he pointed it up and pushed the butt stock into the man’s lower abdomen. He pulled the gun back and fell against the door. He spun the large weapon around and pointed it at the man.

  “I’m not here to kill you!” he yelled at the man. “Now get your hands up until you figure that out.”

  He still sat against the door, gun raised. He was able to feel it out more, wooden stock, bolt action, and a long barrel. He figured it was a Mauser or maybe a world war two relic of some kind. In any case he knew it was loaded because the man wasn’t attacking him. He started to get up, a complicated situation where he was. He pressed his weight against the door. Then suddenly…

  He fell back, his mind moved quickly. He looked up and noticed he was now in the house, laid back facing the ceiling. The rifle sat against his chest. He placed his arms out to catch himself but it was too late. The back of his head hit the floor, leaving him in a daze. Then there was the girl. He thought it was her. He could see the outline of her body, a woman’s body. She was holding something.

  Just as he was coming back to reality the item in her hands came crashing down on his head. Everything turned pitch black.

  Fatima stood above the man in the doorway. The frying pan in her hands still heavy and ringing from the strike. She looked at Amir who still had his hands up. She looked at him, then the gun lying on the man’s chest. Amir quickly moved to the man and grabbed his rifle, then the second gun that he unhooked from the sling. Fatima grabbed the man under the armpits and dragged him into the house. Amir ran back outside and grabbed the man’s pack. Once inside they closed the door and locked it again. They didn’t know how much time they had. They had to either leave and hope the man stayed unconscious or tie him up and learn what they could.

  “What do we do with him?” Fatima asked.

  Amir looked around. He opened the man’s pack and started shuffling through the belongings. Amir noticed something. This guy wasn’t out as part of a force, he was leaving.

  “Why does he have this stuff?” Amir said.

  Fatima looked at him with a blank face.

  “It doesn’t make sense.” Amir threw items out of the pack. “Why was he asking about you?”

  “Me? You sure?” Fatima replied.

  “He said, ‘where is the girl?’” Amir said. “Is this the man from before? The one that was here?”

  She looked at him. She moved around the floor so he wasn’t upside down in her vision.

  “I think so,” she said. He looked young. The clothes were the same except for some new additions. “Yes, it’s him.”

  Amir thought quickly. “Ok then. We tie him up.” He went into the basement and came back up with the duct tape that was in his pack. “We need answers.”

  John awoke sitting in a chair in a dark basement. He could smell the musky air. There was the blue hue of morning coming through the basement windows. He couldn’t call out, his mouth covered. He looked around and found his arms were taped behind him and his legs taped to the chair. He tried to pull the tape off his wrist but it didn’t work. He moved around and was able to scrape the chair on the floor. Then he heard movement up stairs. Footsteps were moving across the house. He figured it was the man from the porch. If he was going to be killed it would have already happened.

  A beam of light appeared from the stairs and he heard the thumping of footsteps. Suddenly the room was filled with light and his eyes hurt to adjust. He looked away and still didn’t know who was standing before him. He thought about his knife and gun, everything was gone. He could tell his pockets were empty. He was completely at their mercy.

  “Why are you here?” a woman’s voice asked.

  He looked up and saw her. In the light of the lamp she was beautiful. He tried to talk, say something but the tape was still over his mouth. It sounded like a muffled mess.

  She grabbed the tape “no yelling,” she said. She pulled the tape that tore at his facial hair. He groaned but that was the extent of his noise.

  “We have to get out of here,” he said. “The Lords Army is coming back this morning. They are trying to hunt down the last of the survivors. If you want to live we have to leave.”


  “The Lords Army?” the name insulted her. Killing in the name of God, it never made sense to her. “Whose lord?” Fatima asked.

  “Whose? It doesn’t matter.” he looked at the woman before him. The look on her face told the seriousness of his situation. “The Reverend’s lord. The one that I don’t believe in. The reason I’m here trying to get you and me out of here. Look I don’t buy into all of his godly bullshit. I’m leaving town, getting as far away from those religious assholes as I can.”

  Fatima listened.

  “Why did you say, where is the girl? Earlier to Amir.” she asked.

  “I was looking for you. I didn’t want them to find you. If I wanted to hurt you I would have said something earlier when I was here.” He raised his eyebrows, a gesture to show that what he said made sense.

  She looked back at the stairs. Then she turned to him. She pulled a knife out and he heard the click of the blade. At first he was scared. She could easily cut his throat and leave him. Who would know?

  She cut the tape on his legs then moved behind him and freed his arms. He sighed in relief and stood up. She pushed him back down into the chair.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “We are not done talking.” she said. “Who are you?’

  “My name is John,” he said. “Yours?”

  “Fatima,” she said.

  “This is all fine, but if we don’t leave soon they are going to find us. We can get acquainted on the road.” he stood up again. She didn’t push him this time.

  “Can you tell your friend that we are coming up?” he said to her. Fatima called up and Amir responded with what sounded like a grunt.