Under a Broken Sun

by Kevin P Sheridan

  Tommy twisted his knife in his hand. "FUBAR."

  "The world got bigger," Bill sighed as he cleaned up the table. "The bigger it got, the more separate we became. You woulda thought it would be the opposite, but information came at us from so many different fronts we didn't know what to believe. Truth vanished, and people who used to trust their elders, their 'representatives' started trusting blogs full of bullshit. Pretty soon your next door neighbor became a source of lies and misinformation. That's what feeds Hill's people. They want to know the truth, but can't get it anywhere except from him. They've forgotten how to ask questions."

  “Did they say where they were going?” I asked.

  “Chicago. Same as you.”

  “But how – did they say how? Like what route?’

  “We didn’t get a chance to chat much,” Bill said. He turned and leaned against the sink. “Those of us with guns used ‘em. Those without, well, they didn’t last long. They took any children they could find. Said they shouldn’t be raised this way, outside the Lord.” He looked down to floor. “Killed my wife, too.”

  We fell silent. So many people being killed, either by nature or man.

  “Do you have any of those guns we could borrow?” I said softly.

  Bill smiled. “Oh yeah.”

  We followed Bill down to his basement, to a locked room. He took out his keys and unlocked the door. Inside, walls of neatly organized display hangers held up every type of gun imaginable. Automatics, shotguns, small uzis, handguns, everything.

  Louie’s eyes lit up in his little fourteen year old head. “Whoa,” he whispered in reverence. “You shoulda used these against the bad guys.”

  “I did,” Bill replied. He picked up an M-16, handing it to me. “We’ll need more ammo.”

  Tommy refused the shotgun, holding up his own. Bill whistled in appreciation. “An old Garand.”

  “E11 version,” Tommy said, smiling. “My dad took great care of it. Still packs a wallop.”

  “I bet,” Bill said, handing it back to Tommy. “Keep it close. Saved quite a few butts in the great one. Might save yours. Here.” He tossed Tommy a box of thirty caliber bullets.

  We saved an AK-47 for Tolbert then loaded up clips and filled our backpacks with the ammo. Bill handed an Uzi to Ashley: short, snub-nosed, easy to fit in her small hand. “You, um, do a lot of hunting with these?” She asked.

  Bill picked up another automatic that looked like my M-16. “Didn’t used to,” he said, shoving a clip into the weapon. “But I’m ready to start.”

  For the next several hours Bill took us through the basics of handling guns. Turns out we’d been doing it wrong the whole time. Look down the site; never put your finger right on the trigger until you’re firing; put the butt against your shoulder; aim low, the gun kicks up.

  Tolbert, of course, didn’t need any lessons. We let him sleep.

  The five of us sat outside staring at the stars around a fire Bill had set up. “You ever kill anyone?” Bill asked me.

  “Yeah. A few,” I said. I still had nightmares about it. The Wheezer back at the WA-WA. No wait, that wasn’t me. That was Marilyn. The guy in the woods? No, that was Louie trying to turn life into a first-person shooter video game and Tommy saving my ass. I guess there was only one.

  “Just my dad,” Tommy said. I looked up at him as he loaded up the Garand. Tommy stared hard at me, saying, “He killed my dad.”

  “You killed his dad?” Bill asked me. I looked at Tommy.

  Tommy nodded. Bill didn’t ask anything further. I'm glad he didn't go into it. I feel bad for Tommy that he lost his dad, but I did what I had to do.

  Bill stood up. “Sun’s coming up. Time to get some shuteye. Back inside. We’ll leave at dusk.”

  “We?” I said.

  Bill collected up the guns. “Yeah. I’m coming too. If you don’t mind. I got nothing now except vengeance, and I can’t do anything about that here.”

  I must’ve looked a little pissed at having an old fart tagging along.

  “And don’t worry, ya little shit,” Bill said, reading my mind. “I can take care of myself. Have been since you before you were swimmin' in your daddy's scrotum.”

  Ok, I admit it. I kinda liked this guy.

  22.

  Over the next week we made about a hundred miles at a pretty good clip. Bill drove us hard, stopping only for a few minutes of rest or a shit-break. The oxygen seemed to have leveled off, and our relatively healthy lungs did ok. Even Ashley’s body seemed to adjust to the changing temperature and her cold went away.

  One day, as the sun set, we gathered up our supplies in our new collection of backpacks to resume the march. I still had the army one that had lasted through an earthquake, a flood, monsoon rains, and its first battle of the new era. Bill watched me pack it up. He picked up the swollen, water-logged Kerouac book.

  “On the Road, huh?” he said, turning it over in his hands.

  “Yeah.” I watched him read the back, a small smile appearing on his face.

  “I loved Kerouac,” he said softly. He handed the book to me. “Hold on to that. It’s rare. First edition, looks like.”

  “Yeah, I think it is.” I put it in the backpack. Rare. I thought about eBooks, and the work done to get books like this onto computers. How many books are lost because of that? Some may never have made it to hard copy. Rare, indeed.

  Bill nodded as we packed up to go. “Good thing we're behind Hill's army," he said. "Got the element of surprise going for us. They’ll probably have to camp before they reach Chicago. We can scout them out, sneak through their lines, and report back to your dad before they get there.”

  I agreed. But it sounded too easy.

  Just before we left a sound drifted up through the air – distant, but melodic.

  “French horn,” Bill said. I’d never really paid attention to music; screams and guitars comprised most of what I listened to. But this, this was something different, something that I’d never experienced. Maybe it was our isolation, or the new world we walked in, but this music floated around me like the ghost of a gorgeous woman. It played for a good half hour as we walked away from it, leaving the notes hovering in the air. I had a hard time with the ensuing silence.

  Further down the road, Tolbert caught up to me, making small talk to kill the time. "So we're going to Chicago because your dad says so?" I didn’t like his tone.

  "Yeah. Sent me a note."

  "And who's your father again?"

  I explained who he was, watching Tolbert's eyes carefully. Was there any spark of hatred? Concern?

  Couldn't tell, but it didn't seem like it. Still, I paused revealing too much.

  "So he hates Christians?" Tolbert asked.

  "No, he hates religion. I think he feels sorry for Christians. They get this dogma pounded into their brain as kids, and then are expected to make a choice when they've been living with this fear their whole lives."

  "Sounds like an asshole."

  I wanted to hit him. No one rips my dad.

  Except me. So I couldn't hit Tolbert, but I was amazed to feel a part of me even wanting to. Defending my dad felt foreign.

  Tolbert pointed to my cross dangling around my neck. "And that?"

  I looked down. Then at him. "Serves a different purpose." I walked a little faster, ending it before I hit Tolbert just for asking too many questions.

  Finally we came to another small town in southeastern Ohio just outside of Columbus. “Welcome to Oxnard”, a sign greeted us. “Home of the Fighting Rebels”.

  Not anymore.

  The town, with its village green and stately little courthouse, sat silent and asleep in front of us. Ashley let out a breath. “This is it,” she said. “This is my home.”

  I looked at her. Tears welled up in her eyes. Without waiting for an answer she turned down the main street and bolted into a run. “Ashley!” I called to her. In the blackness of the dusk, with only a thin line of orange slicing the horizon in two, she disappeared in
to a bouncing shadow in the distance. I ran after her.

  “Ashley!” I called. Finally she stopped in front of an old, average-looking house only a block away from Main Street. A chain-link fence surrounded a small front yard that grew weeds tall enough to devour the rotting steps up to the porch. The fence hung on its poles like a condemned prisoner. I heard the footsteps of the others clomping down the street towards us.

  I stood next to her. She grabbed my hand and led me to the front door, like a child leading their parent to something important they want them to see. I turned around at the front door and saw the others coming through the fence gate behind us.

  She pushed the front door open, which whined in protest from days, maybe even weeks of never being touched. I could tell from the interior that bad news waited to be uncovered somewhere inside. A smell hit us that literally made us gag. I took out a bandana and gave it to Ashley, who held it up to her nose.

  The front door opened up to a family room, with a small television in the corner, a rectangular, wooden coffee table, and a matching couch and chair covered in a dusty flower pattern. Pictures dotted the walls with a family of three, seemingly happy and having fun, smiling down at us.

  Ashley sat down on the couch sobbing. I sat next to her as the others came in through the front door. She let out a scream and kicked at the coffee table. Then she lifted it up and flipped it over, so that it landed on its head with a thud. I reached out to her and pulled her back down to the couch. She cried and put her head in my chest. Her sobbing caused her to hyperventilate. I knew I had to calm her down or she’d pass out. I just rocked her back and forth, shushing her.

  “It’s ok,” I said. “Whatever it was, it’s over. It’ll never happen again."

  Louie came over to us and sat next to her. “What happened here, Ashley?” He asked. “Were you hurt?”

  “My dad,” she said, never making eye contact. “He came home drunk one night when my mom was at work. About three years ago. I was dressing up for my eighth grade formal. He liked to drink, but I’d never seen him like this. He said I looked like a slut. He said I need to change. I told him I didn’t want to. I was short, he was tall, and he scared the shit out of me. But I was fourteen. A grown woman. I was gonna stand up to him.”

  She wiped her eyes, then got down and turned the coffee table over. She ran her finger around the edges. “He hit me,” she went on. “I hit this corner right here. It hurt like hell. I wasn’t out, but I wished I was. I wish I had died,” her voice trailed off.

  She sat back down with us. Bill, Tolbert, Tommy stood like guards letting her tell her story and making sure no one interrupts. “Then,” she went on, sniffling, struggling for words. “Then, he raped me. I was barely awake enough to know. I didn’t want to know. It was like something was happening to you that you were sure couldn’t be happening. Like a nightmare where everything in your room is where it’s supposed to be, but there’s a dead body hanging from the ceiling. I tried to fight him off, but honestly, in my condition I don’t think I even raised my arms.”

  She sat quiet for a while. “Is that why you ran away?” I said. “Did you ever tell your mom about this?”

  “No. My dad left us,” she said, looking up at me. “For good.”

  I nodded. Probably a good thing. Then Ashley added five words that made my stomach flip. “I made sure of that.”

  Silence. I didn’t need to know more. I didn’t want to know more. She stared at the table, seeing the ghost of her father everywhere in the room. There’s nothing scarier than ghosts – especially when they’re yours.

  “After that, I ran away. Thought I’d change my name, my persona. Nobody’d look for me. Nobody did. My dad wasn’t missed. One day I decided to put an ad in Craigslist to my mom. She reads that thing religiously. I just said, ‘Mom, I’m sorry, love Lee-lee.’ I waited to see if she responded, but she didn’t for like, six months. Then, one day, I saw she responded. ‘Lee-lee, come home.’ That was it. So I bought my ticket and got to the Philly airport, when...”

  She started to cry again. I put my arm around her, expecting her to fold into my arms again, but she sat rigid. Unmoving. “Now I’m probably too late,” she whispered.

  A voice, weak and in the distance, said her name. Ghostly. No one was speaking or moving, so it came through clear. It came from upstairs.

  Again. Ashley seemed to recognize the voice. Struggled with a memory. “Mama?” she said suddenly, then bolted out of the sofa upstairs, yelling “Mama!”

  I followed her. She darted to the left at the top of the stairs and into a room covered in pink, with a queen sized bed taking up most of the room, and a lump under the covers in the middle. Her mother.

  “Mama,” Ashley said, falling to the bed beside her mother.

  The skeletal figure turned and whispered her name again. “I’m here, Mama,” Ashley said, taking her mother’s hand.

  Her mother lay motionless under the covers; thin and inhuman like an alien. Her body struggled to inhale, and exhaled with a sigh of relief. A bottle of pills stood watch over her beside her bed. I came in next to Ashley.

  Mama smiled, and it seemed like it took one hell of an effort. I looked at the bottles. Vicodin. Heavy stuff for pain.

  “I waited for you,” Mama said. “I wanted to see you again.”

  “What happened Mama,” Ashley asked, tears leaving white streaks down her dirt-covered face.. “Why are you like this?”

  “No food,” her mother dry swallowed. “No water.” She looked up at the ceiling. “No help.” The others appeared at the top of the stairs, I waved at them to stay out. This was Ashley’s time. I thought about leaving myself, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

  “I love you, Mama,” Ashley said, holding her mother’s hand up to her cheek. Her mom looked over at her, neck muscles creaking at the effort. Her eyes caught mine, and for the nanosecond I stared deep into them, I saw the real woman, not this shell. She smiled at me, and tears welled up in my eyes. She knew she was going to die. She waited for it, holding it off until she saw her daughter, with a power I couldn’t even imagine.

  “Is this,” she said with another swallow, “your boyfriend?”

  Her eyes caught Ashley’s, and Ashley let out a small laugh. “No, Mama. This is Adam. He's a friend. He saved my life.”

  “Pray for me, Lee-lee.” Mama said. “Pray God forgives me.” Her face wrinkled up and her eyes grew red, but no tears fell. “Pray that he forgives me for not being there for you.”

  “I will, Mama. I will.”

  “Hurts,” Mama whispered. “Hurts so much. My pills.” Ashley turned to the nightstand. “Water?” Mama said. Ashley reached into her backpack and drew out a bottle. “Give me my pills.”

  She placed a pill in her mother’s mouth, then, with a gentle hand she tilted her mother's head up to sip the water. Mama swallowed in pain.

  Ashley and I both knew what was coming next. Mama had her Lee-lee with her. The world held nothing else for her.

  “Another,” Mama said.

  Ashley broke down, paused. "No, Mama," She whimpered.

  Her mom nodded. "Please?"

  “Ok, Mama,” Ashley said as she placed another pill on her mother’s tongue. Another sip of water.

  “Another,” Mama whispered. Same routine. Ashley sobbed but still managed to place the pill with shaking hands gently in her mother's mouth. The pattern repeated itself three more times before Mama closed her eyes.

  Finally, Mama opened her eyes and looked at me, motioning for me to come down to her level. “Take care,” she whispered, “of my Lee-lee.” I nodded, a tear slipping past my guard down my cheek. “Be a good man.” I nodded again.

  “Pray with me,” she said finally. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what to do, or worse, who to pray to. In this, her final moments on Earth, I couldn’t give her mother the satisfaction of an honest prayer. Ashley looked down and closed her eyes. I did the same.

  “Heavenly father,” Ashley said between sniffles. �
��Please accept Mama into your arms. Look past her transgressions and forgive her her sins. She is a beautiful woman, and Heaven is where she belongs. Amen.”

  I looked up. Mama mouthed the word amen, and then fell asleep. When someone’s life goes out in front of you, you know it. Instantly you can feel it. It’s as if the room gets a little brighter, then immediately dimmer.

  Ashley turned to me and buried her face into my chest, crying out-loud and half-screaming as she did. The others came in and surrounded us, Louie patting her back and Tommy stroking her hair. Bill stood at the foot of the bed.

  Tolbert never entered the room.

  “I’m not leaving here,” Ashley finally said. I held my breath. “Not without burying her.”

  For the next three hours we took shifts digging a grave. In the movies they always end up with some neat, perfect rectangle, but that was next to impossible. For one thing it was freezing outside, and the ground was filled with rocks, roots, and hard clay that didn’t want to move. For another, we only had a garden shovel and hoe. But we tore at it.

  When it was finished, it was good enough. I carried her mother down the stairs, after Bill wrapped her tight in a bed sheet. She couldn’t have weighed more than eighty pounds.

  Tommy stood in the grave, which came up to his neck, and took her as I lowered the body to him. Then Bill and I hoisted him back up, and we started to replace the dirt.

  “Wait,” Louie said. We looked at him. “I...I never got to bury my parents,” he said through his tears. He took his video games out of his backpack and held them in front of him. “I’m sorry, Mom and Dad.” He dropped the video games into the grave. “I love you.” Then he turned away and Ashley wrapped her arms around him.

  Tommy stepped forward and knelt to the ground. He let the M1 rifle slide down into the grave. “I love you Dad, take this wherever you are. Get yourself a nice eight point buck.”