Dark Days of the After (Book 1): Dark Days of the After

by Schow, Ryan

  What Skylar told him was that breaking America had always been the plan of the elite. The Chicoms, however, never expected to have to piece the country off to invading forces. He was sure the Chicoms had plans for that. It started with rewarding those who helped make everything possible. After the fall, the American traitors would move to the mainland where they’d live out the rest of their lives like Kings and Queens. That was the recompense. That was what you got for betraying your nation. Privately, Logan hoped they’d be the first lambs led to slaughter.

  Before he knew what was really going on, he was ruled by one thought and one thought only: subservience. Go along to get along. He was a straight white male, a Christian, a natural born American. In that case, to the Chicoms, that meant enemy. And to some of these tyrants, his skin color and religious preference was reason enough for summary execution.

  As the hated gender and class, Logan Cahill was about as ordinary as they came. He didn’t have an aggressive build, but he wasn’t a tubby tubalard either. He was plain looking with a regular voice, a regular job and nothing overly threatening in his past.

  Well, until he met Skylar.

  Being with her, in whatever capacity it was they were living together, made him question his stance on life. Rather than let him continue cowering to those autocrats, Skylar showed him that he had balls enough to stand up and fight for what he loved. Now she was gone, and he was left to fight that fight alone.

  When she left the house yesterday morning, he had no idea his days with her were numbered. Neither of them knew this, but they were both taking chances for America, for the melting pot of citizens who were there to savor the freedoms no other country afforded. Even though those rights had long since been taken, the memories burned bright, and the land was worth salvaging.

  “If you remember what it was like to be free,” Skylar first told him, “then there are others who remember, too. Maybe you won’t fight to bring those freedoms back, but others will. Others with more grit and determination than you will fight and die to bring them back so people like you and me can once again have a life with meaning.”

  He hadn’t known at the time that she was neck deep into the Resistance. He didn’t know he’d soon join her.

  Two days ago, when Skylar asked him how many Chicoms he’d killed, it wasn’t a test of his loyalty to the cause, it was because she realized he had become part of the cause. This not only pleased her, it released part of her, the part of her that did not trust.

  Not many people could make the shift from subservience to the Resistance in such bold fashion. It meant you were giving your life, your fortune, your future over to the cause. With everyone in his life that mattered all but gone, he was ready to take up the cause. He had nothing worth living for, nothing he cared about enough to be used against him.

  “America has fallen, but she will not die,” Skylar was famous for telling him.

  He said it aloud into the room. It felt good. He was also scared. And that brought him to the Unfettered Hate.

  Logan turned on the television to the ugly, animated face of former Chairman Mao Tse Tung. The former Chairman spoke on TV, a hologram as real as the man who died in September of 1976. He’d heard this speech before—a thousand times, maybe—so much that he could probably give the speech himself.

  “We are not natives to your land,” Chairman Mao said in weak English. “We lifted you from the chaos of uncertainty and graced you with order, accountability, security. No longer must you struggle to get ahead, or worry that you’ll fall behind. There is peace in relinquishing control. You do not have to think about, or feel, the emotions of the past, for these emotions can be so destructive. So long as you hate, you are not free. We allow you to release the hate as you come to terms with this simple fact: you are no longer American. You are now a product of The New People’s Republic of China. We do not promote hate. Neither shall you. Now dig down deep into your heart and scream out all that residual animosity, all the left over resentment, all that pale futility.”

  With that 1984-like prompting, he screamed and cussed until fake Chairman Mao said, “Enough!”

  Then, his features softening with goodwill, almost like he had just blessed the masses, the simulation said, “Save some of these tender emotions for tomorrow. For now, sleep and dream the Chinese dream. And tomorrow, when you wake refreshed and ready to serve the state, go forth willingly and partake in the glorious, resplendent march of Chinese virtue.”

  An hour later, a pair of Chicom policemen showed up at his house looking for Skylar. They said she didn’t participate in the hate, that her phone was not registering.

  “It’s illegal to have your cell phone off,” one of them reminded Logan.

  “Mine is on.”

  “Hers is not,” the other said, barging in.

  “I am not her and she isn’t here,” he said, his agitation barely contained. “Whatever issue you have with her you’ll have to take up with her.”

  “We’re taking it up with you right now,” he said.

  Irritation quickly turned to hostility, a fire in his belly he could barely contain. Instead of lashing out, he put a smile on his face that confused the man. The Chicom’s frown deepened.

  “What are you smiling at?” he asked Logan.

  I’m smiling because if I don’t I’m going to kill you, he thought.

  “The absurdity of this situation,” he answered. “She’s a roommate, not a mate. It means I don’t know where she is or when she’ll be back.”

  “She’s not paying rent,” he said. “You are.”

  “Have you seen her?” Logan asked.

  “We have a photo,” the other man said, returning to the living room.

  “Then you know why I’m paying rent. I want her to…I would like more with her than I have. Call it a gesture, desperation, a reason for…reciprocity, if you catch my drift.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “It’s not easy to get laid under your regime, nor do you allow for the privacy to do so. That doesn’t mean I don’t have needs.”

  The first man, the smaller of the two, struck him in the gut. He was about to retaliate when he realized his home feed was live, being recorded and keeping him pinned down.

  The taller one bent down so he was in Logan’s face. “Where is she?”

  If only he hadn’t been asked this question over and over again this evening, perhaps he could have been civil.

  “I don’t own her.”

  “Are you aware of any magnetic devices she has in her possession?” the short one asked.

  “I don’t go through her things. See, before you barged into our country and wiped your dirty asses all over it, we had this thing called privacy.”

  He saw the butt of the gun coming and decided to take it. In that split second, he could get what was coming to him and get knocked out at the same time. Hopefully when he woke, if he wasn’t in cuffs or shot to death, they’d be gone.

  They were.

  His head hurt something fierce, and his place was trashed. He stood up, saw blood all over his face and realized it was just a head wound. Those tended to bleed the most. When he took his First Aid kit out of his closet, he removed the suture and stitching wire, then went to work on the gash just above his eyebrow.

  He did a reasonable job, and then he used superglue where he didn’t do a good enough job.

  At least the bleeding had stopped.

  Chapter Eight

  Harper Whitaker woke up in a house nestled in the hills of southern Oregon. The nearby sounds of circular saws and contractors hammering nails the old fashioned way roused her. Pulling the blankets around her, curling up like an infant, she felt the cold from the nearby window seeping in. She opened her eyes, blinked a few times then tried to keep them open. The early morning sun glowing bright behind a thin panel of curtains was blinding. Turning over, closing her eyes again, she snuggled into the pile of blankets and smiled.

  This was as free as she’d ever get.r />
  Tucked away on a hundred acres of property with Skylar Madigan’s aunt, uncle and cousin, was worlds different than being in a cramped San Francisco apartment. She felt safe. Wanted. And far removed from the Chicom oppression. It was still awkward. She hadn’t gotten to know her three hosts properly, and for that she felt that perhaps her manners had slipped.

  Feeling her body sufficiently roused, she eased her eyes open once more. The brilliance of the morning light was not as harsh. Glancing around the room, half her face covered with the blankets, she saw no sign of cameras and no other electronics to watch her. There wasn’t even a TV she’d have to watch that would watch her back when it came time to scream out her Unfettered Hate. Did these people even have to do that?

  Of course not, she thought.

  Connor and Orbey Madigan, Skylar’s uncle and aunt, didn’t have that uptightness about them that required such a crude display of emotion. Neither did Skylar’s cousin, Stephani. And in truth, this was not 1984, Chairman Mao was not in power, and this town had not yet fallen to Communist rule.

  So why should they be subservient to anyone?

  She heard a noise. There was movement on the bed. Smiling, she sat up and saw the young German Shepherd, Cooper.

  “What did I do to get you sleeping with me all night?” she asked in a tone known best as “animal-speak.” This growing beauty with his big, begging eyes bore the staid look of anticipation. Looking at him made her happy. Cooper’s tail began to wag.

  “You don’t make for the best bedfellow,” she said, wondering earlier what that big lump at the end of her bed was, “but it sure is a treat waking up to that handsome face of yours.”

  His tongue rolled out, then Cooper stood and walked across the bed, stepping on her arm, before bending down to lick her cheek. The doggie breath was bad but not unwanted.

  She scratched his cheeks and behind his ears, giving the pup the attention he wanted. He started licking closer to her face, to the point where she had to turn away, but by then she was giggling, something she hadn’t done since she was a small child.

  “He’s a gentleman to the end,” Stephani said, snapping her fingers.

  Cooper jumped off the bed, shaking the whole thing, then sat when Stephani told him to sit. The bedroom door hadn’t been opened, but it wasn’t closed either.

  “Good boy,” she said. She held a small milk bone that Cooper took from her palm and began to chew on noisily. To Harper, she said, “How’d you sleep?”

  She stretched and said, “It always sucks getting used to a new bed, but I was warm and I don’t have to go back to that job again, so really I feel pretty good.”

  “Skylar told me you worked in the city, for SocioSphere, but she didn’t tell me what you did there.”

  “She didn’t tell anyone,” Harper said, cryptic. “We did that for security reasons.”

  “The shower’s outside,” she said, respecting Harper’s privacy. “It’s a bit strange at first, showering outside, but the house wasn’t built for all the modern conveniences in life as much as it was built for privacy.”

  “Is it private? The shower?”

  “Sort of. Cooper may hunt you down. And if Connor walks out there, don’t worry about it, he’ll be naked too, so it won’t be uncomfortable.”

  Connor was Skylar’s uncle, an older man who wasn’t unattractive. That didn’t mean she was up to showing anyone that which had not been seen by another man in all her years.

  Feeling that swoop of nervousness unfurling inside of her, she said, “Um…”

  Stephani barked out a laugh.

  “Your face is priceless,” she said, amused. “I’m just kidding. We’re all respectful of shower time. There’s a towel on the dresser and the water’s out back. It’s mostly cold but it’ll wake you up.”

  She snapped her fingers. Cooper stood and ambled off along with her.

  Getting up, stretching, she went and closed the door then found her towel. She unrolled it and saw it was big enough to wrap her body.

  This was going to be weird, she thought.

  She quickly removed her clothes, leaving her bra and underwear on just in case. When she put on her shoes, she looked down and felt like the biggest dork ever. She didn’t know where she would be walking. It could be a pathway, or the weeds, or even bare dirt. It was best not to take chances the first time.

  Out in the kitchen, she found Orbey sitting at the table with Connor. Orbey was older and the sweetest woman ever. Well, unless you crossed her. There was a dead man buried out back to attest to that fact, and surely there’d be more before the year was out. Flashes of the woman sighting her target, then squeezing the trigger once to wound and a second time to kill, burned in Harper’s mind.

  Harper had helped bury the man. She’d shoveled dirt on his grave before his blood was even cold. Shaking off the memory, offering a pleasant smile to the couple, she said “Good morning.”

  “You look like hell,” Connor offered in a pleasant tone.

  Harper’s jaw dropped and Orbey hit her husband.

  “What?” he said, feigning shock. “We have a younger woman living with us and I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about me.”

  “That you’re suffering deeply from a lack of manners?” Orbey said, her eyes barely tempered with disbelief.

  “No, that I’m pervy,” he said, aghast. “She’s wearing only a towel for heaven’s sake. Plus the coffee hasn’t done its job just yet. I’m not awake, therefore I can’t be responsible for my actions, specifically the things coming out of my mouth.”

  “The hell you can’t,” Orbey grumbled.

  Harper said, “Well on that note, I’ll be showering if anyone needs me.”

  “Please forgive my husband,” Orbey said, her eyes sweet, but also pleading for clemency. “He’s male. Most days that’s great, but then something like this happens and now we’re back to the dark ages.”

  “It didn’t surprise me that he said what he did,” she replied. “I feel like hell. What would have surprised me is if he’d been pervy. You just don’t see that kind of thing anymore.”

  “That’s a damn shame,” Stephani said, her habit of appearing seemingly out of nowhere persisting. “If you knew how many times I’ve walked by those boys at the barn hoping for a whistle, a long look, someone to adjust their business in their pants…”

  “Are you kidding right now?” Connor snapped, his tone changing.

  “No I’m not,” she said with a grin. “I’m going to try again in an hour.” Connor started to object, but Stephani interrupted him casually and said, “I’ve gotta check on the hives. I’ll be splitting one today and checking the others for mites.”

  “Good luck,” Orbey said.

  Connor looked back at Harper, smiled, then jokingly said, “Well go on and get your shower, and let us old folks eat in peace.”

  Orbey smiled helplessly as Harper walked outside to find the shower. When she did, her jaw dropped for the second time that morning. The shower was basically a concrete pad with pipes leading up the outside of the house. The showerhead was small, clean but with the silver finish worn off.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  She never liked her Chicom-assigned housing back in San Francisco, but at least she had indoor plumbing and walls around the shower. Right then she was practically outside for all to see. She looked around, saw only trees, meadow grass and distant mountains. It was so quiet it hurt her ears. This was nothing compared to the noise of the city. Back in San Francisco you woke up to screaming, sirens, gunfire. That certainly wasn’t the case here.

  She found herself wondering about them, these men. There were probably a dozen sweaty guys who wouldn’t mind the way she looked, even if she did. She wasn’t anything great, she knew that, but they probably hadn’t gotten laid in forever so maybe she’d be a catch.

  That’s just an assumption, she told herself.

  But was it?

  She hung her towel on one hook, told herself it
was okay. Drawing a deep breath, then blowing it out in resignation, she quickly undressed and hung her garments over the towel. She knelt down and removed her shoes, and then she turned on the water. Standing there with her ivory white ass out for the world to see, she braved the chilly stream.

  “Good God!” she cried, trying to draw a breath.

  If the water wasn’t icy on the exit, it damn well should have been! Stephani said it was cold. Freezing cold was more like it! Her skin pebbled with goosebumps, her nipples pinched tight and stiff. Holding herself against the cold, a lot of little shivers turned to a fierce trembling deep inside herself. When her teeth began to chatter, and her lips felt numb, she wasn’t surprised. What was worse is she was certain someone was going to see her. She prayed to God she was wrong. She would be so embarrassed! They’d see thighs that were a little too large, hips almost too wide, a slight belly and lots of freckles. She glanced down at her privates and thought…no man can ever see me like this! Then she thought about Logan, about how he left her when he dropped her off.

  Logan Cahill.

  Back in San Francisco, he’d inadvertently burned her. He’d also saved her from both death and indignity. It’s true she could fight her own battles, that she hadn’t needed him to save her. Give her the right knife and a gun and she’d probably fare well. But what he went through to get her to safety? She wouldn’t have wanted anyone else with her.

  Either the water warmed a bit, or the numbness in her body gave way to that illusion. Behind her, in a travel soap container, was a half used Dove bar. She lathered up, then went to work washing her body. When she was done, she rinsed and then just stood there. Hands at her sides, head still in the cold stream, she no longer worried about being seen. If anything, she was happy to be wide awake with an active mind. That wasn’t the case back in the city.