“That won’t be necessary.” Jeremy shook his head. “He’s been given inclusive access from General Byrnes himself.”
The guard nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Jeremy turned to Simon. “Mr. Kalispell—Simon—would you like to proceed?”
Simon looked up at the man. “You have no idea.”
“This way, then.”
Simon turned and whistled to Winston. “Come on, boy.”
One of the soldiers scratching Winston’s head turned to Simon. “He can stay here with us if you want. Until you get back.”
Simon looked at his dog licking at the guard’s hand and laughed. “I think Winston wants to see his home too. Come on, boy.”
Simon and Jeremy began walking north from what was labeled Checkpoint Z, and after a few steps, Winston came running up to Simon’s side.
“Nice-looking dog,” Jeremy said.
With the checkpoint behind them, there was no one else around. The road was vacant. It was strange for Simon to be back on a familiar road, one he had driven countless times, but was now so desolate, quiet as a tomb. The lane had once been well-traveled. Cars, joggers, kids on bikes going back and forth at all hours.
The quiet felt surreal. Simon shuddered. Fairview was vacant, like an eggshell without the yolk, ready to crack.
They turned on Ridgeline Road, and Simon’s heart sped up. His hometown. They passed a home that had fascinated Simon as a child. The massive house itself was hidden from view up a long and overgrown driveway, but a large, old carriage house was in the corner between the road and the driveway. There were four semicircular windows up high, near the ceiling, with four gigantic chandeliers visible in the room’s interior. A medieval-looking crest was painted on the wall facing the street, large and magnificent.
There was no electricity powering the chandeliers, and the windows were now dark and barren.
Jeremy offered Simon a cigarette and pulled one out of the pack with his teeth for himself. Simon declined.
“You been here long?” Simon asked.
“You could say that.” Jeremy flicked a battered brass Zippo lighter, and inhaled the cigarette to life. “Served with the general a long time.”
“Mr. Byrnes?”
“Yes, sir. Tom Byrnes.”
“What is it you guys have going on here?”
There was a pause as Jeremy inhaled.
Jeremy answered, “In Alice? Alice is Zone Blue, a faction of survivors. We’re trying to get life back to normal … or as normal as possible.”
“Normal?” Simon’s mind wandered, remembering normal: hot showers, dinner at seven o’clock, electricity, plumbing …
“That’s right—normal. A government, you could say, although the concept of an organized government is not the most appealing idea to most people these days. I’m not supposed to be telling a non-member any details, but General Byrnes gave me direct orders to make you feel at home. He said you’re old friends.”
“He’s a friend of my dad’s.”
Jeremy nodded, scratching the rough hairs on the side of his cheek. “Your dad must be a good man. General Byrnes is top-notch.”
“He’s in charge, I presume?”
“That’s right. He’s in charge of Alice, along with his son.”
“Right, I think I remember him. Nick, was it?”
“That’s right. Lieutenant Nick Byrnes.” Jeremy tossed his cigarette to the ground, letting it burn out on its own against the pavement. Simon had noticed earlier that Jeremy walked with a stiff leg, but it didn’t seem to slow the man down.
Simon’s heart fluttered as they neared the edge of his family’s property. The long iron gate surrounding the border was covered in vines, with the broad flat leaves extending into the air. This was going to be more difficult than he’d thought. For a moment, Simon debated asking Jeremy for a cigarette.
Jeremy sensed his trepidation. “This is it, right? Fourteen twenty-one Ridgeline Road.”
Simon nodded.
They came to the entrance. The automatic gateway was long without power, and the vines had sewn the two gates into one. They each took a side and pushed and pulled, using their knives until the vines snapped apart and the driveway leading to Simon’s home became visible.
Winston took off, running into the yard like a lunatic and stopping to sniff at familiar trees and bushes.
Simon took a deep breath and stepped onto his property.
“You okay?”
Simon nodded.
… no one’s going to be here …
They walked down the driveway. Green plants had sprung up between the brick pavers.
“Just a quick question,” Jeremy asked. “What is your plan after this?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, what’s your plan? If your family is not here, what are you going to do?”
“I … I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“It’s not that far ahead. It’s right in front of you.”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, no problem. Let’s just do one thing at a time. We’ll help you figure things out later, when we meet up with the general.”
Simon remained quiet.
The driveway turned, and all at once, the majesty of his old estate came into view.
He saw it all: the circular driveway around the fountain, the garage far to the left, and the house itself—the massive and beautiful European-style home with stone veneer and dark wood accents and trim. For a moment—just one fleeting moment—Simon thought he would see his parents standing in the driveway where he had last seen them, dressed in robes and pajamas, holding each other tight.
But they were not there. The driveway was barren, and the ground where Simon had last seen them standing was green with grasses sticking up between the brick pavement.
It was dark. Even in the daylight, the house looked dark, and the windows were like hollow eye sockets.
They approached the front. Winston ran across the driveway, his tongue bouncing out of his mouth.
“I’ll be out here keeping an eye on Winston.” Jeremy walked to the fountain—now green with algae that covered the three stone goddesses up their torsos—and sat on the rim, his stiff leg outstretched. He pulled another cigarette from the pack with his teeth, then contemplated, put the cigarette back in the pack, and produced a cigar from his breast pocket.
“Gonna be here a while,” he said. “Take your time.”
Simon walked forward toward the entrance.
Each step of the porch felt like an eternity until he reached the front door.
He closed his eyes and reached for the handle.
Chapter 32
Blue Skies
The sentence escaped in a jolt, “Where are the girls?”
The thoughts that followed were: Where am I? What happened? Where’s Carolanne?
A man’s voice spoke to him, “You’re awake. That’s good.”
“The girls—”
“They’re in the other room. They’re safe. You’re safe. Please relax. My name is Doctor Liam Morris. Do you remember what happened?”
Brian remembered. At least he thought he remembered. Images rushed through his mind, although the course of events was choppy. There was the boy. The rotten-toothed boy with dirty red hair. Brian saw the kid’s stare—his eyes at first shocked by the reality he was facing, then fading as death became inevitable.
Brian remembered the injured man on the ground pointing a handgun in his direction. The grenade rolling under his feet. He picked up the grenade and threw it. There was a burst of bright light combined with the sounds of gunfire. A flash of the boy’s body being tossed in the air like it weighed nothing. That was it. His memory ended there.
“I remember,” Brian said. “I think I remember.”
“You were knocked unconscious and injured in an explosion.” He felt the doctor’s fingers on his temple. “But you’ll survive.”
“I can’t see anything.” His fingers went up to touch
a cloth covering his eyes and forehead.
“Your vision is fine. I’m removing the bandages now. You sustained a laceration on your left temple, and down the right side of your cheek. You’re lucky you didn’t lose the eye.”
Brian tried to do a body scan, feel his toes and feet, legs and hands. He could wiggle all his appendages, but there was stiffness in his body and pain throughout. “Where am I hurt?”
“Most of your injuries are the result of wood fragments, primarily to your torso—”
“Be frank with me, Doctor; how bad is it?”
“I was being frank. The bulletproof vest you were wearing absorbed most of the impact, but your chest is deeply bruised. You have a fractured rib and several lacerations on your right shoulder. All of these injuries will heal in time. The bruising on your chest and your injured rib will hurt the most, but they’re the least of your injuries. What we are concerned about is a piece of shrapnel still lodged beside the bone in your right kneecap and lower thigh. Without a proper x-ray, it’s difficult to determine just how close the shrapnel is to the popliteal and femoral arteries.”
“So …” Brian tried to place the pain he felt in his body to the corresponding wounds. “What do I do now?”
“You rest. Tomorrow—”
A voice interrupted the doctor. “Brian?”
It was Bethany. “Carolanne, get over here!”
“Brian, you’re awake!” The voices of the women rushed into the room.
“Are you girls okay? Are you hurt?”
“We’re fine, Brian,” Bethany said. “Are you okay?”
“I … don’t know.”
“Hold on just a second, ladies.” The doctor was cutting away the bandages. A blinding brightness grew greater in intensity as each layer of cloth was removed. “There,” the doctor said. “You can open your eyes. It will take some time to adjust.”
Brian’s eyes were like slits. All he could see was an impossible whiteness. He blinked, tried to focus. Shapes began to take form. He saw the girls on the left of his bed, holding his hand. Tubes were running from bags down to his arm, and the doctor on the other side of him did not look like a doctor at all. He was wearing army fatigues, with close-cropped hair and a day-old shave.
Brian looked at the girls. Tears rolled down both of their cheeks, but they were smiling.
“We did it Brian. You did it,” Bethany said.
“Did what?”
The doctor picked up a canvas medical bag from the ground. “I’ll be back in an hour to change your bandages. Don’t try to walk. Don’t exert yourself. Rest. We want that shrapnel staying right where it is until we get an x-ray at the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
“I’ll let the ladies explain. I’m sure there’s a lot for you to catch up on.” With that, the doctor left.
“Where are we?”
“We’re in a house,” Carolanne said. That much Brian knew. The walls were made of pine, which Brian could smell before he had his eyesight back, and there was a large stone fireplace across from the bed with a brilliant fire burning. Carolanne continued, “Let’s start from the beginning.”
“Okay …”
“It happened so fast. You were fighting with that guy—the guy holding Beth. A grenade fell.”
“I remember. But that man on the ground; he had a pistol aimed at me. He was still alive. The last thing I saw was him about to pull the trigger, and I thought I heard gunfire.”
“That,” Bethany cut in, moving to the opposite side of the bed, “was Carolanne. She shot the man before he could pull the trigger. At the same time, the grenade went off and the side of the tree exploded. You flew backward. We rushed to your side, but you were unconscious and bleeding all over. We didn’t know what to do. It was … awful.”
Brian squeezed Beth’s hand.
She continued, “As it turned out, that grenade that almost killed you—would have killed you, if not for Dr. Morris—also saved our lives.”
“How is that?”
“Let me explain. We heard noises and voices close by and remembered what those disgusting men said about there being more of them. Carolanne and I tried to drag you away, hide in the bushes. But you were bleeding so much …. When we moved you, you started convulsing.
“We heard gunfire. A lot of it. It seemed to last forever. Then, after a brief pause, a group of men came into the clearing. They looked different from those awful men who tried to capture me. These men looked like soldiers—real soldiers. They were pointing guns at us and yelling and screaming. They made Carolanne and I put our hands on our heads while they searched the area. All the while, you were bleeding to death right in front of us, and they wouldn’t let us move to help you.
“When they determined that we didn’t belong to that gang of hideous men, they began to leave—leave us and let you die—when Carolanne started shouting for them to help. How could they just leave us while you were dying right before their eyes? They said there was nothing to be done. They couldn’t spare resources on the already dead. They all left, except for one. A young soldier named Silas who was missing half his right hand. He gave us some bandages, and despite being reprimanded by the other men, he helped us stop the bleeding on your leg. The other soldiers had left the way they’d came when Silas said he had to go, that he had to leave us. He already broke protocol by giving us first aid and supplies. Carolanne was a mess—”
“We,” Carolanne interrupted, “were both messes.”
Brian’s heart sank, knowing that Carolanne would now have to live out her life having shot and killed someone. There was no coming back from that. He looked at her face, a thin smile on her lips and concern in her eyes.
Bethany continued, “She pleaded with Silas, who was walking away. She started shouting things—things we’d been through in the bunker, and things we were supposed to do. Then she shouted a name: Uncle Albert Driscoll. Silas stopped and turned. ‘How do you know General Driscoll?’ he asked. I told him that General Driscoll is my uncle. He looked shocked, and asked our full names; then he called something over his radio. Seconds later, all of the soldiers came running back into the clearing, and started bandaging your wounds and got you on a stretcher.”
“Uncle Al is here?”
“Not exactly. But he’s close.”
“We … did we make it? Where are we?”
“We’re in the house of Miss Ingrid Snow. She lives in the woods near Uncle Al’s territory. The soldiers explained it to me, but I don’t really understand. Uncle Al—or General Driscoll, as the soldiers call him—lives in some Zone or something.”
“Zone Red,” Carolanne said.
“Right, Zone Red. It’s not far, they say. There are other Zones too, with more survivors. This house—Ingrid Snow’s house—is a forwarding post. We’re not technically in Zone Red.”
Brian nodded.
“Now,” Bethany continued, “getting back to how the grenade that almost killed you also saved your life—all of our lives. The soldiers were on patrol when they heard the explosion. They came to inspect the noise and came upon a group of men, who were on their way to the clearing. Uncle Al’s men intercepted them before they reached us.”
“I don’t believe it. I can’t believe the luck.”
“You did it, Brian,” Carolanne said.
“I … don’t think I did. Carolanne, you had to shoot someone.”
She shook her head, looking down. “We’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
***
Whatever drugs they gave Brian must have been weak, because his body was in constant pain. They put him on a stretcher, strapped him down, and moved him to the kitchen to wait for transportation.
Ingrid Snow was at the counter. At first Brian thought he was hallucinating when he smelled pastries cooking. Then, sure enough, the pleasant old lady removed a baking sheet of cookies from the oven.
Fucking chocolate chip cookies.
It didn’t seem possible that such things still existed in the wor
ld.
“We keep trying to get Ingrid to come to Zone Red, but she refuses,” a soldier told Brian.
“Seems pretty safe here.”
“It’s safer in Zone Red. Besides, the other soldiers don’t know what they’re missing.” He motioned toward her platter of cookies.
Brian looked at the man, younger than him, with a close shave and short hair. He was sitting on a chair beside Brian’s stretcher, his helmet resting on a knee. His right hand was mangled with old scars, fingers missing.
“You Silas?”
“Yes, sir. Sergeant Silas Powers.”
“Reckon I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“No need.”
Ingrid Snow was walking on small, shuffling feet toward Brian. She held out a cookie on a napkin.
“Eat, eat,” she said in a thick accent.
Silas was about to intercept, since Brian was not allowed to eat anything before transportation arrived, but he nodded his consent.
“Thank you,” Brian said. You have no idea …
“She doesn’t speak much English,” Silas said. “She’s Polish.”
Ingrid hovered over Brian until he took a bite. The melted chocolate was warm and covered his tongue. Brian thought he might cry. “Oh, my …”
Silas laughed and stood to take a cookie off the plate on the counter. “She uses milk and butter from her cows. They’re better than my own mother used to make.”
Ingrid smiled, satisfied with Brian’s reaction, and went back to the sink to clean the baking dish.
Brian turned his head toward Silas. “What’s it like in Zone Red?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. It’s heaven compared to the rest of the world. We have a hospital, an apartment building for a barracks, and some homes connected to power.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“And hot water … most of the time.”
“How far?”
“By foot, two days. But we’ll get there in no time at all by truck.”
A few minutes later, Brian heard an engine rattling, growing louder as it approached. Bethany came in from the front door.
“They’re here,” she said.
The After War Page 24