The Seventh Day

by Scott Shepherd

  But the best thing of all was looking back over to the campsite at Doc. He was sitting up and looking so much better.

  And smiling too.

  It had taken them the better part of a day to get out of the Fields.

  Not that there was any clear line of demarcation. Joad knew there had been a few crudely drawn maps of the changed world, but each one differed. He presumed that it had been the same centuries before, back when most men thought the world was flat and cartographers had ships falling off the edge of the Earth into a pit filled with dragons and hellish demons.

  What goes around comes around, he thought.

  More than anything, he had a gut feeling they’d cleared The Fields. The surroundings felt less otherworldly; not as fantastical. Seeing the occasional stripped-out car, a dilapidated sign pointing to something no longer there, or a deserted piece of road further convinced Joad they had left the mystical place behind.

  Now it was a clear shot northeast.

  Home. To Nemo. And Rebecca.

  After briefly filling in Laura and her stepfather about their adventure in the debris field, they started out, using the spare jet-black steed as a packhorse. Joad was happy to see Sayers had beat whatever ailed him, and they made good time on their cross-country trek.

  Laura told Joad she was excited about seeing Nemo and getting to meet Becky. Fixer, while picking at burns that were already beginning to crust over, was just happy to have escaped the brothers. Sayers seemed fine at first, but then began suggesting alternate routes. As Joad kept rejecting them, the physician started grousing, returning to his previous dyspeptic self.

  They descended a steep slope and saw a mist gathering in the valley below. Joad slowed the pace, not wanting any of them to take an unfortunate misstep. Sayers said it wasn’t too late to reroute, but Joad told him he was done taking detours. He was going home.

  Laura was the first one to see it. She gasped.

  “Doc! Look!”

  Up ahead, a tower had pierced the cloud. As the foursome got closer and the mist parted, a castle emerged.

  It wasn’t very big. Three stories high. But it was still a castle. With a moat and lots of green surrounding it.

  Laura turned and beamed at Sayers.

  “Is this it? This is it, isn’t it?”

  Joad had no idea what Laura was talking about. But Sayers clearly did. The physician gave his stepdaughter a somber nod.

  The clouds had cleared, revealing the castle was part of what had once been some kind of amusement park. There were a few dilapidated rides that had obviously stopped working on The Seventh Day. Vines had grown up around most of the park, giving it a Secret Garden look. The centerpiece was a miniature golf course built around the castle. The moat was man-made, and the green was long strips of emerald colored felt, laid down to wind around windmills that no longer turned, and through a huge clown’s mouth that gaped open for all of eternity.

  A sign hanging above it all claimed to be something it might never be again.

  FUNLAND.

  Laura jumped off her horse and ran toward the drawbridge that led into the park.

  “Laura!” yelled Sayers. “Come back here!”

  “Let her have some fun, Doc,” said Joad.

  The physician shook his head. “She doesn’t know what this place is.”

  “Maybe you want to clue us in,” suggested Fixer.

  Sayers stared at the amusement park. Joad didn’t like the expression on his face.

  “It’s where my wife, Laura’s mother, died.”

  Joad watched Laura running gleefully into the park.

  “And she doesn’t know this.”

  “No,” admitted Sayers. “I’ve never told her.”

  EPISODE 6

  29

  Funland.

  Joad presumed it had been just that: fun. Back when a windmill could turn or a clown’s mouth open and shut, tempting a colored golf ball into its gaping maw and running the risk of plunging into the moat below. But then an alien race swooped down and rendered the golf course obsolete. Joad thought it interesting that Funland had been left behind; either the Strangers had missed it or, more likely, had no use for miniature golf in their distant world.

  His father certainly hated it. Joad had played a few times as a youth, but only with his mother. His father hadn’t been a game player—unless you counted plotting global nuclear destruction, which was gamesmanship on an entirely different level—and frowned on such “frivolous” activities. His mother would swear Joad to secrecy when they went; the same as whenever they ventured into a bowling alley or pinball arcade. “You’re wasting the boy’s time,” would be his father’s opinion, and she wouldn’t contradict him.

  Joad’s mother had spent her life cowering in her husband’s footsteps, something Joad realized from an early age. It made his boyhood home a tense place, even though his father was gone half the time. But his iron fist left a lasting impression; the man could be away for weeks on end, yet Joad would still feel his father’s overbearing presence surrounding him, as if it had been soaked into the floral wallpaper.

  It had certainly influenced the way he settled down with Becky. Joad had been bound and determined not to recreate his childhood environment. The fact that his father refused to step inside his son’s home made Joad think: Mission Accomplished. Joad figured he must’ve finally done something right. In a pre–Seventh Day world, Joad had dreamed of taking a son or daughter to places like Funland on a weekly basis. Now, he could only hope for a chance to start that family—which began with getting back home to his dearest Becky.

  Joad was glad to see that Sayers resisted chasing Laura. The girl was oohing and aahing as she came upon each hole, even though weeds and tall grass had sprung up through concrete to overrun half the putting surfaces. He smiled, watching her run from the gingerbread house at one end to the windmill at the other, and then race back to the castle in the middle. The structures were straight from a storybook no one would ever read again.

  But then Joad’s mind drifted back to Sayers’s revelation about his wife, that Funland had been where Laura’s mother died. His smile faded away as he was brought back to the stark reality of what the Strangers had wrought.

  Fixer had already dismounted and was tying Joad’s horse, along with the extra jet-black steed, to the fence. Joad turned to Doc and lowered his voice.

  “Why haven’t you told her the truth about her mother?”

  “There hasn’t been an appropriate time,” said Sayers.

  “In seven years?”

  “Put yourself in my place. She was six when it happened, Joad. Imagine dumping that on a little girl—with everything else that happened back then. She was in no condition to hear anything like that.”

  “Okay. I get that. But all the time that has passed since then …”

  “… has made it that much harder.”

  Sayers sighed, and got off his horse. Joad did as well. “Believe me, I tried,” explained the doctor. “A number of times. I waited till I thought she was older and could handle it. But whenever I started to tell her, she’d look up at me with those big eyes—her mother’s eyes, for God’s sake—and I’d get completely tongue-tied. All I could think about was how she’d hate me for not telling her before. Catch-22—damned if I did, damned because I didn’t.”

  As much as Joad didn’t want to admit it, he could see the man’s point. Joad took in the abandoned amusement park.

  “What exactly happened here?”

  Sayers was still watching Laura. “I haven’t told her in seven years.” He turned to face Joad. “Why would you think I’d tell you now?”

  To punctuate his point, the physician started to head for his stepdaughter.

  “Doc?”

  Joad got confused. He was looking directly at Laura, but hadn’t seen her call Sayers. And this female voice sounded older. More mature.

  “I can’t believe it. It’s actually you.”

  Sayers and Joad swiveled their heads
toward the drawbridge to see a woman exit the castle. Fortyish, with flowing raven hair and an even darker long skirt. Her flowered blouse had a tie-dye wash; she could be the all-grown-up poster child for the Love Generation. An old Eagles song raced through Joad’s head.

  Witchy Woman.

  An ethereal, enchanting, moon-in-her-eyes Witchy Woman.

  Sayers offered up a smile of recognition.

  “Hello, Aurora.”

  Fixer was surprised. Not that Sayers had been to Funland before. He’d caught enough of the conversation between Joad and Doc to pick that up. It was the way Sayers and the woman were looking at each other that caught Fixer’s attention. It was with a mixture of warmth and sadness, as if they couldn’t be more pleased yet wary to see one another.

  Fixer moved away from the fence and headed for the drawbridge. He reached the woman at the same time as Joad and Sayers.

  “You’re the last person I ever expected to see here,” she said to Sayers.

  “The only thing more surprising than me coming back is that you haven’t left.”

  “I venture out every once in a while to see what’s there, but I’m quickly reminded I won’t find anything resembling this.”

  “That’s for sure,” Fixer chimed in. “I’m Fixer, by the way.”

  “Aurora,” she said, offering an ivory hand that looked like it would turn beet red with too much sun. She reminded Fixer of a porcelain doll plucked directly off the beautiful-hippie shelf. “What brings you this way? It’s sorta off the beaten track.”

  Fixer and Sayers looked directly at Joad.

  “That would be me. This happens to be on my way home.” Joad nodded politely. “I’m Joad. It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  Fixer had to give Joad credit. As gruff as he could be, he knew his way around the ladies. Laura clearly idolized him, and Aurora looked about ready to blush.

  “Been a long time since anyone called me ‘ma’am.’ I’m flattered, but Aurora will do just fine.” She was suddenly looking over Fixer’s shoulder. “Oh my goodness …”

  Fixer turned and saw Laura walking toward them from the miniature golf course. Aurora put out a hand and lowered it to her knee.

  “You were this high the last time I saw you. Do you remember me?”

  Laura slowed down her approach, and shook her head. “No …”

  “Well, I certainly remember you. How could I ever forget that strawberry hair? What I wouldn’t give for that!”

  “Why? Yours is beautiful. So black and shiny.”

  “You haven’t seen the gray, honey. Takes a long time to get rid of it these days. But time is the one thing I seem to have plenty of.” She bent down enough to be at eye level with Laura. “I’m Aurora, an old friend of Doc’s. I’m so happy to see you again, Laura.”

  Aurora opened her arms slightly, and in a manner of seconds, Laura allowed herself to get wrapped up in them. Fixer didn’t think it far-fetched. There was something about this woman; something comforting, Mother Earth-like, that made him want to be next in line for a hug. He suspected he would have held on for a very long time, too.

  Eventually Laura let go and Aurora looked up at Joad and Fixer.

  “You’ve been friends with Doc and Laura a while?”

  “Just a few days,” answered Fixer. “We actually all met out on The Flats.”

  Aurora’s eyes widened. “On the other side of the Fields?”

  Laura nodded vigorously. “Joad led us through them.”

  Fixer started to protest—what was he? Chopped liver? But, then he realized it was the truth. They would have died a couple of times over if it hadn’t been for Joad.

  “Haven’t met many people who’ve done that.” The look she gave Joad had a bit of schoolteacher admonishment about it. “The Fields are no place for a young girl. What could possibly persuade you to do such a thing?”

  “It’s a long story,” Joad answered.

  “Well, you can tell it to me over dinner. I bet it’s been a while since any of you’ve had a normal meal.”

  Fixer saw Joad hesitate. For a brief moment, Fixer thought he’d have to elbow the man yet again to accept the kindness of a stranger. But Joad beat him to the punch.

  “It definitely has. We’d appreciate that, Aurora.” Joad looked at the others. “If that’s okay with everyone else?”

  Fixer thought it pointless to try to figure out Joad. The only predictable thing about the man was his unpredictability. Fixer nodded adamantly. Laura did as well.

  But Fixer noticed Sayers didn’t seem so eager. Not so eager at all.

  Laura thought it was the best meal she’d ever eaten. And there hadn’t been a single piece of fish or meat in sight. She’d heard Doc mention vegetarians, but had never before encountered one. They’d been living on whatever they could catch in The Flats for as long as she could remember, so when Aurora took Laura out the back door of the castle to show her the vegetable garden, Laura thought she’d found the next Eden. Fresh fruit and vegetables clung to poles that were once shafts from miniature-golf putters. Other varieties grew in well-manicured rows, as colorful as stripes in the rainbow.

  “You should’ve seen this place six or seven years ago. It looked like a tornado had blown through it,” explained Aurora. “Most times I went out searching, I made a point to find something—one tomato, one carrot, a tiny piece of onion. I would plant them and spend days on my knees tending to the buds, or praying for them to take root. I guess I got lucky or someone heard what I was asking for.” She looked with obvious pride at the garden. “Probably a little of both, huh? What do you think of it?”

  “I think I’d never leave,” Laura said.

  They sat down for dinner inside the castle. Laura was thrilled because it felt like a real home. There was a big table, a few random chairs, even a couch. Just as with the garden, Aurora said, it had taken her time to accumulate all the trappings that made it feel lived in. It wasn’t exactly the lap of luxury, but Aurora thought it would do for a while. Forever, if necessary.

  Over a scrumptious salad that had as many colors as Joseph’s coat, they told Aurora how they’d met in The Flats. She learned about the brothers while they consumed the delicious vegetable casserole. They devoured sweet fruit, the succulent juices dribbling down their chins, and regaled her with tales of tight scrapes and slipping through the siblings’ fingers. Aurora gasped and clutched the table at appropriate times. In between, she told them how she’d prepared the feast with only an open flame and ingenuity.

  When they finally pushed themselves away from their empty plates, Doc asked to speak to Aurora alone. Laura wondered what was going on, but her stepfather said only, “Adult talk.” Laura rolled her eyes, and explained she felt extremely grown up, but Doc refused to budge.

  Aurora got up, crossed the room, and bent down beside a long tin box. She threw open the lid and reached inside. Laura heard metal clink against metal, then laughed when Aurora stood up holding small golf putters.

  “The sun doesn’t go down till real late. You could still get a round in.”

  “A round?” asked Laura, not understanding the terminology.

  “Miniature golf,” said Aurora. “The premiere Funland attraction. It’s why you came here on your birthday.”

  “I was only six. I don’t remember.”

  Aurora ran down the rules. Fixer said he was his hometown’s miniature golf champ and offered to take Laura out on the course. Laura was pleased, and asked Joad to come along too.

  “Maybe in a bit,” he answered without looking at her. “I’m going to hang with Aurora and Doc for a few.”

  Soon, Laura was trying to putt the bright green golf ball into tiny holes hidden amongst overgrown weeds. Either Fixer was lying about his miniature-golf past or was letting her win—which was evidenced by the significant lead she quickly amassed. She suspected the latter, especially when he held the clown’s mouth open long enough to get the ball inside, or actually twirled the windmill blades so Laura could have the f
ull mini-golf experience.

  Normally she would have enjoyed the whole thing immensely.

  But she kept wondering about what was happening inside the castle.

  She couldn’t help thinking that the “adult talk” must be about her.

  “I can’t believe you haven’t told her.”

  Great, thought Sayers. Bad enough arguing with Joad. Now, Aurora was ganging up on him—and he hadn’t seen the woman since The Seventh Day.

  “A lot has happened since we were last here,” Sayers answered.

  “You would’ve thought somewhere in those seven years you could’ve had a conversation with her.”

  Sayers glanced at Joad, who was sitting by the fire Aurora had built, warming his hands. At least Joad had the good grace not to pile on and say he’d said the exact same thing only hours before. Sayers offered up the same explanation: bad timing, long-kept secrets, and the risk of Laura hating him forever.

  “She would never hate you,” Aurora said. Her voice resumed its soothing softness. Which tugged at Sayers’s chest, as he remembered sitting in this very room all those years ago, and Aurora doing everything she could to try and absolve his guilt. She hadn’t succeeded, and Sayers realized now that time had only increased the burden.

  “I’ve certainly given her reason enough.”

  Suddenly he found himself opening up about the drinking and his frank discussion with Laura. He could tell Joad was surprised by this revelation, and seemed glad to hear him speak of his determination to not start up again.

  “I finally think I’m in a better place with her. Dredging up ancient history would only make things worse.”

  “Is that why you kept suggesting we head a different way to Nemo? Because you knew we would pass by here and got worried about having to confront everything again?”

  Sayers stared into the fire before responding. His one-word reply was barely audible.

  “Maybe.”

  Aurora inched a bit closer and gently took his hand. “Perhaps you were meant to come here again. So you could finally tell her everything.”