Nuclear Rising

by Christian Smith

  This time though, they're both laughing freely while mimosa sprays into the clean, mountain air from Jamie's mouth.

  I can see myself, corner deck on the boat, and I know I'm sixteen, just barely getting my feet wet in the real world. Before the all-night private school parties. Before chasing every long-legged girl that wore a short skirt and high heels. Before my life went spiraling in all directions, and not just down.

  Little did I know at the time, but my dad had actually planned the whole trip to "visit" a mistress in the area. At least some good fruits came out of the trip.

  Already starting to fill out my own body though, I'm about six feet tall. Toned muscles throughout my body as I walk around shirtless, thinking I'm God's gift to women. My dark hair is a little longer, hanging past my ears, curling at the ends just slightly. My dimples of course, prominent on both corners of my mouth, and I stand there looking into my reflection trying to perfect my smile, to show both my pearly-white teeth and dimple at their fullest. I would learn how to use that smile to land many a girl. My skin is dark, golden brown from all the sun, and even though I have a little more baby fat than I do now, I can see my cheekbones and chin already sharply defined. You can even see the stripes from where I amateurly shaved my chest, afraid of the impending dark hair beginning to sprout.

  As I strut around, trying to find my swagger, Shaelynn rushes from behind, throwing me into the water. Both girls high-five each other, laughing and pointing fingers at a now furious me, while I complain about having to do my hair again, only to reach in and pull Jamie into the water. What ensues is a full on dunking contest in the lake water.

  At the end of the boat, I remember catching a stolen kiss from my dad to my mom. He has the same dark hair as myself while my mom has my facial features, but more feminine and beautiful. She has ginger hair, with a mix of blond interwoven. A delicate, petite woman, she is far more fiery than her little frame portrays. When I catch a glance of my parents talking seriously, my mom looks sad, with a mix of fury raging behind her eyes.

  It was probably when he told her about the real reason he planned his trip there.

  As I glance toward the shore, soaking in the moment, my eyes catch an oversized, red umbrella, perched about ten feet off the water line. Desiring to try out my newfound swagger, I swim at flying velocity toward the shore, trying to pump my muscles up a bit before I talk to the girl lounging underneath the red umbrella. As I come up to her, she realizes I must be headed her direction and meets my eyes with hers as I doggy-paddle nonchalantly up to the sandy beach. Her eyes. She removes her dark sunglasses and I'm awestruck by how piercing those blue eyes are, I stop, momentarily caught off-guard, until a little voice in my head says, hey buddy, stop creeping and go talk to her - don't make it weirder than this already is!

  My internal swag voice.

  I start to leave the water, feeling the cool breeze lick up my dripping legs. She stares at me, definitely noticing my physique I imagine. With a cobalt blue bikini top, a floppy straw beach hat, and legs that go for miles, I find myself standing there without a single word to say, completely intimidated by her gorgeous self.

  So I start with my name. "Hi," I try to say as deeply-voiced as possible. "I'm Quinton York, but you can just call me Quinn."

  She blushes, hiding a grin.

  And I think I might have a chance until I realized why she's really blushing.

  I start to become aware of that nice, little breeze, feeling it a bit stronger between my legs as it picks up. It's a little too strong. And then I realize, looking down exactly why this girl is blushing.

  At some time between point A and B, during my overzealous swim to impress my girl, the lake current decided to poach my swim shorts and now I stood-

  Butt naked.

  In all my teenage glory, with a fair amount of shrinkage, and smiling wildly like a complete idiot, I now stood with outstretched hand, introducing myself.

  The shrinkage on the outside wasn't nearly as bad as the internal shrinkage I was feeling.

  And to top it all off, a now red-faced, angry bear of a father had come walking up to the shore, interested in the boy who now attempted to court his precious angel daughter. I recall he never liked me - And I'm starting to get an idea why.

  Indulging my chagrin, I feel a delicate hand with slender fingers take mine, and in the most beautiful, light voice like music I hear the words.

  "Celeste."

  I faintly recall the rest for a moment but the memory starts to fizzle out.

  There's nothing there. A brick wall.

  Just Coeur d'Alene. And fishing. And talking to my dad about girls, about why they're so confusing all the time - his chuckling, my face turning red in embarrassment as I talk to him about the new girl I met, Celeste.

  I felt happy.

  I felt at home for once.

  ┈┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈┈

  Only now I didn’t.

  In fact, I felt terrified. Freaked out. About to lose it.

  Because staring at the side of the road, I see in overgrown grass a sign broken in two, vibrant paint faded, wood splintering and weather-beaten from years of neglect.

  In washed-out letters it says, “Welcome to Coeur d'Alene.”

  The panic grips at my heart like a grim reaper – needles of cold piercing through, the blood in my head pulsating so hard it feels like I’m going to faint any second.

  This couldn’t be it…

  I don’t believe it, in fact, can’t believe that this place that not so long ago held one of my now scarce memories, is now a ghost town, abandoned, pillaged.

  The lake…the lake house…the house boat.

  Gone. Broken. Forgotten.

  Glancing down the shattered asphalt road that leads into the city, I can see what used to be large condominiums and storefronts looking like crumbling sand castles. Like something attacked them.

  But again I refuse to believe it.

  It’s gotta be a joke.

  I wait for someone to jump out, my sisters, or maybe even Celeste. But nobody comes.

  And the sun has set, casting dark, menacing shadows where just a minute ago, I could see ruins of a town.

  Another deep howl in the distance makes my skin crawl, and I know I have to run.

  Whatever it is, it’s coming…

  Across the way I can see what looks like a small rambler, down a long dirt path, nestled in a nook of pines. The moonlight just reflecting off what remaining glass windows still sit in its walls. And as I stare at the place, it gives me chills, especially when I see –

  Light?

  I can see flickering light, like from a candle, shining against one of the front windows, and for a fleeting moment, I think I can see a shadow silhouetted as the light passes the glass panes.

  Another howl, this time definitely getting closer, maybe within a half mile now.

  My mind races thinking about what to do, where to go.

  I glance toward the city, the broken and vacated buildings, though a mile out, maybe hiding some kind of generator or something I could use to charge my phone and call the police. Maybe some untouched supplies?

  I have to make a decision now though.

  The rambler that’s obviously from a horror movie or the broken-down city buildings a mile away?

  CHAPTER 2

  Finding Myself For Starters

  My hand shakes uncontrollably, finger brushing the trigger. Rage and confusion wallowing, but then I look into the eyes of the man, barely older than myself, shielding his face as he prepares for death.

  I can’t do it. That’s not me.

  My finger twitches as I try to will myself to do it. To finish him, but I can’t do it.

  Clicking the safety on and throwing the gun to my side, I bend down to the level of the man.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  Beads of sweat on his forehead and a quivering lip is all I get in reply.

  I sigh, raising my hand to his, only to have him f
linch.

  “I’m not going to kill you. I think I’ve done enough of that for one day.”

  I grab onto his hand which feels like pumice, and pull him to his feet. He nods in gratitude.

  So far he hasn’t attacked me yet, so we’re off to a good start.

  “Where am I?” A second question. And again, no reply. He’s obviously in shock.

  I decide the only way to figure out where we are is to head toward the light. Not necessarily what you want to do in all cases, but for this time, getting out of this hunk of death metal is the best option.

  The raider stops as we begin walking toward the exit and runs over to his fallen comrades. Hastily he bends down by each of them, and with his eyes closed, feels around until he picks up some small boxes the size of candy bars.

  We walk toward the broken doors, and the best sensation in the world wakens my senses.

  The wind.

  It brings in a freshness, of earth and trees, of life, in complete contrast to the smell of death where we now stood. It was as if I were experiencing the world for the first time.

  We walk out to the open air, the sunlight making my eyes sting something fierce, and after my pupils shrink down ten sizes I’m able to squint and look around.

  It’s beautiful.

  I stand on a large plateau that lets me see the entire valley below. Large ponderosa pines, red cedars, and white-barked quaking aspens fill the land. A wide rushing river juts back and forth playing peek-a-boo in the forest. What catches my eye though is an old town that must be a mile or two away, taken over by the foliage, with buildings crumbling and roads cracked into pieces. It looks like it’s been abandoned for years. I can even see broken down cars, school buses with no wheels, and large dump trucks still full of gravel and heavy rocks. Large mounds of dirt cover some of the houses.

  “Whoa,” I say out loud. The raider has stopped shaking to the left of me, but still keeps his head bowed low. “Where are we?” I ask. Looking over in his direction, I see a boy with dirty blond hair that’s caked and greased with lack of hygiene. Even though he is more muscular than me, and a plethora of scars go across his hands and arms, I know he must be younger than he looks. He has a baby face and when I peer into his squinty brown eyes, I see a sixteen, maybe even fifteen-year-old boy. Relief washes over me as I think about accidently killing someone so young.

  Turning around, I look at the large, metal object we just came from. It’s about the size of two or three houses, a huge cylinder split down the middle into two pieces. A triangular piece juts out from the side like a wing, while the other half of the object scraped into a boulder-size rock and ripped the wing off.

  A spaceship?

  In big, red block letters I spot the words, “Spark Co.” with a lightning bolt. Underneath those I see, “To Mars and Beyond!”

  Mars.

  I repeat it in my mind, as if my memory is trying to jostle a thought out of me. We were heading to Mars?

  And then a cloudy vision plays in my mind. Flashes of images. Of memory.

  Two scientists greet me, smiling, cheering each other about their achievement.

  “Welcome to your journey to the red planet!” A scientist with dark hair and large-brimmed glasses chants excitedly.

  I see myself briefly, with a beautiful, fit blond girl – Celeste. She’s carrying a designer handbag, “Louie Vuitton” while wearing a slim-fitted metallic jumpsuit. Her hair is done up in a bun, and she carries herself like a celebrity or nobility.

  Then I see myself, a few inches taller than her. Slicked-back brown hair that’s perfectly put in place with a wide grin of teeth that look like a model’s smile.

  “So are we going to take off soon, nerds?” I hear myself say.

  “Don’t be rude to the smart men!” Celeste quips. Her voice is light and airy, but very articulate with each syllable. “They’re going to take us to my birthday present. And we are the first ones to see it!”

  “Anything for you honey,” I say.

  The vision starts to dim, leaving me standing silently at the side of the ship, one hand resting against the cold metal. As I come to my senses, I realize I still have another piece of my identity sitting in my pocket.

  I reach down with nervous hands, trying to fidget the paper out. I unfold it.

  Anticipation wells up and I feel like my heart is going to leap out of my mouth.

  A neatly typed half-sheet of paper reads:

  *You will have amnesia when you wake up. It may last for days or even months. It’s a side effect of being cryogenically frozen, so use this paper as a reminder of your identity. You typed it up so it will start the course of jogging your memory. ------ Doctor Jan Yusefson

  My Name: Quinton York, Jr. (Let’s just say Quin)

  Date: May 12, 2022

  Age: 18 years old (and killing it!)

  Interests: Girls, money, parties of course! As if there’s anything else.

  Where I am from: New York, United freaking States

  What’s happening in the world: I don’t know, war or something. Chiefs just won the Super Bowl by a touchdown. Lebron retired. And we’re on the first ship to go to Mars! Woot!

  PS. Your belongings are in the cubby near the exit door. Please remember to grab them on your way out.

  I quickly stow the slip of paper back in my pocket and run back to the ship. Raider boy just eyes me curiously as he stands near a patch of sage brush. I briefly wonder if he cares about getting ticks. Coming to the doorway, I see nine box drawers sitting tightly against the wall. I stop to think for a second if any of my hopefully dead raider friends might wake up, which only makes me rifle through the drawers quicker. I find one with a medium-sized, leather Gucci backpack, and decide that must be mine.

  I grab it and unzip the thing, feeling like a boy opening his first Christmas present.

  Inside the bag are several wads of cash, probably at least ten grand, and cans of Pringles, Hershey’s chocolates, and jerky. My stomach starts grumbling in reply, and I realize I haven’t eaten in a very long time because it feels like it’s eating itself.

  I fumble over my phone, which of course is dead, and just throw it back in the bag. I didn’t pack a charger which was stupid of me.

  There’s also a photo of Celeste, which I grab with buzzing fingers.

  It’s the same image I saw earlier of her face, only this time it shows her whole body. She’s standing at a beach, a black sarong wrapped tightly around her waist and a black bikini top to match. Her tight little body and flat, chiseled abs looks absolutely hot in the bikini, and I feel a rush of wanting for her. Her smile is perfect, and her long blond hair blows in the wind. And those piercing blue eyes. Her eyes are incredible.

  Then I notice the ring she’s holding out from her hand.

  Could I have given her this ring? Does this mean we’re married? Or engaged?

  I look down at my own finger, which is ringless and not noticing any kind of tan line, I figure this must be our engagement.

  Flipping the photo over, I see very precise, yet dainty letters.

  “To my man. I love you to the moon and back, forever and ever. Love your soon-to-be wife, Celeste”

  My heart skips a beat.

  I have to find her. I know she’s alive.

  I try to remember our engagement, but it feels like there’s still a mental brick wall, and after making the raider boy probably think I had a stroke for a minute while I squinted and pushed my face into all sort of contortions, I decide it’s time to start moving. To start moving toward Celeste, wherever that is.

  “Hey kid,” I look over at the boy. ”I need to charge my phone so I can call the police, or search and rescue or someone. And I need to talk to my fiancée right away. She must’ve left already and I don’t want her to be lost in this backwoods place. I need to call her and arrange for a car or something. Can you help me?”

  Toward the end of me talking, I just glare at him while speaking louder with every syllable.

  All I
receive is a shrug from the boy.

  Cursing under my breath, I hoist the backpack over my shoulder with the hunting rifle, and turning back to look at the boy, I say, “You better get home to your backwoods Alabama family kid. Let them know I killed your uncles, or brothers, or whatever they were. Sorry about that. They were going to kill me – I hope you understand that. Hopefully you get out of that place, maybe study or something.”

  The boy follows my steps as I start to walk toward the rundown town below.

  “What?” I turn, annoyance on my breath. “It’s the year 2022, and you’re acting like you’ve never seen a human being before. You must watch TV right? What cult do you belong to? It’s 2022, time to get with the times, get a phone. Get some new clothes instead of this weird leather stuff you got on. Here, I’ll give you some cash, go start your own life!”

  I start to pull out five rolled hundred-dollar bills, and I feel a hand reach around my wrist. About to bring my other fist to his face, I suddenly stop.

  The boy speaks.

  “No.”

  His eyes blink deeply, and his eyes aren’t so glazed over.

  “What?” I reply.

  “No,” he says. “No other life. This is life now.” He squints his dark eyes, making them tiny slits. “And it isn’t 2022 anymore. Try 2027.”

  My fist still clenched, I screw up my face in confusion. “You’re crazy, completely AWOL, man. Probably hopped up on some organic weed from around here.”

  I throw the money at the kid, which he doesn’t even lift a muscle to pick up. He looks at it like it’s just scraps of paper.

  “I’m outta here,” I say, turning angrily. “Someone will be looking for us I bet, and I’m not sticking around this hole. Don’t follow me – go find your own life.”