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We run.
Time after time I trip and collapse to the ground out of exhaustion, making my joints ache and skin bruise, but we keep running, just following Brig in tow.
After what seems to be a marathon full of sprinting, we finally slow as we step outside the city limits into an area full of rolling hills and sprawling forestland. Brig even seems slightly winded as she breathes heavily, puffing out her chest and stretching her arms around her head. Sledge collapses on a nearby tree trunk, putting his head between his legs.
I collapse into a pile of grassy dirt near a patch of dense fir trees, wheezing for air and planking on the ground.
We all gasp for a few minutes as Brig stands up, surveying the land behind us. She relaxes after a minute, and I know we must be in the clear. Though she stares at me behind dark black eyes that I assume want to have arms that reach out and strangle me.
I stare down into the dirt, feeling as if I want it to swallow me whole. After a minute, I hear my lips start to speak to Brig and Sledge. “I’m sorry.”
Brig shakes her head incredulously. “What the hell were you thinking Quinn?”
“I wasn’t-“ I start, then rubbing my dark hair tiredly, I start to recount the story of what happened in “Al’s Electronics.”
It ends with Brig cursing again at me, saying, “I can’t believe you were that selfish, or that stupid to go up to a skulk and take something so utterly useless.”
I feel my face getting hot as I start to yell, “Useless? I just woke up yesterday to a time five years in the future – I don’t think its all that crazy to think that yes, I might want to reconnect with my life before that I can hardly remember!”
Brig throws her head back, her fuzzy hair rubbing against a nearby tree. “I can’t believe, I mean, why would you take something with charge, with electricity?”
Sledge chimes in, lifting his head up as he still sits on the stump eyeing us. “He doesn’t know Brig! He doesn’t know about skulks. How could he?”
“That’s no-“
She stops as a twig snaps in the forest by us. Immediately we all jump at attention with guns drawn out in front of us.
We hear a voice, rusty and grizzled, but distinctly human. A man steps out from the fir trees with hands held in the air, a wide-eyed wrinkly face showing behind a wispy graying beard. Tall and lean, he wears denim overalls, torn and patched in areas and muddied, rubber boots on his feet.
“Don’t shoot,” the grizzled man says roughly. “Y’all look like you could use a nice, warm meal and maybe some rest for the night. I ain’t got much, but my place is just right up through these trees here and I’m always good to help out a fellow human being, let alone three – it comes back to me in the end.”
We lower our guns, completely taken aback by this turn of events, forgetting our argument just seconds earlier. Staring at each other, our eyes dart back and forth considering our next move – we could all use a little respite from our worst nightmares trying to rip us apart.
All three of us nod at each other, unanimously deciding.
CHAPTER 8
Farmer’s Feast
Brig, Sledge, the old farmer - who we learned is named Claude McDougall - and I traipse up a brambly hillside as the sunlight begins to fade and trickle through the spaces between pine trees. Once again, particles of orange and purple float through the air as the sun sinks beneath the horizon. Another day ending.
I notice Brig limping and wincing every now and then as she hits her injured foot against a rock.
It’s a good thing we decided to rest.
There’s no telling what we might run into during night time – well actually there is – monstrous woodland creatures and terrifying zombie people. Probably giant mosquitoes too.
After about ten minutes we come to a flattened hilltop with the farmer’s homestead neatly laid out in a perfect clearing. A white single-story farmhouse sprawls out comfortably across the land. With no paint fading, no doors or windows broken, and a picturesque little porch swing in the front, the place looks like it doesn’t belong in this post-apocalyptic world. A neat, red barn sits on a careful dirt path that swings behind the back porch. Well-maintained tractors sit parked next to a towering, red silo full of grain that must have come from the expansive acreage of farmland behind the homestead.
“Wow,” I mutter as I look around, noticing that Brig is wearing the same expression. “This place is legit. Full on country vibe.”
Lights flicker inside the home from candles placed around all the windows, and I notice the shadow of a person working in the kitchen window where pans hang from the ceiling.
Claude chuckles, replying, “Took me forty years of my life to get this place up and running. Built it with my own blood, sweat, and tears. My wife and kids all worked together harvestin’ and sellin’ produce out the back of an old Ford truck we owned. Those were good times.”
He trails off, his throat cracking under emotion.
Walking by a wooden sign with a picture of a chicken that says, “Farm, Sweet Farm,” Brig pipes up, asking, “Are your kids all grown then sir? You here alone now?”
Claude McDougall looks at the ground, then glancing across to the three of us replied, “Most of ‘em have passed now, just me and my daughter Rose are all that are left here. Skulks took my daughters, raiders took my wife. God rest their souls.” He half-lifts one of his legs as we walk to the front steps, again perfectly white with no paint chips whatsoever. Little carved chickens nest on top of the rails that line the stairs.
Brig looks down solemnly. “I’m sorry to hear that Mr. McDougall – we won’t take much of your time and we’ll be on our way out of your hair in the morning.”
Lifting his leg to the last stair, Claude replies, “Not at all. Y’all are welcome to stay as much as you need. Rose and I could use the company. Maybe the help with caring for the animals that are left.”
Brig smiles back at him and nods, but I know she’s thinking about how long she herself has to live with the radiation slowly creeping up her leg. Maybe four days now?
Stealing a glance at my phone that’s stowed away conveniently in my backpack pocket while it charges from the little black box I took from Al, I want so badly to unlock that screen. The picture on the front is the exact same picture I have a copy of. Us on the beach, Celeste looking gorgeous in her black bikini with her shiny new ring. I can’t help wanting to know what more is on my phone - text messages, more pictures maybe – it almost makes me drool thinking about it, but I have to wait until later when I can actually look at them without the crowd. Plus, I still think Brig would throw it in the toilet if she saw me pull it out.
Walking into Claude’s ranch house, not a single creak is heard from the fire engine red door as it swings open. We enter into a small entryway that leads into a great room with a large sectional next to a stony fireplace. Antlers of various sizes adorn the walls, and large decorated Victorian-style rugs line the wood floor we stand on.
Sledge picks up a small figurine of a chicken, and speaks, “How do you do it man? I mean, how do you keep a place so nice with all the radiated animals and skulks not too far away? What’s your secret?” He asks the last part and receives a warning glance from Brig, because of his prying.
Claude chuckles, resting his coat on a nearby coat rack and removing his shoes. “Nah, it’s okay Brigadier General,” he replies, waving his hand calmly to Brig. “I admire curiosity. You ever heard the phrase that animals don’t ever bite the hand that feeds them? Well, I’ve taken care of animals my whole life, and whether their mutated or not, they’re still animals, so you just have to know how to get on their good side.”
He smiles, ushering us toward the kitchen. The aroma coming from it entices my nose with a wave of grilled meat, roasted vegetables, and fresh baked bread. My mouth is fully watering, and when I glance at Sledge, I see a stream of drool coming out the side of his lip. I can only guess with five
years of military rations how hungry you must get.
Brig can’t help looking from room to room as we walk down the hallway toward the kitchen, making that long gazelle face she makes – I’m guessing it’s her military training to assess every situation as a threat. But I don’t see how it’s possible with this old man living alone with his daughter.
“Rose!” Claude McDougall calls out. “Rose, we have some guests! Let’s set three more place settings tonight for them.”
As we round the corner, passing through a framed, open doorway, I see a homely girl, no older than sixteen maybe. She has freckles sprinkled across her hooked nose, no makeup, her dark curly hair is done up haphazardly and she has an apron that covers her slightly curvy body. Green eyes look nervously in our direction and I can tell she’s not accustomed to much social interaction.
Trying to break the awkward ice in the room, I hear myself speaking first. “Nice to meet you, Rose, was it?” She nods silently. “Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing – what do you call it exactly?” I look over at the huge, bubbling pot on the stove, and smile a dimpled smile in her direction.
Her face flushes as she turns back to the stove. I hear her mutter, “Stew.”
Brig rolls her eyes at me, thinking I’m trying to flirt. “Come on Casanova,” she says, gripping my arm tight.
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With bellies full of warm stew, we make our way clumsily to the back of the house where multiple bedrooms split off from the main hallway. Pictures line the hall of girls, young and old, red-haired and dark-haired, and a larger dark-haired woman with a hooked nose – his wife and eleven daughters no doubt. More signs with farm animals and small knick-knacks sit on shelves as we walk by flowery, wall-papered walls.
“It’s really sad,” I whisper to Brig as we trail behind Rose and Sledge. “To lose all your family.”
Brig’s mouth comes close to my ear as she replies, “It might be true, kid – I just don’t trust anybody.” She leans closer so Rose can’t hear a word. “Especially someone just trying to help out a fellow human being without getting anything out of it.”
I reply, furrowing my eyebrows at her, “You’re way too jaded Brig. There’s no way this guy can do anything to us – I mean, he can barely walk, let alone attack us.”
Her breath is so close now is almost makes me jump. “He’s lying about something. He went out to the barn halfway through dinner, came back with dirt all over his hands, and I could see him talking to someone out there. Something isn’t right.”
“So he went to check on his cows – it’s a dirty job – and he’s been living with this girl who never talks,” I reply, pointing toward Rose. “I don’t blame the guy for going a little cuckoo and wanting to have some conversation with his cows.”
Brig seems unconvinced, squinting her eyes toward Rose. She finally says, “Yeah, we’ll see,” and continues following Rose’s mass of dark hair in silence, candlelight flickering shadows on her dark eyes.
Rose leads us to three separate rooms at the end of the hall. My bed is full of pink ruffles and white frilly lace on the bedspread with pink poodles littered all over the walls and floors. If I had seen this room first, I might be more inclined to believe Brig’s suspicion – at least it isn’t clowns I guess.
I throw my stuff on the bed and hastily dig for my phone. It’s as charged as it will get since the power bank has completely turned off. 67% isn’t too bad.
I inhale deep and press my finger against the cold screen to unlock it. And I’m greeted with the most beautiful sight in the world as my apps pop onto the screen. Words such as Snapchat, Facebook, and Instagram nostalgically take me back to a much simpler time. I see a small Verizon in the top left, but it can’t seem to find any service.
Secretly, I hoped it would.
Out of habit, I click on a combination of apps I used to check routinely five hundred times a day – flashes and tidbits of memories flood back to me. Every app says it can’t connect to the internet. But as soon as I click the “Photos” app in the phone do memories inundate my brain.
I swipe, like an addict getting a fix.
Pic#1 – Selfie of Celeste and I sticking our tongues out to the side with mud all over our faces – Tough Mudder run for the New York Kid’s Charity Foundation.
Pic#2 – Celeste standing in a chic, black gown (Dior) that hugs her body tight, with glittering diamonds shining on her wrists and ears. The background says “Met Gala 2021.”
Pic#3 – My sisters (Shaelynn and Jamie) and I posing with escargot raised over our heads at a fancy New York restaurant called Le Bernardin. There’s a waiter behind us with a French mustache giving us a very disapproving glare.
Pic#4 – Celeste and I hold a lobster trap off the side of a dock where it says “Cape Cod” in big blue letters.
Pic#5 – Me standing in a toga next to another guy with jet black hair, who’s also wearing a toga. His name comes to me as I look at his wide, toothy smile. Jackson. My best friend, he was going to be my best man also…
Pic#6 – Jackson and I, this time we’re standing in blue military uniforms with white hats on top of our heads, gold buttons and red seams lining the jackets we’re wearing. Marines. An image of Jackson and I deploying to Afghanistan comes to mind.
A cough from the door of my bedroom startles me and the phone tumbles out of my hand, still flashing the image of Jackson and I in the Marines.
Brig bends down to pick it up, saying, “Looks like we’re military brother and sister – I guess you deserve a little more respect kid.” She hands me my phone back. “I really came in to say I’m sorry about earlier – I’m just used to being on my own and looking out for myself, not for some rich boy who wants to throw money at everything to solve his problems.”
I laugh sardonically. “You came to apologize? You must’ve been alone a long time to think this qualifies.”
She pushes my shoulder, her dark eyes flashing. “I said I’m sorry Quinn. But to be completely honest,” she starts, resting her hand gently on my shoulder now, “I was actually planning on dying in the next day or two. I’d given up all hope and if a bear or a wolf hadn’t gotten me, I was going to end my life. So I guess I should be thanking that snobby, rich boy for his help.”
“Wait,” I reply, smiling. “Was that a thank you from Brigadier General? Hold on while I turn on the camera.”
She pushes my shoulder again, this time making it ache a little.
Throwing me a white roll of toilet paper, she smiles. “Now we’re even. You save my butt, and I save yours. Literally.”
I laugh, taking the roll of toilet paper like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. “How’s your leg doing anyway Brig?”
She pulls up her pant leg, exposing a red, patchy layer of skin up to her knee, cracks like tendrils reaching up the length of her calf. “I’m not gonna lie kid, it’s like my leg is on fire all the time, but don’t worry because I can still kick you in the balls with it just fine if you do anything stupid.”
I laugh hard, and she joins in. “Thanks – I’ll keep that in mind.”
She salutes me and I salute back, and make my way to the shower, for one of the best feelings I’ve had in my life – being clean.
I take off my first clothes and stare at my naked body in the mirror above the sink. Fresh cuts on my forehead, my arms, and even a pretty big gash on my left side mix with purple bruises to make me look like I’ve been in a fight club. I run my hands along my abs, a six pack, but a little squishy I’m guessing from the five-year hiatus. The hair on my body is still pretty freshly waxed (that’s what Celeste liked) and I expect my manhood to be fully engulfed by a wild tangle of bush forest by now, but it’s not. It’s all clean, probably from the cryogenic chamber I was in. I bring my hand to my toned pecs, the left one I’m noticing for the first time has the words Celeste in curly letters like graffiti made into the shape of a heart. I run my hand along it, wanting to be with her.
I
jump in the shower, trying to distract myself, letting the warm, clean, radioactive-free water drip all over my body.
It feels amazing.
I stay for way longer than I probably should have being a houseguest, then I head to bed with a spare change of black boxer briefs that were luckily stowed away in my pack.
If it weren’t for the poodles staring at me from the bed sheets, or the rude awakening at the crack of dawn, it would’ve been the best sleep of my life too.
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“Quinn,” a terse voice whispers in the dark, shaking my shoulder. “Get up – we need to go!”
Brig is shaking me awake, panic strained in her voice. I try to open my eyes, but it’s still dark outside. “What about the farmer’s breakfast?” I mumble, still half-awake.
Brig’s breath is right next to my ear, and it startles me. “Now Quinn. Something isn’t right in this house of horrors!”
“You’re just being paranoid Brig – Go back to bed.” I turn to roll over, and she throws the covers off my body.
“Hey!” I yell out. “What are you doing?”
“Keep your voice down, kid!” Brig whispers furiously. “Get your stuff and let’s go quick – I’ll grab Sledge.” She turns to walk out, but I grab onto her wrist.
“What the hell Brig? You’re messed up.”
“I’m not paranoid, at least not this time,” Brig replies, snatching her wrist back. “I found a corpse, just resting on one of the beds like it was sleeping, all dressed up and everything. The wife’s corpse from what I can tell.”
Okay, that was a bit off.
I sit up in bed, wanting to see this corpse, so I pull on my clothes and reach for my stuff, and I’m just putting on my shoes when Brig rushes back in.
Frantic.
“Sledge isn’t in his room!” She calls out, this time not able to whisper. “We find him and go! Now do you believe me?”
I roll my eyes, trailing behind her. “Yeah, probably. But I swear, if it sends up that Sledge went to get a snack and the corpse is really a weird blow up doll, I am gonna be kicking you in the balls!”
Nuclear Rising Page 6