Nuclear Rising

by Christian Smith

  Panic starts to set in as I realize I have no clue where I am.

  Ahead of me, I see two shadowy figures, one holding a smaller more delicate shadow I know must belong to a young woman. They’re at the end of the alleyway where the cliff juts in and closes the place off. Approaching, I hear the men shouting angrily at her, while they throw her back and forth between each other.

  A girl’s cry rings out, shrieking helplessly, followed by the sound of sobbing.

  “You’re a delicate flower,” I hear one of the mean grunt in a deep voice. “A flower like you shouldn’t be in a slum like this – My associate and I can teach you why exactly. You’ll be begging for more though – they always do after they’ve been de-flowered.”

  His friend laughs heartily, wickedly.

  I step toward them, unnoticed, just within feet of the one who just spoke.

  There’s a body slumped to the floor, and I nearly gasp at the sight of the dark-haired man who has a large slit on his neck where blood seeps onto his black armor below.

  I look back up at the girl, inhaling deeply.

  She tries to hit the man, who now has grabbed her wrists. Her eyes grow large and desperate, and she glances at me, a pleading look flashing toward me.

  My heart races.

  Fingers tingling.

  I raise the rifle silently against my shoulder.

  Aim down the sights.

  Bullet’s already in the chamber.

  I pull the trigger.

  A flash.

  A bang.

  The man holding the girl immediately slumps down to the side of her, and as she’s set free, she kicks the other man in between the legs, and he cries out and drops to the ground with his hands covering his groin.

  I have to stifle a laugh.

  The girl emerges from the enclosure, kicking the man one more time as he cowers on the ground in fetal position.

  As her face passes into the light from one of the basements, my heart stops.

  Platinum blond hair covers the soft, delicate curves of her smooth, rounded face with full, cherry-red lips. She reaches a trembling hand and brushes the hair to the side of her beautiful face.

  I’m taken aback, but not just because of her beauty.

  Celeste?

  CHAPTER 14

  First Date with a Flower

  I remember a time, not too long ago, when rock bottom had hit me.

  Having been discharged from the military because I could no longer mentally handle what happened – I push against the memory again, not wanting to see Jackson’s face.

  So I drank.

  For six months, I drank until I could no longer drink, until my body gave out, until I’d wake up every morning passed out in a different place. Until one night, when I decided I could no longer endure the memories of what happened in the military, when Jackson died in front of me.

  That night in September I decided was going to be my last night. I would drink and drink until I no longer hurt. No longer had to think, and then I would jump off the Brooklyn Bridge and disappear forever under the water.

  But I didn’t make it.

  As I stumbled out onto the street, I felt a set of perfectly manicured, smooth hands reach around my arms, wrestling me to the ground as an embrace determined to bring me back held me tight against her chest.

  I felt salty tears dropping on my face and for an instance, everything came together for me.

  Everything would be better.

  The only thing I remembered that night were her eyes, crying over me as her fingers twirled through my air, soft whispers willing me to come back to life.

  To get better.

  Those perfect blue emerald pools that pierced my soul.

  Those eyes.

  ┈┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈┈

  And that’s how I know the girl standing in front of me in a darkened alleyway is not actually Celeste.

  Her eyes are green, and no doubt beautiful, but they are not Celeste’s.

  I glance at her though, still longing for her to be Celeste. She stands a couple inches shorter than myself, maybe a year or two younger than me – a petite girl with wavy long blond hair that dips below her shoulder blades, a fitted white tee accentuating her slight curves and tight stomach beneath a black leather jacket. A locket sits against her chest, the image of a rose wrapping itself around the golden circle. Black leather leggings sit snug against her small hips and taper down to tiny ankles, where a pair of ankle-high boots envelope her small feet. I glance at her face, again noticing her full, red lips, and a jaw line so well-defined as it goes back to her small ears it could cut glass. She could have easily been a model in a different life.

  After about thirty seconds of silence, I notice I am probably looking at her like a creeper, and realize I have to say something. Anything.

  “You okay?” I say, trying to dissuade the awkwardness.

  She smiles, only for a second, and looks down sullenly with her cat-like green eyes at the man with the slit throat.

  “He was a friend of mine, a good man, my bodyguard. And those men killed him. Over what?”

  Her voice was sweet and light, with a hint of rasp.

  I walk near her, just far enough away to stay out of arm’s reach so I’m not too close. “I’m really sorry about him. Is there anything I can do? You live around here? I can walk you back home if you’d like. Call your family maybe?”

  She shakes her head, looking up at me as a tiny diamond tear rolls off her soft cheek. She’s obviously still in shock from the blank expression in her eyes. “I’ll be alright, but maybe you can walk me back to Main, and from there, I can head on my own.”

  Truthfully I had no clue where Main was.

  “Yeah,” I reply, reaching my hand down toward her. “Sure – I can do that, no problem at all. I mean, I know the names of all the streets in this stench of a place. My name’s Quinn by the way.”

  She takes my hand, a solemn smile on her face as she stands up. “I’m Breelena, Bree for short. And thank you by the way. They murdered Garrick, my bodyguard, right in front of me, slit his throat. I hate to think what they would’ve done to me. Most of the Sempers here would’ve probably joined in honestly, not tried to save me.”

  She shivers even though it isn’t cold.

  We get to the end of Midnight Alley, a boisterous laugh from one of the basement rooms makes Bree jump and briefly run into me, her smooth jacket brushing against my skin. I have no idea where to go, so I subtly look down at her legs to see if she’ll turn or go straight.

  She ends up turning right.

  “What were you doing in a place like this anyway?” I question, crinkling my forehead. “I mean, this isn’t exactly Sesame Street down here.”

  She looks at me confused for a second, then realizes the reference. “It is a long story,” she says, and I notice how she inflects the end of her words, almost cheerfully. “Garrick and I were down here visiting an orphanage full of kids who’ve lost their parents one way or another – It’s called Hope’s Cross. One of the boys, Tommy, was having his sixth birthday party, and I absolutely love the kid.”

  I almost stumble over her as she turns again down a street called “Sherman Ave.”

  Impressed, I interject, “That’s pretty noble of you in a town full of ex-cons and military junkies.”

  She glances over at me, briefly connecting with my eyes before she looks ahead. “Someone has to do it around here - I mean, this place is a hole if I’m being honest. Daddy always warns me not to go out, that it’s too dangerous, but I’m seventeen – I’m tired of being shut in all my life. But for just a minute, you get to see these little kids, and you’re reminded that life used to be different before N-day happened. Those kids don't know any different though.”

  “So that’s why you do it then?”

  “That,” Bree continues, “And the fact that everyone here is so concerned about saving their own lives, they don’t really give a damn – sorry, about that.” She tur
ns slightly red on her cheeks. “They don’t care about helping anyone, they’ve all lost their humanity really.”

  We keep walking straight past a crowd of soldiers that appear to be in full military armor. They stop and gawk at Bree while one of them talks on what looks like a walkie talkie, but she doesn’t give any indication she even notices. She’s either oblivious to how pretty she is compared to the rest of the grunge around here, or she really just doesn’t care.

  We walk another five minutes until we come to an area that looks like a child’s playground, except it has targets posted all over it.

  She stops, and I nearly run into her again. Turning, I can see ferocity in her eyes as she speaks sharply. “Okay. Who are you exactly?”

  I try to deflect, replying, “What do you mean? My name’s Quinn – this here bunch of bullet-loving, smelly bandits is my tribe. I just love shooting people so much, It’s my only favorite hobby.”

  She nearly spits in my face as she holds back a laugh. “You’re not from here are you?”

  “What gave it away? My charming good looks like I took a shower this week, or the fact that I have all my teeth in place?”

  Again, she chuckles, a musical tone like a song ringing out, and I notice she actually does have all her teeth. Bree says, “It’s just – you’re different, that’s all. You don’t just talk about the people you shot or the girls you raped like most of the men around here. Daddy taught me self-defense and gave me a bodyguard because he was deathly afraid of something happening, even though he’s in charge of them. That, and we passed Main Street about two blocks ago.”

  “Did we really?” I reply, trying to play dumb. “Sounds like such a charming place – I’ll have to look into somewhere else to relocate my damsel-in-distress saving bit I guess.”

  She shakes her head, rolling her giant green eyes, and becomes deadly serious. “But no more stalling. Tell me who you are, what you’re doing here, or I’ll go talk to the guard that’s been walking behind us for two blocks.”

  So she wasn’t so oblivious…

  “Okay,” I say. “Okay. I’m here with my friend at some hole-in-the-wall medic office called Manley’s Medics. She got bit by some huge bear creature, her leg got really nasty, and apparently Dr. Frankenstein ended up being the only one that could save her. So here we are. And that’s the truth.”

  At least most of the truth.

  She’s quiet for a minute, and I wonder if she’s going to tell the guard now.

  She doesn’t.

  “So you’re a nomad then?” Bree finally says, brushing a stray hair out of her eyes.

  “I guess that’s what you’d call me – It’s such a ridiculously long story - you wouldn’t even believe it if I told you, but bottom line is, I owed my friend a big debt and had to repay it.”

  I debate telling her about Celeste, but for some reason, my lips stay mum.

  As I glance around, I can see an Asian man dressed in military garb, standing on the street corner, eyeing us closely. He looks down at the ground the second I connect with his sight.

  “What’s Kung Fu’s problem over there?” I ask quietly, glancing over at the Asian guard. “He’s been staring at us since we stopped here. Is there something you aren’t telling me? Are we secretly on some hidden camera show? Because that would be epic.”

  Another laugh rings out, though Bree quiets down as she whispers. “It’s probably my fault. I’m sure I was supposed to report in to daddy, so he’ll of course go ballistic and send all the troops at his command after me. But I’m not ready to go in quite yet – can you please take me with you?”

  She curls her strawberry lips up, making puppy dog eyes. I have such a hard time resisting puppy dog eyes, especially from a girl like her. I reply, “I don’t think I want a whole cavalry after me though. Your dad sounds like the ultimate shotgun-cleaning, don’t-lay-a-finger-on-my-princess sort of guy, so I better pass – we’re trying to keep a low profile here anyway. So you should go before I get hanged for being around you.”

  “But,” she says brushing her fingers against my exposed hand. “I really like it. I don’t get out much obviously, and except for the whole near-death experience, it’s been a good date so far. So thank you for that.”

  I feel some electricity in the skin where hers touched, while my throat tightens like a lump. “Date huh? Man have standards changed. Not even dinner. But you’re welcome I guess?” I say, feeling somewhat guilty because of Celeste. “I really have to go check on my friend now – I’m sure she’s awake and probably trying to stab someone with a scalpel, so for their sake, I have to go. Sounds like you should be going too.”

  Turning to walk down whatever street I was on, I do everything in my power to not look back at Bree, though I catch sight of her reflection in a mirror at “Alfie’s Classy Glasswares,” and all I can do is grit my teeth together and keep walking. Until I realize –

  I absolutely, one hundred percent have no clue where I'm going.

  I stop, looking down a cross path, one direction going to a block of homes layered on top of each other like Jenga blocks, and the other side having a store selling twisted metal sculptures with tanks and rocket launchers.

  It was getting dark, and a group of soldiers were drunkenly teetering to some of the houses nearby. Out of habit, I flip out my phone, realizing the Maps app would do little more than blink at me.

  One of the soldiers stops, grunting, and looks in my direction. A burly man with a large red coat, he speaks in a menacing voice. “What you doing here scum? You come to break into my home again?”

  Pointing to my chest and wrinkling my eyebrows, I look left and right, then decide to start walking away.

  “Don’t you run away from me, you little shit!” I can hear loud thuds behind me as the man chases me. “I’ll skin you alive you hear!”

  Without warning, a set of fingers grasps around mine, pulling me down a narrow walkway behind the shops. The drunk man trying to follow, but a loud crash rings out as he trips over a garbage can, cursing as he rolls on the ground.

  Bree smirks at me, a dimple showing on her chin. “Looks like we have a lost nomad needing a guide. I just so happen to know a girl. You can’t be too careful I hear with all these bullet-loving, stinky bandits around.”

  Though my instinct is to pull away, I let her pull me – maybe just this once it’d be alright. Even though I have no idea where I am, she seems to know exactly where we’re going.

  We veer left. A black cat screeches at us as we turn the corner.

  Right. An old man with one eye tells us to slow down.

  Straight, then left again. We pass a house that smells like meaty stew, and it makes my stomach growl.

  Finally we stand in front of “Manley’s Medics.” Lights glow from inside - not candlelights - but light from actual light bulbs. The place must run on a generator – one of the few in the neighborhood I’m guessing.

  “Well, here we are again,” I finally say, feeling like I’m at the end of a first date gone horribly wrong – I never usually had people die on my dates. “Thanks for the help back there.”

  “I have been told I like to help too much,” Bree says, green eye winking in the light. “I hope we see each other again soon, Quinn the Nomad.”

  “Thanks, Bree the Damsel-in-Distress,” I reply. “It was- It was actually really fun tonight. Apart from shooting some burly rapist man and nearly peeing myself. Except now all I want is a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a hot shower. I’m guessing those two things are hard to come by around here.”

  She laughs, waving as she turns to head up “Auspicious Amputee Ave,” and I grit my teeth, preemptively pushing the metal door. I step into the light, my eyes burning from the brightness of actual halogens in the ceiling.

  I pass Jake Manley, who sits at the desk with his head resting against his hand. Doc Manley is nowhere to be seen as I step past the curtain leading into the back.

  Brig sits up, resting on an old psychiatrist’s sofa on the othe
r side of the wall away from the operating tables. She nods as I walk in, a faint smile of her lips as she tries to adjust her legs which seem to be made of lead.

  “Hey kid,” Brig says in a dry, raspy voice, her dark eyes glinting in the light. “Nice to see you again – I thought you were going to leave me for another woman. I know it’s been five years – your balls must be pretty blue by now.”

  I roll my eyes, shaking my head as I reply, “Just as blue as yours I’m guessing.”

  She throws a pillow in my direction, knocking it against my arm.

  I clear my throat, speaking. “I did find a pretty girl though, you know, saved her life and such, no big deal, but don’t worry – I kept a low profile. No kissing at all – I really deserve a medal for that one. Do you know what it’s like to not be with a woman for five years?”

  “Of course I know,” Brig grumbles. “Hey kid, can you pass me that water?”

  I reach for it, and as she starts sipping I can hear a commotion up front as the door scrapes open and a loud voice rumbles.

  “Where’s the boy? Where is he?”

  A knot forms in my stomach.

  Brig eyes me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Low profile, eh?” she asks, jabbing my side.

  Suddenly the curtain parts, and from it walks a bear of a man, his head nearly hitting the doorway as he stoops. With auburn hair and a full red-tinted brown beard, it deceptively makes him appear older than he must be. He wears a green uniform, and though the man is large, he has almost no body fat whatsoever, so the clothes sit on him tight like a muscle-laden superhero. Medals bustle up on his chest like a slew of buttons. His arms are larger than my body combined, his legs massive, and his stomach probably has ten extra muscles in it from the washboard appearance I can see. In his enormous head-sized hands I can see a delicate Bree, and though it’s a forceful grip, it isn’t one that’s menacing, but protective of her.

  Bree sends a nervous smile coupled with a wave in my direction.

  The man speaks, his voice reverberating across the walls like a bass guitar. “You’re the boy who saved my daughter eh?” He smiles, one gold tooth shining in the light. “I wanted to give you my thanks personally – you have no idea how much a father loves his daughter, especially my little flower here.”