Primitive
Page 30
Tracy thought about it for a moment. "Your laptop is in our room," she said. "I can bring it down, give you an hour a day to start."
"An hour a day would be great," I said.
Tracy smiled. It was the first time I'd seen her smile since...well, since this whole thing started. Maybe that was a sign things were getting better. "I guess if you feel good enough to write, maybe you are out of the woods."
"Of course I am," I said.
Emily came into the room, running excitedly. "Daddy! Daddy!"
"Hey! Come here, you!" I held my right arm out; my left was still bandaged up and somewhat immobile.
Emily leaped onto the bed and carefully crawled over to me so I could hug her. "I love you, Daddy!"
"I love you, too." I hugged her, kissed the top of her head. I looked at Tracy. "And I love you too, baby."
Tracy's smile widened. "That goes double for me, David."
I felt good. I felt happy. And for the first time since this all began, I felt safe.
I felt we might have some sense of a future.
I felt we might have a chance of surviving this. Of building something new together. Of contributing to the rebuilding of society into something better than what was destroyed.
Most of all, and more important to me, I had my life and my family.
And I was determined to not let them go. I'd made those vows years ago, when Tracy and I first got together, back when Eric was a baby, before Emily was even born.
I'd kept those vows. Us being here, in this fortress beneath the ground, was proof.
I was going to hold on to them.
Or die trying.
AFTERWORD
What you've just read is my father's version of what happened to our little corner of the world thirty years ago, when human civilization almost ended.
As I write this, the world has yet to return to the state it was in when the Havoc Virus was unleashed. Perhaps it never will. Much of my education during my formative years was watching hours of old video footage of that former world. Movies, TV shows, home movies rescued from the many legions of the dead who'd died leaving their belongings for archeologists to recover as a way of preservation and educating those—like myself—who came of age after the near fall of civilization.
Shortly after my father finished this narrative, he succumbed to the blood poisoning that was ravaging his system. From what I remember he went very peacefully, in his sleep, surrounded by those who loved him in his last days—my mother and I, Wesley Smitts, and Martin Hernandez. Dr. Bush did all she could to save him, enlisting the help of a hematologist she met via radio communication (who was broadcasting from Switzerland), but ultimately failed. Daddy's death affected her in a way I didn't understand as a child.
Martin helped my mother raise me, and he proved to be a wonderful surrogate father. Nobody could replace the real father I'd lost, but Martin came very close. He lived with my mother (platonically, of course; Martin never took on another life partner after losing Jerry Horn as described in my father's narrative) until I turned eighteen and went to the University of Colorado in Denver, which was one of the ten universities that were resurrected in the decade following the near crash. By then, of course, Mom and Martin were involved in key positions in the rebuilding of the world, a process that is still ongoing and will likely continue until I am well into my sunset years. Regardless, Daddy's passion for life and his determination to live, his single-minded goal of staying alive and preserving our lives was a huge influence on them, one that shapes the decisions they make in their respective roles in our current government. Likewise, it has influenced my own research and the wisdom I impart on my students.
As for myself...I foretold my father's passing the day we arrived at the missile silo. I saw it the moment I saw that he was injured, had been bitten by the primitive. I saw the infection spread through his body, saw visions of his illness and eventual death.
I saw a black cloud envelop my father.
I knew, even then, that the black cloud represented death.
I was four years old, would turn five a month later, and as most toddlers are wont to do, I told my mother. She didn't take the news well. I didn't either, to tell you the truth. But from what I remember, it enabled me to prepare emotionally for my father's death. I think it helped my mother, too. Getting confirmation from Dr. Bush that Daddy's illness would probably prove fatal helped us deal with it mentally, emotionally. When I read those last few pages of my father's account, I can't help but feel both sad and proud that he had an idea, an inkling that he was aware that I knew something bad was around the corner, something so horrible that we were afraid to tell him. I think maybe his gift of precognition was a little stronger than normal as well. I'd like to think so, that I'd inherited this gift from him. My mother says that my father always read people well, and that he'd probably sensed I predicted the end for him, but was too proud to ask any of us. He'd accepted it, found the strength somehow to fight and, when he was well enough, went to work at writing down this narrative.
Therefore, it gives me extreme pleasure to be able to write the Afterword to this memoir, the first book publication that depicts a personal view of the Havoc Virus and its aftermath. We're lucky to have this book. We're lucky to have the reemergence of the book publishing industry, of television and motion pictures, of the banking system, of the construction industry, and much more. All are relatively young, rebuilding from the ashes of our past world, but they're flourishing and growing at incredible speed. I've written and spoken before that the state of commerce and business in the US—if not most of the former First World and some former Second and Third World countries—is like what they were in the early Victorian Age. Old systems have been brought back, refined drastically, or eliminated altogether. Once again we have a strong sense of duty. Of honor. Of courage. We have vision. It is those traits that are forging society and moving us ever forward with new ideas and a determination to not repeat the mistakes of those who came before us. If anything has taught mankind, it is that last admonition. We are all well aware of the many mistakes of the previous world. We are determined not to repeat them.
And that's why this book and others that will come after it will be so important for future generations. This is what drives me in my current work, to not only promote this notion, but also to make sure my father's words do not die in vain. What he has recounted in these pages is our grim struggle for survival. This struggle played itself out with families all across the world, and it illustrates that even at our most primal, our most base instincts, we are still human with all of our flaws, rough edges, and brains and power for social engineering and invention. We can make a difference, as a collective voice or as a lone individual. But we have to strive for that greatness. We have to fight for it. Against all odds.
My father was a fighter. He made some tough choices. The toughest was getting us out of Pasadena, California in the days following the Havoc outbreak and getting through to my mother that we had to leave my brother, Eric, behind. I can't even begin to imagine the pain those decisions put him through. But it was his choices, his thinking process, which defined my father and influenced me in my own work.
At the end of my father's narrative he recounts his last days in the silo's infirmary. There's a brief scene where my four-year old self is sitting solemnly on his bed. I tell him I love him, and that he will always be with me.
And that is so true. My father may have died two months later, shortly after finishing his narrative, but he never left me. I see him constantly. He talks to me. I talk to him.
He tells me he's proud of me.
And I'm very proud of him.
Thank you, Daddy. For your courage. Your bravery. Your quick thinking. Your willingness to do whatever it took to save your clan—because without you, we wouldn't be where we are today. Your tenacity in the face of huge adversity saved the lives of my mother, who went on to become a US Senator, and Martin Hernandez, who became a Chief Cabinet member i
n the reformation of our government. It also led to Wesley Smitts being a modern day war hero. During the year after your death, Wesley led a team of soldiers into a nuclear ravaged New York City and cleaned out the last vestiges of primitives and was killed in action. It was that battle that finally tipped the scales in our favor, banishing Hanbi forever into oblivion.
Never to be seen or heard from again.
I wish you were really here with me to see all of this...but I know you're here in spirit. I feel your energy every day.
I will never lose it. I will never lose you.
I love you, Daddy. I always will.
Emily Spires, Ph.D.
Professor of Anthropology and Human History,
University of Colorado, Denver.
November 15, 2037
About The Author
J. F. Gonzalez is the author of over a dozen novels of horror and dark suspense including Hero (with Wrath James White), Bully, The Beloved, Clickers (with Mark Williams) and Clickers II: The Next Wave (with Brian Keene). His short fiction appears regularly in various magazines and anthologies and is most recently collected in When the Darkness Falls, and The Summoning and Other Eldritch Tales. His work is occasionally optioned for film, but nothing ever gets made. He's also a screenwriter and a web designer. He lives with his family in Pennsylvania. He is currently at work on his next novel.