First Days After

by Jay Vielle

  “I was afraid of that,” said Jake.

  “Of what?”

  “If essential services are down, it might mean that it’s the Wild, Wild West out there. It might be the kind of scene that spawns people like we saw today. Hooligans. Criminals. Outlaws. An ‘anything goes’ mentality.”

  “Jake. I gotta ask you. What did you say to that guy?” asked Al. “That last guy. The one you let go.”

  “I asked him if he was part of a group, or gang, and he said yes. I told him that if any of them ever came back here that I would not be so merciful next time. I told him to tell his people that this place is off limits, and if none of them ever came back, then I wouldn’t have to come hunt them down one by one.”

  Al and I looked at each other nervously. Images of every dystopian society sci-fi book I’d ever read or movie I’d ever seen started running through my head. Mad Max. Book of Eli. The Word and the Void series. The idea that they might be real and that I might be living in them was horrifying.

  “I’m going to head back to the others, tell them about 9-1-1. You guys coming?” asked Al. I shrugged, then looked at Jake.

  “So, what do we do now?” I asked.

  “I need to try and get my head together and then try to text my sons, catch them up a little,” said Jake.

  “Then I think maybe we need to go do some scouting,” he said.

  “You know that’s the opposite of what you said yesterday, right?”

  “Every day’s a new day,” said Jake, lifting his eyebrows expectantly.

  My deadpan face in response made him ruffle his brow disappointedly.

  “I love you more than yesterday.”

  Nothing.

  “But not as much as tomorrow?”

  Nothing.

  “You should know that song. It’s Sonny and Cher. I thought you homos were all about Sonny and Cher,” he said with a smirk.

  “Us homos only listen to Cher as a solo artist. Only you old farts listen to Sonny.”

  --------------------------

  “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, bury them or something? They’re just lying there,” said Melanie. The group was sitting in the cafeteria, just across the rotunda. The bodies of the two dead attackers were laying there, both in small pools of blood that had started to dry a little. The others turned to look at them after Melanie spoke.

  “They are pretty gruesome to look at,” said Al. “I can’t believe Jake did all that. He killed those guys. Like, really killed them. Jesus Christ.”

  “I’ve never seen a dead body before,” remarked Glen Billings.

  “It would actually be a little scarier if you had,” said his friend, Casey Kirby. Glen scrunched his face up and nodded. “Just sayin’” said Casey.

  “Shouldn’t we call the police or something?” Jada asked.

  “9-1-1 doesn’t work,” said Al. “Who would we call?”

  “It’s like the no rules out there,” said Robin. “Is this how it’s gonna be now? Is every place like this?” Just then Mark Longaberger threw up. It was spontaneous, projectile, and all over the floor of the rotunda.

  “Ugh. God, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll clean that up.” Wes Kent and Lou Orville were still staring at the corpses. Their faces had both gone a little pallid, and like their colleague, looked as if they might vomit.

  Jake texted his sons. He let them know that he had been staying in the high school and trying to gather himself and organize the group with him. I noticed that he did not mention their mother, Laura at all. Once completed, Jake and I walked up slowly to the cafeteria, which lay just alongside the large rotunda, the school’s main lobby where students generally entered, and in front of which Jake Fisher just took two lives.

  Everything became instantly quiet, and all heads turned towards us. The awkwardness was palpable. Jake moved slowly, and clearly favored his bad leg. He rolled his shoulder and winced a little.

  “Hey Mel,” Jake said, “Can I get a bag of ice please?”

  Melanie Richmond’s eyes bugged, and she looked terrified of Jake as she awkwardly smiled, nodded, and shuffled off to the kitchen. The silence continued in the room, despite Jake’s request. All eyes were on him, then on me as I sat down beside him. I started getting irritated, and my face must have shown it, because Scott and Marianne Heffner walked quietly over to our table.

  “Mr. Fisher. Jake,” Scott began. “I want to thank you for saving my family.” Marianne was unable to speak. She had tears in her eyes, a wrinkled smile on her face, and she nodded vehemently in agreement. “Yes, thank you,” she managed to whisper.

  “Think nothing of it,” said Jake. “I know you’d do the same if roles were reversed.”

  Scott nodded, took Jake’s hand in both of his and shook it. Marianne brushed her hand down Jake’s arm. She noticed a large bloody abrasion on Jake’s elbow, presumably where he hit the pavement after being tackled.

  “That looks like it hurts,” she said.

  “Not that bad, but thanks,” said Jake. “My joints, on the other hand, aren’t being so kind,” he said with a soft smile.

  “Here’s your ice, Jake” said Melanie. He nodded and mouthed a silent thank you. He placed the ice pack on his shoulder, then used some old athletic tape to make it stay. The wrap job was far from professional, but the bag would stay for now. Jake wandered over to the cafeteria’s edge where a giant bottle of hand sanitizer sat by itself. He pumped a dollop onto his elbow abrasion and rubbed it slightly. I saw him stiffen slightly when he applied it. It had to sting like hell. Jake’s nostrils flared a little, and he mashed his lips together, but I never heard him make a sound. He walked back to me.

  “Shit stings,” he said, laughing a little.

  “Never were known for your intelligence, were you?” I asked. Lou Orville was slowly wandering this way. Normally, Orville swaggered when he walked, like most popular football players. He usually had a look on his face somewhere between self-satisfaction and a smirk. Just now, though, he looked cautious in a way I’d never seen him before. I imagine that the recent action outside affected him a little. Hell, it affected all of us. Most people have never seen anyone dead. Even fewer have seen someone in the process of being killed, and only a small percentage have seen that happen through violence. The world just added another thirty-six people to that small list, and the tension in the cafeteria was palpable because of it.

  “Uh, Jake,” Lou began. Jake looked up and got eye contact. “Some of us heard you were thinking of maybe, going outside, scouting a little? You, you think it’s safe then?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” said Jake. “Not my area of expertise. But I know that we were terrified of it before, and now I’ve been outside and the Heffners are in with us, so my thought is that the damage—if there is any—has already been done. Might as well assess the situation.”

  Lou nodded. “I’m happy to be part of that scouting party. If you want, I mean.”

  “Thanks,” said Jake.

  “Listen,” continued Lou. “I’m sorry about before. We were all just in survival mode, you know?”

  “I know. Not exactly something you can really practice for, is it?” Jake added. “Sure, Lou. It’d be good to have you along. I’m thinking maybe this evening, when it cools off a little. We can go out, tend to the bodies, and take a look around. Check out the nearby area of town.”

  As we all sat and chatted in the cafeteria, and Jake nursed his elbow and shoulder, the tension eased a bit out of the room. Robin Eaves and Maureen Kelly teamed up to cook a meal for dinner—spam and mashed potatoes. I can’t remember a meal I liked or needed as much as I needed that one then. I’ve had many memorable meals in my short life so far. I still remember the steak and lobster that my first boyfriend and I shared in college. I remember the cuy chactado and chuño stew that my grandmother made for me when we went to visit her in Cuzco. Most Americans can’t handle the fact that I enjoy eating fried guinea pig and a stew made of freeze-dried potatoes, but everyone can appreciate t
heir grandmother’s specialty. As good as all of those were, this meal offered some kind of normalcy. It was the epitome of comfort food, since all of us really needed the comfort right about now. We all sat together, all savored things that in another context we would have disparaged, insulted, and even refused.

  After dinner, everyone pitched in to clean up, using as little water as possible. Everyone was in constant conservation mode all of the time, and as silly as it sounds, spam and powdered mashed potatoes felt a lot like splurging. Once the area had been cleaned, Jake wandered over to the auxiliary gym where the archery equipment had been moved. After rooting around in the Physical Education closet for a few minutes, he grabbed about 20 arrows and a bow for me, and then went into the media center and found some thick tagboard and began to roll it into a cylinder. Then he wrapped the cylinder in wrestling mat tape. Mat tape is used to keep sections of wrestling mat together during practices and matches, and it’s incredibly thick and tough. When he was finished, he tied an adjustable belt he’d taken from a pair of football pants, and looped it around the taped cylinder, and voila—he had fashioned a solid quiver for my arrows to match the one he already had used earlier.

  “You ever use one of these?” he asked.

  “Here, in P.E. class,” I answered.

  ‘Any good?” he asked.

  “Adequate. I had the mentality for it. Patient. Quiet mind.”

  “So, just like the Scottish girl in the Disney flick,” he said, smiling. I laughed out loud and shook my head.

  “Minus the red hair and the corset, of course,” I answered.

  “Um, are we sure you don’t have the corset,” he asked.

  “Are you kidding me? You ever worn one of those? And how is it you never got fired again for being a raging homophobic?” I asked him.

  “Cause I’m not phobic. I’m not scared of you, I just like to make fun of you,” he answered.

  “Fair enough,” I said with a grin, and we met up with Lou Orville and Wes Kent at the rotunda.

  “You guys ready?” asked Lou. Jake nodded, I gave the thumbs up.

  “Wes isn’t coming?” I asked, cutting my eyes towards Jake slyly.

  “He…felt someone had to stay here in case someone approached. He and Casey and Glen will guard the doors,” said Mark. Jake nodded again, then turned and raised his eyebrows to me.

  “H-o-m-o-p-h-o-b-i-c,” I silently mouthed.

  “Who could ever be afraid of Merida?” he whispered back.

  “Huh?” wondered Lou.

  “Nothing. Archery joke,” said Jake, and we all walked out the doors. Mark Longaberger stopped hard as we approached the dead bodies. He had vomited earlier at the sight of them. Now he was affronted with the smell as well.

  “Oh God,” he said, wincing and shaking his head.

  “Lou,” said Jake. “Why don’t you and I drag these bodies someplace out of view of the windows and doors here?”

  “Ugh. Okay,” said Lou, grimacing. “What did you have in mind?”

  Jake took a breath and pursed his lips.

  “You really wanna know?” he asked. All heads turned at this.

  “What, Jake?” I asked.

  “You’re not gonna like it,” he said.

  “Spit it out,” I said.

  “We really should spit these guys on stakes at the perimeter of the school,” he said.

  “Jesus,” said Mark. “What the hell would you possibly do that for?”

  “Send a message to anyone who might wander up on this place with similar ideas,” said Jake.

  “Hell of a deterrent,” I said.

  “It’s fucking horrific,” said Mark. “This isn’t the goddamn middle ages.”

  “No?” asked Jake. “Sure felt like it this afternoon.”

  No one answered that. Jake’s arm was covered in the blood of three men, including his own, and despite his attempt to wash it off, the residue was clear. He had fought for his own life and the Heffners—and ours, if you get right down to it—and no one else had helped. As horrific as the idea was, it was also practical. Jake was in survival mode. He had been since the cataclysm, and here in the aftertime, he still was.

  “Okay, maybe it’s a bit much. But we can drag them to the perimeter of the school. The buzzards will make for a pretty creepy warning themselves,” said Jake.

  “Vultures,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “Vultures. Technically lots of things are buzzards, and most true buzzards are hawks. Vultures are what you’re talking about. Two kinds, around here at least: turkey and black,” I answered.

  “A gay ornithologist,” Jake said. “Who’d have thought?”

  “Birdwatcher. Good hobby. You should take it up,” I said. “And yes, I have found an unusually high number of gay birdwatchers per capita in this area.”

  Mark Longaberger stared at us with a knitted brow and a squint. “You two really ought to get a room,” he said.

  “Not my type,” I answered. Longaberger gave a ‘whatever’ kind of shrug and shook his head.

  “Don’t worry, Mark. Neither are you.”

  The four of us dragged the two bodies to the side of the school where there were fewer windows. It bordered alongside one of the main roads up to the school. While they didn’t make quite the statement that Jake initially recommended—two spitted corpses—they would at least keep most folks away. And the kind of folks who would not be deterred by them were a much bigger worry anyway. Mark decided to stay at the school. He threw up at least once more after moving the bodies, and he looked pretty green as we got ready to leave.

  We wandered about a half a mile to the Wal-Mart. The streets were empty. No noise, no cars, no nothing. I noticed that the streetlights were coming on now that the sun was going down. I guessed that meant that the main grid of the town was still working. The air was warm and dry, and the slightest of breezes blew. I noticed the lack of any food smells. Hunters Run was fairly surrounded by restaurants, and there were always great smells circulating in the air. Not tonight, though, and the lack of smells was noticeable, at least to me.

  We walked into the empty Wal-Mart parking lot. The doors at the main entrance had been destroyed and I was betting that looters had picked the place fairly clean. We walked slowly and carefully towards the main doors. Jake nocked an arrow and held the bow down at his side. He fumbled around his belt and felt for his knife. Satisfied that it was still there, he held up a silent hand to signal us to stop.

  “What is it?” asked Orville.

  “Thought I saw a shadow inside,” said Jake.

  “Uh-uh, no way I’m going in there,” said Lou. “You guys see Zombieland? There’s always somebody in there waiting to ambush you.”

  “Noted,” said Jake. “But they also found women and Twinkies. Can’t get poon-tang and Twinkies without going in, Lou,” he added with a smile. “Sorry Eddie. Might not be anything but confections and lady-parts in here. Nothing for you.”

  I shook my head with a smile and noticed that Jake’s level of smart-ass was starting to come back since getting the message from his son. That was good. It was hard to see him down, or brooding, and he’d been down since the Cataclysm. It was clear that he felt some responsibility for the rest of us. We had students with us, after all, and most of us didn’t have much survival training. Jake did. It was also obvious that he was a dangerous man when he needed to be. I was glad he was on my side.

  “Okay, we came here to do recon on this store, and we’d be idiots to turn around now. I will go in first. You guys cover me. If I run into trouble, I will most likely drop down. Just keep your arrows high if anybody comes after me.”

  “We shoulda brought that gun you gave Heffner,” said Lou.

  “In hindsight, maybe that would have been better,” said Jake, “But I wanted the others to have something to defend themselves with. They’re missing three of us.”

  Jake sidled up along the front entrance wall, and we all pressed in behind him, bows ready. I almost laughed
out loud at how we must have looked. A gaggle of dollar store Robin Hoods entering a busted out Wal-Mart. I can see the memes now. Jake turned, put a finger to his lips, nodded, then grabbed the bow with both hands and tip-toed in. He immediately backed into the wall adjacent to the entrance in order to get a better view. Seeing nothing after a few seconds, he motioned us in with his head. We all followed in carefully.

  “Holy shit,” I said in a whisper. The place was virtually untouched. The doors had been smashed, but now I suddenly realized that all of the glass was outside. Had someone had gotten locked in and busted their way out? Didn’t make sense. But most of the stuff in the store was still right where you might expect it to be.

  “Grab a cart,” said Jake.

  “Are you serious?” I asked. “We’re going shopping?”

  “Yes. We’ve found an unexpectedly full store with a broken door. How long do you think this place will be intact? We have been lucky enough to stumble onto it now. Might as well take advantage of it.”

  I shrugged, grabbed a cart, and put my bow and quiver in it. It made a clanking noise, and everyone jumped a little when I did it. Lou scowled.

  “Are you trying to be loud?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t let your guard down,” said Lou in a loud whisper. “Just because it looks empty in here, doesn’t mean it is. Just because we don’t see anybody yet.”

  “He’s right,” said Jake. “But I already have.”

  “Already have, what?” asked Lou.

  “Seen somebody,” whispered Jake, maintaining his gaze forward. “Look beyond that rack of clothes where the ladies’ dresses are. That’s a person crouching down.”

  A shiver went down my spine. There was clearly someone trying to hide behind one of the clothes’ display walls. He or she was crouched down, tucking their head into the sweaters hanging in front. But a shoulder had remained exposed, and now I could see the outline of a shoe.

  Jake pulled the bowstring back to his cheek, took a breath, and loosed an arrow. It made a whooshing noise before slamming into the separation wall that our mystery guest was hiding behind. It hit with a surprisingly loud thud, and the person fell back onto their buttocks, into a sitting position.