Darker Days

by A. J. Powers

  Megan nearly rolled her eyes, as if Clay was expected to already know. “Hi, welcome back,” she replied.

  Clay enjoyed the community gatherings, but the amount of food consumed was borderline irresponsible—especially this year with their winter provisions lacking the quantity needed for survival. With deer sightings becoming rarer and successful harvests unreliable—especially with the overabundance of rain they’d had this year coupled with the lack of sunshine—it could prove reckless to have a big feast merely to welcome the three of them home.

  “I don’t know, Megan. We’ve still got a long way to go on getting our food stores in order. Should we really be splurging on a big dinner right now?”

  “I know, I know,” Megan said, “but Levi and Michael had several successful hunts while you guys were gone. No, we’re not where we need to be just yet, but we’re not doing too bad—and leaps and bounds better from where we were when you guys left. So, on that note…” Megan said, her emphasis shutting down further conversation, “dinner is at seven.”

  “Okay, okay,” Clay replied, acting as if he was upset. The food was something to worry about, but after spending the last month and a half living off scraps, his arm didn’t need to be twisted to have a good, home cooked meal.

  Deciding against extensive physical labor around the ranch, Clay spent most of his time creating and prioritizing a laundry list of chores that required his attention. The worst part about long trips was the endless honey-do list that greeted him on his return—a list unfortunately made a little longer by their newly acquired livestock.

  As promised, Clay arrived at the main house around seven. Kelsey greeted him with a kiss; she looked exhausted—her hair was disheveled, her clothes a mess, flour and other ingredients lightly adorned her shirt and face. Her unkempt look was a rare sight for Clay’s wife. Since leaving Watson’s farm, Kelsey abandoned her morning routine to quickly pull a brush through her hair to face the day and made a real effort to always be presentable and put together. She decided she didn’t want her “old” self to be part of her new life. At first, her time spent in front of a mirror was merely for Clay’s benefit, but after a while, she came to cherish the time spent preparing for the day—even without the luxuries of make-up and hair spray, just washing her face and braiding her hair were enough to make her feel beautiful.

  Kelsey rushed out the door to try and pull herself together before the dinner plates hit the table. No sooner than the door latching, Clay heard a stampede of footsteps running down the stairs.

  “Clay!” multiple voices shouted as several of the kids ran down the steps.

  In seconds, the children he hadn’t visited with after returning home last night swarmed Clay. Tyler, especially, was excited to hear about the adventures Clay, Geoff, and Dusty had had during their travels, but was disappointed with the lack of details Clay offered. Tyler planned to pester him for more specifics throughout the evening.

  The kids quickly dispersed, except for Erica, who stayed behind to give Clay a long hug. “I’m so glad you made it home safely, Clay,” she said with a warm smile.

  Clay hugged her back. It felt like just yesterday Erica sulked about eating a cute, fluffy bunny for dinner, but now she was maturing into a young woman that was almost nothing like the little girl he had found inside the rusted-out husk of a car so many years ago. It was a bittersweet transition—one Clay had gone through with Lona not all that long ago.

  Erica was quickly summoned to the kitchen to help Paige set the tables—there were two large tables and a collapsible card table crammed into the formal dining room to accommodate so many people. It was a bit cozy—uncomfortably so at times—but it was a worthwhile sacrifice to have everyone together for a nice, hot meal.

  Clay wandered into the study to look for a good book to read. Since moving to Northfield, even during the winter, Clay found it impossible to find the time for such a leisure. He felt a painful pit in his stomach when he realized the last “book” he read was the short story Charlie had written.

  He missed that kid.

  Clay picked out his next literary adventure and stuffed it into a cargo pocket on his pant leg. He was determined to get through it before winter hit. He wasn’t optimistic about the chances of that happening, though.

  A family portrait beautifully preserved in a large, simplistic frame hung on the wall opposite the bookshelf. He didn’t know why, but Clay always gazed at it when he was in the study. It was grounding to see a large family, dressed in their Sunday best, smiling as the photographer permanently chronicled the moment of history. Ruth looked to be about eight or nine years old at the time, but her dimples were as prevalent then as they were today. Cliff stood tall in the center of the photo. Melissa, his wife of more than twenty years, sat on a chair just in front of him. Flanked on either side of them were their six children. Once upon a time, they were a happy family, but of all the people in the photograph, only Ruth and her brother, Michael, still survived, an agonizing reality that mirrored Clay’s life almost perfectly.

  When Cliff passed away back in March, Ruth was devastated, but it was Michael who almost lost it. It took Geoff and Ruth over a week to get him to eat. And it was the better part of a month before he exited his small cottage near the center of the farm, finally speaking to another soul again. As far as Clay could tell, Michael was over the depression, but Clay was concerned with what he might do should anything happen to Ruth, the last of his kin. Clay could relate to the worry.

  As Megan’s call to dinner rang throughout the house, Clay snapped out of his thoughts and left the study. As he walked to the dining room, he glanced into the living room to see Lona setting up the kiddie table for Charles, Wyatt, and Elizabeth. Lona looked his way and gave him a quick wave before her reflexes prevented a spill as the kids sat down to eat.

  Clay continued to the dining room where the masses shuffled in to claim a seat. The drifting aroma of the venison made Clay’s mouth water. It would be his first hearty meal in six weeks. Since moving to Northfield, Megan had graduated from “just a cook” status—she was now a chef. Ruth was a culinary genius and Megan was a great student—so it was only a matter of time before the culinary arts were second nature for her.

  Sitting down next to an empty chair, Clay looked over at Geoff, who gave a quick blessing over the meal before the room was filled with the melody of forks and knives clinking on the plates. Moments later, Kelsey returned, looking more like her usual self. She was ready to dig in to the meal she spent all afternoon helping to prepare.

  The food was great and the company was better. Clay sat back in silence and just enjoyed listening to the families swap stories while they ate in the candlelight. It was moments like these that brought a sense of normalcy to the world again, moments that were far more common in Northfield than they had ever been since the quakes first rattled the earth. If it weren’t for the bitter winters they still faced each year, Clay would have thought that this was just what life was like in Texas a hundred or so years ago.

  Once dinner was over, Megan and Hawthorne retrieved a couple of pies from the kitchen and cut into them. Geoff used this opportunity to stand up to make an announcement. “I just wanted to say that I am so glad we’re all here, together, having this delicious meal that these lovely ladies prepared for us tonight,” he said as he reached down and squeezed Ruth’s hand. She gave him a smile in return. He continued. “But tonight, we celebrate more than just our return. Ruth and I also wanted to tell you all that we are expecting again.”

  Cheers and fanfare erupted from around the room—Megan leading the charge as she ran around the table to give Geoff and Ruth hugs.

  As the applause quieted down, a sole voice was heard above the rest. “What are you guys, rabbits?” Dusty chortled.

  “Sydney!” Megan scolded Dusty—breaking a promise never to call her by her birth name in front of the others.

  Dusty shot Megan a deadly look before rolling her eyes. She regretted ever mentioning her name to
Megan.

  As the night drew on, Michael had been the first to leave, which came as no surprise to the family—they were just happy he made the effort to join them. Geoff and Ruth left soon after him to put Wyatt and Elizabeth to bed. Levi stuck around and helped clean up after dinner. He was a bit sweet on Megan and despite everyone else figuring that out, she seemed completely oblivious to the fact. Clay, Geoff, and Dusty even had a little wager on when—if—he would ever get the nerve to tell her how he felt.

  As Clay headed out, he saw Blake walk by. “Hey, Blake.” Clay’s tone let him know what was coming next. “Hand it over,” he said.

  Blake withdrew his Sig 225—Clay’s old pistol—dropped the magazine and cleared the chamber before handing it to Clay. As Blake picked up the ejected cartridge from the floor, Clay examined the gun. He held it up to a light and looked through the bore. He inspected a few areas for dirt and debris, but it looked good. Part of having his own gun was keeping it clean and fully functional. So, Clay made sure to hold Blake accountable for ever having a dirty firearm. He scolded him once or twice about it in the past and Blake quickly learned his lesson.

  “Good job, Blake,” Clay said as he handed the pistol back. “Couldn’t have cleaned it any better myself,” he added.

  “Thanks,” Blake said as he slammed the magazine back in and returned it to the holster.

  “You got a sec?” Clay asked, nodding toward the door.

  “Sure,” Blake replied.

  Clay stepped outside and Blake trailed closely behind. At first neither of them said anything as they walked to Clay’s house, but the silence quickly grew awkward for Blake and he spoke up. “Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Huh?” Clay responded. “Oh, no, you didn’t do anything wrong, Blake. I just wanted to chat with you a bit about some things that have been on my mind, is all.”

  Blake’s relief was audible.

  “Actually, I just wanted to say thank you for stepping up around here, especially since I’ve been gone a lot lately,” Clay said. His eyes got misty as he remembered saying a very similar thing to Charlie back at the tower. Though, unlike Charlie, Blake was almost sixteen, and both he and Clay knew the days of being a kid were already behind him. Clay continued. “Kelsey and Megan have been telling me what an immense help you’ve been. I’ve even heard good reports from Michael and Levi as well.”

  Blake was quiet at first. “Just doing my part,” he said confidently. “Everyone around here works so hard, it seems like it’s the least I can do.”

  Clay appreciated Blake’s work ethic and his willingness to put his family’s needs before his own. The brief time Charlie had been part of Blake’s life had a lasting impact. Even though Clay was proud of the young man Blake was becoming, he couldn’t help but feel guilty that he hadn’t been around much lately. The trip to Mesquite was just the most recent journey Clay had been on and would certainly not be the last. Clay was going to make an effort to spend more one-on-one time with Blake and Tyler. Clay’s priorities had been all over the place, causing him to shirk his responsibility to both boys over the past few months.

  Clay went inside the house and grabbed his KSG-12 shotgun, a thermos of tea, and some food Kelsey had packed before he headed toward the gate. It was Clay’s night for guard duty, and every guard needed those three things to make it through the night.

  As they walked down the long driveway, Clay continued. “So, how are things going with Lona?” His question was intended to provoke a conversation about their relationship. It was unsuccessful.

  “It’s good,” Blake said with a shrug.

  “That’s it?” Clay asked. “Just good?”

  “Yup,” Blake said awkwardly, clearly lacking desire to have this conversation with Clay.

  “Well…All right then,” Clay replied.

  Though Clay wanted to have that talk about as much as Blake did, he knew it was something that needed to happen. Forcing the conversation wouldn’t do any good though, and might even make things worse, so Clay dropped it. Blake quickly regained his willingness to talk when the conversation steered toward less uncomfortable topics.

  As the rain began to fall, Blake excused himself and headed indoors for the night. The rain was cold and Clay could already feel the slimy film building up on his skin. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 4

  Clay and Geoff could just barely make out Liberty Township up ahead. A heavy fog rolled in just after sunrise, prompting both of them to grip their rifles a little tighter. Not even an hour earlier, a lone gunshot echoed through the trees on the opposite side of the highway they were crossing. Likely just a hunter fortunate enough to find some game, the gunfire coupled with poor visibility stiffened the hair on their necks, adding to their resolve to get to town.

  Overall, though, the journey had been easy enough. What used to take four or five days on foot now took a little over two with the horses. The animals also provided them the ability to bring more goods to trade. And once Michael and Levi finished fixing up an old wagon they claimed from a vacant, neighboring farm, Clay planned for some serious commerce between the two communities.

  The clopping sound of horse hooves reverberated off the stone walls that flanked either side to the long driveway leading into Liberty. The asphalt was riddled with cracks and divots, looking more like dried mud than steamrolled pavement. Despite the dilapidated appearance, the entrance to town was a welcomed sight.

  As soon as the guards recognized the approaching strangers as Clay and Geoff, one of the men unlatched the gate and tugged it open, allowing both horses to enter without stopping. Clay and Geoff said a quick hello as they passed by, heading straight into town. Leaving their horses in some empty stable stalls, Clay and Geoff headed over to Mary Anne’s—the only “restaurant” in town. Though many of the businesses in Liberty carried food, Mary Anne prepared it as well. Besides making a mean breakfast, the woman crafted the best iced tea Clay had ever tasted—even before the collapse. To top it all off, she was one of the sweetest old ladies he had ever met. Clay was certain that if you put Mary Anne and Hawthorne in a room together, you’d get a cavity just by walking in.

  It was a little after two, but Clay and Geoff ordered the same thing they always did: wild boar omelet covered with goat cheese and a side of fresh picked blackberries. Apart from the salty goat cheese, the dish was practically identical to one Clay would get at a diner near his house when he was a kid. Though, the sausage this afternoon had a pretty strong gamey taste to it—the boar must have been enormous—Clay wasn’t about to complain. It still tasted great.

  After squaring up with Mary Anne for the food, Clay and Geoff headed over to Vlad’s. They hadn’t visited the town since the thaw, so Clay was eager to see his old friend again. Before Clay pushed the door open wide enough to walk in, the Russian spoke.

  “Clay! Geoff! My friends, it is good to see you!” the lively man said from behind the counter.

  “Howdy, Vlad. Long time, no see,” Clay said. He looked over at the pretty young woman standing next to him. “How are you, Olesya?” he asked politely.

  “I am well, thank you,” she said with a slight accent—nowhere near as heavy as her father’s.

  While the three men spent a few minutes catching up, Olesya busied herself displaying recent trades on the shelves. Clay stopped her as she walked by with a stack of books. Preparing for the coming winter season and determined to improve his reading habits, he removed three of the fiction novels from the heap and set them on the counter.

  As the conversation wound down, Vlad asked, “Are you preparing to go to war, my friend?” pointing to the rifles over each one of Clay’s shoulders.

  Since Clay’s LaRue was not currently functional, he had to resort to a Chinese knockoff of the classic Soviet rifle—the SKS. It was far from ideal, but it was a better option than his Scout rifle—he still hadn’t found a magazine replacement.

  “So, about that…you wouldn’t happen to have any s
pare AR firing pins lying around, would you?” Clay asked jokingly but with a tinge of hope in his voice.

  “Ha!” Vlad let out a single, gravely chortle that originated deep in his gut. “You are very funny man, Clay.” He gestured to his store, which was emptier than Clay had ever seen it. “Sure, I have hundreds in back room, let me go grab you one,” he said with a chuckle in his voice. “And while I am back there, would you like brand new flat screen television?”

  “Ha-ha, Boris, no need to be a wise guy,” Clay jabbed back. “I figured it was a long shot.”

  “I think Lenin has better chance of rising from dead,” the Russian added.

  “Well, how about someone to fix my current one?” Clay asked.

  Vlad’s chuckle faded as he racked his brain for a name. “I used to do business with man from Lufkin, but have not seen him in years,” Vlad’s expression indicating that he assumed the man had left the area or was dead. “There is other man—never met him—but others have told me much.”

  “Well, who is he? Where does he live?” Clay asked, a spark of optimism in his voice.

  “They call him Smith, I do not know if that is real name. He is said to be north of here in FEMA camp. I am afraid that is all I know.”

  Clay was torn. If he didn’t find someone to repair the rifle, he might as well melt it down and turn it into nails. However, traveling into an unknown area always came with risks. He wasn’t about to ask Geoff to come, which meant Clay would be going alone—only adding to the danger. And with all the epidemics that had occurred in the various FEMA camps since their installation, Clay could very well expose himself to something that had been lying dormant for several years—a germ without a victim. Despite his better judgment, he decided to go.