After the Day- Red Tide

by Matthew Gilman

  He didn’t think it was a bad life. Women came and went. He tried to have a lasting relationship but the ones he could get weren’t as smart as him and it was hard to take the relationship seriously. The women would get frustrated and leave. When he met women that were up to par with him they were turned off by his work or lifestyle and things would never happen unless he was lucky enough to have a fling.

  In his mid-thirties he had a house, Jeep, and a stable life. He had put himself in a rhythm and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. There was still something missing. He tried to sit down and write a book but he didn’t have much to write about. He went on epic hunting trips where he would live in the woods for two weeks at a time and try to live off the land. Sometimes it went well and other times he was walking out after a few days because things were not going his way.

  In his heart he knew he was meant for better. In some way greatness was going to happen for him.

  On The Day he was at work on the dye machine and the bosses felt it was better to not tell the employees and instead have them finish the day and find out when they went home. Eventually, word got out and the employees were leaving their work stations to talk to others and go to the television in the break room. One of the guys on the line patted Buck on the back and he took his headphones off.

  “Hey, check out the TV.” the man said.

  Buck looked around and noticed that nobody was working. Whatever was happening he was thinking of another September 11th. He powered down the machine and went to the break room to see a mushroom cloud on the television.

  “Looks like them fucking rag heads finally did it.”

  “Somebody did us a favor.”

  “You think it was the Russians?”

  “Could be that North Korean guy, he’s crazy.”

  “Do we still have to pay taxes?”

  The conversation in the break room about the image on the television was more entertaining than the talking heads that repeated the useless information. Buck could have listened to it for hours.

  Buck went to the locker room and changed his clothes. He still had hours until his shift ended but had a feeling nothing was getting done today. He clocked out with the feeling he would never get his next paycheck and went home. Cars were lined up at the gas stations and he went straight home. He still had half a tank and wasn’t worried about it.

  Pulling into his house, he went inside and forgot about the outside world.

  The next morning he tried calling work before going in and found that nobody was answering the phone. Company policy was to always have somebody there to answer the phone in the office. He left a message stating he was having car trouble and to give him a call if they still needed him to come in later in the day. They never called back.

  Buck drove his Jeep down to the local hunting supply store to chat with the guys who worked the archery section. They knew him by name there and he was always interested in the latest bows and even the new replicas that they shipped in. Buck rarely sold his old items and instead would keep them as backups in case his current bow broke.

  Pulling into the store they appeared busier than normal, the parking lot filled with trucks and people walking in quickly. Had he missed something besides the nuke that went off?

  He went to the archery section and the guys weren’t there. Instead they were helping with the firearms department and camping supplies. He watched as people rushed around and argued about who was hoarding. He thought about his own supplies and he was comfortable with the items he had. He could never have enough arrows though.

  One of the guys from the shop saw Buck in the background and snuck out from behind the counter.

  “Hey, sorry I wasn’t over here. This whole bomb thing has everybody freaking out.” Sam, the attendant, said.

  “I see that. What’s everybody buying?”

  “Almost out of ammo .22, .40, .45, hell one guy bought a couple cases of 12 gauge. People are wiping us out. You might want to think about getting something besides arrows.” Sam suggested.

  “Bullets run out, I’m better with these anyway.”

  “I got to go. Come see me when you check out.”

  “Will do.” Buck watched Sam squeeze through the people crowded around the counter.

  Buck grabbed a cart and went back to the archery section. He thought about every bow he owned and the arrows they worked best with. He found those arrows and loaded all of them in the cart. Then he went down the aisle with the arrowheads. He threw all the packets he wanted into the cart. He found arrowheads for small game, practice, broad heads, even the deer hunting arrows that fold out on impact. His final pick up was hanging by the counter and he knew nobody would buy it.

  He pushed the cart up and got in line. When it was his turn he pushed the cart up and Sam asked him how many of each thing he had. Sam added it up into the register.

  “Anything else while you’re here?” Sam asked.

  “That long bow hanging there.” Buck said pointing behind Sam.

  “There are two left.” Sam said.

  “I’ll take them both.” Buck said.

  “I thought so.” Sam gave him the total and Buck handed over the cash.

  Back at home, he went through his supplies and put the extra items away in his closet, organized by the bows they went to. The arrowheads he placed on the top shelf still in their wrappers. He went into the basement and pulled out all of his old gear. He found his first bows and all of the ones that followed. He added up all of his arrows, several were still in the cases with their bows. He never realized how much he really had. He kept his favorite bow with him next to the bed and a quiver of arrows with it. He had a feeling it would be a good idea to start carrying a knife with him even in the house so he took out his hunting buck knife and put it on his belt every morning.

  It wasn’t long after this that he saw people leaving their houses. Families loaded up their vehicles and tied luggage to the roof only to find in some cases the vehicle wouldn’t start. From what Buck could tell the older vehicles had fewer problems. Families with new SUVs were stuck while the others were on the road and disappeared. Buck went to help his neighbors’ next door, a couple with three kids. Their SUV wouldn’t start and Buck was thinking it was the electronics.

  “Need some help?” Buck asked Tom, the dad.

  “Yeah. You know about cars?” Tom asked popping the hood.

  “Usually fix my own.” Buck said looking under the hood.

  The SUV was different from the vehicles that Buck usually bought. The plastic shield over the top and the way the engine hid the parts of the motor made Buck feel confused as to what he was looking at. Once he found the belt and alternator it wasn’t too difficult to figure things out. He found the fuse box and most of the fuses were blown. He wanted to look at the coils and see if they were burned out as well.

  “Your SUV is SOL.” Buck said.

  “What does that mean?” While Tom was a nice guy, Buck often wondered if he was a few screws away from being like Forrest Gump.

  “The electronics of your SUV are fried. I bet the coils are gone too. You’re shit out of luck.” Buck said putting the cover back on the fuse box.

  “But there has to be some way.” Tom said looking under the hood.

  “Do you have a spare set of fuses?”

  “No,” Tom said after thinking for a second.

  “Well then.” Buck said cleaning his hands off. “I would make other plans.”

  “What, what the hell are we supposed to do?” Tom asked.

  “You own a gun?” Buck asked.

  “No,” Tom said.

  “Ever been bow hunting?” Buck asked.

  “No.” Tom replied.

  “Well, then I got nothing for you.” Buck placed the rag on the side of the SUV and went back to his house.

  He soon realized he was going to have a bunch of neighbors that wouldn’t be able to take care of themselves. While Buck was randomly plucking squirrels and other sources of protein fro
m his yard his neighbors were quickly running out of food. Many talked about the National Guard coming and dropping off food but it never happened.

  Buck saw one of the guys across the street taking a shovel to his yard and ripping the sod off. His wife was yelling at him about the sellable value of the house and he shrugged it off. Buck had an idea.

  “Mind if I help you?” Buck asked.

  The man was someone he had never met before. He was a former banker by the name of Ross. After the first week that the power had been out and no sign of anybody coming to save the day he took it upon himself to get things started. His wife was still clinging to the way that things used to be while he had been thinking that the world was going to decline fast and hard for a few years.

  “No, I could use the help.” Ross was a nice guy, middle aged and a wife a few years younger than him. He enjoyed the privileged life for a while but remembered how things could be when life was hard and always worried about having to go back to that.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re going to plant?” Buck asked.

  “I think I have some tomato seeds inside, I’m sure I can find some more.” Ross said.

  They cleared a square patch and loosened the soil to make it easy for plants to take root.

  “I’ve been getting some small game around here if you’re interested.” Buck said.

  “I figure if I don’t tell the wife what it is, it should be fine.”

  “I’ll bring some over later.”

  Pigeon, originally brought over by French chefs in the 1800s as a ready food supply for their kitchens, was now back on the plate. People tried to look at them as Cornish Hens but there was still a difference.

  Bucks Jeep still worked, he figured it was from the simple electronic system. He informed some of his neighbors that he would be gone for a few days and he would be back.

  He drove off into the wilderness where he usually hunted and set out for a trip that would supply him with pounds of meat for the summer and fall.

  Buck parked the Jeep far in the park. He even broke the pad lock off the gate to the two track and rigged the gate closed again. He wanted to make sure he was as secluded as he could be. Everyone’s food supplies were getting low and it was a matter of time before people panicked.

  Buck set up camp and started a fire in the parks designated area. He didn’t want to burn down the renewable source of food and make things worse for everyone. Buck took a multi-layer dehydrator out of the Jeep and hooked it up to the battery. He would have to start the Jeep every few hours to make sure the alternator kept the battery charged. Last thing he needed was pounds of storable meat sitting in the woods with no ride back home.

  Grabbing his bow and quiver he set out into the woods to find his prey. He found tracks and made a mental note of where they were. He wasn’t counting on finding anything on the first day. It was rare for him to come out of the woods without anything on day two. After surveying a quarter mile area, he set up his tree stand thirty feet away from the trail he found earlier. He set his wind-up alarm clock and went to bed as soon as the sun set.

  He awoke the next morning at five a.m. and quickly ate some food before going to his tree stand. He climbed to the top and waited. It felt like old times. For a few minutes he forgot about what had happened in D.C. and was simply hunting like he had before. Now it was technically illegal but it was for food just like all the other times he went out before. The only difference was the lack of permit.

  The horizon changed colors. At first he could watch the stars and occasionally spot a satellite flying over. Then the orange and red tint came creeping up and the stars slowly disappeared. Buck heard leaves rustling under his stand and he looked down to see a doe and a fawn traveling beneath him. He didn’t want either. They would provide food for later. Buck crossed his fingers and hoped a big buck would be trailing behind. The doe and fawn walked through not noticing the man in the tree stand. Then, another set of steps approached. Buck pulled a broadhead arrow from the quiver and notched it in the bow string.

  A buck came through the trail, the bald spots still showing where its antlers had been the previous season. He was a beautiful creature and Buck wished he had found it in its antlered prime. Buck pulled the string back, aimed, and exhaled.

  The arrow flew and struck the rib cage, into the lung and heart. The deer stumbled back and dropped. Buck was excited about his kill but now came the real work. It was late spring and the flies would be out. Originally, he was planning to process the animal here and hopefully bag another before returning home. With the temperature already starting to rise he was quick to gut the deer and drag it out with the heart and liver still inside the chest cavity. He would put those in the Dutch oven once he was home and started cutting up the deer.

  He threw the deer in the back of the Jeep, tore down the tent, and put out the fire covering it with dirt and pouring extra water on it. He had everything packed in less than half an hour and was on the road.

  When he reached his house he opened the garage and set up the tripod for hanging the deer. Pulling the deer out of the back he hooked up the hind legs and hoisted it in the air to finish draining the rest of the blood into a five gallon bucket. He prayed the garage would keep the flies out and the deer wouldn’t go to waste.

  As Buck left the garage he was startled by his neighbor Sam.

  “Buck,” the man said holding his head.

  Bruises and cuts covered his head and arms. They were scabbed over and looked a few hours old.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Buck asked inspecting the marks.

  “This gang came through taking whatever they wanted. I tried to keep them out of the house and they pulled me out and beat me in the yard. My wife and kids hid in one of the bedrooms while they took all the food out of the kitchen.”

  Buck suddenly realized he hadn’t been in the house yet and went to the back door to find it still locked. He ran to the front and found it open and the frame splintered.

  “Shit.” he said running in. The cupboards and cabinets were empty. He went into the basement to find the bows and hunting supplies were still there. The gang had stuck to their plan of food to save time.

  “I’m sorry Buck.” Sam said waiting in the front yard.

  “It’s not your fault.” Buck stood in the front yard and thought for a minute. “Get the neighbors and bring them here. We need to talk.”

  “Everybody?” Sam asked.

  “Everyone.”

  The group gathered in the front yard and they could hear Buck in the house. He came out with plastic cases and quivers.

  “I don’t have enough for everyone, so the stronger among you come forward.” Buck said.

  The group looked around amongst each other.

  “Well, come on now, we don’t have all day.” Buck said.

  Most of the men stepped forward and a few of the women. Buck looked at each of them and handed bows to the people he thought they would fit the best. The women were given compound bows and the men a combination of longbows and compounds.

  “Are we going hunting?” one of the men asked.

  “No, we are learning to defend ourselves.”

  Buck set up targets along the garage and had the group line up to start their target practice. By the end of the first hour most of them were hitting the targets. They weren’t marksmen but they were better than they were when they started. Buck asked around about the food situation and some of the people still had food available to them that hadn’t been stolen.

  That night Buck made steaks out of the deer and started smoking the rest into jerky for the next week or two. There were twelve people altogether. Sam was the guy he was most familiar with. One of the women, Carol, insisted on a longbow because she used one at summer camp as a teenager. She was around his age and fit. She could pull the box back with little work and he found himself watching her most out of the group.

  That night as they sat around a fire, Buck explained what he intended them to
do the next time the gang came back around, or any gang for that matter.

  “They had guns.” one man said.

  “Your point?” Buck asked.

  “You want us to fight back with bows and arrows. Didn’t the Indians try that?” another man said.

  “Yes. But there is a difference between them and us. They didn’t have me fighting.” Buck realized that he had taken over as the leader of the neighborhood, or what was left of it.

  The households rationed the food they had left. Some of the people started using their bows to take down small game. It came with practice but they were getting the hang of it.

  A week passed before the gang came back. The funny thing Buck first noticed was the bass of the music could be heard two blocks away. His windows rattled and he quickly moved off the couch and climbed the ladder to the roof like he planned. He could see other people from the block getting into their positions. A row of cars turned the corner and he waited to see where they would stop. They had the older seventies model sedans, simple electronics like Buck’s Jeep. The cars stopped in the street and they left the music playing as the doors opened. Men and women exited the vehicles holding pistols and rifles. Buck didn’t recognize the gang. Blacks, Asians, and Mexicans were all a part of it. Maybe they banded together to split the pie.

  Buck didn’t wait. They were in the open and now was the time to strike. He took an arrow from the quiver and drew the bow back. He picked a Mexican man holding an AK-47 and let the arrow loose. He instantly took another arrow from the quiver and drew on the next man, an Asian with a large revolver. Again he let the arrow fly. The Mexican was screaming looking at the arrow that punctured his ribcage. The Asian man dropped. Buck figured he hit a vital organ like the heart. He pulled another arrow from the quiver. As the group in the street had started focusing their attention to him the rest of the street joined in and arrows were flying from everywhere.