“Okay.” Carrie gestured toward the creek behind the lake. “I’ll keep an eye on her then.”
“Yay!” Lorelei flung her dress off and waded into the water.
Carrie leaned on the bridge railing nearby, watching her play.
Except for Becca and Eva, the kids happily spent a few hours the previous day hunting for worms, which they’d brought in an old coffee can. Madison hadn’t been happy about it, but she’d helped. She looked away as Cliff demonstrated how to put a worm on a hook. Despite having shot people at close range, Harper squirmed at the sight. Like Madison, she didn’t really enjoy the idea of torturing an innocent creature. Impaling an earthworm on a fishhook didn’t kill it. Even if the simple worm theoretically couldn’t feel any pain, it looked to be suffering.
Harper clenched her jaw and put a worm on her hook. Logan had obviously never done it before, but didn’t appear squeamish at the idea. Jonathan didn’t hesitate either. Madison held the worm in one hand, barbed hook in the other. She tried a few times, but couldn’t bring herself to puncture the worm.
“I’m sorry,” said Madison after a few minutes, shaking from either grief or revulsion. “I can’t do it.”
Perhaps because she hadn’t complained at all about going fishing, Cliff didn’t insist she worm her own hook and did it for her. Madison looked about ready to cry as the worm writhed on the end of the line attached to her rod. Harper felt a little weird for wanting to carry bugs alive out of the house yet stabbing a worm.
Sorry, little guy. Bugs aren’t helping us eat.
“All right. Push down on this lever here to free the reel.” Cliff demonstrated. “Ease the rod back, then”—he swung his fishing pole forward—“cast it.”
Logan, Jonathan, and Harper managed reasonable first-ever attempts. Madison swung her pole around, but the hook didn’t go flying. Instead, it nearly hit Logan in the ear. He yelped and ducked.
“Sorry!” blurted Madison, trying to hand him the whole rod. “Here. Take it. I shouldn’t be trusted with sharp things and dying worms.”
Cliff rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re not thrilled about doing this. We’ve had this conversation over and over. Vegans are fine and all, but we’re not in the first world anymore. A day might come where knowing how to catch a fish is the only reason you don’t starve. Hopefully, it won’t get to that point.”
“She’d eat weeds and stuff,” deadpanned Jonathan. “You’ve been showing us the ones we can eat.”
“I know.” Madison stopped trying to give her fishing pole to Logan. “Just… why does everything have to die?”
“We’ve been asking that question since people existed.” Logan chuckled.
“Even veggies die when we eat them.” Jonathan nudged her. “Only difference is a cucumber doesn’t scream when you cut it.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Push the release.” Cliff pointed at the reel on Madison’s rod.
She gingerly swung the rod back, fumbled at the reel, then managed a passable—if short—cast.
And so the waiting starts. Harper stared at the spot where her line entered the water. Cliff talked on and off about how to pull in a catch if they got a bite. Madison kept her head down the whole time, still mourning the worm death and torture.
“Birds eat tons of them,” said Jonathan. “They’re just worms. Gotta be millions of them in the dirt.”
“I’m not a bird,” grumbled Madison. “I don’t need to kill worms just so I can kill a fish.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Fish aren’t even really animals. They’re too stupid.”
“Fish are not stupid.” Madison scowled.
“Oh? Have you ever seen a fish play fetch? Or do tricks? Ever hug a fish?” Jonathan grinned.
“Ick,” said Harper.
“Fish are pretty to watch swim. They’re pets.” Madison kicked her sneaker at the dirt.
“Stuff in your house that just sits there being looked at is furniture, not a pet.” Cliff chuckled. “Fish are one step above plants. Like… plants that move around a little. And it’s an awful lot of work to keep a tank clean.”
Madison sighed.
She’s more like her old self. Harper smiled. Having an overly sensitive animal-protecting little sister again gave her hope. The girl hadn’t fully gone back to normal, as she hadn’t spent the previous three days begging them to not go ‘hurt fish.’ Maddie knows we have to eat. She’ll probably eat the fish but doesn’t enjoy the dirty work. Is it cruel to make her do this? I don’t mind doing it for her.
The random thought kids Madison’s age back in the actual 1800s could probably kill chickens for dinner like no big deal made her cringe. No way would Madison ever be able to chop a bird’s head off. Allowing her to keep Rosie as a pet made the idea she’d ever slaughter any chicken laughable. Admittedly, the chicken did show affection and appear to recognize Madison from the other kids. Most of the chickens Harper observed looked about as dumb and oblivious as could be.
Rosie’s gotta be some kind of Einstein chicken.
Standing there on the lakeshore holding a fishing rod, idly talking to Logan about random stuff while Lorelei played in the water made it easy to pretend the war never happened. Except for not being flooded with hikers and tourists, her surroundings looked untouched by nuclear weapons… well, except for the hazy sky. She still hadn’t gotten used to the silence of a world in which cell phones, cars, airplanes, helicopters, televisions, and radios didn’t work. It never occurred to her how much background noise used to surround her everywhere—until it stopped.
However, the shores of Evergreen Lake embraced the quiet. Here, the stillness seemed natural.
It’s like we’re just some family out camping… except for half of us carrying guns.
She’d left the Mossberg home due to weight, deciding the .45 would be adequate for a trip across town. Cliff, too, only had a handgun. Carrie, who’d come along mostly as an assistant kid wrangler, not interested in doing any fishing, had Cliff’s AR-15 over her shoulder on a strap. Madison kept twisting around to look at where Lorelei played.
Maddie would totally rather be swimming than fishing. Bet she’s got her fingers crossed no fish bite her worm. Or they get away with it and don’t end up hooked.
One hour bled into the next. Harper caught two fish, Jonathan four, Logan three. Madison had a nibble but reeled in an empty hook. Whether or not she intentionally lost the fish or merely didn’t pull the line in properly, she seemed happy not to be responsible for ‘fish murder.’ Eventually, Lorelei became tired and a bit cold, so she climbed out of the water to wander around exploring the island, content to air-dry.
Cliff talked Madison into trying to cast once more, again impaling the worm for her while she looked away.
Jonathan progressively migrated farther and farther to the right each time he caught a fish. By the time he caught his fifth, he stood on a narrow strip of rocks leading from the western tip of the island to the bank on the other side of the creek.
On his way back with fish number five, something laying in the grass caught his eye; he paused to look at the ground, staring at a spot for a moment before pointing and yelling, “Dad? What’s this? Is it going to explode?”
Cliff hurried over. Worried, Harper set her fishing pole down and followed, as did Logan. Madison, Carrie, and Lorelei remained behind. By the time Harper got there, Cliff crouched beside what appeared to be a mostly buried missile. A section of nose cone protruded from the dirt at a shallow angle, suggesting the rest of it lay almost flat under a few inches of dirt. Dark scorch marks covered it as well as a few dents.
“Hmm.” Cliff brushed his fingers at the charred metal.
Harper tugged Jonathan back a few steps. Of course, based on the curvature of the visible piece, the missile had to be three or four feet in diameter and probably close to twenty feet tall. A couple steps away wouldn’t make any difference to their survival if it exploded.
Cliff reached out to pat it a few times,
then chuckled. He dug his fingers into the dirt, grabbed on, and lifted a piece of scrap metal shaped somewhat like a giant, warped slice of pizza. Both sides had burn marks, scratches, and dings.
As soon as Harper realized no actual missile lay buried, she let go of Jonathan—and started breathing again.
“What is it?” asked Logan. “Kinda looks like a piece from a rocket or something.”
Cliff held it point-up. “I’m guessing here, but it’s probably part of the outer nose housing of a MIRV warhead. Six or eight of these sections would’ve formed the nose cone of an intercontinental missile.”
“They named their missiles Merv?” asked Harper.
“Uhh, no.” Cliff laughed. “The military loves acronyms. MIRV stands for Multiple Independent Reentry Vehicle. It’s a nuclear missile with a bunch of little missiles in the warhead instead of one big bomb. When it gets close to the target area, the outer nosecone breaks off, and all the little warheads inside fire and go to wherever they’re programmed to go.” He tilted the four-foot-long hunk of metal side to side, then dropped it. “This probably came from the big missile that sprinkled it’s load all over Denver.”
Harper stared at the mangled piece of metal. It felt like she’d found a knife used to murder her parents and everyone she knew.
“Can you tell where it came from?” asked Logan. “Like what country.”
“Nah. Not enough here to guess what type of missile it was… and it’s pretty scorched up.” Cliff stuck his boot under the fragment and flipped it over. “No markings. Only thing I can say for sure is it didn’t come from North Korea. They could barely build a rocket that flew to South Korea. No way would they have a MIRV… unless they got it from Russia.”
“So, it’s either Russia or China?” rasped Harper.
Logan took her hand. “It’s just a bit of metal. Nothing to be worried about.”
“I’m not worried. This piece fell off the missile that destroyed my home. This piece of metal could’ve been inches away from the warhead that blew up over Lakewood for however long it took to fly from whatever country.” She squeezed her fists, stuck between heartbreak and rage.
“Russia and China are the two most likely to have MIRVs and use them on us.” Cliff rubbed his chin. “Pretty sure Iran had missiles… though I’m not sure about MIRV warheads. Also, I don’t know if their missiles could reach Colorado. France had MIRVs, but they wouldn’t have used them on us. Based on the size of that section, it’s too big for a submarine-launched weapon. I’d say sixty percent chance it’s Russian, forty Chinese. Hell, it might even be ours if a computer glitch—or hacker—started the war.”
“You can tell from a hunk of metal?” Logan raised both eyebrows.
“Nah. I’m not a nuclear weapons technician or from military intelligence.” He chuckled. “Just a Ranger.”
“Just,” deadpanned Harper.
Cliff winked at her. “I’m basin’ it on politics. China made so much money off the US, it wouldn’t make sense for them to lob nukes our way. ’Course, I don’t remember seeing anything in the news about a pissing contest with Russia. Usually, when a nuclear war happens, it follows months of growing political tension.”
“Usually?” Harper raked a hand up through her hair. “How often have we conducted nuclear wars?”
“You know what I meant.” Cliff patted her on the shoulder. “Figure if things got so bad the US and Russia decided to do this to each other, someone would’ve noticed the escalation on the news. Not like the president of either country woke up in a pissy mood one day, said ‘aww, screw it,’ and just hit the button. Maybe hackers really did do it. Or a bug.”
Logan scratched his head. “What about terrorists?”
“How ya figure?” Cliff raised an eyebrow. “Nuclear control sites are some of the most secure places in the US Military.”
“Gradually infiltrate over a couple years, pretending to be loyal soldiers. Get into positions where they could access the launch controls, and once they had enough in place, boom.” Logan made a button-pushing gesture. “Maybe a rogue element within the military. Not saying it even had to be our side they got into.”
Harper stared at the missile piece. Nope. Can’t pretend we’re a normal family out for a day trip in a normal world anymore.
Other than leaving a lingering sadness in the pit of Harper’s stomach, the nosecone fragment ceased being interesting to everyone after a few minutes. She headed back over to where she’d left her pole on the ground. She picked it up and reeled in a drowned worm. Sighing, she re-cast it out into the lake. No longer soaking wet, Lorelei put her dress on, then hovered beside Harper watching her fish.
Madison unenthusiastically reeled in a smallish fish. Once she lifted it out of the water, she made a face at the flapping critter like she’d just murdered a baby.
Grr. Are we doing more damage to her? She’s miserable. We don’t have to insist she be the one to kill food.
Cliff approached and crouched beside Madison. “Not bad. Want to release it back into the water?”
Madison blinked in shock. “Seriously?”
“Yep.” He grasped the dangling fish. “This one’s too small even to feed Lorelei. We ought to let it have more time being a fish. It’s good you’re learning what you might need to do if you have to survive. How about we let him go, and you can take it easy for the rest of the day.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.” He patted her on the back.
“Umm. How do I get it off the hook?”
Cliff carefully worked the fish free of the hook, then lowered it into the water. Madison hugged him. Harper teared up a little watching him really embrace being Dad instead of just some nice former mall security guard with a heart of gold who couldn’t leave a pair of young girls and a boy to fend for themselves. Thrilled not to be forced to ‘kill animals’ any more today, Madison brightened in an instant. She ran around with Lorelei, exploring the island. Jonathan continued angling, apparently having fun. He and Logan joked back and forth, having a competition for who caught the most.
Harper tried to forget the missile fragment and enjoy the beautiful landscape around her. In light of what happened to civilization, sticking a worm on a hook didn’t feel at all like a significant enough tragedy to be worth her earlier hesitation. Carrying bugs alive out of the house instead of smashing them also felt pretty stupid, but she’d still do it. The worms died for a greater good.
They took a break for a lunch of tomato sandwiches. After, they resumed fishing, Carrie taking up the pole Madison no longer used. Madison and Lorelei wandered off to the west, exploring the island’s north edge, along the bank of Bear Creek.
“Don’t get too far,” called Harper… right as a fish tugged at her line.
“Okay, we won’t,” shouted Madison.
How many fish does he want to catch? We still don’t have power for the fridge. Is he expecting we’re going to eat all of them tonight? She reeled the fish in, held it up to make sure she hadn’t caught one too small to keep, and dropped it in the bucket. All of us plus Renee… yeah, we’re probably going to finish it all.
Lorelei came out of nowhere, grabbing on to Harper and hiding behind her. Madison darted around behind her as well. Instinctively, Harper looked in the direction the kids came from. A shaggy, bearded man in an old-style olive drab Army coat stumbled over a second bridge at the west end of the island, almost a hundred feet away, waving a large kitchen knife around. Wild hair, beard down to his waist, tattered clothes, and a crazy gleam in his eyes put Harper on edge the instant she looked at him.
Holy crap! If Lore is afraid of someone, he must be the literal Devil.
Harper put a hand on her sidearm. She’d probably never hit a target at a hundred feet using a .45, but had no way to know if the man had friends who might come out of nowhere and rush at them. With Lorelei and Madison huddling behind her, she couldn’t advance into range, so she held still. Jonathan, who’d gone way to the west side of the island for
a ‘better spot,’ found himself in lunging grab range of the man. He scrambled away from the seemingly crazy dude, sprinting toward Logan and Cliff, who set their poles down and faced the approaching weirdo, also resting their hands on their sidearms.
Carrie swung the AR-15 off her shoulder and gripped it, but stopped short of aiming at him.
“That’s close enough, friend.” Cliff raised his left hand. “Mind putting the knife down?”
The man waved the knife back and forth, jabbing it off to the side while muttering incoherently about Denver, Boulder, a ‘green highway’ and Elvis.
“He’s either extremely drunk or has considerable brain damage,” whispered Carrie.
“Didn’t really catch that.” Cliff pointed the same way the man indicated using the knife. “Are you trying to find somewhere?”
The strange guy jabbed the knife like a pointing device, indicating the direction he’d come from, then left and right. He mumbled too quiet for Harper to make out words, but judging by the look on Logan and Cliff’s faces, they didn’t understand him either.
“You’re looking for someone named Denver?” asked Logan.
“Naw!” yelled the guy, flailing his arms and yelling louder. “They said the camp’s up at midnight, but there’s not a single pole here. All five of them are watching us. Ain’t seen no signal flare yet. Think the Moon’s been lost, too. Where is waypoint Elvis?”
“It left the building,” deadpanned Cliff. “Over that way.” He pointed west.
“Wow,” whispered Carrie. “He’s on Mars. Not sure what the hell he took, but he’s dangerously high. Not sure he even realizes he’s holding a knife.”
The man remained still for a short while, making confused sounds and gestures. As if reacting to an explosion only he heard, he jumped, spun around, and ran off back over the south bridge. Everyone watched him until he disappeared into the woods on the far side of the golf course west of Evergreen Lake.
“Before anyone asks, I don’t have a damn clue,” said Cliff. “Whatever went wrong in that man’s brain is not a minor problem.”
Evergreen (Book 5): The Nuclear Frontier Page 12