Doom Days

by Beaman, Sara

  Veneranda skidded short as a boar emerged from the thicket she was bearing down on. It stopped, all bristle and steaming flanks and a hot, acrid stink that colored the air even twelve yards distant.

  Human stared at boar. Boar stared at human.

  The great pig huffed hard, its breath just barely fogging the air before it. Bared tusks gleamed wetly in the early light. Veneranda unslung her rifle. Clear the bolt. Round into the chamber. Goggles down, sight up. Then she froze up, like always.

  The pig was alive. It was a living thing. How could she -

  A hoof scraped the ground.

  Veneranda pulled the trigger. The whipcrack of thunder rattled through her body like she was made of jelly. Her hands went numb with the stun. Her shoulder ached. Her eyeballs tingled in their sockets. She held steady on the sight.

  The round had taken the boar in the neck. Blood poured from a grapefruit-sized hole. The beast tumbled forward another step, paused as though reading some significance into the pattern of droplets its blood left on the broken pavement. Whatever it read there signified its end. Then it fell onto its side and twitched.

  Veneranda scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She ignored the tight feeling in her throat. The shot would attract notice. People would check.

  She slung the rifle back over her shoulder, strap between her breasts, and she was off running.

  She slipped in amongst the close spindles of pine, keeping a watchful eye on the vacant lot behind her.

  ****

  The way to her spot was a narrow and forgotten trail, a passage with just traces of human occupation remaining: empty plastic bottles that rattled about in a stiff breeze but were never quite able to escape the confines of the path, wrappers that fluttered like iridescent butterflies, caught in the embrace of path’s brier borders. Once, she’d found an expended condom, crushed into the muck and mire of the path and exposed by a stiff rain. She’d brought it home, trying to decipher its meaning. Her father had seen her with it, had explained.

  Veneranda had washed extra hard after that particular excursion.

  Now she wasn’t focused on the debris of the Collapse. She just saw the path, the way forward, so close it looked like nothing from any side, half-choked with brambles and uninviting to the outsider.

  Veneranda slipped into a narrow crook between two beech trees, growing so close she had to stand sideways and shimmy, holding her rifle behind her with one hand. The bark scraped at her through her thick sweater and shirt. For just a moment, as she reached the fullest swelling of the curving trunks, it seemed she might not fit through at all. She sucked in her breath, pushed herself hard, and slipped through.

  She emerged in the still, twilit bower. The musk of loamy soil broke around her, the calming scent of the grasping earth. Veneranda slipped within and looked behind her. Someday, perhaps sooner than she had thought, breaching the gap between the trees would become too uncomfortable. Her body was already changing in inconvenient and frankly stupid ways. She could probably pull down the two small trees that formed the entrance but why should the forest have to change to suit her?

  There was a whisper of sound, a catching of cloth on bark. Veneranda’s head whipped around. The form of a man, dim and dappled by shadow, pushed its way into the bower behind her.

  Veneranda fumbled with the strap of her rifle, fingers made dumb by sudden fear.

  The man held up a hand. “Hold on, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She finally got her rifle down off her shoulder, pointing at the intruder. It wasn’t loaded and he was too close for her to get a shell from her belt case and chamber it. Her father was forever at her to carry a magazine, but they were heavy and the edges dug into her shoulder blade when her rifle was slung across her back. Now she wished she’d forgone comfort.

  “Who are you?” Veneranda demanded. At least, she tried to sound demanding; mostly she sounded scared, even to her own ears.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” the man repeated. Veneranda noted he was favoring his left leg. There was a stain there, and a neat round hole through which flashed the muddled white of a used bandaged. “I just need some help. I heard your gunshot so I followed you.”

  Veneranda didn’t lower her rifle. She backed up a little, hated herself for giving ground, but she remembered what old Mathew Locascio had taught her, back when he was still walking and could teach anyone anything: get enough ground so you have a reload - or, in this case, a load - then stand firm. One shot to kill, that’s all you need. Don’t be in a hurry.

  Trouble was, she didn’t have enough ground. The bower was maybe six feet across. She took another step back.

  “You stay right there and you don’t move, okay?” Veneranda managed to sound somewhat firm as she took a step backward. She kept the rifle up, a bluff that she prayed would hold up a little longer. How to reach for her belt without giving herself away?

  “I’m not moving,” he said. His inflection was interesting; not enough twang, pretty crisp, like she’d heard an itinerant priest from up around the old enclave at Montreat talk. “I’m injured. Just looking for a little help.”

  Veneranda glanced at the leg. Could be true, or could be faked. She didn’t like trusting, not where strangers were concerned. Still...

  “What happened to you?”

  “I was on a...well, it’s complicated. Got into a fight with some men, down near the old city.” The man jerked his head, indicating the north, north-easterly direction. Veneranda frowned.

  “You were out in Raleigh?”

  He nodded. “I wasn’t sure how many names people around here knew.”

  “Picker?”

  “Eh?”

  “You looking for salvage?”

  He shook his head. His hair was brown, close cut, military style. Reminded her a little of some of the older men, the ones her father tended to get on with, but this man was younger. He held himself like the old soldiers, though, that squaring of the shoulders and firmness ‘round the knees, in spite of his injury. He had cold blue eyes, sort of almond shaped.

  “So what, then?”

  “I...” the man glanced over his shoulder, like there might be someone listening in behind the close press of trees. Veneranda scowled.

  “Ain’t nobody here but us. Now you get to telling me what happened before I decide it’s prudent to make a twin for that hole you already got.”

  The man looked taken aback. He glanced at her rifle, as though noticing it for the first time.

  “Who the hell taught you to talk like that?”

  “My dad. Now talk.”

  “There’s a place, down near the city. Used to be a school, but now some people live there-”

  “The University,” Veneranda filled in. “I know it.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Dad says to stay to hell away from it and shoot anyone comes from there.” Veneranda’s scowl deepened. She paused, then added reflectively, “Leastwise, shoot the adults. Supposed to help the kids, if I ever see one.”

  “Your dad’s a smart man,” the man said. He extended a hand. “Name’s Erik, by the way. Erik Sutera.”

  “Veneranda Alston, and I don’t shake.” She kept her gun trained on him.

  “Right, Veneranda. You’re the boss.” The man named Erik Sutera took a deep breath. “So, this is what happened. I’m from...I guess you could say I’m from a group of people who don’t like what’s happening down at the University. I was supposed to go there, check things out, maybe get inside their organization and do a little undercover poking around.”

  “You’re a spy.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Anyway-”

  “What group of people?”

  “Er...what?”

  “You said you were from a grou-”

  “Have you ever heard of the United States?”

  Veneranda gave him the stare she used on David when he was being especially thick. “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m an agent from wha
t’s left of the government. We’re sent out to keep an eye on...dangerous elements.”

  “I see.”

  “You’d be doing your patriotic duty, helping me. We’re bringing this country back Veneranda, and those who’ve helped-”

  “The history of the United States is a record of holocausts,” Veneranda recited from memory. One of the oldest of Isaac’s teachings, that one. “Why would I want to help that come back?”

  Sutera didn’t miss a beat. “Then do it because the people at the University need to be stopped. That kind of place has to be wiped out. That’s what we’re trying to do.”

  Veneranda paused. She’d heard the stories: vague allusions from Isaac, worse from loose rumors ‘round the trading post. They weren’t stories people told lightly or for fun - least, not the people she liked.

  On the other hand... “So how does helping you get that place closed down? Sounds like they figured out you were a spy; don’t see you goin’ back to reconnoiter much anymore.”

  “I don’t need help for me,” Sutera said, “Not in the medicine or food sense. I bandaged this best I could, and I have enough trail rations to get by. As soon as I’m further out I’ll deal with the infection. I need someone who can help me get this thing repaired and put pack in place.”

  Sutera shifted slightly, slipping a small, oblong plastic rectangle from his back pocket. It was matte brown and had a gritty-looking texture.

  “What’s that?”

  “Call it a spying device. It gives us info on their nuclear reactor and it’s absolutely critical that we get that data.”

  Veneranda scrunched her nose up. “They got a reactor down there?”

  He nodded. “It used to be used for training purposes and to get certain materials for experiments. Today they’re using it to make weapons.”

  “Weapons like nukes...” Veneranda flashed back to another of her father’s lectures. Imagined visions of towering pillars of smoke, miles of land engulfed in torrents of fire so hot it fused sand into glass. Her eyes widened, involuntarily.

  Sutera nodded again.

  “It’s a long, expensive process and we’re not sure how far along they are. Could be they don’t have enough plutonium production capacity to be much of a threat, but we know that’s their intent. I had the device in place and I was getting data when the damn battery failed. Tried to get it out but they have that reactor under heavy guard. Some people got suspicious of me and well...”

  He glanced significantly at his leg.

  Questions bubbled at the back of Veneranda’s mind, questions about how to get in, questions about how to find the battery, and, above all, questions about the reactor and its supposed nukes.

  Still, better to start with the practical. “So it needs a battery?”

  “Yea. Some of the people back at...where I come from, they were experimenting with new battery formulations. The battery they gave me was shit, but it’s standard size.”

  Sutera slipped a folding knife from his pocket, careful to show it to her and keep his movements slow. He was smart, she gave him that. He flicked the knife blade out with a practiced motion and slipped it into a seam along the side of the box. Then he pulled the box’s backing away and revealed its innards, all circuit boards and soldering and a single little silver disc.

  “I was hoping you might have some batteries in your town. I’ve looked through most of the stores around here - I even tried one of those big toy stores, hoping some of the products would still have their batteries inside, but no dice.”

  “A little coin cell like that doesn’t have much voltage. How’s it gonna run on just that?”

  “You’re an engineer as well as a sniper?” Veneranda’s back stiffened.

  “My dad’s an engineer. He was in the army.”

  Sutera shrugged. “Well, I’m not an engineer. This thing has some other kind of battery in it, and it can draw power when you plug it into their network, but it needs the little battery for some reason. It’s no good without it.”

  “Why not just come into town and ask?”

  “It can be dangerous, being vulnerable around a large group of people. A lot of people get suspicious of a man claiming to work for the government coming out of the wilderness and asking for help.”

  “Our town ain’t like that-”

  Sutera held up a forestalling hand. “I’m sure it isn’t, but I can’t trust that the University doesn’t have spies or watchers at your town. It’d make my job five times harder to have them know I got away and was looking for help. If you kept this quiet I’d appreciate it. So can you think of a person in town who might have a battery?”

  Veneranda considered it. It wasn’t impossible that someone in town might have a battery like this. But finding out who had them, where they were stored, would require asking questions, and bartering. Veneranda didn’t have much to trade; the Watch was good for feeding her and giving her an excuse to get out of town, but it didn’t pay much.

  There was one possibility...

  “There’s a place that I know where I might be able to get it.”

  “I’ll be waiting. I could use some rest, and this is a nice enough spot.”

  Veneranda nodded. It was a nice spot.

  ****

  David was on duty at the gate when she arrived, as expected. He must have spotted her a distance out, given the binoculars strung ‘round his neck, but he didn’t give cry. He simply hopped onto the ladder down from the Watch station and began winching open the gate.

  The layout of the gate was haphazard, always in a state of repair or upgrade depending on the materials Isaac and the Council could barter from passing traders, the availability of good hardwoods and how much damage thunderstorms or the last passing hurricane had done. Just now a large, wood-and-brick archway filled the spot where the old steel bars of the subdivision’s gate had been. The arch had a pair of stout wooden doors which reached at least four feet above Veneranda’s admittedly meager height. Isaac was fond of saying that they wouldn’t stop a tank, but if someone managed to find the jet fuel for an Abrams they were welcome to come in.

  Veneranda waited patiently for the gates to open. She slipped through when the gap was wide enough for her body and rifle. David puffed at her gratefully and together they winched the gates closed once again.

  “Feels like one of the pulleys is sticking again. I’ll let someone know to grease it,” Veneranda said. She began heading for the Watch House. A few idlers standing near the gate nodded at her. She nodded back.

  “‘Randa, hold up!” David called from behind her.

  “You got the Watch.”

  “Jenks, cover for me a minute.” David followed her toward the Watch House, handing off his binoculars to Owen Jenks, who accepted them with a shrug and headed for the Watch House.

  The Watch House was mostly empty at this time of day, everyone being involved with the myriad of other issues that arose day to day around the town. Don Granger was duty officer for the next few weeks; he’d broken his arm in a scuffle with two drunken traders some nights before. He gave Veneranda a nod and a wink as she entered. The nod she returned, the wink she ignored. She headed for the locker room.

  Veneranda’s mouth twisted as David followed her in, but if he wanted to be a bug he could accept the consequences. She made her way to her locker.

  “You didn’t sign out this morning,” David said.

  “I know.”

  “Just saying, if you keep climbing out over the wall, then coming back through the gate, eventually someone’s gonna-”

  “You got a point, David, or you just running your mouth?” Veneranda snapped. She tugged off her sweater and hurled it into her locker with more ferocity than she’d intended.

  “Just tryin’ to look out for you, ‘Randa...”

  Veneranda inhaled hard through her nose, then yanked off the stained and faded gray camisole she’d been wearing under her sweater. David made a sort of gurgling noise and turned around; Veneranda rolled her eyes - it w
asn’t as though she didn’t have her bra on.

  “You’re gonna get me in trouble, you keep yapping about me to your mother.”

  “I...” David paused. “She was buggin’ you?”

  “I was out by the trading post, with Missy. She’s got ideas, your mom.” Veneranda yanked a heavier t-shirt from the small stack of belongings she kept in the locker. It wasn’t really a locker, in the old-time sense of the word. It was just a wooden cabinet with a basic latch. She kept meaning to scrounge or barter for a lock, but never got around to it.

  “Sorry, ‘Randa.”

  “Damn right you’re sorry,” Veneranda yanked the shirt on and rummaged for her knee pads. “What have I told you?”

  “Don’t talk about you, I know, it’s just that-”

  “It’s just that you’re dumb as a boar and twice as ugly.” Veneranda found one pad, but the other remained aloof, lost somewhere in the morass of dirty laundry she kept at the bottom of the locker. “My dad told me about how white people are descended from Neanderthals and hell if you ain’t walkin’, talkin’ proof.”

  “I asked Calliope about that and she said she hasn’t never heard the word ‘knee-anders-tall’, she said you must be tellin’ stories-”

  Veneranda glared at him. “You’re itching to get pounded again, aren’t you?”

  “No ma’am!”

  “Damn right.” Veneranda smacked him on the arm and he laughed. She joined in, but only for a moment. The spy’s face and words kept bubbling up at the back of her mind, making her vexed and irritable. She returned to the search of her locker.

  David’s curious voice floated to her as she dug through the compacted detritus of shirts, pants and undergarments. “What’re you getting your gear on for? You ain’t on duty today.”

  “Got some stuff I need to see to, outside of town,” she said, then reflected on the curiosity this might arouse and lied, “Dropped a small cache of stuff, but it’s up near Carrboro.”

  David whistled. “You planning on making that hike today?”

  “Might camp out. I’m not on duty for another four days, so it ain’t no big thing. Tell my dad if you see him though, ‘kay?” Veneranda finally extracted her second kneepad and set it atop the first. She reached up to the top shelf and nonchalantly pulled the box cartridge for her rifle down. She set it next to the pads.