by Jim Heskett
EPILOGUE
The mountains to the west aren’t close enough to provide a real boundary, but it feels that way sometimes. It’s a much better natural barrier than the walls of Denver used to be, though. That much is true.
The boy and the girl wander through the market, sampling bits of fruit and cheese the vendors leave out for free. He likes the cheese, but she says her stomach doesn’t tolerate it. But, she never misses an opportunity to sample fruit, particularly exotic ones they never had the chance to before. Growing up in the northwest, she’s had her fill of huckleberries. She discovers today how much she likes oranges, something she’s never had before. He also likes them, but not as much as she does. And that’s okay. There are so many things for them to try now. It seems the world has grown a thousand times in the span of a few weeks.
At a clothing stall, she tries on a sundress, and he beams at her. Just as beautiful now as the first day he noticed her, back within the walls of the plantación. They were little kids when they first met, but one day a few years ago, he noticed her. Really noticed her.
She’s only grown more confident and self-assured since that day. He thinks confidence is sexy.
It’s been three weeks since the capitol building fell. Three weeks since the citizens of this city found the remains of the king, dead from stab wounds. No one knows who killed him, but the boy and the girl do. It was Hamon’s last act. And, although he’ll never know for sure, the boy believes Hamon somehow opened the passageway at the back of the server room for them. He must have found the controls while in the king’s residence.
As she twirls in the sundress, he smiles, but he’s not only thinking of her beauty. He’s also thinking of the ones who weren’t able to be here with them. The ones who gave their lives so this could all be possible.
She frowns at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just thinking about things,” he says, shrugging.
She crosses the short distance between them and wraps her arms around his waist. “No more of that, okay? This is a happy day.”
He nods and wants to give her a happy day, so he tries to focus on the present and the future. They’re still young, still free, and still have the world in front of them. They’ve decided they like Denver and might stay here. The locals tell them the winter season isn’t as bad as they might expect.
Sometimes, she thinks about “things” too. She tries to keep her thoughts up. She sometimes thinks about leaving to find her parents, but she knows there isn’t much point. If they’re even still alive, they won’t know her. She won’t know them.
The boy and the girl wander off through the crowd. Occasionally, someone will notice them and stop to shake their hands. They’re not exactly public heroes, but some know what they did inside the capitol building. Sometimes, random people will thank them and proclaim they’re about to take off for a journey to Kansas or New Mexico or Nevada to recover their now-free children who were taken from them years before.
Some people tell the boy he should go into politics, and he always laughs off this suggestion. He does not like the pomp and pageantry of it. Best to leave that up to others. The girl, though, has been considering it.
They pause at the bridge over Cherry Creek, and he drinks in the smell of the water. She listens to the way it rushes over the rocks, smoothing them and forgiving their hard edges.
“Wait,” he says, and he squints into the distance. Down Platte Street, through the crowd.
She turns her head to look in that direction, and she sees it too. A young man walking, someone who doesn’t seem like he belongs. He’s tall and thick, muscular. Walking in their direction, eyes on them.
He’s been searching for them.
It’s a ghost. A person who cannot be here.
“I don’t believe it,” the girl says, and a rush of excitement fills her. The boy feels it too.
They race from their spot on the bridge, down the bike path, and out on the street. The young man is hobbled and walks with a limp, a little bent over, but there’s no mistaking it. It’s him.
They race across the street and find him standing there with arms open. A smile stretching his face. His large ears stick out from the side of his head. His scraggly beard is now gone, replaced by a rough mask of stubble darkening his cheeks.
Tenney. Alive, in the flesh.
Yorick and Rosia fold into Tenney, and he wraps them in his long arms. “Easy,” he says. “It’s still pretty sore.”
But, he hugs them tight anyway. They stay like this for an eternity, and then Yorick pulls back.
“How is this possible?”
“Help, and a lot of luck.”
Yorick tilts his head. “What does that mean?”
“After Diego left, the workers in the kitchen got me to a hospital. I was almost dead. I was in bed for a couple weeks, on antibiotics, fighting a fever. But I got better. And, as soon as I got out, I started looking for you.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rosia says. “We had no idea.”
Tenney beams and the look on his face fills them both with a joy they forgot was possible. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m just glad you stayed in this neighborhood. This city is so big. It goes on forever.”
“Yes, it does,” Yorick says. “Open and free.”
“No walls,” Tenney says.
“No, not real ones. You can go anywhere you want. Anywhere we want.”
This makes Tenney smile again. After a pause, he slides his arms around both of their shoulders, and they walk off toward the west.
“Then where do we go next?” Tenney asks.
Afterword
Want to continue the story? You can get a free Slave Games short story featuring Yorick and Hamon by signing up for my dystopian reader group.
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For Laura, because you reminded me why I write everyday. For something better.
All material copyright 2019 by Jim Heskett. No part of this work may be reproduced without permission.
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If you like post-apoc, you’ll want to take a gander at my Five Suns Saga. It’s an epic tale of espionage and a military thriller set in a dystopian and post-apocalyptic world. Featuring stories set before, during, and after a global economic and societal collapse, this decades-spanning trilogy dives into the mystery to answer two big questions: how did the world collapse, and how will the survivors put it back together?
About the Author
Jim Heskett was born in the wilds of Oklahoma, raised by a pack of wolves with a station wagon and a membership card to the local public swimming pool. Just like the man in the John Denver song, he moved to Colorado in the summer of his 27th year, and never looked back. Aside from an extended break traveling the world, he hasn't let the Flatirons mountains out of his sight.
He fell in love with writing at the age of fourteen with a copy of Stephen King's The
Shining. Poetry became his first outlet for teen angst, then later some terrible screenplays, and eventually short and long fiction. In between, he worked a few careers that never quite tickled his creative toes, and hasn't ever forgotten about Stephen King. You can find him currently huddled over a laptop in an undisclosed location in Colorado, dreaming up ways to kill beloved characters.
He believes the huckleberry is the king of berries and refuses to be persuaded in any other direction.
If you’d like to ask a question or just to say hi, stop by www.jimheskett.com/about and fill out the contact form.