American Apocalypse Wastelands

by Nova

  “You’re slacking off, Max. It’s not often anyone wants me more than they want you.”

  He grinned. “That will change shortly. I’m going to make some calls later. I don’t think it’s a big deal. It looks like a county judge signed it, which doesn’t mean shit, especially as this isn’t his county.”

  I didn’t really care. I figured if they really wanted me, they were welcome to try. “So what are we doing?”

  “We are going to burn as much of Meadow Mills to the ground as we can.”

  I looked past Max and saw that he had about three dozen Molotov cocktails. The wicks were sanitary napkins. I shook my head and asked, “Jeebus, what was harder to come by, the napkins or the gas?”

  He grinned. “You don’t want to know.”

  The plan was to drive the dump truck back through Meadow Mills. Anyone who saw it would think it was the boys returning from the raid. We would take Route 11 right through town until we hit Lee Street. Then we’d turn right until we hit Black Mountain Road. That would be where we started heading back home.

  Once we entered the town, it would be light and toss until we ran out of cocktails. Max was going to ride in the back with Freya and me. We would have a couple of the squad with us to provide security and toss Molotovs out the other side.

  We filled another stakebed truck with volunteers, all of them either part of the squad or kin to the people who died. The entire squad was going. Apparently they felt they needed to redeem themselves for their poor performance earlier.

  Max was already in the truck and yelling at people to mount up. I told one of the militia to find me an empty metal trash can and put it in the back of the dump truck, pronto. Fortunately, he didn’t have to go far to find one.

  “There you go,” I told Freya. “Stand on that and you can see the world.”

  We hit the road. The locals we passed waved to us. “Hey, Max”—I had to yell in his ear to be heard—“does everyone in the world know what we’re doing?”

  “No. Why?”

  I shrugged. He was the planner. But I wondered, How did the kid know, then?

  I figured we had about an hour and a half of sun left. We would be coming home in the dark. It was windy and a bit chilly. I liked it. So did Freya, who was clinging to the side of the truck bed. It was too windy to talk, which was also nice.

  Once we got about ten miles out of town I noticed that a lot of fields were fallow. There should have been corn or something in them; instead there was nothing growing in at least half of them. Also, a lot of the farmhouses looked vacant. I am not a genius, but if this was what the rest of the country looked like, then cookies were going to be scarce everywhere.

  We passed the green Welcome to Meadow Mills sign, and Max handed me a lighter. He yelled in my ear, “Don’t lose it. It was my Dad’s!”

  It was a Zippo with a crest on it—blue with stars and a red “1” on the field of blue. Inside the red number, there were faint letters. I tried to make out what they said in the fading sunlight, but they were too worn. I’d have to ask Max about it later. I thought it might say “Guadalupe,” which didn’t make sense. Maybe it was his mother’s name? But I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it.

  Max had already pulled one of the Molotovs out of an ice chest. He braced himself, held the bottle out for me to light, and tossed it overhand into the front of an old building. It went who-o-omp! spectacularly.

  The guys from the squad started tossing theirs. We were cruising through what looked like the Meadow Mills version of a historic district. At this rate it was going to be the site of the place once known as the Historic District.

  Max was laughing; he loved this. So did Freya. She was giggling, clapping her hands, and singing a song in whatever the hell her native tongue was. I wasn’t smiling. This didn’t feel right to me. There was no honor in it.

  I understood it, but I didn’t like it. This would break their backs. Their food supplies were probably elsewhere, but this and the death of so many of their warriors would shatter their resolve. That was the point. This was “no mercy.”

  We ran the entire town with only minimal resistance. A squad car came whipping down a side street and pulled in behind us. That did not turn out to be a good idea. Max shattered a Molotov on their windshield. We had a few scattered rounds thrown our way, but nothing intense enough to matter. It was over for them.

  Somewhere on Lee Street I handed Max his lighter. He was high—high on fire and destruction. Looking back, we could see smoke and flame. Given the condition of most local fire departments, Meadow Mills was going to burn for a while.

  We passed a silver sign that the state used to mark historic sites in Virginia; one of the squad busted a couple rounds through it.

  He and his buddy thought it was funny until I yelled, “Knock that shit off.” The world was filled with fucking idiots.

  I leaned over and yelled in Freya’s ear, “Having fun?”

  Her reply startled me: “I prayed to my Father for this.”

  I pointed at the fire that was receding behind us. “For that?”

  “No. Fire and Sword. For the rebirth.” The way she said the last part, her tone, sounded like an explanation for an idiot.

  “You know what my Momma always told me?”

  She shook her head.

  “Be careful what you pray for. You might get it.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  I spent the night sitting in the station. Night woke up around 0400 and I helped her get to the bathroom. On the way there, she said, “Damn, G, you smell awful. Somebody sell you unleaded aftershave?”

  “No, I was busy earlier burning a town down.”

  “Not ours, I hope.”

  “Nope. Meadow Mills.”

  “Oh, I guess that’s alright, then. Don’t go anywhere.” She shut the door. When she came out she clutched my arm. “Damn, my ribs hurt.”

  I got her back to bed, woke up Donna, and asked her to check on her. Then I went in the storeroom, picked out a jacket, and went outside to sit.

  I had never seen so many stars in the sky as I had in the past few years. I wasn’t surprised when Freya sat down next to me.

  “Couldn’t sleep, kiddo?”

  “I do not sleep now. I slept for too long before.”

  “So you want to tell me who you are? I mean, if it’s painful, we don’t need to talk about it. Plus, where is your coat?”

  “I do not need a coat for the same reason I do not need to sleep. I am not human. I am a goddess.”

  “Okay.” I thought about that for a bit. “Is that how you get inside my head?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you there now?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?’

  It was her turn to pause. “Most of the time it is boring.”

  “Oh—sorry about that. I’ll see if I can do something about that.”

  “No.” She was serious now. “I like you the way you are. You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago.”

  “Anyone I would know?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. You should go back in. I think Night is calling you.”

  I went back in. Night was asleep again, and Donna was going back to bed. The kid had blown me off like a pro.

  The next few days were busy with the usual mixture of the mundane and the irritating. Night was badly bruised, and she probably had a couple of cracked ribs. That was on top of the run-of-the-mill aches.

  She had woken up the next morning crying. She knew the baby was gone. She knew it earlier, of that I am sure. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it. I climbed up on the table, hugged her carefully, and asked her if she wanted to go home. I got back an emphatic yes.

  Around noon a Prius with a crumpled hood pulled into the farmhouse yard, and more stout old ladies than I could have imagined got out of it. They all seemed to be balancing casserole dishes, a good thing since I had no idea what was for lunch. They had me announce them, and when Night was ready, they went in to keep
her company.

  I waited a few minutes and went in to help myself to a plateful of beans with badly cured venison, mac-andcheese, and some kind of weird bread pudding with cinnamon. As I finished I heard laughter coming from the back bedroom and decided to go walk the berm. Nobody was keeping watch. We didn’t have the bodies.

  Woof didn’t know it, but he was our primary alarm system for now. He followed me as I walked the line. I had no idea where the kids were, probably in the house. If they were loose outside, then I would not have had the pleasure of Woof’s company. He saw his primary job as “kid shepherd.”

  I sat for a while on the main gate berm, just watching the clouds and smelling fall in the air. A hawk circled above me. I watched it ride the air currents and hunt for lunch. Not a single car passed by. I knew I should go into town, check on things, and deal with whatever needed dealing with. I just didn’t feel like it, at least not right away.

  I sat there, just watching the world go by, until the ladies left. They honked and waved as they drove off. I waved back and went down to make sure they had shut the gate properly. I could hear an axe chunking into wood, which told me where Tommy was. Woof must have heard or smelled the kids, because he ran off in that direction without even looking back.

  I walked back into the house and was surprised to see Night up and about. She was in a much better mood. The first thing she did was to give me a hug and tell me how much she loved me. I don’t know if she felt better from the old ladies’ visit or their casseroles, but they were welcome to return anytime they wanted.

  She shooed me out and told me to go be useful; she was going to boil some water and take a bath. That reminded me, I was supposed to check on propane availability two days ago.

  I was also supposed to be finding us a house in town to move into. Night had given me a list with three addresses to look at. I couldn’t understand what the problem was with the trailer. She very rarely got angry with me, but my questioning her decision about moving was one time she did.

  I knew Max had talked about relocating some of the married squad members who lived in Trailer Town to empty houses. The problem was finding houses that no one in town had a claim on. Generally that meant newer ones.

  The ones Night had on her list were older and smaller, but made of brick and with wood-burning fireplaces. I knew of each one, but I had only a vague memory of what they looked like and approximately where they were. I figured I would find the block manager for each street, spend some quality time with them, and see if they remembered anyone complaining about problems with any of the houses.

  I decided to bicycle in. Going uphill was a workout, but coming down was worth it. With no cars on the road I could fly. I had forgotten how much work it was, but I had not forgotten the thrill. I arrived in town in a good mood.

  I parked the bike in front of the station and had started up the steps when a woman burst out the door. She was in her fifties, gray-haired, skinny, and clearly angry.

  She looked my way and it got even clearer: She wasn’t pissed in general; she was pissed at me. “You’re the one I wanted to see!” she screamed. “You are a killer! When the country gets back on its feet, I will see to it that you are tried for murder! You wait! Things will get better and you will be hunted down like a dog!” Then she stormed off.

  So much for a constructive, caring dialogue.

  I went inside and asked the militia member who had taken Gunny’s place who the old lady was.

  “Sorry about that, Mr. Gardener. She was a bit upset.”

  “I got that part. Why? And why me?” He looked a little uncomfortable. “Come on, just tell me.”

  “One of them men you killed from Meadow Mills was her nephew.”

  I thought about how to answer that, especially as I knew my answer would be repeated. The old me had one answer.

  The newer, politically aware me had another. “Well, I am sorry about that. She have any more dumb-asses in her family I should know about?”

  His mouth dropped open. I didn’t wait for a reply.

  I went for a walk around town for a couple reasons. One, it was my job. Two, I wanted to see the reactions I got from the people. For one of the few times in my life, I was actually interested in what people thought of me.

  At the diner it was a mix of reserved greetings, fawning, and “How is Night doing?” In the business district, it was, “Hey! How are you?” and “Nice work. How’s Night?”

  I noticed two new storefronts getting cleaned up to open for business. I went into the first one and interrupted the family inside.

  They went silent when I stepped through the door, then they lit up with smiles. I had seen the older man and woman around, but knew almost nothing about them. The same went for a young pregnant girl who was engrossed in doing the lettering for a sign. The young guy I knew. He was a squad member. Come on, brain! I thought, Give me his name! It spit it out: Shawn.

  “Hey, Shawn!” We shook hands and he introduced the rest of the Klein family.

  Then he looked at me, wide-eyed, “Gardener, you were awesome out there! I told my family—” While he rattled on, I checked the expressions on their faces. Mom was wary with a touch of hostility. Same vibe from his mate. Dad, on the other hand, was beaming.

  When Shawn stopped for a breath, I slapped him on the shoulder; that was my Max mimic move. “You guys were pretty good yourselves.” From the flicker in his eyes I knew he didn’t feel that way.

  I changed the subject. “So, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Everyone got excited. They were starting a leather shop. Shawn went on to tell me about how they would have to do the tanning elsewhere because of the smell.

  “Yep, we think leather is going to be huge. We plan on doing a lot of work in deerskin. The guy next to us is going to be making shoes, so we can go in together on leather buys. Mary, show Mr. Gardener our samples.”

  They had some cardboard boxes filled with their work. It was pretty good work. Knife sheathes, small- and medium-size pouches. Belts—with and without tooling. “We plan to do jackets and pants also.” Everyone was nodding and smiling, and underneath it I could sense their fear. Fear that I might laugh. Fear that they might not sell anything. Fear that this, another step in their lives, would be stomped on by forces too big for them to understand.

  “So what did you do before?”—meaning, we all knew, before everything went to hell.

  His face changed slightly, just a quick cloud. “I was a program analyst for a company that no longer exists. Mary was an English teacher at Oakton High School. We did this on the side as a hobby. We were at the point where we had a booth at the Maryland Renaissance Festival and a web site when—” He stopped.

  Mary quickly filled in for him, “When we went from pretending to be living in the sixteenth century to actually doing it.” She was angry. You would have had to be completely oblivious not to hear it.

  “I like these pouches. I tell you what. I’ll take a big one for me and a smaller one for Night. What do you want for them?”

  They didn’t want me to pay. At one time I would have taken them for free.

  “No,” I insisted. “I pay fair-market rate. Maybe later, once you get going, I’ll take a law enforcement discount.” I grinned at them. “These might make good issue gear for the squad. How are you at making holsters and slings?”

  We went on about that for a bit, and I left him with a silver dollar and some Zone scrip. When I left, I noticed the women had warmed up a little bit.

  I stopped at the next shop and said hello to the owner. He was moving stuff around and seemed distracted. I let him be after a few minutes.

  When I walked out the shop door, Freya was there.

  “Hey, kid. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I thought I would walk with you.”

  We walked in silence for a bit. I said hello to anyone we passed on the street. Plus, I stuck my head in a few more shops. It was the same: positive feedback from the men, reserved politeness from t
he women, and inquiries about Night.

  Freya asked me, as we resumed walking, “Do you know why the women act the way they do?”

  I thought, So it wasn’t my imagination. I stopped walking. “No, kid. Tell me why.”

  “Because when they see you, they see the deaths of their men.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Freya and I walked over to the tollbooth. I noticed a marked improvement in the guards’ readiness and politeness. I wondered how long it would last.

  “How we doing?” I asked one of the two women.

  “Slow but steady. City is making payroll today,” she said, grinning.

  I smiled back. “That’s good. It’s why we work, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it isn’t because I love the company.”

  Her partner, who had moved close enough to hear, replied, “Bite one, Auntie.” They thought that was pretty funny.

  I asked her, “So, what kind of folks are on the road today?”

  “I try to find out, if we have time. That little woman of yours drilled that into me. How is she, by the way? Forgive me for not asking first off. Just got kind of rattled seeing you and that kid show up.”

  I filed away her that kid and told her that Night was sore but doing better. That was followed by a couple minutes of her praising Night, which I cut off as soon as I could get a word in edgewise.

  “So you were going to tell me about the traffic?”

  She laughed. I didn’t.

  “Well, some is our locals. Hey! Had a guy on horseback come through. Never seen him before. Mostly it’s people who are coming out of the Zone to see family. We ought to shake them down. They usually got food they are bringing—” She must have seen my face change. “Oh, lordy, no. I don’t mean it that way.” Her face turned pale.

  I didn’t cut her any slack. “Go on.”

  “They always want to know about the roads. Are they safe? I tell them they should go up to the campground and caravan out.”

  “Any of them do that, you think?”

  “Naw, the wives would, but the men—they just want to keep going. Afraid it would make them look like chickens, I guess.”