After the End Trilogy Box Set

by Mark Gillespie

  “I’ve even got a grenade strapped next to my…you know?”

  “No,” Eda said.

  Goldman grinned. “Down there,” he said, nodding towards his crotch. “It’s my extremely secret weapon. I call it my third ball.”

  “You put a grenade down there?” Eda said, taking a step back. “You put a hand grenade down your pants?”

  “It’s still got the pin in it for God’s sake,” Goldman said, looking a little embarrassed. The grin was gone now. “Relax. This is war and you’ve gotta be the slyest beast in the jungle if you want to make it through in one piece. You understand? Doesn’t matter if the enemy’s a better shot, a better fighter, stronger, has more weapons or whatever. The smartest fighter wins.”

  The way Goldman said ‘smartest’ it sounded like smaaaaaartest. Eda had never heard an accent quite like it before.

  “Ain’t nobody going to ever find it down there,” Goldman said. “And that’s the point.”

  Eda stared at the contents of the box again. There were dozens of turtle shell grenades scattered about inside.

  “Do all those grenades work?” she asked. “They look like antiques.”

  “They work,” Goldman said. “Everything works. Those grenades right there, that’s a standard issue. All the troopers used to carry at least one of those back in the day. I prefer these to the old standard issue – there’s a longer delay between pulling the pin and the blast. The old grenades used to go off after four seconds precisely. Jeez. That didn’t work for some of the clandestine maneuvers we were pulling against the chinks. We lost a lot of good people who just weren’t fast enough. These ones right here, they’ve got a longer fuse to burn. Twelve seconds. Means you can get right up close, drop one and haul your ass to safety.”

  Eda listened, nodding as Goldman spoke.

  “I didn’t think people used weapons like these anymore,” she said.

  “That’s only because they don’t have access to them,” Goldman said. “I clung onto these babies like bankers hoarding up piles of money. Weapons meant survival. Still do. I don’t know if you’re old enough to remember what it was like back then Eda. There was no law. Nothing. The authorities, the old infrastructure had collapsed entirely. There was nothing to stop the man in the street plugging you full of lead and taking whatever he wanted to take from you. Whoever he wanted. Can you imagine how frightening that was for a man with a wife and three daughters to protect? There were murderers and rapists everywhere. Back then hate flowed like the rain does now. Fear too. So I started scavenging weapons. I searched dead bodies in the street, looking for treasure, and whatever I found I brought back here. The garbage here was fresh and a lot worse than it is now. On top of that the local junkies used to leave needles lying around. People kept away from the trash. Perfect hiding place, right?”

  “But why don’t you keep your guns in the house?” Eda said.

  “June,” Goldman said in a quiet voice. “She never felt comfortable with guns inside…”

  “I understand,” Eda said. “But now…?”

  Goldman quickly shook his head.

  “There ain’t nobody to steal them now anyway,” he said. “Apart from the chink I guess. I don’t know. Truth be told, most of this lying here is useless now. I only need my old M4 rifle to win the war. Although if I get close enough to the chink I wouldn’t mind dropping my third ball down the back of his shirt.”

  “That’s messed up,” Eda said.

  “Didn’t you say everything was a mess last night?”

  Eda smiled. She looked into the chest again, scouring the pile of weapons that almost spilled over the edge. Despite the infestation of flies, she moved closer to the stash.

  “I’ve never shot a gun before,” she said.

  Goldman pushed the visor of his cap up. “You wanna try?”

  Eda was still staring at the gun. She replied in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Sure you do,” Goldman said.

  He squatted down, both hands reaching into the old box. After rattling around for a second, he picked up one of the black rifles and gave it the once over. It was identical to the M4 that he’d carried around with him the day before.

  “These look heavy,” he said. “But in fact they’re made of lightweight materials and very easy to hold. I reckon it’d be a good fit for you.”

  Goldman put the rifle back in the box and closed the lid.

  “We’ll try mine for starters,” he said, standing back up. “It’s fully loaded and waiting up there in the apartment. What do you say we go pick it up, stroll down to the beach and do a little shooting practice?”

  Eda smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “But I should really get going. It’s a long walk to…”

  “C’mon young lady,” Goldman said. “You never know when it might come in handy. Right?”

  The old soldier was already walking back into the apartment to fetch his M4.

  “Won’t be a minute,” he said.

  Eda and Frankie Boy waited outside the front of the building, putting a little distance between themselves and the trash.

  “Let’s keep this short,” Eda said, giving Frankie Boy a pat on the back. “The Nomads aren’t standing around waiting for us.”

  When Goldman came back with the gun they crossed the quiet road and walked down to the beach. The old man did most of the talking as they approached the water, reveling in the opportunity to talk about the local attractions. He told Eda that the area they were in was called Carson Beach, although Eda thought he didn’t sound too confident in the recollection. It had once been a popular spot, Goldman informed her. People everywhere used to flock to Carson Beach.

  When they reached the sand, Goldman escorted Eda about a hundred meters along to where he’d set up a private shooting range. This consisted of three medium-sized wooden crates, lined up about ten feet apart. A small wire fence encircled the shooting range. Eda only understood why the fence was there when she spotted countless shards of broken glass lying on the sand close to the crates. The shards glistened, like thousands of tiny eggs waiting to hatch.

  “Are the soles of your boots intact?” Goldman asked, pointing at Eda’s feet.

  “Yeah,” Eda said, after she’d checked.

  “Good. You don’t want to be in here with naked tootsies. Not if you like walking.”

  The old man stepped over the fence, treading carefully across the small enclosure of sand and glass. He walked over to a black plastic bag flapping in the breeze, one that had been weighed down with a couple of large rocks. Reaching inside the bag he pulled out a trio of empty copper-colored bottles and lined them up, one on top of each crate.

  “Alright,” he said, walking over to Eda with a let’s get down to business face. “Your targets are all set.” He slid the M4 strap off his shoulder and let the weapon drop onto the sand. He looked at her. “You ready?”

  “Yeah,” Eda said, climbing over the fence and walking tentatively into the shooting range. She made a point of avoiding the larger chunks of broken glass. “Sure.”

  She stood facing him.

  “Now show me a fighting stance,” Goldman said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Goldman adopted a boxer’s stance. “Just give me something like this,” he said in a gruff voice. “Like you’re about to square off with someone. Think about somebody you’ve encountered in the past, somebody whose head you wanted to punch off more than anything. Know anyone like that?”

  “One or two,” Eda said.

  “Go ahead then.”

  “I thought I was going to shoot,” Eda said.

  “You are. You will. C’mon now, show me that fighting stance.”

  Eda stared at the old man like he was crazy. She clenched her fists and extended her left arm forward. The right arm stayed back, elbow tight to the body, her hand tucked in close to the chin the way a boxer would hold it. Likewise her left leg stretched out and her right stayed back, the foot pointing slig
htly to the side.

  “Like this?” she said.

  “Good,” Goldman said. “That’s really good.”

  “What’s this for anyway?” Eda asked.

  “I want your body to square off towards a target,” Goldman said. “Now don’t you move okay? I’m going to pick up the rifle and slide it into your fighting platform. Now remember this okay? Remember how you’re standing because stance is super important. Super important.”

  “Alright.”

  Goldman squatted down and picked up the M4. Then he tucked the rifle into the pocket of Eda’s shoulder. Still holding onto the gun he took a half step back and studied their progress, like a painter admiring the dawn of his creation.

  “Close your hands around the rifle,” Goldman said, coming forward again. “Stretch your arm far out on the forend – under the barrel, that’s it. No, no – don’t use the magazine as a grip. Grip the grip, that’s what it’s for.”

  Eda sighed and readjusted. She locked her hands around the weapon as instructed. It felt alien and inelegant compared to the samurai sword that she carried around with her.

  “Like this?” she said.

  Goldman made a slight humming noise.

  “Trigger arm down, tight to the body. “Keep it tight now. You don’t want that recoil bouncing the rifle around. That’s especially important because you’re a first-time shooter.”

  Goldman twisted Eda’s shoulder forward as he kept spitting out instructions. She felt like a doll being bent into shape by its sadistic owner.

  “Use that shoulder as a shock absorber,” the old man said. “Listen to me Eda, you gotta have control of your weapon. Control means faster and better shots, and that’s going to be the difference between you and the other bozo with a gun. Okay? Don’t grip too hard now. Not too much pressure.”

  “Can I shoot yet?” Eda said.

  Goldman walked around, studying her with a peculiar intensity. The old man’s eyes were ablaze with concentration. Anyone would think he was sending Eda into battle instead of giving her a simple shooting lesson.

  “It’s nice and light right?” he said. “Keep a proper stance at all times and you won’t get fatigued. All these little details will help you when the time is right. Make it work under speed and stress because that’s how you’re going to be shooting when they come for you. It feels alright?”

  “It’s fine,” Eda said. “Can’t I just shoot the damn thing?”

  Goldman began to lighten up a little. He laughed and backed off a couple of paces. “Sorry,” he said. “Old habits die hard I guess. I just want you to know what you’re doing when you pick up a gun. Makes all the difference when it come time to shoot, I promise.”

  Eda waited impatiently while Goldman gave her more tips, including how to look down the top of the barrel and get the best aim.

  “Ready to shoot?” he said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Alright then,” Goldman said, moving behind her. “Slowly take aim and squeeze that trigger when you think you’ve got the target locked in.”

  Eda’s first shot missed by a mile. Her legs wobbled as the gun went off. She shot again quickly, trying to get used to the kick. When the rifle fired it felt like someone throwing a heavy weight into her arms and she struggled to control it.

  Gradually the gun began to settle into her shoulder.

  She fired, missing again.

  “That’s not good is it?” she said, looking at the three glass bottles, still intact on the crates.

  “Well the aim’s off a little,” Goldman said. “But your stance and poise are actually pretty good for a first-timer. You say you’ve never shot a gun before?”

  “Never,” Eda said.

  “But you’ve been in combat right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Try again,” Goldman said, pointing to the crates. “Smash one of those damn bottles into smithereens.”

  “Smithereens?”

  Goldman smirked and jerked a thumb at the three targets.

  “Just shoot.”

  They spent a long time shooting on the beach together. While Frankie Boy went off exploring the sights, Eda absorbed as much as she could from Goldman about how to use the gun. She found herself enjoying this impromptu lesson.

  Soon the Nomads slipped to the back of her mind.

  When she finally hit the first bottle, Eda was ecstatic and wanted to shoot the second one to prove it wasn’t a fluke. She did it. She cleaned them out and Goldman replaced the bottles and let her start over again.

  Goldman didn’t mention ‘the chink’ once. He showed a great deal of patience, showing Eda how to reload and how to do it fast while under pressure.

  When it was done, he bowed in a show of appreciation.

  “Now that’s what you call a crash course in shooting,” Goldman said, leading Eda back out of the enclosure. “You’re a good learner. Damn good. You got the basics down real fast there – excellent work soldier.”

  The old man stepped over the fence. Eda followed and she noticed him tugging restlessly on the end of his mustache, as if overcome by a sudden rush of nerves.

  “Are you okay?” Eda asked.

  He nodded.

  “Listen,” Goldman said. “You’ve seen that box of weapons up at the apartment now right? And so you know I’ve got several spare M4s doing nothing better than collecting dust and stinking of garbage.”

  “Yeah,” Eda said. “I know.”

  Goldman finally stopped fidgeting with his mustache.

  “I know you’ve only had one lesson,” he said. “But look…if you wanted to keep practicing, on your own that is, I could give you one of those M4s and a truckload of ammo to take on the road with you.”

  Eda flinched. “You’d give me a gun?”

  “Damn right,” he said. “I’d feel a lot better about sending you off on your own, knowing you were armed.”

  Goldman pointed to the katana hanging off Eda’s waist.

  “That samurai sword you’re carrying – it’s pretty and it’s dangerous for sure if you get close. But it’s not enough.”

  “Enough for what?” Eda said.

  Goldman stood facing the water, looking out to sea.

  “I’ve been lucky,” he said. “Living on the coast like this, I’ve seen many things come and go over the years but this...this is something else we’ve gotta face up to. You’ve got to keep your eyes open Eda, no matter how empty the world might feel it’s always got another surprise waiting around the corner.”

  He looked at her.

  “I’ve seen them.”

  Eda hesitated. “Them?”

  Goldman nodded. “Their scouts have already landed,” he said. “They come ashore, look around and when they’re done they go back out to sea again.”

  He pointed to the water.

  “They’re out there you see, biding their time for the main event. And one day they’ll come ashore and they won’t go back.”

  Eda didn’t know what to say to him. It was painful to listen to Goldman’s paranoid jibber-jabber about a Chinaman running loose in Boston, and God knows what other delusions that had infested his mind. Hard to see him like that. The old man, even though he seemed sharp at times, was further gone than Eda had first thought. A nice man, slowly losing his mind. She thought about hospitals in the Boston region and wondered if there were any still standing. If by some miracle one or two of those buildings had survived, she might be able to go there and find some sort of medication. They had everything back then and surely there was a pill that would stop someone from losing their mind.

  Goldman began walking back to the road. He gestured for Eda to follow him.

  6

  Before hitting the road, Goldman and Eda went back to the apartment. They shared a quick breakfast and when it was over the old man crammed a pile of Tupperware boxes filled with foil-wrapped food into Eda’s backpack. The seams on her bag were close to breaking point by the time she wrestled the zipper shut. Goldman had also managed t
o squeeze an extra water bottle in there, along with a winter beanie and gloves.

  “Let’s see now,” he said.

  He studied the contents of the bag. Nodding his approval, he checked out the M4 that he’d picked out for Eda from the chest out back. He’d already stuffed the bag full of spare magazines.

  Even with all the food, water and extra clothing, Goldman still had a look on his face like something was missing.

  “What is it I’m forgetting here?” he said, tugging on the ends of his mustache.

  Eda looked at him, trying not to laugh.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Listen, I’ll be lucky if I’m able to walk with that thing. She looked at the bag again – it looked pregnant, like there was a fat baby bag growing inside it. “I think we’re good to go.”

  “You’ll be glad of that weight,” Goldman said, tapping a finger off the table. “Trust me. In fact you might want to think about picking up a bigger bag somewhere on the road.”

  “Sure thing,” Eda said. She heaved the backpack off the wooden surface and wobbled a little as she threaded the straps through her arms. It was heavier than it looked. At this rate it was going to be hard work catching up with the Nomads. Maybe she’d have to eat into all those food supplies quicker than she’d thought.

  She picked up the M4, gripped the sling and let the weapon slide over her shoulder. It felt strange, like something that she wanted to push away from her body. With the sword still hanging at her waist, Eda was fully loaded.

  “Thanks for your help,” she said, turning to Goldman.

  “Sure thing,” the soldier said. “It was great meeting you.”

  “Is there anything I can pick up for you before I leave?” Eda said. “Do you need anything? Anything from the hospitals or whatever? You know, to make you more comfortable.”

  Goldman shook his head. He’d already crossed the living room and now he was standing at the door.

  “Forget it,” he said. “Even if I did need something you won’t find a hospital around here anymore. At least not one that’s intact.”

  Eda ran a hand through her dark hair. It felt dry and knotty.

  “Will you be alright?” she asked.