Someday Soon
The After War Series
Book III
Brandon Zenner
Dedicated to Hal and Natalie Zenner
“Hi Mom and Dad!”
(author smiles and waves)
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to events or persons, living, dead, or fictitious are purely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author. Copyright © 2019 by Brandon Zenner. All Rights Reserved.
Table of Contents
Prologue How We Got Here
Chapter One After the War
Chapter Two Deer
Chapter Three Beaded Necklace
Chapter Four New Life
Chapter Five Ante Bellum
Chapter Six Futile Gestures
Chapter Seven Burning Reeds
Chapter Eight Movement in the North
Chapter Nine The Truck
Chapter Ten Duplicity
Chapter Eleven The Butcher Returns
Chapter Twelve Behind the Gates
Chapter Thirteen Solitary
Chapter Fourteen Future Uncertain
Chapter Fifteen Compulsion
Chapter Sixteen In the Night
Chapter Seventeen Forty-Eight Hours
Chapter Eighteen Menu Twenty-Four
Chapter Nineteen Years Prior to Humanity’s Collapse: Soft Rebellion
Chapter Twenty Deluge
Chapter Twenty-One United Colonies
Chapter Twenty-Two Cutting the Fog
Chapter Twenty-Three Twisting Descent
Chapter Twenty-Four Reposition
Chapter Twenty-Five The Verdict
Chapter Twenty-Six United
Chapter Twenty-Seven Offering the World
Chapter Twenty-Eight Realization
Chapter Twenty-Nine Moon over Water
Chapter Thirty Thunder and Lightning
Chapter Thirty-One Moonlit Shores
Chapter Thirty-Two United
Chapter Thirty-Three Human Semblance
Chapter Thirty-Four Smoke and Ash
Chapter Thirty-Five The Shadows
Chapter Thirty-Six Locked Away
Chapter Thirty-Seven Full Speed
Chapter Thirty-Eight Drowning in Flames
Chapter Thirty-Nine Low Tide
Chapter Forty Never-Ending Sea
Chapter Forty-One Devil Fingers
Chapter Forty-Two Perilous Decisions
Chapter Forty-Three Someday Soon
Chapter Forty-Four Ten Gallons
Chapter Forty-Five Shadow Pursuit
Chapter Forty-Six Jackknife
Chapter Forty-Seven Beacon
Chapter Forty-Eight Passenger Seat
Chapter Forty-Nine Marianna’s Fate
Chapter Fifty A Million Shards of Broken Glass
Chapter Fifty-One Concentric Circles
Epilogue
From the Author
Acknowledgments
Preview: Whiskey Devils
Prologue
How We Got Here
After the virus blanketed the earth, and war reduced cities to radioactive rubble, the few who survived did not shed a sigh of relief. The unthinkable hurdle of watching friends, family, and loved ones perish was only the beginning of the struggle to survive.
Some went underground, such as Brian Rhodes and Steven Driscoll, who found safety in a bunker. Brian’s cousin and Steven’s sister, Bethany, along with her friend, Carolanne, endured a similar circumstance, finding themselves underground for two years as the virus ran its course. Simon Kalispell and his dog, Winston, fled to the woods in British Columbia, where they were safe from the war and disease, and well away from loathsome travelers.
There were others who did not hide. There were some who embraced the ravages inflicted upon humankind. Karl Metzger was one such person. For him, survival meant not cowering underground or in the wilderness, but gathering his fellow men to follow under his lead, and take what was left of the world by force.
Each in their own way, these men and women continued to survive well past the war, disease, starvation, and murder.
As days turned to weeks, weeks into months, and months to years, colonies were constructed and people congregated, each with a mindset that their method of survival was advantageous. The town of Alice was founded, with their ally, Hightown, in the north. They constructed walls and maintained a vast garden and working reservoirs. A foe would find it difficult to march upon Alice’s walls. But the cunning Karl Metzger infiltrated the town from within, corrupting their leader, Nicholas Byrnes, and killing Nick’s father, Tom Byrnes.
Brian, Simon, Bethany, Carolanne, and of course, Winston managed to endure arduous treks across the desolate United States, and became citizens of Alice. Simon’s journey allowed him to witness separate spiritual paths a person could take while navigating the bleak world. He experienced fear as he was shot at and his van stolen. He experienced the crushing depression of being forced to kill with his own hands when he shot and killed a young boy who was trying to rob him. And he experienced love and compassion when encountering a gathering of peaceful monks and a young boy whose eyes lit up when he saw Winston’s tail wag in happiness.
Along Brian’s journey, Steven was lost and presumed dead, killed in a fit of mental anguish by Brian’s own hands. But Steven survived. With help from Karl Metzger, Steven’s strength renewed, and he saw survival in a new light. He would fight. He would pillage. He would become a member of Karl’s terrible army, the Red Hands.
All their fates intertwined on the battlefield of Alice. Steven died in Brian’s arms. Karl was presumed dead, blown up in an explosion. Karl’s lieutenants, Mark Rothstein and Sultan, were slain, and Priest Dietrich was taken captive, only to be later rescued. The Red Hands were vanquished from Alice, with the help of Hightown’s mighty army. Simon’s friend and roommate, Jeremy Winters, was celebrated for leading the charge to free the reservoir from the Red Hand’s clutches, and clean water was again under their control. Jeremy’s prowess on the battlefield and quick decision-making helped save countless lives and eradicate the vermin infesting Alice.
Simon fought and took down Nick Byrnes, but not before setting the bomb for Karl and his lieutenants in an underground room in Simon’s childhood home. Despite the explosion and raging fire, Karl escaped as Alice fell, helped along by his old cell neighbor, Doctor Friedman. It was a long journey to reach what remained of his force in the northern docks, where they were partnered with a Russian counterpoint. A vast army and arsenal, including warships, were maintained by the Russians, and farther to the west lay Odyssey, still harboring a number of Red Hands. Along Karl’s journey to the docks, Doctor Friedman could not control his ravenous desires, and Karl had no choice but to leave the man bound to a bed in an underground bunker, which the doctor had designed for torture, mutilation, and the consumption of his fellow man.
Karl escaped. Alone. And through force, he and his second in command, Liam Briggs, overtook the Russian officers and claimed the dockworkers army as their own, to mix with his battle-hardened Red Hands. A new and terrible war would be waged against Hightown, who had suffered great casualties, and believed Karl dead and his army destroyed.
But war doesn’t end.
It changes, but it doesn’t end.
Chapter One
After the War
In the morning hours following the battle, Brian arrived at Alice’s Volunteer Fire Department along with Simon Kalispell and his own cousin—and Steven’s sister—Bethany. The lawn was awash with stretchers.
“You see her?” Brian asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.
Nobody answered. They
scanned the crowd, but there were hundreds of soldiers, and nearly the same number of medical personnel, swarming around in orderly confusion. Simon had his arm over Bethany’s shoulder as all three looked for Carolanne.
The sidewalks in front of the fire department were lined with the less seriously wounded soldiers needing stiches or a finger reset. They sat and smoked. Some slept on the pavement; others held soiled bandages to wounds. Most exchanged curious glances at the large white tent constructed near the garage doors where the surgeons were performing the more serious operations.
“Come on,” Brian said, and began hobbling across the lawn. He’d been given a crutch back at Nick Byrne’s mansion, but it did little to quicken his pace.
Brian paused when he saw a medic he recognized from Hightown sorting through a box of supplies.
“Hey,” he said, “you seen Carolanne?”
The medic didn’t glance up. “Who?” he asked.
“My wife, Carolanne. Blondish hair. She’s a nurse.”
“Look around,” the medic said. “How the fuck would I know where she is? You guys here to help or just get in the way?” With that, the medic left with his arms full of bandages.
They were close to the door of the firehouse when they heard her voice above the clamor.
“Brian! Bethany!” she yelled, and as they turned, she was already there, running into Brian’s arms. “Oh my God—are you okay?” She stepped back, looking at his crutch, and then turned to Bethany, and they embraced. After a minute, Carolanne tore herself away. “Sit, let me check you guys out.”
“We’re okay,” Brian said.
“Like hell you are.” She began unbuttoning Brian’s shirt. “Let me get some antiseptic.”
“We’ve been tended to. Look.” Brian displayed the slip-on brace over his knee. “What we need is someplace quiet.”
“Come on,” Carolanne said, and turned to the firehouse. They entered the side door and went up the flight of stairs and to the door to Nick Byrnes’s previous office. It was only a night ago that Carolanne, Brian, Simon, and Frank Morrow—the head of the Rangers, prior to the battle—sat in that same room, waiting for the minutes to tick by so they could begin their assault on Nick’s mansion. The room was still empty, except for the throw blankets they’d left on the ground and the stack of folding chairs along the side. Brian leaned his crutch against the wall and took a chair from the pile. Bethany and Simon got comfortable on the carpeted floor, with a blanket draped over their shoulders.
Carolanne latched on to Brian’s side, her arms hugging around his neck, the top of her head against his cheek. The beach, Brian thought. My God, how I love you …
“I have to get back down there,” she said.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to.”
“They need you.”
Carolanne loosened her grip and wiped the wetness from her face. She smiled at Brian and brushed away a tear rolling down his cheek. “You have no idea how worried I was.”
“I know plenty.”
Her bottom lip quivered, and she gave Brian another hug before pulling herself away. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
They kissed again, and she left and closed the door behind her. In her absence, the room fell into silence. The uproar from outside was muted to a murmur through the window. After a long pause, Simon said, “We did it. We’re alive.”
Brian nodded. “Fuckin-a,” he said.
It was apparent by the quiet that followed that no one was inclined to further discuss the ordeal they had endured. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
Bethany stretched out on the ground, using a rolled-up blanket as a pillow. Simon lay beside her. “I don’t think there’s a chance in hell that I’ll be able to fall asleep,” he said, “but we should try. I haven’t slept in … two days?” He scratched his matted hair.
“You go on,” Brian said, sitting in the chair and staring at the door, his injured leg stretched out like a log. “I’m a’right.”
“Brian,” Bethany said. “Lie down.” She patted the floor beside her. “Come on.”
He nodded and stood, flinching as he put pressure on his bad knee. After a hobble, he sat down and then stretched out. Bethany tossed a woolen blanket over him and pulled it up to his chin. Goddamn, it felt good. So good that his body shook, trembled in the simple pleasure of comfort. He closed his eyes, and then, flash—there was Steven. “It’s okay, Brian, it’s—it’s okay …” The pool of blood spread from his cousin’s body and soaked into Brian’s uniform, still staining it now, and dried under his fingernails. He’d watched Steven die twice now, once in the woods, many months ago, and again in the pre-dawn.
He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t allow himself to shed another tear over his cousin. The tears he’d shed earlier were for Carolanne. They were tears of love, not loss, and he couldn’t, just couldn’t let misery overtake him. He would tell Bethany everything that transpired in the burning library in Nick’s mansion; but not now. She wasn’t ready to hear more grief. Steven killed Mark Rothstein, and for that he would be considered a hero … but he had also joined the Red Hands. He had become a member of those murderous bastards who tried to burn Alice to the ground.
Steven was dead. The Steven he knew had died a long time ago. Perhaps it was Brian’s fault, all of it. If he hadn’t fled after they fought in the woods under the assumption that he’d just killed his best friend with a stone, then Steven wouldn’t have been captured by Karl’s men. Would any of this have happened? Would the Red Hands have found them?
Brian didn’t sleep. He doubted that Simon or Bethany were sleeping either, but he didn’t bother to find out. They were beside him on the ground, quiet as could be. Outside of his tortured thoughts, the room was pleasant. Warm. Subdued.
Maybe an hour passed when the door opened and Carolanne appeared. She paused and said, “Did I wake you?”
Brian shook his head. She was carrying a cloth sack. Simon and Bethany sat up, wrapping the blanket over their shoulders.
“Here,” Carolanne said. “It’s not much.” She removed three MREs from the sack, three apples, and a loaf of half-risen bread that was made in haste to feed the influx of soldiers returning from battle. “We got the seriously wounded escorted to the hospital or taken back to Hightown. They’re serving lunch here, from the firehouse.”
They removed more folding chairs and sat around, tearing into the food. The bread was spongy, yet hearty, with freshly ground grain.
“This might just be the best damn meal I ever ate,” Brian said. “No, the second best. The first was the soup you two fed me when I showed up at your bunker all that time ago. I’ll never forget the flush of warmth from my stomach to my toes as I took that first sip.”
Carolanne smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. “God, I’m so glad—”
“Hey,” Simon said with his mouth full of bread. “What’s going on out there?” He pointed out the rear-facing window.
Bethany craned her neck to see, and Carolanne helped Brian stand. The stage behind the firehouse, last used by Nick Byrnes and Karl Metzger to deliver their poisonous deliverances, was lined with soldiers. The podium was moved to the side.
“I heard General—your uncle Al—is giving a speech today,” Carolanne said. “I thought it would be tonight, but maybe since most everyone’s assembled for lunch, he’s doing it now.”
A soldier stood on the center of the stage, addressing the crowd. Whatever he was saying was lost to them.
“Should we go out there?” Carolanne asked.
“Probably,” Brian said.
But nobody moved from the window.
A moment later, more soldiers walked on stage.
“Oh, Jesus,” Simon said. The soldiers were forcing along five … no, six men, their hands tied before them, cloth bags over their heads. Some were limping, and all had red stains on their frayed uniforms. They were forced to kneel, and two toppled over before being brought back up again. One by one, the bags were torn off,
displaying the battered faces of Red Hand officers. They paused before the last, the soldier addressing the audience. The condemned man’s leg was fastened with a splint around his knee, and he was held by the shoulder to remain upright. Then his mask was torn away.
“Oh my God,” Simon said, looking away. Carolanne opened the window to hear the pandemonium.
The battered and snarling face of Nick Byrnes looked over the crowd, his dark hair slick with blood and sweat, his eyes bruised to slits. A rock crashed into the stage floor beside him, and then another. The guards yelled at the crowd. Nick was struck once, twice; a third rock grazed his forehead.
“You fools!” Nick shouted. “You terrible fools! I have only ever had your best interests at heart! I was going to give you everything—all the power in the world! You think you’re any different than me? You’re nothing more than a pack of animals fighting for scraps! I gave you the world on a silver platter! The fact that none of you can comprehend—”
A guard stepped forward, grabbed the top of Nick's slick hair in his fist with one hand, and slid a blade across Nick’s throat with the other.
No … Brian thought.
“Christ in heaven—no,” Simon said, peering through cracks in his fingers.
Nick’s eyes went large, his poisonous words taken from his mouth. He began to fall forward, but the guard reached out and yanked him back up to face the people he had betrayed. As the last flicker of life dimmed inside him, the guard pulled a dark brown Smith & Wesson revolver from his belt—Nick’s own pistol with a deep groove cut into the handle from Simon’s machete—and pointed it at the back of Nick’s head. The gun recoiled as it shot, and Nick’s body crashed face-first to the stage floor, where it bounced and then lay still.
Bethany turned away.
“Nothing changes,” Simon said. “We’re going to go on killing each other until there’s nobody left to slaughter.”
Brian wrapped his arm around Carolanne’s shoulder. “Don’t look.”
But she looked. They all looked as the rest of the prisoners were executed before the roaring public, one after another, all with Nick’s shiny brown pistol.
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