by KJ Nelson
“What?” She said loudly so she could be heard through the thick metal. “Who is it?”
“It’s Brody.” She heard the voice of her friend say. It sounded like he was out of breath. Something was wrong. Cameron grabbed the lock and fished the new key out of her pocket. She paused listening through the door, suspicious about what was going on.
“Are you alone?” She yelled through the door wanting to confirm it wasn’t a trap. Brody was silent for a second too long.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am,” he said, in an unconvincing voice. Someone was with him, and they were forcing him to lie to her. She had one course of action.
Cameron ran over to the door and turned the key in the lock. She let the chain fall away but didn’t lift the handle to open the door.
“You can come in, it’s unlocked,” Cameron took a step back and to the left. She drew both of her guns as she moved, taking aim out the door she knew was about to fly open.
There was a second of hesitation from outside, as whoever was with Brody decided what their plan of action was. Cameron held her breath knowing violence was coming.
The door opened quickly, as Cameron was expecting. She saw the sweating face of Brody, his hand on the door. She looked behind him and saw someone had a gun to his back. Neither Brody nor the person who had him was expecting Cameron to be beside the door.
Cameron grabbed Brody’s shoulder and pulled his body to the floor. She needed him out of the way to get a clear shot on the person behind him. Brody stumbled and hit the metal floor with a loud thud.
Cameron turned the corner with her guns pointed out before her. She saw the surprised face of an older man looking back at her. Cameron didn’t hesitate, she unloaded two shots, one from each pistol into each of the man’s eyes.
As he fell, the loud noise reverberated off the metal containers surrounding Cameron’s front door. There were three other people with weapons waiting outside.
Cameron had learned quickly after the Crumbling that most people hesitated during acts of extreme violence. Cameron exploited that hesitation by shooting two of the three people before they even had time to aim their rifles.
The third person pulled up the pump-action shotgun she was carrying and unloaded a shot at Cameron.
Most of the pellets hit above her head, but one of them she felt bounce off the top of her skull. The pain was instant, a fire on the top of her head. Cameron stumbled at the pain but kept firing her guns.
Two bullets struck the young woman that had the shotgun. She dropped the weapon and fell to the ground, her hands covering holes in her neck and chest. Cameron moved to the right and leaned against the outside of her container. She kept her guns leveled waiting for more people to turn the corner.
As she stood there panting, blood started running down her beanie and into her eyes. She was too afraid to use one of her hands to wipe the blood away, so she left it stinging and blurring her vision. After 15 seconds that seemed like an hour, she realized no one else was coming.
She holstered the pistol in her right hand, and grabbed her beanie off her head, and used it to soak up the blood dripping from her hair. She felt around the wound with her fingers, it felt like there was only a gouge from where the bullet grazed her scalp.
I’m lucky she used a shotgun instead of a rifle, otherwise, I’d be dead right now. Cameron thought to herself shaking her head. She looked over at the woman who shot her and realized it was Ashton. Bile immediately filled Cameron’s mouth, and it felt like she was going to throw up.
Ashton had never shown anything but kindness toward Cameron. She couldn’t believe that she was the one who wielded the shotgun. Cameron realized it must have been the loss of her son that pushed her over the edge. Cameron knew if she didn’t solve the problem of food quickly, she wouldn’t make it another week.
“Are you okay?” Brody asked peeking through the gap between the doors of Cameron’s home. “Are they all dead?”
“I’ve been better, but yeah, they’re all dead,” Cameron said, feeling more of the pain in her scalp with each passing second. “You can come out.”
Brody opened the door he was hiding behind and stepped out of Cameron’s container.
“I’m so sorry,” Brody said, holding his hands in front of his face. Cameron could tell he was worried she was going to kill him for his part in the assault. “They forced me to do it.” He continued his voice quivering in fear.
“It’s okay,” Cameron said nodding her head. She wasn’t mad at Brody, it wasn’t his fault there was no food, and people were blaming her. “We need to have a safe word when you knock so I know if there’s trouble.”
Brody nodded, and Cameron could see he was nervous about something similar happening again. Cameron heard loud footsteps coming down the other side of the container and leveled her pistols. Brody moved back toward Cameron’s front door.
Cameron aimed down her sights, waiting for the shot. Stafford rounded the corner with a rifle up to his shoulder. He moved with military precision. They both looked at each other, nodded, and lowered their weapons.
“You’re alive,” Stafford said with obvious relief. “And the kid?” He asked looking around at the dead bodies.
“I’m here,” Brody peeked his head back out of Cameron’s container. Stafford nodded again in relief.
“Ashton...” Stafford said in shock looking at the blood-soaked woman. His eyes filled with tears as he took in the blood-stained corpse that was once such a beautiful and loving mother, now all dignity removed from her lifeless body. “I can’t believe she was a part of this.”
“Yeah, she’s the one who nearly took my head off,” Cameron said, still using the cloth from her beanie to soak up the blood trickling out of her scalp. It was a poor sponge, and blood continued to roll down her forehead. She walked back toward Brody wanting to go into her room and grab the medical supplies she kept in her dresser.
“Are you okay?” Stafford asked, his eyes kept darting back to Ashton. Cameron hated that she’d been the one to kill the woman, but she had no choice. She hoped Stafford didn’t hold it against her that she hadn’t spared her life. She knew he was close to Ashton and her children.
“Yeah, it just grazed the top of my head. Hurts really bad, but it's not life-threatening.” Cameron said truthfully to Stafford. She didn’t want him worrying she wasn’t going to be able to take part in their plan later that evening.
Cameron waited as Brody moved out of her way and went and grabbed the medical kit. She also grabbed a small mirror and went back outside.
“Brody, hold this mirror for me while I clean myself up,” Cameron sat down on the hard compacted ground and unpacking the medical kit. She pulled the hat away from her head and immediately more blood started flowing into her eyes.
It gave her flashbacks to when she had to fix her forehead after her BMW wrecked on the day of the Crumbling. Her face was much more damaged then, and she didn’t have any medical supplies besides the small kit that came with her car.
Cameron pulled her hair to the side and saw the gash that was less than two inches long in the middle of her head. She didn’t think she would need stitches since the gash wasn’t very deep, as long as she could get the blood to stop flowing.
Some rubbing alcohol, three soiled gauze patches, and a butterfly bandage later, Cameron was good to go. Her hair was clumped together with the blood and she’d ruined her favorite shirt, but the worst of it was over.
She decided to go down to the river and bathe before she left with Stafford for their mission. She walked over to the lazy river and took in its beauty in the falling sun. Being close to the river was one of the main reasons Cameron wanted to stay at the shipping yard when she found it.
She thought it would be the greatest factor to survival. After all, a water source was the number one thing to look for in a survival situation. The river ended up being one of the worst things about the co-op however.
During the Crumbling when the Squatches had pulverized ev
erything within a 5 mile radius of Charleston, almost every body of water ended up loaded with contaminates. In the first week, three people died from drinking from the Ashley River.
The co-op had tried everything to make the water drinkable, but nothing worked. There was something about the atomization of so many buildings and people that poisoned the water beyond human consumption.
Several people had gone mad, looking at the water flowing right beside their camp while people died of dehydration. They ran to the water and drank freely, only to realize moments later what they had done. Every single one of them died within two days.
Cameron stripped off her clothes, the blood from her shirt making it stick to her chest. She grabbed a small gun and strapped it to her bare right thigh and ran into the water. She grabbed the green tea soap that she’d used for years, even before the Crumbling and washed herself.
She felt lighter as she rinsed away the blood from her body and hair. She made sure to keep her eyes and mouth closed tight when she dunked her head under the water. Cameron just sat in the gently flowing water for 15 minutes, letting its coolness wash over her.
Cameron hoped to find the peace that other people talked about having in similar situations, but it eluded her. All she could see was Ashton’s face as she pulled the trigger, her body crumpled as Cameron’s bullets robbed her of life.
She’d killed five people in the space of four hours. Maybe it’s a good thing I can’t find peace as easily as others. Cameron thought as she dried off and put on the fresh clothes she’d brought with her. It makes it easier to do the hard things others can’t.
8
Cameron nudged her horse to keep up with Stafford as they crossed the dangerous territory west of the shipping yard. She hated being out in the open, but since the stupid Squatches had taken almost all of the wood in the area, there was very little country that wasn’t open.
They were just over two miles from the outpost Cameron had met Agbo at almost a year ago. She hadn’t been there in months and hoped it was still there like the other ones her scouts had seen. She was worried that they were taking their lives in their own hands for a fool’s errand, but they had no other options.
Cameron turned her head so much looking for Freeriders and other threats, that she knew her neck was going to be sore for days. Any movement of air, or the occasional bug, caused Cameron and Stafford to jump.
The world after the Crumbling and the removal of its natural resources was eerily quiet. The hum of bugs that normally filled the air during a South Carolina evening was noticeably absent. It was in such times, that the stark difference of the afterworld was so apparent, it made Cameron almost uncontrollably angry.
She hated the aliens for coming out of nowhere and completely destroying everything. It was one thing if they came and wanted the planet for themselves. But to come and destroy everything, then take what was left with them was sickening. It was as if the earth was nothing but a resource bank for them to rob without a single care.
Cameron really tried not to dwell on what had happened in the past, and focus on what she could do in the present. But in the face of such wanton destruction, it moved her to passionate anger.
She knew there was nothing she could do about it, her only concern was survival. She didn’t want to die, not after all she’d done to stay alive.
“Did you hear that?” Stafford slowed his horse to a slow walk, listening intently. Cameron hadn’t heard anything, but she was so wrapped up in her thoughts she knew she could have missed something. That’s what she got for having emotions.
“What and where?” She asked, using the shorthand they used while in the open. The fewer words the better. She popped the straps keeping her pistols in their holsters and readied to fight.
“Sounded like wheezing, two o’clock,” Stafford whispered pointing with his long rifle toward where he heard the noise. Cameron saw a clump of upturned earth. When the Squatches harvested all the trees in the area, they didn’t come in and saw them down. They flew over with their ships and ripped the trees straight out of the ground.
It left large piles of dirt scattered throughout the land, which were great hiding places for people with guns.
“Slow or fast?” Cameron asked, lowering her frame closer to the horse. She didn’t want to present any shooters with a bigger target than necessary.
“Fast, you go left,” Stafford said, lowering his left arm to his side where only Cameron could see it. He held up three fingers, then two. He was counting down to the strike. He would assault from the front, and Cameron would dart around the left to confuse and surprise any attackers.
As Stafford’s last finger disappeared, she kicked the side of her large horse. Angus, the black stallion Cameron had ridden for a year raced ahead in a large arch around the clump of dirt.
She was so thankful that they had found a container full of horse feed in the first days in the co-op. Having a fast form of transportation was invaluable in the afterworld.
Cameron watched as Stafford’s dark red mare raced ahead charging whoever or whatever was hiding behind the mound of upturned earth. Cameron saw the hunched man before Stafford did. He was wearing a white shirt, which was odd. Most people knew better than that, especially at night.
She watched the man closely, waiting to see if he was armed. When he didn’t move, Cameron held up her left hand and signaled for Stafford to slow. She held up her index finger and then an empty fist to show there was one person, unarmed.
Stafford nodded and they both converged on the man at the same time. As she approached, Cameron heard a loud groan come from the hunched figure. It must have been what alerted Stafford to the man’s presence.
Cameron was wary of getting too close to the unknown figure. She’d lost too many good people to the Freeriders, that she was wary it was a trap. Stafford continued his approach making his way to Cameron’s side.
“Trap?” Cameron said quietly to Stafford once he was close enough to hear.
“Possibly,” Stafford said shortly. He nudged his horse forward wanting to move quickly. Cameron didn’t like it, she wanted to just get out of there. It looked like the man wasn’t in any shape to follow them. If we leave, maybe we can avoid springing whatever trap they’ve set for us. Cameron thought as she watched Stafford slowly approach the prone figure.
“Hello, there,” Stafford said just above a whisper. Cameron watched as the man breathed in slowly, then let out a rasp of air. He didn’t seem to be in good shape at all. Feeling curious, Cameron tapped Angus’ flank to get him to move forward staying close to Stafford.
As she got closer, the man’s features came into clearer focus. Cameron realized with a jolt that she recognized the white-haired man that was leaning up against the upturned earth.
“Garland?” Cameron said, louder than she intended. Stafford turned to her and waved his hand up and down, trying to get her to keep quiet.
Cameron rushed to climb off her horse, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. It had been so long since she’d seen the man, she assumed he was either dead or in a completely different part of the country.
Cameron ran to his side and kneeled down beside him. Garland looked like he’d been through a war. He had several injuries covering his body. His lips were cracked and covered in blood. His chest rose and fell in quick bursts. Each breath he took seemed to take all the effort he had in his body.
“Water,” Cameron said in a much quieter voice to Stafford. She was excited, but that didn’t mean she wanted to get all of them killed. Stafford grabbed a bottle of water out of his backpack and threw it to her.
Cameron opened the bottle and held it up to Garland’s lips. The water turned the dry blood on his lips into liquid, but it also helped to restore some life to the man as well. Garland’s hand flew up to the bottle and he grabbed it out of Cameron’s hands spilling a quarter of it all over himself. The plastic from the bottle crunched loudly.
“Slow down.” Cameron hissed, pulling the water awa
y. They couldn’t afford to waste any of the precious liquid. Garland’s eyes flew open at her words and he reached with weak arms for the water. His wild green eyes focused only on the life-giving resource.
“I’ll give it to you,” Cameron said, swatting at Garland’s hands as he continued to weakly grab for the bottle. Cameron brought it to his lips and poured the water slowly into his mouth. Garland choked on the first sip, and coughed so loudly, Cameron was convinced everyone within a mile could hear them.
“You have to stay quiet,” Cameron said, feeling bad for the ragged man. “Or the water goes away.” Garland nodded and opened his mouth like a dying fish, waiting for more of the liquid. Cameron brought it back to his lips pouring slowly so he wouldn’t choke.
“Ah,” Garland said after four more mouthfuls. “Thank you.” He opened his eyes as he spoke. Cameron could see the weariness in how slowly he blinked up at her. “Cameron?” Garland asked as he took in her face in the darkness.
Cameron nodded to him letting him know it was her. She suddenly felt the urge to get moving again. Staying in one spot for too long was a guaranteed way to get killed.
“We need to move,” Cameron said more to Stafford than Garland. She saw Stafford nod slowly still mounted on his horse. He was continually searching the area for movement while Cameron helped Garland onto her horse.
“I need to talk to you,” Garland said in a loud voice that made Cameron duck her head instinctively.
“Be quiet,” Cameron said in a frantic whisper. She knew his words would carry long and far in the dead quiet of the night. Cameron grabbed Garland’s arm and pulled him over to her side, still hunched over behind the upturned earth. “We will talk when we get back to camp. Until then, you need to stay quiet, or we’ll leave you behind.”
Garland nodded at the mention of being left behind. Cameron could tell he didn’t want to be alone anymore. He knew he had little hope of making it through the night without their help.