Solar: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

by Huggins, Shane

"This is our third orchard," Mum says. She does not elaborate further. I wonder what happened to the other two, but do not have time to discuss it. The turn is upon me before I have time to form a retort. The road is short. I can see the gate, five bar design, old, rickety. That broken old thing could barely hinder a sheep, let alone a solar. But the orchard is still intact. The beauty of the place takes my breath away, like a secret garden meant only for us.

  I pull up at the gate, shut off the power. "Now what?" I ask.

  Daddy opens the passenger door and leaves slowly. I can tell he is alert, on edge. I try to follow suit, but am stayed by Mum's hand on my shoulder. "Wait," she says. There is an urgency in her voice.

  "For what?" I ask. I can see everything in the moonlight. There is no danger, no signs of life.

  "Just wait," she says. I stay silent. I do not want to do anything that may cause them to reconsider bringing me along on their next jaunt.

  Daddy opens the gate and waves us through. I reenergise the motor and follow his instruction. He closes the gate behind us. Somehow it feels so final, as if I am trapped, penned in. It already feels like home.

  I throw the door open. This time there is not a murmur of protest from either parent, so I climb out. Mum is already out, boot open, gathering equipment: tools for pruning, baskets and containers to carry whatever delights we gather. I can hardly wait to get started. I have felt so useless for far too long now. I need something to set my mind to. Better than letting it stray.

  "Come here, Bud. Take a look at these." Daddy is already setting to task, picking pears. He throws one to me. "Go on," he says, nodding. I take a bite. The juices moisten my lips. So ripe, so delicious. I smile in appreciation, not only for the chance to sample such wonderful fruit, but for the effect it has had, replacing the taste of that nasty venison that had been lingering on my tongue.

  I take another bite, and another, and another, until only the core is left. Daddy holds out his hand. "I'll take that, Bud," he says.

  "Why?" I ask.

  He smiles. I realise then what he is implying. "We must use every resource we have to hand," he says. I hand him the core. He tears it apart, retrieving the valuable seeds that lay within. "We can't let anything go to waste." He wanders off beyond the rows of pear trees. There are saplings to the rear, and fresh mounds blanketed in a thick layer of peat moss, presumably covering newly planted seeds.

  "Everything alright, sweetheart?" Mum asks. I had not realised I had been staring, watching Daddy work his magic. I am impressed, not only for his knowledge-base, but for all he has created. There are hundreds of trees here, all bearing fruit, even in the peak of winter. With this cold, this frost, these trees should be barren.

  "How?" I ask.

  "How what, dear?"

  "How do they grow ..."

  "In winter?" she says, finishing my question for me. "We're not really sure. Solars are our best, well ... our only guess. We think they did something to the ecosystem. Created some kind of resistance to the cold. We can't be sure of it, but it only started when they showed up." My eyes narrow. I can see in Mum's eyes, she can see my scepticism. "Oh, don't worry," she adds. "It's all completely safe to eat." I am not so sure. Day by day I feel less and less human. I had always put it down to confinement, or the abuse I am forced to suffer. Maybe it is none of these things. Maybe it is the food.

  "Are you alright, Bud?" Daddy asks. "You don't look so good."

  I feel cold all of the sudden. I can almost feel the colour drain from my face. The thought of what they could have done to our food, I find it all a bit nauseating. "I could do with some fresh air. Think I'll take a little walk." Daddy and Mum exchange glances. I can see they are not fond of the idea, so I add, "Town is only a ten minute walk down the main road. Ryan said he'd meet me along the high street."

  "Did he now?" Mum says, dubious. I nod. She knows it is a lie, but smiles regardless. "Okay then. Just be back here before midnight." Daddy's mouth opens, to protest no doubt, but before he can, Mum adds, "Both of you."

  "We will," I say as I kiss Daddy's cheek, and then Mum's. "I promise." Before Daddy has a chance to speak, I am gone. Nothing is going to hold me back tonight. I have been locked away in that dingy bunker for too long. Tonight, I am free.

  I run, vault the gate like a prized stallion, and do not look back. I owe Mum one. If she had let Daddy speak he would have stopped me from leaving. He would have made some excuse as to why I must stay with them, suggesting that I am incapable of taking care of myself. Ryan has told me many times that there is nothing to fear at night. What could possibly harm me?

  I look up at the moon. It is full tonight, spraying its milky glow on everything around me. The road glitters and twinkles as I tread the inky tarmac. It has been years since I last walked this route, yet the familiarity is overwhelming. It is as if I have walked it every day of my life. I feel safe, comfortable, thinking I know these roads intimately. Big mistake.

  I have been hearing a noise in the distance for some time. Grasshoppers I assumed, or some other cricket-like insect. But the noise is louder now, closer, beside me, in the trees. Loud clicks, like snapping twigs, but with rapid succession. I do not stop to check, nor wait to see if anything moves amongst the tree line. I run.

  Footsteps pound the pitch-black surface, not all are mine. Whatever it is, it is close behind me. I dare not turn to look. I keep my head forward, focused, set on the road ahead. I must get to Ryan. He will protect me.

  The road ahead is darker now, but I know it well. A sharp gradient heading towards the rise. This hill is the last I must scale, with the town lying just beyond it. I can see the stars over the hilltop. They seem distorted, the light blocked at certain points. The moon has crawled behind clouds, thick and heavy. But I can still see them. A line, stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a blockade, obstructing my path.

  I know this strategy. Daddy taught me this years ago. Pincer movement, attacking from both side, boxing me in. They must have been watching me for some time to formulate such a plan, silently observed us as I left my parents at the orchard. This is a trap.

  I leave the road, cut clear across woodland, hurdle fallen trees, knit between foliage and debris. I still hear footsteps, but they grow distant. I am losing them. My heart is pounding, ears throbbing, face flush with warmth. I sprint as fast as the terrain allows, my will beckoning me to continue although my legs scream for me to stop. It is no longer fear that grips me, it has gone far beyond that. My mind is blank, too scared to think. There is one thought, however, that sticks in my mind: if I stop running, I die.

  There is a clearing up ahead. Once I leave the woodland I will be exposed, out in the open. It is a chance I must take. I leap past the last line of trees. The grass is long. I feel the reeds brush over my shins as each stride carries me further into the meadow. I listen to the wind, swaying grass, leaves rustling in the distance. There is no more clicking, no pounding footsteps. I am alone.

  I stop, fall to my knees, and wait. I am low enough to remain hidden, but still have a good line of sight. There is nothing out there. I take deep breaths. My heart steadies itself. I close my eyes, soaking in the sounds, the smells. I hear the trickle of a nearby river, already knowing where it leads. If I follow it, it will lead me home.

  I stand, but immediately fall back to the ground. Colours dance before my eyes. My legs refuse to move, as does both my arms. Dew wets the side of my face as I lay in the grass, blood wets the other. I look at the sky. There are no stars. They are blocked by something. Something big.

  CAITLIN

  Saturday, 00:08

  "She's late," I say. "It's not like her to be late."

  "That's Ryan all over." John spits the words. He makes no attempt to hide what he thinks of Ryan. "Why the hell did you let her go?"

  "You didn't exactly try to stop her," I snap back.

  "How could I?" John yells. It is not like him to raise his voice, especially not out in the open. "You sent her off to that mutt like you'd be glad for
him to mount her. That's our little girl, Cait. Our Rose!"

  "Hey!" I shout, grabbing him by the collar. I can feel him relax under my touch. I kiss him briefly. It has the desired effect, the usual effect, easing the tension between us almost instantly. "Don't worry," I whisper. "She's like her father. She can handle herself."

  "No. She can't," John says coldly. "She's just a girl. The nights aren't safe anymore."

  "Why?" I ask, a tad more abrupt than intended. "Because Ryan, little more than a child himself, says that something is stalking him in the dark?"

  He shoots me a glare that says more than any words could. I know how he feels about the boy: a strange mixture of loathing, bigotry and admiration. Ryan has a will of stone, strong like his father, but he has a softness that he must have inherited from his mother, for there is nothing soft about David. Ryan genuinely cares about us, all of us; especially Rose. And for that comes the loathing.

  "I believe him," John says finally. "Ryan may be a lot of things, but he's no liar."

  "So what?" I ask. "Solars have learnt to survive in darkness? I'll believe it when I see it." John shakes his head. His eyes remain cold. "What?" I ask, my voice softening.

  "Nothing," he says. He turns to walk away. I stop him, force my palms into his chest. "Just leave it, Cait!" he snaps. But I cannot.

  "What did David tell you?" I ask. I can see he is debating with himself whether to say or not. "For fuck's sake, John. Just tell me already."

  "Alright," he says. I can tell he does not want to. "David told me something. He told me ..." He pauses, squinting, as if the words he is about to let loose do not make sense even to himself. "... I know what happened to Ryan's mum."

  I raise both eyebrows expectantly. It has long been a subject of speculation for John and myself. Suicide? Solars? Did David do the deed himself? Many theories, most turned into a longstanding joke between us. But now he knows the truth.

  "Solars," I say. Just a guess.

  "It's not quite that simple." He takes a deep breath, then repeats what he has been told. "David was out gathering firewood one night. He left her and Ryan behind in a cellar, told her to lock the door behind him. What he didn't know was that she'd been working on reactivating a CB radio. That night, she made a connection. She had written down a message that she'd received about a stronghold to the north. A castle."

  "And David found this message." He confirms my statement with a nod. "Is that why he and Ryan came north?" I ask. "To find this castle?" He nods again. I pause, allowing him to finish his story.

  "He said he was only gone for half an hour, tops. When he came back, she was dead. Two stab wounds; one through the face, one through the heart. The knife was still buried deep in her chest when he found her, less than an inch from Ryan's head. Ryan was only a babe in arms, only a few months old. The radio led the solars right to them."

  I gasp, thinking of what the poor woman must have gone through. What she must have felt as it happened, knowing she could do nothing to save her son. "Why did they spare him?" I ask.

  "Who knows?" I can see in his eyes he is sceptical. "David has a theory. It seems likely. He says they spared Ryan for the same reason we don't see any predators anymore: solars only kill what could harm them in return."

  "You sound unconvinced," I say.

  "I am," he replies. "David said it was night when it happened."

  "And solars can't survive at night," I add, stating the obvious. "Could it have been humans? You know, other survivors, maybe?"

  "No," he says. I wait for him to elaborate. He turns his head, looking in the direction of home.

  "Why?" I ask. Something about David's story has trouble him. I am worried. I have never seen him like this before, never seen him scared.

  "Because the same thing happened to me." No, it is not fear in his eyes. I see that now. It is pain, agony of a past trauma. "It was my fault," he says. I feel a lump forming in my throat. "I was just a kid, I was bored. I only turned the game on for a second. That was all it took for them to find us." His eyes fill with tears. He has never told me this before. Not even when I first found him, filthy, stumbling through the woods just outside the compound, alone, hair so long I had thought he was a girl. I try to throw my arms around him, to comfort him, but he turns away from me. "Anyway, there's more. David had to break down the door to get in. He checked the cellar top to bottom. There were no signs of anyone else down there."

  "So?" I say. As sympathetic as I am towards him right now, I am beginning to grow impatient with the pauses in his story.

  He turns back to me. I can see his hands tremble. I would blame the cold, but his face says otherwise. His eyes lock on mine, conviction in his words, as he says, "The door was still locked from the inside."

  RYAN

  Saturday, 04:39

  I hate this place. The silence is haunting. Nothing lives here anymore. Even the animals know better than to set foot on these wretched streets. Why am I here? I vowed never to come back here without good reason. I run my fingers over the police scanner, still nestled inside my fur-lined pocket. This is why I'm here, I tell myself. Nothing else matters.

  The roads are a mess, bestrewn with litter and forgotten trinkets as the townsfolk fled their homes. I am willing to bet that none of them got very far. The bones of some still lay where they fell, picked clean of meat. I do not stop to take in the gruesome sights. I have only one objective tonight: get this scanner working, and get the hell out of here.

  I have already found one of the key ingredients at the electronics retailer on the high street. They had a great many mains chargers, and I have managed to find one that fits. Luckily it is also compatible, offering the right scale of volts and amps to sufficiently reenergise the scanner. Now all I need is a power source. So that is where I am heading, to the hardware store across town.

  I am glad I wore this snow jacket. Just wish I had worn two pairs of socks; my toes feel like ice. I trundle on regardless. Only a half-mile walk, but I cannot help but feel I must make haste. It is quiet tonight. No stirring, no rattling, no noise of any kind, save for those goddamn crickets. Even the rats have made themselves scarce. Not a good sign.

  I pick up my pace. With the clouds thick and black, this is the darkest night I have seen in a long time. By all accounts it should be the safest. I do not wish to test that theory. I keep to the shadows. The less light the better. There is something unsettling about built-up areas. Too many places to hide. If I can make myself invisible in a place like this, so can anyone ... or anything.

  The hardware store looks a bit more dishevelled than the last time I came here. As I approach, I cannot see anything that would indicate its contents: no signs, no gear, not even a wheelbarrow abandoned on the pavement. It is just a broken hole, left in a sorry state with nothing to show its former glory.

  The door is jammed as usual, so I take the other entrance: the smashed window on the store's frontage, like a mouth filled with jagged glass teeth. I take care as I climb through, but still manage to snare my coat. Damn it. I like this coat.

  As my feet hit the floor I immediately see what I am looking for. I head to the row of generators, high up on a shelf. There are many kinds, most useless without any fossil fuels to hand. But then I see one, right at the far end. A dual-fuel powerhouse that could easily charge this police scanner if all it had to run on was fumes. I guess it must have been the display model, for it is already hooked up. What a find. I fire it up. It roars to life so I plug in the charger, connect it to the scanner. Now all I can do is wait.

  I sling my rucksack down on the desk behind me and kick back, taking a load off. I do not usually bore that easily, but I hate waiting. As a kid all I did was wait. Wait for Dad to come back, or wait for nightfall so he could go again. It is a tedious thing, waiting for something that you have been longing for. As always, I find my thoughts drifting away. I think of earlier, of how Rose had longed to come with me. Of how I had let her down, and how she must have felt at my refusal. I dare to let my
thoughts run wild with this new notion. If I had let her come with me, what would we be doing now? What could we do with so much spare time on our hands?

  My mind races. I begin to imagine her in front of me, pushing me against the table, straddling me, kissing me as she pushes me back, laying me down against the desktop. It is a funny thing, to lose yourself to a daydream in the dead of night, but it does not last long. The police scanner's display illuminates, casting blue light down the aisle. In the distance, I hear a cry. A roar that echoes from somewhere outside, from something I have never heard before. I grab the scanner, pull it clear of its charger, shove it back inside my coat pocket. The roar has multiplied, emanating from multiple origins. This daydream has just become a nightmare.

  "Shit," I mutter under my breath. I start to panic. I am a hunter, not a fighter. If I have any chance of survival it is by disappearing, and by hunting whatever beasts hunt me. I unclip my crossbow from my rucksack, load a bolt as quickly as I can with shaky fingers. I hesitate, deciding whether to take the rucksack, but instead grab a handful of bolts. Carrying the rucksack would slow me down. I cannot allow that.

  I see movement on the street. Three figures from three different directions, all converging on one location: mine. I turn and run, light on my feet. I barely make a sound. I leap over fallen hardware, skitter past stacked consumables, heading for the rear exit. Whatever they are, they are inside. I hear them stomp through the store, crushing obstacles beneath what must be huge feet. I hit the door running, crash against the fire release bar, tumble into the back alley. I fall hard. A burst of agony rips through my knee, but I cannot stop. I stagger to my feet and hobble on. As I move, the pain lessens. It is only seconds before I am back to full speed, sprinting for my life.

  The cold night I remember from earlier is gone. My body is sweating. I curse myself for having worn this fucking coat. The fur on its collar mats against my neck, clinging to the moisture that is accumulating. It is bulky, constricting. I need to free myself of it.