by Adam Bennett
“Andrew Hanson, yes. I recognise your voice. You’re the one I’ve been talking to.”
“That’s right. Move a couple of yards to your right so we can have a look at your goods. Just keep your hands at your sides.”
“Sure.” Andy sidestepped in the direction Tanner indicated and the group moved with him. He could hear someone opening up his backpack, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw an auburn haired woman of about thirty examining his firearms. After a few moments, she stood up and walked over to Tanner.
“Remington 700 rifle and .357 Magnum. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Thanks, Steph.”
“Same here, Tanner. Backpack’s clean. Say, what’s this? Aw, he’s got himself a dolly.”
Tanner chuckled. “That really yours, Hanson?”
Andy reflexively turned to see a man about twenty holding the stuffed toy giraffe over his open pack. “You put that back right now,” he shouted as his hands became tight fists.
Tanner and three others instantly pulled out sidearms from their holsters and aimed at Andy’s chest. “Just stay calm, Hanson.” Then he laughed again. “A little old to be playing with toys, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” the one called Steph barked. “Everyone holster your weapons. Do it now.” Then she hissed at Tanner, “You idiot. Don’t you know what that means?”
Tanner’s expression shifted from humour to chagrin. He took a deep breath and said, “Put it back, Johnny.”
Andy had never taken his eyes off of Johnny and what he was holding in his right hand. The stuffed animal was frayed, dirty, and bloodstained, and it was more important to him than his own life.
“Sure. Sorry, Hanson.”
“Yeah.” Andy turned from Johnny back to Tanner and Steph.
“Sorry about what I said.” The big man had already lowered his .45 into its holster.
“Yeah, sometimes he has a big mouth.” The woman scowled at Tanner for a moment.
“Like I said, I’m Marcus Tanner, this is Steph Parsons. Johnny Boone’s the one who checked out your pack. The other three are Rudy Hill, Cora Brown, and Scott Norman. If you’re ready, retrieve your gear and come with us. I’m pretty sure you’re the guy I’ve been talking to, but keep your hands in plain sight just the same. We can’t be too careful.”
“Yeah. I know.” Andy willed himself to calm down. “Johnny, I know you didn’t mean any harm. It’s just…”
“I wasn’t thinking. I should have known better. I had a brother who…”
“Stow the chatter,” Tanner ordered. “We’ll have plenty of time later to get to know each other. Let’s move out. We’re too exposed here.”
“Roger that,” Steph added. “Saddle up. We’re on the move.”
***
An hour later, Andy was sitting on a worn, splintered wooden bench just inside the entrance to what was once a warehouse sized underground fallout shelter. He figured it must have dated back twenty five years or so, ever since some now dead president started sparring with a North Korean dictator over their nuclear weapons program.
Andy was gazing down at the backpack on the floor to his right when he heard approaching footsteps. He looked up to see Steph.
“I’ll have to take your Remington to the armoury, but you can keep the handgun and backpack.” Now that Andy could get a good look at her, he saw she was about five eight, attractive, though her nose was a little off centre, like it had been broken. Her hands might have once been petite and gentle, but now they were covered with calluses. He noticed a burn scar on her right forearm as she grasped his rifle, which had been leaning on the wall to his left.
“I understand. What happens next?”
“We’re arranging quarters for you now. Nothing fancy. You’ll probably be bunking with Johnny and some of the other guys.”
“That’ll be fine. Give me a chance to get to know them.”
“I’ll be back in a few.”
As she turned to go, Andy unzipped the main compartment of his pack and pulled out Baby. He looked down at the stuffed animal. The small handprint on the left side was a dull red. He barely noticed Steph’s receding footfalls echoing on the concrete floor, nor the coming and going of other nameless soldiers fighting a war no one had asked for.
“Hello. My name’s Kari. That’s my Mummy over there. What’s your name?”
Andy looked up while still tenderly holding Baby in both hands, not realising that time had passed. The little girl couldn’t have been older than five. She had the same long, auburn hair as her mum who was standing about a dozen feet away.
“I’m Andy. Pleased to meet you.” His hand engulfed hers as they briefly shook.
“Is that yours?” She pointed a petite finger at the stuffed toy.
“It’s my grandson’s.”
“What’s his name?”
“Joey. He… he died.” Andy closed his eyes and a vision of the little boy’s broken and seared body appeared unbidden. He found him the day after the sweeper hit, laying on the football field behind what was left of the high school. Joey had still been holding Baby in his small, lifeless hand. Andy couldn’t find the bodies of the rest of his family, only Joey’s. He remembered taking the little boy and burying him behind his mountain cabin where the scavengers wouldn’t find the body. But he couldn’t bring himself to put Baby in the ground with him.
Kari looked back at Steph. Her mum smiled, nodded, and mouthed the words, “Go on.”
“My Grandpa and Daddy died, too.” Tears welled up in innocent brown eyes and started streaking her face.
“Do you miss them?” Andy’s hands started to tremble, then his whole body.
“I miss them a lot. Do you miss Joey?”
“I miss him. Oh my God, I miss him.” Andy dissolved into anguished tears as Steph walked over, knelt beside Kari, and then put her arm around her sobbing daughter.
“We’ve all lost people we love, Andy. We can’t ever bring them back, but we can learn to be family to each other, learn to heal.” Steph put her right hand on his shoulder. “We’ll fight the war tomorrow, but today, it’s time to grieve.”
Andy embraced the woman and the little girl while still clutching Baby in his hand, their hot tears the common language of the mourning.
Joey was first published in WORLD WAR FOUR: A Scifi Anthology along with 20 other fantastic stories. You can find it on Amazon in ebook or paperback.
The Flat Cap
Isabella Fox
Still dressed in his filthy work clothes and favourite flat cap pulled low over his eyes, Corey knew he shouldn’t be sitting in the pub drowning his sorrows. He should be hurrying home to Merry, his beautiful wife of three years. However, he had just been retrenched from his job in the coal mine and he really couldn’t face her yet. Corey was a good worker but the industry was on a downturn. Retrenches were inevitable and because Corey was last in he was first out. He sat there thinking of his foreman’s last words, “If it was up to me Corey it would have been one of those lazy Henry boys, but company policy is company policy, sorry.”
Merry would only hug him and say, “It’s alright Corey, you’ll get another job and I have money coming in from my sewing. As long as we have each other we’ll be okay.” He knew she was right but somehow he felt he was letting her down so he sat there wallowing in self pity and slowly drinking himself into a stupor.
“Go home, Corey!” The barman ordered as he handed Corey his flat cap, which had fallen on the floor, and pushed him out the door. “Shit, I’m so drunk, I can hardly stand up,” Corey muttered as he stumbled down the road towards home, a cottage three miles out of town. Glancing at his watch he wished he hadn’t stayed at the pub so long and drunk so much. Merry would be worried about him. “I’ll cut through Farmer Brown’ cow paddock. That’ll save time.” he said as he swayed and staggered along.
Halfway across the paddock Corey tripped and fell flat on his face. His flat cap flew off his head and landed somewhere in the long grass. Corey blindly felt around, found his cap
and shoved it back on his head. He stood up and swayed on his feet for a few minutes before continuing home without further mishap.
There, standing at the cottage door, was Merry. She looked at him and burst out laughing.
“Oh Corey, I don’t know why you’ve come home drunk but next time perhaps you shouldn’t come through the cow paddock!” She ushered the confused Corey through the door and placed him in front of the hall mirror. There perched on his head, instead of his favourite flat cap, was a large dry cow pat. “Come on Corey, let’s have supper and you can tell me why you are so drunk,” she laughed. “We can find your flat cap tomorrow.”
The Flat Cap was first published in FLASH FICTION ADDICTION: 101 Short Short Stories along with 100 other fantastic stories. You can find it on Amazon in ebook or paperback.
Infestation
Brian MacGowan
Wes Peterson grabbed the drill rig to help guide it out of the hole. Its retreat pulled dirt upward, spilling some down the cuffs of his gloves. When the drill head emerged from the hole he waved a hand. “Clear!” Claire Evans pushed the drill rig hoist lever into the neutral position.
A stiff summer breeze blew across the Canadian arctic tundra, making the 9°C air feel far cooler. Despite the temperature, Wes was sweating from the exertion. He had shed his coat, opting for just a long sleeved flannel shirt.
Claire glanced over at Wes, waiting for him to secure a carrying strap around the drill head. As Wes walked the drill assemble forward Claire slowly paid out the cable that lowered the drill assembly so that it could be laid on the ground.
“Shit!” Wes pulled one of his gloves off and examined his hand.
Claire punched the emergency stop. “What’s wrong?”
“I got dirt down my glove. It felt like something bit me.” Wes sucked on the hurt finger and then rubbed it. “Probably just a metal shard from the drill.”
“That’s why I tape my cuffs closed.” Claire chided.
Wes shook the dirt from his gloves. “Yeah, well guys don’t mind getting their hands dirty.”
He disconnected the drill head and carefully extracted the core sample. “How deep was this one?”
“We went down thirty metres. Which, based off other area sample sites, will put us somewhere around 30,000 to 45,000 years.”
Wes shook his hand and rubbed the injured finger again. “Man, that really hurt.” He held his finger out toward Claire. “Look, it drew blood.”
“Well, maybe the doctor will give you a Boo-Boo Kitty bandage and kiss it better.”
Wes smiled. “Do you think so?”
“Don’t tell me you have a thing for Lisa.”
“Maybe.” Wes shook his glove out again. “Come on, let’s pack everything up and get back to base so that I can get that kiss.”
***
The next morning Claire Evans exited her living quarters in Camp Shackleton of the International Arctic Geological Survey. The location of the camp moved from year to year depending on that year’s survey requirements. Consisting of a dozen interconnected modular buildings, it was currently situated in the Canadian territory of Nunavut, 135 kilometres north of the Arctic Circle. Claire entered the dining hall and scanned the seating area for Wes. She spotted him at a corner table staring blankly at his coffee cup. Grabbing a cup herself, she sat down beside him. “So that last core sample that we gathered; it’s thawed and ready for examination.”
Wes squinted his eyes as he massaged his temples. “Yeah. Uhm...” He continued his rubbing. “When...uhm, when do you want to do it?”
Claire looked at him. “Are you okay?”
Wes scratched the back of his head. “I dunno. I’m just a little off. Bit of a headache. That’s all.”
Claire frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. I’ll go see Lisa and get something for it.”
Claire bumped shoulders with him. “Seeing her will help you feel better,” she said in a sing-song voice.
Wes shrugged, finished his coffee then rose from his seat. “I’ll meet you in the lab.”
Claire watched Wes leave as she blew cooling air over her coffee.
Two hours later, Wes stood by the door of Claire’s lab. She was hunched over a microscope with multiple specimen trays spread out beside her. With a pair of forceps, she sorted through the dirt of the core, moving objects of interest to the various trays. She became aware of Wes and glanced up at him. “Well, finally, there you are.”
“Yeah, I wanted Lisa to take a look at my finger.” Wes held up his hand that now had a thick gauze bandage wrapped around his index finger. “It’s kinda red. She was out in the field; it took awhile for her to get back in. You started without me?”
“Sorry, you know the arctic summer is short. We don’t have many days left that we can collect cores. They’re moving the rig today; tomorrow we’ll be back out in the field. I wanted to get a jump on this bad boy to help narrow down other locations.”
Claire looked at Wes’ hand. “With your hand like that you won’t be able to help with the cores. We’ll need to pull someone from another site.”
“Don’t worry about me. The bandage is bigger than it needs to be. Besides, it’s just a little cut; what’s the worst that can happen?”
Claire smirked.
Wes looked over the specimen trays. “So, what do you have?”
“The usual stuff… Oh! You have to see this.” Claire reached for a small sealed glass vial.
Wes glanced inside of the container. “What am I looking at?”
Claire passed him a magnifying glass. “Now take a look.”
Wes held the glass close to the container and looked inside. He looked away and then looked again. “What is that? Are they… worms?”
“I don’t know what they are. I found them here.” Claire indicated a section of the core sample. “Around the 42,000 year mark. I’m going to take them to Doctor Richards for identification.”
“Could the core have been contaminated.” Wes continued looking at the vial. “Because if not, you know what that means?”
Claire couldn’t contain her smile. “That we could be looking at the world’s oldest living organisms.”
Wes nodded his head. “Dino-worms.”
“Well, technically, the dinosaurs were long extinct before these guys ever appeared. More like mammoth-worms.” Lisa replaced the vial into its holder.
“Meh. Dino-worms sounds more dangerous”
***
The pounding on Wes’s door made his head feel like spikes were being hammered into his skull. He forced himself out of bed, then shambled across the floor to open the door. He squinted his eyes against the bright lights of the hall. Through half opened lids, he recognised the blurry shape as Claire. He pulled the door open, turned, then shuffled back to his bed.
“I was going to say good morning, but, my God Wes, you look like shit.”
“Good, cuz I feel like shit,” he mumbled into his pillow.
She wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?”
Wes shook his head. “My stomach is really...” He retched, then let out his breath.
Claire was assaulted by the stench that emanated from his mouth. She covered her face with her hand. “Never mind, I figured it out. Do you want me to get Lisa for you?”
“Lisa...” A smile crept across his face.
Claire waited for him to finish his sentence. His breathing changed as he fell into a deep sleep. She left his room, silently closing the door.
***
That afternoon after returning from the field, Claire headed to Wes’ room. As she approached she saw Doctor Lisa Hill, Camp Shackleton’s physician, leaving his room. She quicken her pace to intercept the doctor.
“Hey, Lisa. How’s he doing?”
Doctor Hill guided Claire to a secluded section of the corridor. “Currently he is running a fever and complaining of a headache. He also has a gastrointestinal issue. I have no idea what is happening there. The odour from his belching
is horrendous, which could suggest some form of bacterial growth.”
Claire looked toward Wes’ room. “He seemed fine the other day when we were out in the field. That’s when he got that cut on his finger.”
Lisa shook her head. “It was a superficial laceration. Even if it became infected, I would not expect anything like this.” She thought for a minute. “I’m going to contact Edmonton and have a Medevac flight put on standby, but they are six hours away. The military have a copter at CFS Alert, that would still be three hours from us. Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that. We are not set up for any serious illness.”
Claire looked toward Wes’ room. “If there is anything that I can do.”
“I want him to stay in his room and away from everyone else. I need to go to Franklin Inlet to check on a pregnancy. I won’t be back for at least six hours. If you could peek in that would be great.”
Claire nodded her head. “I have to spend several hours in the lab. But, I’ll come by after that.”
That evening after finishing her lab work, Claire quietly knocked on Wes’ door. Not hearing anything she gently opened the door. The stench from the room forced her back into the corridor and triggered her gag reflex. Claire grasped her mouth. She fumbled with the doorknob as her stomach convulsed. She forced the bile back down as she quickly pulled the door shut with a slam. Half bent over at the waist, Claire gulped in fresh air while she regained control of her stomach. Movement on the ground caught her attention. She bent lower to investigate; it was a worm. She tilted her head to one side as she visually examined the invertebrate as it slid along the base of the wall. Another worm poked its head from under Wes’ door. She looked about the corridor and saw no other worms.
Claire stood up straight. With narrowed eyes she pondered the situation. Why would there be worms in Wes’ room? Claire placed a hand on the doorknob, she closed her eyes as she steeled her nerves. She took a deep breath and with her other hand covered her nose and mouth. She opened the door. The utter reek of the room was overpowering. Claire clamped her hand tighter over her face. By the light from the corridor, she saw Wes lying on his side, his back turned to her.