by Sweet, Dell
Almost everyone approves of what we did today. Approves, that’s a funny word to use, but it’s what it is. There were a few; I could sense it, who wanted to fight. The two new women, Molly and Susan... I shouldn’t try to read minds though.
But I do understand it. And if I'm honest, I wanted to fight too. It was my first impulse, but that sobered me up, the fact that it was an impulse. No matter how I looked at it, after I cut out the emotional response, it made no sense at all. Even so, I find myself second guessing it. I’m not entirely sure I’ve done the right thing talking everyone into going on the road. It could go bad. It could be bad. But I tell myself maybe I’m just unaccustomed to leading.
What if there were others that were being forced to be there? Hell, there probably were. I remember seeing a woman heave a gasoline bomb from the roof on the square. Was she with one or the other side or fighting to be free? No way to know, and could we have won if we had fought them? Could we have helped those people if it did turn out that they needed help, or would we simply have gotten ourselves and them killed trying? Or captured? And we know what that would have meant for the women in our group. And the men? Probably would've just killed us. I did what I thought was best. No, I won't second guess it, I did the right thing.
Where are we going? I don’t know. We haven’t had the time to talk it over. And on a personal level it matters to me what Candace wants to do, where she wants to go.
Tom: I don’t know what to think about Tom. Sometimes I feel like he’s fine with me... We’ll be fine. And I wasn’t all that sure that we could ever get to that place for a while. And, I’m still not always convinced. Sometimes I see him looking at Candace and I think, if there isn’t something, some sort of feeling still there, then there is some sort of resentment there. He’ll look at Candace then me; one reminds him of the other, and not in a good way. And, you know what? I think I’m being excessively hyper critical. I’m reading too much into it. I just don’t know. I want to trust him. Hell, he’s smart. We need him. Is that a reason to walk the line? Does that make me any better than any of those fakes in the old world that I hated? I don’t think it does. I’m just trying to be real. I guess I’ll keep it real with him, but I’ll have to keep an eye on him because I’m just not sure.
Bob: Bob is straight forward. Bob wants the Nation restored. Bob wants all the native peoples back together living in peace. But where are they? He believes they’ll find us. Maybe they will. He believes in what he calls the Rainbow Tribe; People that feel the call but aren’t completely native, or maybe have no Native blood at all. But they want the life, and he believes they will come to where ever the spirit leads him. What can I say to that? It could be. For all I know that is exactly the way it’s supposed to be. And maybe Jesus will show up too… I don’t mean that sarcastically. A month ago I thought I would spend the balance of my life in Watertown. I liked my life. I didn’t see this. I didn’t believe this when people said it might happen. But how often has some whack job predicted the end of the Earth? Too often.
Even so, here I am. I’m leading people. Other people. They believe I’m capable of doing that. You couldn’t have sold me that story a few weeks ago, that’s for sure. So, Bob? Could be his dream will become a reality. I only know he’s level headed, pretty solid, and he knows more about surviving this kind of world than all the rest of us put together because of his native background.
Ronnie: Probably going to be the best friend I’ve ever had. In the world I had friends, and I thought they were real friends, as tight as I could imagine, but this kind of world makes for a kind of friendship, at least for me, that could never have been in that old world. He’s solid. Loyal. Smart. I need him too.
I’ve started to do this thing over the last few days. I think things out loud, bounce them off him. He seems to think of the things I don’t. That’s important. I may lead, but this is not a one man show.
Candace: I suppose she’ll read this someday. Or at least if she wanted to I would let her. I was by myself. I don’t mean I never went out; I did, but there was no one special, no one I was serious about, and I don’t think there ever would have been. I was used to who I was.
There is nothing she doesn’t know about me, and I’m pretty sure I can say the same thing about her. She told everyone, me included at first, that she was here visiting her grandparents. It's not true though. She was living here. She had wanted to go into Law Enforcement like her father, but she hadn’t been able to make the college end of it work out yet. So, she was here dancing. That’s why she doesn’t allow anyone to call her Candy, except Janet who can do no wrong in Candace’s eyes. She was saving for college. She was dancing here hoping it never got back to anyone who knew her in Syracuse. I love her. It doesn’t hurt to say that, but it scares me.
Patty: She’s got this distance thing with me. Not cold, not mean, not anything like that. I don’t know what it is. It baffles me. Even so, I don’t think it will affect us or the group, and maybe it’s me.
Sandy: She has something against Candace, and that means she has something with me by proxy. It’s just that way. I don’t know what the deal is. Maybe it’ll work itself out, maybe it won’t.
Nell: Nell is solid. I like her. Annie, Tim, good kids, not really kids either. Janet… I should like her and I do but I have this reservation in me about her. There is a part of her that bothers me.
Lilly: I can’t help but like Lilly. She is real all the time. Where Bob believes in The Great Spirit, she believes in Jesus. She calls herself a Christian. She says she’s not religious though, and that Jesus wasn't either. She believes he’s coming back, but probably not for a while, not in her lifetime.
Molly and Susan: I tried not to like them, to be reserved. But they are too likable, too honest, straight forward. They’ll be assets to us. I like them in spite of my fear of just accepting anyone at all at face value. I don’t know what to make of the world outside of Watertown.
I do know that this little drive has been enlightening. There is so much destruction everywhere I look, but then I see other things as well. Herds of deer and cows everywhere, a few horses, and packs of wild dogs as well, and we’ve traveled only a few miles, really. What will the rest be like?
So many animals, so few people. Looks like we’ve adapted ourselves right out of existence. I guess those are my thoughts. They seem kind of small written out like this, but at the same time frightening... huge. We’re down for the night, on the road to where ever tomorrow.
~State Street Hill~
They came from the barn and made their way out to the twisted and buckled road. Thirty all together, and now they did have a leader. They had a leader, and they were becoming less and less afraid of the living.
The fires that burned far below in the city were another matter. They could not overcome the panic and the fear that leapt into them every time they saw the flames leap far below or the smell of smoke came to them on the air currents that floated up over the city and up to where they were.
He came last from the barn, slow, but not slow because he needed to move slow, or because he was missing parts of himself like so many were. He moved slow because he chose to move slow. He moved slow because there was no need, in his mind, to move fast. Slow worked.
He walked through the others where they had gathered looking down at the city and the pall of smoke that hung over it. He walked to the edge of the road where it curved into the dip that began the long, steep fall down into the city. He stood for a long time... scenting the air... thinking.
The moon continued across the sky. Time slipped by; the noise from the city did not return, and yet he stood still. Finally, he turned and faced them. He shook his head slightly, raised his eyes to the moon and then looked back down. “No,” he said. His voice was smooth, seemingly unmolested by rot and decay. “No,” he said once more. “Not yet.” He walked back to the barn slowly. The others hesitated a few seconds and then turned and followed him back to the barn.
The moon continued its trip across th
e sky, shining its silvery light down upon the earth.
ABOUT
Wendell (Dell) Sweet wrote his first fiction at age seventeen. He drove taxi and worked as a carpenter for most of his life. He began working on the internet in 1989. He was honorably discharged from the service in 1974.
He is a Musician who writes his own music as well as lyrics. He is an Artist accomplished in Graphite, Pen, and Digital media. All music, lyrics, artwork or additional written materials attributed to characters in the novels, unless otherwise noted, are Copyright © 2009 - 2018 Wendell Sweet.