Badlands: A Post-Apocalyptic Journey

by Nathan Jones

  He had Skyler help out and gave the boy some pointers on how to balance the various portions to thicken the stew so it wasn't watery. Pretty soon they had an easy banter going, and he even got the kid laughing a couple times.

  After a while he looked up, starting slightly with surprise when he saw Kristy standing not too far away, freshly scrubbed and dressed in her clean change of clothes, holding a bundle of freshly washed clothing under one arm. She was smiling at the sight of him and Skyler, and gave him an approving nod when he met her eyes.

  Tom nodded back, feeling a bit self-conscious under her scrutiny. The young woman headed to her tent and draped her wet clothes over the top, then sat down on a nearby rock and began brushing her long flaxen hair, effortlessly joining the banter.

  In spite of the comfortable conversation Tom's earlier depressing thoughts resurfaced, and once he finished preparing the stew and had the pan heating up on a rock over the coals he assigned Skyler to stirring it with the big metal spoon. After he'd made sure the boy knew to scrape against the bottom to prevent anything from sticking and burning he excused himself, walking over stand on a low hill nearby where he could watch the sunset.

  Tom wasn't sure whether to be pleased or annoyed a few minutes later when he heard the soft crunch of shoes from behind and Kristy joined him, quietly taking in the view. “You know, this may be the most miserable place on earth, but you can't argue it can sometimes be beautiful,” she said softly after a while.

  He glanced over at her, appreciating the way the glow of the setting sun highlighted her lovely features and made her freshly brushed hair shine. He felt a sudden, almost irresistible urge to put his arm around her, but pushed aside the absurd notion and forced himself to look at the sunset again. He didn't even want to imagine the young woman's response if he tried such a stunt.

  Sure, the majestic view of the setting sun paled in comparison to the one beside him, but that was a fool's dream. “It has its moments,” he agreed.

  They stood for a time in slightly uncomfortable silence. Once it grew too awkward for Tom to stand he sighed and turned back to camp. “Best check the stew,” he muttered. Kristy nodded, giving him a look he couldn't quite decipher, and joined him for the short walk back to the fire.

  Once there the banter lightened once more with Skyler there to keep the conversation going, and Tom relaxed and forgot his earlier awkwardness and depressing thoughts. Soon they were sharing out tea made with the fresh herbs he'd picked, then while waiting for the stew to finish had another practice session with the AK-47s.

  Between giving advice Tom wandered over to stir the food, leaving the other two to focus on familiarizing themselves with the weapons and strengthening their muscles to hold them in the firing position. They were coming along with the basics, but they still had a lot to learn when it came to marksmanship.

  Such as actually firing the couple thousand rounds bare minimum it took to really learn to shoot well.

  At the end of practice he had Kristy fire off five more rounds, noting with approval that she hit four of the targets, including the 100 yard one. He even let Skyler try a shot, making sure the stock of the rifle was firmly couched against the kid's shoulder to handle the recoil. In spite of that Skyler still stumbled backwards and nearly dropped the gun after firing, and his bullet didn't hit the target.

  Undeterred by the less than stellar results, the boy wore a huge grin at his achievement throughout the rest of the practice. He even seemed disappointed he couldn't spend more time holding the heavy rifle in firing position once Tom announced they'd done enough for the evening.

  Tom and Kristy returned to their seats by the fire and settled down to do various necessary chores like mending clothes and fixing gear, while Skyler made a beeline for the river to play. A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, leaving Tom feeling more relaxed than he'd been in a while. It was nice to take an early break and rest, properly enjoy a nice spot like this.

  “Do you do any farming up in the mountains?” Kristy abruptly asked, eyes intent on the torn shirt she was patching.

  Tom snorted, briefly looking up from the pouch he was making out of the leather he'd salvaged from his buckskin clothes to give her an amused glance. “Growing season's too short up there, and it was even worse during the early nuclear winters. Besides, tending crops requires daily attention. Hard to check my traps and range the area hunting and fishing if I'm tied down to a few fields.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “There's got to be some food plants native to the area that don't require much attention. You could cultivate those.”

  This time he laughed outright and held up a thumb. “Believe me, whatever the opposite of a green thumb is, I've got it. Plants start doing their best to die the moment I begin caring for them.”

  “Oh.” The flaxen-haired woman frowned down at her shirt, seeming displeased by that answer for some reason. “What about ranching?”

  “A lot of the same problems with being tied down, unless I want to take the animals with me when I go hunting. Doesn't seem like that would work out all too well.”

  He honestly wasn't sure what she wanted from this conversation, but she kept digging. “Have you considered taking up a trade?” she asked. “Doesn't having a home in a town, around other people, appeal to you at all? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life alone wandering in the mountains, living from day to day on the game you bring down until you stumble off a cliff?”

  Tom blinked. Wait, was she feeling him out to see if he was willing to settle down? Where had this come from? And did she mean in general, or with her specifically? Was that even possible? “Haven't stumbled off a cliff so far,” he said, doing his best to keep his tone light. “Aside from that one time, but the broken leg healed quick enough.”

  Actually it hadn't, and that had been one of the most difficult times of his life. But she didn't need to know that; it irked him to admit she might have a point, since if he hadn't been alone the situation wouldn't have been so dire.

  Kristy finally looked up, blue eyes intent. “Well this can't be the life you wanted for yourself,” she persisted. “Do you think this is where you'd be right now if things had turned out differently?”

  “I don't think any of us are where we'd be right now in that situation,” he said dryly. “But it is what it is. I'm content with my life.”

  “But it could be better.” The young woman leaned forward, shirt forgotten. “How do you think your life would've gone if your family hadn't died of starvation back during the shortages?”

  Tom stiffened, fighting to keep a stricken expression off his face. “I never said they died of starvation,” he whispered.

  She hesitated, frowning in confusion. “Then they came with you when you left? You made it sound like they died in the town.”

  A host of old guilts, unwanted pain and bitterness, came surging back at the question. Tom tried to stay calm, but his voice came out harsher than he would've liked when he answered. “I left alone, and I told you I have no idea what happened after I was gone.”

  Kristy's frown deepened and she opened her mouth for another question. Before she could he stood and turned away. “What's that supposed to mean?” she shouted at his back as he walked off. “What just happened here?”

  “Nothing,” Tom growled. “I'm going out on patrol.”

  “What about dinner? You are going to eat, aren't you?”

  “Meat'll just get softer the longer it cooks,” he called over his shoulder, quickening his pace. He was half afraid the flaxen-haired woman would try to follow, but to his relief when he risked a glance back at camp he saw her still seated on her rock, staring after him in bewilderment.

  * * * * *

  The next morning Kristy was jolted out of peaceful slumber by a sharp slap to the side of the tent. She sat bolt upright, staring around blearily as panic gradually overwhelmed confusion in her fuddled mind.

  Then Tom's voice called cheerfully from outside. “Rise and shine! I'd lik
e to make up for stopping early yesterday by getting an early start this morning.”

  She stifled a groan and squinted at the tent walls, which showed barely any light filtering through. How early was it, five a.m.? No early stop was worth this.

  And what was with the man's sudden good humor? He hadn't even returned to camp last night until she and Skyler had gone to bed, although she'd seen him a few times standing off in the distance, staring broodingly into the darkness. Whatever she'd accidentally said to get him in a mood, it had evidently cut deep.

  And now here he was waking them up at the crack of dawn. Kristy started to snap out a blistering reply, then spotted Skyler sitting up in his blankets looking around sleepily. She forced herself to sound calm, possibly even pleasant, when she replied. “Be right up! How about you get breakfast going?”

  “Sure thing,” the mountain man replied, sounding amused. Kristy heard the soft scrape of his moccasins as he walked away.

  Finally letting herself groan, she flopped back down onto her blankets. It was tempting to ignore the wake up call and go back to sleep, but instead she resolved to only indulge herself with another minute or two to let herself wake up.

  Her son started to lay back down too, and she cleared her throat sternly. “Get dressed and help Mr. Miller break camp,” she told him. “I'll be out in a minute.”

  He whined, of course, but after some insistent nudging finally grumbled his way into his shirt and shoes and climbed out of the tent, into the already uncomfortably warm early morning air. Kristy resolved to join him in thirty seconds.

  But for the moment she just shifted to a more comfortable position on the sweat-soaked blankets she was lying on. Honestly she would've thought a desert would get nice and chilly after dark, but while the nights felt blessedly cool after the blistering heat of day they still had to be at least in the high 80s, probably even low 90s.

  Kristy and her son had been bringing in their blankets solely to use as extra padding to sleep on, and tossed and turned uncomfortably for hours each evening before falling asleep. Even when she did manage to drift off her sleep was feverish, the seemingly endless sweat the dry wind whisked away during the day making her bedclothes sodden by morning.

  Honestly if the bandit patrols hadn't been such a constant menace she probably would've long since kicked Skyler out of the tent, had Tom rig him up another tent from the extra cloth they'd brought to cover the drying racks. If she had some privacy she'd be able to strip down to her underclothes to cool off, which seemed like almost a luxury in this unrelenting heat.

  Only the nightmarish thought of being wakened in the night by approaching attackers and having to run and hide half naked had kept her from already suggesting her son should have a tent of his own. But if the heat kept up like this she probably would even so.

  Heck, she might be tempted to sleep in the altogether.

  Kristy felt herself drifting back into sweat-soaked slumber and with a groan forced herself to sit up and reach for her shoes, wrinkling her nose at the smell of their blankets in the enclosed space. She supposed she should've washed them yesterday when she was washing her clothes, but it hadn't occurred to her and too late now.

  At least, she hoped that was the blankets. Before unzipping the tent to climb out she cautiously sniffed at herself. The results weren't exactly thrilling, but she didn't think armadillos would be dropping dead from her stench at a hundred yards either.

  She climbed out of the tent, squinting into the faint predawn glow until she found Tom and Skyler crouched beside the fire pit. As she approached the mountain man cupped his hands to his mouth and made an odd, cheerful trumpeting noise.

  Kristy stared at him blankly, wondering if she was being mocked. “What are you doing?”

  It was Skyler who answered, running over to give her a hug. “Happy Independence Day, Mom!”

  Absurdly, the only response she had to that announcement was to think, It's the Fourth of July, huh? Well that explains why it's so stinking hot.

  But she couldn't stay grumpy at the sight of her son's beaming face. Most people didn't celebrate the holiday anymore, given how spectacularly the US had vanished off the face of the map in the Ultimatum. But Miles had always insisted on observing it; her husband had kept alive the dream that one day, once the survivors had managed to get beyond simply staying alive day to day, they might band together and rebuild the nation from the ashes.

  Kristy couldn't see it happening anytime soon, although after his death the news of trade and prosperity they'd been getting from Texas had begun to rekindle that hope.

  But even as much as she'd doubted, given the dull drudgery of their lives she'd been happy for any excuse to relax and enjoy herself. Even if it felt a bit gauche to be celebrating their independence while living on the border of a nuclear fallout zone, within miles of where hundreds of thousands of people had died.

  Besides, the singing had been fun. Skyler evidently thought so, too, making his way back over to Tom. “Do you have a flag? We should sing the national anthem.”

  The mountain man shook his head, although he was smiling. Kristy was relieved to see that he seemed to have gotten over whatever had been eating at him last night. “Afraid not.”

  Her son looked crestfallen. “We buried ours with Dad,” he said sadly.

  “Ah.” Tom looked uncomfortable for a moment, then rallied. “Well, no reason we can't sing it anyway.” While Kristy and her son looked on in bemusement the man began to sing.

  She would've expected his voice to be rusty and off key, but surprisingly he had a strong, clear tenor and held the notes well. She could only assume he fought off solitude up in the mountains by singing.

  Skyler turned to look at her, unsure whether to join in, and she noticed Tom start to falter, notes beginning to crack as self-consciousness took hold. She really wasn't feeling singing at the moment, but she couldn't leave him hanging when he was trying to make the mood celebratory for her son's sake. So she raised her voice as well, motioning for her son to join them.

  It had been months since she'd sang anything, and to her embarrassment her voice showed it. But thankfully Tom provided enough volume to cover up the worst of it until her rusty vocal cords warmed up a bit.

  When they finished the song Skyler clapped, and Kristy gave the mountain man a grateful smile. He returned the smile a bit self-consciously and got back to work lighting the fire.

  In spite of the early start the morning was a cheerful one, Skyler suggesting patriotic songs for them to sing and Tom leading as they completed the morning chores and took down the camp. It wasn't the same as celebrating the holiday with Miles, never could be of course, but she still found herself smiling more than she had at any point since the attack.

  Breakfast was more greens gathered from the riverside, as well as a strip of dried meat each that they had to force themselves to choke down. They were all getting sick of it, not just of the taste but of the endless chewing required to soften the tough flesh enough to swallow. Kristy's teeth sometimes hurt after a meal, which didn't seem like a great thing.

  Still, she supposed she couldn't complain. Or at least shouldn't.

  After filling up their water containers in the river they set out. Kristy was feeling good after an early stop and good night's sleep, so she volunteered to push the wagon on her own for a while so Tom could take a bit more time instructing Skyler on scouting and wilderness survival.

  The two moved a bit ahead, her son listening attentively as the mountain man took out a couple strips of leather and began tying or braiding them. She wasn't sure what he was doing or what the purpose was, but he certainly had Skyler's attention.

  As she watched the quiet, easy way Tom acted with her son she found herself wondering, not for the first time since the man had agreed to get them to Newpost, how it was that he'd never ended up married or with kids of his own. He obviously had some aptitude for it.

  It surprised Kristy to acknowledge it, but in spite of herself she'd found
herself growing more and more interested in Tom as a person as time went on.

  She'd expected to get used to the sight of him neatly groomed and dressed in less outlandish clothes, but instead she found herself becoming more and more aware of his wiry physique and rugged looks. Especially as a heavy stubble grew in, which in stark contrast to the beard only served to accentuate his features.

  Not to mention covering up his peeling sunburn, which was a definite plus.

  Kristy had to admit her feelings confused her. Her first impression of Tom back in Emery hadn't been good at all, closer to fascinated disgust than interest. Most of that had been the long hair and thick beard, of course, and the odd smell of his buckskins. But even if she considered that neatly groomed he looked much better, could almost be considered handsome even, it didn't make sense to her.

  He was so different from Miles, grim and taciturn and relentlessly driven, with rare, precious moments of humor. In contrast her husband had worked tirelessly to bring humor and cheer into their lives but had often sank into bouts of melancholy inactivity, especially when he was on his own.

  And Tom was different from Simon, who was so outwardly friendly and had driven himself to exhaustion helping other people in the convoy. Tom's own willingness to help people was more reserved, and never an ounce more than they were willing to do for themselves.

  After a lot of contemplation Kristy had been willing to admit that didn't make him selfish. In a way she actually admired him for it; there was nothing flashy about the help he offered, but if it was needed he was there to provide it. He didn't hang around waiting for thanks or praise, either, which she had to admit was something she'd noticed about Simon.

  And for that matter Tom was so different from Kristy herself; their personalities were night and day, and she'd never much liked the brooding type.

  Yet there was something compelling about him. Kristy was embarrassed to admit that sometimes, when watching him push the handcart as twilight settled to dark, determined to make that extra distance, she wondered what it would feel like for him to pursue her romantically with the same intensity and commitment he put towards getting them across the badlands. To be the sole focus of such an indomitable spirit.