The Days After (The Tenth Year)

by J. Richardson

  She turned as they walked down the street that was already crowded with people, looked at the stream of color. “Clayton, have you noticed nearly everyone wears those vests?” she said.

  “Yeah, I noticed that. Remember the news story? The reporter talked about clothing, furniture and other items being made. Looks like there's a tunic factory, huh?” he smiled down at her.

  They entered one of the shops, the assorted populace milled around. Chris noticed lots of things in the shop that interested her, but like the landlady said they needed to do some smart trading. Chickens bobbed around their feet, cluck-cluck-clucked. Some of the not so lucky ones, hung naked and headless by their yellow feet and a large basket full of eggs sat on a table. She thought if they could trade for about a half dozen of the eggs, she could use some of her mixes and honey, make some small cakes that they could use for barter. She even had a bag of pecans to add.

  They left the wagon back in the garage, Clayton had a backpack and she toted a large canvas bag with many pockets that she wore on a strap. She put the strap over her head and across her body, so she could push it to her back, out of the way. She pulled the bag around, took a small container of butter out and offered to trade for eggs. The man in the brown tunic agreed, asked to see her pass. She unzipped a small pocket on the side of the bag and took out the piece of paper. He checked the pass, took the butter and gave her six eggs that she very carefully packed away in her bag, wrapped in a couple of bandanas. Her eyes caught the figure of a young boy, he fondled the eggs in the basket and watched her closely. Thin and dirty, he flashed a charming smile at her.

  The shopkeeper spied him and shouted, “Hey, you little thief! Get out, shoo. Go, out...out,” for emphasis he slapped the kid's behind. The boy hustled away, out of sight.

  The two walked on, Clayton sometimes touched her arm to move her around the clusters of people. Chris spotted several racks of the colorful tunics in a shop and turned in. Clayton followed but stopped at a locked case that was filled with pocket knives and other small items. She noted that some of the vests appeared to be new and some appeared to be previously worn. We could make these back home, she thought. I could get one for a pattern. She held a bright torquoise colored tunic up against her and then held it out to look at it better. Her other hand pulled the bag around and she instantly saw the zippered pocket gaped open.

  Panic, the pocket was empty! She lay the tunic down, spotted the young boy as he slid out of the store. “Clayton...my pass...the boy!” she shouted across the traders.

  Clayton ran out the door, Chris close behind him. The boy who wore a faded red t-shirt, ran now, weaved in and out of the human traffic. Clayton kept him within sight, pushed and moved through the people, struggled to keep the red shirt in view.

  A strong hand grabbed Chris's arm and spun her to a stop, “Where you headed in such a hurry, Missy?”

  She looked ahead and couldn't spot Clayton or the red shirt. Between huffing breaths, she said, “My pass...the boy stole my pass. Please, we need to catch him.”

  “You don't have your pass, Miss?” said the owner of the hand that still had a tight grip on her.

  “I told you. The boy stole my pass. My friend has his pass, we're trying to catch the boy and get my pass back,” she said, more panic settled on her.

  “Well, you'll have to come with me, Miss.”

  “What! Come with you where?” Chris gave the man a stunned look.

  “You got a couple of choices. You can be put out of the city or we can hold you over to the jail for twenty four hours. Your friend will find you,” he looked at her with a smirk. “That is, if you got a friend and the friend wants to find you.”

  Chris was so exasperated, “Are you crazy? I haven't done anything. I have a horse, I have things. We're staying right over there,” she pointed.

  The man's eyes followed her point, he said, “Sorry, you don't have anything without that pass.” He moved her along and said, a bit kinder, “Listen, Miss. Everyone in town knows where you're taken when you don't have a pass. And, everyone knows where those little stealin' urchins stay. Let's just go over to the holding tank and perhaps your friend will come to get you.”

  Chris stopped him, stood firm, “Wait. You know that the children steal and you're not doing anything about it. Why aren't their parents in your jail?”

  “Oh, you don't mess with the children. The punishment for harming children is the highest in the city. Parents, you say? They don't have parents. The poor orphans have more or less formed their own families. They live in small groups, the older ones care for the younger. Mostly boys, actually. The older ones, the more or less father and mother work in the factories. Often, the younger ones run the streets and get into trouble. They don't generally do any real harm.”

  She felt confused and frightened, an alien in an unknown land. “But then, why would they want a pass? They don't need a pass, they are here and protected.”

  The man moved her along again. “They trade 'em for things that they do want or need. There are plenty of grown folks who want the passes. They can sell them on the outside, pick up guns that were put in temporary hold. Plenty of value in them.”

  She had no choice but to go along with the man. Clayton had the small gun that was hidden beneath the coffee grounds. Not that it would have helped, she wouldn't shoot this man. Oh my god, she didn't see how Clayton was going to find the boy, her pass or her.

  ***

  The crush thinned out and Clayton still could see the dot of red up ahead. The boy moved towards the gym where many found shelter. When he turned around, Chris was no where to be seen. Damnit! Where is she? He must make a quick decision. If he lost this child thief, he would probably never find Chris's pass. Not sure, how much of their gear would they lose, one of the horses maybe? their guns? If they got kicked out of town, it could be bad. He had to find this boy and get the pass.

  He pushed open the big gym doors and stepped inside. It wasn't as if there was just one dot of red in all of this shelter. His eyes scanned the clutter and bodies in the large building. He thought they claimed you had to vacate the gym in the daytime, find work. In the far back corner, he caught a glimpse of a boy, red shirt that ducked behind a blanket strung across an area. Clayton strode across the once shiney wooden floor to the blanket and jerked it back. The young boy sat on a cot and pulled things from his pockets.

  Clayton said, “Where is the pass you stole?”

  The boy looked up with big eyes and gave him the same smile he had thrown at Chris. He didn't answer. Clay took a step and grabbed the boy's arm. “Where is that pass, boy?”

  The blanket moved back again, a teenage boy stood in the opening, “Hey, let go of him.”

  He released the boys arm, said, “This little heathen stole my friend's pass. Where are your parents? I want that pass back right now.” He glared at the younger boy who seemed completely not bothered.

  “I am his father,” said the teen.

  “Oh, give me a break, man. You are not his father,” said Clayton with a laugh.

  The teen boy knelt down in front of the younger one, “Brother, I have told you that you are not to steal from other people. I have to work, I can't watch you every minute. Now, where is the man's pass?”

  For the first time, the boy looked flustered. He dug in a pocket and brought out a crumpled up piece of paper, the pass. “I'm sorry, Daddy,” he said, his eyes glistened. The teen handed the paper up to Clayton and looked back to the boy. The boy said, “I'm sorry, mister.”

  Clayton shook his head and exited the small space behind the blanket. An older man stood, “Everything okay?” he asked.

  The wrinkled pass lay in Clayton's hand, he looked down at it and said, “Yeah, I guess. Are you their father?”

  “No,” answered the man. He walked with him across the gym and told him the story of how the orphans formed their own families. How the teenager was the father of that family and he worked in the tunic factory. “At least the children are fairly
safe behind the walls of the city. They eat, they have shelter, they survive okay.”

  It was difficult for Clayton to know how he felt. He thought of the two rescued girls back home, they were very protective of the boy. It was both sad and encouraging that children survived. One thing for sure, there was no Utopia in this After world, only bad and better. As he left the gym, he thought that he would go to the garage and see if Chris had gone back there or maybe she went to the stables where the horses were kept.

  ***

  A small pair of eyes, her glasses on top of her head looked through the scope at the hospital lookout. Allie squinted and focused, looked again. “Clay, I see someone coming in from the south. One person alone is all I can see.”

  Clay moved her over and looked through the scope himself. “Can't see if it's a man or woman. I don't see anyone else. Not Chris and Clayton, for sure. I hope not, because it is only one person and no horses.” He moved his eyes away, not even a dot without the help of the magnifying viewer. “Allie, you run down to the headquarters and tell them that someone is coming into town from the south.”

  Brent and Wayne just arrived at the roof top to take their watch turn. Wayne said to Brent, “You go with Allie, son. When you return, Clay and Allie can leave.”

  The petite woman pushed her rifle to her back. She and her young beau dashed down the five flights of stairs, jogged to the warehouse headquarters. The two had become a nearly inseparable pair. Most of the family believed that would remain constant. The message was delivered, they rode back as far as the hospital with the militia leader and another man on the old tractor. The couple jumped down and saw that Clay walked towards them.

  “You two go on up to the lookout. I'll ride with the militia to check out the visitor. Can't be too careful,” said Clay. He climbed into the trailer behind the tractor that normally hauled dead bodies. At the edge of town, the old tractor idled, the three waited for the slim young man to come closer.

  The man held a letter up in front of him, announced his name and said, “Clayton and Chris gave me this letter to bring to their family. They said the town would give me haven.”

  Clay jumped down and took the letter. After reading over it, he said, “When did you see them, where?”

  The young man told them that he saw them about ten days earlier and said, “I would be happy to tell you the story, if maybe I could just get somewhere with a bite to eat and sit down.”

  The three men looked around, the militia leader said, “Are you alone. Anyone else with you?”

  “No. I am by myself,” said the man. He looked and sounded weary.

  He joined Clay in the trailer and the tractor growled it's way back towards the Clinic. They got the young man some soup, and he told them the story. He explained why he was at the schoolhouse, what happened there and that the couple had left out from there about ten days ago. They were still headed south for Grand Isle.

  The news was good for all the family to hear. They thought that Chris and Clayton would surely have reached their destination by now and hoped to see them back home in no longer than a couple of weeks. The young man was offered temporary refuge at the warehouse headquarters. It was explained to him that if he decided to stay, he would be expected to contribute to the safety and restoration of the town and that there were laws he must abide by.

  The next day, Clay and his brother Dan walked amongst the traders on the square. They had accompanied Brent and Allie to town. The couple worked in the theater with a some of the other youngsters, prepared for the next Movie Day. The deep winter weather had diminished and the square was lined with local and traveling barterers today. Clay spotted the new young visitor, he spoke to him and shook his hand. He introduced the man to Dan and then asked, “Where are you headed?”

  The man said that the militia leader told him about the movie theater and that some folks worked there today, “I thought that I might could help. I mean, don't know if they would want my help...” he hesitated.

  Clay said, “Sure, come with me and I'll introduce you to my daughter and the others.”

  ***

  Wayne and Jacob walked away from the neighborhood houses towards town. Wayne, as had become his habit of late was headed to the nunnery to check on Faith and her boarders. Jacob had formed a new friendship with one of the rescued women. They planned to go over to the water plant, where Jacob and a couple of the other citizens made good progress with a better filtration system.

  Faith swung the heavy door back, her lovely smile welcomed the two. “Hi, gentlemen, come in.”

  Jacob's friend waited for him rather impatiently and they were immediately in conversation and moved out towards the water plant. Wayne pushed a small bag out to Faith, “I thought you might like some coffee. Didn't even know if you liked the stuff. Clayton's mother grows some at the farm.”

  “Coffee?! Oh my, haven't had any in years. The old priest used to love it and I learned to be quite fond of it myself. Would you stay for a cup if I fixed us some?”

  “That would be nice,” he moved over to the long table and sat down.

  “I would love to be able to grow a coffee plant.” The woman opened and closed cabinets, searched for some type of pot to brew coffee and pulled down some mugs.

  Wayne said, “I'll ask about some green coffee beans at the farm. Do you and the ladies need anything, Faith. How about your food supplies?”

  The woman tilted her head and the dark hair spilled across her shoulder, “Oh, bless your heart. It seems you have us overstocked with supplies. Are you trying to fatten me up, Wayne?”

  “Well, no...I just don't want the women to be a burden on you,” he then caught her mischievous smile. He was a bit embarrassed, Damn, it had been a long time since he found a woman attractive. Was he finding excuses to come to the nunnery?

  The steaming cups of coffee were placed on the table, she sat down across from him. “I really appreciate your help. I don't consider the women a burden at all. We will soon start our garden, I've always had a small garden.” She sipped the coffee and closed her eyes in pleasure, “Glory, that is good.” She looked across at him, “By the way, you need no excuse to come and visit. I greatly enjoy your company.”

  Wayne smiled back at her and they talked of other things. He told her of the new young visitor and the letter he brought from Chris and Clayton. A picture of his pretty daughter flicked across his mind, along with a flash of worry for her. There was no way to know if she was safe. He counted on Clayton and on the strength he knew she possessed, to bring her home soon. His hope was that the two would come riding up any day now, filled with new ideas for the future.

  Many things moved forward in a positive way in the town. The younger people were not going to be just the future of this town, but the future of the whole country. He reached across the table and touched Faith's hand, “I think you might have a special connection that I seem to have lost. Say a prayer for them, Faith, will you?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Home

  At the doorway of the garage, Clayton's small light showed that obviously Chris hadn't been there. The wagon exactly where they left it that morning and no sign that she had returned for even a brief time. He looked for the ample landlady and saw no sign of her either.

  He made his way through the crowded main part of town to the stable, near the town entrance. The stable man, still proudly sported his knit cap, “No, mister. She ain't been here. See, there's your horses. She took off on ya, huh?”

  Clayton explained and the man just shook his head and clucked his tongue, “I tole ya, don't lose them passes.”

  “We didn't lose them,” said Clayton in frustration, “The damn kid stole it.” He rubbed his neck and tried to think where to start to look for Chris.

  “Um-m...well they're sneaky little boogers,” the man grinned. “Your woman is likely over to the jail.”

  “Jail!....why...” he stopped and said, “Never mind, where is the jail? I don't have time to mess with you anymore.”
He leaned in close and threatening on the horse tender.

  In fifteen minutes, he walked in front of a row of city jail cells and looked for Chris. He passed a couple of empty cells and a couple with people sitting on bare cots. Chris sprang from a cot and went to the bars, “Clayton, thank god.”

  So relieved to find her, he touched her fingers and smiled. He reached in the pocket of the camo shirt he wore and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper to show to the guard. The guard, the same man that had picked up Chris, smoothed out the pass and checked it. “Sorry, mister. This won't get it.”

  “What...won't get what?” said Clayton.

  “This is not the lady's pass. I mean she don't look like a black male of old age to me,” said the guard.

  Clayton had not even checked the pass. It wouldn't have made any difference. The passes had letter and number codes to give a form of ID. He said, “How do you know that? It's got to be hers, I got it from the kid that stole it.”

  “Well, see these letters and numbers,” M, blk, 50+ was in the corner of the wrinkled paper.

  He gritted his teeth in frustration, the muscles of his jaw twitched, “Look, ah-h sir,” he tried to keep his temper under control. “I have my pass. You know we mean no harm. Just let her go and we'll find the kid again and get her pass. Then we can be on our way home.”

  The guard appeared unmoved. Chris raised her eyebrows and made a small turning up a drink motion at her lips to Clayton. He pulled his backpack around and dug around in it. His hand found a small bottle of the homebrew. The guard took the bottle from him.

  “You trying to bribe me, son?” he said, as he removed a cork and sniffed at the whiskey.

  “No sir, I'm sharing a little drink with a friend.” said Clayton.

  The guard stuck the small container in his pocket, unlocked the cell. “I better not catch so much as a glance of you again, unless blondie has her pass. You got that?” He moved back down the row, opened a cell with an older black man incarcerated and said, “Okay, bud, looks like you're free. Here's your pass.” He handed the man the crumpled piece of paper, took a little swig of the whiskey and moved away.