The Days After (The Tenth Year)

by J. Richardson

  The pair hastily left the city jail, in minutes once again milled around, lost in the city crush. They checked the gym, the kid wasn't there. The older man said he might be over at the tunic factory where his “father” worked. He explained that the factories were near the back river entrance of the city.

  Not near the clog of people existed as they moved out towards the factories. They walked past old warehouses and commercial buildings. Once again, broken and dark windows stared down from long abandoned structures. Just like the creepy eyes of the hospital, thought Chris. She grabbed Clayton's arm, “Look, I think I see the red shirt up ahead.”

  They jogged in closer, saw a large male that manhandled the kid in the red shirt and another boy. The trio vanished around the corner of a building.

  Clayton said, “That's certainly not his teenaged father. Let's follow.” They eased around the corner of the building and in the distance saw the man and the two boys disappear through a door. When the two reached the building, they listened at the door and heard some scuffling around but no conversation that was understandable. No windows in the old metal building, they crept around and looked for another entrance. At the rear of the building behind grown up weeds and bushes they found a door.

  Clayton turned the knob, it wasn't locked. He cracked the door, could hear some voices in a distant part of the building. They both eased inside, let their eyes adjust to the dark interior. The small pistol was the only weapon they had and it was in his hand. Evidently, the building had been storage for some type of large equipment. Not useful in the world today, large crates and parts filled the space.

  Hunkered behind a large piece of equipment, they could hear the voices closer now. Two men kept their voices low and talked. “So, we'll put 'em in the crates, pile some more junk on the wagon around them and go out the back gate by the river.”

  “The guards will check out the wagon, won't they?” said another voice.

  “Nah-h, we got our passes. They don't care about that old junk. We'll pick up our guns and be on the road.”

  Chris peeked around the corner of their hiding place. A lantern sat on an old chair and cast a very dim light. The large man they had followed and a smaller man stood; behind them, huddled on the floor, about eight young boys. Their hands and ankles were tied and duct tape covered their mouths. She could clearly see the boy in the red shirt.

  She pulled back, her eyes wide and nodded for Clayton to look. He stole a look around the cover, when he leaned back, his jaw was again tight, his eyes narrowed.

  Then the large man said, “You stay here. I am going to see if I can pick up another couple of kids. They's going to bring us lots of good stuff,” he laughed and looked down at the scared boys, “You're real treasure, that's what you are.” The metal front door slammed.

  Clayton didn't hesitate, he moved on the remaining man. Chris was taken by surprise and searched for something to use as a weapon. With the gun held against him, the man backed up towards the door. At that moment, the door swung open and the large man, mumbled about something he forgot and charged in. The smaller man ran past Clayton towards the back of the building. Chris came from behind a large crate and whacked him over the head with a heavy metal part of unknown use. He crumpled to the ground.

  The large man in the doorway reached inside a jacket for a gun. Clayton shot and the man looked down at his chest in surprise, he shot again and the man thundered to the floor. The boys had scrambled the best they could farther back in the corner.

  He called out, “Chris! Where are you?”

  The lantern's pool of light revealed her, the heavy make-do weapon dropped to the floor. She moved to the boy in the red shirt, untied him and snatched off the duct tape with a quick motion. The boy still let out a small ow-w. “Here, Clayton. I don't know if the other man is dead, use this to tie him up.” She tossed the rope to him. The boy flashed her that smile once again. They began to untie the other children.

  She held the boys' shoulders, “Is your father at the factory? What about these other boys?”

  He looked around at the other boys, “Some of them with Daddy at the tunic factory and some at the wood work factory.”

  Clayton came back from checking on the second man, “I think he is still alive. I tied him up.”

  She stood and said, “Come along boys, let's find your families.”

  The noise of the tunic factory quieted as the tall man in camo and the young woman stepped inside, with eight bedraggled boys behind them. Several young men came forward and the red shirt boy ran to his “father”. He excitedly told the story, “Daddy, the kidnappers had us. I don't know how they found us...they saved us. Those bad men, they were taking us away tonight.”

  The teenage father reached out for Clayton's hand, “Thank you. Sometimes the bad guys do get in. There is a big market on the outside for young boys.”

  Clayton said, “I'm sure one of the men is dead. Not sure about the other, I tied him up.

  The teen said, “We'll see that it's taken care of.”

  They still didn't have that pass, Clayton looked down at the boy and didn't say anything. The child reached in his jean's pocket and took out a folded up pass. He extended it to Chris. “I'm sorry,” he said and a tear trailed down his dirty face.

  She looked at the pass, F, bld, -25, in the corner. She bent her knees and lowered to the boy's eye level, “It's okay. You just do what your father tells you and stay where you're safe. You don't want those bad people to ever take you from home.” He unexpectedly wrapped his arms around her neck and gave her a hug. She felt his thin body, a deep sadness touched her for the children. The boy in the red shirt stepped back and put his hand in the teen boy's. There is some hope, she thought, the boy has someone to love him and the fact that the orphans drew together in families is a testament to our human need to bond and survive.

  ***

  The two traveled back through town. They stopped for the tunic that Chris had looked at and traded for another thing or two that would add to their supplies. Back at the garage, Clayton built a small fire. They had a little supper and talked about all the things that had happened in just one day. Chris put away their plates and utensils. She wet a cloth and wiped her face, hands and arms. She rinsed the cloth out in the warm water on the fire and gave it to Clayton.

  “I'm not sure what to think about Grand Isle,” she said. “There's some good things, I suppose. Some growth. It's far from perfect, huh?”

  “Yeah, far from it. Some things work and some not. This crazy pass thing...I understand the logic, to a degree, but it didn't keep out those child snatchers. I would have never left this place without you, but if we hadn't found your pass, we would've been back on the road, missing one horse and some guns at the minimum.” He looked into the fire that dwindled to embers now, picked up a piece of old lumber that he had found behind the garage and threw it on.

  He sat back on his pallet, “I did get some ideas. Some we might try and some not to do.” He reached up and pulled her down onto his lap. She just sat and let him hold her for a while.

  She said in a whisper, “The children. They were sad, Clayton.”

  He put his hand on her cool cheek, “I know, honey...I know.” He stretched out and drew her in beside him. Flames still glowed as he kissed her. Exhaustion, the kind that attacks when someone has experienced a frightening mental and physical event, washed over them both. “I think it's already time to go home,” he said.

  Chris's answer was to snuggle in closer. The fire flashed up bright and then slowly died to a warm glow.

  ***

  A clear and warm morning found Clayton and Chris leaving the restoration town of Grand Isle, at a full gallop. Their horses and all their supplies plus an extra thing or two back in their possession. A little coffee went to the landlady and the stable guy got three more cigarettes. They were rested and agreed, they would pace their horses but ride back home as fast as reason and their rides allowed.

  Clayton studied the map and
altered their route this trip, stayed more on the small rural roads. They encountered only a traveler or two on these roads and managed to avoid contact. Everyday, the dust clouds from the driving horses alternated with the slower gaits and times of rest. On the evening of day eight, just after sunset, the two riders crossed the bridge over the Big Muddy that would take them home.

  Only the dark outlines of two riders on the bridge, Wayne and the militia leader stood on the South Dakota side, at alert, they waited to see who approached. Three sharp whistles echoed across the water that rushed beneath the bridge, a pause and three more. The father returned the whistle and broke out in a run towards his daughter and her partner. After the greetings and hugs, they all walked into town, Clayton and Chris trailed the horses behind them.

  Only a few days later, the tall sturdy man and his pretty blonde wife hustled down the steps of the town church. A large and noisy crowd of family and townsfolk followed them to the square. On the plaza, Spring dotted the ground and trees with green, even a few wildflowers popped up here and there. Long tables were scattered with the usual food from the well wishers, to be shared by all.

  Chris, stood happily beside her new husband, looked out at the celebration crowd. Brent had recently discovered a box full of old black letters in the movie house storage. Today, he and Allie had spelled out Clayton and Chris on the marquee. Lots of people were there that she loved, lots of her and Clayton's family, dozens of other citizens, both old and new. She felt an excitement for her life ahead with this man and for the future of the town. Folks wanted to make a better, a safer place to live. Her new husband had some ideas for the growth and restoration of the town.

  Lucky, Dana and Ben's adopted son, toddled by her. He giggled as he ran from the young rescued boy that now lived at the farm. She remembered for a sad moment, the boy in the red shirt at Grand Isle. Things in America were not all fine, there was so much work to do. She held on tight to the hand of the man beside her. It could be done, she was ready.

  ***

  The mayor of Coffee City, South Dakota looked out the window of his second floor office. Across the plaza, he observed his son, Brent. He stood on a ladder and placed letters on the movie marquee that the feisty and lovable Allie handed up to him. One of the thankfully light and plastic letters slipped from his hand and bounced off the fluffy red curls below. With his window cracked to let in the early summer breeze, he heard the laughter of the two drift across the square. Wayne laughed as Faith came through the door and walked to the window.

  “What's so funny, old man?” She slid her arm around his waist. He kissed the top of her head, the silky black hair that now was streaked with white.

  He just nodded, she followed his look and saw the couple that still laughed across the way, Allie rubbed her head. “Always the same funny Allie and Brent,” she said. Brent climbed back up the ladder with two numbers in his hand. On this side of the marquee, they kept the date posted. He placed the two numbers for the day on the track, 6/ 10/ 2035.

  Two chairs and a small table sat by the window. Faith went to a cart and poured two cups of coffee and came back to sit with Wayne. The traders were only allowed to set up on the square once a month now. The grass grew, still green from Spring. The town still couldn't water, but it held up pretty good unless the summer was very dry. People idled along the sidewalks, went in and out of the shops that were open for business. Only about one in four stores were open and barter was still the way to purchase. Old pure silver coins had become more common and here in Coffee City, a quarter would usually buy you something.

  There was a tap on the door and a tall man sauntered in. Dan said, “Nice day, huh?” he pulled a chair over and joined the mayor and wife. Wayne's old friend was now more or less family, with the marriage of their two children. “I swear...this whole town smells like coffee.” The three laughed.

  On the north side of the square, smoke drifted up from a large two story building. You could just see the sign on the storefront that read, Linda's Coffee House. Ten years before, it had been Dan's wife Linda with her one healthy coffee plant that had inspired the son, Clayton. He saw after he and Chris went on their exploration trip to Grand Isle that the coffee they took along was their most valuable commodity. He came back determined to learn from his mother and expand the growing and production of coffee for his town. Clayton's instincts were correct, over these last few years, coffee had been a huge factor in the growth and restoration of their town. It had earned the town the new name of Coffee City.

  An eight year old boy, a bit large for his age, dashed down the sidewalk and into the door of Linda's Coffee House. His mother, Chris, yelled at him to slow down! Wayne, from his window laughed to see his strong and lively grandson and looked to Dan, “That's our boy, huh?” The three sat and looked down on the town, enjoyed their coffee.

  The boy ran to his dad, who sat at a small table with his old room mate and friend, Jacob. Jacob had been largely responsible for the clean water the town now had and for the improvement in the power supply. This all made it possible for Clayton to manage the coffee production and the coffee made the town prosper.

  Jacob married the woman that looked like his mother, not long after Clayton and Chris married. She had been a big supporter of establishing a school for the children of the town. Now, in the old library, school was held four days a week. Their two children, as well as about thirty five others of various ages were taught there every school day.

  Many familiar faces passed the coffee shop, some stopped for a snack or a cup of their hometown brew. Some, like the militia leader just ambled by and gave a wave and a “Hello, Clayton. How ya doing?” It still took a serious effort to keep the town safe. The country had many towns that thrived again. Many of the worst pockets of bad had been destroyed. However, some stubborn areas of true mayhem still existed. The national army had reformed and rebuilt to a limited degree and it's major purpose was to clean out the remaining bastions of evil. The cities were responsible for their own protection and the smaller towns that had progressed very little were extremely vulnerable to attack. Coffee City maintained a strong militia.

  Chris sat down at the table with her husband and their friend. The steam rose from their cups. A fan with a bright light whirred on the ceiling above them. She looked up at it and then sipped the warm aromatic liquid. Her son's voice chattered away with his grandmother behind the counter. Clayton scribbled some figures on a napkin. In the corner, a young man strummed a guitar. Chris thought, how strange, I don't think I know him.

  Jacob caught Chris's look and her eye, he smiled, “Amazing, isn't it? Lights all day.”

  “Yeah,” said Chris. She looked over to her son, “Maybe he won't ever know different from that.” She and her husband remembered, Jacob and their parents and other family members had not forgotten. They remembered dangerous days of fear, no lights and power, no running water, sparse food and few medicines. They had memories of vehicles that once motored along paved roadways, but now were thousands of acres of wreckage, rusted and devoured by the landscape like mounds of dinosaur bones.

  Clayton stood up, “Got to go upstairs, Hon. It'll be a busy afternoon. We're sending the coffee down river tomorrow.” He kissed her cheek and hustled away.

  Chris said to Jacob, “Everything okay at the farm? How about your parents and Clay and Angel?”

  “Everybody is good. Been a little hard on Doc's wife, since he passed away.” He pushed his cup back and said, “Well, I better get moving, need to be at the water plant.”

  She said, “Think I'll go by the Clinic to see Dana. The boy and Lucky are big buddies, though they are quite a rowdy pair when together.”

  Jacob grinned, “Funny, Dana and doctor Ben's adopted boy looks like he could be one of mine, doesn't he?”

  She smiled back at him, “Um-m, yes...handsome young man. Anyway, they seem to have plenty of help these days. I still enjoy helping out there on occasion.”

  She stood up and smoothed down the colorful
tunic that was made from the pattern of the ones at Grand Isle. The shop on the opposite side of the square sold them. Several of the town ladies worked there and handmade them from bright fabrics that the coffee trade brought them. Many of the Coffee City residents wore them. The guitar music still floated from the corner, the fan swirled. The two old friends looked up again, she reached for Jacob's hand, squeezed it and said no more.

  They were among the citizens of the city that shared the knowledge of America as it had once been. The people with the memories of survival in a world changed in one stunning moment. Now, those that looked ahead with hope for their town and America's future.

  In the young summer of the year 2035, the town of Coffee City, South Dakota had very little resemblance to the city that existed there in the early part of the twenty first century. It was a burgeoning town by the standards of the current world and the ghosts of days past lingered in the nooks and crannies of the old town square, awaited a bright new day of restoration.

  Thanks for reading The Days After (The Tenth Year). Your honest review would be appreciated.

  The Days After series:

  The Days After, Big River

  The Days After, The Tenth Year

  The Days After, Far View

  The Days After, Chain of Strangers

  The No Normal Day series:

  No Normal Day

  No Normal Day II, Unity

  No Normal Day III, West

  No Normal Day IV, Travelers

  It Was 2052

  It Was 2052, High Haven