The Cellar: A Post-Apocalyptic Novella

by Cruz, Richard Dela

  “We should sound the alarm,” Logan croaked out. “They have to know that the Angel of Death is here!”

  “Hold on!” Daren shouted. “Wait a minute!”

  Daren tried to stop him, but Logan had already made it to the bell that was tethered to the platform by a piece of rope. He picked up the bell and hammered the air with it. The clanging reverberated all over the village. Torches lit up all over the shacks as everyone shouted and scrambled about. Children who were frightened awake wailed for their mothers. Everyone poured out of their shacks with pitchforks, knives, axes, sticks, spears, slingshots, and even the odd frying pan. Daren looked behind him to check the edge of the woods. As he expected, the phantom had already disappeared.

  He watched as Arianna emerged from their home with a crossbow in her hands. She moved over to the center of the village to where the others had gathered. The torchlight glinted on the knives and axes as everyone looked around for any sign of danger. Arianna pointed to several of them and issued orders. A group of villagers then broke away to check the wall to see if there had been a breach. Daren could see Arianna looking around her frantically.

  “Daren!” she called.

  “I’m here, Mom!” he shouted reluctantly.

  Arianna looked up at where Daren and Logan stood. As she ran towards the platform, Daren noticed that she’d forgotten to wear her eye patch. He had never seen her without it. She must have completely freaked out when she heard the alarm and found him missing. As he imagined what must have gone through her mind, he felt a pang of guilt.

  “Are you all right?” Arianna slung the crossbow over her shoulder and proceeded up the ladder.

  “I’m okay,” he reassured her.

  Arianna placed her hands on the wooden boards and hauled herself onto the platform. Her good eye stared wildly at him, checking for any injuries. A mass of scars covered the empty socket where her right eye used to be. Daren winced as he saw it for the first time.

  “Who sounded the alarm?” she asked.

  She answered her own question as her gaze fell on Logan, who stood there, barely breathing, keeping a tight grip on the bell. He just stared back at her.

  “Where are the raiders?” Arianna demanded. “I assume you rang the bell for a reason.”

  “The Angel of Death has come,” Logan mumbled.

  Arianna creased her brow and looked back at Daren. The eyeless socket seemed more menacing than the glare in her intact eye.

  “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?”

  ⊕ ⊕ ⊕

  IN SPITE OF THE COLD, Daren had enough sweat to make his shirt stick to his chest. Since Logan had broken all the shovels and pickaxes, he had to settle for a flat slab of rock. He held it with both hands and used the sharp end of the slab to chip away at the walls of the trench. He’d been digging since early dawn and it was already almost noon. The trench was already two feet deep and now had to be widened. Logan was right beside Daren placing handfuls of loose soil into a sack.

  “This punishment isn’t too bad.” Logan bent down to scoop up more dirt. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”

  Daren noted that Logan had recovered nicely from his shock from the previous night. He was back to his usual annoying self.

  “What could possibly be worse than digging the village latrine?” Daren asked.

  “Arianna could’ve ordered us to go door to door and collect all the piss pots for dumping,” Logan answered.

  “Thanks for putting that in my head.” Daren thought it was unfair that he was being punished. Of course, explaining to his mother that he tried to stop Logan didn’t do him any good. Arianna gave him a long lecture about how false alarms compromised the security of the village. She told him that inane old story all over again, the one about the boy who cried wolf. He didn’t even know what a wolf was. It was another mythical creature made up to scare kids.

  Logan dusted off his palms and wiped them on his pants. “Maybe I’d better haul the dirt up now before it gets too heavy to lift.”

  “Maybe if you talked less we’d be done by now.”

  “Why don’t you just say ‘shut up’ to my face?”

  “You don’t get to be the angry one!” Daren threw the slab on the ground. “It’s your stupid bell-ringing that got us here!”

  “You think I ring bells for fun?” Logan raised his voice. “You saw that thing. What else was I supposed to do?”

  “For starters,” Daren said, turning around to face him, “try not to make me look like an idiot in front of the whole damned village.” He wiped a drop of sweat off his nose.

  Logan’s eyes darkened with rage. He stepped forward and shoved Daren on the chest. Daren lost his balance and fell backwards into the trench.

  “You want an apology now, is that it?” Logan sneered as he looked down at him. “I did what I thought had to be done. Which is a whole lot better than standing around and whining, ‘What should we do?’!” Logan mimicked Daren’s voice.

  Daren got on his feet and brought his face close to Logan’s. “You would’ve stayed frozen like a scared kid if I hadn’t shaken you.”

  “Dammit to hell!” Logan turned around and kicked over the sack, spilling its contents all over. He shot Daren a menacing look. “I’d better take a break before I stab something!”

  Logan stepped out of the trench, cursing repeatedly as he stalked off. Muttering curses of his own, Daren slapped the dust from his pants and grabbed the canteen strapped to his belt. He peered inside the container, sloshed the water around, and downed a huge gulp. Screwing the top back on, he glanced at the rock wall of the village about twenty feet to his right. The two villagers Arianna assigned to watch him and Logan weren’t around. They were probably taking a break. And Logan was nowhere in sight.

  Daren shivered when he realized he was alone. Hard labor and his irritation with Logan had kept his fear at bay. Now that Logan was gone and the work had stopped, he felt a change in the air. An eerie feeling crept up his left side, as well as a growing compulsion to turn his head and look at the forest. But someone might be standing among the trees, and he didn’t want to meet the eyes that he felt were staring at him. He imagined a white film over them with small black pupils in the middle. After a few moments, he couldn’t bear it anymore. He turned to look.

  There were just trees—leafless, dead things stretching their branches to a sunless sky.

  Or were there just trees? Daren squinted at an object lying on the ground. It looked shiny and metallic, and it was right near the place where he had seen the specter glide over last night. He climbed out of the trench and walked slowly towards the object. As he got closer, he realized what it was and ran the rest of the way. He picked it up and stared at it for a moment. Then he turned it over and over in his hands trying to make sure it was real. He lifted it up to his ear and shook it.

  It was a can of beans. He could barely read, but he could tell what it was from the picture. The last time he’d seen canned goods was when a trader came over several years ago. Those cans were filthy and covered in rust, and the food in them was dangerous to eat. Still, they fetched a high price, and the village traded a trunk of weapons for them. But the can Daren held looked like it was just a few days old. He knew that was impossible. No canned food had been made since The Event.

  “Daren!”

  He shoved the can in his coat pocket and whirled around to see Arianna with fists balled, stomping her way towards him. Her blue overcoat was unbuttoned, and it flared out behind her like a cape. She didn’t forget her eye patch this time.

  “Did I say you could leave your post?” She halted in front of him and tightened her fists.

  “I was taking a break.” Daren hated how small his voice sounded.

  “You take breaks when I say so,” Arianna said. “Is that clear?”

  “I know, but there’s something that—”

  “Where’d Logan go off to?”

  Daren shrugged. “I don’t know. He got pissed and left.”
He reached into his pocket and pressed his fingertip against the cold rim of the can. “Mom, I just wanted to—”

  “You just wanted to get back and do your work like I told you to,” Arianna finished.

  “Mom, if you’d just listen—”

  “Get back to the latrine!” She pointed at the unfinished trench. “Now!”

  Daren knew better than to argue with his mother. He knew what she’d make him do next if he pushed too far. He could almost smell the stench as he saw himself go door to door collecting pots.

  He kept his head down and his mouth shut as he walked back to the trench. His mother’s one-eyed glare shadowed him until he climbed in and grabbed the stone slab. He lifted it up and slammed it on the trench with more force than necessary.

  “Fine,” he muttered under his breath. “If she won’t listen then I don’t have to tell her anything.”

  Logan returned two hours later. By that time, Daren had already finished the latrine. It was worth completing the job on his own to see the utter wretchedness on Logan’s face as he pushed a wheelbarrow to the first shack. By the end of his route, Logan was on the verge of tears, likely overwhelmed by the foul stench sneaking up his nostrils while he hauled away a dozen toilet pots and all the horrors they contained.

  “Try not to tip it over,” called Daren, standing by the open gate as he watched Logan’s progress. “Because you’ll be shoveling the whole mess up. Oh, that’s right.” He grinned widely. “You broke all the shovels.”

  Logan narrowed his eyes into slits as he quickly exited the gate.

  ⊕ ⊕ ⊕

  DAREN TUGGED AT THE STRAPS of the empty backpack resting on his shoulders. It was already mid-afternoon. Digging the latrine had caused him the late start, but his mother was adamant that he serve out his punishment. “It will be good for your character,” she had said. He had argued that the villagers couldn’t care less about his character as long as they had food, but Arianna remained unmoved.

  He exited the gate and glanced at the forest. There wasn’t much daylight left to hunt, and he felt the pressure to get a move on. But the can he found earlier intrigued him. It lay there in his pocket—shiny, unblemished, taunting him with its secrets. Did it have anything to do with the green phantasm?

  Deciding that investigating would only take a few minutes, he walked towards the trees. But once he made it over to the edge of the woods, he felt an uneasy twinge. The feeling of being watched pricked at the back of his neck, and he turned around once in a while to make sure no one was there. He made his way to the place where he had seen the can. Kneeling down, he looked around to check if there was anything else left behind. There was no other can as far as he could see, but he spotted some unnatural indentations on the ground just a few feet ahead of him. He walked over to the markings and traced them with his fingers. There were two parallel tracks going straight ahead, and they seemed to follow the exact route the phantom had taken.

  Wheels.

  Flushed with excitement, he got up and followed the tracks. His fear had given way to an intense desire to find out who was under the robe. Questions raced through his mind. Who was he? Why was he pretending to be a phantom? Daren felt relieved and disappointed that it was an actual human under the robe. In spite of the terror he went through, the presence of a phantom had given him a strange rush. A part of him wanted to believe in a world beyond his own.

  He pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He had to focus on the fact that the person in disguise had dropped a pristine can of beans. If there was a stash of food somewhere—food that somehow managed to stay fresh—then it would mean much more than twelve scrawny rodents. He might be able to give the village food for a few more weeks…or months, even.

  The tracks wound their way deep into the forest and showed no signs of ending. He tripped over twigs and tree roots as he followed them. Soon it became too dark to follow the tracks. He looked around him and saw endless rows of trees. He’d never penetrated this far into the forest before. In his haste, he had forgotten to bring a torch, and without it, he couldn’t find his way back. He cursed and kicked a nearby trunk in frustration. The path had gone on farther than he had expected. He was so focused on finding the food stash for the village that he missed the chance to go back the moment light began to fade.

  He sat down with his back to a tree and rested his head on the trunk. The safest thing for him to do was to stay put and wait for help or daylight, whichever came first, provided no raiding clans crossed paths with him. He hadn’t seen any human tracks so he could safely bet that he was fairly clear of their territory.

  In his mind’s eye, he could see Arianna, pacing on the wooden platform and looking over the wall. She’d be wondering and worried and totally pissed off. She’d eventually send a search party to look for him, and she’d make sure he wasn’t dead so she could do the job herself.

  He sighed and hugged his knees close to his chest. He kept reliving the moment he showed her the rats. The look of utter disappointment in her face still stung him deeply. It was yet another failed attempt to make her proud of him.

  What good did all his efforts do if starvation always loomed just ahead of the village? Every waking moment was a battle to find the next meal. It was the sole driving force of their existence, and he loathed it. There had to be a better way, and somehow he knew the answer lay with the cloaked figure.

  Exhaustion finally claimed him, and he drifted off into a dream. He was caught in the midst of a thick fog. Everywhere he turned was a thick soup of impenetrable white. He felt like he was about to suffocate when a figure appeared in the distance and began to approach. From the shape and sway of the hips, it was distinctly feminine. It was Lara, striding out of the fog as it swished around her in wisps. She wore a sleeveless green tunic, brown pants and leather boots. Her long red hair framed her face and her vivid green eyes. She stood there and gazed right at him. Then she smiled. He’d never seen her smile that way before. He held his breath as she reached out to touch his face. He didn’t want to wake up.

  But that is exactly what he did.

  Torches were everywhere. Torches and sharp metal edges reflecting the light. He blinked his eyes twice and rubbed them. It seemed like Arianna’s search party had found him.

  “You guys couldn’t have waited maybe just a few minutes?” He looked up and squinted at the group. “I was having one hell of a dream.”

  He looked at the faces of his rescuers, then stood up in shock and backed into a defensive position. Tiny round scars covered their arms, face, neck and chest. Judging from the pattern, it looked like the scars were made by design. Each one of them had a symbol branded on their upper arm: a circle with a cross in the middle. It was a raider clan.

  A man with a shiny, hairless scalp stepped forward. His blond beard was tied into two little braids that dangled from his chin. Scarred bumps formed a series of whorls on his forehead and extended down to his cheeks.

  Daren reached for the knife strapped to his leg. The sheath was empty. He looked at the belt of the man in front of him. Daren’s knife was strapped to it.

  “Sorry to interrupt your dream, boy.” The man’s teeth had been filed down into sharp edges. “But I was just wondering about this.”

  Daren looked at what he was holding. It was the can of beans from his coat pocket.

  “Looks like it’s in pretty good shape.” The man inspected the label. “I have never seen a can this new. You wouldn’t mind telling me if you have any more, would you?”

  “I…I…just found it lying in the woods.” Daren felt his throat go dry. “That’s all I have.”

  The man opened his mouth a little wider and slowly brushed his tongue on his upper teeth. “I’ll ask you again and this time I’ll get a better answer.” He smiled and cocked his head to the right. “Where’s the rest of it?”

  “I swear that’s all I have.”

  The clan leader shook his head and sighed. He looked back at his clan members and shrugged, as if apologizing
. He turned, grabbed Daren’s shirt, and slammed him against the tree. Daren yelped in pain as the bark dug into his back. Taunts and laughter erupted from the group. The man raised Daren’s knife to the boy’s face and pressed the blade tip right under his eye.

  “I’ll ask you one more time.” The man’s breath reeked of decay. “If I still don’t like what you’re telling me, I’ll slice off your eyelids so you can dream while you’re awake.”

  “You know what,” Daren said, praying he wouldn’t wet his pants, “come to think of it, there’s a stash of supplies hidden somewhere. I can show you where it is.”

  The man let go of him and strapped the knife back to his belt. He extended his right hand. “Let’s start over,” he said. “The name’s Bryson.”

  Like the rest of him, the man’s outstretched hand was filthy, with fingernails encrusted in what looked like dried blood. Daren looked around at the mace-, scythe-, and axe-wielding audience and decided to play along. He certainly wanted to keep his eyelids and other parts he couldn’t do without.

  “Daren,” he replied, wincing as he took Bryson’s hand.

  “A pleasure, Daren.” Bryson revealed his sharp teeth again. “And I hope we can remain friends.”

  “I hope so, too.” Daren’s voice was too high-pitched for his liking.

  The others chuckled as if he had just made a joke.

  “I believe that all friendship is based on trust.” Bryson tightened his grip on Daren’s hand. “So if I find that you’ve lost my trust in any way, I’ll string you up by your toes until they break off. Is that understood?”

  Daren nodded quietly as he felt the pressure on his hand.

  “What was that?” Bryson used his left fingers to push forward his earlobe.