The day after: An apocalyptic morning

by Jessy Cruise

  "I got somebody coming towards the wall," Jack told Jeff, his partner on guard duty that night.

  They were in the top story of the house that served as the guard position for the northern wall, one of the most active for stragglers, as they were called. The shift had just begun and there was still enough light out to be able to see. They were twenty yards from the wall. On the other side of it were low, rolling hills that were studded with pine trees and scrub brush. Emerging from a group of trees was a filthy, emaciated man wearing muddy clothing and carrying a hunting rifle. He was looking at the wall and the houses behind them as if he had never seen such a thing before.

  "Let me see," Jeff said. He had been lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, leaving lookout duty to his younger companion. He pulled himself off it and picked up a pair of binoculars, aiming at the window. "Yep," he said. "Another straggler all right. Pathetic looking piece of shit, ain't he?"

  Jack didn't answer. Instead, he dropped his own binoculars and picked up his rifle. It was a Winchester, scoped hunting rifle, not the M-16 that he had learned to love, but he had learned over the past few days to shoot it with precision. Not that shooting with precision was all that hard to do with such a gun. You simply placed the crosshairs where you wanted the bullet to go and it went there. And deer hunters had called it sporting when they shot defenseless animals with such things.

  "He don't look like he has the energy to climb the fuckin wall anyway," Jeff commented, continuing to watch the man as he stood in place. "Why do we even worry about people like that?"

  "Because they're desperate," Jack said, putting the rifle to his shoulder and training it out the open window. "A couple of people like that tried to kill us when we were out there."

  "So you say," Jeff said, putting the binoculars down. He yawned and then picked up the walkie-talkie that was sitting on a nightstand. He keyed the microphone and spoke into it. "This is Jeff at position three. We got a straggler near the wall. He looks pretty pathetic. We're keeping an eye on him."

  "Copy that, post three," came Skip's voice from the speaker. "Is he armed?"

  "Yeah, dude," Jeff replied, bored. "He's packin' a rifle."

  "Copy. Keep me updated."

  "Yeah," Jeff said into the radio before throwing it back down. "I got your fuckin update right here, dickwad," he said, grabbing his crotch a few times.

  Jack, hearing this, said nothing though inside he was fuming at the insulting tone towards Skip. He was used to such comments however. It was a sentiment that he had heard a lot of while pulling guard duty the last few days.

  "So what's he doin now?" Jeff asked, sitting back down on the bed.

  "Still just standing there," Jack replied, watching him carefully through the scope. The man was looking back and forth along the wall, an expression of wonder on his face. Finally, he seemed to come to some sort of decision. He began to walk towards it.

  "He's moving in," Jack said. "I'm gonna drive him off."

  "I'm down with it," Jeff replied, picking up the radio and relaying this information to Skip.

  Jack shifted the sight from the man's body to a mound of dirt about ten feet in front of him. He took a deep breath, held it, and then squeezed the trigger, feeling the sharp kick of the rifle against him. The sound was much different than that produced by the M-16. It was deeper and louder, not so much a crack as a boom. The bullet hit right where he had aimed, sending up a little spray of mud and water. The hunter did not seem to notice the bullet impact at all but he noticed the sound when it reached him. He jumped in fright, looking everywhere at once.

  "Did that do it?" Jeff asked as Jack jacked in another .30 caliber bullet.

  "No," he said, taking aim again. "He's just standing there, looking around."

  "Idiot," Jeff mumbled. He then reported this development to Skip.

  When the man stepped towards the wall again, Jack pulled the trigger again, this time sending the bullet into the ground about five feet in front of him. He saw the impact this time and immediately turned and sprinted back the way he had come.

  "He's running north into the trees," Jack reported, tracking him with the scope as he went. "Looks like that might've done it."

  "Another job well done," Jeff said cynically. He reported the success of the driving off operation to Skip and then answered a few questions as to direction of travel that he was asked. Finally he threw the radio back down again. "What does he wanna know all that shit for?" he asked Jack. "I mean, the guy ran away. What fuckin' difference does it make where he ran to?"

  "I think he's worried that he might try to go around and try another approach," Jack said. "You know, a flanking maneuver?"

  "Fuckin' flanking maneuver," he said, shaking his head sadly. "You've been hanging out with him too damn long, dude. You're startin' to talk like him. You need to loosen up a little."

  "He's just trying to keep you alive," Jack told him. "You could be a little grateful for it."

  "He's trying to keep me celibate is what he's doing. We were getting along just fine without him. We'd get along just fine without him now." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette pack. "Come on, dude, let's loosen ourselves up." He pulled a joint from the box. "Let's burn one."

  Jack looked at the joint. "Not on guard duty," he said. "That's against the rules."

  "Fuck the rules," he said, pulling out a lighter. "There ain't no rules anymore anyway. That's the advantage of having a fuckin comet crash into your planet. It kills a lot of people but it kills the rules too. I'm gonna burn." He lit the joint and took a tremendous hit. He then tried to pass it to Jack.

  "No," Jack said firmly. "We're on guard duty, Jeff. We're supposed to be watching for people."

  "Fuckin' pussy," Jeff squeaked contemptuously. He tapped the ash on the floor and then took another hit. "You keep watchin for those scrungy lowlifes. I'm gonna make the most of what we got."

  He smoked the joint until it was about half gone and then carefully extinguished it and placed it on the end table next to the walkie-talkie. Jack, though disgusted by his actions, made no further comments. He simply kept watch as the light finally gave up its hold on the sky, bringing on the darkness.

  "I don't know why we have to stay up here once its dark," Jeff said. "We can't see shit anyway."

  "In case the perimeter guards find something," Jack told him, continuing to stare out into the darkness. "Then we're in position to cover them."

  "Nobody's gonna try and get in after dark," Jeff scoffed. "You have to be able see to invade."

  "Skip got in after dark, didn't he?"

  "But he's a fuckin maniac. No one else would try something like that."

  "He is not a maniac!" Jack yelled, turning towards the sound of Jeff's voice. "Don't talk about him that way!"

  "Hey, fuck off, little dude or I'll break your fuckin nose for you. Don't think I won't!"

  Fuming, Jack turned his attention back outside. Like his sister, he was of the firm opinion that they had been better off when they had been living out there. Outside he had been an important member of a team; a member of a fighting squad that had battled armed men and come out the better. In here he was treated as a child, not just by people like Jeff, who was little more than a child himself, but by damn near everyone. The women all called him cute and tussled his hair when they saw him. A few had even been known to pinch his cheeks like visiting aunts at family holidays. They seemed to think that they way to Skip's heart was by treating his younger companion in a motherly way. As for the men, they treated him with indifference at best, with subtle hostility at worst now that Skip's unpopular guard duty decree was up and rolling in full force. Some, lacking the courage to confront Skip directly, had chosen him as the channel with which to pass along their displeasure with the new security chief. "Tell your friend that he can be voted out just as easily as he was voted in," he had been told more than once. He had learned quickly not to respond to these requests by suggesting they tell Skip that information themselves.
That generally just made them threaten him in some way.

  Not wanting to be seen as a fink or a crybaby, he had not complained to Skip about any of these attitudes, nor had he passed on any of the messages he was given. But sometimes, like now as he was sitting on guard detail with Jeff whining at him about how unfair it all was, he wished that they would vote Skip out. At least then things could go back to the way they had been.

  For the next hour, things were quiet in the guard post. There was no conversation of any kind, nor were there any reports from the walkie-talkie. Jack kept watch over the blackness outside and Jeff maintained his position of repose on the bed, occasionally smoking a cigarette or unleashing a loud fart. It was the sound of footsteps approaching that finally broke the monotony.

  "Someone's out there," Jack said, picking up his rifle.

  "Just chill, little dude," Jeff told him, the squeak of bedsprings indicating he was getting up. "It's just a visitor that I've arranged."

  "A visitor?"

  "This all-male guard team bites the big one. I've invited over someone who will be a little bit better company than your skinny ass on these long nights."

  "You did what?"

  "Hello?" came a soft voice from downstairs. Jack recognized it as belonging to Missy, the woman that had caused the ongoing fight between Christine and Skip. "Is anyone here?"

  "Up here, baby," Jeff called down. "You know where we're at."

  "Jeff," Jack hissed. "You know we're not allowed to have visitors at post. Skip made that clear to us!"

  "Skip's not gonna find out about it though, is he?" he said menacingly.

  "What if comes out here?"

  "I'll take my chances on that," he said. "You just keep your fuckin' mouth shut after you get home or you might find yourself a victim of friendly fire next time we're at post together."

  "Jesus," Jack said as he heard Missy's soft footsteps on the stairway. He could see the bobbing beam of a flashlight moving back and forth as she worked her way upward.

  "I mean it, dickwad," Jeff threatened.

  "Hi guys," Missy said with a giggle as she shined the flashlight on the two of them. "What's up?"

  "Turn off that light," Jack yelled at her. "You're spotlighting us for God's sake!"

  "Oh, good idea," she said with another giggle. "Skip might be out there." She clicked it off. "Wouldn't want him to spoil our little party, would we?"

  "Hell no," Jeff said, picking up the half-joint on the table. "Wanna get high, baby?"

  "There's a lot of things I wanna get tonight," she said seductively.

  "And there's a lot of things I wanna give," Jeff assured her. "Come on, let's leave Captain America here to keep a diligent watch. I'll show you the master bedroom. It's real nice."

  "Does it have a nice bed in it?" she asked.

  "Queen sized, baby. Queen sized."

  A moment later they disappeared through the doorway, Missy's flashlight once again lighting their way. With an angry sigh Jack went back to doing his job. Before long the sound of giggles, moans, and grunts began to drift down the hallway accompanied by the squeaking of bedsprings.

  Missy slipped away at about 11:30, just before the change of watch. Jeff came back up shortly afterward, reeking of pot, booze, and sex though in a much better mood than he had been in when he had gone down.

  "Now that," he told Jack in the darkness, "is what post-comet life is all about. Sex, drugs, and more sex. I'm tellin' you, that bitch knows how to fuck. And she can slob the old knob with the best of 'em. I might just dump Carrie to the sideline and have Missy move in with me instead. That kinda poontang I can handle every night."

  Jack did not favor this with a reply, he simply kept staring out into the darkness, looking and listening for intruders. Thirty minutes later, when the clock struck midnight, Rob Handy, who had been in Garden Hill cleaning a swimming pool when the impact occurred, relieved Jeff. Jack, as usual, was scheduled for a double shift, until 6:00 AM. After one last gentle threat to Jack to keep his mouth shut about what had happened, Jeff headed back to his assigned house. Ten minutes later, after a few condescending comments, Rob was sound asleep and snoring on the bed. With another sigh, Jack maintained his watch.

  When he was relieved at 6:00 AM by Christine and her partner de jur, Laura Fletcher, he walked listlessly back to the community center building to grab some breakfast. The official breakfast service took place at 8:00 but the kitchen staff always served some early meals to those going on and coming off watch. Jack preferred the low-key atmosphere of the pre-meal service as compared to the rowdy chaos that accompanied the official service. When he entered the gym the smell of hash browns and pancakes filled the air and his stomach immediately began to gurgle in anticipation.

  "You look extra-hungry this morning," said Stacy Keagan, the pregnant twenty-year-old who always seemed to be on kitchen duty. Stacy was somewhat of an outcast in the town, just like Jack. She was not a town woman. Like all of the men, her job had been what had brought her to Garden Hill on that fateful day. She had been one of two employees on duty at the Starbucks franchise in the strip mall. Though she was not the only woman who had been pregnant at the time of impact she was by far the most advanced in the process - her belly bulged outward with six-months of swelling - and she was the only one whose "condition" had been outside of the bounds of legal matrimony. These two facts combined with her decidedly un-Garden Hill-like appearance - she had short, died-black hair and a nose piercing with a gold stud - had guaranteed her second-class citizen status in the hierarchy of the town.

  "It's been a long night," Jack told her, watching as she shoveled a double helping of hash browns and an extra pancake onto his plate. "Is all of that for me?"

  She offered him a smile, the first he had ever seen her offer anyone. "You work twice as hard as anyone else around here," she told him. "Why shouldn't you get a little extra chow at mealtime? Just don't rat me out, okay? That bitch Jessica would have a shitfit about it."

  "Mum's the word," he told her, returning the smile. He was surprised that she was talking to him. Stacy was usually one of the quietest people in town. She was also one of the most talked about in gossip circles. The women loved speculating upon just who the father of her illegitimate child was. Jack had heard Jessica and several of her cronies advance the firm conviction that it must be "a nigger" that had knocked her up. Why else wouldn't she tell people who he was?

  "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked him, grabbing a plate of her own once she handed him his. "You're the last of the guard detail to stagger in and I just have enough time to get a little down myself before I gear up for the main breakfast.

  "Uh... sure," Jack said shyly. "Be my guest."

  She gave him another smile and began to fill her plate with food. When she was finished she waddled her way along next to him to one of the tables. They sat down next to each other and began to tear into their food.

  "I hate the morning service," she said as she cut up her pancake with a fork. "The little alien doesn't like me to be up this early."

  "The little alien?"

  "That's what I call the baby," she said, patting her large stomach affectionately. "Remember that movie? That's what it feels like to have something growing inside of you. It's weird."

  "I bet," he said doubtfully, unable to think of anything else.

  They continued to chat idly about various subjects, mostly their work schedules and their respective jobs. Jack was unsure at first of just what her motivation was for engaging him in conversation. Usually when the town women talked to him in a friendly manner it was because they were either trying to ingratiate themselves with one of Skip's "kids" or were trying to hit him up for personal information about Skip. But Stacy did not seem to fit this category. As they talked and as the words began to flow more easily from their mouths, Skip's name did not come up at all. It occurred to him that maybe Stacy just craved human company and that he was the only one who would provide it for her without making snide remarks or bei
ng condescending. If that was so he was glad to be the one to give it to her since, necessarily, it meant that she had no snide remarks or condescending tones of her own to offer him.

  He told her an abbreviated version of how he had come to be in the mountains on that particular Thursday afternoon.

  "Your mom was a wildlife photographer?" she said. "That's like, so cool. What magazines was she in?"

  "Oh... National Geographic a few times, Life Magazine once, and a couple times a year the Sierra Club magazine would publish her shots. Those were the ones she was really proud of. Most of her work was just for home display or for the UC Berkeley paper." He felt a pang of sadness wash over him as he thought of her emerging from her darkroom with the latest batch of shots from her outings. "You know, it's funny," he told Stacy. "Me and Christine used to hate it when she would force us to sit down and look at another stack of her stupid animal pictures. But now... now I'd give anything to be able to be annoyed by them just one more time."

  Stacy nodded, patting him on the shoulder companionably. "I know what you mean," she said. "My mom used to tell me I was too skinny, that I didn't eat enough, that I wasn't taking care of myself. After I started growing the little alien she got even worse. 'Stacy, you're not gaining enough weight for that baby, ' she would say. Or 'Stacy, are you taking your vitamins the way you're supposed to?' I swear, I wanted to kill her sometimes. But like you said..." she sniffed a little, a single tear running down her face, "if I could just hear her voice one more time." She looked over at him, embarrassed for herself. "I'm sorry. We hardly know each other and I'm crying in front of you. Us pregnant women don't have a lot of control over our emotions."

  "It's okay," he said. "Really. There's been a lot to cry about since that day and not a lot of time to do it in. I understand."

  She smiled again, wiping away the tear. "You're a sweetheart," she said. "Thanks for putting up with me. There are not a whole lot of people in this town that I can talk to. I'm not exactly one of the girls."