by S L Dearing
“Aliens?” Jim asked, echoing the disbelief that even Tommy harbored in his mind.
“Then I thought maybe it’s all just a dream, you know?” Tommy continued, ignoring James’ question. “Maybe I got too drunk in Vegas and got hit by a car. Maybe I’m sitting in a hospital, in a coma, and I’m imagining all this.”
“Does this feel like a dream?”
Tommy frowned. “No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t smell like a dream, it doesn’t feel like a dream, it doesn’t taste or sound like a dream, and it sure as hell doesn’t look like a dream. But the alternative is that all this is real, and that sucks worse than thinking I’m just dying in a coma.”
The pair rode in silence until the boat came to rest on the far shore.
Chapter Eight
Tommy felt the excitement burn inside him, knowing he was in the last leg of the journey to the Grand Canyon. He allayed the fears that he would find the Canyon, like the rest of the world, abandoned, by constantly reviewing the pamphlet in the backpack. Someone had planted the brochure on a pile of rocks outside L.A., and he had to believe that they were hoping for survivors, like himself.
He put the brochure away and pulled out the last filled water bottle. Only a few mouthfuls remained in the bottle. Swishing a little water into his mouth, he drank deeply, letting the cool water rush down his throat and into his stomach. The sun beat down from above, once again shining in a cloudless sky. The heavy thunderstorm they had the past week seemed like an eternity ago, and the small amounts of drinkable water they’d found in the meantime were almost gone.
The Grand Canyon, and the area around it, was always fairly well established with sparse trees and scrub brush. With the new streams providing water to former desert lands, and without humanity keeping the wilderness at bay, it had grown into a practical jungle. Despite his fatigued arms, Tommy hacked at thick vines and thin trees block their way with the hatchet.
He knew that the overland route was the quickest route from Las Vegas, but it was a double-edged sword. By cutting overland, they eliminated nearly a hundred miles of backtracking that would have had to be done otherwise. The overland route, however, meant growing exhausted even quicker with the extra effort required. It also meant they burned through the last of their rations fairly quickly, since they needed to maintain their strength. Thirst and hunger had become his steady companions, sharing the trail with him and James.
He could hear the rushing of water ahead as he approached another stream. Streams like these hadn’t existed months ago, before the Rapture. As the dams failed and water flowed into previously dry regions, they cut their own paths. No maps would show their new courses, and Tommy thanked whoever would listen when he stumbled upon one.
Pushing through the brush, he saw the shallow stream. The water cascaded over jutting rocks, leaving the entire fast-moving stream in a perpetual state of white water. The air around the water smelled pungent, like organic rot. Beneath the bubbling waters, Tommy saw that it wasn’t just rocks that caused the white water. Brush and thick clusters of grass were drowned by the newly formed river, adding to the smell of wet decay.
Tommy began his water routine after lowering his pack to the ground. The fast-moving water gave Tommy hope since it moved contaminants downstream much quicker, not giving them the chance to fester in stagnant water.
He admired the clear water within after pulling the full jar from the stream. A few bits of debris swirled in the glass, sediment rolling through the water. Tommy pulled free the box of matches. The match ignited quickly and he let the flame dance in front of his vision for a second before placing the match head against the water. The match fizzled as it touched the water. With a hiss, the match was extinguished.
For a second, Tommy simply stared at the burnt match, expecting the water to flare into blue or green flames. When it didn’t, he gingerly pushed the jar over and let the water roll onto the damp ground.
Tommy slid to the edge of the water and scooped a handful of water into his palm. Lowering his head to his palm, he slurped the water from his hand. The water was cool as it flowed over his gullet. It tasted rancid in his mouth, however, and his senses immediately revolted against the smell and taste. Rationalizing the smell as part of the plant rot, he took another drink, followed by another.
Tommy laughed loudly, sounding like a giddy child, as he lowered his face into the water, drinking directly from the stream.
When he had drunk his fill, he reached behind him and pulled free the plastic bottles. One by one, he began filling them from the rushing water.
From over his shoulder he heard James politely clear his throat. Engrossed in filling the bottles, Tommy ignored his friend.
“Tommy,” James said, a tinge of disgust clouding his words. “Stop drinking.”
Tommy shook his head, sending droplets of water cascading from his beard.
“Tommy, stop drinking,” Jim said more sternly.
Smiling, Tommy turned toward his concerned friend. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Jim motioned up river. Following his gaze, Tommy’s smile immediately faded. Upstream, only a few hundred feet, a rotting deer’s head jutted from the center of the stream. The water cascaded around and through the rotting carcass, carrying its decay in the water from which Tommy was drinking.
Tommy turned aside, shoved his finger down his throat, and forced himself to vomit. There was a chance the decaying deer would have no impact on the section of water from which he drank, but the bacteria and filth associated with decomposition could make him violently ill.
He threw up onto the ground. His bile was mostly water, since he had little food in his stomach, and he vomited until he reached the point of dry heaving. His sides ached from the exertion, and he collapsed onto the damp ground when he was done.
Panic ran through his mind. He had vomited as quickly as he could, but there was no promise it was fast enough. As fatigued and dehydrated as he was, his body would absorb the water quickly. There was no telling if the toxins were already working their way through his body, except to wait until later and find out.
Chapter Nine
Fever burned Tommy’s skin as he rolled across the cool ground. The muddy earth absorbed the cool evening air, but it did little to fight off the sickness that burned through Tommy’s blood.
He tried to sleep, to give his body a chance to recover, but he was denied rest. Every time he began drifting off, his stomach clenched and he was forced to roll away and purge. The fact that nothing remained in his digestive system mattered little to the poison in his system.
The fever made him sweat away what little moisture he still had in his body. The water not stolen by sweat or vomiting was taken during multiple bouts of diarrhea.
Sickness muddled his thoughts as he lay beneath the sea of twinkling stars. The only prevalent thoughts that broke through the haze over his mind were thoughts of discouragement and disappointment. He and James were so close to the Grand Canyon, having traveled for so long to get there. To make so rudimentary a mistake at the end was careless. If he couldn’t overcome his sickness, then he knew how his story would end: he would die in the wilderness. It was ironic that there were so few people left in the world that every death was significant, but no one would ever know about the loss. No one would ever come to visit his grave. He would simply fade away, without as much as a footnote in the annals of history.
The night faded to day and the day again to night. Jim sat by his side, keeping watch through Tommy’s fevered vision. Sweat soaked through his clothes and he tore at his beard, trying to relieve some of the heat contained in his body. Slowly, the diarrhea abated, as did the constant urge to vomit. He knew the fever was receding as well, but Tommy wasn’t sure it really mattered much. Even if he recovered from the poisoning, he wasn’t sure he had the strength remaining to finish the trip. Their food was practically gone, and they no longer had any drinkable water. Even the small amount of palatable that had remained when they came upon the stream had been
mixed with the tainted water, spoiling the whole batch. For a while, he considered going further upstream and collecting more water, but there was no telling how many other dead animals littered the stream. He’d live in constant fear that his next drink would be just as toxic. His body couldn’t fight off another sickness.
That night, his thoughts faded away to blissful oblivion and Tommy finally fell asleep.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, the sun shone brightly through the trees. Tommy weakly raised a hand to block out the light. He tried sitting up, but lacked the strength.
“Take it easy,” Jim cooed as he came over to his friend’s side.
“I’m almost surprised to still see you here,” Tommy croaked. “I figured you’d be long gone.”
James smiled. “Where would I go?”
Tommy pushed himself up to a sitting position, despite his abdomen screaming in protest. His muscles felt like jelly, and even holding himself up in a seated position took extreme effort.
Slowly, he shook his head. “I’m not sure I can do this, Jim.”
The admission of his weakness brought a painful lump to his throat. Dry tear ducts burned with the effort to make tears. Tommy sat forward and sobbed into his lap.
“I’m sorry, Jim. I’m just so tired.”
James put a hand on his back. “Your apology isn’t accepted, Tommy. You brought me hundreds of miles on foot so we could get to the Grand Canyon. You convinced me that the people who left the message were real. You showed me that you were strong enough not to give up when the rest of the world disappeared and left you alone. I won’t accept that you’re going to quit right here, when your goal is so close.”
Jim stood up and scowled down at Tommy. “Now get up! We have a mission to finish. Get up!”
Tommy looked up at his friend.
“You can do this, Tommy. Now get up!”
The threat of disappointing his only friend ignited a fire within him. Tommy climbed slowly to his feet, though his knees threatened to buckle from the effort. With James leading the way and yelling encouragement, Tommy forded the shallow river and pushed into the brush beyond.
The walk was grueling. Tommy tripped often, and every time he had to right himself it became a bigger challenge. His body moved beyond fatigue and dehydration. Hunger was left far behind as his body fought against every step he took.
Ahead of him, the ground sloped upward, and Tommy sobbed at the effort. No longer standing upright, Tommy crawled, alternating pushing with his feet and pulling against roots of the trees ahead of him. Rain, unexpected streams, and creeks had carved the hill into small ravines of soft earth. His toes lost purchase and the roots of the plants pulled free of the loose ground. Falling forward, a cloud of dust erupted from the impact of his face.
“Get up, Tommy!” James screamed angrily. “You’re almost at the top! Come on, Tommy, don’t you quit on me now!”
Feeling the burn of disappointing failure aching in his chest, Tommy dragged himself upward, his body lacking the strength to stand upright. The thick plants gave way to wispy grasses and the trees parted, allowing in bright sunlight.
The hill leveled out as Tommy dragged himself onto the flat plateau. Over him, blocking out the brightest of the sunlight, Jim looked down and smiled broadly.
“You made it,” James whispered.
“I made it up the hill,” Tommy echoed.
“No, Tommy. You made it to the Grand Canyon.”
Stunned, Tommy pushed himself off his belly, sitting up until he rested on his knees. Spread before him in panoramic beauty, the Grand Canyon stretched as far as he could see. A half-fallen railing marked the entrance to a trail, leading the way down the steep cliff-face to the Colorado River below.
“We made it,” Tommy cried as much from relief as exhaustion.
He pushed himself up, stood on unsteady legs, and looked across the beautiful view. Pulling the brochure free of the pack, he looked at the faded photograph, admiring how much more impressive it looked in real life.
“You know they’d be at the bottom of the canyon, near the river, if they’re here at all,” James explained, standing behind him as Tommy enjoyed the view.
Tommy nodded, feeling rejuvenated. “It’s not going to be an easy climb down. You sure you’re up for it?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Jim replied, his voice growing faint. “I’m just a figment of your imagination.”
Tommy turned and stared at the empty space behind him. He followed his crawl marks as they crested the top of the hill, but found no other footprints.
Looking down briefly at the brochure, he looked out over the Grand Canyon. He longed to find the strangers at the bottom of the canyon.
Tommy hoped they really existed, because he’d been alone for so very long.
WHAT IF
JOCELYN SANCHEZ
Dedicated to:
My best friend Dorotea Conklin
Author Info:
Jocelyn Sanchez is a student that enjoys spending her hours reading and writing. She gains inspiration from her favorite authors, books and family. She one day hopes to publish her books and inspire others to write as well.
You can connect with Jocelyn at:
http://www.facebook.com/jocelyn.sanchez.359
What If
We ran through the streets. Away from the monsters that have taken over our world. You ever heard of the zombie apocalypse? Well it’s like this but a hundred times worse. Our world has been taken over by zombies, werewolves, and vampires. Their goal: to eliminate all the humans in the world. Our objective: make it through the night and look for help.
I’m Jocelyn and I’m traveling with my best friend, Dorotea. Together we might stand a chance, or we might not. We were trying to quietly get into the abandoned warehouse that the monsters avoid because of all the silver and metals it contains. We almost made it there but then someone grabbed Dorotea and she screamed. I turned quickly to help her but it was too late. The zombie bites her and she screamed again. She was now one of them. I had to leave her, despite the ache in my stomach for doing so.
I ran and made it in, almost getting grabbed by a vampire. They all hissed at me but stayed away. Okay, you made it, Jocelyn, now think!! I wander around the warehouse when I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I grabbed my bag and took out the colt revolver I had in it and took aim.
“Wait,” a voice called. “Don’t shoot,” the person said as they walked into the light. I let out a gasp.
“Marco?” I whisper, “You’re alive?” I grab him into a hug.
“Yea, it’s me and Mia only though. Where’s Dorotea?”
I shake my head and look down
“She’s gone?” he asked
“Worse,” I whisper and look up, “she’s a zombie now.”
Marco closed his eyes and shakes his head from side-to-side. “Well how much supplies do you have left?”
“I have two water bottles left and a few matches. But I’m running out of ammo.”
“We were just headed to the police station to see if they have any supplies,” Marco said as Mia walked up to them. “You want to come?”
“Let’s go,” I say and we walk off.
We look around the warehouse to see the best place to leave through without being seen. We finally find a way out without any monsters finding us. We walked as fast and quiet as we could. We made it to the police station when we heard a laugh.
“Run in and look for weapons!” I yell. “I will cover our backs!” I go to take out my gun but can’t find it. I turned around and froze. Standing right behind me was Dorotea. And she was holding my gun in her hand…
CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN
NICKI SCALISE
Dedicated to:
Jon: who believes in me with the patience of a saint, Jannah: my partner in crime and Wimbley: my sweet little protector and keeper of my heart.
Author Info:
Nicki Scalise lives in Colorado with her husband, 4 dogs and chinc
hilla. She is co-founder of A Thousand Lives Book Blog. When not reading and reviewing books she spends her time creating strange and unusual crafts, painting, and working as a dog groomer.
You can read Nicki’s book reviews and general ramblings at:
http://thousandlivesbookblog.blogspot.com
http://www.facebook.com/Pageturnersbookaddicts
Cheyenne Mountain
It’s fall but soon the cold will be upon us. I can feel it in my bones and in the depths of my soul. I know if we have an early snowfall that we won’t make it to Cheyenne Mountain, and then we’re as good as dead. A death from the cold would be welcome in comparison to how all my friends and family perished, hunted as they were by the Anathema. Dubbed so by the media, who or what the Anathema are I can’t say for sure. Some said they were demons or vampires or evil spirits. I’m not sure it even really matters anymore. The Anathema are unstoppable, unkillable, and have a sole mission: total annihilation of the human race. They have almost succeeded.
My dog, a small black and tan dachshund named Wimbley, and I have been on the road for days. Making the long trek on foot from our home town in northern Colorado to the southern part of the state where Cheyenne Mountain resides. In the early weeks of the “apocalypse”, it was thought that Cheyenne Mountain would be a safe haven for survivors. Rumors flew that the high ranking officials of the government and armed forces are taking refuge there. I think it may be a false hope; a cockamamie notion dreamed up by those who have seen too many Hollywood blockbuster films. A false hope it may be, but it’s the only hope I have left.
The trek has been slow going as we must calculate every step we take to avoid being caught by the Anathema. In better times what would have been a three hour car ride has taken the better part of a week. I curse myself for not being brave enough to leave sooner when a car might have still been an option. Most of the roadways are now clogged with abandoned vehicles; abandoned either because they ran out of fuel or the Anathema came upon them.