2136: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

by Matthew Thrush

  I brushed by her and squeezed myself into the middle of the group. Two men were talking about what had happened and I inched my way closer so I could overhear what they were saying.

  ‘The Pavers came in on helicopters and Humvees. A whole army of them,’ one of the men was saying.

  Another chimed in, ‘Who were those prisoners?’

  ‘No idea,’ the first responded. ‘Maybe folks from other districts?’

  ‘But why would they bring them here? We didn't do anything to deserve this.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  The first man looked at me. His eyes darted up and down as he examined my worth in seconds.

  ‘There was an explosion,’ he said.

  ‘A bomb,’ the other corrected. ‘Someone had a bomb.’

  ‘A bomb?’ I asked. ‘Where in the world would they get a bomb?’

  They both shrugged their shoulders.

  ‘And these?’ I indicated with my eyes the piles of burning bodies.

  ‘Casualties,’ they both said.

  ‘That's a lot of casualties...’

  ‘Too many.’

  ‘You're Warren's girl, right?’ the first man asked.

  I didn't respond right away. I hadn't heard anyone refer to me that way in a long time, let alone heard my father's name spoken. It was hard not to think back on his crushed body pinned beneath half the collapsed building as he died in my arms.

  ‘Yeah, that's me,’ I said.

  ‘I'm Steve.’ The man held out his hand and I took it. He gave me a firm squeeze. ‘And this is Bart.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ I said. ‘I'm Willow.’

  ‘Good to meet you. I'm glad you're all right,’ Bart said.

  I didn't answer. I wasn't sure if I was glad to be alive or not. The whole world had gone up in flames and I couldn't remember a thing.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and a familiar voice in my left ear.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Parker asked.

  He nodded to the two other men and they dispersed.

  ‘Fine, I guess. A little confused,’ I said.

  ‘Let me have a look at you.’

  Parker examined my left arm and the bandage around my waist.

  ‘The bandages aren't too tight?’ he asked.

  ‘They feel fine,’ I said.

  ‘Good.’

  He let his arms drop to his sides and turned to face the nearest bonfire.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘There was a bomb.’

  ‘Where did someone get bomb?’ I asked. ‘And why would they want to blow up the town?’

  Parker stuck his right hand in his pocket and held it out to me. He didn't say a word.

  I glanced down at his open palm and saw two metal pins. Were those…?

  ‘Are those grenade pins?’

  He closed his hand into a fist and placed it back into his pocket.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘It's best we speak in private.’

  I didn't budge. Why would he have the pins of two grenades? Then it hit me. The bomb, the explosion; it was Parker. He had caused it.

  Parker led us behind one of the piles of bodies not yet set ablaze and scanned the area for passersby. I didn't wait for him to speak.

  ‘Why did you set off two grenades?’ I hissed through gritted teeth. ‘Half the town is dead. And now we're burning the bodies? What is happening to us?’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ he urged. He had his palms up in defense.

  ‘Parker...what did you do? Lots of people died because—’

  He cut me off with a quick tone.

  ‘The grenades didn't kill anyone,’ he said.

  ‘Then why are so many people dead and burned?’

  ‘The grenades are only partly responsible for the massacre,’ he said. ‘There's more going on than you think.’

  His head swiveled to the side as a group of people walked by. He waited for them to get out of earshot before answering me.

  ‘Just listen,’ he said. ‘I didn't set off the bombs and I don't know who did.’

  ‘Someone else tossed grenades into the crowd?’ I asked. I'm sure he could see my skepticism on my face.

  ‘Trust me—’

  ‘I don't even know you!’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ he pleaded.

  ‘How am I supposed to trust you when you just up and pop out of nowhere into my life? Just because you say you're my uncle doesn't mean I know you. You're as much a stranger to me as one of these bodies.’

  I turned to Parker to relent my disgust. His face was calm as he allowed me to let out my anxiety.

  ‘I know it'll take time to develop a relationship and to build your trust, but you have to take a step of faith. I would never do anything to place you in harm's way,’ he said.

  ‘How do I know that?’ I said, trying to hold back the vomit working its way up my esophagus.

  ‘I don't know,’ he said. ‘We'll just have to try together.’

  ‘Mhmm.’

  The acid in my stomach was turning and it gurgled violently. I wrapped my hands around my waist and cringed from the sudden wave of nausea.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  I shrugged him off. I just needed some space. How was anyone able to not throw up standing in midst of hundreds of burning bodies? The black smoke drifting in the air wasn't exactly sanitary to breathe. The thought that I was breathing in flakes of singed flesh burned to ash only made my stomach twist more.

  My throat started to convulse and it was too late then. I bent over and vomited whatever was inside my stomach. Parker was hovering over me as I poured out my soul onto the blackened ground. After the coughing and the wheezing subsided enough for me to stand erect again, I managed to voice the fears that had been eating away at me from the moment I awoke in a world of chaos and destruction.

  ‘Where's Roxx? I asked.

  Parker's hands fidgeted inside his pockets and his eyes shifted to the left. No one was near us.

  ‘Parker. Where's my godfather?’

  ‘I don't know,’ he finally responded.

  ‘What do you mean, you don't know? You're the one who threw the grenades! You're the one who—’

  The anger in his voice made me halt.

  ‘Listen!’

  His hands grasped my shoulders as he leaned in close. He locked his blue eyes with mine. The force of his pull and the intensity of his gaze should have worried me, but it didn't. I felt—secure.

  ‘I did not set off the grenades. I do not know where your uncle is. All I know is, someone wanted this to happen.’

  ‘What are you saying? Why would anyone want hundreds of innocent people to die? They didn't even do anything.’ We did. I thought back to the corn husks that the gentleman had brought to Roxx's shop over a week ago. Was all this madness because he had taken the corn? Was killing hundreds of innocent people and possibly inciting a revolution worth five measly ears of corn?

  With more than twenty piles of the collateral damage stacked ten feet high, burning or otherwise set to blaze, I'd say I had my answer.

  Parker's voice cut through my introspection.

  ‘What I'm saying is, we are not safe here any more. We need to go.’

  ‘And go where? There's nowhere else to go. The closest district is over thirty miles away. We'd never make it. We'd die just like them,’ I said, looking at the piles of bodies all around us.

  ‘Willow, I know you're afraid, but you have to trust me. We are not safe here. Someone attacked the Bios—’

  ‘Pavers,’ I corrected.

  ‘Yes, the Pavers. Someone attacked them with these.’ He held up the grenade pins again.

  It was only then that I noticed the black ash on his hands, and the shaking.

  ‘I don't know where your uncle is, but we'll find him. I promise.’

  ‘So he's alive!’ I exclaimed with hopeful excitement.

  Parker nodded his head.

  ‘I have reason to believe that'
s the case,’ he added. ‘When the first bomb went off, the Paver with the gun to your uncle's head was thrust back into the fountain. The gun recoiled into the crowd, shooting a bystander dead, just missing your uncle's head. That was when the excitement really started. Everyone broke into panic. The other Pavers all took position around their fallen leader. I couldn't hear what they were yelling into the crowd over all the noise, but soon more gun shots went off and more bodies tumbled to the ground.’

  ‘What did you do when all of this was happening?’ I asked. ‘Where was I?’

  ‘I was with you,’ he said. ‘You collapsed next to me when the first bomb went off. To be honest, I don't know how you're still alive. The blast from the bomb flung you and hundreds of others backward. I was knocked on my back as well. I was dazed, but conscious. Many weren't as fortunate. Their bodies lay motionless on the ground while those the bomb hadn't hit charged the Pavers. I couldn't hear anything through the ringing in my ears. I didn't realize you had been thrust backwards into the building until the gunfire started. I flopped over on my knees instantly, staying low, and crawled towards you. You were unconscious when I got to you. You had blood oozing from your temple and weren't breathing. I thought you were dead too. I managed to crawl off of the porch with you in tow. It was only when I got us to the side of the building that I was able to analyze the extent of your injuries. I had barely carried you around the corner when the spot where we had just been standing went up in smoke with the second bomb.’

  Parker stopped talking and stood up. He let his hands fall to his sides as another group of men walked by with torches. They said a few words of condolence to the bodies next to us before tossing a torch into the pile. The side of my face burned from the heat as the flame licked up the arms and legs and torsos of every single one of them. The hairs in my nose immediately began to itch from the smell.

  Parker grabbed my hand and led me away.

  ‘It's not safe here,’ he said.

  I didn't have any words with which to fight back. My head was spinning. I stumbled after Parker as he led me through the maze of dead bodies and black smoke.

  ‘Don't worry,’ Parker suddenly said. It was the first time he spoke in a normal voice since—well, since the bombs went off.

  I tried to speak but my tongue refused to cooperate. I squeezed my lips together as hard as I could. I used the back of my sleeve to wipe the spittle that had formed on my cheek and chin.

  Parker walked closer to me as we made our way away from the smoke and bodies burning like erupted volcanoes. The Market looked like a nuke had landed. Large chunks of the buildings were blasted away, and black craters that could easily hold a small car littered the courtyard. I have no idea where Roxx's shop had gone, it was replaced by a deep hole. The entire Market could have been placed into it and still had room to spare.

  Why were there so many holes everywhere? As we walked by the few survivors acting as burial guards and chaplains a thought came to me. Everyone was covered in black soot and ash. But I noticed the ground was blackened not by the fires, but by the oil. Someone had tossed live grenades into a crowd of innocent people with the expectation that they would set off a rippling effect through all of the oil puddles. Parker was right. It was a miracle I was alive. In fact, none of us should be walking. A twinge of remorse and guilt slipped its hand in my conscience as we passed the hole where my uncle's shop used to be. If I hadn't placed all those barrels of black oil in there, his shop might have survived the blast. But the longer we trekked through the fallout of the bombs and the fires, the more I realized that it would have been inevitable. Whoever had thrown the bombs wanted as many people to die as possible. Whether they meant for some of us to survive I could not tell. But one thing was certain, I'd find out who did this and bring them to justice.

  My mind was dappling with conspiracy theories as we left the precinct. Parker had held up two grenade pins, but I suspected there had been more than two. Two grenades could not have caused the amount of destruction we were walking through. Two bombs couldn't wipe out an entire town in a single moment. Not without help, at least.

  I was having a hard time focusing on anything other than all the bodies we were passing. We were on the outskirts of the precinct and even here there were stray corpses lying on the ground. I didn't think the blast radius would have traveled this far, but I could be wrong. I'm not explosive expert. I could only imagine the pain these people must have felt; the fear and the helplessness as they fled for safety, crying out for someone to help them, only to die alone. I couldn't get their faces out of my head. I squeezed my hands against my ears to stamp out the voices.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Parker asked.

  I held my palms firmly against my ears and squinted my eyes.

  ‘I hear them,’ I said. ‘I hear their screams. I hear them calling out for help. I hear the suffering. Oh God, the pain!’

  Parker was close.

  ‘It'll be all right,’ he encouraged. ‘It's not real. Look at me.’

  I opened my right eye and squinted at him through the murky dark.

  He tapped his pointer finger on his chest and said, ‘I'm real.’ And raised my hand and made my finger touch my chest. ‘You're real.’

  He circled his hands in an arch and added, ‘This is all real. Those voices are not real. They are only figments of your subconscious trying to make sense of a senseless situation. There is no reasoning behind it. Do not fight to understand why this happened. Just accept it.’

  ‘It's not that simple,’ I said. ‘They were murdered! Every single one of them...murdered.’

  My voice cracked as my eyes filled with tears.

  Parker raised my chin with his hand so that I could not avert my gaze. His blue eyes were piercing. It was as if those crystal orbs could somehow cut through my walls and run free within the darkest corridors of my mind. All of my darkest, deepest secrets exposed for his probing and certain judgment. But, none of that came. The wrinkles around his eyes creased as his lips formed a half smile. His eyes sparkled. Parker had knelt down and was looking up at me.

  ‘We all are afraid of something, Willow,’ he said. ‘The difference comes with how we respond to that fear.’

  My hands were shaking by my sides. I squeezed my teeth together to keep them from rattling. Parker never shifted his gaze from mine as he took my hands in his. Despite the harsh conditions of the world—the heat, the sand, the wind, and now the burnt ash all along the ground—his hands were surprisingly soft and warm. My chest heaved with the beating of my heart as it slowed its rhythm.

  ‘Even the strongest of us can falter,’ he continued. ‘None of us are immune to the lure of emotion. Fear in and of itself is not bad. It’s what we do with it that defines us. Some have used its power as a source of manipulation and control. While others use it as fuel for courage. All the great heroes of the past were not absent of fear. If anyone was more fearful, it was them.’

  ‘Why don’t you seem afraid then?’ I asked.

  The half smile turned into a full smile with his abnormally bright teeth shining brightly in the looming night.

  ‘I am,’ he said. ‘I just do a good job at hiding it.’ He winked.

  I managed a short grin.

  He knocked me with his knuckles gently on my chin and said, ‘That’s my girl.’

  He stood back up with a grunt and held out his hand to me. I turned to look at the remains of what used to be Precinct 11—my entire life—and my shoulders slouched from the weight of the sight. Most of the buildings that hadn’t been washed away by the hurricane were either burnt to a pile of ash or were still burning. Bullet holes embroidered everything, even the sand. The smoke stacks of the dead puffed their black soot into the night sky as the stars beyond the grey clouds welcomed the dead.

  All that I had known as my home was gone. The Humvees still lined the streets; their doors open. Nothing moved in the Market other than the few relatives saying their final farewells to friends and family before walking away. So
me went north, others went south. With nothing left to salvage, rebuilding wasn’t an option. The fragment of hope that the people still held on to was gone. The Pavers had ensured that with their guns and the bombs.

  So much for the lottery, I thought. I had hoped I would be one of the hundred chosen to go up into the blue floating pyramid off the coast of the North Atlantic, but that didn’t look like a realistic possibility any longer. Proc 1 would remain a fantasy; a blue beacon of immense possibility, a bright new future.

  I turned my back to the past and squared my shoulders for the unknown future ahead. I walked passed Parker without a word. A few moments later I heard the shuffling of feet as he began walking after me.

  At least I had Parker. It was more than anyone else could claim.

  Parker slowed his stride as he caught up with me.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

  I tightened the collar of the jacket and narrowed my eyes into the dark distance ahead.

  ‘To save my trees,’ I said.

  ≈ Chapter 22 ≈

  My hands stroked the crinkled, brown leaves of my dead treelings.

  I had been hopeful that my baby trees would have survived the storm and my absence, but with the world in such a fragile state, everything else was even more so. It was a miracle they had survived this long without the necessary water and sunlight to grow. The fact they each had matured to just over a few inches was astounding. I scooped one of the baby trees from its plastic tubing and cupped it in my hands and sobbed.

  ‘I'm sorry,’ I cried. ‘I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you like I promised.’

  I stroked one of the leaves and it broke off and floated to the ground. I watched as it bobbled left and right like a feather until it finally rested on the red soil by my boots.

  Parker stood at the entrance of my makeshift greenhouse and kept guard in case any Pavers or stray marauders from town decided to come this way and start trouble. The solitary fairgrounds were secluded from the rest of the precinct and I knew no one would come this way. ‘Just in case,’ Parker had insisted.