America's Sunset: A Post Apocalyptic Fight for Survival

by Norman Christof

  “Where’s Chase, Daddy? Did he come with you? Can we go home now?”

  “Yes,” Dawson said trying to sound convincing. He wasn’t sure which question he was answering. He was caught in the moment and holding his girl. Thoughts raced through his mind now of all his bad decisions. How decisions he’d made brought his family into this predicament. He remembered something his father used to tell him: ‘Only you are responsible for you. You’re in the place you’re in because you choose to be there. You’re with the people you’re with because you choose to be with those people. Your life is yours and yours alone to do with what you want.’ As a young man, Dawson heard his father say those words so many times that it was all white noise. His father always spoke with conviction, but sometimes to deaf ears. Today, though, those words resonated with Dawson. Like something he’d been staring at for a long time, but never really saw till just now. It’s one thing to believe that a thing is true, but it’s another to take that thing into your heart and live it. It was time, he thought. Time to start living like he meant it.

  Dawson brought his face closer to Veronica’s in the hopes that they could see each other. The dark made it impossible. He didn’t really care when he answered Veronica with conviction this time. He could hear and feel her breath though. “I had to leave Chase back there, but don’t worry. We’ll go back for him, and then when we do, this family will go home. I promise.”

  Dawson put Veronica on her feet. “Are you OK to stand, kiddo?”

  “Yes, I can. Of course.”

  “Alright then, I want you to hold onto the back of my shirt as we find our way out of this mess. It’s going to be dark, but as long as we stick together, we’ll get to where we need to be.”

  “Alright, Daddy.”

  Dawson stood and paused till he felt her grip on the back of his shirt. He headed off down the tunnel as he formulated a plan in his mind.

  Chapter 43 ~ Resolve

  After moving through the tunnels for what felt like more than an hour, Dawson finally decided he’d had enough and slumped down against the wall. Veronica joined him, silently curling up in his lap. The only sound they heard was their own breathing. Dawson wiped sweat off his forehead, and was grateful for the cool damp of the walls. Between the tension of the situation and the physical exertion of working his way through the maze, Dawson was exhausted. The size of the tunnels was astounding. They must have been built by a number of people over years … if not generations. Desperation is a powerful motivator.

  In spite of the gravity of the situation, Dawson's mind wandered. Slaves would have risked their lives just to build these tunnels. To be found in the tunnels would mean certain death at the hands of their owners. To allow even one slave to escape would have looked bad, and encouraged others to try. The owners would have made examples of anyone caught in the act. Dawson wondered how many had escaped through the tunnels. He wondered what was going through their minds down here. Excitement? Anticipation? Fear? Uncertainty? They must have spent days or longer in the tunnels while angry men and dogs searched for them just a few feet over their heads. They would have lived all that time in the round room with the table and crude beds, rationing whatever food and water they managed to bring with them. Hiding in the dark for that long must have been terrifying and confusing. They would have lost all track of time and sense of night or day.

  The longer they had spent down here, the more chance their owners would have given up the search. Then, once the searchers gave up, the slaves would have made their break for freedom. Dawson never heard Bert talk about the fact that his ancestors were slave owners. He wondered how many actually made their way to freedom in these tunnels. They had a lot to lose by being down here, but so much to gain.

  Veronica started humming a song that his mother used to sing to him. He never sung it to Veronica. His mother must have sung it to Veronica as a baby. He wondered how his mother was doing during all of this … and his ex Lisa. It had been so long since he thought of her. So caught up in all of the events since the CME, he hadn’t had time to think of anyone that wasn’t right in front of him. He hoped their problems weren’t nearly as dire as his.

  Dawson hummed the song with Veronica. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed hard. It was a simple tune, but catchy. There were words to it, but he couldn't remember them. They hummed the same simple pattern over and over, till they both nodded off together in the dark and the damp.

  Dawson dreamed he was riding horses, but not at a rodeo. Through open fields at his family farm. He was riding that big black stallion he used to be so scared of as a kid. His dad always had some excuse as to why Dawson could never ride it. Even though he was scared of it, there was something about the animal that made Dawson want to ride it. He pestered his dad for years, about riding it. By the time he was old enough to stop asking for permission, the stallion was too old and lame to take riders. Dawson always figured his dad sensed Dawson’s fear of the horse and was protecting him.

  The stallion was called Blackjack, because his dad said the day Blackjack was born was when his luck turned. Dawson’s dad wasn’t a gambler, but he knew a good hand when he saw one. The family had always done OK with the farm. His father loved horses more than anything, so they kept a few in spite of not making much money from them. Certainly not enough to feed a family. The cash crops were a lot of work, but they paid for the essentials and a few extras like the small stable of horses.

  Then a financial downturn in the area forced three nearby cities to amalgamate. The first big project of the newly formed metropolis was a new highway to service the larger population. City engineers called for that highway to go through farmland. Dawson’s family farm specifically. The farm had been in the family for generations, so Dawson’s father fought tooth and nail to keep it. The city wouldn’t relent, and eventually brought the governor’s office into the conflict. Dawson’s father had no choice but to sell. The good news was that because he’d been so resistant for so long, the city kept upping their offering price. When the state got involved, the money nearly doubled, and it became too good a deal to turn down.

  Blackjack was born the day the deal was signed. Dawson remembered his dad telling the story about city lawyers waiting around the kitchen table while his dad was in the barn helping the vet with Blackjack’s birth. They’d been up most of the night. Before he’d even had a chance to clean up, he sat down at the kitchen table with the lawyers. They proceeded to explain the final changes to the deal, as lawyers like to do. Dawson’s dad fell asleep right then and there at the table. His mother had to wake him up to sign the papers. From that day on, they poured the newfound government money and their time into becoming a horse farm. The city got what it wanted, and Dawson’s family entered the horse business. It wasn’t long after that when Dawson started his rodeo career.

  Dawson woke suddenly with a start. There was gunfire in the distance that went on and on. The fog of sleep made Dawson groggy. Blackjack and the song they’d been humming were in his head. How long had he been asleep? In the dreary half slumber of waking up, it occurred to him that the tunnels were laid out in a pattern. There was a cycle to it, like the cycle of the song they’d been humming. There had to be some easy way to navigate the tunnels. Some way for the slaves to come down and find their way to the sleeping room. They wouldn’t have risked writing it down. Someone might have found it then. They were smart; they would have made it something simple that they all understood. He’d been racing around so frantically that he hadn’t had time to think.

  He woke Veronica and had her follow him down the tunnels. They occasionally heard voices in the distance, but Dawson was focused on the task at hand. He broke a small stick off of one of the support beams, and started gouging deep marks on the walls they passed. Numbered marks, just at Veronica’s height. As they wandered the passageways, Veronica kept her hands on the wall, let him know whenever they repeated their steps, and what number she felt. Dawson slowly figured out the pattern of the tunnels. Now,
he just had to make his way back to the circle room and rescue the others.

  * * *

  Bert had a fix on the exits before the lights went out. He didn’t have a particular plan in mind, but it was bugging the hell out of him that he couldn’t remember his way around the place. He played for hours in these tunnels as a kid, and never worried about finding his way out. He couldn’t ever remember being frightened or scared … except for that one time getting lost with Patrick. That was sort of fun though. An adventure. This was different. Damn, but he hated growing old. It was so easy back then, wasn’t it? The mind has a way of blocking out painful memories, Bert thought. Maybe there was too much nostalgia creeping through his brain, and not enough realism. Maybe that’s what senility feels like. That’s not so bad, he supposed.

  For the moment though, Bert wasn’t willing to concede to old age. He tried hard to remember Patrick’s face, and some of the adventures they’d had down in the tunnel. Smatterings of Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth came to mind. It was one of his favorite books as a kid. He didn’t read a lot, as there was always work to be done on the farm, and his father wasn’t much of a reader. He allowed Bert to indulge in it as a kid, but as he got older farm responsibilities took priority. In the tunnels though, they’d pretend to be in search of those volcanic tubes that were supposed to take them to the very center of the earth. Bert would be Professor Otto, Patrick would play the part of the guide Hans, and William played the part of the cowardly Axel. Bert remembered not liking William much. He hadn’t even read the book, so it seem fitting punishment to make him play the part of Axel.

  Then, just before the lights died, Bert remembered. He remembered why they never got lost in the tunnels, and how to get them all out. He even remembered this room. This room was where they acted out the prehistoric lands from the book. That part of the book always scared the crap out of him … no wonder he couldn’t remember this room. Part of him didn’t want to. Bert leaned in and whispered to Maggie, “I’ve remembered how to get out of here. If we get a chance, stay close to me and I'll dash for that exit.” He motioned to the middle passageway. Maggie repeated the message to Jake, but before he got a chance to repeat it to Dawson, the lights went out and Dawson was flying across the table to rescue Veronica.

  Chapter 44 ~ Left Behind

  Luck did not favor Chase today. He didn’t know where everyone else had gone, and here he was, still a captive. In the confused darkness, everyone did their best to escape, but he managed to run straight into the arms of the two worst guys in the place. It was still pitch black, his hands were bound with twist ties, and he was leashed to Harish. They wandered the tunnels for a while, looking for a way out, when the gunfire broke out. Ahmed tried unsuccessfully to find the source, but ran them in circles. Still, they followed Ahmed, who was as determined as ever to find his way out. Ahmed stopped speaking in English, except when barking orders to Chase. Primarily, he ordered him to keep up or he’d bury him where he stood.

  Chase was convinced he’d die in the tunnels. He’d never been so terrified in his life. Still, he did his best to keep up. It wasn’t easy, as they’d loosely tied his ankles. Running away in the dark would have been difficult, even before tying his ankles … now it was impossible.

  Even his little sister managed to get away, but here he was, stuck with these terrorist school dropouts. He tried thinking of all the different military video game scenarios he’d played, to come up with an escape plan. Nothing came to mind that didn’t involve either superhuman powers or a comically-massive gun that weighed as much as he did. He couldn’t decide whether he was bothered more by the fact that he was the only prisoner, or that his own father had deserted him. He hadn’t abandoned hope that Dawson might come to his rescue, but given his father’s track record, that didn’t seem a likely scenario.

  Ahmed and Harish picked up the pace and started talking in rapid Arabic. At least Ahmed did. Harish kept throwing in pieces of English to supplement his broken Arabic. Chase caught the words ‘light’ and ‘exit’ from Harish, but that was about it. He managed to keep up with them, even though they were more intent on what lay ahead than Chase falling behind. Suddenly, their conversation became excited. They must have found the exit, he thought. Chase realized that he desperately wanted out of the tunnels, even if it was with these two. The alternative was being left behind, bound in the dark and alone. The prospect of being held prisoner seemed a better proposition for the moment. At least he’d be out of this tomb and back into the real world … back into the sunlight.

  Chapter 45 ~ Bloodied

  As Dawson made it back to the circle room with Veronica in tow, he thought the room was empty. Then he heard footsteps coming from the room. The light deprivation was getting to him. Losing one sense was supposed to make the other senses stronger, so he wondered if his hearing was getting better, or if it was just his imagination. If his hearing was getting better, then so would everyone else’s. Did it happen this fast? He thought of how some singers closed their eyes while singing. Must be something to do with focusing their minds. He’d seen athletes do it too.

  He turned and put a finger to Veronica’s lips. She nodded her head in agreement. They crept to the entrance of the room without being noticed. The footsteps were on the other side, but coming closer. He put his hand on Veronica’s shoulder and they both crouched. The footsteps closed in and Dawson could feel Veronica tremble. Whoever it was was just pacing the room; the steps moved past. Instinctively, Dawson strained and squinted his eyes, but to no avail. He really couldn’t tell who the footsteps belonged to. They were heavy, like a man’s. The soft dirt floor muffled the sound. The second time he passed by Dawson made an effort to quietly breathe deep and get a whiff of the person. Who was he kidding? It smelled like a sweaty male. That didn’t help at all; it could be any of the men. Veronica was shaking now, and Dawson grew fearful that in spite of her best efforts she’d give them away. They were lucky not to be noticed on their approach. Retreating at this point wasn’t an option. The pattern Dawson was following directed them to the passageway on the other side of the room. There was no way the two of them would make it across without being noticed.

  Dawson quietly coaxed Veronica into a relaxed sitting position. On the third pass of the steps, Dawson rose from his crouching position. As he did, two thoughts raced through his mind. First, he hoped that his old knees wouldn’t creak as they often did when he stood; a painless condition that seemed to get worse during his military career. Secondly, he hoped his hand-to-hand combat skills were still instinctive.

  He was about to find out the hard way, as his knees betrayed him, cracking loudly and prompting the other man to call out something in Arabic. Dawson thought for a split second about Veronica, then flew into action.

  Dawson dropped his shoulder and ran like a linebacker in the direction of the footsteps. He hit his opponent off center, but enough to knock him down, and at the same time send Dawson crashing into the wall. The man spoke what sounded like a curse as Dawson regrouped and picked himself up.

  “Daddy!” Veronica called out.

  “Quiet,” Dawson responded back, afraid that his opponent would turn on Veronica.

  Instead, the man used the sound of Dawson’s voice to turn the attack back on him. He was on top of Dawson in an instant, pummeling him with blows. They were wild and misguided punches, but enough landed to do damage. Veronica shuffled back against the wall. Dawson raised his arms to deflect the blows, and struggled to get out from under the big man. He was heavy and strong. One well landed blow would be enough to knock Dawson unconscious.

  Dawson could feel adrenaline coursing through him. This wasn’t just about him. If he didn’t get out from under, then the man would be after Veronica next. Or worse, she’d run off into the tunnels and be on her own in the dark. Dawson rolled and twisted back and forth, trying to shake off the beast of a man. The man barely budged, but eventually Dawson got enough leverage with his strong leg to knock him off bal
ance. As the man righted himself, the beating stopped for just a second. Dawson took his opportunity, dropped his guard, and started landing blows to the man’s mid-section. It was all he could reach. As the man shifted to protect himself, Dawson bucked harder with his legs. The man twisted and turned, trying to regain control, when Dawson’s next punch landed square on his kidney. The beast crumpled inward for just a split second, but it was long enough for Dawson to gain the upper hand.

  He pushed the beast off and immediately pinned him. Dawson landed blow after blow to the man’s head. If he could have seen the damage he was doing, he would have stopped sooner. In the dark, fighting for both their lives, he hit the beast repeatedly. As long as he could hear the man breathing, he kept going. Until, that is, he heard Veronica’s voice.

  “Daddy, are you there? Daddy, are you OK? Daddy, what’s happening? Please, Daddy. Stop, Daddy, please.”

  The man wasn’t moving. The only breath Dawson could hear was his own. It was almost as loud as his heartbeat. Veronica's voice sounded from a distance. Her words didn’t register right away, but slowly, he processed them.

  “Stay right there, kiddo.” He sucked in air, trying to slow his breathing. “I’m OK. Don’t come closer.”

  Dawson’s knuckles felt wet and sore, covered in blood that he couldn’t see. He was grateful for that. Even more grateful that Veronica couldn’t see. She wouldn’t understand the savage beating, and he didn’t want to have to explain it to her.

  “Daddy, it smells funny in here.”

  “It’s OK, hon. Just give me a minute. It’s just sweat you smell, like from exercising.”