“Where were you on that day?” Chris thought to ask. It was like asking his folks where they were on the day the Twin Towers fell or Ronald Reagan was shot. And his mind flashed on the memory of the Amtrak Train Bombings, when nearly sixteen hundred commuters and train personnel perished when terrorists detonated multiple bombs placed around New York’s Penn Station. That one had become even more relevant when Carrie had told him that it was how their father Isaac had died, just a few months before Joseph was born. They had never found Isaac Perdue’s body.
The truck shuddered to a stop, and Wes’s face looked grim, “We’re here, gotta walk the rest of the way to get to the high hide,” he said, not answering Chris’s question.
Wes slid out of the cab and grabbed a backpack from the truck bed. He didn’t look back at Chris; he just set off in a southwestern direction, along a barely visible path. Chris stared for a moment at the man’s retreating back and realized if he didn’t follow quickly he would lose him entirely in the dense trees. Within minutes Chris was well and truly lost. He could wander in these woods for hours, hell, maybe days, and never find his way back home. His ankle, now twice-broken and still healing slowly, ached as he picked up the pace. The last thing he wanted to do was lose sight of Wes. He had no doubt the man knew exactly where he was in the dense forest, but Chris himself was disoriented. After walking through thick forest and undergrowth, they were faced with a meadow and high hide. In the middle of the meadow was a salt lick. Silently the two men climbed into the high hide.
Three hours later, as Chris shifted in the high hide, his left side numb from sitting still far too long, Wes finally answered his question.
“I was here,” he said.
For a moment Chris didn’t have a clue what Wes was talking about. But his silence, once broken, opened the floodgates.
“I was sitting here, in this high hide, waiting for a deer when it all went down in town.” Wes pulled his knife out of its sheath, and dug at the wood plank at his feet. “I heard it, of course. We’re what, eight miles from town? Thought it was thunder at first. Wised up pretty quick, but I was too far out. By the time I got to town the water tower was down and the fighting was mostly over.”
Two hundred yards away, Chris could see a deer step out of the woods into a clearing. He didn’t know if he should let Wes finish his story, shoot the deer himself, or what.
He kept an eye on the beast and listened as Wes went on, “I guess you know a little about me. Liza and Carl always hanging together, and Abby and John comin’ down for your weddin’ and all.”
Chris nodded, “I heard your wife took off with your two kids a few years back.”
He hoped this was the politic thing to say, and he didn’t elaborate on the details Abby Carter had given him. Chris didn’t figure it was his place to mention the black eyes, the PTSD and abuse and alcohol. Wes knew the truth, and Chris didn’t think it would be particularly conducive to his continued health to rub it in.
“That was over ten years ago now.” Wes stabbed again at the wood, and still the deer stood in the clearing, calmly munching on the grass, occasionally raising his antlered head and looking around. Wes didn’t seem to notice.
“I don’t blame her.”
Chris made some kind of strangled noise in his throat and Wes scowled at him.
“I know what Abby and half the town says. I was an asshole. I came back from that crazy, hotter ’n hell sand nigger-infested place and I was well and truly messed up. Too many missions gone bad, IEDs, blood in the desert. We didn’t belong there, none of us did. The government sending us to hell. And for what? So they could jack up the price of oil and talk about democracy while good men died for absolutely nothing.”
The deer had four, no, six points, and looked well fed. There was a movement in the trees behind him, and a gorgeous doe stepped out next, head up, watchful.
“I was messed up, and by the time I figured out how bad off I was, Sarah had taken off with Cody and little Laura. I looked for them, God knows I did. I stopped drinking, cleaned up, and kept looking.” Wes stared at Chris and continued, “When it all came apart, when war broke out and they nuked Austin, I knew I’d never find them. It was my fault, and the government, for making me into that messed up piece of crap I had become.”
Chris watched the doe step out further, ears flicking, then nose-down to the grass, tearing off a chunk, slowly chewing it. “Why are you telling me this, Wes?”
The fury that still lurked within Wes surged to the surface and he pulled the action back on his rifle, aimed, and took two shots in quick succession. The two deer that Chris had been eying for the past five minutes fell dead in the clearing, side by side. Chris gaped as Wes slid the rifle back over his shoulder and began to climb down from the high hide, “C’mon, we need to field dress them before nightfall.”
Chris’s work with Fenton on the farm had given him ample preparation for field-dressing the deer, but Wes was able to give him some pointers, “Don’t push the knife in too far, or you’ll rupture the stomach and intestines.” The two deer were strung up by their necks, hanging side by side from a sturdy tree branch. The men stood shoulder-to-shoulder and Chris watched and then mimicked each move Wes made. “Take care with the bladder here,” he said, pointing with his knife towards the spine, “pinch the urethra closed and carefully remove it.”
They worked for a few minutes more in silence, blood and gore covering their hands as they carefully detached the hearts from the lungs and plunged them into a bucket of water Wes had brought with them. The kidneys and livers also followed.
“I know what it’s like to lose someone,” Wes said, unexpectedly after nearly half an hour of terse commands as they finished gutting and prepping the beasts to transport back to the truck. “I had found someone, someone who didn’t give a damn about my wife leaving me. She didn’t judge me for the person I had been, just the person I was when I was with her.”
Chris waited for the older man to continue. Wes strode to a nearby stream, knelt down, and washed his hands and blades in the clear water. Chris did the same, whistling sharply at the chill of the water. It wasn’t long before Wes continued.
“Her name was Angie. She had been staying with friends just outside of town when all The Collapse went down. No family. No roots. We met at a 4th of July picnic and things just...”
Wes settled back on his haunches next to the stream. He set the knives down to dry, picked up a rock and threw it hard into the trees on the opposite side. It hit the trunk high up and caused two birds to explode into flight from the remnants of greenery, chirping in alarm.
“She moved in a few weeks later and just two days before the Western Front blew through, she told me she was pregnant. I was off huntin’ and she was left to die alone. She didn’t make it out of the house more than a dozen steps before she was gunned down.”
Although the circumstances were completely different, Chris couldn’t help thinking of Carrie, her face pinched and sad, full of pain, crying softly where Chris found her hunched over in agony in the bathroom two weeks ago. This second pregnancy and miscarriage had taken Chris by surprise; he hadn’t even known Carrie was pregnant when the miscarriage hit. The loss was still painful though, especially when he remembered how it felt to hold their first baby Amy Lynn, her tiny body so light, so impossibly feeble, for those few short moments she had lived.
Chris felt his throat catch on the words, “Carrie did have another miscarriage.”
Wes nodded, “I figured as much.”
They didn’t say another word as both men rose and headed back to the two waiting carcasses. The sun was setting by the time they managed to haul the deer back to the waiting truck and load them up. As the truck bumped and jolted down the rough path, Chris said, “I’m sorry about Angie, Wes.”
In the darkness, his face barely lit by the dashboard lights, Wes grimaced, “Yeah, me too.”
Although Carrie asked, and Liza tried repeatedly to quiz him about that day in the woods, Chris
never repeated what Wes had told him. Somehow, the relationship between the two men, despite the gap in years and the acrimonious way it had begun, changed that day. Slowly, over the years that would follow, Wes and Chris became regular hunting companions and Wes began showing up at both seeding and harvest time to provide much-needed assistance on the farm. Eventually he would become a fixture at the family Sunday dinner.
On this particular evening, though, Wes delivered Chris and a large doe to a very pleased Fenton, remarking as he left, “Maybe next time that fool grandson-in-law of yours will actually shoot one himself. I waited for him to take the shot for five minutes before I gave up and took matters into my own hands.”
And with that parting shot, he strode back to his truck and drove away into the crisp fall night.
Wounded Bird
“When my heart can beat no more, I hope I die for a principle, or a belief that I had lived for. I will die before my time, because I feel the shadows depth, so much I wanted to accomplish before I've reached my death.” – Author Unknown
Quincy barked once in warning before they heard the stamp of boots and a knock on the door. It was mid-January, late afternoon, the sky was overcast and the house was gloomy and dim. Jess peeked out the peephole and saw it was one of the men who headed up the town militia. Her brain stumbled over his name, Ted...no, Todd Stevens.
Good God, we went out on two dates, why can’t I remember his name?
He looked worried. Behind him, Jess could see his horse tied to the listing mailbox across the street.
“Who is it?” David’s voice sounded at her ear and she flinched slightly.
Even after all this time she wasn’t used to someone in her space, close to her, except maybe Jacob, who was walking now and clinging to her legs wherever she went.
“Todd Stevens here, I need to speak with Jess,” Todd spoke through the door, his voice muffled by a scarf. He shivered slightly and bowed slightly at Jess as she opened the door, nodding gratefully when she invited him in.
He stomped the snow from his boots, unwrapped the scarf from his mouth and neck, and settled into an open seat at the kitchen table. Both Tina and Jacob were sleeping, curled together in a lump on the couch. They didn’t wake.
“Something to warm you?” Jess asked, and Todd nodded gratefully, peeling his gloves off. His face was red where it had been exposed to the frigid air.
The cold snap had stopped everyone in their tracks, driving all occupants of Belton inside. Even the plants in the greenhouse Jess and David had built died when the outside temperatures plummeted to the negative digits. It was one of the coldest winters in two decades.
Todd blew on his fingers and rubbed them vigorously, wincing as the blood flow increased to the cold-stiffened digits, “We have a woman down at headquarters.”
Headquarters was a small building off of Main Street that had housed a tiny museum and once been City Hall some eighty years ago.
“She’s asking for you, Jess.”
Jess stared at Todd blankly, “She’s asking for me?”
“Yep.” Todd accepted a steaming cup of chicory from David gratefully and rolled his eyes to the sky after the first sip. “Good sweet lord, that’s good. Where in the world did you manage to find sugar, anyways?”
“Sugar beets. They make a fine substitute for sugar.”
Jess smiled with pride; she had raised enough sugar beets to chop up and fill two gargantuan pots. She had then boiled them until they were soft. After removing the beets, she continued to boil the water, stirring it constantly, until it reached the consistency of honey. She had then set it aside to cool. Once cooled, the beet sugar had crystallized.
When they needed sugar they simply chiseled off a small hunk and drop it into a pot of chicory that they kept on the back burner. It was an especially nice treat now that the days were so frigidly cold.
Todd closed his eyes and smiled, “It sure hits the spot.” His thoughts returned to business as he slurped down the last of the chicory.
“The woman’s got a baby with her and she’s been hurt, she’s got a badly infected gunshot wound to one arm and she looks half-starved. Says she came here from Clinton?”
Jess gasped and she and David cried out at the same time, “Serena!”
Jess began pulling on her coat and gloves and a pair solid work boots. “There weren’t any others with her? A man? A boy and a girl?”
Todd shook his head, “Nope, just her and the baby. She looks pretty bad off with that hurt wing of hers. The mayor told me to haul ass and come fetch you.”
“I’ll come too.” David started to reach for his coat.
“We can’t both go, David. Stay here, watch Jacob for me. I’ll try not to be long.”
Jess yanked on her two pairs of worn gloves. Each sported holes, but with two layers she ensured that most of her wouldn’t end up being too exposed. David looked rebellious for a moment, but then nodded. He was feeling a bit stir-crazy these days. It was so cold and inhospitable outside that it was difficult to stay out for long. But inside the house, only the main living room and kitchen could be heated. There were days when it felt like all they did was trip and stumble over each other. But as much as he would like an escape, he couldn’t leave Tina and Jacob alone in the house and it was bitterly cold out, too cold to expose either of them needlessly. His shoulders slumped in resignation.
Jess smiled at him; she knew how he felt. “I’ll make it up to you,” she winked, “You can take my next watch shift.”
With the movements of troops and scores of desperate, hungry people still out on the roads looking for something, anything that could be better than where they had come from, the militia had upped the watches. Jess and David were tapped regularly, along with the rest of the able-bodied population, and every few days one of them was sent to the town perimeter. There were miles of perimeter to watch, but in the two years since the invasion, the town had a rather effective system in place. Jess had seen towns that hadn’t figured that out, and there wasn’t much left of them.
“Gee, thanks.” David replied sarcastically, while managing a half-hearted smile in return.
Jess finished pulling on her coat, three pairs of thick socks and some overly large rubber boots that had belonged to her dad. They weren’t great at protecting from the cold but, for now, they were the best footwear available to her.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she told Todd, who quickly downed the last of the chicory and smacked his lips in satisfaction.
He pulled on his gloves, wrapped his scarf back around his head and they left the house as quietly as possible.
“We can ride together,” Todd suggested, and then a slightly worried look crossed his face, “If you don’t mind.”
Jess steeled herself for the close contact. They hadn’t spoken since the disastrous second date. It hadn’t been his fault; Todd was a decent guy in his early 20s. He had been “nothing but a gentleman” as Jess’s mother would have said, but she just wasn’t ready for any kind of close contact with anyone of the opposite sex. The wounds were still there, the memories too fresh.
“It’s fine,” Jess said, forcing a smile. “Besides, we’ll make better time.”
He smiled down at her and held the horse still to make it easier for her to climb up. Then he swung into the saddle behind her. It was a close fit, but at least some parts of her would stay warm. Less than fifteen minutes later she struggled to slide off of the horse. Todd apologized even as he helped her safely down to the ground.
He’s a good guy, she thought, why can’t I like him like that?
The old post office on Main Street was now the town militia headquarters. Here is where they coordinated the watch duties of all of the town’s able-bodied citizens. If you were old enough to hunt or work the land then you were old enough to defend your hometown. Some of the townsfolk had objected to the term ‘able-bodied’ and the ages, which were ten for firearms training and twelve for serving in the militia. But the concept of ‘childhood’ lasti
ng until the artificial age of eighteen was as dead as the concept of an intact United States of America was.
Jess followed Todd into the building. It was warm at least, toasty warm. Every citizen of Belton was required to serve the militia in some way, and not just on the active fighting side. There was wood to chop, bodies to feed, clothing to mend, and horses to care for. The low-slung building also contained several holding rooms for non-citizens and visitors, as well as a large barracks. Most of those who served with the militia did it in the same fashion as firefighters would have, on 24-hour shifts. Jess was exempted from this until Jacob was weaned, but she still had to serve lookout duty once per week.
They went directly to the front desk, where postal clerks had once stood, and a man that Jess couldn’t remember the name of nodded at Todd.
“She’s in the first room on the left. Doc’s with her; she ain’t doing well.”
Jess could hear a baby wailing and the wail seemed to be coming closer. As Todd led the way through the access door to the main warehouse room, the wailing grew louder and closer. The massive room had once been used to sort incoming and outgoing mail, but now the racks were replaced with several large gun safes, barracks, and an industrial kitchen. The scents of breakfast still lingered in the air. Pancakes, judging by the sweet, rich smell of maple syrup.
Sarah walked toward them, a dark-haired baby wailing in her arms. Sarah’s face was drawn with worry, “Hi Jess, how are you?” She jiggled the baby, made shushing noises at it. Jess just stared at the baby’s face, horror mixing with recognition. The baby looked just like Jacob. “I have Laura fetching a cup of milk to feed this little one. She is absolutely starving and it looks like her mama might have dried up.”
“Serena.”
Sarah nodded, “You do know her, then. She says this little one’s name is Rebecca, Becka for short.”
Jess couldn’t take her eyes off of the infant, “And the others?”
“There were no others, just Serena and the baby.”
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