The first night he hit the beach alone—the ocean told him that he had made the right choice. He imagined Iggy standing next to him, twiddling his toes in the surf, daring his older brother to swim out as far as they could. Giving into the temptation, Fabian stripped down to his underwear and dove into the water. It was warm and refreshing. Each stroke washed away the memories of what he’d seen. By the time he came back to shore, he felt cleansed—mind, body, and soul. He wasn’t sure if he’d stay here in Nags Head, but he was damn sure that he would live somewhere on the coast. It was something about the ocean, or maybe it was the memory of his brother. They could have made a life here. They could have lived like beach bums, told stories, played cards deep into the night. At least, that’s what Fabian told himself.
In reality he knew that Iggy could never stay in one place. He’d always been the fidget of the family, always searching for the next rabbit hole to dive deep down into and inevitably pull his brother in. It was one of the reasons that Fabian had gone into the Army in the first place, not only to get away from his family, but to get away from Iggy and all the temptations. With Iggy, there was flash and the promise of a fast life. But this—this quiet, this solitude—it felt right. It reminded Fabian of the time he’d been deployed to Germany, part of some long-forgotten training exercise he couldn’t remember. He’d taken a tour with some fellow soldiers. When the tour had ended, he’d left the others at the beer house, and had taken the translator’s suggestion to go for another hike by himself.
He found a quiet hilltop overlooking a village that had been plucked from some storybook fairytale. He could have run away from the Army right then, found a job as a cobbler, or maybe learned German and restocked grocery store shelves. But common sense had pulled him from that hilltop and taken him back to base. Now, there was no Army to pull him, no younger brother to tempt him, no chain of command to whom he answered, “Aye, aye sir. Yes, sir.” No, now it was Fabian’s choice. For the moment, he would choose to stay here where his own brother had spent a glorious summer without him.
The next couple of days he spent getting a better lay of the land, exploring the side roads and back roads, getting to know the ocean, when it was high tide and low tide. He stayed out of the sun during the heat of the day, preferring instead to move about in the morning and at dusk. He found one of the old bars that he remembered Iggy talking about. The place was empty, save a few empty beer bottles in the trash. No corpses, thank God. Fabian sat on one of the bar stools and tried to imagine his brother regaling whoever had been sitting there with him with story upon story deep into the night. Then he’d struck out farther. One day, moving farther south, the next moving farther north. Sometimes, he’d come back with supplies to add to his stash. Other days, he’d merely return with new memories and a deeper sense of belonging.
He was just getting used to the fact that he was possibly the last man within a thousand miles of the place when he’d had his first whiff of fellow humans.
He’d spent the day hitting golf balls at an overgrown range, doing his best to imagine that Tiger Woods was slamming balls right up the gut beside him. After slicing a hard right and following its path deep into the wetlands, he saw a thin line of smoke.
“It could be nothing,” he told himself. “It could be an old transformer afoul.” There was still electricity in some places, or maybe it was the sun setting dried grass on fire. Really, it could be anything. But Fabian was curious. After failing to perfect his 3-wood swing, he decided to see where the smoke was coming from.
It was about a mile off, and he was careful as he moved. As he got closer, he thought he smelled roasting meat. That had to be survivors. He almost turned around and went home. But he was curious, nervous, and a slice of Heaven with anyone at all could be within reach. But he had to know before he hit the road again what he would do if there were people. People meant questions. People meant trouble. Fabian had had enough trouble to last the past five lifetimes. The smoke was coming from behind a one-story high school building. There, in a field where marching bands had probably practiced for decades, was the unmistakable stacking of human bodies.
Fabian didn’t need to stick around to see who had done this. It didn’t matter whether they were good or bad people, though he assumed they were good people. They had taken the time to dispose of the corpses in such a way. He made it a block, and then two, always looking over his shoulder, when he looked up to see a boy who couldn’t have been more than 13-years-old pointing a hunting rifle directly at him.
The boy’s southern drawl was strong: “You better stand right there, mister, or I’ve got a thirty-aught-six with your name on it.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Fabian Moon
Fabian’s heart was beating so hard in his chest that at first, he didn’t hear the next question.
“I asked you what you’re doing here,” the boy said.
Fabian couldn’t think of a smart answer or even a decent one, so he said the first thing that popped to mind. “I’m surviving, just like you.”
He saw the confusion in the boy’s eyes. Then a click of understanding.
“Are you by yourself?” the boy asked.
“Are you?” Fabian asked, starting to regain some of his composure, even with a weapon pointed at his chest.
“That’s none of your business, Mister.”
But a voice came from somewhere nearby.
“Leave the man alone, Leroy! Can’t you see you got him shaking in his boots?”
The weapon lowered and Leroy gave the newcomer a dirty look, like he wanted to shoot Fabian and that his chance had been spoiled.
The man’s hands were black with soot and he wore a rifle strapped to his back. For a second, Fabian thought that maybe he’d pull out his own gun and take the two out. But he didn’t know how fast the man was, let alone Leroy. The kid handled a weapon like he’d been given one at birth.
“Sorry about the kid,” the man said, nodding his head toward Leroy. “He’s got a smart mouth, but he can shoot the pecker off a chipmunk, if you know what I mean.”
That made Leroy smile, and he nodded at Fabian as if saying: I told you so.
“No harm, I’m still in one piece.” Fabian said, though he heard the waver in his own voice.
“You alone?” the man asked.
“Yes, sir, I am,” Fabian answered.
“Ha! No need to call me sir. The name’s Jackson.” He reached out a soot-covered hand and shook Fabian’s. “You don’t look worse for wear. How have you been surviving?”
Fabian didn’t need to tell the whole truth. “On my own, mostly, met a couple of people along the way, but pretty much stuck to myself. I’m good at scavenging. I got lucky along the way.”
Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. “And what brings you to this fair neck of the country?”
No sense lying about this one. “I thought I’d come see the beach. You know, maybe for the last time, maybe to stay. I’m not sure yet.” Jackson seemed to believe him, even if Leroy still looked wary.
“And what about you two?” Fabian asked. “What are you doing here?”
“Leroy is new here. Me? I used to have a tackle place right up the road. I sold bait and gear to tourists. Then everything went to hell and you know the rest of the story. We got hooked up with a good bunch. That’s where I met Leroy. He’s a little rough around the edges, but a good companion on the road. Good helper.” Fabian thought he saw Leroy’s chest puff out a bit. “And what did you say your name was?”
Again, the lie came before the truth, but for some reason, Fabian figured he could trust these two. Well, maybe not Leroy all the way, but Jackson seemed a fair sort. “Fabian.”
“Well, Fabian. It’s nice to meet you. And I don’t mean to be rude, but since we are on a scouting and cleanup mission, I’m going to need to search you. So first, I’ll ask if you’re armed.”
“There’s a pistol in my pocket. Want me to take it out?”
Jackson didn’t seem
overly concerned and nodded. “Pull it out slowly, if you don’t mind, and you can hand it to me. If Leroy pats you down and you’re clean, I’ll give it back to you. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough.” Fabian answered.
He did as he was told, sliding the pistol out slowly, careful to show both, especially Leroy, that he meant no harm. He handed the weapon to Jackson, who inspected it and went so far as to eject the magazine and empty the chamber. When Leroy had patted him down and didn’t find anything else, he gave Jackson the nod.
“Our camp’s not far from here. We caught some fish this morning and Leroy here’s a fair cook. How about you join us and let us in on what you’ve been up to since the world collapsed?”
Fabian didn’t think it was an invitation he could get out of—besides, it might do him some good to have some human company. “I’d like that very much,” he said.
During dinner, Jackson told Fabian about the fate of the Outer Banks, about the mass exodus when the government had called for evacuation, about how he’d hidden for weeks watching the armored personnel carriers rumble through, the drones flying overhead, and wondering when he’d be found.
“I don’t know if they weren’t looking hard enough, or if I got lucky. Seems to me those soldiers probably had more than a mission on their minds. I can’t imagine what they were thinking about. Maybe their families back home?”
“My whole family died on my birthday,” Leroy said, the first words he’d uttered at dinner.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Fabian said, surprised that he meant it. His words seemed to soothe the tension in Leroy’s face. The boy dove in for another piece of fish while Jackson continued his storytelling.
“I’m almost sure I said goodbye to the United States Navy a month ago when I saw an aircraft carrier chugging down the coast. I think he was going east. I wonder where that beautiful thing is now, all that nuclear power and no place left to go. You spend any time in the military, Fabian?”
“I was in the army for a time. Nothing fancy, just a supply guy.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet another doggy. I was an infantry man myself. Never had a foul word to say about my supply guys. Except, of course, the fat bastard I caught purloining all the chocolates from the care packages.”
They both laughed at that. The old world that assumed that most of the military were good eggs and for the most part, they were, but every branch had their fair share of bad apples. Being in the supply business, Fabian had seen plenty of theft and fraud, and it made him sad to think that even though he’d never done that in the army, he had in the real world and that depressed him.
“Well say, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings,” said Jackson. “I promise that fat bastard had it coming to him.”
“It’s not that, I promise. It’s just… it’s been a long time since I enjoyed a meal with a fellow soldier and, to be honest, a nice person. Toward the end, I spent most of the time with my younger brother, but he’s dead now so I haven’t had much of anyone to talk to.”
Jackson nodded his understanding and then reached inside his pack and pulled out a bottle of brown liquid.
“It’s Scotch. I was saving it for a special occasion. Figure dinner with a fellow soldier is as good a time to celebrate as any. What do you think?”
Fabian couldn’t disagree and was truly touched by the man’s kindness.
“I’ll drink to that,” Fabian said, even though he wasn’t a drinker.
It wasn’t particularly good scotch—then again, maybe it was now, having gotten an upgrade by the sheer disappearance of the more expensive bottles out there. The stuff burned all the way down, but it left Fabian feeling warm and a part of something bigger and more than just himself. He could imagine himself telling Jackson about his stash, about the trailers, about all the things he’d brought with him. Maybe one day about everything he’d done, but that was for later. Fabian couldn’t imagine how anybody had come out of this unscathed.
After sharing a few more stories and a couple more drinks, Jackson suggested that they get some sleep.
“In the morning,” he said, “maybe we’ll talk about what your plans are and whether you might like to come with us. I’m sure a man of your skills could probably find himself a nice job within our community. And me? Well, I think I’d be happy to have another squared-away soldier by my side.”
Fabian was glad it was dark, because whether it was the added kindness or the scotch tickling his emotions, tears came to his eyes. “I look forward to talking in the morning,” he said formally, not trusting his voice. He still didn’t have his weapon and didn’t really care.
Leroy was the first to fall asleep and Jackson a few minutes later. Fabian lay on the warm grass, looking up at the stars, feeling that maybe this was the life he’d always wanted. Something simple among friends who took responsibility for the jobs they were assigned. Fabian could understand that very well. So when he closed his eyes and said a silent thanks for his new friends, his words were honest and heartfelt.
Chapter Fifty
Sandy Kaplan
When he first saw the fires from the island community, he almost turned around and went the other way. But then the baby strapped to his chest gurgled. The child’s needs edged him onward. Maybe he could find lodgings there.
It was with some surprise that Sandy realized he’d become a world-class sneak by this point. He’d skirted towns and bypassed other fires. But something felt right about this time. He’d never been to the Outer Banks and he didn’t know whether it was the boat that had been sitting there waiting, or the fact that the motor had caught on the first try, and that the dock on the other side seemed to say, “Welcome, weary travelers.”
He and the baby had spent the first night at a house that the dock belonged to. It was a one-story affair with a screened-in porch that overlooked the waterway, and they’d spent that night watching birds fly by and listening to the lazy sounds of swamp life. Sandy could see himself settling in a similar home, though he thought he might prefer a view of the ocean instead of this inlet. It was kind of like shopping for a new home, only he didn’t have a realtor in tow, and he didn’t need preapproval from the bank to pick anything he wanted.
The next day they’d gone for a walk, and that was how they found the community.
As he watched from a carefully picked hidden location, he heard singing. And he soon laid eyes on a group of young children running by one of the fires, tossing in twigs as they passed. They looked happy and healthy. Sandy imagined the baby in his arms growing up to do the same, a deep tan as he spent his days diving into the surf, learning to live off whatever this land gave him. Sandy’s pull to be a loner was strong, but he couldn’t ignore the other pull to give this child a good life, a life that Sandy wasn’t sure he himself could provide. And though he felt good now, he was far from a young man, and the last thing he wanted was for something to happen and for the child to be on his own again.
He’d promised Molly as much. It was that promise that took him from hiding and pulled him through those first tentative steps down to the small community.
He was greeted by men with guns. But it was a woman who was in charge, who ordered the men to search him. They requested his gun, and he gave it willingly. They were not unkind. They offered him food and something to drink and put him in a bedroom overlooking the ocean in a comfortable house that caught a firm breeze and lulled the child to sleep. It wasn’t long before a contingent of survivors showed up and started asking him questions. Where had he come from? Who did the baby belong to? Why had he come to them?
And he answered truthfully. He told them about Molly, about the promise he’d made her, about the wanderings and the run-in with Fabian Moon. He told them that he was undecided about where he wanted to end up, but that he very much wanted to find a home for the child, and that’s why he’d made the decision to approach. They bade him wait while they went off to deliberate.
The representative who returned told him that he had
to stay in place for at least 24 hours, that the rest of the community would have to be consulted, and a vote held to decide on his inclusion in the community.
It didn’t even take two hours. And when he and the child were beckoned from their temporary hold, they were met by a crowd of curious survivors.
Everyone wanted to see the baby. And that’s when Sandy realized that there were no other babies. And in that moment, he knew what he would call him. So when he was asked what the baby’s name was, he said, “I’ve named him Adam, to commemorate a new beginning.” Tears sprang to his eyes then.
And as Adam was passed from hand to hand, Sandy watching him the entire time, it was impossible not to suck in the feeling of extreme relief, like he’d been rescued from a deserted island after years alone.
That night he feasted with the others. For the first time, baby Adam ate solid food, just a bit of blackberry that one of the old-timers produced, cackling as Adam sucked on Sandy’s finger. Then one older gentleman handed Sandy a bottle of blackberry wine.
And there by the ocean, Sandy Kaplan finally felt at home, at peace, safe in this new world fulfilled in his promise to Molly.
Chapter Fifty-One
Fran Markus
His patience and change in leadership style paid off. It wasn’t until he’d taken a step back and watched, instead of only ordering, that he noticed smooth calm settle over his remaining troops. There’d been a caginess before, and as much as he liked to think that it was because of what their profession entailed, he thought it had everything to do with the way he treated them.
And so the barbecues on the beach and the talks of dreams and where they’d ended up settling meant that they only lost two more fire teams. One, Fran suspected, had gone off on their own. Struck out to find a new life. But the other disappeared without a blip. He figured they’d probably run into trouble and been overwhelmed. His ongoing scouting missions had pinpointed surviving bands in the one and twos and as large as fifty, but none in the location where he thought Dottie might be.
The Next Dawn Page 16