by Eric Keller
Morreign appreciated the words, but it sounded like Paul was trying to convince himself as much as her. Softly she said, “I’m scared Paul. I’m scared. I brought us, all of us, way out here to nowhere.”
“There was no choice. You saw what happened back there, what is happening back there…”
His voice trailed off. He wasn’t ready to discuss the tragedy unfolding everywhere, and this was fine with Morreign, she wasn’t ready either. Plus, for now, there was far too much to worry about in the future to expend energy thinking of even the most recent past; maybe, if they were lucky, they could grieve for the lost world later.
Now talking to convince herself, Morreign said, “We’ll make it work. We always make it work.”
They slowed to a stop at the snow-covered remnants of the dock. If there was ever a road up to the lodge, the forest destroyed it long ago. They would need to hike in. She opened the truck door, letting in a gust of bracing winter air. Climbing out she pushed confidence into her voice and said, “Alright, let’s go.”
. . .
Harrison threw a couple more branches onto the flames. The men huddled in the helicopter after building a fire but the night passed in brutal cold regardless. With dawn finally arriving, Harrison stretched slowly, his body ached and his injured ribs screamed in protest, but the pain was tolerable, no serious wounds.
After nearly vomiting, the pilot recovered, however, the co-pilot did not make it, taking his last breath within an hour of crashing. The Colonel’s ankle was broken, but he would survive. They gave the Colonel a triple dose of the pain medication in the first aid kit which generally staunched his complaining, but the drug began to wear off as the sun started to rise.
“You need to fashion a sled or a stretcher or something and carry me the Hell out of here.”
Harrison shared a look with the pilot. The two men, unable to sleep in the freezing cold, talked through much of the night. The pilot’s name was Clarence Chan. Years ago he used to fly tourists around the mountains before air force officers approached him at an airport and conscripted him on the spot as an essential service provider. Since then his valued skills were mainly used to chauffeur generals and politicians from base to base. Harrison and he quickly bonded over their view of the military as a totally inept organization.
Clarence surreptitiously shook his head at the pompous officer’s silliness before returning his attention to the radio he had been fiddling with all night to no avail. In the distance, the nearly constant echo of explosions could still be heard. Harrison became certain, if they did make it out of the woods, they would only find smoke, bodies and twisted metal.
“Sir, I may be able to hike out of here, but with the deep snow I think I will need to leave you-.”
The old man interrupted, “Unacceptable. I need to get back and survey the situation to prepare for our counter-attack.”
An especially aggressive rumble of explosions rolled over them. The man was worse than a fool. The man clearly stupid to the point of insanity.
At sixteen Harrison started driving truck part-time. By the time he turned twenty-two, he owned his own company, a moderate fleet of rigs crisscrossing the country with dispatch centers in Calgary and Winnipeg. He enjoyed the freedom of slamming gears as he sped down a highway, carefully monitoring and controlling all business issues on his phone as he covered the miles.
Then there was the accident. One of his drivers’ blew through a stop sign injuring five. The insurance company attempted to refuse coverage on a number of grounds including the driver not having adequate rest or training. All of it was bullshit, but the intense legal battle ate up cash and time. Despite all of his effort, a problem of that magnitude could not be overcome by the fledgling business, and the company collapsed.
With chaos erupting around the globe, unemployment was no longer an allowable option. Within days of his business going bankrupt, Harrison could not provide evidence of necessary employment, and he was conscripted into the army. Despite despising the bloated organization and playing the role of a peon, he rose up the ranks. The idiot officers at the top were not that different than those fools barking out orders at the very bottom but, at least, there were fewer of them which made military life tolerable.
Harrison looked over at the gaunt, elderly man slumped in the helicopter. His eyes were glossed with drugs but were darting with fear. Spittle and white stubble covered his chin. In the firelight, the Colonel formed the very picture of demented leadership. Now, as the metal was hitting the meat, Harrison knew following the fools that got them into this disaster would only get him killed as he tried to endure that very disaster. He needed to stop following, he needed to take control and not let it go.
He growled, “Enough. You’re not thinking straight, hell, you’re not thinking at all. That sound you hear, that sound you’ve been hearing all goddamn night, is the sound of the world being destroyed. Pull your dried up, useless bones through the snow so you can yell into a dead radio won’t change a goddamn thing so shut the hell up so we can figure out how we all survive.”
An overly long life within the military machinery conditioned the Colonel to react to all disobedience, rational or not, in only one way. The confused man turned his attention to Clarence and ordered, “Private, take Captain Harrison’s sidearm and place him under arrest for insubordination.”
Clarence realized the absurdity of this and responded, “Sir, we’re in the middle of nowhere, and under attack, I don’t think arresting-.”
An explosion erupted closer as the Colonel interrupted, “Place him under arrest immediately and then get me back to base or I’ll have you both arrested.”
The baffled pilot looked over at Harrison, apparently seeking sane direction. This occurrence was familiar to Harrison. Ever since adolescence, people instinctively looked to him for guidance. Any game on the playground, he became the de facto referee. Any business meeting, he got the last word. Any family dispute, he served as unofficial judge.
The Colonel, not appreciating the mini-mutiny unfolding before him, continued to ramble as the rumble of explosions echoed around them. Harrison calmly drew his sidearm and, in one smooth motion, aimed at the Colonel’s head and fired.
In the snow-filled forest, the gunshot only a weak pop against the backdrop of the distant attack. Returning the gun to its holster, Harrison turned to Clarence and calmly said. “We rest up here and then, when we’re ready, make the hike to find a place with supplies to shelter in.”
Still staring at his former commanding officer’s face now covered in blood, the pilot asked, “Then what?”
“Don’t know yet.”
Clarence turned to look at him, and Harrison held his gaze with confidence. The pilot nodded and said, “Whatever you say.”
Moving to pull the body out of the helicopter, Harrison felt a surge of excitement. His days of taking orders were over, and he liked the sensation of being back in control.
. . .
The knock startled him. Hale lay in his nest of blankets in the bathroom, barely noticing the constant bombing barrage going on outside but the simple sound of a knock on the door startled him. Another knock, more urgent.
He moved through the dimly lit apartment that smelled of fake vanilla and looked through the peephole. In the dark hallway, Hale could see the distorted image of a diminutive, balding man buried within a massive, red parka. He could see no weapon and, even in the shadows, the visitor looked more scared than scary. Leaning his ridiculous, pointy stick against the wall, Hale opened the door.
Shocked, the man stepped back and stuttered, “Oh, uh, hello. My name is Asiz, I live downstairs. I’m looking for Rosa?”
Rosa. That was the woman’s name. Not sure how to react to this visit, Hale de
cided truth to be the best option. “I’m her friend. She had to go into work last night. She hasn’t been back yet.”
The underlying point unsaid but clear: Rosa was likely dead. With no warning, Asiz fell against the door jam and began sobbing. Instinctively, Hale picked him up, led him inside and sat him at the counter. He scooped a cup of icy water out of the bathtub and set it in front of the weeping man. “Have some water. It’s been a hard night.”
As the visitor picked up the cup, an especially loud explosion echoed in the distance. Water splashed on to the counter, and he muttered, “I’m sorry, so sorry… I’m rattled by this, by all of this. My wife…”
Hale sat next to Asiz as he started sobbing again. An awkward minute passed before his company got under control enough to continue, “She works for food services, the night shift. Normally she’d be home by now, but I’ve heard nothing. No phones work. No texts. No internet. Nothing. I don’t know where she is.”
Unsure how to deal with the oddness of this delusional man thinking someone out there in all that destruction would be able to send a text message, Hale dumbly said, “I’m sure it’s hard to get around out there, and everything must be down.”
He grabbed Hale’s arm and said, “I need to go find her, I can’t stay here while she’s out there in danger.”
Insanity. The food services center should not have been a target, but the attack was a carpet bombing, indiscriminate destruction. Even if the center somehow remained and the woman survived, this sobbing man finding her would do neither of them any good.
He opened his mouth to explain this, but Asiz abruptly stood and said, “Sorry, I need to go, I was hoping to borrow Rosa’s car. My wife has ours.”
“I think Rosa took her car to work.” Hale pointed at the window and continued, “Even if you find a vehicle, look out there. The roads are blown to hell or covered in rubble. You won’t be able to get two blocks. I haven’t seen anything moving anywhere out there.”
The visitor stepped to the door saying, “Yeah, you’re right I’ll have to walk.”
Hale got to his feet. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. You should stay in the building. They’re not bombing this area. We’re safe here.”
Asiz looked at him with his tear weary eyes and said, “I need to go, need to find her.”
Hale said plainly, “That’s suicide. Stay here.”
He gave Hale a confused look. “I stay here alone with nothing to do but worry and feel guilty, then I’m better off dead.”
Asiz left. Hale considered chasing after the man, trying to convince him not to be so foolish. He had seen the man’s eyes though. Hale could not understand the craziness, but he knew Asiz would not abandon the idea of searching for his wife. He closed the door and locked the deadbolt.
Back at the window, he looked down at the front door of the building. After a few minutes, he saw a figure in a bright red parka scurry from the entrance. Hale watched Asiz move across the narrow plaza before the red of his coat disappeared into the smoke wondering if he should pity or envy him.
. . .
The intense cold made the snow squeak beneath Morreign’s shoes as she stepped out of the truck on to the solid river. As she walked, she saw Ainsley getting out of the other vehicle. Despite wanting to be, Morreign was not particularly close to her sister-in-law, they were friendly but not exactly friends.
With her blonde hair falling out of her fur-lined hood, Ainsley looked tired but remained pretty as always. Their eyes met. She clearly had been crying, but a harshness remained in her look. Morreign could not tell the reason for the harshness, it could simply be fatigue, but it could be something deeper, perhaps blame directed at her. Morreign nodded and smiled weakly. Ainsley tried to return the gesture, but the smile did not touch her deep blue eyes. They silently stepped over together to join the men.
Paul said, “Looks like we are on foot from here.”
Paul’s brother, Leo, was heavier set and a few inches taller than Paul who was slight of build. But their matching mops of bushy black hair and mischievous eyes made it obvious they were brothers despite the size difference. Leo stretched his arms above his head and responded, “Yeah, maybe we should leave the kids here and check things out before marching them up there. Might be the wrong place.”
Paul tried to joke, “Or it might be inhabited by a family of bears.”
Leo played along, “Bears should be sleeping, wolves though…”
Ainsley broke in with a sterner tone, “I’ll stay down here and watch the kids. They’re finally sleeping. No point in waking’em up.”
Morreign got the impression Leo did not like the idea of leaving his wife and kids alone on the river as he looked about nervously, but he was not one to argue. He leaned over and kissed the exhausted woman on her cheek and said, “Alright, honk the truck horn if you see anything weird, anything at all, and I’ll come running.”
She smiled weakly and responded, “Might honk regardless to get to see you actually run.”
Paul added, “Leo’s quicker than he looks, it’s a deceptive quickness, but it’s there.”
With that, the trio began the hike up the river bank. The brothers took the lead, breaking a path through the drifted snow and reaching pine branches. Morreign followed at a distance, preferring to take in the scene on her own. The encompassing silence surprised her, no birds, no squirrels, no anything as if the animals were all frightened away. A trail used to exist but heavy pine branches pressed in, and shrubs filled most of the space. She wondered how many years passed since anyone else ventured though here.
Up ahead, Paul and Leo abruptly stopped walking and talking. Already nervous, Morreign felt an extra strong pang of worry. The two of them were never quiet. She stepped up between them.
The darkness of the trees gave way to a slightly familiar but misshapen vision. She had been here before, as a teenager, and her memory was of a picturesque scene. Camp Malden where she spent a few summers as a child with her family. A wide, sturdy lodge surrounded by pine trees and a dozen cute cottages, all spread out around a groomed clearing.
The scene now before her varied greatly from the childhood vision of Malden in her mind. She saw a squat, unimpressive lodge with a saddle-backed roof and a fallen pine tree crushing one corner. Most of the cottages were collapsed ruins overtaken by forest. The five or six cottages that could be said to still be standing were aged shacks leaning precariously, half buried by drifts. These piles of broken, weathered timber covered in deep snow a hundred miles from anywhere or anyone were their new home.
She brought them, all of them, here, to this. Morreign muttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”
The brothers turned. Leo put a hand on her shoulder as he said, “Don’t do that Mo. We knew it wouldn’t be easy, but there’s no damn missiles falling on our heads. Because of that, you don’t apologize for anything, you don’t apologize for anything ever.”
Paul nodded at her with his boyish grin and then hurried to follow Leo down to the river. “There’s a chainsaw in our truck. I think if we drop a few of the lower branches and some shrubs we can drive up here, save us having to haul all the gear and it’ll get the vehicles off the river.”
Leo answered, “Yeah, we can use the winches if we need to, I ain’t carrying all that crap up here.”
With that, the two men strode away. Regardless of their confident words, Morreign saw the way they froze when they reached the ruined buildings. She knew they were as afraid as she was, but she appreciated them hiding it, hiding fear would now need to serve as their courage.
CHAPTER THREE
FEBRUARY 11, 2036
DAY FIVE
The intense cold caused Hale’s bathtub water suppl
y to solidify. Chipping ice and melting it over the strange campfires he built in the kitchen sink using broken furniture took up a lot of his time. Melting a few cups of ice also took up a shocking amount of fuel, and he was running out of flammable materials. He needed to take a scouting mission.
In reality, he knew he could suck on ice chips all day, and he would be fine, but he also knew he needed to escape the apartment and its perpetual scented candle smell to avoid losing his mind and going to get fuel provided a rational excuse. He grabbed the flashlight, pocketed the hammer and picked up his pointy stick.
Before heading out of the tiny apartment for the first time in five days, he stopped to look once more out the window. The shelling ran nonstop for almost two days, and then it completely ceased. Once the smoke cleared, he could truly survey the scene. The iron skeletons of a handful of half standing buildings remained, all else was scorched rubble. Over the lonely days, Hale spent a great deal of time in front of the window, but he saw no survivors. The once bustling outpost now a destroyed ghost town. Hale turned away from the grisly scene beyond the window, unlocked the door of his refuge and stepped out into the dark hallway.
He did not have much of a plan, but he knew he did not want to be met by someone leveling a rifle at him. He went a few doors down and knocked, saying, “Canadian Arm Forces, we have relief packages.”
He watched to see if any shadows moved behind the peephole or under the crack against the floor. Doubtful anyone could see anything much in the dark hall, he figured they would have to open the door if they wanted the nonexistent relief packages. If a door did open, Hale figured he would have to play the situation by ear, relying solely on instinct.
Nothing happened. He waited. Nothing happened. He tried the door. Locked.
Hale went to the next door, and the next and the next until he had covered the whole floor. All knockings had the same result. Concluding he was alone on the third floor, he took out the hafmmer.