Seven Days: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

by G. Michael Hopf

  “And your brother?”

  “He’s called Frankie,” Shelly said.

  Brienne stepped out from around the corner, kept her pistol ready, and advanced towards the girl. “I’m coming to you, okay?”

  Shelly nodded.

  Brienne reached her and peered around the corner to find a boy, not older than two, sitting next to the rotting carcass of a dog. “Where are your parents?”

  “Mama was taken a week ago. Some men came by and took her. She told us to hide with the dog, so we did.”

  “And your papa?”

  “I don’t have a papa.”

  “You don’t have any parents, no one to watch over you?” Brienne asked.

  “No,” Shelly answered.

  “How about you and your brother come with us? We’re going to my home; you’ll be safe,” Brienne said.

  “No, we want to stay and wait for Mama to come back.”

  “I don’t think your mama is coming back, sweetheart, best you come with us,” Brienne said and reached for Shelly.

  Shelly got spooked and ran back to where her brother was sitting.

  “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help,” Brienne said.

  “We’re hungry. Do you have food?” Shelly asked.

  “I do, but I need you to come back to the truck. I have some in there.”

  Shelly shook her head. “Bring the food here.”

  “Is that your dog?” Brienne asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I killed her so we could eat,” Shelly said.

  “Oh,” Brienne said, shocked by her honest and brutal answer.

  By the condition of the dogs remains, it had been killed a week or so before. “How long ago did your mom get taken?”

  “A while ago.”

  Brienne took a couple of steps closer.

  Nervous, Shelly got her brother to his feet and said, “Stay back.”

  “I just want to check to see if you’re alright.”

  “Stay back.”

  “Fine,” Brienne said.

  “We need food, and then we’ll wait for Mama to come back,” Shelly said.

  Michael came around the corner holding a case of MREs that Brienne had found in his barn. “Here, this is enough food for about two weeks if you ration.” He tossed it towards them; the heavy box landed a couple of feet from Shelly.

  Seeing Michael startled Shelly. She spat, “Stay back.”

  “They don’t want to go with us. I gave them food. How about we get on the road?” Michael said.

  Brienne snapped, “They need our help.”

  “They don’t want our help except food. You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved.”

  “They need our help,” Brienne scolded him.

  “And we’ve given it. Now it’s time to go.”

  “They’ll die out here. They need our help.”

  While Brienne and Michael were arguing, Shelly managed to sneak away, dragging the box while Frank followed her.

  “They need to come with us or they’ll die. Look at them,” Brienne said and pointed but saw they weren’t there anymore. “Wait, where did they go? Hello? Shelly, Frank, don’t go. I’m here to help you.” She raced around back, past the rotting corpse of the dog, and reached the opposite side, yet she couldn’t find them. “Shelly!” she called out.

  “Brienne, they’re gone. Be proud, be happy, we gave them what they wanted.”

  “You’re callous.”

  “Huh, the girl wanted food, we gave it to her. She wants to wait for her mother, end of story,” Michael said.

  Brienne marched back and got inches from his face. “They’re just little children. They’re innocent, vulnerable.”

  “I’d say that little girl was capable. She killed her dog and ate it, then got us to give them a case of food.”

  Disturbed by the encounter, Brienne couldn’t help but think about Dustin and him trying to survive if something happened to Jake early on. It only made her regret leaving. What if Dustin’s life was like Shelly and Frank’s?

  Michael put his hand on Brienne’s shoulder and said, “You’re a good person, Brienne, but we can’t help those who don’t want to be helped. Let’s get back on the road and go find your family.” He turned and walked back to the truck.

  Brienne turned back towards the back lot of the taco shop with hopes that Shelly or Frank would reappear, but they didn’t. They’d probably gone back to whatever shelter they had so they could eat the food. She knew she’d never see them again; it was an odd thought. Maybe their encounter was enough to keep them alive. Maybe all those children needed was that brief meeting with her. Just that one moment, that one case of food could be what separated them from life and death. Maybe she had done enough to keep them alive. Thing is, she’ll never know. Frustrated, she went back to the truck.

  CHAPTER NINE

  OCEANSIDE, CALIFORNIA

  The weight of carrying Hannah was beginning to take a toll on Reid. His muscles ached and his feet had blisters. He’d walked all night and morning, only encountering a few people, who didn’t seem concerned about him. At times he thought he wasn’t going to make it, but when the sun rose he was in view of the marina. The last time he’d seen it was during his time in the Navy. He’d spent many weekends there, sailing with friends, one of whom owned a boat. He wondered if it was there, although it wasn’t one he would try to take. While Reid had been in the Navy, contrary to some popular belief, he wasn’t taught how to sail. He was fine operating powerboats, but if he had to operate a sailboat, with all its rigging, he’d end up capsizing.

  He breathed a sigh of relief as he glanced across the inlet to the rows upon rows of boats, from forty-foot powerboats to thirty-five-foot sailboats and various smaller craft in between, all moored in slips like they had been the day the bombs dropped.

  He spotted a blue two-wheeled cart, used by boat owners to haul things down the docks to their boats. He set Hannah in it and pushed it towards the first dock gate he came to then froze when he saw the handle had a keyhole. Was the door locked? Was he going to have to swim to get to a boat? Before he was going to get wet, he reached out and tried it. He turned the knob right and it opened. His heart skipped a beat. Once more fate, or luck or whatever, had been on his side.

  Reid swung the gate wide, pushed Hannah through and down a long gangway to the dock. He went to the first powerboat he saw and hopped on. He couldn’t find the keys, so he went to the next, nothing; the next, still nothing. Frustrated, he thought about where he could find keys; then he realized even if he found them, the boats’ engines might not even turn over. He’d come so far, to not be able to cross the channel for lack of a boat was beyond horrible to fathom, but from a tactical standpoint for the government, it made sense to have secret laboratories there because it had limited access.

  Hannah jolted and twitched. Her eyes fluttered underneath her eyelids.

  Hearing her stir, he looked over at her. “It’ll be fine, sweetheart. We’re close, very close.” Frustrated, he stood looking at each boat. He had a selection, but he didn’t have the luxury of time. He heard a knocking sound, turned, and saw a ten-foot tender tied off on the aft of a forty-five-foot powerboat bumping up against a pylon. An idea came to him. He raced down to it and saw it had a small outdrive engine. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to carry him and Hannah across the channel. He climbed onto it and immediately examined the engine. He first checked the fuel reservoir and found it completely full. This was good, as it lessened the oxygenation of the fuel. He flipped the choke and pulled hard on the cord.

  The engine sputtered.

  The fact that it even made a sound gave him hope. “Come on, damn you,” he barked. He pulled again.

  Again a slight sputter.

  He fiddled with the choke and pulled again. This time the engine came to life, only to die a second later.

  “Damn it, work!” he growled. He adjusted the choke again and pulled a
s hard as he could.

  The engine did the same, but before it died, he adjusted the choke and throttled it. Black smoke poured from the exhaust, but it was running, “Yes!” He couldn’t believe it, as it seemed impossible, after all this time, this little engine was working. He looked up into the gray marine layer that hung above him and said, “I don’t say thank you enough, but thank you.”

  Excited, he jumped out, sprinted down the dock, got Hannah, and wheeled her down. Using every ounce of care, he set her in the boat, but before he untied and set off, he looked to make sure he had paddles just in case, or for when the engine ran out of fuel. He found the paddles lying on the floor of the boat and rejoiced. He was set. He had a compass, a decent idea of the coordinates he’d need to travel, and untied the boat. He got in, pushed off, engaged the prop, and throttled it up. In seconds he was moving out of the marina and towards the sea channel.

  The crisp, cool sea air hit his face as he sped along, leaving a foot-high wake behind him. He knew the trip would be rough in the boat he was in, but he didn’t have a choice. Today was day seven. He had hours, if that, and still forty miles to go.

  YUMA, ARIZONA

  Brienne didn’t know how to feel as she sat behind the wheel of the truck, staring at the Fort Yuma Road sign. Not a quarter of a mile down the road was her house. While everything looked familiar, it also looked strange, almost out of place. She had traveled thousands of miles and over years to get where she was, and now the moment of truth was upon her. Most people she thought would have kept driving, but she stopped only because she pondered if she truly wanted to know. She sat questioning her procrastination. Why, after all this time, would she just stop moving? What if she arrived only to find they had moved on to somewhere else unknown? Or what if she found them dead? How would she cope? She always thought of herself as someone strong, hell, she’d covered a ton of Earth and dealt with some of the worst people just so she could be where she was, but if they were dead, would she fall apart? Would that rough veneer simply melt away, exposing the little girl and vulnerable woman who hid behind it? And what about her purpose? This had been it for so long; she had done this longer than she had done anything else in her adult life. Where would she go if they were dead? Then again, if they were alive, then this pause was meaningless fear and she’d be rejoined with her family, and they could live out their years together. Then an odd almost comical thought came to mind: what if they were alive but Jake had taken a new wife? Of course it was possible. How would she handle that? Would she understand, or would she put a bullet in both of them?

  “What’s the matter?” Michael asked. His window was down and a cool breeze swept through the cab of the truck.

  “I’m thinking,” she replied. Never in her life had she been so confused and conflicted. She’d known fear, but now she was frozen by these questions that in the end were thoughts. Fear doesn’t exist but in our heads, so why was she allowing her mind to paralyze her from the one thing she’d fought tooth and nail to get to?

  “What are you thinking about?” Michael asked, a look of concern on his face.

  “If I want to know what’s really down there,” she answered before taking a deep breath and hitting the accelerator.

  The truck lurched forward, sputtered, and lurched again. The old truck had gotten them this far on old gas and prayers; it would be ironic for it to die now. It puttered down the road, black smoke billowing out of the tailpipe. She swung into the driveway and stared at the house. It looked the same, yet it looked different, much like the intersection she’d just been parked at.

  “This is it?” Michael mused. “It’s nice.” He opened his door.

  “Stay here,” she ordered. She opened her door, stepped out onto the hard gravel, and walked off without muttering another word.

  “Do you want your rifle?”

  She didn’t reply. She looked at the house then back to her rifle. Her senses were tingling, but she brushed it off as simple nerves and anxiety.

  She made her way to the front door. Each step she took brought her back to the last time she was at the house. She could still see Jake walking her luggage down the sidewalk to the Uber she’d insisted on taking. He was against her taking a car for hire, but more importantly he was against the trip altogether, and now she could feel the weight of that decision, seeing the place. Near the front door she stopped again. In her thoughts, she could see Dustin, so young and sweet, standing with his hands in his pockets and a look of sadness that she was leaving. The flower bed to the right had been filled with snow-in-summer; the small white flowers had been in full bloom. Now the bed was dry and nothing remained.

  She stepped up to the front door, looked to her right, and remembered when she and Jake had painted the house. Now that paint was flaking and faded. She shook her head and tears welled in her eyes. “So many lost years. I’m such a damn fool for leaving.”

  Deep down she could feel they weren’t there. It was just the way the house looked. It wasn’t that it appeared in disrepair, it was that it looked and, more importantly to her, felt dead. Houses become homes when people live in them; they breathe life into structures, giving them an air of vibrancy. Her home didn’t have that, and she thought she knew why.

  She turned the knob and found it unlocked. This made her heart jump, as it was another clue that they weren’t there. She pushed it open and stared inside. Once more she was looking at something familiar yet alien. She crossed the threshold and took a deep breath, hoping to take in the old smell of the place, but it wasn’t there. More tears filled her eyes and now streamed down her cheeks. She hadn’t yet called out, and doing so now felt cliché. They weren’t there; she knew it. She just prayed she wouldn’t find their bodies. “No, please, no,” she moaned as she made her way from the foyer into the dining room. Her head was turning from left to right, looking and hoping to see a clue that could give her a glimmer of hope. She transitioned into the living room, and there on the coffee table, she saw an empty can of fruit cocktail. What made it different than the other older packaging was she saw the juice on the side and lying on the table.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Jake, Dustin!” she called out. She raced from the living room through the kitchen and to the master bedroom door. She turned the knob and called out, “Jake, Dustin, where are you?” She threw the door open and was jolted when she saw the one person she never imagined she’d see: Emily sitting on the edge of her bed.

  “Hi, Brienne,” Emily said, a devilish smile on her face. “Let me be the first person…oops, the only person to welcome you home.”

  “What? I, um, I,” Brienne stuttered. The shock of seeing Emily threw her, and she was mentally recoiling from it. “Why are you here? How did you find my house?”

  “I’m disappointed that you’re shocked that I’d be here. I did tell you when you left me for dead on the side of the road that I’d come for you.”

  “But how did you find me?”

  Emily held up Brienne’s diary. “You kept copious notes, thank you.”

  Brienne reached for her pistol but paused when Emily raised hers and pointed it directly at her chest. “If you just pull that gun out an inch, I’ll put two bullets in you.”

  Brienne slowly moved her hands away from her sides and held them up. “What do you want?”

  “You know, at first I came here with the intent to kill your family and—”

  “If you hurt them, I’ll—”

  “Sssh, please stop talking. I didn’t hurt them on account I can’t,” Emily replied. “Now let me get back to what I was saying. I came here to also kill you. In fact, at one time I wanted to rip your heart out and eat it, but I’ve changed my mind since arriving here yesterday. You could say I’ve had an epiphany of sorts.”

  “Do you have Jake and Dustin?” Brienne asked.

  “Heavens no.”

  “Were they not here when you came?”

  “Oh, they’re here,” she said, turning and throwing back the sheet to reveal Jake’s mummifie
d remains.

  Brienne gasped, her hand covering her mouth. A faint sense of vertigo began to grip her. She sidestepped an inch then wobbled back.

  “He seemed like a really nice guy,” Emily said.

  Brienne got her composure and thought about reaching for her pistol. Even if she was shot, she wanted nothing more now than to put a round in Emily’s smug face.

  “He wrote you a letter, a farewell letter you could call it, and it’s what changed my mind. You see, I wanted to kill you, but it appears after reading your diary cover to cover, which I’ve done now, this letter is the silver bullet right to your heart. I don’t need to kill you, Brienne, you killed yourself and very well might be responsible for your family’s deaths.”

  Brienne trembled and her legs felt weak. Nausea and vertigo again began to grip her. She could feel a cool sweat build up on her brow.

  “You don’t look so good, Brienne,” Emily mocked.

  Brienne turned away and vomited.

  “If you’re wondering where little Dustin is, he’s buried in the backyard next to his hamster, how cute.”

  Brienne continued to vomit.

  Emily stood. In her right hand she held her pistol and in her left she had the letter. She walked up to Brienne and held the letter out. “It appears I wasn’t the only person you left behind to die.”

  Brienne cocked her head and glared at Emily. “I fucking hate you.”

  “No, you don’t, the hate you feel in your heart is just the buildup of shame and regret for abandoning your family so you could make a buck and pad your résumé. You see, Brienne, you hate yourself, not me. You think you’re so high and righteous because I’ve eaten human flesh to stay alive, but you were consuming the lives of other people way before the virus came or the bombs dropped. And what makes it so much worse is you actually had a choice.” Emily shoved the letter into Brienne’s hands and walked out of the room.

  Brienne stood and unfolded the paper. Again her eyes filled with tears as they cast down on Jake’s handwriting. She carefully read the page, her sobs the only sounds. She stumbled to the bed and fell onto it. “Why, why?”