by Anna Dove
When she reached Elizabeth, she grinned.
“Got him.”
“We have to kill him now,” responded Elizabeth. “He’s making a lot of noise.”
“Yes,” agreed Haley, and snapped the goose’s neck with a twist of her wrists.
Elizabeth shuddered, but said nothing, and they turned back the way they had come, following the markers of broken branches until they reached Carlos and the horses. Carlos’ face lit up when he saw the bird that Haley held.
That evening, they roasted the goose over a small open fire, and the fat drops sizzled in the flames. As they ate, the meat fell tenderly off the bone, and they ate until they could not take another bite.
They took turns sleeping as the light faded and the moon rose into the sky. Haley slept first, and when Carlos awoke her for her shift on watch, it was three in the morning. The moon shone brightly above her, and a warm spring breeze whispered in the leaves of the trees, as if the wind was telling a precious secret to the trees and the trees were vowing to keep it, a clandestine tryst between the elements.
Quite awake, Haley sat against the riverbank, with her two sleeping companions to her right and the horses dozing to her left. She watched the soft ripples of the current pattering in everlasting succession across the reflection of the moon on the surface of the water. There was a pleasant gurgling sound as the water flowed by, almost like a song.
She wondered if they would reach their destination. Right now, the world was at peace, as the river rippled by, the trees and the wind whispered softly, the moon shone reassuringly, the stars twinkled as if to remind her that they were rooting for her. Yet even as she sat still and took in all the beauty around her, fear sat down beside her, and she felt the chill of its presence.
Are you safe, really? It said. Are you protected? You’re exposed. You don’t know what lurks in these woods, whether it be man or beast, friend or foe. You don’t know if you’ll find your family, or if your friends will stay with you, or if you’ll be able to survive.
Haley felt the chill spread down her back and up her neck and shoulders, the hair rising on her arms. She took a deep breath and focused on keeping her senses sharp.
As the sky began to lighten and dawn approached, Haley got up, and woke up the others. It was time to move on.
+
The round table in one of the meeting rooms in Chimaugua Bunker was full. The President, the Senator, Snyder Reed, General Braddock, Secretary of Defense Roger Simons and ten other military and government officials had seated themselves solemnly. NSA Director Damion Perkins had arrived and was seated across from Snyder Reed.
“I want the latest from the Pentagon,” said President Gilman as they all settled into their seats. He has dark circles under his eyes and his hands were clasped in front of him.
“Sir, I don’t have good news,” replied Simons. “While we have been actively calling to service all of the bases and the National Guard, it seems that more than three-quarters have abandoned in pursuit of self-preservation. The remaining units are on standby awaiting orders, but the more men leave, the stronger the incentive to act in self-preservation. Legal and financial consequences are of no use in the face of life or death scenarios. They are leaving by the droves, and we can’t stop them.”
“Should we engage the remaining units in policing the domestic cities?” queried the president. “What has happened to the police?”
“Sir, it’s the same story, from the reports I have. The state, county, and local police, as well as sheriffs, have left their jobs in order to save themselves and their families.”
The president seemed to ponder this.
“Sir,” interjected Reed, “Engaging the remaining units would be counterproductive in my opinion.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, what will they do? They will go into the cities, the counties, and attempt to prevent people from killing each other over food. Sir, it would be foolish to underestimate the incentives of the populous here. Their only goal is to stay alive, and they will now necessarily do so by means of brute force. They will kill each other. They will plunder and destroy in the name of feeding their families. And Sir, forgive me if I speak too bluntly, but you at this moment can do nothing about it. You cannot save a single one.”
President Gilman stared at Reed, as the man spoke solemnly, and the president raised his fingertips to his temples and pressed them to his forehead in an unconscious effort to relieve the unspeakable pressure.
“So you are an advocate, then, of Darwinism. Let the fit survive, let the strong kill the weak, let the legacy of the country be demolished?” snapped Gilman.
“I am a realist, sir.”
A very, very long pause.
“Sir, I am in agreement with Mr. Reed,” suddenly spoke General Braddock. “You—we, rather, we—cannot do anything that would actually be effective. There is what we wish for, which is sending in men to control the situation, to decrease crime, to halt the criminal behavior. But Sir. This is effectually impossible. With the increasing number of defecting soldiers, the increasing mentality of self-preservation above all, it is logistically impossible to control the consequences of the EMP.”
Senator McCraiben cleared his throat.
“Are we sure of this?”
As the Senator spoke, the President glanced at him and then back at General Braddock.
“Sure,” said General Braddock slowly and in a low tone. “I know that this opinion sounds inhumane. I know that it involves allowing the mass murder of those who cannot fend for themselves.”
“No.” said President Gilman, standing up suddenly and banging his fist on the table. “No. I refuse to stand by and watch while my country strangles itself. Goddamnit, Braddock. What were you hired for? Make yourself goddamn useful. Why are you standing here talking shit while people die left and right above ground. For gods sake, rally your men. Stop them from leaving you. Tell them you’ll shoot if they take one step backwards.”
“Sir, that approach has not been enacted since the Second World War, and even then it was the Russians,” responded General Braddock immediately, coolly. “You are asking me to risk my own men’s lives by the thousands—I can no longer feed them, pay them—you’re asking me to risk that just to prevent crime.”
“Not to prevent crime. To prevent the destruction of this country.”
“Death and destruction are not the same thing, Sir,” said Braddock, his blue eyes fixed on the President.
President Gilman stood, his frame still, his hands clutching the edge of the desk so hard that his knuckles had lost all of their color. Then, he sat down.
“So death is preferable to destruction,” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” said Braddock.
“And by sacrificing the many, we save the few who will carry forward.”
“Yes, Sir,” said Braddock slowly.
Grim faces all around the table. The Senator’s eyebrows furrowed deeply as he watched Braddock but he held his tongue.
“I think, sir,” said Damion Perkins, his dark eyes fixed on the President, “that it would be better to focus internationally at this point in time. To work to preserve the global financial markets and prevent economic Armageddon. Let the domestic turmoil come to an end naturally. Otherwise you put at risk the lives of the military and law enforcement, who you will need desperately when it comes to the reconstruction period that will soon be coming. That is what I recommend on behalf of the intelligence community.”
“So,” the President responded wearily after a moment, having looked around the table at the grim faces, “intelligence, military, security back this next step. I want to hear from Senator McCraiben. What do you think?”
“I am no longer in a position to influence military procedure, sir. I am now a civilian.”
McCraiben saw from the corner of his eye that Damion Perkins breathed a barely perceptible, slow breath, a sigh.
“I know that. I’m still asking you. You were almost a General.”
“I was almost a General and you sit in a room with true Generals. Whose opinion matters more?”
The president gave him a long look, and McCraiben remained expressionless, his own eyes meeting the president’s. After a few seconds, the president nodded and dropped his gaze as if defeated.
“Carry it out as you all have suggested,” he said abruptly, and standing up, left the room.
14. Annapolis
“In poverty and other misfortunes of life, true friends are a sure refuge.”
― Aristotle
Haley’s grandmother, Junetta Brown, lived on a small farmhouse in the middle of over two hundred acres of farmland. Her husband, Haley’s grandfather, had died eight years prior, and Junetta lived alone with a number of feline companions. She raised horses, and sold them, and had operated efficiently in this business for over six years, after having taken it up to distract herself from the sorrow of losing her husband.
Junetta Brown was not only an equestrian but a botanist, an herbalist, a historian, proficient in three languages, a seamstress, a chef, and collected specimens of wildlife to study. She was short, at barely over five feet, and always wore long dresses reminiscent of the late nineteenth century, with practical boots for whatever farmwork she had to accomplish. Her hair was gray, and she always tucked it up in a distinctly fashioned bun that flattered her wrinkled, beautiful face. She had a fiery spirit and a keen mind, a sharp tongue and the kindest of hearts.
She lived in the farmhouse that had been on the property since the eighteenth century. It had no electric, but operated from gas oven and a wood stove and local well plumbing. She prided herself on her resourcefulness, her independence, her savvy business and farmwork dealings, her knowledge of the natural world and her ability to thrive within it.
The farmhouse was white, three stories tall, and sat atop a hill bordered by vast horse pastures. It had dark shingles and green shutters, and dusk was falling quickly as Haley, Elizabeth, and Carlos rode up to its front yard. Their shadows fell long behind them. They dismounted, exhausted and hungry.
The house appeared quietly serene, like it was asleep. Haley handed her lead rope to Elizabeth, and stepping up onto the front porch, knocked loudly on the door, from which a summer wreath of grasses and wildflowers hung. For a moment, she could hear nothing but the chirping of the birds and the wind in the trees; then, she heard pattering footsteps, and the door swung open form the inside.
“Haley! What a nice surprise!”
Junetta stood, in her dress and her boots, beaming at her granddaughter. Elizabeth thought the two very much alike at first glance; the same eyes, the same smile, the same facial shape.
Haley wrapped her arms around the little woman, and then pulled away and looked her grandmother in the face.
“We’ve been riding for so long, just trying to get here. The roads are impossible, and everything is just so awful, we didn’t even know if we would make it. Oh, I’m so relieved to see you. I’m so glad you’re alright.”
Junetta looked at the other two travelers.
“Haley,” she said firmly, “what is going on? What do you mean?”
Haley looked up at the old farmhouse, and noticed the absence of electrical lines. She glanced around her and saw the rolling pastures, the occasional livestock, the far line of the wooded area.
“You see,” she said slowly, “there’s been a horrible attack. All the electric is out. It’s been every city we have seen—it may be multiple states, or regions, or even the entire country.”
Junetta narrowed her eyes and looked from Elizabeth to Carlos to Haley, and then up to the sky, and then out to the fields. She paused, leaning against the doorframe.
“Hm,” she murmured, her face solemn. She took a deep breath and exhaled.
“We’ve been riding to get away from the cities--they’re just awful, the cities…”
“Let’s not talk of that, dear,” said Junetta, straightening up abruptly. She scanned the farm behind them all, running her gaze over the horizon preemptively over the rolling green hills bathed in evening light. Her voice was terse and tense. “Come inside, all of you. You must be tired, and we all have to figure out what to do. Leave the horses to graze--take off their halters and let them go. We can bring them down to the fields in a few minutes. Come inside.”
Haley felt immensely comforted in the presence of her grandmother. Junetta exuded competence, stability, security. Her presence of mind and calm demeanor assuaged the fears that threatened to creep up into the travelers’ hearts. Setting the horses free, they followed the woman into the farmhouse, down a long corridor and into a small, comfortable room with plush couches and tall wicker chairs, an oriental rug, greenery, lit by long candles and glass oil lamps. The light flickered pleasantly and for the first time in a week Haley found that she felt somewhat secure. Junetta locked the door behind them.
Once they had all gathered, Junetta told them to sit down, and they obliged. She pattered into the adjoining kitchen and returned after a few minutes with cups of hot tea. She handed one to each person. The cups were little porcelain pieces, with green ivy and little pink rosebuds painted on the sides. Haley took a sip; it was hot and it burnt her tongue.
“Tell me,” said Junetta calmly, “what is happening.”
Between the three of them, they recounted the events of the past week; the gala, the attack, the journey to Arlington, the escape on horseback. The words filled the room, a jumble of interjections and explanations and recountings.
After they had finished, they all sat in silence for a moment, and Junetta sipped her own tea and appeared deep in thought. Then, she deliberately set down her tea and stood up.
“Come with me. First things first. It is very important to take care of the details of your life when you are in a crisis. You must eat and drink and sleep and force yourself to adopt normal behavior patterns to the extent that you are able. So let’s go put the horses in the fields and brush them down and make sure they have water and grain. They’ve carried you for miles and you must take care of them now.”
Obediently they all set down their steaming cups and followed her as she led them outside, taking the halters again from where they had set them by the door. The dusk had approached further, and the land sloped away from them idyllically in the faded light. Still grazing, their horses stood still as they approached. Slipping the leather straps over her horse’s head, Haley gently pulled its mouth up from the grass, and tenderly stroked its withers. The animal turned its head towards her, touching its nose to her hand.
They trod down the hill in a line towards the fenced field below, the horses’ heads swaying softly with every step. The horses’ hooves clopped heavily in the young grass. Reaching the fence gate, Junetta opened the lock and swung it inwards, and the others followed close behind with their horses.
Hanging from a fence post was a plastic bin of grooming tools; Junetta handed each of them a stiff brush and dutifully they began to brush the backs, ribs and flanks of the animals. Long sweeping strokes from the withers to the flank, always with the direction of the hair, and little puffs of dust and hair and parts of fragmented leaves or plant pieces rose up with the movements of the brushes. Haley found the consistent movement soothing. She pushed from her mind everything but the control of the brush, going up to the withers, down the back, up to the withers, down the flank.
The last rays of light fell away as the first stars dawned into the sky. Carlos and Junetta filled the first water trough while Elizabeth and Haley filled the other, and then poured grain from the grain bin inside the stables into three food buckets. Junetta was not normally generous with grain for her animals, believing that they were better off grazing in the spring and summer; but she understood that these horses were worn and tired and needed the nutrients. She poured corn oil into the buckets and mixed it around with her hand, and then allowed the horses to feed. By the time she led the young people back up to the house, the moon had risen, a half-moon fading in and
out of view among the clouds.
“It will rain soon,” said Junetta.
Inside the warm farmhouse, Junetta lit several oil lamps, the wicks illuminated inside beautifully shaped glass stemming from a silver base. She lit candles and placed them in iron candlesticks, until the living room and kitchen glowed with the most peaceful, soft light.
“Sit down, rest your feet,” she said, motioning to the chairs and couch, and the others sat gratefully. “Stay here, I’ll bring us something to eat.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, and Haley laid her head on a couch pillow, which felt heavenly.
The soft lights, the warmth, the smooth pillow against her cheek and the familiar smells of oak and lavender, herbs and patchouli all soothes her senses, and her eyelids drooped. The room blurred, and then cleared, and then blurred again, and then everything became wonderfully quiet and serene, peace, safety, comfort.
“I have toast and butter and fresh apple butter,” said Junetta, coming into the room. She stopped, and smiled gently. All three were fast asleep, breathing deeply. The worry lines on their foreheads had relaxed and they were curled up like children on the couch and chairs, their bodies unconsciously reverting to the sleeping patterns they developed in the first years of their lives, what their muscle memory knew to be safe, secure, sweet sleep.
“I’ll warm up the food in the morning,” said Junetta softly to herself. She pattered back into the kitchen and laid a napkin over the plate of toast and the jars of spreads, and then blew out the candles and the oil lamps, leaving one burning in the living room in case they woke up during the night. She locked the doors, and climbed the stairs to her own room. Slipping into her nightgown and crawling under the covers, she breathed an honest prayer, sighed deeply, and fell asleep.
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