After the Day

by Matthew Gilman

  “But if oil was only for a little bit why did you use all of it?” The question was harder now that she said “you” instead of “they.” He was guilty like everyone else on the planet during his time here.

  The next day he was ready to start looking for other people. He hoped they had good luck and found people that were friendly and wanting to live a good life like he was. He feared about the Mad Max people that could be out there. He hadn’t seen anything like that and hoped it didn’t exist. The idea was still in his head. It was why he didn’t look for people before now. Things changed though, he was now the bad guy, the person that ruined the world for her and he had to make things right, he had to set her straight and show her the world wasn’t ruined for her and future generations. The people he met better be good, if not then she would see how bad the world really could be.

  Chapter 6: Three years after the Day

  Amir and Fatima huddled together in the cold damp corner of the basement they found the week before. The little heat they had was from the magazines and other items they found to burn. Periodicals hold little value these days. The time of celebrities and pop icons is long gone along with the order of government and society. Amir still reads his Koran and prays five times a day. Between foraging for food and evading the patrols he holds true to his beliefs even after his people were spread out and systematically wiped out. They were blamed for the bomb that destroyed the capital. The social order was already falling apart with the economic collapse that started the year before. The bomb was the final blow for the nation that was falling apart. The rest of the world was well on its way. America followed it down the rabbit hole.

  Amir grabs a piece of bread from his pocket and hands it to Fatima. Her hands shaking from the cold that attacked her body from the concrete walls. They kept the fire low so the smoke dissipated before leaving the house. The light from the fire was hidden from the nearby streets and yards. She missed her children, two boys, ages three and five. They would have been older now. She was starting to lose track of what their age would be. She remembered her parents sending her to America to become a doctor and live a better life than they could offer. She sent money back to them and worked in an emergency room before the collapse. Her mind was a game of forgetting and remembering. Sometimes she was confused at which she was trying to do. Her children she tried to remember but found herself forgetting the simplest things. The way they smelled. How they looked while sleeping. She tried to forget working at the hospital. She thought she had seen some horrible things there until the world changed. What she saw there was nothing compared to the events that came after the bomb. Even people she thought she could trust with her life betrayed her in the end. The people she trusted with her children handed them over to the authorities like they were criminals. Her boys were convicted of being Muslim.

  The sun had set. Time was a mystery now. The fire died down and left a glow like tiger’s eye for them to watch. They cuddled closer keeping the warmth in under the blanket.

  “Tomorrow we find a better place,” Amir assured her.

  She didn’t reply. Instead she closed her eyes and pictured her two sons the best she could. It was a practice that she did every night. She never told Amir. She sees her boys in her mind so that when she falls asleep she will dream of them. In her dreams they are together and in another world where there is no war, no famine, and no plague. They walk through fields and visit Mecca. In her dreams Allah lets them be together.

  The sun shined through the cracks in the wall and a beam of light shines into Amir’s face. He jolts awake and looks around. Fatima and Amir changed resting spots often, in hopes of not being found. He nudges her awake and stands up to stretch. She grabs the blanket and curls up trying to keep the heat in with her. Amir stamps out the ashes and makes sure the fire is burned out. Even in a wasteland of a town they needed the spot in case they came back later and a fire would attract attention. Amir thought of a saying his father told him as a child. “Where there is fire, there is man.” He thought it was for survival, if he was ever lost he could find help. Now it was the other way around.

  “When I am finished with prayer, we should leave.” Amir rolled out the rug for prayer and kneeled down. He ran through the prayers, verse for verse. Each repetition was identical to the rest.

  Fatima wondered what he prayed for. She had trouble imagining their adventure ending any way than the one she accepted long ago. Stuck in the middle of a Christian land she lost all hope of reaching their native soil. Planes no longer flew and boats didn’t sail and if they did they were used by the infidels for their own selfish needs. She used to wish for the chance to run into other believers like them. Two years of playing hide and seek had left them with little hope that it was possible. After the gathering of their people and the mass executions few were left and that was how the westerners liked it.

  She didn’t want Amir to wait for her this morning so she sat up and folded the blanket. Placing it into her pack she stood up and was ready to leave.

  Amir finished his prayer and rolled the rug up. He tied it to the bottom of his pack and swung it onto his back. He peaked out of the side of the house. The sun shined down from a clear blue sky and made the fall air feel like it was spring instead. He grabbed Fatima’s hand and pulled her up out of the basement. They traveled down the street and looked for houses that didn’t have their mark. Every house they checked for food and supplies had a streak of black charcoal on the door frame. When they came across a house that wasn’t marked they would search it.

  Amir entered first. Knife in hand and looking for any signs that someone was there or of recent visitors. Fatima waits by the door until he gives the ok. He searched from room to room for tracks, sleeping spots, small fires like theirs. After he clears the whole house he finds Fatima and they search from room to room in hopes of finding anything that will help them survive another day.

  Starting in the kitchen they quickly work through the cupboards and find nothing.

  “There are some sugar packets.” she says looking at the handful she gathered from the back of a cupboard.

  Amir is glad but gives a sigh. He hoped for more. They go through the rest of the rooms looking for tools, weapons, clothes, anything. Fatima finds some clothes in the bedroom and looks at the size.

  “Size one,” she says to herself. She looked at her image in a broken mirror on the wall and notices her shrunken shape. She looks at her dirty ratted clothes and looks at the jeans in her hands. Amir leaves to the next room and she takes the opportunity to try on her new clothes.

  Amir looks around the old bedroom and finds nothing. He opens the closet and finds it empty. He steps back in disappointment. He looks at the room and starts to walk out. He looks at the closet door and then goes back into the room where Fatima was. He steps in to see her zipping up a pair of blue jeans.

  “They are a little loose, but they should last a while.” She said looking into the broken mirror.

  He couldn’t be mad at her. He knew she was a doctor that wore western clothes. She may be a believer but this wasn’t the Middle East. He said nothing bad to make her unhappy. He had to be honest with himself. He didn’t know how much longer they could survive.

  “They look good on you.” He turned away and went back to the task he was on.

  Looking at the wall behind him he saw no closet. The chimney was on the opposite side of the hall. The wall sounded hollow when he pounded on it.

  “What is it?” Fatima asked.

  Amir went back into the empty bedroom and opened the closet door. He pounded on the side wall. Hollow again. Fatima entered the room to watch. Amir stepped into the closet and kicked the wall. The second kick sent a thin board flying inside the black emptiness that had him curious.

  “Grab me a piece of that mirror,” he asked her.

  She came back with a piece that fit in the palm of her hand. He grabbed it and stood in the doorway of the closet. He reflected light into the empty crevice and smiled.
He looked at the rest of the space and handed the mirror back.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  She wondered why he said it. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  Stepping in the dark he felt around for the items that he saw. He stepped out and placed a rifle next to the door. Then he went back in. He carried out a green can and some bags. Brown plastic bags with English writing on them. Four in all.

  Amir tore one open and dropped the contents on the floor. Boxes and more plastic bags fell out.

  “What is it?” Fatima asked.

  “MREs, the Americans would bring them to us after killing us. They are a strange people. The food is not good and they try to give us pork all the time. They are ignorant.” He read the ingredients. Black beans and rice read on the box. He looked at the rest of the bags. “They are all the same.” he said.

  Fatima already had one open and was about to start eating. The salty contents made her mouth water and she savored every flavor. The bag wasn’t big enough and she went onto the next bag. Freeze dried peaches tasted like candy to her and she didn’t care that she couldn’t swallow it. She chewed and chewed enjoying the flavor.

  Amir followed her example and worked his way through the food. He barely chewed the black beans and rice. He had a fruit cake instead of dried peaches and it gave him the hiccups as a piece was stuck going down his throat. They laughed and looked at each other as he made a goofy face at her and lightly tapped his lower chest. Fatima pulled a bottle of water out of her bag and handed it to him. After two large gulps he felt the food move and his hiccups continued. They continued to laugh and enjoy the food.

  Fatima ventured through the house as Amir picked up the rifle and checked it. He took the bolt out and looked down the barrel. It was clear and clean. Whoever cleaned it before it was put in the wall did a good job of oiling it. He put the bolt back in and dry fired it. The rifle reminded him of the one his father had as a child. It was a similar model to the one he had. A Russian mosin-nagant 91-30 model. Millions of these were made during the cold war and spread around the world. Looking at the green can he suspected it was filled with ammo for the rifle. Prying the can opener off the top he worked the top open and slowly revealed the paper wrapped packages of bullets inside. He loaded five roads into the built in magazine of the rifle, pushed one in the chamber and pulled the safety on. The rest of the bullets he packed into his back pack and put extra rounds in his pockets in case he needed them. They hadn’t seen anyone around for a few days but that could change at any moment.

  Fatima came back into the room with empty hands and saw the rifle. She was so excited about the food she forgot that the rifle was pulled out of the wall as well.

  “Does it work?” She asked looking at the rifle slung over Amir’s shoulder.

  “It should,” he replied taking one last look in the hidden hole in the wall. He pulled out one last bag and carefully placed the contents on the floor. Inside was a cleaning kit for the rifle. It included a two sided can of oil and cleaner, a long piece of rope for cleaning the barrel, and a tool designed for taking the bolt apart for a detailed cleaning. The can was filled with oil and solution. All of it appeared to be new.

  “My father had one like this when I was a child. He taught me to shoot with one of these. His was shorter but this will do.” Amir felt confident now that they were able to defend themselves if they were attacked. The knives they carried were fine for close quarters but the rifle will keep everyone away.

  “We should go,” Amir said looking out the window. It was afternoon and he was late for prayer.

  “Did we go in the basement?” Fatima asked unsure if Amir had checked it.

  “I didn’t.” Amir admitted.

  “Pray and I’ll check it out,” she said putting her bag on the floor and walking out the door.

  Amir untied his rug from his pack and laid it on the floor. He faced east and began his prayers.

  Fatima stepped down the stairs and looked for the entrance to the basement. Most houses in this town it was located in the kitchen or by the main entrance. She looked in the kitchen first and found the extra door with stairs heading down. She pulled an old lighter out of her pocket and stepped down. The light didn’t travel far but she could see what she needed to. The basement was pitch black and filled with cobwebs. The walls were painted white at one time and the floor had an old layer of blue paint on it. Looking around she found the spot next to the stairs where there was a washer and dryer that no longer worked. On the opposite wall was a series of shelves that had been ransacked at one time. Items tipped over and boxes emptied on the floor. Old cans of paint lined the bottom shelves. She kept looking in hope of food that was over looked. She found a damp pile of old magazines and saw the old world that she now missed. Movie stars and models on the covers that she now thought of as stupid. They went hungry on a daily basis and they did it out of some sick notion they were fat. Turning away from the magazines she kept looking around and saw a pile of clothes in the corner of the basement. As she approached she noticed it wasn’t just clothes. The dried up body of a man sat in the corner holding his ribs with one hand and a knife in the other. She guessed he had died years ago at the start of everything. She closely examined the body and tried to quickly figure out what happened to the poor soul. The knife was covered in dried blood and dust, she guessed it wasn’t his. The hand covered a hole that entered his ribcage. She checked the pockets and took the knife. She removed the belt from the body and placed the knife in its sheath. In one pocket was a handful of bullets. She thought they might go to the rifle found up stairs. She removed the boots thinking they might be Amir’s size. She also found a compass in one pocket and matches in another. She took her few things and went upstairs.

  Amir was finished with prayer and greeted Fatima as she came in the room.

  “I found these,” she placed the items on the floor.

  Amir picked up the bullets first. He read the bottom and noticed they were the same type for the rifle.

  “He must have kept this as a spare,” Amir commented.

  He picked the boots up and compared the bottom to his current shoes. They were a close match. The new pair was a little bigger but he hoped to find more socks before winter to fill them. He looked at the belt with the knife. He picked it up and handed it to Fatima.

  “This should be yours,” he said. The knife was a combat style knife, unlike the kitchen knife that she carried wrapped in a cloth. She buckled the belt on over the jeans and felt like a new woman. New clothes, a decent weapon, and a full stomach. Today was a good day.

  “We should see what else we can find,” she said with excitement added to her voice.

  “Is there anywhere we haven’t looked?” Amir asked.

  “Not here, another house. Maybe this neighborhood hasn’t been scavenged.” She felt hope for the first time in a long time.

  “One more house, then we will hide for the night.” Amir finished tying his rug to his pack and swung it over his shoulders. He picked up his new rifle and they stepped down the stairs. Rifle in hand Amir looked outside the house. The sun was in the western sky and a shadow fell on him as he scanned the area. Exiting the house he stayed against the wall and looked up and down the street. Both directions were clear.

  The next house they came to was void of their mark. A white bungalow with a front porch that covered the front of the house, they entered through the front door. Amir checked the door knob and found it locked. One steady kick and they were inside. He aimed the rifle around scanning for anyone that might be inside. He searched from the front to the back, then he traveled down into the basement. After a quick glance he joined Fatima upstairs.

  The living room held nothing of value. A fast walk through they abandoned it and went to the kitchen. Fatima searched through pots and pans, cupboards and pantries. She became excited at the sight of boxes and cans. Amir’s eyes widened as he saw the food before him. The cupboards weren’t full but it was food for a few days. They hadn’t s
een anything like it in weeks. Beans, yams, tuna, spam, there was a variety for them to choose from. Amir started placing cans in his bag. He thought he might have to find another bag. The ammo for his rifle was heavy and the canned goods didn’t help with their weight.

  “What is it?” Fatima asked looking at his puzzled face.

  “We can’t take it with us,” he said. “Not all of it.”

  “Why don’t we stay here for a few days,” she suggested. “We can’t leave it here. We’ve been fine in this area. You could hunt during the day and we have a place with food at night.”

  Amir thought about it. He looked at the food and set his bag down feeling the weight off his shoulders. He needed a break, they both did.

  “Ok, we stay here, but we need to find water and I need to scout the area and make sure there is no one else around.” Amir said seeing the smile on Fatima’s face.

  They were still full from the MREs. Amir took his rifle and left the house. The bungalow had a fire place in the living room. Fatima opened the flue and looked up hoping to see the chimney clear. She didn’t want to start a chimney fire first night there. She gathered some old furniture and started breaking it for the fire they would have for the evening.

  Amir quickly crossed the street and walked through a yard to the next street. Peering out from the side of the house he looked down both sides of the street. Everything looked clear for several blocks. He did see deer grazing about two hundred yards away. Too far for his rifle with just the iron sight. He hoped to get a scope for it but under the circumstances it was wishful thinking. Slowly he crossed the street to the next yard and continued the same routine for a couple blocks. He counted the streets in his head to make sure he could find the house Fatima was in, even at night.

  The sun was going to set in a few hours and it was time for prayer. He thought about quickly going back to the house for prayer then leaving to finish his patrol. He didn’t have his rug on him and had to make a quick decision. Turning around he back tracked to the house.