After the Day

by Matthew Gilman

  The gas station was rusted over and abandoned, shelves empty and bare. The markets looked the same. He didn’t waste his time with the buildings and instead walked to the downtown area to find any maps he could get his hands on.

  The town was quiet. A few times he spotted deer grazing in the yards of houses and thought about taking one down for dinner. He hated killing deer not having a way of preserving the meat and wasting most of it. He walked several blocks and began hearing noise. It sounded familiar. He couldn’t place it. It was a sound from before. It was the sound of people, many people. He ran to the nearest house and moved behind the tall un-kept grass. He moved toward the sound, sprinting across empty streets and finding a space that looked like a market place. Steel roofs and wooden multi-level tables covered in fruit, vegetables, house wares, and clothes. People moved around from booth to booth bartering and haggling over prices.

  Could this be real? Was he hallucinating? He watched the people. There must have been dozens of them, maybe a hundred. Some were drinking wine out of bottles. Others had sandwiches with meat and vegetables. His mouth watered and he found himself being pulled in the direction of the market.

  He was out in the open, naked in the street. His bag felt heavy and his feet tired. He moved to the crowd and someone finally noticed him. A man came out of the group holding a rifle pointed towards the ground.

  “Can I help you?” The man said. He was maybe in his thirties and fit.

  “Is this real?” Chuck asked. “Are you real?”

  “It’s real.” The man said. “I’m John.” He put his hand out taking it off the handle of the rifle.

  “Chuck,” he said putting his hand into John’s and shaking it staring at the food and goods on the tables.

  People were watching. It wasn’t the first time that someone had come out of the world and discovered the market or the community that was living here. There were others that had done the same thing but ran back into the wild.

  “How? How?” Chuck said pointing at the goods.

  “Gardens, farms, scavenging. We use anything we can find. You’re welcome to stay.” John said.

  Chuck grabbed an apple from a booth and smelled it. Then bit into it and cried. The owner of the booth was about to yell at the man but John waved them back. Rules were in place but getting people integrated back into society was more important than getting paid.

  “Come, why don’t you get checked out by our doctor?” John insisted.

  At a booth sat a woman with black hair and tan skin. Chuck noticed she was most likely Middle Eastern or Indian. He didn’t care. He didn’t know doctors still existed. She took his blood pressure and listened to his pulse and breathing. She asked other questions like when was the last time he had eaten. Chuck was under weight. His hygiene was good and didn’t appear ill.

  John explained to Chuck how they traded and bartered for items at the market. Chuck thought about all the items he had passed up in the past year because he couldn’t carry it. He could have been a rich man, but that wasn’t over for him. This was a new chance to start over. He could create a life here.

  On a table Chuck saw bread and eggs being offered for sale. He took his pack off and opened it shuffling through various items. He found a pocket knife he had kept for the tools and offered it to the merchant. They looked it over, inspected the blade then nodded in agreement. Chuck took a small loaf of bread and four eggs.

  John showed Chuck to one of the houses that had not been claimed yet and let him look it over. Complete with a fireplace and basement for a root cellar it was perfect as a new home.

  “This can be mine?” He asked.

  “It’s not close to the market but you have heat and food storage for winter.” John said.

  Chuck wasn’t accustomed to sleeping with anything but a lean-to these days. He pushed the couch close to the fireplace, already planning for the night ahead.

  “Tomorrow if you want, I’m sure that some of the women wouldn’t mind giving you a haircut.” John added.

  Chuck put his hand through his beard. He had not thought about women either.

  “Single women?” He asked.

  “Many of them are.” John said. “But the doctor is my wife. Many of the guys around here have their eye on her, but she’s off limits.”

  “Understood,” Chuck said.

  “I’m sure the women that are interested will let you know, nobody around here is shy about that these days. If you don’t mind the market is closing in a bit and I’ll be heading home. Are you all set here?”

  “This is more than I’m used to having.”

  John nodded and headed out the door.

  Chuck found a frying pan in the kitchen left from the previous occupants. He started a fire in the fireplace and cooked the eggs over the fire. The nonstick pan worked fine without oil or butter and he sliced the bread making a sandwich. He had craved one since he spotted the guy eating one at the market. He let the egg yolk drip down his beard and ate the sandwiches until he was full. Placing another log on the fire he crawled on the couch and fell asleep. It was the first time he slept without clothes on in three years. It was the best he had slept in years.

  Chapter 29: Three years after the Day

  West Coast, Southern California

  Walking through the streets of Hollywood was a dangerous act years ago as Hank already knew. Now it was a matter of knowing what gangs rules each part of town. Hank was unlike most people that still lived in Hollywood. He didn’t carry a weapon and instead used his other talents to carry on in his town that he called home.

  It became easier to find records after the collapse. Large collections could be found in apartments where people died during the flu epidemic and the starving period from supplies no longer being shipped across the country. Hank was a man of the older times. While others were trading their CDs for digital downloads he still kept all of his vinyl, tapes, and Cds. He was a radio DJ and not only did he work for a radio station before the collapse but he also functioned as an underground radio host on his own frequency.

  After the collapse and the EMP that wiped out most communication, Hank put together his own studio and cranked out music for hours a day. People started pulling their old battery operated radios out of the garages and basements and soon they would find Hank’s station every night for several hours. He became a legend.

  DJ Crash was his name for the show, yet most people around town knew who he was. They would bring records to him and he would promise to play whatever they asked in exchange. Soon these requests were creating his play list and work was being done for him. The other thing he did for the public was announce the news through the airwaves. If gangs were at war he would warn people to stay out of different neighborhoods. If supplies were being handed out by church groups or make shift national guards then it was announced on his show. He became the new source for information and entertainment across the city. This gave him free reign over the town. He was untouchable. To kill Hank was a death sentence to anyone that dared.

  In the basement of his town house Hank shuffled through his record collection and pulled out a few dozen albums and shorted through them for his play list. Flipping the switch for the battery power he watched the equipment come to life and started his show.

  “Welcome to the Apocalypse! DJ Crash here for the next few hours on band width 89.9 FM. Tonight is a special night. A treat for many people that miss the good old days of sitting your ass in front of the TV and watching hours of mindless television. You now have the chance to relive those days at the Mann’s Chinese Theater. With the addition of a few solar panels and older real operated projectors you can watch some of the classic films of the old days. Tonight’s feature Enter the Dragon. Admission is of course trade of some kind. Canned goods, bullets, and condoms. I’m sure they will take whatever you have. In celebration of this event I’m playing a classic from one of my favorite bands, Black Flag and their classic song TV Party.” Hank flipped the switch and placed the needle on h
is vinyl copy of Black Flag’s album Damaged.

  While the song played he set up the next song on his second turn table and waited to switch the inputs.

  A buzz rang out in his studio. It was only to be used for emergencies. Someone was at the door outside. He waited for the song to end then flipped the switch and started the next track, Jimi Hendrix with Machine Gun.

  Hank climbed the stairs and opened the slot at the door. It was a neighborhood runner. The other form of communication after the collapse was old fashioned runners. On foot pony express types that were once bike messengers but the roads were never kept clean enough to allow bikes to travel.

  “What is it?” Hank said.

  The messenger slid a note through the slot. Hank unfolded it and read the message.

  CHINESE ARMY ON SHORE AT THE L.A. DOCKS. MASSIVE FLEET. SETTING UP CAMP.

  “Thanks I’ll get the word out.” Hank said closing the slot.

  Going back into the basement Hank thought about the news he received. Machine Gun was still playing and he thought about his next song. Flipping the Black Flag album over, he readied the next song with Rise Above. At the end of Machine Gun he readied himself for going back on the air.

  “Welcome back to the Apocalypse, I am DJ Crash here in the studio. Have you ever noticed that once you get your shit together and things finally start going good at home you have company that stops by and tries to fuck everything up? Well America we have company. Our friends from the east have decided to stop by for a visit and set up shop on the L.A. docks. Are they here to help or settle? I don’t know about you but I’m not interested in finding out. Now if it you’re listening to my show then you probably know that in the past I’ve spoken out against the fighting between the Crips and Bloods in the past years. Well, what better chance for peace than focusing their attention on someone else. Really I should thank the Chinese for showing up on our shores because without them we would still be killing ourselves. So Crips, Bloods, here is your chance for greatness. Stop aiming your guns at one another and put the Chinese back into the ocean where they should be. My next track is a special one to celebrate the event. Rise Above by Black Flag from their Damaged album. I hope you enjoy this. I will let you know of any other news as I get it here at 89.9 FM.”

  Hank flipped the switch and started playing Rise Above. He received constant news from runners the rest of the evening. He started announcing more news than playing music by the end of the show. Fighting had erupted on the docks and the Chinese were pushing into the city. What started out as an easy invasion had turned into a total bloodbath.

  In a few days Hanks show had turned from news and entertainment to a way of groups communicating with each other on position and the front line of the war. Hank was the first to call it such. Gangs had turned into militias and former drug cartels became the basis of a home defense force. Turf wars before was practice for a real war with a real enemy. The difference was that the gangs had home field advantage.

  Hank remembered the outcomes of recent battles and yet the Chinese were able to push further into the city with no way of cutting off reinforcements and supply lines. Hank knew it was a matter of time.

  It wasn’t long before Hank heard the sounds of gunshots outside and artillery was being dropped in the city. His building would shake and he wondered how long it would be until his solar panels would be destroyed.

  The fighting was becoming intense outside. Hank played Rage Against the Machine’s Battle for Los Angeles in its entirety. Then the time came that he dreaded.

  He heard the pounding on the door. It wasn’t the code of knocks that he had set for the messengers. He heard the hollers in Chinese outside. Cutting the last song short Hank went back to the microphone.

  “I apologize for this fellow listeners. It appears that I have some unwanted company here at the studio and this might be my final broadcast. I want to thank everyone that has helped me throughout the years to keep this show going. All the great runners that kept this thing going. Everyone that brought me records to play and of course all my listeners out there. I love you all. This is DJ Crash checking out.”

  Hank flipped the switch and placed his final record on the turntable. The End by The Doors. A suiting end to his career. He also left the microphone on so his listeners could hear his final moments. Hank remained in his chair until his door was finally broken down. Red army soldiers flooded in, AK rifles in hand. Their green uniforms looked like something out of an old Vietnam movie. They yelled at him in Chinese.

  “I don’t understand you!” Hank said.

  One of the soldiers, a younger member, started talking in broken English.

  “You down, shit head!” The soldier said.

  Hank kneed down in front of the desk. Behind his back he grabbed a remote with a switch on it. He flipped the plastic cover open and waited.

  “You terrorist against people’s army, you’re sentence is death.” The young soldier said as they raised their AK-47s at Hank.

  “Last words?’ Hank said.

  “You beg?” The young soldier asked,

  “Fuck You!” Hank screamed.

  Hank flipped the switch and the room exploded. The blast exited out the door and pushed the above floors up in the air breaking the support beams. The entire building collapsed back down onto itself creating a tomb for the studio. The entire city was able to hear Hank’s last words of defiance.

  That day the Chinese army was pushed back two miles towards the shore. It didn’t last long but the anger of Hank’s death had inspired an offense that made the Chinese army think twice about coming to America. Unfortunately the Chinese army was here to stay.