Stand Your Ground: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Survival Fiction Series (American Song Series)

by Chris Pike

Chapter 15

  Central Texas

  Fifty Years in the Future

  “That certainly was an interesting fact,” Teddy said. He clicked off the recorder. “Wow, Ella.” He sat back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head, taking a moment to process all the information I was throwing at him.

  “What do you mean, wow?”

  “Your memory. It’s like this happened yesterday. You’ve been talking non-stop with such sharp detail. Your story is so fascinating that I haven’t even taken notes. I’m completely mesmerized. And I can’t believe your memory is so good.” He removed his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes, then placed his glasses back on.

  “To tell you the truth, I am too. I haven’t thought about that day in a long time. I’m surprised I’ve remembered so many details.”

  “This is a history making interview.”

  “I don’t feel like history.”

  I gazed out the window at the softening hues of the sky, like someone had taken a watercolor brush and swiped it across the heavens. It must be late afternoon, and I briefly thought about the chores I should be doing at the ranch. The chickens needed to be put in the coop for the night, trash needed burning, the garden needed to be weeded, I needed to check for holes in the wire surrounding the garden so rabbits couldn’t dine on my fall vegetables, and buckets needed to be put out to collect rainwater from the storm I suspected would blow in soon. I also needed to make sure the house was secure from intruders, not the the human kind, rather the other kind.

  I didn’t like being outside after dark. The dark frightened me. I couldn’t see at night, and my imagination would run wild, thinking the shadows were following my every move.

  I needed to get home before dark. I hated the dark, and what lurked in the shadows. I wasn’t afraid of humans; I was afraid of the animals who were at home in the dark, using it to their advantage to stalk and attack unsuspecting prey.

  Prey like humans, like me.

  I shivered.

  “Ella? Are you alright?” Teddy asked.

  Quickly composing myself, I said, “Yes, why?”

  “You’re wringing your hands to the point they’re red.”

  “I am?” I glanced at my hands. I wasn’t aware I had been squeezing them. “Oh, it’s only my arthritis flaring up. If I rub my hands like this,” I said, demonstrating like I was giving them a thorough wash, “it helps my arthritis.”

  “Alright,” Teddy said, unconvinced. “You looked like you were in pain.”

  “I’m fine,” I lied. My heart was in my throat.

  Teddy removed his glasses, took a soft cloth from his pocket, and cleaned the lenses. He looked at me thoughtfully. “The recorder is off, Ella.”

  “Your point is…?” I gestured with my hands, inviting him to explain himself.

  “I want to know what your thoughts are right now. I want the truth, the kind that’s in here,” he said, “thumping his heart. Not a filtered memory for the history books.”

  I didn’t answer him immediately. Teddy’s a sly one. He pretended to be a clumsy collegiate researcher, hiding behind his glasses and his books. It was clear he understood life. I silently chastised myself, having broken one of my own rules to never underestimate someone by their looks. I’d underestimated Teddy. Earlier, I wasn’t sure he was ready for the truth. Perhaps it was me who wasn’t ready.

  “I have been holding back,” I admitted.

  “Why?”

  “This is hard for me, especially the truth. Do you understand I’ve done things I’m not proud of; things I wanted to forget? There were things that could eviscerate our bodies with a single swipe.”

  “Things? Do you mean animals?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t have to tell me about that right now if you’re not ready. Whatever needs to be said will be said in due time. I’m not judging you, Ella. I’m only a spectator in the gladiator battle of your life, watching from the safety of the sidelines.”

  “It’s easier to watch from the sidelines, isn’t it? Where you can’t get hurt, and if danger does come your way, you have time to react.”

  “I’d rather be a spectator,” Teddy said.

  “I’d rather be the gladiator.” I lowered my voice. “Fighting to live isn’t for the faint of heart. It takes a warrior to live. I was indeed on the battlefield, among the brutality and the violence, my opponents wanting to kill or silence me. Bigger and faster opponents, I’d like to add.”

  “Yes, but you won in the end, didn’t you?”

  “That depends on what you mean by won,” I countered.

  “You get to tell your story, the others don’t. That’s winning.”

  “I suppose so.”

  I glanced down at my hands, wrinkled and gnarled from being in the sun and working the ranch, tilling soil, hammering nails, fixing fences, assisting in the births of calves. Digging graves.

  Lifting my head, I checked what Jessica Harbaugh was doing. Her reading glasses had slipped halfway down her nose, perched like a bird on a wire. The chain attached to her glasses dangled on the front of her blouse, and Jessica was fiddling with the chain while she read a book at the front desk. I was jealous of her because I would have liked to have been a librarian, surrounded by people seeking the truth or educating themselves.

  Over the years I had developed a sixth sense on when I was being studied or tracked, and I felt Teddy’s eyes boring into my soul.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked again, his eyes unwavering on mine.

  “I’m thinking your books are safe.”

  “They are. But they are also power. There is power in knowledge, Ella, and I want you to share your knowledge with the world. Every bit of knowledge, regardless of how insignificant you may think it is. I think if you shared it with us, you’d be liberated.”

  “Liberated?” I scoffed. “From what?”

  “From yourself. You’ve been holding it in too long. What you saw. What you had to do. You’re the one who has been hiding, Ella. I’m not the one hiding. We need to know your story. All of it.”

  “I’d like to forget it.”

  “But you can’t.”

  “No, damn it, I can’t.”

  “Don’t give up now. You’re almost there.”

  “You’re pushing too many boundaries,” I said, raising my voice. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

  Teddy’s tensed brow relaxed to one of defeat, and he sat back in his chair, giving me space. I hung my head and massaged my temples, trying to hide my building anger. I supposed he thought he was treading on thin ice with me because I had reluctantly agreed to this interview. I feigned my agreeableness for the noble cause of education and higher learning. I laughed. I was kidding myself, because it was one hell of a story. I was never a quitter, and though this interview was extremely uncomfortable for me, I’d do what I’d always done. March forward.

  “Teddy?” My eyes blazed at a thought I had. “If this was a movie, it would have been a great one, containing the necessary elements for a rip-roaring action movie: germ warfare, the United States being attacked, new technology, Air Force One crashing.” I paused, lifting an eyebrow. “And a love story mixed in among all that carnage.”

  “It was Kyle, wasn’t it?”

  I tossed him a sly smile, dodging his question. “But it wasn’t a movie, it was real life.” I took a breath. “It was my life, and I kept waiting for the credits to roll at the end and for the lights to come on so I could get back to my normal life attending school, playing basketball, dating boys, getting married one day, and having kids where we all lived happily ever after. My mother did name me after the fairytale princess, Cinderella, after all. How ironic was that, Teddy? That my mother hoped for a fairytale life for me. Instead, my reality was a nightmare.”

  Teddy placed his hand on my mine. I patted his hand then withdrew my arm. It reminded me of someone I knew.

  “Don’t pity me, Teddy.”

  “I’m not. I’m
fascinated. Ella, I’ve read everything I can about you, which I admit isn’t much, and I’ve never come across anything regarding the time right after the disaster.”

  “I’ve never spoken about it to anyone. You can only truly understand it if you experienced it. I’ve read about military veterans being connected through their entire lives due to their combat experiences. They can go decades without seeing each other, but once they reconnect it’s like time never happened.”

  “That didn’t happen with the survivors, did it?”

  “No. I’ve also read about survivors of extremely hideous events, drifting apart because the other person experienced what you went through. They know your darkest secrets, some of which are too heinous to revisit. Yes,” I nodded, “the survivors have indeed drifted apart. I doubt I’d go to a reunion if there ever was one.”

  “You wouldn’t have to. Most have died,” Teddy said. “That’s why this interview is so important. To record what happened. I’ve scoured old houses and places some of the survivors inhabited looking for journals, but there were none to be found. Did you keep one by any chance?” he asked hopefully.

  “No. None of us did.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we didn’t have time to write our feelings down on paper, or think of clever sonnets to pen, whiling away the time. We were too busy surviving, trying to find enough to eat, trying to figure out who was an ally or an enemy. The enemies pretended to be our friends, but we found out the hard way that appearances are deceiving. People made alliances.”

  “I bet you made an alliance with Kyle. Am I right?”

  “I guess you could call it that.”

  “Tell me more.”

  In one big sigh, I released a life’s worth of stress, letting my mind wander back to that time, a time I couldn’t imagine what was in store for us. Closing my eyes, the images, the smells, the fear—it all came barreling back to me, and I was transported back to the train where we all were sitting, trying to figure out this new crazy world we had been thrust into.

  Chapter 16

  Present Day

  West of Houston

  President Sayer had taken a seat in the engine room, and was nursing the drink Travis had poured earlier.

  “Instead of using a password, face recognition, or a thumbprint, DNA would be used instead,” he told us. “And since each human being has different DNA, except for twins, it would be one of the better safeguards for sensitive data, or in this case an aircraft specifically made to protect the president.”

  “That’s worthy of a movie on the Sci-fi channel,” Kyle commented.

  “As a matter of fact, that’s where we got the idea on the DNA from.”

  “A movie on the Sci-fi channel? No way! Seriously?”

  “I’m kidding.” President Sayer grinned. “But they do come up with some wild ideas for movies. Sharknado comes to mind.” Everyone laughed. “Alright, now that things have lightened up, using my DNA is for real, and it’s virtually hacker proof.”

  “As long as nobody gets their hands on your DNA,” I said. “I’ve watched crime shows. DNA can be found even on a fork.”

  “That’s correct, Ella, but my DNA is protected as much as the White House is. All trash I generate is incinerated in an underground pit, dishes and utensils are sanitized, and nothing of mine leaves the White House. Even when I’m at a State dinner in another country, anything I use is taken away by the Secret Service.”

  “Okay, but you still have to start the pod. What do you do, lick it or something?”

  President Sayer laughed. “Actually, yes. I lick a plastic card about this big…” He pulled what appeared to be a credit card out of his wallet. “This card works like a credit card when you insert the chip end into a reader. The reader in the pod reads my DNA, matches it to the sequence on file, and if it’s a match, the engine starts.” President Sayer looked to us for input. “Any questions?”

  “Suppose you lose your wallet? Or an operative from another country steals it? Then they’d have your DNA on the card.”

  “Good point, Ella. Even if that happened, it wouldn’t matter. The card is specially made so my DNA is destroyed after one minute.”

  He was met with a collective mumble.

  “Why don’t you fly the pod to D.C.?” I asked.

  “I would if I could, but the GPS is broken. All I needed to do was to punch in a destination, and voila, the pod would fly there. Since it’s broken, it’s no use. I could have even used an iPhone to navigate, but those are useless now. Although I could probably navigate the interstates to D.C. by day if I had a map.”

  “Why don’t you?” I asked.

  “I forgot to bring a road atlas of the United States,” the president deadpanned.

  “There’s such a thing?” I asked, thinking he was pulling my leg.

  “There is. But it’s big and bulky, and weighed too much, so decided we wouldn’t need it. The pod can only carry a certain amount of weight. In hindsight, we should’ve had some type of navigation other than a computer driven one. I’ll be sure to put in an order for the road atlas. The national budget should be able to handle that expense.”

  The president winked at me, and I returned a smile, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of a road atlas saving the president.

  He clapped his hands once, and said, “Okay, let’s figure out how to load the pod on the train.”

  Kyle said he needed to “detank” which I gathered was man-speak for relieving himself. Tommy followed behind his big brother, probably to do the same.

  Travis and Charlie exited the train, and conversed out of earshot. I strained my ears to decipher their hushed voices. A few minutes later, Kyle and Tommy returned and joined Travis and Charlie. They said they needed to break up in order to inventory what the train had to offer.

  There were a few railcars to search, so while the guys checked the train, I decided to get a few winks of shut-eye.

  May rested in the top bunk, and I opted for the lower bunk where I could stretch my legs out. If I angled my body from the inside corner to the outside corner, I could dangle my feet off the mattress. These bunks obviously hadn’t been designed with taller people in mind. May fit in the bunk like a key in a lock. I worried about her because she intermittently cried from the snakebite, saying it was burning as if someone was holding a red hot coal to her arm. I told her to hang on a few more minutes until it was time for more pain reliever.

  She tossed and turned, and I tried to take her mind off her pain by getting her to talk to me.

  “What would you like once we get to the farm?”

  “Can you heat canned vegetables? And if the fire is hot enough or if the propane is still working can you cook pasta?”

  “I will take care of you, May. I’ll make sure you eat well and get plenty of rest.”

  If Uncle Grant was still there he’d probably have fresh venison or turkey for us, and knowing my uncle, he’d probably stocked the cellar with apples, carrots, potatoes, and cabbage. My father and Uncle Grant drilled into us to only keep the vegetables with a shelf life of several months. Each time we made a trip there, my father rotated the produce, keeping to the FIFO accounting method of first in, first out. That way the older produce would be eaten first.

  My dad kept meticulous dates on the produce stored in bins on shelves in the cellar. We used to make fun of him, but I’d grown to appreciate the method.

  My dad had talked to Uncle Grant before all this happened, telling him we were planning to make a trip there, and possibly live at the farm for at least a year. My dad would never tell me why he wanted to uproot the family from one of the largest cities in the United States to go live on our family homestead located in the rolling hills of Central Texas. I hadn’t been too concerned since I would have been attending college in the fall where I’d be in a large city, surrounded by a throng of students. If I wanted takeout pizza, no problem. If I wanted to attend football games, no problem. If I wanted to check out the library, art muse
ums, a lecture on something other than school, it would have been a ten minute walk from my dorm.

  College.

  My dreams of college were shattered.

  That sure wouldn’t happen now, and the reality of our current situation hit me strong and hard, coming at me like a gale force wind. It could have knocked the breath out of me, and it would have, except I decided to fight it with all I had, taking comfort in the fact we were heading to the ranch.

  A family trip to the ranch always invigorated me. We couldn’t watch TV because there was no TV. Wifi? My dad said no way, which allowed—or forced—May and I (depending on the perspective), to play outside in the shade of the oaks growing in the yard.

  It wasn’t much of a yard. The grass grew when it rained, and when it didn’t the grass went dormant, becoming dry, the brown stalks crunching under our shoes. There were no shrubs to prune or water, and the only flowers were the wild ones which bloomed in the spring, then went to seed, waiting for another spring.

  My dad taught me to shoot and to hunt, and to pick the best hiding spots from which to take a shot. Deer were creatures of habit, and took the same trail each day to the best feeding grounds.

  I theorized May and I survived because we shared common DNA, so if we survived, then it was possible our uncle survived. After listening to May tossing and turning, the bunk creaking with each movement, I reminded her to keep still and to think pleasant thoughts.

  What I most wanted to do was to get to the ranch, away from this city that had taken on the odor of death. Flies swarmed rotting corpses. Some of them had been ravaged by dogs and other animals getting fat off the bloated flesh putrefying under the hot sun. The stench had seeped into my clothes and onto my skin, mixed with my own sweat.

  As soon as we got to the ranch, I planned to jump into the spring-fed pool not far from the house. A stream ran along the western border of the ranch where tree branches threaded together forming a canopy.

  The water in the spring was a constant seventy-two degrees, and was as clear as a swimming pool, yet without the chorine. In the summer, mottled shade filtered through the leaves, casting shadows on the water. Shimmering minnows darted along the sides, and green water grass swayed in the flow, skipping over the bottom lined with pebbles and larger rocks.