Dark Days of the After (Book 1): Dark Days of the After

by Schow, Ryan

  “But why would our own government do that?” Orbey asked. “They took an oath.”

  “They were guaranteed a better future it seems. A decade ago, China was promised the world reserve currency by the central banks, which meant it would be taken from us. If you know anything about that, losing the world reserve currency would damn near break the country. The former President tried to move us back to the gold standard and nationalize the central banks, but the call for debt repayment happened behind the barrel of a gun, and that’s how we lost our way. As for the new President, he went to China months ago. We were told he was back. He wasn’t. Some channels said he was still in China, operating from there remotely. No one bought that. A lot of us knew he’d been compromised at the highest levels of the State Department. Word finally arrived a few days ago and it wasn’t good. The President has officially been gutted and is now hanging from a fixture erected in Tiananmen Square. He’s hanging like a freaking tree ornament.”

  “He’s dead?” Connor asked, aghast.

  “Slaughtered and strung up by the ankles as a message to the world that China is now the dominant world power.”

  “Why haven’t we seen this?” Orbey asked, her face as white as a sheet.

  “You mean like on the news?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because our media is run by the Chicoms,” Harper explained. “We only see what they want us to see.”

  “It’s been like that for fifteen years now,” Connor said. “If the Chicoms are trying to assert dominance, I’d think they’d show us something like this.”

  “They will in due time,” Harper said.

  “Well what are they waiting for?” Orbey asked. “America to fall?”

  “America has fallen,” Harper said.

  “Then what?”

  “When they take out our infrastructure, it will be so they can bring in theirs, under their full control, ruling us with an iron fist.”

  “And that’s when they’ll announce it?” Connor said, looking a little peaked.

  “No, they’ll announce it when they rename our country The People’s Republic of America.”

  This was the thing that drove Harper to dig in and fight to take back what was once theirs. This was the war she was fighting. It wasn’t just an occupied California she worried about. It was the death of a dream. America was the great experiment in freedom. They always knew that America could remain free so long as the checks and balances were working, that government remained separate but equal. After the attempted coup of the last President, after the complete denigration of integrity and the stoking of division through planned channels, the weakened system fell easily under the forty-sixth President. The same President she’d seen pictures of strung up in China before sending a secret message to Blue Lark.

  This was the last transmission she sent to Skylar, the one that got her caught by Logan.

  Now she was there. Out of the fight. Tucked away in the forest in a dinky town called Five Falls, Oregon with a dopey Sheriff, poachers for neighbors and a super creeper pedophile running Five Falls Feed & Seed.

  Sitting down, she tried to wrap her head around everything. She was the leader of this Resistance cell, the San Francisco cell, but she had to bug out under threat of death. And Skylar? She sent the letter for a reason. Was she compromised? If she was, the Chinese would make an example of her. Or maybe they wouldn’t. To admit she’d been caught infiltrating one of the highest positions in the land would mean there was a way for others to penetrate it as well. Plus, for the Minister of Propaganda to make such an admission would cost him his life.

  If Skylar was going to die, it would be quietly and no one would ever know about it. Was that what was happening now? Was she dead already? Left in a ditch? Rotting?

  Just then Stephani burst through the back door and said, “I swear to God, you’d think every one of those guys is a straight up pipe chugger.”

  She stopped when she saw the looks on everyone’s faces.

  “What’d I miss?” she asked.

  “Cooper just let out the worst fart,” Harper lied. “Almost made your mom cry. Nearly did it to me, too.”

  She knelt down, took the dog by the sides of the face and said, “Did you make a stinky?” He looked at her, then lowered his head back down to the floor. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “We opened a window,” Connor said.

  “Cooper, tell me the truth,” she said. The dog didn’t move. “What did you feed him?” Stephani asked, looking at Connor specifically.

  “Nothing, but we don’t know if he ate something outside,” Orbey said. “It was pretty bad. But let’s not dwell on that. How are the bees?”

  “Good,” she said, looking around, suspicious.

  “We made peanut butter and honey sandwiches,” Connor said.

  “Deal me in,” she said wiping sweat from her brow. “I need to freshen up. Maybe go and show the outhouse who’s boss.”

  “Take the dog,” Orbey said.

  “Cooper, come!” she said. The German Shepherd jumped to its feet, instant energy, and trotted behind her as she went to her room to change.

  There was some silence, but it was clear Orbey was still bothered by their conversation. She finally asked, “Are you sure all this is happening?”

  “Yes,” she replied, regretfully. “That’s why I need to get on your computer. You have internet service, yes?”

  “Yes,” Orbey said. “Hughes Net does our satellite service. You can access the internet if you want. Skylar set it up. It’s still operating on something Skylar called the clear net. Is that right?”

  “She said you’d know what to do about THOR,” Connor added.

  “TOR,” Harper said, grinning. “It’s how you gain access to the dark web. That’s where we communicate a lot. It’s untraceable.”

  “How’s that?”

  “The clear net is basically everything you can see and access through search browsers. But the dark web and the deep web are unindexed sites. In other words, they’re not trackable, therefor they’re not traceable.”

  “That’s where all the bad stuff happens,” Orbey said, although Harper thought she meant it to be a question.

  “There are hitmen for hire, drugs and guns for sale, people for sale, children, and even red rooms.”

  “What’s a red room?” Connor asked.

  “It’s where people pay to watch someone get murdered in real time. People bid on the means of death.”

  “I can’t hear this anymore,” Orbey said. “Just, please stop.”

  Nodding her head, Harper said, “This is why I do what I do, Orbey. Skylar knows you can and will defend your land. She also knows you’ll defend me, too, if it comes to that. I can protect myself, but I still have to work.”

  “If things are going to collapse here,” Connor said, “there’s a few people who are going to have to die right when everything kicks off or we’re going to be in trouble.”

  “That’s what Orbey said,” Harper replied.

  “And she’s right,” Connor said, grim. “I just don’t like what that means.”

  Orbey cleared her throat, sat up a bit straighter. Harper watched her trying to get back to her more hospitable self. Forcing a smile, she said, “We’ll pray over it when Stephani gets done cuttin’ plumbs.”

  “Cutting plumbs?” Harper said.

  “That’s how we say doing number two,” Connor said. “You’re either cuttin’ plumbs or you’re sending a fax to Cleveland. Dealer’s choice.”

  Chapter Eleven

  She laid down for a nap, but sleeping during the day had been no different than sleeping at night. The nightmares unfolded without warning.

  In her dreams, the gunshot had her tossing and turning. And the dead body? It was just laying there, a red bloom on the hip, one perfect hole in the head. Then the explosion, the smoke, everyone on the ground in a slow motion scramble. She started killing. She began stabbing people, the Chicoms, and when she was done, she just stood
over one of them, watching him die.

  She woke up, sweating, the sheets damp around her, her forehead not only mapped with perspiration but running with actual sweat.

  Sitting up, she saw the sun was still up, but it wouldn’t be for long.

  She rolled her neck, heard the popping and instantly felt better. The weight of the dream weighed on her heavily. These mishmash dreams she was having, these were snippets of actual events in her head, which had her feeling even more lousy than before. Slowly she got to her feet, then fixed her hair and left her room. Orbey was in the kitchen making supper.

  “Can I help with something?” Harper asked.

  “No, but thank you. Why don’t you get some fresh air before it gets too cold,” she suggested. “Besides, the kitchen’s small, maybe even too small for the both of us.”

  “It’s okay with me,” she said.

  “Stephani and Connor are up at the barn if you want to go there, too. This is my happy time, sweetheart.”

  She wandered outside, smelled the fresh air, the trees and shrubs, the hearty earth smell beneath her feet, then the fresh cut cord of wood.

  She walked around the four foot by eight foot length of chopped wood, fingered a few bullet holes, felt the memories coming back. It was like this in her dreams. Just like this in real life when she first arrived.

  Down the slope of the hill, past a couple hundred yards of meadow grass, was the edge of the trees. She started down the gentle grade, careful not to slip or twist an ankle. A few minutes later, she was standing over the mound of dirt knowing a dead body was down there. The missing man the Sheriff would love to find. If he found out what happened, people would go to jail.

  She might even be one of them.

  Trekking back up the hill, she walked over the ridge and past a clearing that held Stephani’s bee hives (there were nine of them on four-by-four posts held up by cinder blocks). Beyond that, in a larger clearing, on top of a flat hill, was the barn and a dozen half-naked men at work.

  Half-naked sweaty men…

  When she got there, every eye found her, and a few lingered. Most, however, went back to work unhindered.

  “Come up here, Harper,” Connor said. It looked like he was talking with one of the guys, maybe the foreman. Cooper turned and bolted toward her, circled her, then came at her side, tongue out, as if she was someone he’d like to either present or protect.

  “Look at you,” she said, “winning over my affections.”

  “Harper is new here,” Connor told the man, “but the barn will be hers. I appreciate all of you here, but if any of your men so much as lay a hand on her, or talk crass, I’ll kill you.”

  He said this without a hint of humor. Maybe this was the version of Connor that Orbey warned her about. The Connor that would risk everything to protect his family.

  “My guys are clean and vetted,” the foreman said. His name was Vladimir, and though he was Russian, his American accent was perfect.

  Vladimir seemed to have an eye for Harper.

  “Come see what we’re doing, Harper,” Vladimir said.

  “Okay,” she replied.

  Inside the barn, most of the workers were framing out the rooms, meaning nails were getting hammered, and guys were talking about this and that. Then there were the electricians and their power drills. These guys were running holes through the length of exposed two-by-fours. In the center of the barn was a big bundle of wiring.

  Vladimir was not in Harper’s league, but he wasn’t picture perfect, either. He was strong looking and confident, most of the real estate on his body toned from hard work and most certainly a minuscule diet.

  Where she wondered if he was interested in her before, now she was sure he wasn’t. With Connor outside, Vlad looked at her like he’d look at a door knob, or a sack of feed. Her mood began to plummet. He’d only been polite to her for Connor’s sake. Now he was walking her around because he felt he had to.

  “Connor said you’re going to be living here,” he said without pretense. “Is that right?”

  “At first it’ll just be me,” she said, reserved, “but there will be others later.”

  “I’m going to make you safe in here, but also, we’re going for a bit of luxury at the same time.”

  “I’m more interested in safety.”

  “Skylar wants you comfortable, too. She says that’s important.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  He studied her, probing her eyes, and then he said, “You realize most shelters are sparse, tight and uncomfortable, right?”

  “I do.”

  “This won’t be that,” he said, looking for some enthusiasm.

  “Like I said, Vladimir, I appreciate that.”

  “Please,” he said, “call me Vlad.”

  “Okay.”

  “Who are you?” he finally asked when the tour was over.

  She felt some heat steal into her cheeks, but she reminded herself he was doing this more for Connor and Skylar than for her.

  “I’m a nobody,” she said.

  Laughing, he replied, “I doubt that. Listen, I have to get to work. If you need anything, or any of the guys bug you, just let me know.”

  “I haven’t been bugged in a long time,” she said.

  “If you need help with that,” he joked, “just let me know. But don’t tell Connor.”

  She stared at him and he stared back. What was that? She didn’t say buggered. Did she just offer herself up for sex? Did he just offer?

  “Okay, then,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  With that, he went back to work.

  Instead of walking past everyone and feeling that moment of being seen replaced with that moment of being ignored, she left through the barn’s back door. Out there she saw Connor walking the raised beds with Stephani.

  “Oh, hey!” Connor said. “Come check these out.”

  There were eight very long planter beds all with fresh topsoil. The soil stunk of chicken manure and compost, two vital ingredients for plant growth. At least that’s what she understood from reading about how vegetables were grown.

  She hadn’t had a fresh vegetable in years. Well, not until she’d arrived and had a few of Orbey’s meals. Now she wanted to seed the soil, water it and watch something grow.

  Reaching down into the wood-framed planter bed, she took a handful of soil, brought it to her nose and smelled it. A smile crept over her face as she parted her fingers and let the soil sift through the gaps. She finally dumped the rest back into the planter box and said, “When do we start dropping seeds?”

  “You got a whole bucket of ‘em,” Stephani said, “so let’s go figure out what you’d like to eat.”

  Before they left, one of the guys came out front, scooped some water out of a nearby wash bucket and dumped it over his head.

  Harper looked at his body, unconcerned with the plainness of his face, and she felt something stirring in her. It wasn’t lust, or need. It was just…she didn’t see this back in San Francisco.

  This was what freedom used to feel like.

  When he looked up and caught her staring at him, her eyes darted away and she felt embarrassed.

  Back at the house, she and Stephani emptied the seed packs from the bucket and began sorting through them. Connor got in the mix, moving the out-of-season seeds to the right and the in-season seeds toward her and Stephani.

  That’s when Stephani said, “Time to pick your meals, girl.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Skylar Madigan tried to open her eyes, but the blood had crusted her lids shut, making it difficult to see. Her face was pressed into something hard, but with a cold, polished surface. She started to move, but stopped abruptly.

  Good God, it hurt!

  She tried to move, slower this time, but she heard crinkling, like plastic being rustled about. When she finally worked her eyes open, she realized that sound was a plastic bag pulled loosely over her head. With her neck cranked sideways and her vision obscured, the pa
in in her face and body gave way to fear, and then to terror. Sucking it up, she flexed her body, trying to figure out if anything was broken, or even where she was. The first thing she realized was that her hands were bound together.

  Something bit into her wrists.

  Zip-ties?

  Moving like a mermaid, her heels found purchase. She wiggled her head loose of the plastic bag finding she was in a porcelain bathtub stained red with what she imagined was her own blood.

  Even worse, she was stripped naked.

  She continued flexing and inching her body to a more manageable location in the tub. So far, nothing was broken, she had no fatal wounds, and now…now her memory was coming back.

  She’d been getting dressed in the closet of the Minister of Propaganda’s hideaway apartment (“My wife doesn’t know about it,” he’d said.) when someone clubbed her over the head.

  She’d gone to a knee, but then she turned to her attacker and that’s when the second blow rained down on her head.

  This explained the blood. The indescribable migraine headache. The woozy feeling swirling through her.

  She fought the urge to cry.

  What had they done to her face? It felt punched, the flesh tight and swollen, her head a throbbing ache that just wouldn’t quit. That sob she’d been holding back snuck up on her and got loose. The brief hitch was an admission of the situation she was in.

  Because she did not cry.

  How had this even happened? She’d been careful. Meticulous.

  She heard the man coming before he actually got there. When he arrived in the oversized bathroom, she looked up at him through a pained stare, aware she wasn’t shielding the terror in her eyes. She was too afraid of what was coming next to worry about posturing.

  “Wakey, wakey,” the man said in a Chinese accent.

  She squeezed her thighs together to cover her privates. She wanted to cover her breasts, too, but twisting and straining against the hard plastic binding around her wrist would only cut her. He looked down at her with a sneer and eyes that gently swept up the length of her body.