The After War

by Brandon Zenner

  There were no dates, no times, no explanation. Only names.

  Simon’s forehead touched the cold stone, his eyes staring into the earth that was piled high over the remains of his father, his mother, and a woman he still loved with all of his heart …

  ***

  “I don’t think they had ever planned on leaving,” Simon told the old man. “For all I know, they made up the story about going down south so that I wouldn’t protest about leaving them behind. It might have been their purpose to make sure their family was as safe as possible and then ride out the storm as best as they could. After they died, a person cared enough about them to move two massive rocks over their graves. That person was a family friend—a good friend of mine, Tom Byrnes. I asked him if he knew how they died, and he did not. There was nothing further he could tell me, no trace of my brother, and no explanation of their death. The disease is presumed, although they were too far into decay to be certain when Tom had found them.”

  The old man, who had remained quiet as Simon told his story, began to speak. “It’s best that you do not dwell on questions that cannot be answered. They will only further poison your thoughts.”

  Simon nodded. “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just … hard. My brother, he might be alive—he could be … but I know in my heart that he isn’t. Maybe he survived the disease only to die trying to get home? I don’t know … I never will.”

  The old man continued, “Know always that when your thoughts go to these dark places—bad memories, horrible images that your mind creates, things that you have seen—a light will always be shining bright deep down in the darkest recesses, for I will always have you in my thoughts and prayers.”

  Simon felt his throat constrict. “And I you,” he told the old man.

  The man nodded and said, “There is no way to change the past. One can mourn it, and in mourning will come great tribulations. It is your mind that conjures up painful and negative emotions; outside circumstances are only things, illusions. It is possible to remain positive in the worst circumstances, no matter how terrible the outside circumstance may seem, once you peel back the veil of negativity that falsely covers your mind. You are in charge of your own thoughts and emotions; they are not guided by circumstance or the outside world. A universe is within you, and you may do with it as you please.”

  As Simon thought this over, the old man reached forward, clapped a hand over his knee, and stood on agile feet.

  “We thank you, Teacher Simon, for your lesson. If our paths ever do cross again it will be for the benefit of us all.” The old man spoke these words, bowed his head, and turned toward the congregation with a thoughtful smile.

  Chapter 36

  Alice Bound

  General Albert Driscoll, The General, was responsible for establishing the three Zones. The now white-haired man resided in Zone Red, several miles north of Alice, controlling the ports in a town named Hightown.

  Zone Red controlled the import of fuel.

  Zone Blue controlled the water.

  Zone Green had not yet been fully established, but the plans were for it to restore the factories and large farms far south of Zone Blue. Zone Green’s primary objective was ensuring long-term canning, food processing, and the eventual assembly line approach to food, weapons, parts, medicine, and personal goods. Presently, only a small faction of well-qualified engineers and soldiers resided in Zone Green, setting its boundaries and deciding which factories need the minimal amount of work to get running.

  Brian, Carolanne, and Bethany were provided residence in Zone Red the day they arrived, and after being given time to heal, they were issued work details.

  Brian was now in the trade grounds, crossing over the broad paved lot used to unload the goods coming in from Alice. Once a week, sometimes twice, a convoy of trucks left Hightown to drop off their share of gasoline, oil, and other necessities to exchange with Zone Blue. They filled their own tankers with Alice’s clean water and packed the backs of the flatbeds with boxes of produce from Alice’s ample gardens. Plans were in the works to construct pipelines between the two Zones, delivering fuel and water back and forth, and eliminating the need for armed convoys. But that day had not yet arrived, and Zone Red still relied on Alice for the majority of its fresh water and food. Although Hightown had its own small farms, the inhabitants did not maintain a quarter as many of the plants or livestock as Alice.

  It was Zone Red’s responsibility to send the convoys, since their surplus of fuel was plentiful, and Zone Red’s soldiers were better equipped and trained. Hightown’s supply of armored cars and vehicles dwarfed Alice’s fleet, and Zone Red’s men were real fighting men, and not the fifty-year-old teachers-turned-warriors that comprised much of Zone Blue’s fighting force.

  The convoy was now returning from Alice. It was Brian Rhodes’s job to take inventory of the produce delivery, as well as lead the kitchen as sous chef under Chef Nick Remo at the communal mess hall.

  Brian tucked a paper in his clipboard and stepped down from the back of a flatbed truck as soldiers began unloading the crates. He checked his watch as he limped toward the exit: three hours until he was expected back at the kitchen to prep for dinner. Plenty of time.

  At the gated entrance to the trade grounds, Brian nodded to the guards and walked a short way toward the residential section of Hightown. Most of the soldiers were barracked beside the port or near the border, but the few residents who were not soldiers were permitted housing farther away from the front line.

  The pavement underfoot was bumpy, and Brian was relying on his cane more than he liked. His leg had been stiff all that day, and the walk was taking longer than usual.

  “Hey, Brian! Wait up.” He turned to see Bethany running along the sidewalk to catch up to him.

  “You done already?” he shouted to her.

  “Yup,” she said. “Your leg feeling all right? Haven’t seen you use the cane in a while.”

  “A bit sore today, but I’m fine. It’s getting better every day.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  Brain asked, “What did ol’ Patrick say about the potatoes?”

  “He said there’s no signs of mold on the new harvest. It’s under control. Two weeks until we’re back to normal.”

  Brian nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

  Patrick O’Hern was the chief of agriculture in Zone Blue and was as honest a man as Brian had ever met. If Pat said two weeks, he meant two weeks and not a day longer.

  “How’s he looking?” Brian asked.

  “About the same. Maybe a little better.”

  “I reckon a man his years should be spending less time plowing the fields and more time making sure someone else is plowing them.”

  “He’s not that old. I think he’s in his early sixties. But I agree with you; he should be spending more time teaching his craft and less time working at it.”

  When Brian asked Pat why he still tended the fields, he would reply in his faded brogue, “Why wouldn’t I?” Then he’d shuffle off on feet that appeared too heavy for his body to handle.

  Brian had nothing to say to that. And Pat was right, because however frail he might look, no matter how droopy his weathered skin appeared on his bones, the man still knew how to use a plow. No one could make things grow better than Patrick O’Hern.

  “How was the delivery?” Brian asked. “Any trouble?”

  “Nah, it’s quiet out there.”

  “Glad to hear it. You keeping inventory with the cargo team, going back and forth to Alice, still makes me nervous.”

  Bethany shrugged. “Is Carolanne home?” she asked.

  “She should be.” Usually during the gap between deliveries and dinner prep, Brian had some alone time with Carolanne back at their house.

  A surge of heat fluttered in his chest when he thought about what he’d normally be doing with her about this time. It would have to wait until later that night, when Bethany was fast asleep in her bedroom down the hall.


  He was thinking about this when Bethany asked, “What’s for dinner tonight?”

  “I, umm …” He cleared his thoughts, his vision of Carolanne’s dirty blond hair fanned out over the mattress as she lay with her back arched ever so slightly, elevating her breasts, her natural scent like the beach in the air. “Stew again,” he said. “No potatoes, of course.”

  Bethany looked at the ground as she walked at Brian’s slow pace. She was fiddling with her hands, and Brian was about to ask her what was wrong, but then she said, “Hey, listen … I have a question for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve been thinking …” She cleared her throat. “Well, I’ve been thinking … you know …”

  Brian looked at her. “No, I don’t know. What is it, Beth?”

  “It’s just …” She took a deep breath. “I’m thinking about moving to Zone Blue.”

  Brian watched her cheeks flush red.

  She continued, “It’s just that, I mean, you know how happy I am that we’re living in safety—an actual safe town, with food and water, and—”

  “You don’t have to explain,” Brian interrupted.

  She looked surprised, but continued. “I think I would be happier over there.”

  “Have you mentioned this to Uncle Al?” Brian looked around, making sure no one was around to hear him say Uncle. Only a few people knew Bethany’s true identity in Hightown, and no one in Alice knew it at all. It was Uncle Al’s intention for it to stay that way: to have the eyes of a trusted family member oversee trade without being identified. Bethany being related to the general was strictly confidential.

  She nodded. “I did. And Carolanne. And now you.”

  Brian was surprised. How did Carolanne not tell me? The woman who shares my bed keeps secrets from me?

  He smiled and said, “Hey, if that’s what you want to do, then by all means. Zone Blue is nice. It’s much calmer; it’s more like a real town. I understand.” He stopped and thought for a moment, then continued. “Up here, it’s all soldiering. The three of us don’t fit in with this lifestyle, but at least Carolanne and I have each other to pass the time. You could socialize a bit more down in Alice. I hear they have a stage where they play music after dinner and all sit around and talk.”

  “It’s true. Pat O’Hern told me the same thing. Listen, there’s one other thing I have to mention to you. I asked Uncle Al—just to see what he’d say—I asked him if you and Carolanne could move down, too … only if you want to, of course. He was reluctant at first, since the soldiers aren’t allowed to transfer unless it’s by assignment, but he relented. We’re not soldiers. He would let us all move to Alice.”

  Brian was struck silent. He had never thought about moving—it had never seemed to be an option. He was just glad to be living in safety. Brian had been to Alice a few times but had seen little of it.

  “It will be nice to see some trees,” Bethany continued. “Most of the town is in a park; Alice Springs.”

  Brian knew this, of course. That’s where the clean water came from. He looked about as he walked; in every direction he saw smokestacks, machinery, paved lots, warehouses. Zone Red was almost entirely industrial, with the ports taking up the vast majority of the space.

  “Reckon I’ll have to ask Carolanne,” Brian said. “Do you know much about Tom Byrnes?”

  Bethany shrugged. “Only that everyone in Zone Blue loves him. It was him and his son who established the town, under order by Uncle Al. They led a small company of soldiers to clear out any threats, then established the borders and built up the perimeter. Tom is responsible for fixing the reservoir. That much I know—that much everybody knows. I’ve seen him during deliveries. He’s about Uncle Al’s age, but he’s got a big barreled belly.” Bethany smirked. “He’s kind of handsome in an old man sort of way.”

  Brian raised his eyebrow at her. “I’ve heard good things about him. A few of the cooks spent time in Alice, settin’ up their kitchen. Reckon he’s a born leader. You sure Uncle Al doesn’t mind us moving down there?”

  “Tom Byrnes and Uncle Al are friends from before the war,” she said. “Tom doesn’t mind. They could use help in the kitchen, and Carolanne would be of use in the infirmary. Plus, they always need help in the garden. Everyone in Alice has to spend time in the fields, one day a week, minimum. Doesn’t sound so bad, if you ask me.”

  Brian nodded. “Well, I’ll talk to Carolanne. When are you planning on leaving?”

  “Next week—next delivery. But you guys can come down whenever is good.”

  “I would have to train a new sous chef, but that wouldn’t be hard.” Brian was quiet for a moment, and then smiled. “I think Carolanne will like it in Alice.”

  Bethany reached out and squeezed his hand. “I think so, too.”

  Chapter 37

  Tomatoes

  The large fields in Alice Springs, several of which had once been soccer and football fields, had been tilled, turned over, raked, plowed, and planted. The acre-sized rectangular fields were now crowded with row upon row of vegetables. Lanes wide enough to drive cars down were cut straight through, sectioning the various gardens. At times—especially when the corn was in harvest—the fields looked able to produce an endless amount of food.

  Not far away, just a short walk through the woods, was the reservoir itself.

  Today was Simon’s shift in the gardens, and he’d just spent the previous three hours hunched over, pulling weeds from spaces between the budding tomato plants.

  Soon, he thought, soon, they will all begin to flower.

  He couldn’t wait.

  The heirloom tomatoes were particularly fascinating with their wide range of colors and unique shapes. Almost like tiny pumpkins, Simon thought, or tomatoes left to the imagination of Matisse or van Gogh. Simon longed for the day when he could pick a ripe tomato straight off the vine, feel its warmth in the palm of his hands, hold his nose next to the skin on the fruit and smell the sun and earth and water baked into its flesh, all the while standing among a sea of glistening red tomatoes shimmering in the summer sun.

  But it was too early in the season to be daydreaming of such things.

  Off in the distance by the tool shed, someone rang a bell to indicate lunchtime.

  Simon stood, stretched his back, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his gritty hand. He picked up his rifle, swung it over his shoulder, and wove in with the workers emerging from the rows of plants to walk down the center lane. Simon stood in line to return his plow to the tool shed, then made his way with everyone else toward the mess hall in the center of town.

  Although every resident was given a share of the raw produce, the majority of the harvest went straight to the kitchen at the Alice Volunteer Fire Department, where three meals were served a day.

  The firehouse stood in an expansive grass field, and a buffet line was set up in one of the vacant, long garages formerly used to house a fire truck. In the clearing before the tall firehouse doors were dozens of park benches arranged in straight lines, many underneath a tarp awning.

  In the rear of the building and to the side, bordering the woods, a plank-board stage had been constructed, with the open field before it stretching to the street. Speeches were given there, town addresses, and weekly news reports issued from Tom Byrnes himself. Several of the town’s residents often gave impromptu musical performances in the spring and summer evenings, when the sun provided enough light for everyone to gather around after food service.

  Simon stood in line with a tray until he was given a scoop of stew—a mix of just about every conceivable vegetable and meat, including small birds and squirrels. Large wild game was scarce.

  Before exiting the food line, Simon was given a thick slab of freshly baked bread, which smelled earthy like sage and was producing vapors of steam from its fleshy side.

  He headed to the benches in the front, finding Jeremy eating with several other men. Shortly before Simon came to town, Jeremy Winters’ prev
ious two roommates had been killed while out on patrol searching for supplies in a neighboring town. Simon had been issued lodging in one of the spare rooms.

  “Jeremy,” he said, “how’s it going?”

  “All right, Simon. Enjoying your day of hard work?”

  “Every day is hard work—not like you lazy Guards.”

  “Oh, is that right?” Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “You and your Ranger friends going for a leisurely stroll through the woods after dinner? Holding hands, maybe? Be sure to bring a guitar.”

  Another guard at the table, Mark Samuel, interrupted them. “Will you two get a room?”

  Jeremy and Simon both turned across the table to Mark.

  “Shut up, Mark,” Jeremy said before laughing.

  The banter between the various infantrymen was a common and sometimes annoying occurrence. The three main divisions of men in Zone Blue were the Guards—the men on the front line, day in and day out; the Rangers—to which Simon belonged; and then the Dragoons—Nick Byrnes’s hand-selected special operations, much smaller in number than the Guards but larger in number than the Rangers.

  The Guards joked that the Rangers were all hippies, and the Rangers liked to call the Guards lazy and stupid. It was as simple as that. Only the Dragoons rarely participated in the banter. They were of a different breed. Fighting men, but with something else to them, and not just the privileged elitism that went along with being Nick Byrnes’ hand-selected few. They were hard men, and many of the tasks that they relished doing would be described by others as … unsavory.

  It was not uncommon for the Dragoons to sit alone during meals, only socializing with one another. They wore a circular patch on their left shoulders to differentiate themselves—a simple uppercase AD in red stitches against a black background, standing for Alice Dragoons. They were fiercely loyal to Nick Byrnes. They were his men; they had fought by his side on countless occasions. It was Nick and his early brigade of Dragoons who had led the charge into Alice when the town was first settled, clearing out the infestation of hostile men who were hiding in houses and shelters like maggots in a ripe apple. The Dragoons answered to Nick Byrnes above anyone else—except, of course, for General Tom Byrnes. And the Dragoons’ bravery could not be questioned. They had showed their effectiveness in warfare many times over by brutally slaughtering any and all who stood before them.