The Phoenix Project

by M. R. Pritchard

  “I thought nurses were healers not fighters.”

  “I thought army guys were saviors not assholes.” He starts to crack a smile, but stops abruptly, wincing and pressing a napkin to the split on his lower lip. “You thought wrong, chuckles. Now let’s get moving. I want to make it past the county line today. I have to get home”

  Just as we step out the front door of the hotel, a humvee pulls up and a man in fatigues drops a stack of newspapers in front of the doors. I pick one up and read the front page.

  “Seismic Activity Results in Nuclear Meltdown of Two Reactors on Lake Ontario Shores”

  Adam is reading the headlines over my shoulder, his breath blowing wisps of hair in front of my face. I read halfway down the page.

  “State of Emergency Instated for all of Phoenix County No Travel Allowed.”

  I skim the articles. It says that the radioactive contamination has been minimal and the reason for the no travel order is so they can investigate and clean-up. Somehow, the army has already set up barricades. They are treating survivors and identifying those who didn’t make it. The last article pays homage to all the residents lost in the event, which someone has estimated at up to 25,000 residents.

  “That’s almost half the population…” Adam whispers directly into my ear. He’s standing so close and I’m not sure if it’s the news or the deepness of his voice that’s sending shivers down my spine.

  “Let’s get going.” I fold the paper up and shove it in my bag.

  “Are you sure you want to? The news report is pretty bleak, who knows what we will find when we get there.”

  I find it hard to believe that he would want to give up now after all the distance we’ve traveled and being so close to home.

  “I don’t care. I broke the law when I abandoned my patients at the hospital. I will never be able to work as a nurse again. My family is all I have. Without them there is nothing. I’m going.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  I don’t look up at him to see his reaction to my confession. He is the only person I’ve told, but I can’t let him see the sheen of tears coating my eyes, not now, as the realization that I may have lost my entire family hits me.

  We start out heading for the overpass to the northbound highway exit. I notice Adam is no longer limping and he has abandoned the cane I made him. As we get closer to the exit ramp I can see Army Humvees and barricades blocking both exits on and off the highway and men in uniform are standing by with guns on their shoulders.

  “Wait,” I grab Adam’s arm, “Um…” I stutter for a moment, I wasn’t prepared to grab onto an arm of hard muscle. “They won’t let us by, we need to go around.”

  We discuss our options for other roads leading north. There are a fair amount of railroads in disrepair to consider and some old back roads. Finally we decide to walk through the forest, parallel to the main highway. It is the fastest and most direct route and being late spring, the foliage is thick enough to hide us from whoever may be on the roads.

  We turn around and walk behind the hotel bypassing the off ramp to the highway. At the back of the hotel there is a steep decline of tall grass which leads into the forest. More than once Adam grabs my arm to keep me from falling as I stumble through the tall brush. Just as we reach the forest line I turn around one last time and see what looks like one of the army men at the overpass pointing at us. Adam holds up a heavy tree branch for me to walk under and we enter the dense forest.

  Adam leads the way, limping only slightly now, holding branches out of the way so they don’t hit me in the face. It’s cool in the forest and much darker than it was out in the open. Every so often I get a glimpse of the highway; there are still abandoned cars, just not as many as before. A chipmunk runs across the toe of my shoe.

  It feels like hours have passed already. The back of my throat and thighs are starting to burn. Not long ago we passed a sign stating Phoenix was twenty miles away. The heavy hum of helicopters fills the sky. Adam signals for me to stop and get low. He’s chewing on a stick that he pulled off of one of the bushes we passed. I see a low hanging branch nearby and crawl to it, crouching down and leaning against the trunk of the tree. We can’t see the sky from the dense treetops. But we can listen, and the sound of the helicopters dissipates slowly. I reach for my bag and pull out the bottle of water that I stole from the hospital. Adam eyes me as I take a long gulp from the bottle. I realize he has nothing with him besides the stick he’s chewing on. I toss him the bottle.

  We continue walking for another long stretch. And now, there is the sound of thunder rumbling in the sky ahead of us.

  “I want to go out to the road and get a better look at the sky.” I tell Adam.

  He nods and we head for the tree line. Outside of the dense foliage of the forest the sky is gray and overcast. Ahead of us thunder clouds are collecting in a large gray tower.

  “There are no cars here.”

  “What?” I ask Adam.

  “Look around us, Andie. There’s not a single car.”

  I look behind us and in front of us, as far as we can see on the highway. He’s right; there isn’t a single car on the road. As I stand staring for a moment I am interrupted by a heavy low whistle. Adam and I respond the same, “trains?” This area is filled with abandoned train tracks, the whole county used to be heavy in industry and manufacturing. But now the train tracks are mostly overgrown and abandoned.

  “Why are they running the trains? The paper said no travel.” Adam asks. I don’t respond, I’m thinking. “What about the radiation from the meltdown? They could be spreading the contamination.”

  Finally I tell Adam what I heard in the basement of the hospital. “There was no earthquake and there was no meltdown. That paper was misinformed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I overheard some Colonel talking to a security guard in the basement of the hospital. He said that there is no radiation.”

  “This doesn’t make sense. What is going on then? Is this a hoax or something?” Adam stares at me waiting for answers. He runs his hand through his short dark hair, then down the stubble on the side of his face.

  “I don’t know what’s going on.” I reply. “But I’d like to find out.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” He asks.

  “I’m not sure.” I shrug at him. “Maybe it’s the same reason you didn’t tell me you were carrying a gun.” I turn and start walking on the empty highway, towards home.

  Eventually he follows me. Since there are no cars to amble around, we are able to walk faster. Making up for the extra time it took to walk through the dense forest. I can see the stoplight for the small town of Oswego Falls ahead of us, which means we are about fifteen miles from home. What I don’t expect to see is a chain-link fence cutting across the intersection of the road.

  Adam and I both stop when we notice it. “Get to the forest,” He tells me, pushing at my shoulder. “Run!” He pushes my shoulder harder, forcing me to run.

  We sprint off the side of the highway, down the embankment, across a patch of tall grass. I can hear the loud hum of helicopters again. I want to look back and see where they are going. I slow and turn, trying to get a glance. But as I do Adam’s hand reaches out grabbing my forearm and pulling me along behind him. He’s practically dragging me, running. I can feel small branches stinging me as they swipe across my face. I put my free arm up to protect my eyes but it barely helps. Finally Adam stops running and lets my arm free. He’s out of breath and bends over with his hands on his knees.

  “What was that all about?” I ask him as I try to catch my breath, brushing the sticks and leaves out of my hair and off my shirt. I rub my hand across my forehead, where one of the tree branches hit me, when I pull my hand away there’s blood on it.

  “There were guards or something, putting that fence up. Off to the left of the road, they had guns. You didn’t see them?” He asks me between breaths.

  “No.” I search my bag for
one of the paper towels. “But that means there are people here. And if they’re working, then they aren’t suffering from the effects of radiation poisoning. So that proves it, there can’t be nuclear fallout.”

  Adam looks at me, thinking, milling the facts about in his brain. There is only one logical answer and not much time passes before he agrees. “So I guess you were right, Andie. Something else is going on here.”

  “Now what do we do?” I ask him, pressing a towel to the cut on my forehead.

  “Let’s stick to the woods and keep going. It may take us longer than expected to get home, but at least we can stay hidden.”

  “Okay,” I agree with him.

  As we start walking I notice he’s limping again, it’s then I realize that he’s not just talking about the detour making our trip longer. He doesn’t say anything to me, but he must have re-injured his ankle while he was dragging me through the woods.

  We walk, weaving between the tree trunks, until the sun starts to set low in the sky. There are no low branches here, just soft earth beneath our feet, and branchless tree trunks, some thick with dense crusty bark, others as thin as my index finger, all shooting towards the sky. The sound of thunder rumbles in the distance and I can hear raindrops falling on the leaves high above us.

  “I think we’re going to have to stop soon,” I tell Adam as my stomach grumbles loudly.

  “Just a little bit further,” he urges me on.

  I follow him, not because I want to keep walking but because he is my travel partner and I have to trust that he has some sort of a plan. Plus, I don’t want to be left in the woods, at night, alone.

  The sun has set further and the forest is almost completely dark now. I have a hard time seeing Adam with his dark clothes. When the last bit of light dips below the tree line I can no longer see him. I begin to wonder if he really does have any type of a plan, or if he’s just wandering, the thought of being alone in the woods at night causes my heart to pound harder in my chest. I walk faster, stumbling until I smack into something hard, hitting the side of my head. At first I think it’s a tree trunk, but then I feel hands grip around my shoulders, stopping me from falling over.

  “Are you ok?” Adam asks.

  “Uh, sorry,” I respond, looking up. I can barely see his face above me.

  “We should camp here. There’s enough branches and brush to start a small fire, no one should be able to see the smoke or the light through the thick trees. We should be safe.”

  “No offense, but I’d rather not sleep on the ground.”

  “Oh, so what are you going to do?”

  I look around for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, and then I see it. Like a miracle, there is a tree house built into a huge willow tree with long, sweeping branches, it’s almost completely hidden. “I’m going to climb that tree.”

  Adam laughs. “Oh yeah, well, have fun with that. Do you know what it’s like sleeping in a tree? I’ll make sure to check your pulse in the morning when I find your body on the ground.” A deep laugh erupts from his chest.

  “Actually, Chuckles,” I respond, “I think I see the perfect branch.” I point up a few hundred feet away. Adam follows my gaze to the tree with the tree house.

  “Nice,” He responds.

  We walk towards the tree house. Once we are standing underneath it I notice that the ladder is actually rough two-by-four boards hammered into the trunk. I reach for the first step, struggling with the bag on my shoulder. Adam walks up behind me.

  “Let me take the bag, you climb first,” he offers.

  I pass it to him and continue to climb. The willow tree is large and the rungs of the rough ladder that’s hammered into the trunk are spaced far apart. I struggle reaching some of the steps with my short legs. When I finally get to the base of the tree fort I haul myself up, trying to use the muscles of my arms to pull my body up. Adam follows close behind me, pushing on my feet as they dangle at the opening.

  I can see that the tree house is spacious and large. It looks nothing like the tree forts we used to build as kids with uneven boards and half hammered nails. This is large, circular, wrapping around the thick trunk of the tree. This looks professional. There’s a smooth floor, open areas for windows and a roof. A small bunk is built into the far wall, cupboards, a rough hewn table and chair.

  “Is this where you sing ‘Jackpot’ again?” Adam asks.

  I ignore him. I hold out my hand, waiting for my bag. He passes it to me and I sit down on the floor. I pull out the bottle of soda, the bagel and apples. I hand half of the bagel and an apple to Adam.

  “You know, you could be a little more grateful. After all, I have healed you, put a roof over your head and fed you dinner.” I hold my hands open, palms up, expectantly.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he responds laughing.

  “Not funny,” I tell him. “And just for that, I will not share this bottle of refreshing, warm, flat soda with you. I hope you don’t choke on that bagel.”

  He laughs louder.

  I begin to hear the heavy patter of rain on the roof and the deep grumble of thunder in the sky. I wait for leaks to break through the wooden ceiling, but like another miracle it remains dry inside.

  “Well, so much for a fire up here. At least we’ll be protected from the rain but I hope it doesn’t get too cold tonight.”

  “Don’t worry I have that covered too.” I rummage through my bag for the reflective blanket I took from the back of my Jeep. I pull it out and shake it open. It is large, but not quite large enough for two strangers to share.

  “You want to share that?” He asks.

  I shrug at him. “Or you could sleep on that cold bunk.”

  “No, I’m saying you would sleep next to a stranger?”

  “I don’t think we are complete strangers anymore,” I tell him, “Besides, I know you’re not going to try anything.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because my husband will hunt you down and kill you,” I tell him, as seriously as I can. “I’m going to get some sleep.” I push my bag under my head to use as a pillow, reaching into the opening I pull out the little owl of Lina’s and rub its soft fur. The blanket leaves about a foot of space between us. I have never slept this close to another man except for Ian. “Goodnight,” I tell Adam. As I hear him trying to get comfortable on the smooth wood floor next to me.

  Sleeping in a tree fort next to a man I barely know is not easy. And I was hoping the exhaustion of walking all day would push me into a deep sleep, but instead I wake up frequently. In the few moments that I do sleep, I dream of Ian and Lina. But not the pleasant dreams that one would wake refreshed from. Instead they are dark, shadowy, and I seem to be searching for something but I can never seem to find what I am looking for. The most vivid dream of the night leaves me waking in tears: I’m running through my house, searching for Lina, and when I do find her it’s in the dark musty basement of my house and she’s hiding behind our old heating oil boiler. But for some reason she is older than when I left her a few days ago. Instead of young child she resembles a tall teenager with long curly hair and dark rimmed glasses. Even though I barely recognize her in my dream I still pull her into my arms sobbing into her long dark hair, and when I breathe in the scent of strawberries I know without a doubt that she is my daughter and I have finally found her. I am finally home.

  --

  When I wake up the air feels heavy and damp. There is no bright morning sunlight, just the continuous patter of rain on the roof. I wipe at my face, trying to get rid of the evidence of my bad dreams. When I finally sit up I see Adam is leaning up against the trunk of the tree, looking out into the forest. He looks relaxed with is arm resting on his bent knee, his shoulder pulling the sleeve of his t-shirt up and revealing a small Marine Corps tattoo on his upper arm.

  “Look what I found.” He smiles and waves his arm at the floor beside him. Lying on the floor is a leather bag, some canned food, a bag of crackers, plates, and two cups.


  “Where did you find that?” He points to the cupboard on the far wall. “Are you sure you should take this stuff? It’s kind of like stealing.” I scan the wall and see what I couldn’t in last night’s darkness, it’s decorated with a variety of weapons, bows, arrows, and spears are attached to the wall. This can’t belong to a child; it looks like the fanciest tree stand I’ve ever seen.

  “I think whoever this stuff belongs to has bigger problems right now.” Adam replies. My stomach growls loudly. “Sounds like you’re hungry too.”

  “Ok,” I resign, “let’s eat.”

  Adam uses the Army knife from his boot to open the cans. There’s corn and peaches in the cans, and the crackers look stale. He divides up the food on the plates and I set the cups on the windowsills to catch rain water. I can see a thick layer of muddy water covering the forest floor. Since there’s only one chair we sit on the floor across from each other. The sleepless, dream filled night has left me feeling tired and miserable.

  Adam watches the rain for a minute. “I think we’re going to have to wait out the rain,” he says between mouthfuls of food.

  I was afraid of this happening today. We are so close to home. I’m sure he can see the disappointment on my face. I stand up and look out the rough wooden framed window. The forest floor remains flooded with at least an inch of water. A large frog croaks from the base of a nearby tree. I stare at the, my stomach sinking as I see dozens of frogs swimming and hopping along the flooded forest floor.

  “I guess you’re right. We can’t walk in this.” I walk back to where I was sitting, and throw myself on the floor, disappointed.

  “Have you always lived in Phoenix?” Adam asks.

  I nod my head yes and give him a shortened version of my life. I tell him about Sam and how our parents died. I ask him why he became a marine. He explains to me he wanted to protect people, keep them safe. We talk about our lives between the long stretches of silence where we turn to watch the rain and listen to the thunder. We are out of food and by evening and both of our stomachs are audibly growling.